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Canvasback library of Popular Fiction. Volume IX
A Second Coming
_A SECOND COMING_
_BY_
RICHARD MARSH
_JOHN LANE: THE BODLEY HEAD_
_NEW YORK & LONDON MCMIV_
Copyright, 1900
By John Lane
'If,' asked the Man in the Street, 'Christ were to come again to
London, in this present year of grace, how would He be received, and
what would happen?'
'I will try to show you,' replied the Scribe.
* * * * *
These following pages represent the Scribe's attempt to achieve the
impossible.
CONTENTS
I. THE TALES WHICH WERE TOLD
CHAPTER
I. THE INTERRUPTED DINNER.
II. THE WOMAN AND THE COATS.
III. THE WORDS OF THE PREACHER.
IV. THE CHILDREN'S MOTHER.
V. THE OPERATION.
VI. THE BLACKLEG.
VII. IN PICCADILLY.
VIII. THE ONLY ONE THAT WAS LEFT.
IX. THE FIRST DISCIPLE.
X. THE DEPUTATION.
XI. THE SECOND DISCIPLE.
II. THE TUMULT WHICH AROSE
XII. THE CHARCOAL-BURNER.
XIII. A TRIUMPHAL ENTRY.
XIV. THE WORDS OF THE WISE.
XV. THE SUPPLICANT.
XVI. IN THE MORNING.
XVII. THE MIRACLE OF HEALING.
XVIII. THE YOUNG MAN.
III. THE PASSION OF THE PEOPLE
XIX. THE HUNT AND THE HOME.
XX. THEY THAT WOULD ASK WITH A THREAT.
XXI. THE ASKING.
XXII. A SEMINARY PRIEST.
XXIII. AND THE CHILD.
I
The Tales which were Told
A Second Coming
CHAPTER I
THE INTERRUPTED DINNER
He stood at the corner of the table with his hat and overcoat on,
just as he had rushed into the room.
'Christ has come again!'
The servants were serving the entrees. Their breeding failed them.
They stopped to stare at Chisholm. The guests stared too, those at
the end leaning over the board to see him better. He looked like a
man newly startled out of dreaming, blinking at the lights and
glittering table array. His hat was a little on one side of his head.
He was hot and short of breath, as if he had been running. They
regarded him as a little bewildered, while he, on his part, looked
back at them as if they were the creatures of a dream.
'Christ has come again!'
He repeated the words in a curious, tremulous, sobbing voice, which
was wholly unlike his own.
Conversation had languished. Just before his entrance there had been
one of those prolonged pauses which, to an ambitious hostess, are as
a sound of doom. The dinner bade fair to be a failure. If people will
not talk, to offer them to eat is vain. Criticism takes the place of
appetite. Amplett looked, for him, bad-tempered. He was leaning back
in his chair, smiling wryly at the wineglass which he was twiddling
between his fingers. His wife, on the contrary, sat very upright--
with her an ominous sign. She looked straight in front of her, with a
tender softness in her glance which only to those who did not know
her suggested paradise. Over the whole table there was an air of
vague depression, an irresistible tendency to be bored.
Chisholm's unceremonious entry created a diversion. It filliped the
atmosphere. Amplett's bad temper vanished on the instant.
'Hollo, Hugh! thought you weren't coming. Sit down, man; in your coat
and hat if you like, only do sit down!'
Chisholm eyed him as if not quite certain that it was he who was
being spoken to, or who the speaker was. There was that about his
bearing which seemed to have a singular effect upon his host.
Amplett, leaning farther over the table, called to him in short,
sharp tones:
'Why do you stand and look like that? What's the matter?'
'Christ has come again!'
As he repeated the words for the third time, there was in his voice a
note of exultation which was in odd dissonance with what was
generally believed to be his character. The self-possession for which
he was renowned seemed to have wholly deserted him. Something seemed
to have shaken his nature to its depths; he who was used to declare
that life could offer nothing which was of interest to him.
People glanced at each other, and at the strange-looking man at the
end of the table. Was he mad or drunk? As if in answer to their
glances he stretched out his hands a little in front of him, saying:
'It is true! It is true! Christ has come again! I have come from His
presence here to you!'
Mrs. Amplett's voice rang out sharply:
'Hugh, what is the matter with you? Are you insane?'
'I was insane. Now I am wise. I know, for I have seen. I have been
among the first to see.'
There was something in his manner which affected them strangely. A
wildness, an exultation, an intensity! If it had not been so entirely
out of keeping with the man's everyday disposition it might not have
seemed so curious. But those who knew him best were moved most. They
were aware that his nerves were not easily affected; that something
extraordinary must have occurred to have produced this bearing.
Clement Fordham rose from his chair and went to him.
'Come, Hugh, tell me what's wrong outside.'
He made as if to slip his arm through Chisholm's, who would have none
of it. He held Fordham off with hand extended.
'Thank you, Fordham, but for the present I'll stay here. I am not
mad, nor have I been drinking. I'm as sober and as sane as you.'
A voice came down the table, Bertie Vaughan's. In it there was a ring
of laughter:
'Tell us, Chisholm, what you've seen.'
'I will tell you.'
Chisholm removed his hat, as if suddenly remembering that he had it
on. He rested the brim against the edge of the table, looking down
the two rows of faces towards Amplett at the end. Mrs. Amplett
interposed:
'Hadn't you better sit down, Hugh, and have something to eat? The
entrees are getting cold. Or you might tell your story after we've
finished dinner. Hunger magnifies; wonders grow less when one has
dined.'
There was a chorus of dissentient voices.
'No, no, Mrs. Amplett. Let him tell his story now.'
'I will tell it to you now.'
The hostess gave way. Chisholm told his tale. He riveted his
auditors' attention. The servants listened openly.
'I walked here. As you know, the night is fine, and I thought the
stroll would do me good. As I was passing through Bryanston Square a
man came round the corner on a bicycle. The road has recently been
watered, and is still wet and greasy. His tyre must have skidded, or
something, because he entirely lost control of his machine, and went
dashing into the hydrant which stands by the kerb. He was moving
pretty fast, and as it came into contact with the hydrant his machine
was splintered, and he was pitched over the handle-bar heavily on to
his head. He was some fifteen or twenty yards from where I was. I
went to him as rapidly as I could, but by the time I reached him he
was already dead.'
'Dead!'
The word came in a sort of chorus from half a dozen throats.
'Dead,' repeated Chisholm.
'Are you sure that he was dead?'
The question came from Amplett.
'Certain. He was a very unpleasant sight. He must have fallen with
more violence even than I had supposed. His skull was shattered. He
must have come down on it on the hard road, and then twisted over on
to his back. He was a big, heavy man, and the wrench which he had
given himself in rolling over had broken his neck. I was so
astonished to find him dead, and at the spectacle which he presented,
that for a second or two I was at a loss as to what steps I ought to
take. No other person was in the square, and, so far as I could
judge, the accident had not been witnessed from either of the
windows. While I hesitated, on a sudden I was conscious that someone
was at my side.'
He stopped as if to take breath. There came a rain of questions.
'Someone? What do you mean by someone?'
'I will try and tell you exactly what I saw. It is not easy. I am yet
too near--fresh from the Presence.'
He clasped his hands a little more tightly on the brim of his hat,
then closed his eyes for a second or two, opening them to look
straight down the table, as if endeavouring to bring well within the
focus of his vision something which was there.
'I was looking down at the dead man as he lay there in an ugly heap,
conscious that I was due for dinner, and wondering what steps I ought
to take. I felt no interest in him--none whatever; neither his living
nor his dying was anything to me. My chief feeling was one of
annoyance that he should have chosen that moment to fall dead right
in my path; it was an unwarrantable intrusion of his affairs into
mine. As I stood, I knew that someone was on his other side, looking
down at him with me. And I was afraid--yes, I was afraid.'
The speaker had turned pale--the pallor of fear had come upon the
cheeks of the man whose imperturbable courage had been proved a
hundred times. His voice sank lower.
'For some moments I continued with eyes cast down; I did not dare to
look up. At last, when my pulse grew a little calmer, I ventured to
raise my eyes. On the other side of the dead bicyclist was one who
was in the figure of a man. I knew that it was Christ.'
He spoke with an accent of intense conviction, the like of which his
hearers had never heard from the lips of anyone before. It was as
though Chisholm spoke with the faith which can move mountains. Those
who listened were perforce dumb.
'His glance met mine. I knew myself to be the thing I was. I was
ashamed. He pointed to the body lying in the roadway, saying: "Your
brother sleeps?" I could not answer. Seeing that I was silent, He
spoke again: "Are you not of one spirit and of one flesh? I come to
wake your brother out of slumber." He inclined His hand towards the
dead man, saying: "Arise, you who sleep." Immediately he that was
dead stood up. He seemed bewildered, and exclaimed as in a fit of
passion: "That's a nice spill. Curse the infernal slippery road!"
Then he turned and saw Who was standing at his side. As he did so, he
burst into a storm of tears, crying like a child; and when he cried,
He that had been there was not. The bicyclist and I were alone
together.'
A pause followed Chisholm's words.
'And then what happened?'
The query came from Mrs. Amplett.
'Nothing happened. I hurried off as fast as I could, for I was still
afraid, and left the bicyclist sobbing in the roadway.'
There was another interval of silence, until Gregory Hawkes, putting
his eyeglass in its place, fixedly regarded Chisholm.
'Are we to accept this as a sober narrative of actual fact,
or--where's the joke?'
'I have told you the truth. Christ has come again!'
'Christ in Bryanston Square!'
Mr. Hawkes's tone was satirical.
'Yes, Christ in Bryanston Square. Why not in Bryanston Square if on
the hill of Calvary? Is not this His own city?'
'His own city!'
Again there was the satiric touch.
One of the servants, dropping a dish, began to excuse himself.
'Pardon me, sir, but I'm a Seventh-Day Christian, and I've been
looking for the Second Coming these three years now, and more.
Hearing from Mr. Chisholm that it's come at last has made me feel a
little nervous.'
Mrs. Amplett turned to the butler.
'Goss, let the servants leave the room.'
They went, as if they bore their tails between their legs, some with
the entree dishes still in their hands.
'I wish,' murmured Bertie Vaughan,' that this little incident could
have been conveniently postponed till after we had dined.'
Arthur Warton, of St. Ethelburga's, showed signs of disapprobation.
'I believe that I am as broad-minded a priest as you will easily
find, but there are seasons at which certain topics should not be
touched upon. Without wishing in any way to thrust forward my
clerical office, I would point out to Mr. Chisholm that this
assuredly is one.'
'Is there then a season at which Christ should not come again?'
'Mr. Chisholm!'
'Or in which He should not restore the dead to life?'
'I should not wish to disturb the harmony of the gathering,
Mr. Amplett, but I am afraid the--eh--circumstances are
not--eh--fortuitous. I cannot sit here and allow my sacred office to
be mocked.'
'Mocked! Is it to mock your sacred office to spread abroad the news
that He has come again? I am fresh from His presence, and tell you
so--you that claim to be His priest.'
Fordham, who had been standing by him all the time, came a little
closer.
'Come, Hugh, let's get out of this, you and I, and talk over things
quietly together.'
Again Chisholm kept him from him with his outstretched hand.
'In your tone, Fordham, more even than in your words, there
is suggestion. Of what? that I am mad? You have known me
all my life. Have I struck you as being of the stuff which
makes for madness? As a victim of hysteria? As a subject of
hallucinations? As a liar? I am as sane as you, as clear-headed, as
matter-of-fact, as truthful. I tell you, in very truth and very deed,
that to-night I have seen Christ hard by here in the square.'
'My dear fellow, these people have come here to dine.'
'Is, then, dinner more than Christ?'
Smiling his easy, tolerant smile, Fordham touched Chisholm lightly
with his fingers on the arm.
'My very dear old chap, this sort of thing is so awfully unlike you,
don't you know?'
'You, also, will be changed when you have seen Christ. Fordham, I
have seen Christ!'
The intensity of his utterance seemed to strike his hearers a blow.
The women shivered, turning pale--even those who were painted. Mr.
Warton leaned across the table towards Mrs. Amplett.
'I really think that you ladies had better retire. Our friend seems
to be in a curious mood.'
The hostess nodded. She rose from her seat, looking very queerly at
Mr. Chisholm, for whom her penchant is well known. The other women
followed her example. The rustling concourse fluttered from the room,
the Incumbent of St. Ethelburga holding the door open to let them
pass, and himself bringing up the rear. The laymen were left alone
together, Chisholm and Fordham standing at the head of the table
with, on their faces, such very different expressions.
The host seemed snappish.
'You see what you've done? I offer you my congratulations, Mr.
Chisholm. I don't know if you call the sort of thing with which you
have been favouring us good form.'
'Is good form more than Christ?'
Amplett made an impatient sound with his lips. He stood up.
'Upon my word of honour, Mr. Chisholm, you must be either drunk or
mad. I trust, for your own sake, that you are merely mad. Come,
gentlemen, let's join the ladies.'
The men quitted the room in a body. Only Clement Fordham stayed with
his friend. Chisholm watched them as they went. Then, when the last
had gone and the door was closed, he turned to his companion.
'Yet it is the truth that this night I have seen Christ!'
The other laughed.
'Then, in that case, let's hope that you won't see much more of Him--
no impiety intended, I assure you. Now let you and me take our two
selves away.'
He slipped his arm through his friend's. As they were about to move,
the door opened and a servant entered. It was the man who had dropped
the dish. He approached Chisholm with stuttering tongue.
'Pardon me, sir, if I seem to take a liberty, but might I ask if the
Second Coming has really come at last? As a Seventh-Day Christian
it's a subject in which I take an interest, and the fact is that
there's a difference of opinion between my wife and me as to whether
it's to be this year or next.'
The man bore ignorance on his countenance written large, and worse.
Hugh Chisholm turned from him with repugnance.
'He's your brother,' whispered Fordham in his ear, as they moved
towards the door.
The expression of Hugh Chisholm's face was stern.