SATAN AND THE ICONOCLAST.

Otago Witness, Issue 2630, 10 August 1904, Page 81

SATAN AND THE ICONOCLAST .

By F. DA. C. De I/Isle.

(For the Witness.)

The dusk was dying, and the twilight, which had been short, was ushering in the starlight of a typical summer evening.

In a, bleak, cheerless studio sat a young man of some eight-and-twenty summers. A cheap candle, stuck in between three nails fixed in a block of wood, guttered fitfully down, until lhe tallow formed a pool round the bottom of the candle, and firmly glued it to the impromptu holder. Upon the table, or, more precisely, upon an inverted packing case, lay a diary, jpen at its last pages. The ink was yet wet where au entry had been made. The date was December/25, 1900. Christm&s Day !

" Mass this morning at 11. The organist, a woman, was late, and the whole service was upset. Played the organ myself, and the choir, without a conductor, went' to pieces. Half my glorious music was made a perfect hades ! When the organist- arrived, flusheST, overdressed, and reeking of musk, I took the baton, mad with rage ; and not until the last, long, lingering notes of the 'Agnus Dei' had swelled and- died away into the mystic memories of Mozait did I feel happy again. There was a crowded house, as usual at Chris tmastide.

"How many of those, there felt their souls thrill and quiver as mine did when, rolling deeper and deeper still, the organ pealed out and the voices cried, 'Praise the Lor 1, j'e nations all, and rejoice before Him^V

"Witii every 'Dona nobis pacem, amen !' the blood rushed through my sobbing heart, and drowned in the heavenly melody of the Twelfth Mass. I felt transported to Para-

disc, where the air was 'brushed with the hiss of rustling wings,' and cherubim and seraphim thundered forth their magic minstrelsy, 'casting down their golden crowns ' at the feet of the Most High. The organist preened herself and smoothed her crumpled flounces, and the choir exhaled an odour of peppermint during the elevation of the Host — ' life would be intolerable were it not for its grimaces !' It is past and gone. In that short hour I forgot the world. Here^ now, lam back with it. Back with all its hideous hypocrisies and blatant shams. The Salvation Army serenades me !"

.Upon a. rough, heavy easel stood a large canvas nearly finished. The subject/ was from' Faust — Mephistophles, in crimson garb, stood forth in hideous predominance-. The room was bare of all but the simplest necessaries of an artist and a musician : a few leaves of manuscript music, some halffinished pictures - r a stretcher bed. and one blanket completed the furnishings. Upon the mantelpiece were some odd bits -of crockery, a tin. of :offee, some pipes, and a jar of tobtfeco. Upon the walls manyphotographs were nailed, mostly of young and fair women. They all bore legends of some intrigue scribbled under them. One was labelled, "Gladys — a shattered idol !" Under another was written "The work of the Iconoclast !'' Five or six others bore some similar legend. In cases of particular delicacy the remarks -were written in foreign languages — Samoan, Maori, Persian, and Japanese being most prominent. In truth, Arthur Holroyd, artist and musician, had been a dangerous adventurer among the fair sex. Gifted with great capabilities, by heredity unstable as water, handsome beyond the average, and withal fascinating tc a degree, he had travelled with womankind, carrying destruction everywhere, and leaving a string of heartburnings in his tracks. But at last he had found the woman who could conquer him. Pure as an angel, she took possession of his heart, and he — even he — insatiable as he had ever been, surrendered his soul to her. But to his bitterest pain Jie found that his vagabond life and position precluded the- possibility of his being a suitor for the hand of a rich man's beautiful daughter. As he sat in his faintly-lighted studio, staring into vacancy, he dreamed of the love that could not be his. Vague murmurings of music, beautiful and subdued, shedding exquisite harmonies, came floating to his ear. The "Moonlight Sonata," as he had often played it to her, flooded the windows of his soul. He dreamed of thousands of harps and lutes tuning rapturous melody for her. Her pure face rose before him to the rippling of "Salve Dimora," and he thought with a thrill of torture of how distant he was from her. Then followed a whispered chorus of the "Kreutzor Sonata," and as 'a matter of course his vague thoughts wandered to Tolstoi's book of the same name ; and, rushing along on the tide of coincidence, followed the finale of "Faust," with Mephistophel-es shattering

the world to fragments. And then, slowly, "distinctly, and Avith Aveird significance, came the "turn-tuni, turn-turn, turn-turn, tum-t'iim" which opens the "Devil's March" of 'Van Suppe, folloAved by the liglitmng rush of "ki-ra-ra-runi, ta-ra-ra-rum, ta-ra-ra-rum-tum" Avhich make the first feAV bars of that masterpiece. With a shiver and a start, Holroyd glanced up from his dream, and standing by his side, with hands outstretched, stood the fiendishly grinning Mephistopheles of Iris picture. A hurried glance at the canvas proved to him that it was his own creation that had come to life, for the picture contained but an indistinct blur where the 'iMephistopheles had once stood. With white lips and staring eyes, Holioyd sat mutely gazing at the apparition. "How now, fair sir?" said the smiling Satan ; "this is but a poor way of passing a festive season ! Why not outside? Why not leading a galliard with thy lady-love 'I Come, come,, be^ of goodi cheer, there- is much pleasantry in store for thee! Wouldst ihave the world' at thy- feet? Say but the .word: I hold it in^the 2u>llow-of my hand. King Mephisto- is never unmindful of .■worthy subjects !"' Speak", "and 1 will' give the wit, . -genius, .- success) <tmtold wealth! •/Alljthe' beauty, of the world, shall lie at thy feet! Thou hast a voice; I will make it -sublime ! Thou haste a brush, I will cause at to outshine Baphael ! • Thou hast a pen ; it shall compose melodies undreamed by ■Handel, Mozart, or Beethoven! Canst write?- Thou shaUt emulate Milton, redramatise William Shakespeare, philosophise better than Goethe ! Wouldst sway the crawling mob that bows in fulsome adulation? Speak, man. The whole wide, great, glorious, beautiful world lies at thy feet,! But ask, and thou shalt have!" The dismon laid a claw-like hand on Holroyd's shoulder, and "the magnetism seared ihis heart like red-glowing iron. Faint in •his opposite ear came borne the sonoroussounding organs and the roar of laudant voices, 'JPraise the. Lord, ye nations all, and rejoice before him" ; the timing cymfoals, the thin, "sweet melody of lutes, the harmonic twang of harpstrings waftedi dreamlike echoes of the "Moonlight Sonata" to him.^ ' j "Thou-Tiast but to ask and .to have!" ■whispered. Satan. "Wouldst be another Beethoven?' Come, -'write me a 'Grand Sonata.' One of /sunlight and love ! Full witli amor "and - ecstasy ! ' Speak but the word j what wouldst thou . kaye?" "' - , - And again, fainteri aiici! fainter; came, to "HaHelujah! Pxaise the Eoid/'ye 1 rations all; and" rejoice before Him! Halle-'•i-lujahr 'H'aHeiujaHl Hallel|ijah'. r Amen." 'The; harpsichords .sounded'"- far away .and the- lutes were barely audibfe.- ■^ "GiFe •me npsic - that' my soul loves !" «aier Holroyd.,_ m\awe£triicken- tonefc. - "It is thine^ "signor," shouted" Satan.'"" •What wouldst' thou first compose?" Crash came 1 the dominant chord of the "Agnus Dei" in his ear, and the roar of the [hostile battalions Avas not greater than the "Hallelujah"! Praise' the Lord, ye nations all!"', thatlcame borne like the blast of the. simoon- to him. "I would write another 'Msssiah' 1" cried the trembling man. Savagely the malevolent demon gripped -Ms arm. " " ' . 'T.H the "Messiah' like unto the dream of tßeethoven? Is the 'Messiah' like the Song cf the Palm Tree of Heinrich Heine? - Write^ man ; writs of love, of her whom thou wouldst .worship in melodious praise. I give thee power to -outrival the 'Moon•Hgnt Sonata' !• .Thou shalt excel the glorious Beethoven!" - • Again the faint music sighed and died from his ear, while the vibrant swell of the sonata filled his soul. "If I do this thing)" vaguely ansAvered Holroyd, "what is thy price?" "Noble sir," answered the fiend, "sophistry were vain with thee. I will make thee greater than the greatest if thou willst " do unto her as thou hast, done unto these!" With aswesp of his arm the King Infernal pointed from the portrait of Hol- , royd's love to the ..other portraits ranged -upon" the wall. A faint vibration ; thp, low; sweet harmony of flutes broke forth , in the plaintive Song of the Palm Tree, and -Swelled and -swelled until, the whole world 1 - seemed to echo' that song of love and deEpair. / •"Keyer!" passionately cried the man. "It is not to be bargained for. Leave me ; I am still guiltless of that!" "Hark!" ansAvered Mephistopheles, bending to whisper in his straining ear. "The Palm Tree sighs. Does not thy heart sigh for her, too? Come, 'tis but one more. Thou shalt have her with thee to the end. Thy life shall be but one long dream of bliss exquisite, and music shall be thine to its furthest powers of exultation and joy. Come, write me the 'Lovelight Sonata' !" Once more Ms ears filled with the Song of the Palm Tree. Springing to his feet he shouted: "No ; I "tell thee No ! I will remain i clod! Back! Back! The-c is a Master. There is one who can give me power if he so wills it. There is — God !" • And glorious burst the brazen sounds of myriads of trumpets blaring forth the chant, "Gloria in excelsis Deo, et terra j>ax" ; and the hautboy sweil and the greet; principals and diapasons roared together, and the vox humana and the vox coelestos shrilled in triumph, and every miche and cranny of the old wooden studio trembled at the grand canorous vocalisation iof an angelic host. ' The candle guttered and burnt down Avith a big splutter asHhe artist-musician passed ibis hand over 3iis eyes and glanced up at ihe picture. It stood just as usual, in its islace, though the Mephistopheles in the last-dying Tight of the expiring candle -appeared sinister and darker than ever. "Must have been asleep," s>aid Holroyd, phivering. Then he remembered a passage in Voltan-e — "The devil gets his reputation from the English!" "Not in my case," thought Holroyd. He- cairied the fcurning mass of wickj match ends, and tal-

low to the picture, and the next niinuie the Mephistopheles Avas in a blaze. "'Appropriate for you, Satan !" said Holroyd. As the charred mass fell to the ground he stamped out the embers, and, taking up his hat, AA r alked out. It was nearly halfpast 9, and the people Avere coming out of church. He paused to Avatch her come out. She came — a vision of holiness — resting on her father's arm. When she passed Holroyd she ' pressed his arm and Avhispered, "God bless you !*' And he saw the love-light dancing in her eyes. As he raised his hat her fathei caught sight of him, and Holroyd heard him say : "Come aAvay, Nita. I haA r e expressly forbidden you to recognise that man !'' And hastily the merchant walked away with his daughter. The idiotic pioblem propounded by that canting little -cad, Jean Jaques Rousseau, flashed through Holroyd's brain : "If in order that you might inherit a great fortune from a Mandarin, living in some far-away Clnna, whom you had never seen or h'c-ard of, it Avere necessaty for you merely to touch a spot on your Avail, would you touch it, and kill the Mandarin?"

"Ah! would I? Give me back my dieam !" sighed the Iconoclast.