"The Distant Voice", by Marie Corelli

"What has been missed shall be found ; what has been lost shall be gained ; and even to the poorest, the most sinful, and most ignorant shall consolation be given. For death is not death—but Life !"

Marie Corelli - From the frontipiece of The Treasures of Heaven, 1906

The Distant Voice

Marie Corelli (1855-1924), Cameos : Short Stories (1895)

"After long sleep, to wake up in heaven to the sound of a beautiful voice, singing !..."

The sick man muttered these words aloud, and, turning on his pillows, opened his eyes to meet the cold, grey passionless ones of his physician who bent over him, watch in hand.

"Delirious, eh ?" said the doctor, observing him narrowly. "This won’t do at all. How’s the pulse ?" The patient extended his wrist. "H’m ! Not so bad! You were talking nonsense just now, Mr. Denver."

"Was I ?" Denver smiled faintly, and sighed. "I was dreaming, I think ; a strange dream, about" — he paused a moment, then went on "about heaven."

The doctor put his big watch back in its pocket, and looked about for his hat and gloves.

"Ah, indeed !” he murmured abstractedly. "Very pleasant, no doubt ! Dreams are often exceedingly agreeable. You must go on with the medicine, Mr. Denver; it will alleviate pain, and it is all I can do for you at present. If you could pick up your strength, we might try an operation but it’s no use just now."

Denver’s sad dark eyes rested on him wistfully.

"Stop a moment, doctor," he said ; "I should like to ask you a question. I’m not delirious I’m quite myself—at least as much as I shall ever be. I know mine is a hopeless case ; cancer is bound to kill, sooner or later. Still, you’re only mortal yourself, and the time must come when you will have to go the same way I am going. I’m on the verge of the grave, so it’s not worth while deceiving me. Now, tell me honestly, do you believe in heaven ?"

The doctor had found his hat and gloves by this time, and was ready for departure. "Dear me, no!" he answered; "certainly not! That is, if you mean a supernatural heaven. The only heaven possible to the human being is the enjoyment of a certain set of brain sensations which elevate him into a particular mood of happiness ; hence the saying that 4 heaven is not a place but a state of mind.’"

"Then," went on Denver slowly, "you do not think there is any sort of conscious or individual life after death ?"

"My dear sir,” replied the doctor, somewhat testily—he was a great man in his profession and had a number of distinguished patients waiting for him that morning—" these are questions for the clergyman of the parish, not for me. I really have no ability to argue on such abstruse matters. I can only say, as a man who has studied science to some extent, that I personally am convinced that death is the natural and fitting end of the diseased or superannuated human being, and that when he dies, he is beyond all doubt absolutely dead and done for."

John Denver still looked at him earnestly.

"Thank you !" he said at last, after a pause." "You are a clever man, doctor, and you ought to know. I am an ignorant fellow, always was ignorant, I’m afraid. But when I worked for my living as a lad down in the mines, and looked up from the darkness of that deep earth, to the round bit of blue sky that shone in thick with stars above me, I used to believe heaven was there and God in the midst of it. It was nonsense, I suppose, but I wish I had the old faiths now. I think I should be able to bear my trouble better."

The doctor was slightly embarrassed and perplexed. It was the old story ; he had no drug wherewith to "minister to a mind diseased." Patients often bored him in this way with troublesome questions. If John Denver had been a poor man instead of a rich one, he might not have even answered him ; but millionaires are not met with every day, and Denver was a millionaire.

"Why do you not see your clergyman ?" he asked. "It is possible he might reinstate you in your beliefs —"

Denver’s brows clouded.

"My clergyman ?" he echoed, a trifle sorrowfully. "My clergyman is far too much occupied with the comforts of earth to think over deeply concerning the joys of heaven. The last time I saw him, he urgently begged me to leave something to the church in my will. ‘ I am sorry to hear your disease is hopeless,’ he said, ‘ but I am sure you would wish a part of your wealth to be of some benefit to the Almighty.’ As if any man’s money could really ‘ benefit’ the Creator of all things ! No, doctor ! My clergyman has no support to give me in the trial I am passing through. I must bear it quite alone. Don’t let me detain you any longer. Good-morning, and again thank you !"

The physician muttered a hasty response, and made his exit, glad to escape from what he considered the "fads" of a fanciful invalid.

Left to himself, John Denver stared wearily into the vacancy of the great room in which he lay. It was furnished simply, yet 'richly, and through the large bay window set half open, he could see the verdant stretches of park and meadow land of which he was the owner. He thought of the years of patient toil he had endured to amass his present wealth, of his life out in the “ far West,” of the sudden discovery of silver ore which had made him one of the richest men in the world, and of all the glamour and glitter of slavish society which had attended him ever since his attainment to fortune. He thought of the pretty woman he had married—a fresh, lively girl when he had first met her, and one whom he had fondly fancied loved him for himself alone ; but who was now no more than a frivolous mondaine for whom nothing was sacred but social conventionalism, and whose heart had steadily hardened under the influence of boundless wealth till she was as soulless as a fashion-plate. He thought of his children whohad never loved him with really disinterested affection, of his son, who only looked upon him as the necessary provider of his yearly allowance, of his daughter, who was running the rounds of society in search of some titled noodle for a husband, almost, if not utterly indifferent to the fact that her father was dying of an incurable disease, and as memory after memory chased itself through his tired brain, a sudden rush of tears blinded him, and he groaned aloud, "O God ! what has my life been worth ! What worth has any life if death must be the end ?"

At that moment a slight tap came at his door, and before he had time to say "Come in!" the intending visitor abruptly entered.

"I thought I should find you at home, John Denver," he said, in singularly slow, musical tones ; "I met your wife in the garden, and she told me the doctor had just left you." Denver nodded a faint assent. He was weary and exhausted; and in the presence of this particular friend of his, was always strangely disinclined to speak. Truth to tell, Paul Valitsky, known to many as a great painter, and suspected by some of being a dangerous Russian Nihilist, was a rather remarkable-looking man, possessed, too, of a certain fascination which attracted some people and distinctly intimidated others. Though small of stature and somewhat bent, he was not old ; his face, pale and rather angular, was beautified by a pair of fine eyes, greenish-grey in hue, with an occasional changeful light in them like that which plays on opals. These eyes were his chief feature ; they at once captivated and held all who met their fiery iridescent glances, and as he turned them now on Denver, a great kindness softened them—an expression of infinite tenderness and regard, which was not lost upon the invalid, though he lay still and apparently unmoved to any responsive feeling by that gentle and searching scrutiny.

"So the fiat has gone forth, and we must die !" said Valitsky presently, in almost caressing accents. “ Well, there are worse things in life than death." Denver was silent. "You dislike the idea?" resumed his visitor after a slight pause. "The quiet of the tomb is not an agreeable prospect? You seem discomposed; but you are a brave man—you surely cannot be afraid !"

"No, I am not afraid," replied Denver steadily. "I am only—sorry !"

"Sorry ! And why ?"

"Well, in the first place I am sorry to have made so little good use of my time. All I have done has been to amass money, and what is that —a delusive quest and an unsatisfactory gain, for I profit nothing by my life’s work—my gold cannot cure sickness or keep back death. In some unfortunate way, too," he paused and sighed, "I have missed love out of all my fortunes, and now, here at the last, I am left alone to meet my fate as best I can, and my 'best’ is a bad attempt. Yes ; I am sorry to die ; I am sorry to leave the world, for it is beautiful ; sorry to lose the sight of the sun and the blue sky" he broke off for a moment, then went on, "But I tell you, Paul, if I could believe in another life after this one, as you do, and if the dream I had an hour ago were a truth, then I should not be sorry; I should be glad !"

"Ay, ay !" and Valitsky nodded sympathetically. "And what was this dream ?"

"I dreamed I was in heaven,” said Denver, his troubled face lighting up with an inward rapture. "But not such a heaven as the parsons preach of it was a world somewhat resembling this one, only vaster and more beautiful. I seemed to myself to have wakened suddenly out of a deep sleep, and as I woke I heard a voice—the loveliest and tenderest voice imaginable!—singing a sweet song; and I swear to you, Paul, I thought I knew and loved the unseen singer !"

Valitsky rose from the chair he had occupied near the window, and, approaching the bed, laid his fine, nervous hand on Denver’s wrist, fixing him at the same time with his strange iridescent eyes."

So you have heard a voice from the other world, my friend !" he said. "And yet you doubt. You know what I am—you know that for me, at times, the portals of the Unseen are set open. Men call me artist, idealist, madman, judging me thus because I know the touch of higher things than are common to ordinary eating, drinking, breeding, perishing clay; but let them call me what they will, at death my faith will bridge the tomb, where their materialism shrinks away in fear and horror. That, voice you heard—listen and tell me—was it at all like this ?"

He held up his hand with a warning gesture and, through the silence, a faint, delicious sound of song came floating distinctly—clear, yet far off, as though it fell from the regions of the upper air."

My God !" cried Denver, starting up in his bed. "It is the same—the very same ! Paul, Paul ! What does it mean ?"

"It means," answered Valitsky steadily, "that you are on the verge of the Eternal, my friend ; and that I, a poor unworthy medium of communication, am bidden to assure you of the fact. The heaven you dreamed of is a real heaven ; the voice you hear is a real voice ; and the One who sings awaits your coming with all the love you have missed in your life till now. Believe me or not as you will, I speak the truth. Death, or what mortals call death, will bestow upon you such joy as is incapable of human comprehension or expression, but at the same time it is but fair to you to say that you can have your choice ; knowing what I have told you, you yet have the privilege given to you to decide whether you will die or live on."

Denver stared amazedly. "You talk in riddles, Paul ! Live on ? I ? My doom is sealed ; I know that well enough. You can do nothing, spiritualist and idealist though you are, to hinder it."

"If you choose to live, you shall live!" said Valitsky firmly "I will guarantee it, for so I have been commanded. Cancer shall not kill nor any other evil cut the thread of your existence. But, were I you, I would die rather than live."

Denver had grown very pale.

"You you will guarantee my life if I choose to live?" he asked, in low, tremulous tones. "Can you guarantee it?"

"I can and will. I swear it ! I came here today on purpose to tell you so. But think well before deciding ! — the barriers of the unseen world are lifted now, ready for your admission. If by your own choice they close again, the Voice you heard will sing to you no more."

With a wild, searching glance Denver scrutinised his strange friend’s pale countenance. It was passionate and earnest—only the eyes sparkled with an intense, fiery gleam. Uncertain what to believe, and yet strongly impressed by Valitsky’s steadfast manner, knowing him, too, for a man whowas credited, rightly or wrongly, with singularly occult powers, he suddenly made up his mind and spoke out impetuously.

"I will live !" he said. "The next world maybe a dream, the sweet voice that stole away myheart may be a delusion, but this world is real, a tangible fact, a place in which to move and breathe and think in. I will stay in it while I can ! If you indeed have the force you seem to possess, why use it upon me and give me life this life? I choose, not heaven but earth ; I will live on !"

Slowly Valitsky withdrew from the bedside, and, standing a few paces away, surveyed Denver with an intense expression of mingled scorn and compassion.

"Be it so," he said. "Live, and try to find joy, peace, or love in what life brings you. You have chosen badly, my poor friend ! You have rejected a glorious reality for a miserable delusion. When you are tired of your choice let me know. For the present, farewell !"

The door opened and closed softly—he was gone. For hours John Denver lay still with wide-open eyes, going over and over every detail of the strange conversation he had had with this strange man, and wondering whether it was true that he was granted a new lease of life, or whether it was mere fantastic boasting on Valitsky’s part. Finally he slept a sound and dreamless sleep. The next day, on awaking, he was free from pain, and during the ensuing week he was so far recovered as to be able to leave his bed and resume his ordinary occupations. The great physician who attended him was completely taken aback, the supposed cancerous ailment appeared after all to have no existence, and for the thousandth time an apparently infallible doctor was proved wrong. John Denver lived, as Valitsky had sworn he should do. He lived to see his son in the criminal’s dock for forging a friend’s name ; he lived to see his daughter married to a vicious "nobleman", whose days were passed in gambling and nights in drinking; he lived to know that his wife had been faithless to him for years, and that she had hoped for his death and was furiously disappointed at his continuance of life; he lived to entertain flatterers who fawned upon him for his wealth alone, to feed servants who robbed him at every turn, to realise to the full the cruelty, hypocrisy, meanness, and selfishness of his fellow creatures, till, at last, after seven tedious summers and -winters had passed away, a great weariness came over him and a longing for rest. Conscious of the failure and futility of his life, he sat all alone one evening in his great library, looking vaguely out on the misty moonlit lawn, and unbidden tears rose to his eyes as he thought, "If I could only dream again that dream of heaven, and wake to hear the sound of that beloved and beautiful voice singing."

On a sudden impulse, he drew pen and paper towards him, and wrote to Paul Valitsky, whom he had only very rarely and casually seen since that strange personage had offered him the choice of life or death.

"My Friend, — You told me when I was tired to let you know. I am tired now. Life offers menothing. I made, as you said, a bad choice. If you believe in a heaven still, will you assure me of it ? If that voice I once heard is real, if it is the voice of one who is pitiful, and true, and tender, may I not hear it again ? Certain mysteries are unveiled to you, certain faiths are clear to you ; if to your potent secret force I owe the gift of longer life, take it back I entreat you, and let me find myself where I was seven years ago, on the verge of the Eternal, with the golden gates ajar !"

Several days elapsed before he received any reply to this letter, and he was growing restless, feverish, and impatient, when at last it came, its characteristic brevity quieting him into a strange and passive peace. It ran thus : "Heaven has not altered its design or changed its place, my friend, because blind Earth doubts its beauty. Your seven years is a little seven minutes to the dwellers in that higher sphere—a mere pause in the song you heard ! Be satisfied, on the night you receive this letter the song shall be continued and the Singer declared."

Dreamily John Denver sat at his open window, with this missive in his hand ; the glory of a rosy sunset bathed all the visible country, and a thrush, swaying to and fro on a branch of pine, piped a tender little evening carol. He listened to the bird with a vague pleasure; he was quite alone, alone as he had been for many months since his wife had fled from him with her latest lover. He was conscious of a singular sensation, an impression of duality, as though he, John Denver, were the mere frame or casing for another individual and intelligent personality, a creature that until now had been pent up in clay, suffering and resentful, but that at the present moment was ready to break loose from imprisonment into a vast and joyous liberty.

"And yet," he murmured, half aloud, "if there is a heaven, what right have I to enter it? I have done nothing to deserve it. I have honestly striven to do my best according to my poor knowledge but that is of no account. I have missed love on earth, it is true ; but why should I expect to find it in another world ? Valitsky declares that all God’s work is founded on pure equity, and that every human soul has its mate either here or elsewhere ; if that were true—if that could be true perhaps by the very law of God which knows no changing, I may meet and love the singer of that heavenly song !" At that very moment a sound, sweet and penetrating, pierced the silence — the full, delicious cadence of a melody more dulcet than ever came from the throat of any amorous lark or nightingale; and John Denver, the weary and world-worn man of many cares and many disappointments, stood up alert, pale and expectant, peering wistfully yet doubtfully into the gathering shadows of his room. Earth and earth’s gains had proved delusions would the hope of heaven prove equally vain?

"The voice divine !" he whispered rapturously. "The same beloved voice I heard before ! ... it sings again ! So sweet a voice could not deceive. I will accept it as assurance of the truth of God !"

With straining sight he still gazed into the deepening darkness . . . Was it fancy ? or did he see there an angel-figure, and face fairer than that of any pictured vision ? — a face luminous as a star, and full of tenderest appeal, love, and ecstasy. He stretched out his arms blindly . . . wonderingly . . . with a supernal sense of joy.

"It is true !" he said. "God is just, and heaven exists, dispite all narrow, worldly doubtings ! What has been missed shall be found ; what has been lost shall be gained ; and even to the poorest, the most sinful, and most ignorant shall consolation be given. For death is not death—but Life !"

He staggered a little—his breath failed him and falling back in his chair he closed his eyes. The mystic voice sang on, flooding the silence with exquisite music ; he smiled, listening.

"After long sleep, to wake up in heaven to the sound of a beautiful voice singing !” he murmured —and then was still.

And even so John Denver slept the sleep of death ; and, if all faiths are not frenzies, even so he woke !