The Rebel Angels

Besides myself only Hollier and Maria were present. The undertaker, misled by Parlabane's robe into thinking him a priest, had placed the body with its head towards the altar, and I did not trouble to have the position changed. I had already explained to the undertaker that the corpse did not really need underclothes; Parlabane had died naked under his robe, and that was the way I sent him to the flames; I did not want to court a reputation for eccentricity by asking for further revisions in what the undertaker thought was proper.

The atmosphere was understandably intimate, and at the appropriate moment in the service I said: "This is where the priest usually says something about the person whose human shell is being sent on its way. But as we are few, and all friends of his, perhaps we might talk about him for a while. I think he was a man to be pitied, but he would have scorned pity; his spirit was defiant and proud. He asked for a Christian burial service, and that is why we are here. In a manner that was very much his own he professed a great feeling for the Christian faith but seemed to scorn most of the scriptures Christians are supposed to hold dear. It was as if faith and pride were at war in him: he knew nothing of humility. I confess I don't know what to make of him; I think he despised me, and the last letter he wrote me was in a tone he meant to be jokey but was really contemptuous. My belief bids me forgive him, and I do; he asked for this service and it is out of the question for me to refuse it; but I wish I could honestly say that I had liked him."

"He did everything in his power to make it impossible to like him," said Maria. "In spite of all his smiles and caressing jokes and words of endearment, he was deeply contemptuous of everyone."

"I liked him," said Hollier; "but then, I knew him better than either of you. I suppose I looked on him as one of my cultural fossils; the day has gone when people feel that they can be unashamedly arrogant about superior intellect. We are hypocritical about that. He was quite open about it; he thought we were dullards and he certainly thought I was intellectually fraudulent. In this he was a throwback to the great days of Paracelsus and Cornelius Agrippa – yes, and of Rabelais – when people who knew a lot sneered elaborately at anybody they considered an intellectual inferior. There was something refreshing about him. Pity that novel of his was so bad; it was really one huge sneer from start to finish, whatever he may have thought about it."

"He seems to have died believing that it would see publication," I said. "His last letter to me says his debts could be paid out of the advance from his publisher."

"Don't you believe it," said Hollier. "He simply never admitted what he knew to be the truth – that he lived by sponging. And that reminds me, Simon, who's paying the shot for this?"

"I suppose I am," I said.

"No, no," said Hollier; "I must put in for it. Why should you do it all?"

"Of course," said Maria; "that's the way it was while he was alive and it had better be the same to the end. He died owing me just under nine hundred dollars; another hundred won't break me."

"Oh it won't be anything like that," I said; "I arranged this on the cheapest terms. With the burial costs and what he owed his landlady, and odds and ends, I reckon it will run us each about – well, you're closer than I thought, Maria; it will probably be more than two hundred apiece. – Oh, dear, this is very unseemly. I meant that we should think seriously and kindly about him for a few minutes, and here we are haggling about his debts."

"Serve him damned well right," said Hollier. "If he is anywhere about, he's laughing his head off."

"He could have left Rabelais's will," said Maria." 'I owe much, I have nothing, the rest I leave to the poor,' " and she laughed.

Hollier and I caught the infection and we were laughing loudly when the undertaker's man stuck his head into the chancel from the little room where he was lurking, and coughed. I knew the signal; Parlabane must be whisked off to the crematory before lunch.

"Let us pray," said I.

"Yes," said Hollier; "and afterwards – the cleansing flames." More laughter. The undertaker's man, though he had probably seen some queer funerals, looked scandalized. I have never laughed my way through the Committal before, but I did so now. We met outside after I had seen the coffin on its way. There was no need for me to return for the burning.

"I can't think when I've enjoyed a funeral so much," said Hollier.

"I feel a sense of relief," said Maria. "I suppose I ought to be ashamed of it – but no, I don't really suppose anything of the kind. I'm just relieved. He was getting to be an awful burden, and now it's gone."

"What about lunch?" said I. "Please let me take you. It was good of you to come."

"Couldn't think of it," said Hollier. "After all, you made the arrangements and actually read the service. You've done enough."