Spiritual Blackguard

Roger alludes to Monsignor's mention of places in the spirit world that are unpleasant —

You mentioned other places, Monsignor, remarked Roger places that are not pleasant, as these are.

That is so, Roger, I replied.

Where are they?

As to their precise location, well, that is not so easy to define. As I expect you’ve noticed, the four points of the compass have no significance in these realms or anywhere else in the spirit world. That, as you will 

remember, was a matter that might have cropped up when you once asked if it were possible to lose one’s 

self here. Still, we could soon take you to those unpleasant places. Do you really wish to see them?

The boy was silent for a moment. Perhaps I had better be guided by Ruth and yourself; I mean, guided by 

your advice.

Then, my dear boy, if you wish for our suggestions, I'm sure Ruth will agree with me that it were much 

better that you keep away from the dark regions for some time yet.

Monsignor is perfectly right, Roger. Don’t go there. You know we will do anything for you that we 

possibly can, but those beastly regions are not for you yet. Later on, perhaps. Accept our word for it—there 

are thousands who could corroborate us—that you wouldn’t feel at all happy about it afterwards. You know 

how, on earth, deep curiosity would lead us towards looking at something or other we were pretty sure we 

should afterwards regret having seen. We would give in, and our first impressions become verified. Here’s 

just such another instance.

There’s this can be said, Roger. Those dark realms are not the theological hell to which people are 

condemned for all eternity—once in, never out again. Every person who at present is an inhabitant of those 

terrible places has the free choice to emerge from them whenever he changes his mind. He can work his way 

out in precisely the same way as we can work our way from these lovely lands into still lovelier. The law is 

the same there as here, and applies to us all—there and here. And here is a living witness to what I say.

Do you see that trim cottage over there, Roger, with the two tall trees near it? Well, I’m revealing no 

secrets when I tell you that the dweller in that cottage once lived in an awful hovel, not actually in the dark 

realms, but in the dismal, bleak regions that lie close to them—the sort of twilight of the dark lands 

themselves. Ah, our friend has seen us.

We had perceived the owner of the cottage sitting in his garden, and now he was waving to us.

Shall we take Roger to see him, Monsignor? Ruth suggested.

That would be a capital notion, my dear, if Roger doesn’t mind listening to our friend’s story. It’s not a 

long one, nor is it frightening or anything of that sort. But I must tell you this, that it was largely due to Ruth 

that he was able to turn the corner, as it were, and emerge from his unhappiness. So you can readily imagine 

that he regards Ruth as something only very slightly less than an archangel. Ruth laughed.

Well, said Roger, I think that the gentleman is entirely right. He’s a very good judge, anyway. I can 

easily understand how he feels, for both of you have done so much for me already, even in this short period.

No, my boy. We’ve done nothing that millions of others would not have done. But we must spare Ruth’s 

blushes.

I’ll tell you what, Roger. If you feel like listening to our friend’s story you will be doing him a very good 

turn, because he feels that he owes so much for the help he’s been given that he can’t do enough in return, 

and telling others about his rehabilitation, he believes, is some small way of showing his gratitude. Bless 

him, his heart’s in the right place, and you'll find he doesn’t spare himself, either.

I thought for a moment you were going to say “doesn't spare the horses.”

Roger! How could you! exclaimed Ruth. If Monsignor ever puts that down on paper—and he’s liable 

to—what would some of the earth folk say?

“Trivial rubbish,” my dear; all of it, I said. I hope you won’t think, Roger, from what I’ve said about 

our friend here that he’s a trying old bore. Far from it. But in this case I think you’ll find his simple story will 

answer a number of questions for you without your having to ask them.

And if I didn’t know otherwise I should say that will save you a great deal of bother, one way and 

another, said Roger with a grin.

Glorious, Roger; that’s a good one against Monsignor, said Ruth.

He included you in that statement, Ruth, I pointed out.

By this time we were within hailing distance of our friend, and he came rapidly towards us.

Ruth, Monsignor, he cried with evident delight; this is a pleasure. It seems a long time since I saw you 

both. And who is our young friend? I’ve not had the pleasure of seeing him before.

We introduced Roger, and explained that one of the reasons why we had not seen him of late was that we 

were showing Roger round his new land.

How are you? asked Ruth.

Why, my dear, I never felt better in my life. Is it possible, do you think, for us ever to feel better than we 

do now?

That’s something I should very much like to know as well, sir, said Roger.

There you are, my dear. Here’s this young gentleman firmly supports me in my demand. Now then, what 

does that wise head say?

Our friend slipped his arm through Roger’s.

Why, I don’t know, Ruth answered with a smile, but I don’t see how we could feel any better than we 

do already. Perhaps it’s all a matter of comparison.

That must be it, and compared with what I once felt, this is perfection. It might be called “Paradise 

regained,” if I were at all sure that I ever had it to lose and regain. But come inside, and let our new friend 

see what a spirit world country cottage looks like.

This small dwelling was as neat and trim inside as it was outside, and everything was arranged with the 

greatest taste and refinement, and with yet an eye upon solid comfort and enjoyment. In the apartment which 

we entered directly from the garden, the furniture was of the ancient style, well constructed and pleasant to 

behold. It was kept in a high state of polish, and reflected the large bowls of flowers that were everywhere 

displayed. The other rooms, both upstairs and down, were similarly appointed, and altogether the whole 

dwelling revealed the natural pride and devoted care of its owner.

I have no shame in telling you, Roger, my friend, that this is a very different place from the one I 

inhabited when I first came into the spirit world, as Ruth and Monsignor will tell you, and, of course, Edwin.

Where is Edwin, now? Why isn’t he with you?

He has been very busy of late, Ruth replied, and none of us has seen much of him beyond a fleeting 

visit. Roger was one of our own cases—do you like being referred to as a case, Roger?—and we thought we 

would take time off and show him things.

Doing for him, what Edwin did for you and Monsignor. Do you remember your first visit to me?—but of 

course you do. I shall never forget it.

If you feel so disposed, tell Roger about it.

Our friend reflected for a moment. Why, yes, if you wish, but he should know first how I came 

to live in such a place, such an awful place, as that was.

When I lived on earth, Roger, I was a successful business man. Business was my preoccupation in life, 

for I thought of precious little else, and I considered all means right in my dealings with others, provided 

such means were strictly legal. As long as they were that, I deemed the rest did not matter. I was ruthless, 

therefore, in gaining my ends, and coupled with a high degree of efficiency, I achieved great commercial 

success.

In my home, there was only one person to be thought of, and that was myself. The rest of the family did 

as they were told—and I did the telling.

I always gave generously to charity when I thought I should derive the greatest benefit and credit for 

myself, for I did not believe in anonymity as far as I was concerned. If any donations were to be given I saw 

to it that my name was sufficiently prominent. Of course, I supported the church in the district where I lived, 

and at my own expense had some portions added to the building, with proper emphasis upon the donor.

The house I occupied was my own, and of such size and situation as befitted my position in the world. In 

every respect, Roger, I regarded myself as a god. It wasn't until I came to the spirit world that I discovered 

that I was one—made of tin, the sorriest, shabbiest god that ever existed.

I was only a year or two past middle-life when disease overtook me, and at length I “died.”

I have every reason to know that I was given a magnificent funeral, with all the customary trappings, 

suitable mourning, and so on, though I have since learned that there was not one soul who cared a brass 

farthing that I had gone. One the contrary, they were glad. Some declared that the devil had got his own at 

last. Others said that I was the one justification for the existence of hell, and that the earth was the sweeter 

for my removal. Such was the fragrant memory I left behind me. And where was I, do you think, Roger, 

during all these sad lamentations at my departure?

I awoke to find myself in the dirtiest, wretchedest hovel you can imagine. I could take and show you the 

place this moment, for it's still standing. The house—the hovel—was small, and seemed all the more so after 

the large establishment I was accustomed to on earth. It stood in a horrible, bleak spot, without garden or any 

living thing round about. The inside was in keeping with the outside, poorly, meanly furnished.

Seeing it for the first time, some might have thought that poverty was the trouble. So it was—poverty of the soul—for I had never done anything for anyone on earth, except it be for my own ultimate benefit, not 

theirs.

The very clothes I was wearing were threadbare and soiled. In this dingy hole I found myself, 

smouldering with rage that I should, in some inconceivable fashion, have been reduced to such a state of 

squalor. I didn't seem able to leave the premises; I felt glued to the house. I gazed out of the windows, and 

could see nothing but barren ground, with a belt of mist not far away. A grim, dismal outlook, in a literal 

sense. I stormed and raved, and it was in this situation that Edwin found me.

He came to me one day, and I treated him as I had been accustomed to treat those whom I considered my 

inferiors on earth. Now Edwin was the last person to be spoken to in that fashion. You've not met him, have 

you, Roger, my boy? A quiet, kind personality, but firm. He stood no nonsense from me, I can tell you, but 

in my then frame of mind he could make no headway.

I was consumed with anger, an anger that was aggravated by the fact that I did not know whom to blame 

for my present situation. The last person I thought of blaming was myself. However, I found some measure 

of consolation in assigning the responsibility where I fancied the largest share of it should rest, and that was 

upon the Church, for I felt I had been misled. Had I not given generously to the Church, and had I not been 

led to believe that my donations, and they were upon a considerable scale, would stand me in very good 

stead when my time came to depart from the earth? I considered I had been done a grave injustice, and that 

the Church, of which I regarded myself a most ornate pillar, had flagrantly misled me, and that I was called 

upon to pay for its mistake.

To whom was I to turn in my difficulties? I was perfectly well aware of what had taken place; in other 

words, that I was 

“dead.”

 But the mere knowledge of that was of precious little use.

I suppose I must have emitted some kind of thought in request of assistance. Whatever it may be, I 

perceived a man coming towards the house, and that man was Edwin. It was the first of many visits he paid 

me, and every one with the same result. I was adamant. I was also extremely rude. But Edwin was not the 

sort to be intimidated by one such as me, and he gave me as good—better, in fact—as I gave him! He could 

always have the last word, so to speak. He simply marched out of the house and left me when I became too 

intractable.

At length he returned, but this time not alone, for he brought with him two friends (and another whom I 

had sometimes seen in the area), the same two friends who are looking after you, Roger—Monsignor and 

Ruth.

Glancing back now, I know that visit was the turning point. Ruth and Monsignor stood in my room, very 

discreetly in the background, while Edwin spoke to me. I began to feel a trifle less angry, and my eyes were 

continually drawn towards Ruth, when I had first glimmerings of light, if I may so express it.

Ruth’s presence served to remind me that I had a daughter of my own, though I had treated her equally 

abominably with the rest. There was no physical resemblance between Ruth and my daughter, it was more 

one of temperament, as far as I could judge. Whatever it was, I already began to feel differently. That, 

combined with all that Edwin had spoken to me on so many occasions, had its effect. After my visitors had 

gone, a terrible loneliness came over me, as well as deep, dark remorse, so intense that I cried aloud in my 

despair for Edwin’s presence now, which I had so often spurned with contempt, for I had put in some good 

thinking.

You can imagine my joy and surprise when I perceived Edwin coming towards the house almost upon 

the instant of my cry. I met him at the door, and as he would tell you himself, I was a changed man.

The first thing I did was to thank him for coming so expeditiously—and I was not much accustomed to 

thanking people for anything. The next, was to apologise to him for all I had said and done to him. But he 

waved my words aside with a brilliant smile upon his face that clearly bespoke his great pleasure that, at last, 

I was on the way to being something very different from the inflated egoist and spiritual blackguard that I 

was when I arrived in the spirit lands.

Edwin at once sat down with me and proceeded to discuss ways and means of getting me out of the hellhole 

that was my abode. A course of action was decided upon. Edwin did the deciding, for I put myself 

entirely in his hands, and for the present it was arranged that I should remain where I was for a brief while, 

and that I had but to call him and he would come.

After he had gone, I gazed round upon my house, and in some extraordinary manner it seemed much 

brighter than it was. It was unquestionably less dingy, and my clothes were less shabby, and that discovery 

helped to make me feel a great deal happier.

I will not bore you with all the struggles, hard struggles, I had to make up for all that was past. It was 

hard work, but I never lacked friends. I don’t need to look farther than this room to see two, at least.

Well, Roger, you see me now, as unlike my old self as day is to night, still working hard, and glad of it. 

My work? Why, doing for others what Edwin did for me—and for the same kind of people! It’s easier to 

handle them when you’ve been one of them yourself, our host added with a chuckle.

There’s one consolation, he went on; they’ve pretty well forgotten about me on earth. Otherwise they’d 

think of me as being far worse than old Scrooge, and would point out that, at the last, Scrooge reformed and 

became a decent citizen, while I went to my end unrepentant. Perfectly true, but they don’t know that I’ve 

changed my views somewhat since then, and they’d not know me for the man I was.

Still, maybe they’ll find out one day, and, my word, there’ll be surprises all round!