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Storm Of London

<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> The day came at last when the Bishop of Sunbury was to deliver his address on the future of religion. St Paul’s had been considered too small to contain the large assemblage of worshippers who were anxious to hear the prelate, and it had therefore been arranged for him to speak to the crowd from the steps of the Cathedral. Churchmen were not the only ones interested in the long-promised message, but the world at large was eager to learn what the ex-dignitary would tell them concerning the great riddle: What makes a Bishop a Bishop? It was one of these particularly English summer days, towards the middle of July, in which the sun declined to appear in person. But the atmosphere was none the less festive because the sun played truant; and to most Londoners the weather was a symbol of true modesty. Mayfair, Belgravia, Kensington—in fact, every district of the metropolis was represented in the crowd that thronged the Cathedral square. Those who preferred to remain at home or were too unwell to attend the meeting, would be kept au courant through the telephones; for it is only fair to say that the School of Accuracy in the Delivery of News had completely metamorphosed the temperaments of citizens, who, since the collapse of newspapers, were genuinely struck by the dramatic power of a plain fact. The crowd was large, but it did not at any time become rowdy. The charioteers drove up Fleet Street in two lines and placed themselves all round St Paul’s; while the pedestrian strolled leisurely under the wide arcades. The recalcitrants, who were now a very small minority, had prophesied a dismal dénouement to this meeting, and in order to be safely out of danger, had secured their places at an early date, in the dining-halls of the former shops. They reached their seats at an unearthly hour, although the homily was announced for the afternoon; but the recalcitrants remembered what they had suffered at the Diamond Jubilee in getting to their places, and nothing on earth could convince them that it would not be just the same for the Bishop’s address. So, there they were, from five o’clock in the morning, making themselves as comfortable as possible; first ringing for their breakfast, then later on telephoning for luncheon. Shortly before the time announced for the address, a party of friends might be seen in one of the large shop windows enjoying their afternoon tea. Seated in front was Mrs Archibald, with Lord Mowbray behind her; these two held closely to one another, and kept up the old traditions of bon ton, for they firmly believed that Society was rushing to its ruin. Eva Sinclair, good-naturedly had given up joining her husband in the crowd, so as to accompany poor Alicia Archibald, who declared that she could never think of seeing the show without one of her set. Next to these two sat Lady Carey, who, although she had assented to all the modern reforms, had drawn the line at such a public réunion as this one. She had begged Gwen to escort her, as she could not bring herself to stay away and follow the development of the meeting through her telephone. Montagu Vane was leaning on the back of her chair, while Gwen and Nettie Collins made themselves useful at the buffet. On the other side of the churchyard was Mrs Pottinger, with a good many of the American colony. They had absolutely declined Mrs Archibald’s invitation to join her at the windows of the dining-halls, preferring to mix with the crowd under the arcades. Beside her stood her Royal Guide, although she might by this time have very well dispensed with his services, but she kept him for Auld Lang Syne, and for all the fun she had formerly derived from the Royal Family; and perhaps also because she thought it would do him good, for she was not an ungrateful woman. “I see that the American colony has at last emerged from its voluntary seclusion,” said Lionel to Danford, as they drove up and took their position close to the steps. “Yes, my lord, they retired to learn the art of observation, and have achieved the task they set themselves to. Not only do they now recognise the people they knew, but they have actually acquired the faculty of putting names on to the faces they did not know.” “I am struck by the attitude of the American women. They move with the same grace and ease as when Doucet and Paquin turned them out into the social market.” “You are right, my lord, they have made nature herself quite elegant, and are teaching dowdy mother Eve a lesson in deportment.” “There is a downrightness in their demeanour which always upsets my equanimity,” said Lionel, laughing. “The American is a mathematical animal, my lord; and could a geometrical figure walk, it would impersonate the tournure of a Yankee.” “Is that the Bishop coming out of the central porch?” “Yes, my lord, and Jack Roller is beside him,” replied Danford. “They are followed by representatives of all churches, who will group themselves round the prelate.” “The coup d’œil is harmonious,” remarked Lionel; “it puts me in mind of Raphael’s <cite>School of Athens</cite>. Do you see on the right hand of the Bishop a group of thin, pale men, their arms linked in one another’s? I have no doubt those are Vicars and Curates. And notice on the left that cluster of older men leaning in an attitude of keen attention, shielding their ears with their hands, so as not to lose a syllable of the address.” “My lord, these are the Canons, Deans and Bishops. But watch that surging crowd on the steps in front of the Bishop. Some, lying down dejectedly, are supporting their hirsute faces with their right hands; others, seated with their knees up to their chins, look stubbornly in front of them. They are the Nonconformists, eager to know what this Church dignitary has to say to them.” “And what about those urbane men leaning modestly against the doors of the Cathedral?” inquired Lionel. “Ah! those must be the Romanists, my lord. Their attitude is humble though firm; they stand aloof in mute reverence, but will nevertheless be able to hear what the Bishop says, from the place they have chosen. No one knows, not even Jack Roller, what the Church has to say in this matter, and the prelate will have to solve his own problem by himself.” A sonorous “Hush” stopped all conversations, but at first it was impossible to hear one word, the prelate’s voice being too feeble for the open air. “Louder, my lord,” spoke the guide in a stage whisper; and the Bishop, coughing several times, began the Lord’s Prayer, which was repeated, sentence after sentence, by all those present. Never had the prayer been more reverently recited than on this day, when thousands of voices rose in a great wave of sound, and thousands of heads bowed humbly to the simplest of divine messages. When the Bishop spoke the last words, the crowd broke into a loud Amen, which was followed by a long silence broken only by the sound of horses’ hoofs pawing the ground. On a sign from his guide the Bishop, after more preliminary coughing, commenced his address. He displayed a slight nervousness of manner and a decided inarticulateness in delivery; but his audience, bent on hearing what he had to say, soon accustomed themselves to his wearisome intonation. The first part of his speech dealt with the duty of the British nation of setting an example of modesty and purity to all other nations. So far, so good, he did not depart from the customary dictates of British pride. He next proceeded to state facts known to everyone; he pointed out, for instance, that public baths were organised in all the parks of London; that the streets’ safety had been assured by what he called “altruistic discipline”; that the people’s food was now as delectable as that partaken of by the higher classes; that the vanishing of newspapers had been the means of raising the public level of morality; in fact, the prelate confessed that true Christianity ruled more forcibly in London, at present, than it had ever done at the epoch in which flourished the <cite>Times</cite>, and the <cite>Church Times</cite>. “Although the old Bishop does not put it in any original way; still, I am glad he recognises the good points of our new Society,” said Lady Carey, turning to Mrs Archibald, who looked listless and disdainful. “My dear Alicia, you must own that since our general denudation we have all been spared the squalid sights of misery?” “But misery must exist all the same, whether we see it or not,” remarked Vane, who could not lose a prejudice nor learn a lesson. “Ah! but we do not see it, my dear Montagu, and that is a blessing,” retorted Mowbray. “Misery unseen is half forgotten. Is not that the adage of true selfishness?” This was Nettie, Gwen’s guide, who had brought a cup of tea to Mrs Archibald. “Listen,” said Lady Carey, at this moment laying her hand on Mrs Archibald’s shoulder. “When the storm divested us of all our covering,” the Bishop was saying, “my first instinct was to recall the Gospels, hoping to find there something suitable to the occasion. I discovered nothing that could help me in this crisis; and as it was impossible to prevent our present state, I meditated over what ought to be done for the greater extension of purity and modesty.” The prelate’s voice was clearer and his delivery more distinct. “I, and a few dignitaries of the Church of England, organised a Society for the Propagation of Denudation, otherwise called the S.P.D.; and after seeing the thing well launched in London, we determined to send missionaries to all the countries most in need of our Gospel. I am grieved to say that this first attempt at purifying the world has not been successful, for last week our missionary, as he landed on Calais pier, was arrested by the agents des mœurs, and thrust into prison, and had to undergo there the shamefullest of all penalties: the wearing of clothes. Let us for one second imagine his tortured feelings; let us realise for an instant the agony of his wounded sense of modesty, when he gazed at a shirt,” (murmurs) “and at a pair of trousers.” (hisses and groans). “Our missionary, sick at heart, implored of the officials to let him return to England, and, having obtained permission, he took his little yacht back to Dover. I saw him last week and had a very long discussion with him upon the subject of how best to put our plans into execution. But we recognised a difficulty when we contemplated the situation of our missionary, had he landed unmolested at Calais, and reached in safety the capital of merriment and incredulity. How could he have proved the authenticity of his mission, when he had lost his external credentials? In the name of what doctrine was a paradisaical priest to address his clothed confrères? It occurred both to him and to me, that, since our complete divestment, the principles which kept our commonwealth together were more deeply rooted in our altruistic souls; and further, that the number of our dogmas had been reduced to a few tenets, which could be easily lived up to without theological wrangling or ecclesiastic rivalry. The missionary gravely declared to me, that we should never be able to attempt any proselytism abroad, before we had thoroughly grasped the first notion of the duties of a peace-maker. We threshed out the subject until late that evening, and spent many more nights trying to disentangle the skeins of conflicting doctrines; but after we had both developed our ideas on the problem of propagandism, the practical solution to the dilemma suggested itself to me last night, by which true religion should be saved from the waters of Lethe.” A gentle breeze fanned the crowd of anxious listeners. The windows of the dining-halls were filled with human forms eagerly leaning forward. “Be brave, my Royal Guide, we shall never desert you, although your Church gives you up,” and Mrs Pottinger laid her firm white hand on the arm of His Royal Highness. “Louder, my lord,” whispered Jack Roller to the Bishop. The old man raised himself on his toes, and, lifting his eyes, to heaven, uttered these words: “The union of all churches.” <hr class='c008' /> A profound silence followed; and as the true purport of these words became evident to the crowd, a loud murmur of approval arose, which convinced the preacher he had struck the keynote of the public feeling. The ice was broken, and feeling himself at one with his congregation, the ex-dignitary proceeded unhesitatingly with his discourse, in language which was always sincere, and at times even waxed eloquent. He revealed to his public his inner thoughts and struggles. Strange to say, at every phrase he destroyed what he had at one time worshipped, and extolled that which he had formerly condemned. “Three months ago,” went on the prelate, “humanity had very erroneous ideas of politics, economics, morals, and, I fear, also of religion; but now that man has not a rag upon his back, now that monk’s hood, Bishop’s apron, Hebrew canonicals are no more, conflicting dogmas cannot avail to separate man from man. The principle of love forms the basis of all divine teachings, and moral relationships between all creatures are the aim of all those who reverence an ideal of some sort. There is no doubt, my friends, that with the vanishing of clothes has disappeared also religious casuistry. Religion, and by that I mean love and charity, is as easy to practise in our large cities as it was in the small community of Galilee. The first thing which we must well understand is that religion must never be gloomy, nor ascetic, but, on the contrary, must shed a radiance over mankind; for practical religion consists in the perfect development of all our faculties, and in the enjoyment of that which is beautiful. Happiness is the true aim of religion, and it cannot be obtained by means of that religious depression which annihilates human efforts towards social reforms. Only by working hand in hand with science, and by strictly following her researches and approving of her discoveries, can that summum bonum be achieved.” “The old fellow is unconsciously paving the way towards the goal; and I think the Seer’s invention will not raise the clergy’s wrath,” said Lionel to his little buffoon. “My lord, there is no saying what a Bishop will do when he has lost his gaiters,” replied Danford. “My dear friends”—the Bishop’s tone rose higher—“I am speaking as a man, not as the head of a Bishopric (I do not quite see how I could do the latter, since it is impossible nowadays to know a Canon from a Bishop, a Cardinal from a Rabbi), well my friends, I come as a man to tell you that we must accept the position, and give up attempting to unite the substance with the shadow. Let us start once more fairly on the road to enlightened happiness, and let us lead the theological reform, next to which the great Reformation was but child’s play. For centuries we have wrangled over the simplest doctrine: ‘Love thy neighbour.’ We all taught its lesson according to our lights, but, strange to say, bitter animosity continued to rule the world. It is only since our complete divestment that we realised that we looked first to the label, and rarely ever to the fundamental teaching. But, my friends, before we can in any way reform the morals of foreign countries, we must tighten the bonds which link men together, and carry into effect the great plan of religious unity. It is the only logical basis on which to establish true religion, and unless we strike the iron while it is hot we shall see morality disappearing under a heap of argumentation. Do not take me for a visionary constructing theoretical reforms which cannot be put into practice. I want you to know that I have looked at this problem from a practical point of view. You know as well as I do that, although every country had its turn in reforming the world, somehow the old injustice and the spirit of vindictiveness had a trick of creeping up again. But now that the hour has struck for England to do something in the world’s tournament, let us no longer procrastinate but do the right thing at the right moment. Much will be expected of the British race, for it is inclined to find fault with every other nation. The danger is at hand, and no one can accomplish this reform like us, nor can any other Church but ours effect this reconciliation. I therefore trust you will all help me in the work of joining hands.” “Yes, the Bishop’s firm will get the job of repapering and whitewashing the old barn.” And Dan chuckled as he turned towards Lord Somerville. “How irreverent you are, Dan,” reprovingly said Lionel. “My lord, you do not know your own countrymen. It is only when a great reform evokes a trivial image in John Bull’s sleepy mind that an Utopian ideal has any power to move him. You see, John Bull is of a homely disposition, and he is very fond of telling you that the surface of our planet and the relations between nations have greatly altered since a man one day watched a kettle simmering. The Bishop knows his own flock well enough, and he leads them with a gentle hand.” “Listen, Dan, to his closing words.” “England has behaved well throughout this crisis, my friends, it has shown self-control and good-humour in making the best of a very uncomfortable position; and I have no hesitation in declaring before you all, that it is owing to our being essentially a moral nation that God chose us to evangelise other races less felicitous. Let us never forget that we are a practical nation, incapable of being led away from the path of wisdom by moonstruck Utopians; and let us always bear in mind that the Anglo-Saxon is always ready to take his share in a case of rescue, when the means of effecting it lie in conforming to the country’s code of honour.” “There he is again at his old game of British pride,” and Lionel shrugged his shoulders as he tightened his horse’s reins and moved on. “Ah! my lord, be more lenient with him; the man means well, and that is all we want for the present. Naturally he sticks to a few obsolete prejudices, but never mind that, for he has risen to the greatest heights in being for once sincere.” “Well, Mr Vane?” inquired Mrs Archibald, as she turned her face towards the dismayed countenance of the dilettante, “what do you think of the Bishop’s address?” “Our ranks are thinning, dear Mrs Archibald; the more reason for us to draw close to one another and to struggle against the rising waves of vulgarity.” The little fetish of Society put his hand to his eyes—what was it? A pang at his heart or a sudden faintness? No one knew, for he soon recovered his self-control and was as flippant as ever. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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