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 Times, and the Church Times.
“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.