IN WHICH THE NIHILIST, THE DEMOCRAT, AND THE PROFESSOR OFFER A
SUGGESTION TO THE BISHOP.
'Were it not better not to be!'
Tennyson: The Two Voices.
'Si tu veux', je te tuerais ici tout franc, en sorte que tu rien
sentiras rien, et m'en croy, car j'en ay bien tué d'autres qui s'en
sont bien trouvez'
Pantagruel, ii. xiv.
'Look there!' said the Owl one day. 'There is a bishop, one of the
higher priests of St. George.'
He was a beautiful bishop, in his mitre, canonicals, and crozier, all
complete—so the Owl said. It strikes one as a novelty for bishops to
wear their rochettes and mitres when they go out walking in Richmond
Park; but one is forced to believe the Owl, he has such a truthful way
with him, like George Washington. By the way, what scope George
Washington had for telling lies, if he had wished it, after that
incident of the cherry-tree, which gave everyone such a high opinion of
his veracity!
The Bishop advanced slowly into full view, and then drew up before a
tree. He did not lean against the tree, for fear of spoiling his
splendours, but he drew up before it, and began to ponder, with a mild,
benevolent expression on his fine features. At the same time, two
hundred yards away, Queen Mab caught sight of the Democrat, walking
very fast, a little out of breath, and looking for the Bishop. He
wanted to explain to him the principles of Church and State, and to
talk things over in a friendly way. The Democrat had great faith in
talking things over, spite of his failure to convince the Aristocrat;
he never really doubted that if he only harangued against obstacles
long enough they would ultimately disappear. The Bishop, for instance,
would willingly rush into nonentity, if once he could be brought to
look at his duty in that light, and the Democrat was eager to begin to
put it before him in that light immediately. But while he was still
looking earnestly for his expected proselyte, someone else advanced
with a similar purpose—a tall, gentlemanly individual, with a pleasing
exterior, spotless linen cuffs, and a black bag. The Owl uttered a cry
of horror.
'Come away!' he exclaimed. 'It is a Nihilist, a dynamiter!'
But Queen Mab held her ground, or rather her branch. She was a
courageous fairy, and though she turned a shade paler she spoke
resolutely:
'No!' she said. 'I mean to stay and see what he does with it. _You_ may
go.'
But the Owl was either too chivalrous to desert her, or he was
paralysed with terror.
'Dynamite strikes downwards,' the fairy heard him murmur with
chattering beak, and that was all he could say. Meanwhile the Nihilist
went up to the Bishop.
'Excuse me!' he murmured politely, and knelt down. The Bishop stretched
out his hands absently, in an attitude of blessing; but the Nihilist
did not look up. He took an American cloth parcel from the black bag
and laid it at the Bishop's feet. Then, gradually withdrawing, he began
to lay the train.
'He is going to blow him up!' whispered Mab, shuddering. But the
Bishop, absorbed in rapt contemplation, heard and saw nothing, till the
Democrat, breaking rudely through some bushes and into his reverie,
roused him effectually. The Democrat was not a person of whose
neighbourhood one could remain unconscious.
'Ah!' he exclaimed, while the Bishop looked upon him with an air of
mild disapprobation. 'I have found you at last! I was anxious to
discuss with you—but what is this?'
For the more observant Democrat had caught sight of the cloth parcel.
'What is this?' he repeated suspiciously.
'I really don't know,' said the Bishop mildly, putting on his
spectacles and gazing down. 'I am a little shortsighted, you know. It
is the size of the quarto edition of—'
'There!' interrupted the Democrat, who had caught a glimpse of the
Nihilist's shadowy figure. He darted after it, while the Bishop, a
little perturbed, moved slowly in the same direction.
'Don't move,' said the Nihilist, raising an abstracted face. 'I will
only be a moment. Just step back there, will you?' and he pointed
towards the parcel with one hand, while the other still scattered the
train.
'What are you doing?' cried the Democrat, shaking him.
'Stop that!' said the Nihilist 'You had better not lay hands on _me_,
or you mayn't like it. It is really inconsiderate,' he continued,
appealing to the Bishop in an injured voice. 'I am only going to blow
you up, and you won't be quiet half a minute together. How _can_ I blow
you up properly, if you will keep walking about?'
'You are going to blow _me_ up!' said the Bishop, awaking to the
situation, and becoming as indignant as his gentle nature would allow
him to be. 'Miserable man! What will you want to blow up next? I
utterly discountenance it. Take your dynamite to the haunts of iniquity
and atheism, if you will. Rather blow up Renan, and Dissenters, and the
Rev. Mr. Cattell; but as for _me_, this is really carrying it too far!'
'Waal,' said the Nihilist, rising with a surprised stare, and in the
astonishment of the moment betraying his nationality, 'I guess things
air come to a pretty pass when a Bishop of the Church of England
refooses to be blown up in the interests of hoomanity!'
He took up the American cloth parcel as he spoke and walked
despondently away, musing over the lack of public spirit displayed by
established orders in general and prelates in particular.
'I would cheerfully consent to be blown up any day,' he murmured
pensively, 'in the interests of hoomanity; but it is not for the
interests of hoomanity—'
'Why did you not arrest him?' said the Bishop reproachfully, when he
was out of sight.
'He is the natural product of the present depraved state of Society and
of the Legislature,' replied the Democrat, shaking his head, 'and
therefore to be pitied rather than condemned. He should be accepted as
a warning, a merciful token sent to all thrones, principalities and
powers, reminding them of the error of their ways and of their latter
end. And besides,' he continued unwillingly, 'he has a whole magazine
of explosives on his person. If I had not been carried away by my
indignation just now I should never have taken him by the collar. I did
remonstrate with him once, on the strength of his political bias. I
said, "Look at us, why can't you profit by our example? We don't wish
to blow up, but gently to 'disintegrate. We are mild, but firm. We
never express a wish for revolution, but for reform. We are as active
as anyone in bringing about the Millennium, but we don't desire to be
shot into it head foremost, like a projectile from one of your infernal
machines. Dynamite, that last infirmity of noble minds, should only be
resorted to when all other modes of conciliation have failed." And what
do you think he replied? He smiled affably and offered me a box. "Thank
you!" he said, "Take a torpedo?"'
'Dear me!' said the Bishop; 'he is really a terrible character. I have
here some of his advertisements, sent to me the other day. Actually
sent by post, to me, a Prelate of the Church of England. I saved them,
intending to deliver a discourse upon the subject.'
He took a handful of papers from his pocket-book, and the Democrat
perused them, while Queen Mab, invisible, looked over his shoulder.
'Home Comfort! Hints to Architects and Builders.
'In the construction of tenements, it is absolutely necessary, for the
safety and convenience of the inmates, to place in the recess at the
back of each fireplace a couple of Donovan's Patent Dynamite Fire
Bricks, warranted. The advantages of this novel and most ingenious
contrivance will be fully appreciated when, for the first time, the
family circle gathers round the cheerful blaze.'
'To Clergymen.
'For a pure religious light, suitable to the Liturgy of the Church of
England, try Donovan's Wax Tapers for Church Illumination. Two of
these, placed in the sconces, will give more light than twenty ordinary
candles, and will also impart vigour and fervency of tone to the whole
of the proceedings. Donovan and Co. are so confident of the superiority
of their manufactures that they are willing to refund costs, on
receiving the written attestation of the Bishop of the diocese that the
article has proved unsuitable. Try them; you can have no idea of the
effects.'
'Directors of Railway Companies.
'Take care to have carriages illuminated with Donovan's Patent Safety
Lamps. These exert a bracing and salutary influence, not only on the
atmosphere and the spirits of the passengers, but on the tunnel walls
themselves, which are invariably found, after the passage through them
of a train lighted by Donovan's Patent Safety Lamps, completely
prostrate with astonishment at the unparalleled effects of the same, to
the immense convenience of traffic and judicious prevention of
accidents.'
There were several more advertisements, similar in tone and of
attractive appearance, which the Democrat perused with interest.
'What could possess the fellow to send all these to _you?_' he
exclaimed when he had finished. 'I always said he pushed the thing to
an extreme. He has got dynamite on the brain: he will go off himself
some day if he doesn't take care, like a new infernal machine.'
'I wish he would!' said the Bishop hastily; and then correcting
himself, 'I was about to say, "Whatever is, is best."'
'Oh, stow that!' exclaimed the Democrat. 'I mean,' he added
apologetically, on observing the Bishop's startled glance, 'that, of
course, that sounds very well, and it is a pretty thing to say, but
everybody knows it isn't true. I will undertake to prove to you, if you
will allow me'—here the Bishop's face gathered a shade of
melancholy—'that, in fact, there never was a more outrageous falsehood
on the earth. As for the Nihilist, naturally we should be thankful to
get rid of him, either by explosion or otherwise; but he is such a
dangerous fellow to tackle. The fact is, one hardly dare shake hands
with him, for fear of being blown into the middle of next week, and
then one couldn't toil for the benefit of humanity.'
'Act, act in the living Present,' murmured the Bishop.
'Just so,' said his companion approvingly. 'And you can't act in the
living Present when you are in the middle of next week.'
'And yet, you know,' said the Bishop, with a glimpse before him of some
possible advantage in the argument, 'I have often fancied that you
yourself—'
He paused judiciously.
'Oh no!' returned the Democrat promptly, 'we wouldn't do it on any
account. I assure you that our motives are quite unimpeachable.'
'Oh!' said the Bishop. 'And about the House of Lords, for example?
Being a Spiritual Peer oneself, you see, one naturally takes an
interest—limited.'
'Well, as for that,' said the Democrat, 'it would really be such an
excellent thing for you in all respects to be abolished, that you would
never make any objection, would you now? We have your welfare so deeply
at heart, and long study of your characteristics has convinced us that
a course of judicious abolition would be your salvation, temporal,
spiritual—and eternal.'
'I say!' exclaimed the Bishop, 'isn't _that_ putting it rather strong?
To a Bishop, you know.'
'Ah,' said his companion encouragingly, 'all that feeling will pass
away. The full beauty of true Democracy is not, I admit, at first
wholly apparent to the Conservative mind; but once afford the requisite
culture, and it unfolds new attractions every day. Believe me, we are
acting in this matter solely, or almost solely, with a view to your
ultimate benefit. We are not acting for ourselves—ourselves is a
secondary consideration. But your true life, as Goethe so beautifully
says, probably with an intentional reference to bishops and noble
lords, must begin with renunciation of yourself. Till you have once
been abolished you can never know how nice it is.
"The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower,"'
he added, quoting the words of the hymn-book, with the firm impression
that they were from some Secularist publication.
'And is it necessary?' said the Bishop somewhat helplessly.
'Absolutely necessary,' replied the Democrat.
'I don't know about that,' said a voice behind them, and Queen Mab
started, seeing the Professor. 'But depend upon it, the fittest will
survive. I think, myself, that it is quite time you were gone; but some
types die out very slowly, especially the lower types; and you may be
said, as regards freedom of intellect and the march of Science, to be a
low type—in fact, a relic of barbarism. There can be no doubt that, in
the economy of Nature, bishops are an unnecessary organ, merely
transmitted by inheritance in the national organism, and that in the
course of time they will become atrophied and degenerate out of
existence. When that time comes you must be content to pass into
oblivion. Study Palæontology.' Now he pronounced it Paleyon-tology, not
having had a classical education. 'Think of the pterodactyles, who
passed away before the end of the Mesozoic ages, and never have
appeared again. What, in the eternal nature of things, are bishops more
than pterodactyles?'
'I wonder,' interrupted the Bishop severely, 'that you dare to speak of
your pernicious teachings under the name of Paleyontology, as if the
First Principles of that revered divine, whose loss we all deplore,
were ever anything like that!'
The Professor only glared, and was going on, but the Democrat stopped
him, by remarking, in a loud and exasperatingly complacent voice:
'You are quite correct. Only upon the wreck of the old order of
existence can arise the New Democracy.'
'Can you never stop talking about yourself?' snapped the Professor
testily. 'One would think, to hear you, that Democracy was the goal of
everything.'
'So it is,' said the Democrat.
'Not a bit of it. You and your democracies are only a fleeting phase,
an infinitesimal fraction of the aeons to be represented, perhaps, in
some geological record of the future, by a mere insignificant
conglomerate of dust and bones, and ballot-boxes, and letters in the
_Spectator_ and other articles characteristic of this especial period.
What a dream of Science that, interstellary communication established,
some being of knowledge and capacities as infinitely excelling our own
as our faculties excel those of the lowly monad, wandering on this
terrestrial globe, and culling from the imperfect archives of these
bygone years a corkscrew, an opera-glass, or, perchance, a pot of long
since petrified marmalade, preserved intact by some protecting
incrustation of stalagmite from the ravages of time, may dart a
penetrating gleam of intelligence through the dark abysses of
innumerable ages, and exclaim: "This clay, upon which I gaze, was of
the human period. This coin, this meerschaum, this china shepherdess,
this prayer-book with gilt edges, this _Sporting Times_, were the
inseparable companions of a fossil species of Englishmen who once
colonised this globe, and minute traces of whom have been found in its
most widely separated regions. Alas that the action of marine and
subaerial denuding agents has deprived us of an opportunity for closer
examination of the habits and idiosyncrasies of this interesting
fossil. Into such small compass are compressed the pride and wealth of
nations and of centuries. O genus humanum! O tempora! O mores!" Thus
will he muse. No democrat! no stump orator will be that Being of the
Future, nor anything of human mould. One's imagination may well revel
in the thought that Evolution, mighty to conceive and to perform, has
not yet completed her work. What are vertebrates? Even these are
transient. But four classes of vertebrates—only four!' shouted the
Professor in his enthusiasm, wholly forgetting the Democrat, and the
Bishop, who was gazing at him with a look of blank horror on his
venerable countenance. 'Why, it is preposterous, it is inconceivable
that we should stop at four!—fishes, reptiles, birds, and mammals!
Where is the fifth! Cannot Natural Selection, Struggle for Existence,
Variability and Survival of the Fittest, between them, furnish a fifth
class of vertebrates? I demand it in the name of Science and of
Evolution. We have been human long enough. There we are, ever since the
Age of Stone, pinned down to one particular tribe of mammals. Ah, when
shall we begin to move on again? Is not this a hope beyond the
niggardly aspirations of a purblind democrat?'
'What will the future reality be? I care not; but progress demands a
new and conquering organism. For my part, I see no reason why we should
not immediately leave the vertebrates. That would be something like a
New Departure.'
Here the professor stopped suddenly, becoming aware of the eyes of the
Democrat, which were fixed on him with a mixture of contempt and
curiosity.
'I don't understand all that,' he said in an exasperating tone. 'It is
very elevating, I daresay, but what I want is Universal Suffrage. There
is something tangible for you. When we get that, there will be time to
think about the future, and indeed, we shall have it in our own hands,
and can furnish any kind we like, by Ballot. Ballot is better than
Natural Selection. Natural Selection is all very well; but it does not
know what we want. We do.'
'Science may be allowed her dreams as well as Theology,' said the
Professor rather shamefacedly.
'But you can't bring about a new sub-kingdom, or the kingdom of heaven
either, by Act of Parliament.'
'Why not?' returned the Democrat confidently. 'It is only to get a
majority; and there you are, you know!'
'My brethren,' said the Bishop, inspired thereto, as the Owl observed,
by reflex action, 'Perfection is not of this world!'
'It will be though,' replied the Democrat cheerfully,' before we have
done with it. Bless you, Perfection will be upon you before you have
time to turn round! That is the beauty of the New Democracy. You have
merely to be abolished, and then we get a majority, and then, you know,
there we are!'
'What will you do with the minority?' said the Professor grumpily. 'How
about Proportional Representation?'
'Oh, the minority?' said the Democrat. 'Well, it will be all right—you
will see how right it will be if you give us a majority. We have
everybody's interests at heart—deeply at heart!' he added hopefully.
'We first pass a Bill for the manufacture (National Monopoly) of all
the cardinal virtues at reduced prices—may be ordered direct from the
Company, carriage paid; and then a Bill for the repression of all the
Cardinal Crimes, which the Company is also willing to buy up at market
value, for exportation—and then, you see, there we are!'
'Where are you?' said the Professor sharply.
'Where?' replied the Democrat, looking puzzled for a moment, but soon
recovering himself triumphantly. 'Where? oh, we are there, you know.
_There_ we are!'
'Humph!' ejaculated the Professor, turning on his heel. The Bishop
turned away also, saying that he had an engagement, and the Democrat
followed him, talking very fast and bringing forward arguments. When
they reached the gate there was a sad, perplexed look upon the Bishop's
face, and finally shaking off his companion by an effort of the will,
he entered the nearest churchyard and began to meditate upon mortality.
The Democrat, observing in an acrid voice that he had something better
to do with mortality than to meditate upon it, turned away reluctantly
from the gate, and began to compose a popular ode, which had tremendous
success, and of which the rhymes were dubious but the sentiments
unimpeachable. Meanwhile, Queen Mab and the Owl, who had followed
un-perceived, perched upon the tower of the church, and surveyed the
landscape and the Bishop, who, a venerable appropriate figure in his
vestments, had turned naturally to the east, and was standing by a
marble cross.
'What a pleasant place!' said Mab. 'The dead must rest quietly here.'
'I am not sure that they don't keep up class distinctions,' said the
Owl rather misanthropically. 'They would if they could. But, on the
whole, I prefer to think that this place is the goal of the Democrat,
where Equality reigns indeed. If so, it will be consoling to him, for I
am afraid he will never get equality in life. Death, at present, has
the monopoly. Mr. Mallock thinks that Social Equality, if it ever came
to pass, would be ruinous to the welfare of the nation; but happily we
are in no immediate danger of it. Inequality, he says, is the condition
of Progress, and if it is only Inequality that is wanted, Progress
ought to be making rapid strides. Oh yes, we have Social Inequality
enough to carry us on at the rate of a mile a minute. It would be
interesting, would it not, to know in what direction we are
progressing—though, of course, the Progress is the chief thing—from
good to better or from bad to worse?'
'Very interesting,' said Queen Mab. 'I mean to think that we are
progressing from good to better. But do you know that you are a very
dismal bird? Are things really as bad as you say they are?'
'Perhaps I _am_ cynical,' replied the Owl. 'The kingfisher says so. The
kingfisher is an optimist, and he told me I thought it was clever to be
cynical; but that was when we had a few words one day. It is from
living in a belfry, doubtless, that I have contracted a habit of
looking at things on the dark side; but when one has made allowance for
the belfry, the world is not so bad after all. Of course animals can't
be expected to know what it means; they are not social philosophers,
and men say so many different things. Some think the universe is under
a dual control, and some that it is altogether a blunder—a clock
running down and the key lost I don't know about that, I am only a
bird; but if it is a failure, it is a glorious failure. Sometimes,
indeed, the theologians call life a howling wilderness; but that is in
comparison with the next world. For they are immortal.'
'I am immortal too,' said Queen Mab proudly.
'So you are,' returned the Owl. 'I was forgetting. I'm not,' he added
rather doubtfully. 'But I hope you will enjoy it.'
'It is my intention,' said Queen Mab.
The Bishop, from whose face the look of perplexity had departed,
leaving only his old serene, benevolent expression, turned as the bell
chimed out the hour, and walked slowly towards the gate. The east was
growing grey towards sunset, the east that lent the light wherein he
lived, for he was a man of a gentle heart. Far off, in the town, a
million lamps were beginning to burn. Gas lamps, and electric, and
matches that struck only on the box, and not always on that. But the
face of the Bishop shone with another radiance, and a lustre not of
this world.