THE BEGINNING
THE brisk, businesslike little clergyman was sorely disappointed. He had
looked forward to a rather smart affair, so to speak, on the afternoon
of the fifteenth. Indeed, he had gone to some pains to prepare himself
for an event far out of the ordinary. It isn't every day that one has
the opportunity to perform a ceremony wherein a real Lord and Lady
plight the troth; it isn't every parson who can say he has officiated
for nobility. Such an event certainly calls for a little more than the
customary preparations. He got out his newest vestments and did not
neglect to brush his hair. His shoes were highly polished for the
occasion and his nails shone with a brightness that fascinated him.
Moreover, he had tuned up his voice; it had gone stale with the monotony
of countless marriages in which he rarely took the trouble to notice
whether the responses were properly made. By dint of a little extra
exertion in the rectory he had brought it to a fine state of unctuous
mellowness.
Moreover, he had given some thought to the prayer. It wasn't going to be
a perfunctory, listless thing, this prayer for Lord and Lady Temple. It
was to be a profound utterance. The glib, everyday prayer wouldn't do at
all on an occasion like this. The church would be filled with the best
people in New York. Something fine and resonant and perhaps a little
personal,--something to do with God, of course, but, in the main, worth
listening to. In fact, something from the diaphragm, sonorous.
For a little while he would take off the well-worn mask of humility and
bask in the fulgent rays of his own light.
But, to repeat, he was sorely disappointed. Instead of beaming upon an
assemblage of the elect, he found himself confronted by a company that
caused him to question his own good taste in shaving especially for the
occasion and in wearing gold-rimmed nose-glasses instead of the "over
the ears" he usually wore when in haste.
He saw, with shocked and incredulous eyes, sparsely planted about the
dim church as if separated by the order of one who realized that closer
contact would result in something worse than passive antagonism, a
strange and motley company.
For a moment he trembled. Had he, by some horrible mischance, set two
weddings for the same hour? He cudgelled his brain as he peeped through
the vestry door. A sickening blank! He could recall no other ceremony
for that particular hour,--and yet as he struggled for a solution the
conviction became stronger that he had committed a most egregious error.
Then and there, in a perspiring panic, he solemnly resolved to give
these weddings a little more thought. He had been getting a bit
slack,--really quite haphazard in checking off the daily grist.
What was he to do when the noble English pair and their friends put in
an appearance? Despite the fact that the young American sailor-chap who
came to see him about the service had casually remarked that it was to
be a most informal affair,--with "no trimmings" or something like
that,--he knew that so far as these people were concerned, simplicity
was merely comparative. Doubtless, the young couple, affecting
simplicity, would appear without coronets; the guests probably would
saunter in and, in a rather dégagé fashion, find seats for themselves
without deigning to notice the obsequious verger in attendance. And here
was the church partially filled,--certainly the best seats were
taken,--by a most unseemly lot of people! What was to be done about it?
He looked anxiously about for the sexton. Then he glanced at his watch.
Ten minutes to spare.
Some one tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to face the stalwart
young naval officer. A tall young man was standing at some distance
behind the officer, clumsily drawing on a pair of pearl grey gloves. He
wore a monocle. The good pastor's look of distress deepened.
"Good afternoon," said the smiling lieutenant. "You see I got him here
on time, sir."
"Yes, yes," murmured the pastor. "Ha-ha! Ha-ha!" He laughed in his
customary way. Not one but a thousand "best men" had spoken those very
words to him before. The remark called for a laugh. It had become a
habit.
"Is everybody here?" inquired Aylesworth, peeping over his shoulder
through the crack in the door. The pastor bethought himself and gently
closed the door, whereupon the best man promptly opened it again and
resumed his stealthy scrutiny of the dim edifice.
"I can't fasten this beastly thing, Aylesworth," said the tall young man
in the background. "Would you mind seeing what you can do with the bally
thing?"
"I see the Countess there," said Aylesworth, still gazing. "And the
Marchioness, and--"
"The Marchioness?" murmured the pastor, in fresh dismay.
"I guess they're all here," went on the best man, turning away from the
door and joining his nervous companion.
"I'd sooner face a regiment of cavalry than--" began Eric Temple.
"May I have the pleasure and the honour of greeting Lord Temple?" said
the little minister, approaching with outstretched hand. "A--er--a very
happy occasion, your lordship. Perhaps I would better explain the
presence in the church of a--er--rather unusual crowd of--er--shall we
say curiosity-seekers? You see, this is an open church. The doors are
always open to the public. Very queer people sometimes get in, despite
the watchfulness of the attendant, usually, I may say, when a wedding of
such prominence--ahem!--er--"
"I don't in the least mind," said Lord Temple good-humouredly. "If it's
any treat to them, let them stay. Sure you've got the ring, Aylesworth?
I say, I'm sorry now we didn't have a rehearsal. It isn't at all simple.
You said it would be, confound you. You--"
"All you have to do, old chap, is to give your arm to Lady Jane and
follow the Baroness and me to the chancel. Say 'I do' and 'I will' to
everything, and before you know it you'll come to and find yourself
still breathing and walking on air. Isn't that so, Doctor?"
"Quite,--quite so, I am sure."
"Let me take a peep out there, Aylesworth. I'd like to get my bearings."
"Pray do not be dismayed by the--" began the minister.
"Hullo! There's Bramby sitting in the front seat,--my word, I've never
known him to look so seraphic. Old Fogazario, and de Bosky, and--yes,
there's Mirabeau, and the amiable Mrs. Moses Jacobs. 'Gad, she's
resplendent! Du Bara and Herman and--By Jove, they're all here, every
one of them. I say, Aylesworth, what time is it? I wonder if anything
can have happened to Jane? Run out to the sidewalk, old chap, and have a
look, will you? I--"
"Are all bridegrooms like this?" inquired Aylesworth drily, addressing
the bewildered minister.
"Here she is!" sang out the bridegroom, leaping toward the little
vestibule. "Thank heaven, Jane! I thought you'd met with an accident
or--My God! How lovely you are, darling! Isn't she, Aylesworth?"
"Permit me to present you, Doctor, to Lady Jane Thorne," interposed
Aylesworth. "And to the Baroness Brangwyng."
* * * * *
From that moment on, the little divine was in a daze. He didn't know
what to make of anything. Everything was wrong and yet everything was
right! How could it be?
How was he to know that his quaint, unpretentious little church was
half-full of masked men and women? How was he to know that these
queer-looking people out there were counts and countesses, barons and
baronesses, princes and princesses? Swarthy Italians, sallow-faced
Frenchmen, dark Hungarians, bearded Russians and pompous Teutons! How
was he to know that once upon a time all of these had gone without masks
in the streets and courts of far-off lands and had worn "purple and fine
linen"? And those plainly, poorly dressed women? Where,--oh where, were
the smart New Yorkers for whom he had furbished himself up so neatly?
What manner of companions had this lovely bride,--ah, but _she_ had the
real atmosphere!--What sort of people had she been thrown with during
her stay in the City of New York? She who might have known the best, the
most exclusive,--"bless me, what a pity!"
Here and there in the motley throng, he espied a figure that suggested
upper Fifth Avenue. The little lady with the snow-white hair; the tall
brunette with the rather stunning hat; the austere gentleman far in the
rear, the ruddy faced old man behind him, and the aggressive-looking
individual with the green necktie,--Yes, any one of them might have come
from uptown and ought to feel somewhat out of place in this singular
gathering. The three gentlemen especially. He sized them up as
financiers, as plutocrats. And yet they were back where the family
servants usually sat.
He got through with the service,--indulgently, it is to be feared, after
all.
He would say, on the whole, that he had never seen a handsomer couple
than Lord and Lady Temple. There was compensation in that. Any one with
half an eye could see that they came of the very best stock. And the
little Baroness,--he had never seen a baroness before,--was somebody,
too. She possessed manner,--that indefinable thing they called
manner,--there was no mistake about it. He had no means of knowing, of
course, that she was struggling hard to make a living in the "artist
colony" down town.
Well, well, it is a strange world, after all. You never can tell, mused
the little pastor as he stood in the entrance of his church with
half-a-dozen reporters and watched the strange company disperse,--some
in motors, some in hansoms, and others on the soles of their feet. A
large lady in many colours ran for a south-bound street car. He wondered
who she could be. The cook, perhaps.
* * * * *
Lieutenant Aylesworth was saying good-bye to the bride and groom at the
Grand Central Station. The train for Montreal was leaving shortly before
ten o'clock.
The wedding journey was to carry them through Canada to the Pacific and
back to New York, leisurely, by way of the Panama Canal. Lord Fenlew had
not been niggardly. All he demanded of his grandson in return was that
they should come to Fenlew Hall before the first of August.
"Look us up the instant you set foot in England, Sammy," said Eric,
gripping his friend's hand. "Watch the newspapers. You'll see when our
ship comes home, and after that you'll find us holding out our arms to
you."
"When my ship _leaves_ home," said the American, "I hope she'll steer
for an English port. Good-bye, Lady Temple. Please live to be a hundred,
that's all I ask of you."
"Good-bye, Sam," she said, blushing as she uttered the name he had urged
her to use.
"You won't mind letting the children call me Uncle Sam, will you?" he
said, a droll twist to his lips.
"How quaint!" she murmured.
"By Jove, Sammy," cried Eric warmly, "you've no idea how much better you
look in Uncle Sam's uniform than you did in that stuffy frock coat this
afternoon. Thank God, I can get into a uniform myself before long. You
wouldn't understand, old chap, how good it feels to be in a British
uniform."
"I'm afraid we've outgrown the British uniform," said the other drily.
"It used to be rather common over here, you know."
"You don't know what all this means to me," said Temple seriously, his
hand still clasping the American's. "I can hold up my head once more. I
can fight for England. If she needs me, I can fight and die for her."
"You're a queer lot, you Britishers," drawled the American. "You want to
fight and die for Old England. I have a singularly contrary ambition. I
want to _live_ and _fight_ for America."
* * * * *
On the twenty-fourth of July, 1914, Lord Eric Temple and his bride came
home to England.
THE END
Transcriber Notes:
Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_.
Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS.
Throughout the document, the oe ligature was replaced with "oe".
Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of
the speakers. Those words were retained as-is.
Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected
unless otherwise noted.
On page 9, "Marchiness" was replaced with "Marchioness".
On page 18, "unforgetable" was replaced with "unforgettable".
On page 22, "respendent" was replaced with "resplendent".
On page 26, "idlness" was replaced with "idleness".
On page 47, "sacrified" was replaced with "sacrificed".
On page 53, "spooffing" was replaced with "spoofing".
On page 67, "shan't" was replaced with "sha'n't".
On page 69, "constitutency" was replaced with "constituency".
On page 78, "assed" was replaced with "passed".
On page 80, "acccepting" was replaced with "accepting".
On page 81, "lookingly" was replaced with "looking".
On page 103, "acccused" was replaced with "accused".
On page 107, "afternooon" was replaced with "afternoon".
On page 224, "limmo" was replaced with "limo".
On page 230, "pressent" was replaced with "present".
On page 233, "EOR" was replaced with "FOR".
On page 235, a period was placed after "in the depths".
On page 240, "tobaccco" was replaced with "tobacco".
On page 244, "crochetty" was replaced with "crotchety".
On page 247, "properely" was replaced with "properly".
On page 259, "expained" was replaced with "explained".
End of Project Gutenberg's The City of Masks, by George Barr McCutcheon