SAINT CADMUS’S.--CHURCH MATTERS OF IMPORTANCE.--FATHER KRUM AND
FATHER TUNICLE.--A RIOTOUS SERVICE.
Mr. Cowdrick, although making no profession of a special fondness for a
religious life, was one of the pillars of St. Cadmus’s Church. He had
been elected to a place in the vestry; he held two pews; he contributed
upon occasion to the Church fund; and Rev. Mr. Tunicle, who was “an
advanced Ritualist,” found in Mr. Cowdrick an ardent supporter whenever
he undertook to introduce innovations in his method of conducting the
services.
It did not seem important to Mr. Cowdrick that Mr. Tunicle should
always try to produce from the records of the early Church his
authority for any new and surprising practice that he wished to adopt.
If the thing seemed to Mr. Cowdrick good in itself, if it pleased his
eye, and gratified what he chose to consider the æsthetic demands of
his nature, he deemed it unnecessary to ask any more questions. He
would as soon have thought of inquiring, before he bought a new chair
for his library, or a new set of plate for his table, whether his
grandfather had established any precedent in the matter of the purchase
of chairs and dishes, as to have sought in ecclesiological history
warrant for the embellishment of the services at St. Cadmus’s. It was
enough that the worshipers who had the most money, and who were able to
pay for novelties, wanted them.
Mr. Tunicle, or Father Tunicle, as his most enthusiastic admirers
called him, was a frequent visitor at the house of Mr. Cowdrick. Not
only did he find there a great deal of sympathy with his plans, but he
liked the society of Leonie, and he was exceedingly anxious to enlist
her among the active workers in the church.
He called upon Leonie one evening, shortly after her betrothal to Mr.
Weems; and as the artist happened to be out of town, Father Tunicle had
an opportunity to enjoy some uninterrupted conversation with the young
lady.
“I noticed last Sunday, Father Tunicle,” said Leonie, after some
preliminary conversation, “that you did not use the velvet sermon-cover
I worked for you. I hope you are pleased with it?”
“Oh yes, delighted with it. But then, you know, I couldn’t use it last
Sunday. The color for the Third Sunday after Epiphany is green, and
the sermon cover you know, is violet. I can use it on Septuagesima
Sunday, of course. We cannot be too particular about these things in a
world that is lying in wickedness.”
“Oh, excuse me,” said Leonie. “I had gotten the idea, somehow, that
violet was the morning color for last Sunday, and red the evening
color.”
“You are thinking of Quinquagesima Sunday, Miss Cowdrick,” said Father
Tunicle, smiling gravely. “The color changes upon that day. You must
study more carefully the little almanac I gave you. When the Church
provides us with good books which may guide us to lives of earnest
devotion, it is our duty to read them attentively.”
“I will promise to do better in the future,” said Leonie, meekly.
“I ought to tell you also,” continued Father Tunicle, “that I could not
use the Lavabo you worked for me, at all.”
“Indeed! Why?”
“Why, instead of making it of plain linen, you made it of damask, and
you embroidered it with silk; whereas everything but French red marking
cotton or white marking cotton is expressly prohibited by the rules.
Nothing in the almanac is stated in plainer terms than this. St. Paul,
you know, insisted that things should be done decently and in order,
and we are bound to heed his injunction.”
“Ah, Father Tunicle, I am afraid I neglect St. Paul as much as I do my
almanac. Will you believe I really didn’t know that he says anything
about plain linen and French red marking cotton? I plead guilty.”
“No, Miss Cowdrick, you misunderstand me. I did not mean to indicate
that the apostle is the authority for these things. Unhappily he does
not allude to them. Whether he ought to have done so, is another
question. Our authority for them is more recent, but it is not to be
despised upon that account.”
“Of course not.”
“I have great difficulty in impressing the importance of these things
upon the minds of some of our people. Despite my repeated injunctions,
Mrs. Battersby brought back from the laundry the altar-cloth filled
with starch, and in the midst of my distress over the discovery of this
sacrilege, I perceived that the sexton had omitted to pin the fringe
to the super-frontal. If we are to be made perfect through suffering,
I feel that I am not far from perfection, unless these distressing
occurrences shall cease.”
“It is terrible,” said Leonie, with tender sympathy in her voice.
“By the way, Miss Cowdrick,” said the pastor, “to turn to pleasanter
themes. Cannot I enlist your more active interest in our church work?
Will you not come into the Sunday-school as a teacher?”
“I am not competent to teach, I fear.”
“We can give you a class of girls or a class of boys, as you prefer.
The boys’ class, which is named, ‘Little Lambs of the Flock,’ is, I
fear, somewhat too unruly for you. Miss Bunner gave it up because the
scholars would persist in pinching each other and quarrelling during
the lesson. They are so rough and boisterous that I think it will be
better to get a male teacher to manage them. But you could take the
girls’ class, ‘The Zealous Workers,’ and perhaps persuade the pupils to
surrender their present indifference to everything that is being done
in either the Sunday-school or the church.”
“I will consider the matter, and let you have my answer as speedily as
possible,” replied Leonie.
“Do, please. And I must speak to your father again about my assistant,
Father Krum. He is not in sympathy with me, and it would be better for
both of us if he could be removed.”
“It is so unfortunate,” said Leonie.
“I have told him repeatedly that his stole must always match the color
of the frontal of the altar; but you perhaps noticed last Sunday that
he came in with a black stole, and, of course, with a green frontal,
all hope of a harmonious combination of colors was gone. It spoiled the
entire service for me.”
“For me too,” said Leonie.
“Sometimes I think Krum is wilfully perverse and obstinate. Upon
several recent occasions he has read the Epistle upon the Gospel side,
and the Gospel upon the Epistle side, and when I remonstrated with him,
after church, he was positively offensive. He said that if the people
only listened to the Scripture and heeded it, he couldn’t see why it
made any difference whether he stood upon one side or the other, or
balanced himself on top of the chancel rail. Scandalous, wasn’t it?”
“Perfectly scandalous.”
“He seems to take pleasure in destroying the effect of the finest
groupings that I arrange in the chancel with him and the acolytes; and
when I proposed to introduce an orchestra, led by Professor Batterini,
whom I should dress in a surplice, Krum had the insolence to say that
he did not believe that there was any use of trying to preach the
Gospel to the poor with a brass band. The man seems to be lost to all
sense of reverence.”
“Entirely lost,” said Leonie.
“And as for praying to the east, that he appears determined not to
do. Of course, with the incorrect orientation of the church, we have
only a ‘supposititious east,’ and Krum insists that if I have a right
to suppose the north-northwest, I think it is, to be the east, he is
equally entitled to suppose the southwest or due south to be east,
and so he does as he pleases. When he said, the other day, that in
his opinion more depended upon the frame of mind in which the prayers
were said, than upon the particular point of the compass towards which
the supplications were presented, I did not answer him. Such a man is
almost beyond the reach of argument.”
Mr. Cowdrick came in while Father Tunicle was speaking; and when the
good pastor had rehearsed his grievances to the banker, Mr. Cowdrick
said,--
“Father Krum’s conduct is subversive of good order and of authority;
and if he is allowed to continue he will demoralize the entire
congregation. He ought to remember what the Bible says about submitting
reverently to one’s pastors and spiritual masters. You are his pastor
and spiritual master. Isaiah, isn’t it, who says that?”
“The quotation, though somewhat inexact,” replied Father Tunicle, “is
from the Catechism.”
“Well, anyhow, he ought to do as you want him to do. That is what we
pay him for. And if he refuses to do it, he ought to be dismissed.”
“That,” said Father Tunicle, “will be difficult to do while he has
at least half of the vestrymen with him. I am sorry to say that his
obstinacy is countenanced and approved by a number of the lay officers
of the church.”
“Then we must use force!” exclaimed Mr. Cowdrick. “If we men who put
down our money to keep the church in operation cannot be allowed to do
as we please, we had better stop contributing. The people who pay for
spreading the glad tidings of the Gospel ought to be allowed to spread
them in their own way.”
“Matters,” said Father Tunicle, “are fast approaching a point where
something will have to be done. Three times I have instructed Krum to
extend only three of his fingers when he pronounces absolution, but he
continues to hold out his entire hand, with all his fingers wide open.
The last time he did it I noticed that Mrs. Lindsay, who is one of our
party, got up and left the church in a rage.”
“I saw her go out,” said Leonie. “That was the first Sunday upon which
she wore her purple velvet bonnet. Everybody was looking at her.”
“If he does it again,” said Mr. Cowdrick, “I am in favor of shutting
the church doors against him and his friends. Peremptory action of some
kind becomes a necessity in cases like this.”
After some further conversation relative to ecclesiastical and secular
matters, Father Tunicle took his leave, and went home, probing the deep
recesses of his mind, as he walked along, to find some plan by which
he might successfully overcome the resistance offered by the perverse
Father Krum to the evangelization of a fallen race.
The next Sunday morning was bright and beautiful. The air was cold,
but the sun shone from a clear sky to tempt from their homes the
worshipers who, however willing to brave, on week-days, terrific storms
sent to keep them from shopping excursions and parties, have not nerve
enough upon Sundays to face a cloud no larger than a man’s hand.
Those persons who, upon devotional errands intent, walked along the
footway near St. Cadmus’s church at the hour of morning prayer,
perceived that something of an unusual and exciting nature was in
progress in and about that purely Gothic edifice. The many whose
curiosity succeeded in overcoming their desire to be punctual in their
attendance at the sanctuary, paused to observe the proceedings.
A crisis had been reached in the quarrel between Father Tunicle and
Father Krum. As the latter, in response to still another request
that he would extend but three fingers in his pronunciation of the
absolution, had positively, and indeed with vehemence, refused to
extend less than four, and had gone so far as to indicate that, under
serious provocation, he might even thrust out eight fingers and two
thumbs, Father Tunicle’s party had resolved that the time had come for
them to act.
“It is a terrible thing to do,” said Father Tunicle; “but the blood of
the martyrs is the seed of the Church; and we must stand up boldly for
truth and right, though we die for it.”
And so, upon that lovely Sunday morning, when dumb Nature herself
seemed to be trying to express, with the glory of her sunshine, and
with the pure beauty of her azure sky, her sense of the goodness of her
Creator, Father Tunicle and six of his vestrymen, reinforced by a few
earnest sympathizers, who were subsequently admitted through a side
door by a faithful sexton, took possession of the church.
When Father Krum arrived, the faithful sexton, keeping watch and ward
at the aforesaid door, refused to let him in; and when the indignant
clergyman demanded a reason for his exclusion, the functionary informed
him that his reckless conduct in using four fingers and a thumb,
instead of the inferior number warranted by a strict regard for the
usages of the primitive Church, had persuaded Father Tunicle and his
partisans that, as a shepherd of the sheep, he was a lamentable and
dismal, not to say dangerous, failure.
Then Father Krum, in a frame of mind that contained no suggestion
of Christian resignation, walked rapidly around to the front of the
church, where he found a group of persons, members of the congregation,
who were standing before a close-barred door, behind which, in the
vestibule, stood Father Tunicle and his adherents. While Father Krum,
in the mildest tones that he could command, and with a proper desire
not to produce any excitement, explained the situation to the crowd,
the six vestrymen who inclined to favor his views, in opposition to
those of Father Tunicle, came up, one after the other.
They were taken completely by surprise, and felt they were at a
disadvantage. But after some preliminary discussion, they called Mr.
Krum aside, and began to consider with him what should be done. Mr.
Krum counselled a retreat. His voice was for peace. He urged that a
resort to violence at any time, but especially at such a time, would be
shocking. But the vestrymen did not agree with him. Mr. Yetts declared
that they had a right to enter the church, and that for officers of
the church with authority co-equal with theirs to deny that right,
was simply monstrous, and not to be endured. Mr. Palfrey, Mr. Green,
and the other vestrymen, expressed their full agreement with this
proposition.
“But let us try peaceful means, at any rate,” said Mr. Krum. “I will
knock at the door.”
He advanced and knocked. “Who is it?” said a voice from within.
“It is Mr. Krum, six of the vestrymen, and a large portion of the
congregation. We wish to enter.”
“Can’t do it,” replied the voice, which was that of the sexton, who had
advanced to the front, and had been thrown out upon the picket line in
the vestibule.
“Where is Father Tunicle?” asked Mr. Krum.
“He has just begun the service, and has gotten as far as ‘dearly
beloved brethren.’ My orders are that you can’t get in until he says
the apostolic benediction!”
“Ask one of the vestrymen to come to the window for a moment, please,”
said Mr. Krum.
Presently one of the front windows was raised to the height of two or
three inches, and Mr. Cowdrick peered through the wire netting that
protected it.
“What do you want?” asked Mr. Cowdrick.
“We wish to know,” said Mr. Yetts, “why we are excluded from this
church, and by whose authority?”
“You are excluded,” said Mr. Cowdrick, “because we who pay the expenses
are determined to run the church in our own way. The door is shut by
our authority; by mine!”
“Do you mean to say,” asked Mr. Krum, with much mildness, “that you
intend to try to make this exclusion permanent?”
“Of course. We have possession and we intend to keep it. Hurry up if
you have anything to say; I want to go in and help swell the responses.”
“See here, Cowdrick,” said Mr. Yetts, fiercely, “if you don’t open that
door, we will break it down. We’re not going to stand any more of this
nonsense.”
“You’d better not try it,” replied Mr. Cowdrick. “I shall summon the
police to protect us if you do.”
In response to this, Mr. Yetts advanced to the door and kicked it three
or four times, viciously. The crowd, which had swollen until it covered
the pavement and filled the street, laughed at this demonstration. Mr.
Cowdrick, behind the window netting, laughed also. Mr. Yetts, with
crimson face, retired in tolerably good order to consult with his
friends. Father Krum advised him to give it up.
“Give it up!” exclaimed Mr. Yetts. “I’ll show you how I’ll give it up!”
Then he and Mr. Green went around the corner for a little space, and
returned presently with a somewhat ponderous wooden beam. The four
other vestrymen manned it, and aimed it at the door. Bang! went the
end against the portal, which bravely withstood the shock. The crowd
cheered, and a dozen boys, who regarded the performance with delighted
interest, crowded up behind the assaulting column, and betrayed a
desire to give additional impetus to Mr. Yetts’ battering ram.
The Krum section of the vestry made another charge, striking the door
with terrible force, but still failing to effect a breach. At this
moment one of Father Tunicle’s acolytes emerged from the side-door and
attempted to glide down the street in search of a policeman. He was
captured by one of the besieging force, and held as a prisoner. He
brought the news that Father Tunicle had stopped short in the service
when the first blow was struck against the door, and that the entire
garrison was now rallied in the vestibule, where they were fortifying
the portal with the baptismal font, the episcopal chair, some
Sunday-school benches, and a lectern.
Mr. Krum remonstrated with Mr. Yetts, and entreated him not to proceed
any further. He urged that it was a dreadful thing for Christian men to
create such a disturbance upon the Sabbath-day.
“I don’t know about that!” replied Mr. Yetts, who was now warm with
wrath and with excitement. “When Peter did wrong didn’t Paul ‘withstand
him to the face’?”
“Yes; but, my dear Mr. Yetts, think of it! St. Paul did not try to
batter down the church door on a Sunday morning with a log of wood! You
are going too far!”
“Times have changed since then,” said Mr. Yetts. “Paul probably never
encountered precisely such an emergency. Once more!” exclaimed Mr.
Yetts to the assailants. “Give it to ’em hard this time!”
Seizing the beam, the vestrymen and their friends advanced once more
to the attack. Three times was the door smitten without effect, but
when the fourth blow was struck it gave way, and was flung wide open,
revealing Father Tunicle and his friends, standing amid a mass of
overturned and wrecked furniture, pale with rage and dismay, and ready
to defend with force the citadel which thus was exposed to the enemy.
[Illustration: A RIOTOUS SERVICE.]
The crowd sent up a shout of satisfaction, and the intrepid Yetts, with
his five vestrymen, regarded their triumph with exultation.
What they would have done next, if they had been permitted to press
forward through the breach, can only be imagined. For a moment it
looked as if beneath that spire which idly pointed these men toward a
better country, whence rage and hatred and all evil passions are shut
out, and beneath the bell, whose function was to send vibrating through
the tremulous air its summons to the temple of the Prince of Peace,
there might be a hand-to-hand encounter, in which priest and people
should assail each other with furious violence.
But, most happily, at this critical moment, a squad of policemen came
upon the scene, and entering the doorway, separated the combatants and
prevented any further demonstration.
“Never mind!” exclaimed Mr. Yetts, shaking his fist at the Father
Tunicle faction. “We will go to law about it. We shall see who has a
right to use this church!”
“As you please!” replied Mr. Sloper, one of the vestrymen who adhered
to Father Tunicle. “We will fight you to the last gasp!”
And then both parties dispersed, leaving the church in charge of
the policemen, who closed the door, and took the key to the nearest
magistrate.
Taken altogether, the day’s proceedings, regarded as the performance
of Christian gentlemen, citizens of a Christian country, upon the day
designated by Christianity as a day of peace and rest--as a day of
devotion to celestial and holy things, could hardly be regarded as
encouraging to those hopeful persons who cherish the theory that the
world is to be made better by illustrations of the excellence of the
advantages of pure religion.