MORNING SERVICE IN THE MINSTER
The cathedral is the glory of Beorminster, of the county, and, indeed,
of all England, since no churches surpass it in size and splendour, save
the minsters of York and Canterbury. Founded and endowed by Henry II. in
1184 for the glory of God, it is dedicated to the blessed Saint Wulf of
Osserton, a holy hermit of Saxon times, who was killed by the heathen
Danes. Bishop Gandolf designed the building in the picturesque style of
Anglo-Norman architecture; and as the original plans have been closely
adhered to by successive prelates, the vast fabric is the finest example
extant of the Norman superiority in architectural science. It was begun
by Gandolf in 1185, and finished at the beginning of the present
century; therefore, as it took six hundred years in building, every
portion of it is executed in the most perfect manner. It is renowned
both for its beauty and sanctity, and forms one of the most splendid
memorials of architectural art and earnest faith to be found even in
England, that land of fine churches.
The great central tower rises to the height of two hundred feet in
square massiveness, and from this point springs a slender and graceful
spire to another hundred feet, so that next to Salisbury, the great
archetype of this special class of ecclesiastical architecture, it is
the tallest spire in England. Two square towers, richly ornamented,
embellish the western front, and beneath the great window over the
central entrance is a series of canopied arches. The church is cruciform
in shape, and is built of Portland stone, the whole being richly
ornamented with pinnacles, buttresses, crocketted spires and elaborate
tracery. Statues of saints, kings, queens and bishops are placed in
niches along the northern and southern fronts, and the western front
itself is sculptured with scenes from Holy Scripture in the quaint
grotesque style of mediaeval art. No ivy is permitted to conceal the
beauties of the building; and elevated in the clear air, far above the
smoke of the town, it looks as fresh and white and clean cut as though
it had been erected only within the last few years. Spared by Henry
VIII. and the iconoclastic rage of the Puritans, Time alone has dealt
with it; and Time has mellowed the whole to a pale amber hue which adds
greatly to the beauty of the mighty fane. Beorminster Cathedral is a
poem in stone.
Within, the nave and transepts are lofty and imposing, with innumerable
arches springing from massive marble pillars. The rood screen is ornate,
with figures of saints and patriarchs; the pavement is diversified with
brasses and carved marble slabs, and several Crusaders' tombs adorn the
side chapels. The many windows are mostly of stained glass, since these
were not destroyed by the Puritans; and when the sun shines on a
summer's day the twilight interior is dyed with rich hues and quaint
patterns. As the Bishop of Beorminster is a High Churchman the altar is
magnificently decorated, and during service, what with the light and
colour and brilliancy, the vast building seems--unlike the dead aspect
of many of its kind--to be filled with life and movement and living
faith. A Romanist might well imagine that he was attending one of the
magnificent and imposing services of his own faith, save that the
uttered words are spoken in the mother tongue.
As became a city whose whole existence depended upon the central shrine,
the services at the cathedral were invariably well attended. The
preaching attracted some, the fine music many, and the imposing ritual
introduced by Bishop Pendle went a great way towards bringing
worshippers to the altar. A cold, frigid, undecorated service, appealing
more to the intellect than the senses, would not have drawn together so
vast and attentive a congregation; but the warmth and colour and musical
fervour of the new ritual lured the most careless within the walls of
the sacred building. Bishop Pendle was right in his estimate of human
nature; for when the senses are enthralled by colour and sound, and vast
spaces, and symbolic decorations the reverential feeling thus
engendered prepares the mind for the reception of the sublime truths of
Christianity. A pure faith and a gorgeous ritual are not so incompatible
as many people think. God should be worshipped with pomp and splendour;
we should bring to His service all that we can invent in the way of art
and beauty. If God has prepared for those who believe the splendid
habitation of the New Jerusalem with its gates of pearl and its streets
of gold, why should we, His creatures, stint our gifts in His service,
and debar the beautiful things, which He inspires us to create with
brain and hand, from use in His holy temple? 'Out of the fulness of the
heart the mouth speaketh,' and out of the fulness of the hand the giver
should give. 'Date et dabitur!' The great Luther was right in applying
this saying to the church.
One of the congregation at St Wulf's on this particular morning was
Captain George Pendle, and he came less for the service than in the
hope--after the manner of those in love--of meeting with Mab Arden.
During the reading of the lessons his eyes were roving here and there in
search of that beloved face, but much to his dismay he could not see it.
Finally, on a chair near a pillar, he caught sight of Miss Whichello in
her poke bonnet and black silk cloak, but she was alone, and there were
no bright eyes beside her to send a glance in the direction of George.
Having ascertained beyond all doubt that Mab was not in the church, and
believing that she was unwell after the shock of Jentham's attack on the
previous night, George withdrew his attention from the congregation, and
settled himself to listen attentively to the anthem. It was worthy of
the cathedral, and higher praise cannot be given. 'I have blotted out as
a thick cloud,' sang the boy soloist in a clear sweet treble, 'I have
blotted out thy transgressions, and as a cloud thy sins.' Then came the
triumphant cry of the choir, borne on the rich waves of sound rolling
from the organ, 'Return unto me, for I have redeemed thee.' The lofty
roof reverberated with the melodious thunder, and the silvery altoes
pierced through the great volume of sound like arrows of song. 'Return!
Return! Return!' called the choristers louder and higher and clearer,
and ended, with a magnificent burst of harmony, with the sublime
proclamation, 'The Lord hath redeemed Jacob, and glorified himself in
Israel!' When the white-robed singers resumed their seats, the organ
still continued to peal forth triumphant notes, which died away in
gentle murmurs. It was like the passing by of a tempest; the stilling of
the ocean after a storm.
Mr Cargrim preached the sermon, and, with a vivid recollection of his
present enterprise, waxed eloquent on the ominous text, 'Be sure thy sin
will find thee out.' His belief that the bishop was guilty of some
crime, for the concealment of which he intended to bribe Jentham, had
been strengthened by an examination on that very morning of the
cheque-book. Dr Pendle had departed on horseback for Southberry after an
early breakfast, and after hurriedly despatching his own, Cargrim had
hastened to the library. Here, as he expected, he found the cheque-book
carelessly left in an unlocked drawer of the desk, and on looking over
it he found that one of the butts had been torn out. The previous butt
bore a date immediately preceding that of Dr Pendle's departure for
London, so Cargrim had little difficulty in concluding that the bishop
had drawn the next cheque in London, and had torn out the butt to which
it had been attached. This showed, as the chaplain very truly thought,
that Dr Pendle was desirous of concealing not only the amount of the
cheque--since he had kept no note of the sum on the butt--but of hiding
the fact that the cheque had been drawn at all. This conduct, coupled
with the fact of Jentham's allusion to Tom Tiddler's ground, and his
snatch of extempore song, confirmed Cargrim in his suspicions that
Pendle had visited London for the purpose of drawing out a large sum of
money, and intended to pay the same over to Jentham that very night on
Southberry Heath. With this in his mind it was no wonder that Cargrim
preached a stirring sermon. He repeated his warning text over and over
again; he illustrated it in the most brilliant fashion; and his appeals
to those who had secret sins, to confess them at once, were quite
heartrending in their pathos. As most of his congregation had their own
little peccadilloes to worry over, Mr Cargrim's sermon made them quite
uneasy, and created a decided sensation, much to his own gratification.
If Bishop Pendle had only been seated on his throne to hear that
sermon, Cargrim would have been thoroughly satisfied. But, alas! the
bishop--worthy man--was confirming innocent sinners at Southberry, and
thus lost any chance he might have had of profiting by his chaplain's
eloquence.
However, the congregation could not be supposed to know the secret
source of the chaplain's eloquence, and his withering denunciations were
supposed to arise from a consciousness of his own pure and open heart.
The female admirers of Cargrim particularly dwelt in after-church gossip
on this presumed cause of the excellent sermon they had heard, and when
the preacher appeared he was congratulated on all sides. Miss Tancred
for once forgot her purse story, and absolutely squeaked, in the highest
of keys, in her efforts to make the young man understand the amount of
pleasure he had given her. Even Mrs Pansey was pleased to express her
approval of so well chosen a text, and looked significantly at several
of her friends as she remarked that she hoped they would take its
warning to heart.
George came upon his father's chaplain, grinning like a heathen idol, in
the midst of a tempestuous ocean of petticoats, and the bland way in
which he sniffed up the incense of praise showed how grateful such
homage was to his vain nature. At that moment he saw himself a future
bishop, and that at no very great distance of time. Indeed, had the
election of such a prelate been in the hands of his admirers, he would
have been elevated that very moment to the nearest vacant episcopalian
throne. Captain Pendle looked on contemptuously at this priest-worship.
'The sneaking cad!' he thought, sneering at the excellent Cargrim. 'I
dare say he thinks he is the greatest man in Beorminster just now. He
looks as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.'
There was no love lost between the chaplain and the captain, for on
several occasions the latter had found Cargrim a slippery customer, and
lax in his notions of honour; while the curate, knowing that he had not
been clever enough to hoodwink George, hated him with all the fervour
and malice of his petty soul. However, he hoped soon to have the power
to wound Captain Pendle through his father, so he could afford to smile
blandly in response to the young soldier's contemptuous look. And he
smiled more than ever when brisk Miss Whichello, with her small face,
ruddy as a winter apple, marched up and joined in the congratulations.
'In future I shall call you Boanerges, Mr Cargrim,' she cried, her
bright little eyes dancing. 'You quite frightened me. I looked into my
mind to see what sins I had committed.'
'And found none, I'm sure,' said the courtly chaplain.
'You would have found one if you had looked long enough,' growled Mrs
Pansey, who hated the old maid as a rival practitioner amongst the poor,
'and that is, you did not bring your niece to hear the sermon. I don't
call such carelessness Christianity.'
'Don't look at my sins through a microscope, Mrs Pansey. I did not bring
Mab because she is not well.'
'Oh, really, dear Miss Winchello,' chimed in Daisy Norsham. 'Why, I
thought that your sweet niece looked the very picture of health. All
those strong, tall women do; not like poor little me.'
'You need dieting,' retorted Miss Whichello, with a disparaging glance.
'Your face is pale and pasty; if it isn't powder, it's bad digestion.'
'Miss Whichello!' cried the outraged spinster.
'I'm an old woman, my dear, and you must allow me to speak my mind. I'm
sure Mrs Pansey always does.'
'You need not be so very unpleasant! No, really!'
'The truth is always unpleasant,' said Mrs Pansey, who could not forbear
a thrust even at her own guest, 'but Miss Whichello doesn't often hear
it,' with a dig at her rival. 'Come away, Daisy. Mr Cargrim, next time
you preach take for your text, "The tongue is a two-edged sword."'
'Do, Mr Cargrim,' cried Miss Whichello, darting an angry glance at Mrs
Pansey, 'and illustrate it with the one to whom it particularly
applies.'
'Ladies! ladies!' remonstrated Cargrim, while both combatants ruffled
their plumes like two fighting cocks, and the more timid of the
spectators scuttled out of the way. How the situation would have ended
it is impossible to say, as the two ladies were equally matched, but
George saved it by advancing to greet Miss Whichello. When the little
woman saw him, she darted forward and shook his hand with unfeigned
warmth.
'My dear Captain Pendle,' she cried, 'I am so glad to see you; and thank
you for your noble conduct of last night.'
'Why, Miss Whichello, it was nothing,' murmured the modest hero.
'Indeed, I must say it was very valiant,' said Cargrim, graciously. 'Do
you know, ladies, that Miss Arden was attacked last night by a tramp and
Captain Pendle knocked him down?'
'Oh, really! how very sweet!' cried Daisy, casting an admiring look on
George's handsome face, which appealed to her appreciation of manly
beauty.
'What was Miss Arden doing to place herself in the position of being
attacked by a tramp?' asked Mrs Pansey, in a hard voice. 'This must be
looked into.'
'Thank you, Mrs Pansey, I have looked into it myself,' said Miss
Whichello. 'Captain Pendle, come home with me to luncheon and tell me
all about it; Mr Cargrim, you come also.'
Both gentlemen bowed and accepted, the former because he wished to see
Mab, the latter because he knew that Captain Pendle did not want him to
come. As Miss Whichello moved off with her two guests, Mrs Pansey
exclaimed in a loud voice,--
'Poor young men! Luncheon indeed! They will be starved. I know for a
fact that she weighs out the food in scales.' Then, having had the last
word, she went home in triumph.