CHAPTER XXII
Of all the vagaries and humours of humanity when considered in crowds,there is nothing which appears more senseless and objectless than theway in which it congregates outside the door of a church at afashionable or "society" wedding. The massed people pushing and shovingeach other about have nothing whatever to do with either bride orbridegroom, the ceremony inside the sacred edifice has in most casesceased to be a "sacrament"--and has become a mere show of dressed-upmanikins and womenkins, many of the latter being mere OBJECTD'ART,--stands for the display of millinery. And yet--the crowds fightand jostle,--women scramble and scream,--all to catch a glimpse of thewoman who is to be given to the man, and the man who has agreed toaccept the woman. The wealthier the pair the wilder the frenzy to gazeupon them. Savages performing a crazy war-dance are decorous ofbehaviour in contrast with these "civilised" folk who tramp on eachother's feet and are ready to squeeze each other into pulp for thechance of staring at two persons whom the majority of them have neverseen before and are not likely to see again. The wedding of Miss LydiaHerbert with her "ancient mariner," a seventy-year-old millionairereputed to be as wealthy as Rockefeller,--was one of these"sensations"--chiefly on account of the fact that every unmarried womanyoung and old, and every widow, had been hunting him in vain for fullyfive years. Miss Herbert had been voted "no chance," because she madeno secret of her extravagant tastes in dress and jewels,--yet despitesociety croakers she had won the game. This in itself wasinteresting,--as the millionaire she had secured was known to beparticularly close-fisted and parsimonious. Nevertheless he had shownremarkable signs of relaxing these tendencies; for he had literallyshowered jewels on his chosen bride, leaving no door open for anycomplaint in that quarter. Her diamonds were the talk of New York, andon the day of her wedding her gowns literally flashed like a fireworkwith numerous dazzling points of light. "The Voice that breathed o'erEden" had little to do with the magnificence of her attire, or with thebrilliancy of the rose-wreathed bridesmaids, young girls of speciallyselected beauty and elegance who were all more or less disappointed infailing to win the millionaire themselves. For these youthful personsin their 'teens had social ambitions hidden in hearts harder thansteel--"a good time" of self-indulgence and luxury was all they soughtfor in life--in fact, they had no conception of any higher ideal. Themillionaire himself, though old, maintained a fairly middle-agedappearance--he was a thin, wiry, well-preserved man, his wizened andfurrowed countenance chiefly showing the marks of Time's ploughshare.It would have been difficult to say why, out of all the femininebutterflies hovering around him, he had chosen Lydia Herbert,--but hewas a shrewd judge of character in his way, and he had decided that asshe was not in her first youth it would be more worth her while toconduct herself decorously as wife and housekeeper, and generally lookafter his health and comfort, than it would be for a less responsiblewoman. Then, she had "manner,"--her appearance was attractive and shewore her clothes well and stylishly. All this was enough for a man whowanted some one to attend to his house and entertain his friends, andhe was perfectly satisfied with himself as he repeated after theclergyman the words, "With my body I thee worship, and with all myworldly goods I thee endow," knowing that "with his body" he had neverworshipped anything, and that the "endowment" of his worldly goods wasstrictly limited to certain settlements. He felt himself to be superiorto his old bachelor friend Sam Gwent, who supported him as "best man"at the ceremony, and who, as he stood, stiffly upright in immaculate"afternoon visiting attire" among the restlessly swaying,semi-whispering throng, was all the time thinking of the duskynight-gloom in the garden of the "Plaza" far away in California and abeautiful face set against the dark background of myrtle bushesexhaling rich perfume.
"What a startling contrast she would be to these dolls of fashion!" hethought--"What a sensation she would make! There's not a woman here whocan compare with her! If I were only a bit younger I'd try myluck!--anyway I'm younger than to-day's bridegroom!--butshe--Manella--would never look at any other man than Seaton, whodoesn't care a rap for her or any other woman!" Here his thoughts tookanother turn.
"No," he repeated inwardly--"He doesn't care a rap for her or any otherwoman--except--perhaps--Morgana! And even if it were Morgana, it wouldbe for himself and himself alone! While she--ah!--it would be a cleverbrain indeed that could worry out what SHE cares for! Nothing in thisworld, so far as I can see!"
Here the organ poured the rich strains of a soft and solemn preludethrough the crowded church--the "sacred" part of the ceremony was over,and bride and bridegroom made their way to the vestry, there to signthe register in the presence of a selected group of friends. Sam Gwentwas one of these,--and though he had attended many such functionsbefore, he was more curiously impressed than usual by the unctuous andbarefaced hypocrisy of the whole thing--the smiling humbug of theofficiating clergy,--the affected delight of the "society" toadiesfluttering like wasps round bride and bride-groom as though they weresweet dishes specially for stinging insects to feed upon, and in hismind he seemed to hear the warm, passionate voice of Manella in frankadmission of her love for Seaton.
"It is good to love him!" she had said--"I am happy to love him. I wishonly to serve him!"
This was primitive passion,--the passion of primitive woman for hermate whom she admitted to be stronger than herself, to whom sheinstinctively looked for shelter and protection, and round whosecommanding force she sought to rear the lovely fabric of "Home,"--astate of feeling as far removed from the sentiments of modern women asthe constellation of Orion is removed from earth. And Sam Gwent'sfragmentary reflections flitting through his brain were moreserious--one might say more romantic, than the consideration ofdollars, which usually occupied all his faculties. He had alwaysthought that there was a good deal in life which he had missed somehow,and which dollars could not purchase; and a certain irate contemptfilled him for the man who, unlike himself, was in the prime ofstrength, and who, with all the glories of Nature about him and thelove and beauty of an exquisite womanhood at his hand for possession,could nevertheless devote his energies to the science of destructionand the compassing of death without compunction, on the lines RogerSeaton had laid down as the remedy against all war.
"The kindest thing to think of him is that he's not quite sane,"--Gwentmused--"He has been obsessed by the horrible carnage of the Great War,and disgusted by the utter inefficiency of Governments since thearmistice, and this appalling invention of his is the result."
The crashing chords of the Bridal March from "Lohengrin" put an end tohis thoughts for the moment,--people began to crush and push out ofchurch, or stand back on each other's toes to stare at the bride'sdiamonds as she moved very slowly and gracefully down the aisle on thearm of her elderly husband. She certainly looked very well,--and hersmile suggested entire satisfaction with herself and the world.Press-camera men clambered about wherever they could find a footing, tocatch and perpetuate that smile, which when enlarged and reproduced innewspapers would depict the grinning dental display so much associatedwith Woodrow Wilson and the Prince of Wales,--though more suggestive ofa skull than anything else. Skulls invariably show their teeth, weknow--but it has been left to the modern press-camera man to insist onthe death-grin in faces that yet live. The crowd outside the church wasfar denser than the crowd within, and the fighting and scrambling forpoints of view became terrific, especially when the wedding guests'motor-cars began to make their way, with sundry hoots and snorts,through the densely packed mob. Women screamed,--some fainted--but nonethought of giving way to others, or retiring from the wild scene ofcontest. Gwent judged it wisest to remain within the church portal tillthe crowd should clear, and there, safely ensconced, he watched themaddened mass of foolish sight-seers, all of whom had plainly lefttheir daily avocations merely to stare at a man and woman wedded, withwhom, personally, they had nothing whatever to do.
"People talk about unemployment!" he mused--"There's enough humanmaterial in this one street to make wealth for themselves and the wholecommunity, ye
t they are idle by their own choice. If they had anythingto do they wouldn't be here!"
He laughed grimly,--the utter stodginess and stupidity of humanity ENMASSE had of late struck him very forcibly, and he found every excusefor the so-called incapacity of Governments, seeing the kind of folkthey are called upon to govern. He realised, as we all who readhistory, must do, that we are no worse and no better than the peoplesof the past,--we are just as hypocritical, fraudulent, deceptive andcruel as ever they were in legalised torture-times, and just asineradicably selfish. The pagans practised a religion which they didnot truly believe in, and so do we. All through the ages God has beenmocked;--all through the ages Divine vengeance has fallen on themockers and the mockery.
"And after all," thought Gwent--"wars are as necessary as plagues toclear out a superabundant population, only most unfortunately Natureadopts such recklessness in her methods that it most often happens thebest among us are taken, and the worst left. I tried to impress this onSeaton, whose system of destruction would involve the good as well asthe bad--but these intellectual monsters of scientific appetite have noconscience and no sentiment. To prove their theories they wouldannihilate a continent."
Here a sudden ugly rush of the crowd, dangerous to both life and limb,pushed him back against the church portal with the force of a tidalwave,--it was not concerned with the bridal pair who had already drivenaway in their automobile, nor with the wedding guests who werefollowing them to the great hotel where the bride's reception washeld--it was caused by the wild dash of half a dozen or so of unkemptmen and boys who tore a passage for themselves through the swaying mobof sightseers, waving newspapers aloft and shouting loudly with voicesdeep and shrill, clear and hoarse--
"Earthquake in California! Terrible loss of life! Thousands dead! Awfulscenes! Earthquake in California!"
The people swayed again--then stopped in massed groups,--some clutchingat the newsboys as they ran and buying the papers as fast as they couldbe sold, while all the time above the muffled roar of the city theysent their cries aloft, echoing near and far--
"Thousands dead! Awful scenes! Towns destroyed! Terrible Earthquake inCalifornia!"
Sam Gwent stepped out from the church portal, elbowing his way throughthe confusion,--the yells of the news vendors rang sharply in his earsand yet for the moment he scarcely grasped their meaning; "California"was the one word that caught him, as it were, with a hammerstroke,--then "Thousands dead!" Finding at last an open passage throughthe dispersing crowd, he went at something of a run after one of thenewsboys, and snatched the last paper he had to sell out of his hand.
"What is it?" he demanded as he paid his money.
"Dunno!" the boy replied, breathlessly--"'Xpect everybody's dead downCalifornia way!"
Gwent unfolded the journal and stared at the great headlines, printedin fat black letters, still smelling strongly of printer's ink.
Appalling Earthquake In California!--Mountain Upheaval!--Towns WipedOut!--Plaza Hotel Engulfed!--Frightful Loss of Life!
His eyes grew dim and dazzled--his brain swam,--he gazed up unseeinglyat the blue sky, the tall "sky-scraper" houses, the sweep of human andvehicular traffic around him; and to his excited fancy the beautifulface of Manella came, like a phantom, between him and all else that waspresented to his vision--that face warm and glowing with woman'stenderness--the splendid dark eyes aflame with love for a man whoseindifference to her only strengthened her adoration and he seemed tohear the deep defiant voice of Roger Seaton ringing in his ears--
"Annihilation! A holocaust of microbes! I would--and could--wipe themoff the face of the earth in twenty-four hours!" He could--and would!
"And by Heaven," said Gwent, within himself--"He's done it!"