Part 20 (1/2)
But they only see a very plain meeting-room, filled with the average hard-featured men and women of this Mormon city, dressed in their best, which means for the women gowns that would be a horror to a French dressmaker, and for the men, clothes that would be a nightmare to a Broadway tailor--and children--lots of them--most of them white-headed, but happy. The stage, moreover, is filled with them, dressed in the best their mothers can put upon them, chiefly bright calicoes and ginghams; some of them looking quite pretty in these, for youth is nearly always beautiful, and Mormon tots are generally as happy as other children.
Over their heads hangs a piece of white calico in festoons, bearing this peculiar motto: ”UTAH'S BEST CROP IS CHILDREN.”
Miss Travenion has just completed her survey, when the man she is looking for comes from a side door on to the platform, and makes the stereotyped Mormon address for such occasions, but says: ”There is a better talker coming after me. I refer to the bishop of this ward, the Counsellor of our President, Bishop R. H. Tranyon, who, after the children have sung a hymn, will hold forth on what is the duty of the up-growing generation of this Sect and people, in order to become true Mormons, in the faith of Joseph Smith and Hyrum, his brother.”
But all the time Kruger is speaking his eyes rove around the a.s.sembly, as if seeking some one, and finally, lighting upon the graceful form of Erma, he appears satisfied, and triumph and joy coming into his voice, his audience think it is the glory of Zion inspiring him, and applaud him as he sits down; a Mormon girl, just in front of Miss Travenion, remarking, ”Bishop Kruger seems to have his talking-coat on this evening!”
After that there is music from a melodeon, and the children sing the Mormon song,
”I want to be a Mormon, And with the Mormons stand,”
and give it with as much fervor, Erma cannot help noticing, as the Sunday-schools in the East sing the beautiful hymn, ”I want to be an angel,” on which this is an awful parody.
Then stillness falls upon the audience, for the big gun of the evening is coming--the man who stands upon the right hand of the prophet and obtains his inspiration from him; the man who has expounded to them during a number of years the doctrines of their creed, revealed by the Almighty to Joseph Smith, their founder.
A moment after Kruger announces, a peculiar thrill in his voice, ”BISHOP TRANYON!”
As he says this, Erma, bending forward to get a better view, clenches her little hands together and thinks to herself, ”This is the wretch who is Lawrence's enemy, and would destroy his happiness and mine!”
Then onto the platform comes a figure, wearing his clothes with a grace strange in a Mormon community, and whose broadcloth is finer than the sect is wont to wear, and whose gray eyes are familiar, and whose soft gestures are those she has been longing for--and whose grizzled moustache, now joined to a mighty beard, has caressed her lips. Gazing at him with all her might, something suddenly snaps in the girl's head, for he is speaking, and the incisive, smooth, cynical voice now crying the glory of the Mormon Church, the sanct.i.ty of plural, polygamous marriage--the voice now crying out the glory of what she thinks unutterable indignity and degradation to her s.e.x, is that of--G.o.d help her!--no, she will not believe it, but still does--HER FATHER!
In one awful flash comes to her the thought, ”If he is what he is, then what am I?” and merciful insensibility comes with it.
As for Mr. Livingston, he has listened to the preliminary proceedings in a perfunctory, philosophical kind of way, sometimes scoffing inwardly.
Then his mind, as the children sing their hymn, running upon other churches, finally comes to his own; he has got to carelessly looking over the choristers, and trying to select from them youths who he thinks would make good altar-boys in his Episcopal Church.
He is hardly awakened from this when Bishop Tranyon is announced, and looking carelessly at him, thinks, ”There's something curiously familiar in the old Mormon--he has a little of the New York club style about him.
Good gracious! that gesture--where have I seen it?” and rubs his gla.s.ses and inspects him more closely. And then, remembering Travenion, the old New York swell, having known him as a boy, and seen him on his visits to New York, Ollie gets excited, for the eyes seem familiar to him, and the voice is the same that he has heard several times in the smoking-rooms of the Unity and Stuyvesant Clubs, though for a moment he cannot reconcile himself to believe what his memory tells him.
But just here, Erma's body falls a dead weight upon him and her head droops on his shoulder.
Looking at her, he sees that she has fainted so quietly that he has not noticed it, and an awful shock coming upon this conventional and orthodox young man, he gasps to himself, ”Good Gad, Erma's father!” and is so paralyzed and petrified that he makes no effort to revive the girl, but simply looks on in a horrified kind of wonder as the festival proceeds.
In a daze, he hears the old New York club man play his _role_ of Mormon exhorter and apostle, and do it very well, for he has just brought forward five children of a.s.sorted sizes and s.e.xes, and has proclaimed with sanctimonious voice to the uncouth Saints a.s.sembled about him: ”These are my hostages to the State of Deseret; these are my pledges to the Zion of our Lord!” And taking up the smallest of his family--a babe with Erma's eyes--this evangelist continues: ”This tot I have named Brigham after our well-loved President, and Joseph for our first Prophet, and Hyrum after his sainted brother, who was murdered with him--unto the glory of our true religion and the d.a.m.nation of our unbelieving enemies.” So, holding the little one on his arm he cries, ”LET US PRAY!”
And he does pray--so earnestly, so impressively, so tremendously that Oliver, gazing at him with agitated eyes, begins to pray himself, thinking affrightedly: ”What shall I do? My G.o.d, I am here with a Mormon's daughter!”
Then he would make an effort to arouse the girl to consciousness, and perhaps cause a scene, but he suddenly thinks, ”If I disturb the meeting, they may treat me roughly. These infidels do not believe in Gentile interruptions to their religious ceremonies;” and so sits quietly by the side of the unconscious girl, till Bishop Tranyon, of Salt Lake City, ex-Ralph Travenion, the New York exquisite, dandy and club man, finishes his harangue, and the people crowd about the platform and congratulate him on his great speech, to the glory of G.o.d and Brigham Young, his prophet.
But looking at Bishop Tranyon now, Oliver thinks he sees the cynic scoff of the Manhattan swell, as if, fight it how he will, he can't keep down a sneer at the religion that he preaches.
Just then, heart-breaking consciousness and recollection coming to the girl, she says in a low, faltering voice, placing a feeble though pleading hand upon his arm, ”Take me away!”
In the confusion and hilarity of the festival, the melodeon playing loudly and the children singing that well-known Utah Sunday-school hymn,
”Say, Daddy, I'm a Mormon!”
unnoticed by all save Kruger, who knows his arrow has struck its s.h.i.+ning mark, Oliver gets Erma out of the hall and to the carriage, which fortunately has returned.