Addie Van Buren Wedding

“A furious Northeast typhoon of a snowstorm all day.  The streets are all encumbered and made comfortless as they were by the heavy snowfall of a month ago.  It is a bore.  But let us think of the city, as draped in white to honor nice little Miss Addie Van Buren’s wedding.  Attended it with Ellie and Miss Rosalie [Ruggles] at St. Stephen’s Roman Catholic Church in 28^th St.  This spacious church was nearly full.  We were escorted to a convenient pew.  The bridal procession marched in and knelt at the chancel rails, encouraged by the inevitable Mendelssohn--Midsummer Night’s Dream-- Wedding March, on the church organ.  Then appeared the altar-boys, acolytes, priests, and a personage with mitre and crosier, who, I suppose, was Archbishop McCloskey (if that’s his name).  Then the service began.  I am prejudiced in favor of the Roman Catholic ritual, but this service was not to my taste.  It opened with an extemporaneous allocution addressed by the mitred prelate to the two young people keeling before him.  He expatiated on the sacredness of the marriage tie and on the duty of husband and wife to each other kindly and then he told the young lady how her inchoate or nascent husband (Mr. Chas Miert) came of a ‘true Catholic family across the Atlantic’ distinguished for chivalric fidelity to their ancient faith and so forth--and then he proceeded to give M. Miert certain supererogatory statements about the merits and the charms of the graceful little lady who was kneeling beside him.  The promise and vow of the service was in English, & [illegible] verbatim that of our prayer book.  Then came what I believe was Low Mass--a queer transaction. The Celebrant never opened his lips, at least he was not audible.  But for the Elevation of the Host, the [illegible] bell, and one or two other matters, I should have doubted whether it were a mass at all.  The silent pantomime at the altar was accompanied without interruption by a series of solos from the organ loft--soprano, contralto, basso and tenor.  I could not identify a word that was sung, though I am tolerably familiar with the text of the Mass.  These solos were indecent--purest (or foulest) Verdi—allegro—fortissimus--bestialissimo!  The archbishop elevated the Host under a fire of Verdiesque jig tunes with a marked buffo flavor. Disgraceful for any branch of the church Catholic.  While the archbishop was delivering his preachment to the young couple I had to stare at the bedizened altar with its artificial flowers and tawdry cheap gilt statuettes, to satisfy myself I was not in a Presbyterian Meeting House.  While this shallow beastly music was playing I felt as if I must be in the Academy of Music.”