Chapter XLV: Ritual of the Human Race 292 (6)

Now, with all these divinities conspiring against her, Adele’s resemblance to her mother was certainly brought into prominence as never before, and all the romance of her nature seemed to vanish.

Adele in her state-room: “It is a physical impossibility to look well, much less be agreeable, when things are tossing about in this frightful way. Where’s my trunk?” and as she reached down to open it, the trunk slid across the room. Alas, too late! When she raised her head a new sensation.

“Oh, what’s that? Oh, dear, what a peculiar pain! Call the steward, somebody. Steward, steward!”

Enter steward. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m miserable, steward.”

“Yes, ma’am, take tea and toast and a little porridge.”

Adele, sharply: “Go for Miss Winchester at once, steward. Tell her I’m--I’m----”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Enter Miss Winchester. “Awful sorry you feel so upset, Adele. What can I do for you?”

“I never felt so collapsed in my life,” moaned the sufferer. “Now, tell me, Frank, shall I really die of this or not? Really, I couldn’t stand a joke!” Miss Winchester smiled when she perceived this universal symptom.

“No joke? Not even an antique in Greece, good yet? You know what Ulysses said when he passed this way: ‘You fear you will, then fear you won’t, and don’t’; that’s what he thought, I’m sure.”

“Frank Winchester, you’re positively heartless! You make me feel like throwing both you and Ulysses through that port-hole. Oh, dear, dear! How badly I do feel!”

Miss Winchester did what she could to quiet matters. “No, Adele, you certainly won’t die on purpose, not just yet.”

“Oh, Frank, what an awful thing to say, when you know it’s really so critical;” then musing as if of unutterable things, “what will Paul think of me?”

Now Paul, as luck would have it, was constitutionally opposed to seasickness even in the roughest weather; and as for Adele she had never before been so badly affected. “Owing to too much ‘Egyptian Delight’ and dates,” said Miss Winchester, feeling her pulse.

Paul thought the trouble would prove merely a trivial matter on Adele’s part. If he had suspected how miserable she really felt he would have acted differently, but being a veritable tease at times, he sent her, by Miss Winchester, the following verses from a newspaper clipping “for consolation.”

Frank proceeded to console Adele by reading these newspaper verses:

I

“In the steamer, oh, my darling!
When the fog horns shriek and blow,
And the footsteps of the stewards
Softly come and softly go;
When the passengers are moaning
With a deep and heartfelt woe,
Will you think of me and love me
As you did a week ago?

II

“In the cabin, oh, my darling!
Think not bitterly of me,
Tho’ I rushed away and left you
In the middle of our tea;
I was seized with sudden longing,
Wished to gaze upon the sea,
It was best to leave you thus, dear,
Best for you and best for me.”

“In the gloaming,” said Frank, and finished with a deep sigh. Adele looked unutterable things. “Best keep Paul out of my presence--to send me such stuff, and just now, too!” The vessel gave an awful lurch, and a tumbler broke in falling. “Oh, Frank, I feel those terrible twists again! Is that awful propeller still at it?--it feels just that way.”

“It will soon untwist, dear--don’t mind; think of the consolation in those lovely verses.”

“I shall never speak to him again!” said Adele--“never!”

“Oh, yes, you will, and before the moon sets.” Miss Winchester was thinking of other lovers’ quarrels in her experience.

“Moon!” exclaimed Adele. “If this continues there’ll be no moon and I will be a lunatic. I have a thunder-gust headache.”

Frank bathed her temples with cologne.

“Oh, how delicious that is! It’s so kind of you, Frank. The Doctor would say your hand is sympathetic; I think it’s you, Frank. How much better I should feel if this ship would only keep still one minute, just one minute, half a minute, quarter of a----”

“That’s right, dear, go to sleep,” and Miss Winchester kissed her on the forehead as she slept.

And while she slept, one should remember the season when these events occurred--during the early autumn, the period when summer changes and a purer radiancy obtains in nature. The compensations of age in the year supplied the “unthought-of deficiencies of an ardent past.”

Luna, the Italian goddess, was also visiting Olympus at this time. She was behind a cloud during the pranks of Boreas and Neptune, but overheard the conversation between Adele and Miss Winchester, and her appeal to Adele that the lovers’ quarrel should be settled before she sank beneath the horizon touched her pride as a goddess. Luna was generally considered cold and purely philosophic and at times artistic in relation to lovers, but when in her march across the heavens her pride and power were touched or called in question, she could see very clearly and influence coming events with great force. In fact all the tides in mundane revolutions were affected by Luna.

Being a great personal friend of Aphrodite, the two goddesses put their heads together and approached Zeus. The very sight of two such exquisitely beautiful creatures of his own creation, embodying both philosophy and love in league towards one accomplishment, proved eminently effective. Their anthropomorphous paternal progenitor, as usual, listened to their request and granted it, his reason for so doing being markedly paternal in its character. In order to keep peace in the family while strangers were looking on, Zeus directed Neptune to cease his uproarious behavior, and sent Zephyr to take the place of Boreas. Zephyr, well known as the mildest and gentlest of the sylvan deities, was only too glad of the opportunity to take his family for an outing at the seaside. He and the little Zephyrs played with ripples on the waves like children enjoying themselves on the beach, while Mrs. Zephyr waved the tree branches to and fro when fanning herself in a hammock beneath. Thus, while Boreas scudded off with the heavy clouds from above, the Zephyr family wafted in gentle and delicious breezes below.

Luna looked down, smiling at intervals between clouds, at the result of her visit to Zeus, and her open countenance, often mistaken for that of a man, assumed the likeness of a cameo goddess.

While this went on Paul, on deck, was watching the heavens clearing after the storm, the breaking away of the clouds, the falling of the wind, the quieting of the sea. Through rifts in the sombre sky he caught glimpses of a silvery glow in the mysterious depths, the glow became a radiancy, and darker clouds hurried by in troops, their places taken by delicate draperies, gauze-like, upon which the silvery light played in form of a halo.

This celestial scenery riveted Paul’s attention. As the last shadow-cloud passed away the gauze-like draperies also receded from view, as a veil withdrawn from before a beautiful face.

Luna of Italy--Queen of the Night--shone forth.

Paul, keenly susceptible and appreciative, became absorbed in admiration, but such his mood at this time that never before had he been so affected by the moon’s glory.

“Our harvest moon at home,” thought he, “the merrymaking moon for lads and lassies, so they say. I like it better for yachting; no, I don’t, either;--the cozy twosing moon when one feels like confiding after the day’s work is done. Yes, I feel just that way--in some one we love best: Yes, I think so, too. The moon which settles things before the winter comes on--the moon--the--confound it! that moon knows entirely too much! let me think for myself.” He imagined he heard a whisper putting his secret longings into words, and telling him he ought not to live alone--that is to say, not enjoying this moon alone--no! And off he started, as if something very urgent suggested itself.

It was Aphrodite who had whispered to him.

XXV

APHRODITE RISES FROM THE SEA

In the meantime the quieting of the sea had produced a most beneficial effect upon Adele. Thanks to the kind ministrations of her mother and Miss Winchester, the thunder-gust headache had passed away as suddenly as it came. The steward entered again to open the port-holes in her state-room; a delicious breeze, soft and balmy, entered, most refreshing.

“How quickly the storm has passed,” said Adele to her mother.

“Yes, my child, and you had better leave this stuffy state-room as quickly as possible. I feel sure you will recover as soon as you breathe the invigorating air.”

“I had a whiff just now.”

“These coast storms are very fussy while they last,” said Mamma, “but I suppose ’twill be like all those along the Riviera; we often had superb nights following terrible gusts. You had better get up, Adele.”

“Do you think it safe to venture?”

“Not the slightest risk, not the slightest. I’ll ask your father to have the chair ready; you can take his arm at first.”

The soft, balmy air was again wafted in through the port, and passed with healing touch over Adele’s cheek.

“How delicious that is,” and she repeated the line:

“Soft as downy zephyrs are.”

Why Adele used the word zephyrs instead of pillows, Zeus only knows;--it must have been Zeus, not Aphrodite, for the latter seldom troubled herself about either zephyrs or garments; and yet the association of ideas aroused in the mind of her mother by Adele’s talking about zephyrs was most potent in results.

“That reminds me, Adele, I have a zephyr-shawl that is just the very thing. I’ll go and get it,” and off she hurried.

In the passage outside she met Paul, also in haste, and they stumbled over one another.

“I’m after a shawl for Adele; she ought to be on deck.”

“Ah! just what I think,” said Paul, enchanted to find matters already so favorable.

“Her father will bring her up.”

“I shall be delighted; let me.”

“No, thanks very much; but, no, it’s not at all necessary,” probably thinking of her daughter’s appearance. “But you may arrange her chair in some protected place.”

“Better than ever,” thought Paul. “I’ll find it; a first-class protection, to suit us all round.”

When Mrs. Cultus put the shawl around her daughter’s shoulders and mentioned incidentally that Paul was arranging things for her on deck, Adele had a violent revulsion of feeling. Still thinking of those trashy verses Paul had sent her, she felt little disposition to meet him; then noticed again how stuffy was the air of the state-room; then her mother insisted.

“But those verses, mother!”

“Never mind poetry,” said Mrs. Cultus, laughing. “Think of what you’ve done in that line yourself. You’re just like me. I did it,” and her mother shook all over with amusement.

“What are you laughing at?”--Adele serious.

“Why, my dear, you’ve been singing verses about ‘doves’ and ‘loves,’ and ‘toujours’ and ‘amours’ ever since you began singing lessons. If I believed half of what you’ve sung in public, I would not know what to think. Never mind poetry, verses don’t count. Now go on deck.”

“It was half Frank’s fault, anyhow,” mused Adele, “to read me such stuff when I felt so wretched. Never mind, I’ll have a good crow to pick with Paul when I get him alone.”

Aphrodite also laughed--one of her most bewitching ripples of laughter--when she overheard Adele’s last conclusion, and promptly sent for her accomplished son, Eros.

Eros was a youngster, at least in appearance, but very precocious. Like his father, the ancient Hermes (Mercury), he was very quick in his movements, and affected considerable style in his undress, for a divinity. He even appeared wearing a collar, with the very latest style of neck-tie, a cordon of blue ribbon over his shoulder instead of a belt around his waist; which fact often troubled artists and “fotographers” when they took his “picture.” Being thus ultra, he carried at times a torch, then again bow and arrows, in lieu of a walking stick; and sometimes put the name “Cupid” on his visiting cards, because he said it sounded “cute.” The modern divinities elsewhere, as well as at Olympus, were much divided in their opinions about this Eros-Cupid, “modern-antique.” Some said he was a good boy; others, the most mischievous little urchin that was to be found sporting around the Mount of the Gods; some contended that the mischief he wrought showed him to be a charming little elf with his mother’s dimples and ripples of laughter. Later, some foreigners dubbed him Puck, but he was never so designated at Olympus, never, not even by his mother; only by those who never ate apples, the apples of discord, nor sported with him in the Gardens of Hesperides.

Cupid, himself, however, when among the Romans generally followed their example and called her Venus, which he never did in Greece. The Greeks would have been shocked; they were artistic and saw nothing improper, even under the electric lightning-lights of Olympus; the Romans merely commonplace, practical, useful. It was rumored, however, that the pair of them, Aphrodite and Eros, did work together, as Venus and Cupid even in Greece, on the sly as it were, when Juno was off with her swans, and Diana gone out fishing; beg pardon, it was hunting in those days, fishing came in later.

On this occasion Eros appeared in due time, obedient to his mother’s call. But, marvellous to relate, in appearance quite different from what Aphrodite had expected. He became visible in his most ancient Greek garb, his aspect the Beauty of Youth. He bore a flaming torch which Zeus had given him, the torch with which he had been armed from the beginning of human experience, the torch which was lighted in the Garden of Eden. The most youth-full as well as ancient of all the divinities approached. From remote ages he had been known to exist in some form, not only as an epiphany or an apparition of youthful life and beauty, but more than this, far more: the personification of the principle of union among the disunited elements of the world, drawn together by that “enthusiastic congeniality of spirit” which is the basis of all true love; potent among human kind as the power which operates for that sincere friendship which continues and develops, ever ascending through the domain of mutual respect and regard, into the glorious realm of devotion, self-sacrifice. This, the purity of union among human kind, the purity of marriage, the birth of souls, the realm of Immortal Youth.

Such was the unexpected aspect of Eros when he first appeared; and such the significance of his presence.

Being a divinity, in the old Greek sense of the term, that is to say, a personification of the natural forces and instincts and passions, he could not appear reasonably in other garb or aspect at this time, when active in relation to the affairs of such a one as Adele Cultus, an Idyl, an ideal girl.

Upon Adele, in modern times, the same forces of nature were still operative as they had ever been since the beginning. Adele, too, possessed the divine spark or flame, within her, as given by her Creator Father, and she was both lovely and lovable. Paul adored her for her beauty of character, and her youthful form as _he_ saw it; and her devotion to the truth as they _both_ saw it; the true union, earthly, heavenly, eternal.

Alas, that such a divinity or personification, this original, ancient Eros, should ever have been dethroned by others less spiritual than Adele; dethroned, aye, dragged down from the lofty pedestal, the rock of ages; and his torch of flame become but an urn of ashes to be scattered by every vagrant wind; he, himself, in time, represented as a thoughtless wayward child, often as a wanton sporting with bows and arrows as if at play; and forcing himself where no true affection exists, not even regard. His unhappy victims deluded, and wandering in a region of shadows where the light ever grows more dim; alas! forever failing to enter the realm of Immortal Youth, the realm illumined by the unfailing radiance of true love.

Yet such are the vicissitudes involving changes and irregularities in mortal experience, especially in connection with the materialistic tendencies of modern times, that the original aspect of Eros has suffered, as with many other similar conceptions. His aspect only, not the natural forces which he personified; hence, in relation to Adele, the truth in Eros remained untouched, whereas, his interview with Aphrodite in this case certainly did illustrate the deterioration which had overtaken the region of Olympus since so many of the old divinities have fallen from their pedestals.

The Eros of the ancient Greeks could no longer retain his lofty attitude and position amid modern requirements, and his behavior in this instance certainly did demonstrate the deterioration. He became, in aspect only, by various stages, the versatile modern imp, Cupid, the Cupid now so often represented as blindfolded, or even blind; and with or without wings when used for decorative purposes. In fact, he might easily be mistaken for an all-day-vaudeville performer, or a cherub brought up upon the latest cereal, so little is left of the original mythological divinity.

As before noted, Eros responded promptly to his mother’s call, his appearance as it had been in the beginning.

Aphrodite was struck with amazement, it had been so long since she had seen him in that guise. It recalled to her the early Grecian period, soon after she herself had risen, born by the forces of nature from the foam of the sea at Cyprus; of the time when Eros (Amor) and the Graces were ever in her train, and she herself the deity of reproduction and love; of the time when the myrtle, the rose, and the apple were especially sacred to her, and the dove, the swan and certain other animals were symbolic of her activities. And she looked upon him with affection.

“Eros! Oh, Eros! my lovely boy! son of my youth!” and her voice failed. Overwhelmed by surging memories, some time elapsed before she could again speak.

“How long, Eros! how long since thou camest to me as now?”

Eros knelt before her as if to receive her blessing.

Verily, no Phidias, or Praxiteles, among the ancients, could have worshiped by means of the sacred art of their day, and found a better subject to crystallize in form for the good of future generations, than this, an Olympian Madonna, a son at his mother’s knee. Maternal love and the responsive trust and veneration of Youth.

The nearer approach of Eros naturally brought his torch in closer proximity. Its brilliancy became dazzling, in fact blinding to eyes long since unused to its power.

Aphrodite, conscious only of the physical inconvenience, placed her hand before her face as if to shade the eyes. This was enough for Eros, he placed his torch upon a tripod at greater distance, where it remained, so near and yet so far; so subtle are the adverse influences when the physical becomes dominant over the spiritual.

And instantly the natural consequence:

Eros separated from his torch was no longer the same. He had entered the shadows; his aspect at once changed. His form, still exquisite to behold, was like sculptured marble, faultless in outline, yet without the flesh tint, the warmth of color; complete except the illuminating flame which Zeus had given him.

Aphrodite still gazed with admiration, but, alas! strange to say, his aspect having become more familiar to present conditions and himself speechless, she also said nothing; and Eros continued to manifest the beauty of form alone.

And again the natural consequence:

Aphrodite had called him for a purpose, and must talk with him; must cause the exquisite form to manifest life, the statue must respond. And she called him anew:

“Eros! Oh, Eros! why not speak? Come to me from amid those shadows! Eros! answer!”

Alas, no response.

And again she called him.

He was but a stone.

And again, for the third time.

No response possible.

* * * * *

Yet while she waited, a profound and thrilling change did take place, both in form and expression. Not that Eros spake, but his form manifested a movement or evolution towards another phase of his nature. So impressive had he been as a statue of divine suggestion, that many a Greek would have placed him within the precincts of a sacred temple as most appropriate locality for his abode. Once there, his heavenly youth would serve to uplift the hearts of all who beheld him. Once so conceived, any religion might have felt enriched from an artistic point of view, to possess him among the treasures of the sacred enclosure, as a symbol of the countless babes within the heavenly realm; for “of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.”

And so Eros now appeared, as a mediæval cherub, a concomitant to a sacred picture. His religious aspect still apparent, but now as accessory; and often represented only as “head and wings,” gazing upwards.

And still he was silent; significant, but silent.

To Aphrodite he seemed as one fading away from her forever, to be lost amid enveloping clouds; possibly to be appropriated by other worshipers than those who frequented Olympus. And such would have been the case if the torch of Zeus, ever radiant, so near and yet so far, had not still cast some light upon the scene. To Aphrodite, Eros was still hers, of her, and from her, by whatever name he might be addressed; and who more potent than she to call him by any name she chose, any endearing term that sprang from her heart?

“Eros, my own! Eros, my darling! My cherub! surely you wish not to offend me, and rest gazing at others. Cupid! speak!”

She had called him by his later and modern name; and again the natural consequence, the final change. Of course he spoke. Being what he was as Cupid in modern conception, he could not do otherwise, he could not avoid conversation. Also, his youthful wings commenced to flutter; and his beauty, never lost since the beginning, made him, from the worldly point of view, adorable.

But, alas! not as Eros, simply the modern fascinating Cupid. Sad, also! no longer the Aphrodite of early times, but the Roman Venus still in vogue; Venus who at once asserted herself by giving orders to her attendant Cherub. The Cherub carried his bow and arrows, and the torch of Zeus grew very dim as Venus spake:

“Cupid! you certainly are clever! but you gave me such a shock! I thought you never would wake up, or speak to me again!”

The Cherub fluttered about her person not unlike a butterfly to fascinate by graceful movement; the poetry of motion, an admirable motif for decoration; activity, new sensations; no more, no less.

“Cupid! if ever that occurs again, you will be caught and imprisoned, imprisoned within a picture gallery, and there you will remain. Zeus help you! Naughty boy!”

The beautiful winged youth, the spritely Cupid, at once answered:

“I’ll girdle the earth in forty minutes. Catch me, who catch can.”

Venus smiled. Some would have thought this smile “bewitching,” others could have called her expression “a cynical smile.” But it soon faded away, and in no degree prevented her proceeding at once to the object of their interview.

“Cupid! there is going to be an engagement.”

“Ah! then the fight comes later on,” remarked the precocious Sprite.

“Are you ready?”

“Always ready,” and as if to suit the action to the word, he fluttered in graceful curves, and finally, _en passant_, kissed her upon the cheek.

“Good. I see you are! You may amuse yourself with bow and arrows when the time comes.”

“May I respectfully inquire when this momentous engagement is to transpire?”

“When you see me----”

“Do what, my Lady Venus?”

“Rise from the sea, and give the usual signal.”

The confab ended for the present. Lady Venus and Cupid understood each other perfectly.

* * * * *

A moonlit night and zephyrs wafted in; an easy chair, and no one looking on. Two in shadow, gazing upon legendary Greece; talking mythology such as they alone could understand; feeling fluctuations of quite another kind.

A convalescent lassie, and a sympathizing lad, old friends for at least a year, it seemed as if from childhood. A timely aid, and a grateful maid; compliments in words, and nature’s complementary. A man’s stout heart, and a woman’s tender sympathy, sincerity and truth.

The conditions were favorable.

What else?

A secret, a secret to all but Cupid who stood behind a celestial-rose bush on the heights nearby, his bow and arrows ready. An event not to be seen by the binoculars of newsy gossips, nor even perceived by the mental eyes of inquisitives. All is left to the spiritual discernment of those who have loved.

What actually occurred during that heavenly evening when they drifted upon the bosom of the Adriatic, when the stars shone brightly or when cloud-draperies hid some endearing charm, can only fully be known to two (and the divinities), these two nature’s lovely, lovable and loved. But sure it is, before the evening closed, Aphrodite again arose from the sea, a Vision of Loveliness. Gliding by in her graceful shell, floating amid foam on the crest of a wave, illumined by a divine radiance, she threw a kiss of affection, the signal. And from behind the celestial-rose bush sped Love’s Arrow, borne upon the wings of the unseen. As this sweet messenger enters the hearts of those ready to respond, so it was welcomed by Adele and Paul, reclining beneath the brow of Olympus.

XXVI

INTERMEZZO--ALLEGRO

Oh, that voyage! From the brow of Olympus, across the Mediterranean, down the Roseate Sea, the two lovers journeyed. As they skirted the shore, never did delicate tints upon a sapphire surface give back more heavenly reflections! Those sunny days, under double awnings, when none dared look at a thermometer lest he himself should melt away. Those first-magnitude starlit nights when sleeping on deck, with glimpses of others passing like spooks in the dark; and in the distance, on “P. and O.” boats, the invisible friends known to be there.

The last glimpse of Boreas was in a storm brewing off in the direction of the Ægean Sea. Some thought they saw him in propria-persona, gesticulating upon the high cliffs of Candia as the vessel sailed by in the teeth of the wind, but this individual proved to be merely a Turkish brigand, one of the gang which infested that region.

But are not all such minor incidents already recorded in the chronicles of the Cultus family for publication in future genealogical records? How at Alexandria the Doctor took little interest in the modern city upon the island of Pharos, but much interest in the Ancient Library with no books left! How, since said Library was destroyed some time ago, Paul and Adele managed to reconstruct a brand new temple with lamps, incense, and priests--all complete, to say nothing of singing birds, and vestal virgins each carrying a sieve instead of a lamp! How Miss Winchester met the Four Hundred élite of Alexandria at the base of Pompey’s Pillar, and was kodaked by Paul with the four hundred gamins at her feet, asking for backsheesh; this historic picture labeled, “Hypatia Addressing the Multitude. A. D. MDCCCLXXXXIX.” How Mrs. Cultus took in the situation from a barouche, positively refusing to set foot on the sward of a country famous for asps and beetles; and also how Mrs. Cultus announced that Cleopatra’s relish for pearls was in good taste, only it carried her too far. How the unfortunate noseless Sphynx turned up her nose, as usual, at all innocents abroad; and how Mrs. Cultus, when entering the memorial bridal chamber of Cheops, slipped upon the inclined staircase which leads thereto, and fell into the arms of a modern bridegroom--a young sheik. How the Professor stood upon the apex of Cheops and took notes, alternate notes upon lichens which grew there, and upon Memphis where it once was. Is it not also recorded among the archives of modern Egypt how, during the period of occupation of Shepherd’s, cards were left in due form upon Pharaoh’s mummy in the Boulak Museum; and how Mrs. Cultus received in turn a scarab, and some little scarabei, of Manchester manufacture, taken from the left pocket of Pharaoh’s forty-second cousin, after reposing there since A. D. 1492 (some said from 4000 B. C.)--a slight token of regard from the Pharonic dynasty to the latest Republic on earth? Was it not recorded also at the time, in the society column of the “Pyramid Times,” that “Miss Pearline Cultus and Mr. Adolph Warder were last seen behind an umbrella on the top of the Pyramid with their feet hanging over the top step?” probably the most conspicuous perch on the globe for two lovers.

And above all, was it not also jotted down in the private memoranda of both Paul and Adele, when passing Mocha and Perim and Aden, in and out of the gloaming, that the voyage was perfect bliss, the coffee--nectar fit for the gods, and the coals of Perim--black diamonds? As to Aden, the much-abused Aden, said to be separated only by a thin sheet of Manila paper from the infernal-region-frying-pan--such assertions proved absolutely false. Aden was a Paradise of fruit and flowers, its reservoir like Lake Tahoe, and its inhabitants--white-robed angels with Chinese features, flying hither and thither in phantom jinrikishas. Was it not here at Aden that Paul had the innocent audacity to open that delicious but appalling fruit, the dorian, chopping it with a hatchet under their very noses, only to hurl both dorian and hatchet into the sea for the delectation of fishes whose noses were equal to the occasion? And finally, did not the whole party, except Mrs. Cultus, visit Mother Eve at Djeddah, and find her the most attenuated specimen of humanity, both physically and historically, that anyone could imagine, at least forty feet long, aged six millenniums (some say eight or nine; possibly seven times seven, or thereabouts), with her toes turned up about two feet? And did they not make the astonishing discovery which Mrs. Cultus at once reported to the Politely Civil Archæological Society, that our own Mother Eve was really very dark in complexion; in fact, quite a fast black (since local tradition said so, and tradition was invariably exact, if not too exact)?--a case of proving too much; which wonderful discovery made them all wonder and debate if they themselves, being white at present, might not possibly be changed backwards, and revert to original color and type before entering Mahomet’s Paradise.

* * * * *

Youth! Oh, Youth! how many are thy pleasures and privileges, and thou dost not realize it. Thine the period when all things are interesting, new sensations at every turn, and little responsibility to interfere with whims. Go to the circus, go globe-trotting in an automobile, and take part in the show. Oh, Youth! thine is the blessed time of freedom, although thou mayst not think so. Thou wilt, no doubt, hear much good advice, but follow thine own inclinations, and enjoy the happy privilege of changing thy mind on short notice. Mrs. Cultus was no longer youthful, but she held on to the privileges just the same.

“I always change my mind, Frank, when it suits me. I fully intended to call upon Eva at Djeddah, certainly the first lady in the land, even if she were only Mahomet’s wife, and not our mutual ancestress; but, Frank, when it turned out so midsummer hot, with such a brazen sky, I gave it up. Why, Frank Winchester, I wouldn’t appear in the condition you were, in that bedraggled gown and hat and felt slippers--no! not if I really wished to call. That’s wisdom, my dear; take an elder’s advice. Never hesitate to change your mind, especially when it suits you.”

XXVII

INTERMEZZO--ANDANTE

_The Royal Route._

_O Science!_ How true thou art! How true thou strivest to be! Yet, what is not claimed in thy name, when few are the golden gems picked up upon the limited shore of this single world! We learn of thee, O Science! through thee! by thee! but ever when we ask of thee the Bread of Life, thou givest us a stone; and when we ask for a fish, thou givest us a serpent. From the beginning it has been so. Know thyself, O Science! thy finite place. Learn even as a little child sitting at the feet of Infinite Knowledge.

_O Philosophy!_ How noble thou art, to seek the truth in all things as they are; ignoring nothing in nature, in any province of thought, word or deed--in Science or Religion. But thou revealest nothing. Thy intellect is finite--not infinite; thy standpoint mortal--not immortal. Thou art god-like--but not God.

_O Religion!_ Thou Voice of the Mind of Nature! of Our Almighty-Father, Creator; accepting all of Truth in Science and Philosophy; yet, ever speaking of a higher and better life, here and hereafter. How many untruths have been spoken in Thy name, even spoken as _ex cathedra_, taking Thy name in vain; yet, verily none can escape Thee, Thyself, O Thou Holy Spirit of Truth in Love, in the heart of Humanity--Immanuel, God with us!

XXVIII

THE AFTERGLOW

Again the shores had vanished, this time Europe left behind, and the Orient lifting before them. It was after the sun had plunged beneath the waves, and the distance was illumined with the afterglow; when the Parsee matrons had retired to rest, publicly, upon the saloon floors, and some mysterious figures re-entered to recline on deck in awkward pose, with crooked necks against chairs and skylights, that Paul and Adele also glided forward, past captain and capstan, to their favorite spot. Only the prow of the vessel when it mounted the billows, and a spooky lanthorn aloft, hung in space between them and the constellations. Together they gazed forwards and upwards, listening to the thoughts of the stilly night.

“Fond memories for other days,” remarked Adele.

Paul looked round to discover the object supposed to suggest memories, and then concluded his chair was not quite close enough to hers.

“There it is,” said she, looking toward the constellation of the Southern Cross, resplendent in the heavens. “I never shall forget it.”

“Beautiful, each star a gem, all gems; but----”

“I cannot conceive anything more suggestive or more appropriate in the heavens than that cross,” said Adele.

“I am yet inclined to think that perhaps Orion is still more magnificent.”

“Don’t let’s make comparisons, Paul. I don’t feel in the mood just now; that only spoils our present enjoyment.”

“All right; take things as they are,” and Paul looked again at the constellation.

“See those four stars, Adele; they would make an exquisite pin. Would you like one in that form?”

“Pin! Please don’t think I care only for trinkets, and at such a time as this! Please don’t, it only belittles everything;” her voice betraying a slight trace of emotion.

Paul vowed inwardly that he would acquiesce in everything she said, so in duty bound endeavored to be philosophic himself.

“There’s nothing like being natural, even when it feels unnatural.”

Adele laughed outright.

“My dear Paul, philosophy never did sit well on you; please don’t.” Paul felt somewhat subdued, and immediately changed the subject.

“What was it you said you wished to ask me?”

“Oh, yes, about being inquisitive. We’re all getting so horribly inquisitive that I’ve had a curious experience. I really don’t know what I think.”

It was Paul’s turn to laugh. “Oh, that comes from thinking too much. Give it up; we’ve got something else on hand just now; don’t let’s think.”

This idea seemed to impress Adele rather favorably in her present mood, but she could not resist the temptation to continue.

“Paul, I really feel that I must exert my will--yes, I must will that I won’t--no! I mustn’t won’t anything, that is not what I mean. I can’t untangle my thoughts while talking. Paul, try to help me; you do the talking.”

“I know exactly what’s the matter with you, Adele; what Frank Winchester would call your ‘thinking apparatus’ is a little weary, and I have a sure cure--put it here;” his shoulder being very convenient. “Now we can talk without thinking or think without talking; just as you please.”

Adele felt safer, and her mind much less disturbed.

“I’m so very inquisitive,” said she.

“That’s perfectly natural,” acquiesced Paul, who was himself feeling quite comfortable; “most women, I mean most people, are.”

“Doctor Wise is,” said Adele. “I like to hear him talk.”

“Oh, that’s the way the wind blows, is it?” exclaimed Paul. “I knew you would tell me sooner or later. I know the Doctor like a book. He’s the best friend I have in the world; but I’ll tell you something about him.”

“I don’t wish to know unless it’s good,” said Adele, then paused an instant; “but I think he can trust both of us.”

“Oh, yes, but the Doctor’s this way; now I tell you this in confidence. He often forgets how old he is, and thinks we are about the same age.”

“I don’t see anything very confidential in that; besides, I rather like these middle-aged old fellows who must wear glasses and won’t wear ‘specs;’ they keep their youth.”

“You surely don’t like frisky old boys?” laughed Paul.

“Nonsense! People may live many years and yet not be aged. The Doctor’s not frisky.”

“Nor very slow, either,” laughed Paul. “Only he will persist in looking backward, and above one’s head, and sometimes inside of one, while you and I always look forward; don’t we, Adele?”

“Why, of course.”

“Well, then, when we reach his age, we may find some satisfaction in the other thing, but just at present I don’t feel like it. The Doctor mixes me up, too, sometimes; even when I understand his words perfectly. It’s the after-effects.”

“‘After-effects’ is good,” said Adele. “I’ve felt ’em myself, lately--in my state-room; but even before that, when they talked in the Sunday-school about Jebusites and Perizites, the most mixed-up crowd I ever met; almost as bad as those so-called scientists we met on the Atlantic. Now, I really care more about Porto Rico and the Philippine Islanders than any of those ancient or modern mixtures; and to return to what I started with, don’t you think the Doctor attempts to explain too much?”

“Well, yes--and no. Of course there are some things no fellow can find out, but the Doctor is not really trying to discover; he merely tries to arrange after his own fashion what he already has read and experienced. He really sees much more than most of us, and he told me he had discovered that fact written in the palm of his own hand.”

“I see he has you well in hand,” said Adele, thoughtlessly.

Paul winced.

Adele felt a slight shiver, and was sorry she had so spoken.

“He has helped me greatly,” said Paul, reminiscent of the Doctor’s friendship. “I never met a man who tried more to give his friends something worth thinking and talking about instead of twaddle and bosh.”

“And that’s just where my trouble comes in,” said Adele. “I don’t care for twaddle and bosh, but isn’t there such a thing as too much thinking; I mean too much thinking about too many things? I’ve a great notion to do something radical.”

“Gracious! You a Radical? What do you propose to do?”

“Change my mind.”

“Don’t do that; it’s too radical! Change your method, or your climate; but for heaven’s sake leave your mind alone.” And Paul’s sudden outburst of laughter attracted attention from the night watchman, who came forward to see if anything was wanted.

“Nothing. Thanks!” answered Paul.

“Oh, yes, there is,” continued Adele; “something must be done. I cannot undertake to keep up with all that’s going on above, below, outside, inside and underneath. I used to think so at college, but now it’s fatiguing. It’s not safe to live with all creation coming down on you at every turn.”

“I never thought Atlas a happy man,” interjected Paul.

“He gives me the backache to look at him,” said Adele; “and I’ve a notion not even to listen to philosophers or, in fact, any talk that involves so many ifs and buts in one’s own mind. Others may enjoy that game; I don’t. I told Father I detested ‘exceptions’ to rules when at school, and now it’s worse. I’m getting to think that most people had best leave such things alone in real life. What do you think about it?”

Paul felt a thrill of satisfaction run through him as Adele allowed herself to run on, giving vent to her feelings; and she also felt a pressure of endearment which thrilled also.

“My dearest,” said he, “that’s the wisest thing you ever thought out in your life. You’re the most level-headed girl I ever met in all my days.” He spoke as if both he and she were quite as old as the Doctor. Then, wishing to be very profound, Paul tried to be eloquent.

“Adele! do you know what you have done?--the most--h’m!--the most satisfactory thing I could have wished for in life.”

“Nothing radical, I trust, or I probably shall regret it;” her voice fading away towards the last in secret amusement.

“God knows! The Lord only knows how much trouble it will save us--after we’re settled.”

“Don’t swear, my dear, don’t swear! I’ve been thinking about it for some time. It’s the kind of philosophy I really believe in.”

“So do I,” said Paul, his voice betraying strong feeling.

“Not to bother with ’osophies or sophistries, anthropologies or any other apologies,” said Adele. “I want to live a free, open life--a life in the open.”

“Take things as they are.”

“Yes, and people as we find them--try to do them good.”

A pause followed.

Paul was striving to grasp within his own consciousness what an admirable girl Adele was, and how happy he ought to be with such a true woman for his wife; but such thoughts only confused him. All he could do was to whisper, more to himself than to her, the old, old words, “How I do love you, love you with all my heart!”

She heard him, and her heart responded.

“Do you know what _you_ have done?” asked Adele softly, intertwining her fingers in his. The sympathetic touch, the currents of emotion, vitality and supreme strength entered his very soul.

“Given me,” said she, “for my very own that which I most crave.”

He bowed his head in reverence, and could not lift so much as his eyes towards heaven.

“Oh, Paul, do you know what that means? Faith in one to love and trust.”

He made a movement as if trying to speak, but she grasped his hand anew, and pressed it.

They did not speak, only thought, and loved each other.

The Southern Cross shone resplendent in the heavens above.

“Let Nature be your teacher;
Sweet is the love which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Misshapes the beauteous form of things.
We murder to dissect--
Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.”

--WORDSWORTH.

XXIX

ILLNESS AND HALLUCINATION

At last they had reached the Far East--a new world densely populated with darker races, dark forms clothed in white or multi-colored garments; many with little clothing at all. The faces intelligent, the profiles often more clear-cut and refined than their own. People who told them frankly that their physiognomy showed “pink faces with green eyes”--quite a revelation, since they had never before seen themselves as others see them, from that point of view.

It was at Bombay Mrs. Cultus first encountered the prolific assortment of “boys,” Khidmatgars and Jadoo Wallahs, punka boys, and boys from Goa. It did not take her long to grasp the situation, simply because she purposely kept her own personal assortment constantly on “the grand jump.” “I must find out what each fellow can do, but won’t; and what he can’t do, but will. As Paul would say, ‘This caste-business and somebody else’s business is most distracting.’”

As to the Jadoo Wallahs and their famous tricks, Mrs. Cultus had set her heart upon detecting the manner of growth of that celebrated mango-tree, and in consequence had an experience.

The magician went through his whole performance as it is usually given, and was about to take up his bush and walk, when Mrs. Cultus at once exclaimed: “Not so quick, please! You say it grew in ten minutes; that mango bush?”

“You saw it, Mem Sahib,” said the magician respectfully.

“Then there’s a humbug in that tree,” remarked Mrs. Cultus blandly.

The Wallah seemed a little thrown off his guard.

“Show us the roots! the roots!” demanded Mrs. Cultus, as if giving orders.

“Pardon, pardon, Mem Sahib! I thought you said a bug was in the tree;” and instantly the magician’s acting became superb; his whole attitude changed. One might have supposed he considered it most unreasonable to ask to see the roots of a tree. Possibly, this one had roots, but then they might be so small you could not see them. Who knows what really was there under ground? He didn’t; but he could take the risk of digging to discover.

Considering the little pile of earth was only six inches high and stood upon a cemented pavement, Mrs. Cultus told him to “go to work and dig them up.” And then came the surprise for her; a surprise which caused her never to forget that she had been in India.

The Jadoo Wallah, taking the bush by the stem near the ground with one hand, loosened it carefully from the earth. In lifting it into the air, a half-opened seed, still attached below ground, and the tendrils of new roots appeared. As the small clods of earth fell away from these roots, the whole bush from topmost leaf to lowest root-tendril, was exposed to view at full length. Tremendous applause followed. Mrs. Cultus was thoroughly nonplussed, mystified; but not too much to find her purse and pay the Wallah well for his skill and preparation.

“Those roots,” whispered Adele, “made me feel uncanny when the little clods of earth fell from them.”

“Bits of string, soiled with moist earth, make very good roots when seen from a distance,” remarked the Doctor, laughing. “Even better imitations than the tendrils and flowers in your hat, my dear.”

Thus, during their very first glimpses of India, they realized they were encountering an intelligent people, a branch of their own Aryan race, but of dark complexion, and given over to skilful mystification.

Before reaching Calcutta, the physical exertions of the tourists had been considerable. Mrs. Cultus in particular, owing to her natural antipathy to a warm climate, seemed to suffer more than any, and in consequence became seriously ill. One cannot say suddenly ill, as often the case, although her perambulations at Benares, and in the vicinity of Patna to visit the Buddha’s bo-tree, had been quite enough to produce serious results. Her strong nerves and her persistent determination not to be a burden to others unless physically incapacitated, carried her through until Calcutta was reached. Upon their arrival she would have broken down at once if Western “grit” and feminine curiosity had not again asserted themselves. She would not give up; not at least until she had obtained her own impression of the Bengalese capital and Government House, to be able to talk about them afterwards at home. Then she did succumb, half-purposely as it were, really when she had left it until too late.

“If I must take my turn at collapsing, this is a much better place than some of the bungalows where we were forced to bunk. I might as well give in and have done with it. Adele, my dear, I really do feel wretched.” This, when she was already so feeble as to be unable to stand.

The daughter of Anthony “Grab” Gains, of Colorado, had both grit and worldly wisdom by inheritance, but she had little suspicion then that these characteristics could be so forcibly demonstrated, even while the spiritual element was in the ascendant. This spiritual element had not before been especially evident--in fact, it had lain dormant, making her appear one-sided, and often unappreciative of much that interested her daughter as well as her husband and Doctor Wise. The Calcutta physician soon pronounced her case important if not serious, due to over-exposure in regions where malaria of various kinds should have been guarded against. Evidently few precautions had been taken; malarial germs of some sort had entered her system; what particular fever would result could only be determined after further observation and certain tests. This much the physician told the Professor.

Mrs. Cultus, who could interpret every change of expression in her husband’s countenance, and could read his thoughts in such matters much more quickly than he suspected, took in the exact situation a few minutes after the physician left her, when her husband entered and began to potter around her room, anxious, but striving to appear just the opposite. She noticed him, a little later, take up a bottle of medicine, tasting it as if he wished to make sure as to its contents. After he had gone out, she said to Adele:

“My daughter, your father is such a dear man. Do you know what he did?--tasted that medicine himself first, just to satisfy himself it was all right for me. Now just suppose it had been poison?”

Adele looked tenderly at her mother, fearing lest the fever had already begun to affect her brain, and was causing absurd notions. This proved to be the case. Mrs. Cultus became more and more flighty, complaining: “My head feels so light; it seems to be sailing off like a balloon.” Then, again, speaking in disconnected phrases, her ideas all mixed and inconsequent. Adele concluded she did not always say what she meant to say, and therefore did not give the impression she intended to convey.

All of which, being quite natural, was not surprising; only when at intervals among her absurd vagaries the patient startled them all by some exceptionally sane remark, indicating a very level head, indeed. It was then that Adele felt confused, and hardly knew what to do; she did not understand the case.

Drawing affection led her to put her arm around her mother’s neck, to place her cheek next hers, and to cherish her. The invalid did not even whisper in reply, but her tacit acceptance seemed to indicate that she knew it was her daughter near, very near, and felt her touch--that was enough. Fevered imagination was thus often soothed by the reality of love.

“Nothing does mother so much good as to love her; it’s better than medicine,” said Adele. “It’s very curious how quickly her mind becomes quiet when I don’t say a word, only let her know with caresses _how we all love her_.”

When Adele made this remark to the Doctor, he could only reiterate what Adele and her mother had already told each other by sympathetic touch. “Yes, the greatest thing on earth is love, the beginning and ending of the greatest good; and it is indeed a notable fact in sacred history that Christ made more cures by the instrumentality of touch, bloodless operations so to speak, than in any other way; in fact, Christ conquered Science and soared away beyond.”

This assertion seemed to impress Adele most seriously; then her mind turned towards some particular incident in her own experience.

“I made several cures myself when I was nursing in the hospital. I cured one of the physicians, a young man, a mere boy.”

“How, may I ask?” The Doctor was very inquisitive.

“Put my first finger on his lips--he knew instantly what I said--‘You had better not talk so much.’”

“Was he indeed cured?”

“Yes, instantly. He had been rather verdant before, but after his cure he turned a lovely pea-green. Doctor, physicians ought to look into this touchy-method; there’s more psychology than medicine in it--that’s why it cures.”

“What a queer girl you are,” thought the Doctor, serious himself; and then recalled what she had just said about her mother, “we all love her,” not “how I love her,” but “how we all love her”; assuming that her own affection for her mother must be common to all the party.