Chapter XLV: Ritual of the Human Race 292 (9)

“Well, keep your head level; if I had been on the lower level I wouldn’t have been mistaken about that lake.”

“That’s just it,” said Adele. “No ifs are allowed on pinnacles,” and on the instant her pony gave a lurch which threatened to unseat her. She pulled him up sharply, and in so doing was thrown forward, into a most uncomfortable position, on the pommel of her saddle. Bracing up she tugged at the reins, drawing them tighter than was necessary, which only made the animal more restive. Paul patted the beast on the neck, and held him until the guide approached.

The Bhootanese came up, swearing outrageously in his native lingo; declaring that the very devil was in the beast. He had bragged about his sure-footed ponies, but had not mentioned that they, too, when in unaccustomed places and particularly on elevations where the air was thin, were apt to become restless, and were then given to shyings and backings and misbehaviors quite foreign to them when on a lower level. The pony was anxious to get down and return home; the beast knew what was best for him. His Bhootanese master, enraged at the animal for behaving so, swore until the air was full of Himalaya imps, Bhootanese blue-devils, Nepaulese demons, and a varied assortment of ejaculatory grunts, both human and equine, all summoned for the occasion. Even in Occidental parlance it might be said that the Devil and his imps had been summoned to meet there on the pinnacle.

Fortunately this assortment of demon-devils were of native production; therefore not recognizable by the rest of the party; although not unknown to the ponies, who soon quieted down.

Miss Winchester, completely surrounded by the ejaculations, of course secured a choice assortment for literary purposes; she and the demons seemed to have it all their own way for the time being.

Adele was so preoccupied with keeping her seat in the saddle that she was conscious of neither imps nor sounds, but after peace was restored she turned to Paul:

“That man swore, didn’t he?”

“Yes, like a trooper.”

“Well, tell him the Bad Spirit will catch him if he does that sort of thing.”

“Then, perhaps, he’ll set the Old Boy on us.”

“I would like to see what the Bhootanese Old Boy is like, if he doesn’t scare my pony.”

“What would you do if you’d see him?”

“Tell him to keep his eye on his servant here--this mule! But we’ll have no more trouble now, this pony only needs watching.”

“You held on first-rate.”

“Yes, but I didn’t come up here to watch a mule; I came for something better.”

“Let me rub his nose,” said Paul, leaning over, making friends with the pony.

Adele, who was indeed rather shaken up and agitated by the incident, continued to feel nervous. She finally spoke:

“Would you like to know, Paul, how this really makes me feel--this being so high up in the world?”

“Yes; I’d like to know how being elevated above the level of ordinary experience affects you.”

“Well! sitting on a pinnacle, as the Doctor calls it, is a fraud.”

“You really think so!”

“Yes, it is deluding; it demands more than I can manage; it takes entirely too much time trying to hold on.”

“What do you propose to do about it?”

“Why, get down--to our own level--soon as possible.”

There had come into their experience one phase of the great Asiatic lesson to humanity, namely; to be content in the position, humble or exalted, to which they had been born. The things seen had actually embodied things unseen.

XL

A GLIMPSE OF TAOISM

After the exhilarating ascent and sudden descent from Sunkukphoo, Adele expressed a desire to see the valleys. “We’ve been on the roof garden, amid the flying buttresses; let us visit the cloisters, and see the crypt.”

The Bhootan verger led the way along the pony-path in front of their Peek-o’-Tip-Bungalow, to the left--the descent was rapid. The mountains closed in upon them. Rhododendrons as lofty as oaks shaded them from the outer world. A strikingly beautiful region of another type, where blossoms fringed the trees against the azure blue; and what was still more beautiful, there were bouquets of scarlet appearing against the snow-fields and glaciers.

“What striking contrasts!” exclaimed Paul, “yet the effect is not overdone; it’s quite natural.”

“Nothing seems overdone in this Cathedral,” said Adele, not dreaming what she was about to encounter. Miss Winchester helped her out. “I must make a sketch of these wonderful contrasts; it will suggest a superb color-scheme for an embroidered altar cloth. I wish I knew one of the monks or ecclesiastics in charge here; we could ask him to show us the vestments in the Sacristy.”

Miss Winchester’s wish for a monk was soon gratified. A turn in the road brought them face to face with a Taoist Temple; a row of so-called young monks sat upon the ground before the door. The Lamas wore masks, as well as parti-colored garments, and they carried long, slender bell trumpets, which they kindly tooted to the accompaniment of cracked drums. The colors of their vestments and costume in general were æsthetic as a patchwork quilt from the revolutionary period of Sally Ross--only far more ancient.

Mrs. Cultus and Miss Winchester, both Colonial Dames, were at once sentimentally affected by the color schemes and the designs of these very old historical vestments. It was impossible to be “moved” by their artistic excellence, so their historical value became at once more important to notice. As to the masks, they were supposed to represent demons, being in design diabolical, no doubt very true to the life; and the trumpets shrill.

Adele and the Doctor had little appreciation for the crude colors, or the terrific din. The latter, finding himself an unwilling listener to a “Rhapsodie Lamanesque” on drums, searched for something to stuff in his ears to soften the sound; he would have been willing to put his fist in the bell of the leading trumpet, but such things were inopportune. The effect was startling in the extreme; so very abrupt after the exquisite tone-color contrasts they had just been admiring. In fact, even their Manchu ponies halted, and wagged their ears to shake off the sound. Adele’s animal turned one ear backward and the other forward in astonishment.

Adele gave a new twist to the old line: “Where every prospect pleases and only the music is vile.”

Miss Winchester’s churchly expectations received a severe shock, for in this Cathedral monks were grotesque; but still they were monks, although the ideal peaceful life of a monk did not appear.

Curiosity got the better of Paul; he was off his pony and confabbing with the Lamas before the others had recovered from their amazement. A Lama took off his mask to allow his own voice to be heard more distinctly. He was a young fellow and rather good-looking, although shaven with a tonsure; and quite as healthy in appearance as many a monk who advocated asceticism. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the racket and also the masquerade. They were all of them, the Lamas, not unlike a party of children playing at “theatre” in a nursery.

“Come,” said Paul, “we are invited to enter--it is one of your chapels, Adele.”

The Taoist Temple was an unpretentious, one-storied structure, of small dimensions, with projecting eaves. To the heathen inquisitives who accepted this invitation, it proved to be a curio shop without and within. Under the eaves were set vertically, into the front and side walls, cylinders about two feet high and a foot in diameter each, a double row, each cylinder held in position by a vertical spindle through the middle. The double rows extended around these three sides of the building.

The Chief Lama entered by the central door, the foreign heathen following him. Passing around the interior, he gave each cylinder a smart spank with the flat of his hand, causing it to revolve rapidly on its vertical spindle. In a moment all were in motion, and the whole house buzzing. The cylinders were reeling off prayers by machinery at a rapid rate; and the Lama, holding his simple rosary made of beans, stood ready to accelerate any particular cylinder which lagged behind.

There could be no doubt as to the exact intention, the sincerity and consequent efficacy of such prayers, simply because the proper wording for a prayer was printed upon a slip of paper carefully wrapped around the spindle inside the cylinder. Even if one’s thoughts did wander, the printed matter did not--the machine did the rest. All the worshipers had to do was to obey orders to attend service, and whirl the machine; the Lamas would take care of these wheels both inside and out, and would also give any stranger within their gates a little wheel for hand use, to take home with him, if he chose to pay for it.

Mrs. Cultus, who was still far from strong, no sooner entered the Temple than she found herself surrounded by buzzing wheels on three sides of the room; the fourth side occupied by what she called a “cabinet of curios.” So many rotary prayers, whirling simultaneously, were very confusing, especially as some of the wheels prayed in one direction and some others in just the opposite. Mrs. Cultus soon grasped the situation, however.

“I must have one. They are the most convenient things I ever saw. I did not know these Taoists had such Yankee notions in this line.”

An innocent (_sic_) Lama promptly offered to sell her a small wheel, which, upon her return, she discovered had been especially adapted to heathen requirements. The thoughtful Lama had removed some of his own prayers and had substituted items for which he knew the Christians were constantly praying. He had inserted slips cut from advertisements in the bazaar.

“Wanted, to rent--a bungalow! Wanted, bachelor’s quarters with good drainage! Wanted, a good ayah (nurse);” and he had also kindly left those petitions which all humanity should offer, of course:

“Wanted, a baby; boy preferred. Girls need not apply.”

It was lucky that Mrs. Cultus did not discover the tenor of these new prayers until later, or she might have felt constrained to preach a heathen sermon herself to the innocent Lamas in that chapel. At this time, however, she held the wheel in her hand, twirling it, innocently praying (according to the service interpretation) for what would have surprised her greatly had her prayers been answered.

The Lama felt well pleased. The heathens were doing as they were told. In time they would make good Taoists.

Miss Winchester also took much interest in this service, but with a tinge of the missionary spirit which had escaped Mrs. Cultus.

“It is curious, isn’t it?” said she. “I feel like spinning round and round, myself--not alone, like those dancing dervishes we saw at Cairo; I want a partner. But I can’t decide which wheel to choose--curious, isn’t it?”

“I would not have believed it,” said Adele, “if I had not seen it. It affects my eyes in exactly the same way that my ears are affected when a congregation repeat the same words over and over again without thinking what they are saying.”

“It is very monotonous,” said Paul. “I suppose the Lamas use wheels to save talking--possibly to save preaching; it does save the sermon, yet brings people to church.”

“It must amuse them, too,” said Adele; “they are only children, you know.”

“But grown-up children,” remarked the Doctor.

“Yes, and that reminds me; I’ve heard before of folk condemned for much speaking without thinking, and for sounding trumpets in the synagogue and streets; we’ve certainly found it here by the roadside.”

The scene thus far had been antipathetic to Adele, to both her artistic and to her religious sense; still her sympathy for the poor Taoists was excited. The real missionary spirit arose within her; but what could she do? It seemed preposterous to attempt or to say anything just then; she turned toward Doctor Wise.

The Doctor was standing near a very old woman who had just entered, a poor creature in rags and tatters, her face smeared with dried blood and other red pigments, a veritable hag in outer appearance, bowed down with hard work and suffering. Even the Lamas made way for her, however, for she was known to be a very devout old creature, who spent much time in the Temple, who almost lived there; in fact, she was a sort of priestess among them, the very priestess who had heard Adele singing on the heights above her, and had said it was the Good Spirits talking in the air.

The poor old soul had come to her customary holy place, and was now evidently surprised to find it invaded by such a coterie of strangers. Her attitude of intense curiosity soon changed to an obsequious inclination of the body--the poor creature was doing her very best to meet the case, to welcome them to her temple.

Adele felt drawn to her because she was so hideous to behold--so sure is it that extremes will meet if truth is in each. Both being sincere, each after her own fashion, the poor Taoist quickly appreciated when one of her own sex came nearer to her; and an experience altogether truthful followed.

The eyes of the priestess surveyed Adele from hat to shoes; and womanly instinct once gratified, her eyes brightened. Adele smiled responsively; utterly forgetful that she herself was indeed beautiful, her heart went straight forward in visible sympathy with the poor creature before her.

The light in those old Taoist eyes became still brighter--it was wonderful this time--with that Asiatic fire which characterizes the religious enthusiast. An idea had evidently struck the priestess; what was it?

Turning from Adele she hobbled across the room, each step an effort, to where stood an enormous prayer-wheel over six feet high, the most important wheel in the Temple. Squatting on the floor beside it, she fumbled under it as if trying to find something.

It was Adele’s turn to be curious.

The priestess, now fired by religious zeal, drew from underneath an iron bar bent at one end, not unlike a heavy poker. She adjusted it underneath to a crank on the wheel, and began tugging and struggling.

Paul exclaimed at once: “She’s trying to start that immense machine!”

“It looks so,” said Adele quietly.

“To pray with that is hard work.”

“She is not conscious of the effort.”

“Well, I should be.”

“I never knew before what it meant,” said Adele.

“What?”

“Why, to pray with all your strength--don’t you see?”

“Yes.”

“She has a motive to give her strength; I see it in her eyes.”

“Possibly! but don’t tell me you can detect motives in people’s eyes.”

“I can; she is a woman, you are not.”

“I give it up,” said Paul. “You have the advantage of me in feminine insight; what is her motive?”

“To pray for us,” said Adele seriously. “I feel sure of it; the good old soul, she looks it and acts it; she’s going to pray.”

“By machinery?”

“It is for us, I tell you, Paul; I don’t care if she doesn’t say a word; she’s doing it for us!--don’t you see her?”

“Oh!”

“Watch, and pray yourself, and you will see.”

Paul watched, but he couldn’t pray, not just then, so he whispered: “Taoists and Buddhists don’t pray, anyhow--they only mutter.”

“Well, no matter, nor mutter either,” said Adele. “It’s the way they get at it. She is not beautiful, but she has something better--she can----”

“Use machinery,” muttered Paul, the incorrigible. “No, Adele, she is not handsome----”

“No, but she is good and true, poor old woman. If I had to make the choice, I would rather have her prayerful spirit than even beauty.”

Paul looked at the lovely girl to whom he was betrothed, and thought her an enthusiast quite equal to the old woman; then upon second thought:

“Adele!”

“Well?”

“I suppose you are right, but I’m glad you don’t look like her.”

While they watched, the poor priestess was still tugging at her wheel; she had but little strength and it was so heavy. None of her people offered to help.

Adele’s interest increased, until a glow came into her eyes also; seizing Paul by the arm, she whispered:

“It’s--it’s too much for her, Paul; see! she cannot move it. You must help--no, I;” and the next instant Adele was beside the Taoist on the floor; each helping the other to turn the wheel, each trying to pray according to her own previous experience. Adele said afterwards it took about all the strength she had.

Between them, the wheel began to turn slowly, very slowly; the dead weight, the inertia, the figurative indifference to be overcome was typical of mundane matters generally, forming a heavy impediment to be overcome in spiritual relationship. But the wheel did move, the momentum increased, it gained force, and was soon revolving at a good rate of speed by the sole effort of the poor, weak, but sincere Taoist.

Adele slipped aside, and stood listening to the low musical hum of the large machine instead of the sharp buzzing of the smaller wheels she had heard before. Her musical ear at once noticed the profound difference in the tone; it sounded solemn--aye, sweet and peaceful; if continued it would be a veritable lullaby dominated by spiritual significance; it would be truly musical, spiritual music; all the greater harmonies condensed in one solemn tone; a single spiritual tone. The greatest orchestra of man could do no more.

Could it be possible that this wild priestess was also affected by the sacred solemn sound? Do even the crude forms of religion have such subtle distinctions of feeling? Do they not, as well as we, hear the solemn sounds in nature? Why not? Nature’s tones are full of significance. And who would “know” this better than those who worship in the forest where the trees bow their heads and the leaves rustle; or by the stream where zephyrs blow and the birds warble; or before the majestic mountains when the rushing mighty wind blows its diapason, and the avalanche gives the basal note at the end? Such are the nocturnes, the largos, aye, the symphonic sounds in nature. Does not a “nature-worshiper” hear them? They have been from the beginning, are now, and ever shall be.

Strange, oh, passing strange, the low tone of this mighty wheel now sounded much like nature’s tones in harmony with one at her devotions.

“I have heard the Taoist organ,” thought Adele, “its sacred solemn sound.”

But for this solemn music, there was silence in the Temple while the Taoist muttered.

So long as the strangers remained in that Cathedral chapel the huge wheel continued to revolve--emblem of perpetual prayer--praying without ceasing. The priestess who thus prayed had much to say--to repeat--being old, and with little time left in which to say her prayers. She kept on, oblivious to all surroundings, absorbed in contemplation of the unseen; for with all humanity there is nothing so real as the unseen. She kept on oblivious to all the outer world who might be gazing with curiosity; she remained crouched on the floor of the Temple, simply muttering, over and over again, some mystic phrase or the name of Buddha, which none of the strangers could understand.

When the party left she was still praying after her fashion. As they mounted their ponies and journeyed out into the great world, she was still meditating on the best she knew, as the Good Spirit had taught her. As they descended the ravine, Adele could still hear the hum of the wheels; and above all the low solemn tone was profoundly significant. It now came to her from above, through the tree-tops; it blended with the rustling of the leaves, and was lost in the sough of the forest.

XLI

PROCESSIONAL BEFORE THE VEIL

Atmospheric changes were varied and rapid in the vicinity of the Himalaya “Five Peaks of Eternal Snow.” Clear days were by no means constant around Darjeeling. There were periods when “the view towards the chancel,” as Adele called it, was obstructed; days when the clouds hung low, even resting upon the forests in the ravines beneath. Yet the forms of the trees were not always hid, they appeared as darker lines of delicate tracery against the lighter background.

At such times Adele idealized with much refinement of vision. “Those trees are the rood-screen; I can see through into the chancel when it is clear; but to-day the chancel is misty, the clouds hang like a veil. It is astonishing how much is hidden by fog and mist in nature; that veil hides a great deal.”

The Doctor also was very appreciative of such atmospheric changes, since they often resulted in superb effects, cloud scenery, sunbursts never to be forgotten for their magnificence.

It thus happened while they were all assembled on a Saturday evening discussing projects for the morrow, that Adele and the Doctor each felt the impulse to rise early on the same morning to watch some of the atmospheric changes which made beautiful the dawn.

The Doctor remembered having seen remarkable effects at Banff in the Rockies; and Adele recalled having met Tartarin de Tarascon on the Righi pretty early in the morning; no doubt there might be some greater things than these to be found among the Himalayas. Why it was, that only these two of the party should have been so moved, and upon the same particular morning, and without saying anything about it previously, the Doctor could never quite understand; unless on the general principle that if people will follow their natural inclinations to see the best in life they need not be surprised to find others doing the same thing at the same time. When they discussed it subsequently, Adele accounted for it in her own way.

“I so often dislike to make the necessary effort. That sort of effort is very trying, when to see something extra which I know can be seen I must force myself. Getting up early, for instance; I don’t like getting up early as a general thing, but I just forced myself to do so on that morning.”

Thus it happened to be the first day of the week very early in the morning that she and the Doctor found themselves abroad when it was yet somewhat dark. Adele was the first to appear upon the scene; she was standing in the road opposite Peek-o’-Tip when the Doctor came out of the bungalow. Neither one was in the mood for conversation, and the morning air was fresh. After the first agreeable surprise Adele put her arm in his and they moved off together briskly. She was in sympathy with him also, as with Paul, but the mutual feeling manifested itself very differently. The cloud hung low.

“The sun will drink up the mist,” remarked the Doctor in peasant parlance.

“I hope so, but I never can tell. Let us go to Observatory Hill; that’s the best place.” She seemed to take it as a matter of course that they each had the same object in view.

“Your Cathedral is gloomy,” said the Doctor, looking around.

“One can’t see the chancel.”

“No.”

“It’s the veil,” said Adele, thoughtful.

“What did you say?”

“The cloud-curtains, the veil of the Temple is down.”

After walking some distance they entered a grove; of course it became still darker because they entered the grove. What they did not notice was that the clouds, instead of dispersing, were becoming more dense. They only remembered that the path led upwards towards higher ground in the open.

At one point on the way Adele stopped, and looked into a dark glen where she said she heard running water. The Doctor pushed aside bushes that stood in the way, and they were sprinkled by the moisture that had condensed on the bushes. If there had been more light they would have seen the diamond drops upon the scarlet blossoms; but these were hidden in the shadows at the mouth of the glen.

Before them was an exquisite cascade falling over rocks; coming down the mountain it was tossed upon either side of a heavy stone which had been rolled there in past ages by natural forces, and now stood with white foam enveloping its rugged sides.

This unexpected gem of natural scenery compelled them to halt and admire.

“What a surprise, how beautiful!” exclaimed Adele.

“Yes, even in this dull light.”

“The water looks like delicate cambric.”

“Why, so it does--draped round the stone; the rocks are sombre and solemn. You know it is said that some animals, wild and savage, like to find such places as this to nestle down and take their last long sleep.”

“I think I know why, too,” said Adele.

“Ah!”

“It is the music of the waterfall perhaps, and the movement too. The water is so much alive, it’s living water.”

“All life seeks life,” said the Doctor. “Some sort of companionship; even a hermit likes the life in his glen. It’s not uncheerful here, after all, is it--even if it seems gloomy?”

“No, listen; the waterfall is singing. I could catch the rhythm, and perhaps a cadence, in a short time if I were to try; it seems to say something.”

“What does it say, to you?”

“Oh, ’tis ‘the water of life repeating,’” said Adele, quoting one of her favorite lines. “I cannot tell you exactly what it says in words, but the music in it is hopeful; I love to listen to it.”

“So do I,” said the Doctor. “Would you like a drink?”

“Indeed, I would; just for remembrance, to say we have been here together. Let us take a drink in remembrance.”

They both drank from a cup made of leaves--both of the same cup--“the water of life,” as Adele called it; and as they drank a bird flew down from its nest, perched itself on a rock near the cascade above them, and drank also; a little bird with a red breast. They did not see the bird, emblem of suffering unto death for others, and only took a drop or two themselves, for verily the realities of life made the glen damp and cold, yet the thought symbolized by the bird was ever with them and the moment precious.

“I should like to drink that water always,” said Adele.

“Always is a long time.”

“Well, I did not mean exactly that--until----”

The Doctor waited.

“Well, if I must tell you, until the resurrection.”

“I trust we may,” said he solemnly.

They understood each other perfectly, and after a pause, while the robin sang a morning hymn, they continued their walk.

Drops of rain began to fall upon the tree-tops. Adele and the Doctor caught the sound.

“Only a little condensation,” said he, “a draught of cooler air has passed over. We will be out of it in a few minutes.”

Adele felt chilly, but would not say so. She drew her hooded-wrap about her, and felt quite safe with the Doctor.

“A Lepcha shanty is just beyond here,” said he, “if it comes to the worst we can find shelter.”

“And plenty of dirt,” thought Adele. “No doubt, lots of insects, especially on a damp day.”

The patter of rain increased, a very wet drop fell upon her cheek, several big drops struck the Doctor full in the face. Having no umbrellas they hurried along instinctively, then broke into a trot--then ran to escape as best they could. When crossing an open space between the woods and the hut the rain fell in torrents.

“You will be drenched through and through,” said the Doctor.

“I don’t mind it at all. It’s only on the outside, anyhow, and I’m warmly clad; still it’s a little chilly--let’s hurry,” and off she started, the Doctor after her, on a bee-line for the shelter. Panting, they rushed up to the shanty.

The hut was almost full--full of Lepchas--men, women and children, unkempt specimens of humanity whose clothes when once on seemed seldom to be taken off until they fell off. The Lepchas had also taken refuge from the storm, and were all wet and bedraggled, like themselves.

“A sweet party, truly!” thought the Doctor, and so it was. Poor natives lying round like drowned rats--the Americans in exterior appeared not much better; all but Adele’s cheeks which glowed after the exercise of running.

She pulled back her hood, and a ripple of smiles played over her countenance--the Lepchas laughed too. Then as if they were all friends together, she asked: “Can you take us in--take us in?” and began shaking the rain from her garments at the outer stone. It must have been her cheerful manner that induced one of the women to make room next herself on a seat; the Lepcha men were more stolid, but all began to move when the strangers entered.

The Doctor soon detected a goat in the shanty--there was no doubt about it--and concluded to escape as soon as possible. But there they were--caught; caught as in a net of circumstances. Little did he or Adele know to what the circumstances would lead, but he said afterwards that it reminded him of St. Paul’s experience at Joppa with a sheet-net full of common things, four-footed beasts and fowls, unclean things in general; which later on proved not so unclean as he had at first thought; only in this case Adele and he were inside the net with the rest.

Some of the Lepchas knew a few words of English, but the more ancient universal language of signs and grunts proved to be more useful. Adele patted a chicken, and a Lepcha damsel patted the young goat, a kid. Both chicken and kid seemed of special value to the natives. Adele could not conjecture the reason. When the rain ceased and they all stepped outside she was further enlightened. Neither the wet Lepchas nor the bedraggled Christians desired to remain in that stuffy hut, both hurried to seek the fresh air and to reach the open; the whole crowd in fact, kid and chicken included. And out they scrambled, pell-mell, with a unanimity of action as natural as it was prompt. The natives formed a little group in the open, looking around to satisfy themselves that the clouds were dispersing. Through rifts in the mist near them came the clearer morning light, to all, from whatever part of the earth they had come, a foretaste of the brightest of days.

The natives gathered together, a little company, their leader carrying the kid, a boy following with the fowl, others straggling by twos and threes, yet now all of sober countenance.

Adele and the Doctor looked after them; there was evidently some purpose in the manner of those natives as they proceeded up the hill towards its crest, to the very place of observation they themselves had selected for the best view, and where they were going when they had been arrested by the shower. More than mere curiosity, a fellow-feeling, now suggested that they all go together; so, regardless of their wet and soiled garments, Adele and the Doctor soon found themselves willingly tramping up that hill along with the ragged natives. The leader looked askance at first, but when he noticed Adele beside one of his women, and the Doctor with his men, he made the best of it, accepted the situation, and kept ahead carrying the kid.

The path wound upwards, the ascent growing more steep. None could see far ahead when the processional commenced. Not until their march was well under way, not until the very last stage of the climb, not until near approach to the place they sought, not in fact until their own forms arose above the near foreground, did they witness the Glory in nature which was, and is, and is to be.

And as they surmounted the crest of the hill, so did the Celestial scenery beyond become visible to their mortal eyes, rising before them a sublime transformation scene--an ascension of truth beautiful in nature.

To Adele and the Doctor, a veritable transfiguration of the earth as they might imagine it glorified on the morning of a Resurrection.

The mighty summits, the eternal peaks, on this first day of the week, shone forth in the purer atmosphere of greater altitude, magnificent in proportions as a work in Creation, impressive in their glorious grandeur, refulgent as with the sacred glow of a physical rebirth.

The clouds were moving aside, as a curtain is withdrawn; and from the depths below, the valley and ravine, from forest and waterfall, rose the mist. That which covers, screens, or conceals in nature, like the fog, was passing away; that which is more permanent, ascending heavenward to form clouds; ascending as incense ascends; incense symbolic from ages past of the prayers of humanity.

The Holy of Holies of the Himalaya Cathedral was open before them.

The Veil of the Temple had been rent in twain.

The Kunchingunga Snowy Range. Elevation, 28,156 feet.

Scene from Observatory Hill, Darjeeling.]

XLII

ON HOLY GROUND

As the impressive scene unfolded, the Cathedral becoming more sublimely beautiful each moment, Adele watched the wonderful play of light--the refulgence. She was also profoundly impressed by the magnificent proportions of the picture then being illuminated before her very eyes by the Creator; and felt the breath of life come and go with emotion.

“It is the Glorious Beauty of Holiness,” she murmured, and then, kept silence before Him.

Now, next to Adele stood the native woman; and before them both was unrolled the same scene. To this Himalaya worshiper, Lepcha, Bhootanese, Nepaulese, Thibetan, or whatever tribe she might have been born, the effect was not the same as upon Adele. Familiarity with such sunrises in the mountains had dulled what little appreciation she might ever have had; but her religion had told her something which Adele did not know. From untold generations her people had been taught to regard that place as sacred. She had been brought there as a child, and now she was leading her own children there; and told the little ones: “The place whereon thou standest is holy ground.” She had also her own ideas as to why it was sacred; and that very morning had come to the holy ground to show the children why it was holy; but Adele knew nothing of all this.

Worldly wisdom might have judged this woman and Adele to be in no way alike, yet, here in this presence, where the holiness of beauty and the beauty of holiness were both in evidence, there was really a fundamental similarity.

Adele drew near the Doctor; he, too, had been keeping silent in the Holy Place.

“The Veil has been taken away,” said she.

“H’m, yes.”

“It is the most impressive sight I ever beheld.”

“Why so?”

“It is as a chancel should be.”

“Of course, the most beautiful portion of a cathedral.”

“Beauty is not all, I feel more than I see; the beauty is sacred here; the sacred feeling comes first, and then--oh, it is so beautiful!”

“It must be a Holy Place if it affects you that way.”

“Yes, a place for prayer, it seems natural to pray here; here one thinks upwards, and looks upwards.”

“Then the effect is spiritual as well as artistic.”

“Oh, don’t analyze! I don’t wish to reason at all,” said Adele. “For me it’s perfect. I’m satisfied. Just let me rest here, let me go and sit down, _and be a part of it_.”

She seated herself at the foot of a tree.

It would have been sacrilege to disturb her at that moment--a violation of sacred things in her experience. So, on the instant, thought the Doctor.

After a little reflection, the Doctor said to himself that this was not the time for Adele to “loaf and invite her soul.” He feared lest she was carrying her idealization entirely too far. Even the best in the world, if carried to excess, leads one into danger; and spiritual excesses are especially dangerous, either to youth or old age.

To sit at the feet of Nature, to admire and enjoy the Creator’s work, was one thing; to be so absorbed in Nature’s moods, and to become such a slave to emotion that all else is forgotten, would be quite another thing. Adele seemed to have forgotten the Lepchas, and himself, and even her own self; and to be totally absorbed in adoration of the scenery.

The Doctor had many times seen pious worshipers in certain phases of Hindooism, Buddhism, and Christianity, indulge in that sort of thing; but never in Shintoism or any really old form of faith which brought one close to nature, through nature’s activities and manifestations unidealized; where nature spoke for herself and mankind was silent before her. He suspected this excess of idealization, this becoming “a part of it,” as Adele had wished for, might become really a weakness in her character, and might lead her into danger. Such a frame of mind would certainly be fascinating to Adele, she was so made, she was constitutionally an idealist; but certainly it was not mentally healthful in relation to her duty to others; not a thing to be rooted out, but to be controlled lest the result should prove injurious.

The Doctor determined to break in upon her mood in some way. He recalled her last remark, that she was perfectly satisfied with her Cathedral, and only wished to rest and be a part of it.

“Adele, you said this Cathedral was complete.”

“It is to me.”

“Not if it is a cathedral as usually understood.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have idealized what we now see as the chancel?”

“Certainly, the place where the service is conducted.”

“May I ask what is the central feature in the service to which you and I are accustomed?”

“To administer; no doubt.”

“To administer; certainly--but what?”

She thought very seriously, trying to find suitable words. She was not accustomed to this sort of stand-up-and-deliver catechism; but finally she spoke:

“Some might say to administer the sacrifice; but I do not see how this can be possible. It is not a fact in nature; I cannot consider it true.”

“May I ask, why not?”

“You can never kill the truth; and Christ is not dead, but living; they are the same no matter how you think about it--Christ and the Truth.”

“But Truth was sacrificed in Him.”

“Never!” she cried. “That is an impossibility in nature. It only seems sacrificed; it never really is.”

“But He was sacrificed.”

“His great sacrifice of Himself for Truth’s sake was really His whole life work, and it was Perfection,” said Adele.

“His life, as well as His death,” acquiesced the Doctor, solemnly.

“Yes, a perfect work.”

“Well then, Adele, no other _idealized sacrifice_ in administering could make the service more complete, nor the atonement more adequate than it is.”

The atonement!

Yes. The at-one-ment--the Saving of the World--the Salvation of Mankind by the Truth.

* * * * *

And as they conversed thus, upon the Lepcha Holy Ground, the Doctor concluded that Adele’s meditations had not led her astray; but he felt constrained to say something further which had been on his mind from the first.

“Adele, with us the ministration is usually at the chancel rail.”

“Yes, or what corresponds to it.”

“Where from?”

“The altar; why do you ask?”

“Have you seen any altar in this Cathedral?”

Adele looked around in different directions, continually reverting to the chancel region she had idealized, as if it ought to be there. Surely there must be an altar in nature, or something she could idealize as such; for so many religions professed to have altars, from the earliest times down to the present day. She began to fear lest her imagery as to the Cathedral had failed her in a vital point. Once before she had thought she could discover some form or shape in the higher altitudes which might suggest an altar; in every case the light had been so dazzling, or what she tried to see was so vague, that her ideal had never been satisfied in its most vital need; and now with the chancel itself open, the veil rent, she saw nothing to suggest an altar. Where was it? Had it been there? If so, then what had become of it--the altar?

XLIII

SACRIFICE

Adele was still sitting at the foot of the tree; some said it was a bo-tree; others did not have knowledge enough to tell what kind of a tree it was. She did not think of this at all, as she sat dreaming upon the magnificent spectacle before her. In her mind she was seeking for an answer to the Doctor’s inquiry; then her eyes, while searching for some object which might be idealized in some degree as an altar, were drawn to the immediate foreground, away from the chancel, to something in her own vicinity, quite near herself.

Upon the same knoll, a short distance from her, boughs of foliage were festooned with cords and ropes upon which hung hundreds of small pieces of bright-colored muslin cut fantastically; also pieces of white textile, the size of a large napkin, covered with printed or crudely stamped characters in the native language. Hanging in garlands from bough to bough, fluttering in the wind among the leaves, they were about as effective as yacht signals strung out for decoration. Signals they were, indeed, but of quite another kind; the fluttering prayer-signals of the poor Lepchas, or Bhootanese, or Thibetans, arranged in a semi-circle around their sacred place. Wafted heavenward by the breeze, such signals were presented as acceptable to the Good Spirits, and were considered to bear upwards the supplications of poor humanity. They were the symbols of prayer used by the same worshipers in whose hut Adele and the Doctor had found a welcome shelter from the storm.

At first sight Adele thought: “How very crude and tawdry!” A second glance told her the decorations symbolized something, and she felt more sympathetic. The bright colors and the printed texts on white were certainly newer, fresher, and cleaner than the garments of the Lepchas themselves; they must have been selected, and they had cost something; only a few annas perhaps, or possibly some widow’s mite.

“Yes, the effect is cheerful; a happy one,” thought Adele. “One doesn’t feel despondent when looking at them.” How could it be otherwise when each praying-signal fluttered a message of thanks, or propitiation?--all of them in remembrance of the Good Spirits. And then she thought she detected among them a familiar arrangement of colors; what!--could it be possible? Yes, an old faded-out, partly-torn specimen of “Old Glory,” hardly recognizable, but yet there, for the sake of its being a new arrangement of colors, probably its true significance utterly unknown. This moved Adele intensely, giving her a curious new emotion, blending her patriotic feeling with the sacred things of others. Finally she concluded that all the signals were really artistic from the Lepcha point of view, for she noticed an expression of much satisfaction pass over the countenances of the natives when they found their sacred prayer-colors were still so bravely fluttering after the storm; still in motion where the Spirit of the Air could easily see and hear. The poor woman with whom Adele had walked up pointed to some as if they were her own private signals, but as Adele did not manifest much outward enthusiasm about them, a sad expression came over the face of the nature-worshiper. She seemed to realize that she ought not to expect these strangers to understand her feelings. Perhaps the strangers would scorn such things--old pieces of muslin picked up in the bazaar; they could afford yards and yards of it if they chose. So the poor woman turned away disappointed, to seek sympathy among her own kindred who could better understand how such things were acceptable to the Good Spirit.

It was profoundly interesting to see those two at this time, so near in body, and yet so far apart in religious interpretations; yet each upon what was to her “holy ground.” Such are the mysterious operations of the Spirit of Religion in Nature.

Adele was just beginning to realize the varied conflicting elements in her surroundings when she and the Doctor heard voices behind them--a weird chant--a primitive monotonous crooning, but wild--the natives’ hymn. Around a thicket the people had gathered, singing this invocation. Adele and the Doctor drew near, and both of them being musical they involuntarily attempted to catch the higher notes and to join in; but it proved to be too much for them in every way, especially to Adele’s cultivated ear. The very simplicity of the strange sounds, all spirit and no art, made it difficult to detect any method, only variations of monotonous notes and cries; sometimes rhythm, but no trace of melody, at least to civilized ears. It was painfully monotonous; aye, there was pain indeed in that native chant of invocation. No grand aria of the art divine, nor “wail of the orchestra” in modern times, had more pain to the spirit in man, than that primitive wail. All that Adele and the Doctor could do was to feel for them, yet not be of them.

The thicket was formed by underbrush which had sprung up around some taller trees. There was an open space inside, with several rocks and stones which had evidently been brought there by the worshipers. One rock larger than the rest stood on one side, the others scattered with apparent lack of method. The entrance was wide, so that all near at hand could witness what was going on within the circle. And while the weird song continued outside, the people drew nearer and nearer; the solemn moment arrived for the Leader and his Helper to enter this thicket--the Lepcha Holy of Holies--and stand before their altar.

As Abraham of old, in mature manhood, Leader of “the Chosen People” among races, did enter a thicket and there offer a sacrifice well pleasing to the Lord: so did this poor native at the end of the Nineteenth Century, enter his Holy Place, a thicket in the Creator’s Cathedral of the Himalayas; and there did offer a sacrifice well pleasing to the Good Spirit to whom a thousand years are as one day, and one day as a thousand years.

The first offering was the fowl; and as the dying spasms of the bird scattered blood upon the stones, and upon the primitive priest, and upon others who stood near enough, the wild chant rose above the sound of flapping wings, and with the final throes of death mingled the wails of the worshipers.

To Adele, whose experience in killing of any kind was limited, the sight of life-blood flowing was most painful, even obnoxious. When a little girl in the country during her school-day vacations, she had always avoided seeing the fowls killed; not only because it destroyed her appetite for them afterwards, but because she felt a most positive and acute sympathy for the fowls. In later years, if anyone had called such proceedings “a sacrifice,” she would have been much surprised. On this occasion, face to face with it, her sympathy was strong enough to give her a sympathetic pain in the back of her own neck when the fowl was stabbed, pierced unto death.

When Adele was in the hospital acting as volunteer nurse, her experience had been to assist in curing, not in the surgical department; and if such had been the case, she would not have remained there a day. Now, when she found herself a quasi-participant in these Lepcha proceedings, eye-witness of a bloody wounded fowl flapping about, the situation was positively repulsive; and very difficult to sympathize with, even when she knew the act to be a feature in religious worship. She looked up at the Doctor.

Doctor Wise was absorbed in studying the movements of the priest.

The Lepcha stood over the kid, with his knife drawn ready to take its innocent life.

Adele caught sight of him in that attitude, and gave a shudder. She knew she could not endure to witness the next act. Naught could have induced her to turn spiritually from the poor nature-worshipers at such a moment, yet she could not accept their primitive methods as other than downright cruelty to-day. The sharp glittering knife, the rough stone, the priest’s stolid expression; and above all else, the unsuspecting little kid, so docile, as if among friends. Verily, the trustful eyes of the little animal seemed to speak the very words: “Ye are my friends, while I am yet with you.”

Adele buried her face upon the Doctor’s shoulder, and only heard without seeing the sacrifice which followed.

And behold! one of the most natural yet mysterious of all the phenomena in nature at once followed: Adele, embodying in her own personality the progress made in appreciation of religious ritual upon earth since primitive times, while spared the terror of realism, was more deeply affected than by realism itself; the things done had greater scope and power, the spiritual impression was far more profound and lasting than the effect of any spectacle which had actually been witnessed, and this in the very nature of truth progressive. The mind is greater than the eye, the Spirit of Truth is greater than the mind, the real growth is not in the intellect but in the spirit; aye, “the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life. Knowledge is power, but the spirit giveth immortality.”

Adele heard the cry of pain, the cry of life departing. It was only that of an animal, an innocent kid, but it and its innocence stood in lieu of many human beings. She heard the chant of the natives calling aloud, heavenward! above the cries of the innocent sacrifice; the people seemed themselves to be suffering. They were, yet they were not; not physically, yet their cries sounded as if the knife might be entering their very vitals. No realism apparent to mortal eyes could have been so powerful to affect them spiritually--the noblest, the divine in their personality; not unless nature itself had witnessed by taking part; not unless the veil of the Himalaya Temple had closed again, or “the sun had been darkened over all the earth,” or some such occurrence had transpired to direct attention to an event affecting humanity at large.

Then the strangest part of this primitive ritual followed; enduring in its action, and lasting in memory. An event implying mystery took place, a seeming mystery was suggested, a philosophic truth inculcated. How so by such a primitive uneducated people, yet able to embody what to this day dominates the profoundest concepts of philosophic man?

With the passing of the life by sacrifice, the life from the shed blood as it curdled and sank into the ground, went also the moans and dirges of those for whom the sacrifice had been made. The Lepcha voices changed in quality, manifesting great gain in force of conviction, rose higher and higher, and finally gave vent to cries of exultation, aspiration, exaltation--they chanted a triumph: a victory leading them onwards and upwards towards something beyond in the direction of the Eternal Summits magnificent before their very eyes. It was as if they saw the truth in their faith no longer militant and sacrificing, but triumphant in the Celestial Realm.

Strange, yet a natural consequence of the truth as they saw it: as the life of the kid departed by the blood of sacrifice returning into the earth among the grass of the field from which it had come and upon which it had fed, there arose a new life--a resurrection from the depths of misery and woe; a new song--a triumphal song--a song of the Saved Ones. The native choristers seemed possessed with renewed hope and vitality; and acting under these influences they found the burden of their song changed to suit a new condition which they certainly discerned.

In the case of these Himalaya nature-worshipers, this ordinary killing of a beast for food, as practiced by their ancestors from time immemorial, had been used by the Mind of Nature, the Creator Father, to teach a philosophic truth through the religious sense; the full significance of which was not learned by humanity until millenniums after those primitive ancestors had found it to be a fact in nature.

Truly, this ancient ritual was profound in significance; it had been so from the beginning.