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There is a place uplifted nine thousand feet in purest air whereone of the most ancient tracks in the world runs from India intoTibet. It leaves Simla of the Imperial councils by a stately road;it passes beyond, but now narrowing, climbing higher beside thekhuds or steep drops to the precipitous valleys beneath, and therumor of Simla grows distant and the way is quiet, for, owing tothe danger of driving horses above the khuds, such baggage as youown must be carried by coolies, and you yourself must either rideon horseback or in the little horseless carriage of the Orient,here drawn and pushed by four men. And presently the deodars darkenthe way with a solemn presence, for—
"These are the Friars of the wood, The Brethren of the Solitude Hooded and grave—"
their breath most austerely pure in the gradually chilling air.Their companies increase and now the way is through a great woodwhere it has become a trail and no more, and still it climbs formany miles and finally a rambling bungalow, small and low, issighted in the deeps of the trees, a mountain stream from unknownheights falling beside it. And this is known as the House in theWoods. Very few people are permitted to go there, for the owner hasno care for money and makes no provision for guests. You must takeyour own servant and the khansamah will cook you such simple foodas men expect in the wilds, and that is all. You stay as long asyou please and when you leave not even a gift to the khansamah ispermitted.
I had been staying in Ranipur of the plains while I consideredthe question of getting to Upper Kashmir by the route from Simlaalong the old way to Chinese Tibet where I would touch Shipki inthe Dalai Lama's territory and then pass on to Zanskar and so downto Kashmir—a tremendous route through the Himalaya and acrowning experience of the mightiest mountain scenery in the world.I was at Ranipur for the purpose of consulting my old friendOlesen, now an irrigation official in the Rampur district—aman who had made this journey and nearly lost his life in doing it.It is not now perhaps so dangerous as it was, and my life was of noparticular value to any one but myself, and the plan interestedme.
I pass over the long discussions of ways and means in theblinding heat of Ranipur. Olesen put all his knowledge at myservice and never uttered a word of the envy that must have filledhim as he looked at the distant snows cool and luminous in blueair, and, shrugging good-natured shoulders, spoke of the work thatlay before him on the burning plains until the terrible summershould drag itself to a close. We had vanquished the details andwere smoking in comparative silence one night on the veranda, whenhe said in his slow reflective way;
"You don't like the average hotel, Ormond, and you'll like itstill less up Simla way with all the Simla crowd of grass-widowsand fellows out for as good a time as they can cram into the hotweather. I wonder if I could get you a permit for The House in theWoods while you re waiting to fix up your men and route forShipki."
He explained and of course I jumped at the chance. It belonged,he said, to a man named Rup Singh, a pandit, or learned man ofRanipur. He had always spent the summer there, but age and failinghealth made this impossible now, and under certain conditions hewould occasionally allow people known to friends of his own to putup there.
"And Rup Singh and I are very good friends," Olesen said; "I wonhis heart by discovering the lost Sukh Mandir, or Hall of Pleasure,built many centuries ago by a Maharao of Ranipur for a summerretreat in the great woods far beyond Simla. There are lots oflegends about it here in Ranipur. They call it The House of Beauty.Rup Singh's ancestor had been a close friend of the Maharao and waswith him to the end, and that's why he himself sets such store onthe place. You have a good chance if I ask for a permit.
"He told me the story and since it is the heart of my own I giveit briefly. Many centuries ago the Ranipur Kingdom was ruled by theMaharao Rai Singh a prince of the great lunar house of the Rajputs.Expecting a bride from some far away kingdom (the name of this isunrecorded) he built the Hall of Pleasure as a summer palace, ahouse of rare and costly beauty. A certain great chamber he linedwith carved figures of the Gods and their stories, almostunsurpassed for truth and life. So, with the pine trees whisperingabout it the secret they sigh to tell, he hoped to create anearthly Paradise with this Queen in whom all loveliness wasperfected. And then some mysterious tragedy ended all his hopes. Itwas rumoured that when the Princess came to his court, she was, bysome terrible mistake, received with insult and offered theposition only of one of his women. After that nothing was known.Certain only is it that he fled to the hills, to the home of hisbroken hope, and there ended his days in solitude, save for theattendance of two faithful friends who would not abandon him evenin the ghostly quiet of the winter when the pine boughs were heavywith snow and a spectral moon stared at the panthers shufflingthrough the white wastes beneath. Of these two Rup Singh's ancestorwas one. And in his thirty fifth year the Maharao died and hisbeauty and strength passed into legend and his kingdom was taken byanother and the jungle crept silently over his Hall of Pleasure andthe story ended.
"There was not a memory of the place up there," Olesen went on."Certainly I never heard anything of it when I went up to theShipki in 1904. But I had been able to be useful to Rup Singh andhe gave me a permit for The House in the Woods, and I stopped therefor a few days' shooting. I remember that day so well. I waswandering in the dense woods while my men got their midday grub,and I missed the trail somehow and found myself in a part where thetrees were dark and thick and the silence heavy as lead. It was asif the trees were on guard—they stood shoulder to shoulderand stopped the way. Well, I halted, and had a notion there wassomething beyond that made me doubt whether to go on. I must havestood there five minutes hesitating. Then I pushed on, bruising thethick ferns under my shooting boots and stooping under the knottedboughs. Suddenly I tramped out of the jungle into a clearing, andlo and behold a ruined House, with blocks of marble lying all aboutit, and carved pillars and a great roof all being slowly smotheredby the jungle. The weirdest thing you ever saw. I climbed somefallen columns to get a better look, and as I did I saw a faceflash by at the arch of a broken window. I sang out in Hindustani,but no answer: only the echo from the woods. Somehow that dampenedmy ardour, and I didn't go in to what seemed like a great ruinedhall for the place was so eerie and lonely, and looked mighty snakyinto the bargain. So I came ingloriously away and told Rup Singh.And his whole face changed. 'That is The House of Beauty,' he said.'All my life have I sought it and in vain. For, friend of my soul,a man must lose himself that he may find himself and what liesbeyond, and the trodden path has ever been my doom. And you whohave not sought have seen. Most strange are the way of the Gods'.Later on I knew this was why he had always gone up yearly, thinkingand dreaming God knows what. He and I tried for the place together,but in vain and the whole thing is like a dream. Twice he has letfriends of mine stay at The House in the Woods, and I think hewon't refuse now."
"Did he ever tell you the story?"
"Never. I only know what I've picked up here. Some horriblemistake about the Rani that drove the man almost mad with remorse.I've heard bits here and there. There's nothing so vital astradition in India."
"I wonder'. what really happened."
"That we shall never know. I got a little old picture of theMaharao—said to be painted by a Pahari artist. It's notlikely to be authentic, but you never can tell. A Brahman sold itto me that he might complete his daughter's dowry, and hated doingit."
"May I see it?"
"Why certainly. Not a very good light, but—can do," as theChinks say.
He brought it out rolled in silk stuff and I carried it underthe hanging lamp. A beautiful young man indeed, with the air ofrace these people have beyond all others;—a cold haughtyface, immovably dignified. He sat with his hands resting lightly onthe arms of his chair of State. A crescent of rubies clasped thefolds of the turban and from this sprang an aigrette scatteringsplendours. The magnificent hilt of a sword was ready beside him.The face was not only beautiful but arresting.
"A strange picture," I said. "The artist has captured the manhimself. I can see him trampling on any one who opposed him, andsuffering in the same cold secret way. It ought to be authentic ifit isn't. Don't you know any more?"
"Nothing. Well—to bed, and tomorrow I'll see RupSingh."
I was glad when he returned with the permission. I was to bevery careful, he said, to make no allusion to the lost palace, fortwo women were staying at the House in the Woods—a mother anddaughter to whom Rup Singh had granted hospitality because of anobligation he must honor. But with true Oriental distrust of womenhe had thought fit to make no confidence to them. I promised andasked Olesen if he knew them.
"Slightly. Canadians of Danish blood like my own. Their name isIngmar. Some people think the daughter good-looking. The mother issupposed to be clever; keen on occult subjects which she came backto India to study. The husband was a great naturalist and thekindest of men. He almost lived in the jungle and the natives hadall sorts of rumours about his powers. You know what they are. Theysaid the birds and beasts followed him about. Any old thing startsa legend."
"What was the connection with Rup Singh?"
"He was in difficulties and undeservedly, and Ingmar generouslylent him money at a critical time, trusting to his honour forrepayment. Like most Orientals he never forgets a good turn andwould do anything for any of the family—except trust thewomen with any secret he valued. The father is long dead. By theway Rup Singh gave me a queer message for you. He said; 'Tell theSahib these words—"Let him who finds water in the desertshare his cup with him who dies of thirst." He is certainly gettingvery old. I don't suppose he knew himself what he meant."
I certainly did not. However my way was thus smoothed for me andI took the upward road, leaving Olesen to the long ungrateful toilof the man who devotes his life to India without sufficient time orknowledge to make his way to the inner chambers of her beauty.There is no harder mistress unless you hold the pass-key to hermysteries, there is none of whom so little can be told in words butwho kindles so deep a passion. Necessity sometimes takes me fromthat enchanted land, but when the latest dawns are shining in myskies I shall make my feeble way back to her and die at herworshipped feet. So I went up from Kalka.
I have never liked Simla. It is beautiful enough—eightthousand feet up in the grip of the great hills looking toward thesnows, the famous summer home of the Indian Government. Muchdiplomacy is whispered on Observatory Hill and many are the lighterdiversions of which Mr. Kipling and lesser men have written. ButSimla is also a gateway to many things—to the mighty deodarforests that clothe the foot-hills of the mountains, to Kulu, tothe eternal snows, to the old, old bridle way that leads up to theShipki Pass and the mysteries of Tibet—and to the strangethings told in this story. So I passed through with scarcely aglance at the busy gayety of the little streets and the tiny shopswhere the pretty ladies buy their rouge and powder. I was attendedby my servant Ali Khan, a Mohammedan from Nagpur, sent up with meby Olesen with strong recommendation. He was a stout walker, so tooam I, and an inveterate dislike to the man-drawn carriage whenevermy own legs would serve me decided me to walk the sixteen miles tothe House in the Woods, sending on the baggage. Ali Khan despatchedit and prepared to follow me, the fine cool air of the hills givingus a zest.
"Subhan Alla! (Praise be to God!) the air is sweet!" he said,stepping out behind me. "What time does the Sahib look to reach theHouse?"
"About five or six. Now, Ali Khan, strike out of the road. Youknow the way."
So we struck up into the glorious pine woods, mountains allabout us. Here and there as we climbed higher was a little bank offorgotten snow, but spring had triumphed and everywhere was thewaving grace of maiden-hair ferns, banks of violets and strangelybeautiful little wild flowers. These woods are full of panthers,but in day time the only precaution necessary is to take nodog,—a dainty they cannot resist. The air was exquisite withthe sun-warm scent of pines, and here and there the trees brokeaway disclosing mighty ranges of hills covered with rich blueshadows like the bloom on a plum,—the clouds chasing thesunshine over the mountain sides and the dark green velvet of therobe of pines. I looked across ravines that did not seem giganticand yet the villages on the other side were like a handful of peas,so tremendous was the scale. I stood now and then to see therhododendrons, forest trees here with great trunks and massiveboughs glowing with blood-red blossom, and time went by and I tookno count of it, so glorious was the climb.
It must have been hours later when it struck me that the sun wasgetting low and that by now we should be nearing The House in theWoods. I said as much to Ali Khan. He looked perplexed and agreed.We had reached a comparatively level place, the trail faint butapparent, and it surprised me that we heard no sound of life fromthe dense wood where our goal must be.
"I know not, Presence," he said. "May his face be blackened thatdirected me. I thought surely I could not miss the way, andyet-"
We cast back and could see no trail forking from the one we wereon. There was nothing for it but to trust to luck and push on. ButI began to be uneasy and so was the man. I had stupidly forgottento unpack my revolver, and worse, we had no food, and the mountainair is an appetiser, and at night the woods have their dangers,apart from being absolutely trackless. We had not met a livingbeing since we left the road and there seemed no likelihood ofasking for directions. I stopped no longer for views but wentsteadily on, Ali Khan keeping up a running fire of low-voicedinvocations and lamentations. And now it was dusk and the positiondecidedly unpleasant.
It was at that moment I saw a woman before us walking lightlyand steadily under the pines. She must have struck into the trailfrom the side for she never could have kept before us all the way.A native woman, but wearing the all-concealing boorka, more like atown dweller than a woman of the hills. I put on speed and AliKhan, now very tired, toiled on behind me as I came up with her andcourteously asked the way. Her face was entirely hidden, but theanswering voice was clear and sweet. I made up my mind she wasyoung, for it had the bird-like thrill of youth.
"If the Presence continues to follow this path he will arrive.It is not far. They wait for him."
That was all. It left me with a desire to see the veiled face.We passed on and Ali Khan looked fearfully back.
"Ajaib! (Wonderful!) A strange place to meet one of thepurdah-nashin (veiled women)" he muttered. "What would she be doingup here in the heights? She walked like a Khanam (khan's wife) andI saw the gleam of gold under the boorka."
I turned with some curiosity as he spoke, and lo! there was nohuman being in sight. She had disappeared from the track behind usand it was impossible to say where. The darkening trees werebeginning to hold the dusk and it seemed unimaginable that a womanshould leave the way and take to the dangers of the woods.
"Puna-i-Khoda—God protect us!" said Ali Khan in ashuddering whisper. "She was a devil of the wilds. Press on, Sahib.We should not be here in the dark."
There was nothing else to do. We made the best speed we could,and the trees grew more dense and the trail fainter between theclose trunks, and so the night came bewildering with theexpectation that we must pass the night unfed and unarmed in thecold of the heights. They might send out a search party from TheHouse in the Woods—that was still a hope, if there were noother. And then, very gradually and wonderfully the moon dawnedover the tree tops and flooded the wood with mysterious silverlights and about her rolled the majesty of the stars. We pressed oninto the heart of the night. From the dense black depths we emergedat last. An open glade lay before us—the trees falling backto right and left to disclose—what?
A long low house of marble, unlit, silent, bathed in palesplendour and shadow. About it stood great deodars, clothed inclouds of the white blossoming clematis, ghostly and still. Acaciashung motionless trails of heavily scented bloom as if carved inivory. It was all silent as death. A flight of nobly sculpturedsteps led up to a broad veranda and a wide open door with darknessbehind it. Nothing more.
I forced myself to shout in Hindustani—the cry seeming abrutal outrage upon the night, and an echo came back numbed in theblack woods. I tried once more and in vain. We stood absorbed alsointo the silence.
"Ya Alla! it is a house of the dead!" whispered Ali Khan,shuddering at my shoulder,—and even as the words left hislips I understood where we were. "It is the Sukh Mandir." I said."It is the House of the Maharao of Ranipur."
It was impossible to be in Ranipur and hear nothing of the deadhouse of the forest and Ali Khan had heard—God only knowswhat tales. In his terror all discipline, all the inborn respect ofthe native forsook him, and without word or sign he turned and fledalong the track, crashing through the forest blind and mad withfear. It would have been insanity to follow him, and in India thefirst rule of life is that the Sahib shows no fear, so I left himto his fate whatever it might be, believing at the same time that alittle reflection and dread of the lonely forest would bring him toheel quickly.
I stood there and the stillness flowed like water about me. Itwas as though I floated upon it—bathed in quiet. My thoughtsadjusted themselves. Possibly it was not the Sukh Mandir. Olesenhad spoken of ruin. I could see none. At least it was shelter fromthe chill which is always present at these heights when the sunsets,—and it was beautiful as a house not made with hands.There was a sense of awe but no fear as I went slowly up the greatsteps and into the gloom beyond and so gained the hall.
The moon went with me and from a carven arch filled with marbletracery rained radiance that revealed and hid. Pillars stood aboutme, wonderful with horses ramping forward as in the Siva Temple atVellore. They appeared to spring from the pillars into the gloomurged by invisible riders, the effect barbarously rich andstrange—motion arrested, struck dumb in a violent gesture,and behind them impenetrable darkness. I could not see the end ofthis hall—for the moon did not reach it, but looking up Ibeheld the walls fretted in great panels into the utmost splendourof sculpture, encircling the stories of the Gods amid a twining andunder-weaving of leaves and flowers. It was more like a temple thana dwelling. Siva, as Nataraja the Cosmic Dancer, the Rhythm of theUniverse, danced before me, flinging out his arms in the passion ofcreation. Kama, the Indian Eros, bore his bow strung withhoney-sweet black bees that typify the heart's desire. Krishna theBeloved smiled above the herd-maidens adoring at his feet. Ganeshathe Elephant-Headed, sat in massive calm, wreathing his wise trunkabout him. And many more. But all these so far as I could seetended to one centre panel larger than any, representing twolife-size figures of a dim beauty. At first I could scarcelydistinguish one from the other in the upward-reflected light, andthen, even as I stood, the moving moon revealed the two as iffloating in vapor. At once I recognized the subject—I hadseen it already in the ruined temple of Ranipur, though the detailsdiffered. Parvati, the Divine Daughter of the Himalaya, theEmanation of the mighty mountains, seated upon a throne, listeningto a girl who played on a Pan pipe before her. The goddess sat, herchin leaned upon her hand, her shoulders slightly inclined in apose of gentle sweetness, looking down upon the girl at her feet,absorbed in the music of the hills and lonely places. A band ofjewels, richly wrought, clasped the veil on her brows, and belowthe bare bosom a glorious girdle clothed her with loops and stringsand tassels of jewels that fell to her knees—her onlygarment.
The girl was a lovely image of young womanhood, the proud swellof the breast tapering to the slim waist and long limbs easilyfolded as she half reclined at the divine feet, her lips pressed tothe pipe. Its silent music mysteriously banished fear. The sleepmust be sweet indeed that would come under the guardianship ofthese two fair creatures—their gracious influence was dewy inthe air. I resolved that I would spend the night beside them. Nowwith the march of the moon dim vistas of the walls beyond spranginto being. Strange mythologies—the incarnations of Vishnuthe Preserver, the Pastoral of Krishna the Beautiful. I promisedmyself that next day I would sketch some of the loveliness aboutme. But the moon was passing on her way—I folded the coat Icarried into a pillow and lay down at the feet of the goddess andher nymph. Then a moonlit quiet I slept in a dream of peace.
Sleep annihilates time. Was it long or short when I woke like aman floating up to the surface from tranquil deeps? That I cannottell, but once more I possessed myself and every sense was onguard.
My hearing first. Bare feet were coming, falling softly asleaves, but unmistakable. There was a dim whispering but I couldhear no word. I rose on my elbow and looked down the long hall.Nothing. The moonlight lay in pools of light and seas of shadow onthe floor, and the feet drew nearer. Was I afraid? I cannot tell,but a deep expectation possessed me as the sound grew like therustle of grasses parted in a fluttering breeze, and now a girlcame swiftly up the steps, irradiate in the moonlight, and passingup the hall stood beside me. I could see her robe, her feet barefrom the jungle, but her face wavered and changed and re-unitedlike the face of a dream woman. I could not fix it for one moment,yet knew this was the messenger for whom I had waited all mylife—for whom one strange experience, not to be told atpresent, had prepared me in early manhood. Words came, and Isaid:
"Is this a dream?"
"No. We meet in the Ninth Vibration. All here is true."
"Is a dream never true?"
"Sometimes it is the echo of the Ninth Vibration and therefore aharmonic of truth. You are awake now. It is the day-time that isthe sleep of the soul. You are in the Lower Perception, wherein thetruth behind the veil of what men call Reality is perceived."
"Can I ascend?"
"I cannot tell. That is for you, not me.
"What do I perceive tonight?"
"The Present as it is in the Eternal. Say no more. Come withme."
She stretched her hand and took mine with the assurance of agoddess, and we went up the hall where the night had been deepestbetween the great pillars.
Now it is very clear to me that in every land men, when thedoors of perception are opened, will see what we call theSupernatural clothed in the image in which that country hasaccepted it. Blake, the mighty mystic, will see the Angels of theRevelation, driving their terrible way above Lambeth—it isnot common nor unclean. The fisherman, plying his coracle on theThames will behold the consecration of the great new Abbey ofWestminster celebrated with mass and chant and awful lights in thedead mid-noon of night by that Apostle who is the Rock of theChurch. Before him who wanders in Thessaly Pan will brush the dewylawns and slim-girt Artemis pursue the flying hart. In the palegold of Egyptian sands the heavy brows of Osiris crowned with thepshent will brood above the seer and the veil of Isis tremble tothe lifting. For all this is the rhythm to which the souls of menare attuned and in that vibration they will see, and no other,since in this the very mountains and trees of the land are rooted.So here, where our remote ancestors worshipped the Gods of Nature,we must needs stand before the Mystic Mother of India, the divinedaughter of the Himalaya.
How shall I describe the world we entered? The carvings upon thewalls had taken life—they had descended. It was a gatheringof the dreams men have dreamed here of the Gods, yet most real andactual. They watched in a serenity that set them apart in anatmosphere of their own—forms of indistinct majesty andaugust beauty, absolute, simple, and everlasting. I saw them as onesees reflections in rippled water—no more. But all facesturned to the place where now a green and flowering leafageenshrined and partly hid the living Nature Goddess, as she listenedto a voice that was not dumb to me. I saw her face only in glimpsesof an indescribable sweetness, but an influence came from herpresence like the scent of rainy pine forests, the coolness thatbreathes from great rivers, the passion of Spring when she breakson the world with a wave of flowers. Healing and life flowed fromit. Understanding also. It seemed I could interpret the verysilence of the trees outside into the expression of their innerlife, the running of the green life-blood in their veins, thedelicate trembling of their finger-tips.
My companion and I were not heeded. We stood hand in hand likechildren who have innocently strayed into a palace, gazing inwonderment. The august life went its way upon its own occasions,and, if we would, we might watch. Then the voice, clear and cold,proceeding, as it were, with some story begun before we had strayedinto the Presence, the whole assembly listening in silence.
"—and as it has been so it will be, for the Law will havethe blind soul carried into a body which is a record of the sins ithas committed, and will not suffer that soul to escape from rebirthinto bodies until it has seen the truth—"
And even as this was said and I listened, knowing myself on theverge of some great knowledge, I felt sleep beginning to weigh uponmy eyelids. The sound blurred, flowed unsyllabled as a stream, thegirl's hand grew light in mine; she was fading, becoming unreal; Isaw her eyes like faint stars in a mist. They were gone. Armsseemed to receive me—to lay me to sleep and I sank belowconsciousness, and the night took me.
When I awoke the radiant arrows of the morning were shootinginto the long hall where I lay, but as I rose and looked about me,strange—most strange, ruin encircled me everywhere. The bluesky was the roof. What I had thought a palace lost in the jungle,fit to receive its King should he enter, was now a broken hall ofState; the shattered pillars were festooned with waving weeds, themany coloured lantana grew between the fallen blocks of marble.Even the sculptures on the walls were difficult to decipher.Faintly I could trace a hand, a foot, the orb of a woman's bosom,the gracious outline of some young God, standing above a crouchingworshipper. No more. Yes, and now I saw above me as the dawntouched it the form of the Dweller in the Windhya Hills, Parvatithe Beautiful, leaning softly over something breathing music at herfeet. Yet I knew I could trace the almost obliterated sculptureonly because I had already seen it defined in perfect beauty. Adeep crack ran across the marble; it was weathered and stained bymany rains, and little ferns grew in the crevices, but I couldreconstruct every line from my own knowledge. And how? The Parvatiof Ranipur differed in many important details. She stood, bendingforward, wheras this sweet Lady sat. Her attendants were smallsatyr-like spirits of the wilds, piping and fluting, in place ofthe reclining maiden. The sweeping scrolls of a great haloencircled her whole person. Then how could I tell what this nearlyobliterated carving had been? I groped for the answer and could notfind it. I doubted—
"Were such things here as we do speak about? Or have we eaten of the insane root That takes the reason captive?"
Memory rushed over me like the sea over dry sands. Agirl—there had been a girl—we had stood with claspedhands to hear a strange music, but in spite of the spiritualintimacy of those moments I could not recall her face. I saw itcloudy against a background of night and dream, the eyes remote asstars, and so it eluded me. Only her presence and her wordssurvived; "We meet in the Ninth Vibration. All here is true." Butthe Ninth Vibration itself was dream-land. I had never heard thephrase—I could not tell what was meant, nor whether myapprehension was true or false. I knew only that the night hadtaken her and the dawn denied her, and that, dream or no dream, Istood there with a pang of loss that even now leaves mewordless.
A bird sang outside in the acacias, clear and shrill for day,and this awakened my senses and lowered me to the plane where Ibecame aware of cold and hunger, and was chilled with dew. I passeddown the tumbled steps that had been a stately ascent the nightbefore and made my way into the jungle by the trail, small and lostin fern, by which we had come. Again I wandered, and it was highnoon before I heard mule bells at a distance, and, thus guided,struck down through the green tangle to find myself, wearied butsafe, upon the bridle way that leads to Fagu and the far Shipki.Two coolies then directed me to The House in the Woods.
All was anxiety there. Ali Khan had arrived in the night, havingfound his way under the guidance of blind flight and fear. He hadbrought the news that I was lost in the jungle and amid thedwellings of demons. It was, of course, hopeless to search in thedark, though the khansamah and his man had gone as far as theydared with lanterns and shouting, and with the daylight they triedagain and were even now away. It was useless to reproach the maneven if I had cared to do so. His ready plea was that as far as menwere concerned he was as brave as any (which was true enough as Ihad reason to know later) but that when it came to devilry theTwelve Imaums themselves would think twice before facing it.
"Inshalla ta-Alla! (If the sublime God wills!) this unworthy onewill one day show the Protector of the poor, that he is arespectable person and no coward, but it is only the Sahibs wholaugh in the face of devils."
He went off to prepare me some food, consumed with curiosity asto my adventures, and when I had eaten I found my tiny whitewashedcell, for the room was little more, and slept for hours.
Late in the afternoon I waked and looked out. A low but glowingsunlight suffused the wild garden reclaimed from the strangle-holdof the jungle and hemmed in with rocks and forest. A few simpleflowers had been planted here and there, but its chief beauty was amountain stream, brown and clear as the eyes of a dog, that fellfrom a crag above into a rocky basin, maidenhair ferns growing insuch masses about it that it was henceforward scarcely more than awoodland voice. Beside it two great deodars spread their canopies,and there a woman sat in a low chair, a girl beside her readingaloud. She had thrown her hat off and the sunshine turned hermassed dark hair to bronze. That was all I could see. I went outand joined them, taking the note of introduction which Olesen hadgiven me.
I pass over the unessentials of my story; their friendlygreetings and sympathy for my adventure. It set us at ease at onceand I knew my stay would be the happier for their presence thoughit is not every woman one would choose as a companion in the greatmountain country. But what is germane to my purpose must be told,and of this a part is the personality of Brynhild Ingmar. That shewas beautiful I never doubted, though I have heard it disputed andsmiled inwardly as the disputants urged lip and cheek and shades ofrose and lily, weighing and appraising. Let me describe her as Isaw her or, rather, as I can, adding that even without all this shemust still have been beautiful because of the deep significance tothose who had eyes to see or feel some mysterious element whichmingled itself with her presence comparable only to the delightwhich the power and spiritual essence of Nature inspires in all butthe dullest minds. I know I cannot hope to convey this in words. Itmeans little if I say I thought of all quiet lovely solitary thingswhen I looked into her calm eyes,—that when she moved it waslike clear springs renewed by flowing, that she seemed the perfectflowering of a day in June, for these are phrases. Does Nature knowher wonders when she shines in her strength? Does a woman know theinfinite meanings her beauty may have for the beholder? I cannottell. Nor can I tell if I saw this girl as she may have seemed tothose who read only the letter of the book and are blind to itsspirit, or in the deepest sense as she really was in the sight ofThat which created her and of which she was a part. Surely it is aproof of the divinity of love that in and for a moment it lifts theveil of so-called reality and shows each to the other mysteriouslyperfect and inspiring as the world will never see them, but as theyexist in the Eternal, and in the sight of those who have learntthat the material is but the dream, and the vision of love thetruth.
I will say then, for the alphabet of what I knew but cannottell, that she had the low broad brows of a Greek Nature Goddess,the hair swept back wing-like from the temples and massed with anoble luxuriance. It lay like rippled bronze, suggesting somethingstrong and serene in its essence. Her eyes were clear and gray aswater, the mouth sweetly curved above a resolute chin. It was aface which recalled a modelling in marble rather than the charmingpastel and aquarelle of a young woman's colouring, and somehow Ithought of it less as the beauty of a woman than as some sexlessemanation of natural things, and this impression was strengthenedby her height and the long limbs, slender and strong as those ofsome youth trained in the pentathlon, subject to the severestdiscipline until all that was superfluous was fined away and theperfect form expressing the true being emerged. The body was thusmore beautiful than the face, and I may note in passing that thisis often the case, because the face is more directly the index ofthe restless and unhappy soul within and can attain true beautyonly when the soul is in harmony with its source.
She was a little like her pale and wearied mother. She mightresemble her still more when the sorrow of this world that workethdeath should have had its will of her. I had yet to learn that thiswould never be—that she had found the open door ofescape.
We three spent much time together in the days that followed. Inever tired of their company and I think they did not tire of mine,for my wanderings through the world and my studies in the ancientIndian literatures and faiths with the Pandit Devaswami were ofinterest to them both though in entirely different ways. Mrs.Ingmar was a woman who centred all her interests in books andchiefly in the scientific forms of occult research. She was nobeliever in anything outside the range of what she called humanexperience. The evidences had convinced her of nothing but a forceas yet unclassified in the scientific categories and all herinterest lay in the undeveloped powers of brain which might bediscovered in the course of ignorant and credulous experiment. Wemet therefore on the common ground of rejection of the so-calledoccultism of the day, though I knew even then, and how infinitelybetter now, that her constructions were wholly misleading.
Nearly all day she would lie in her chair under the deodars bythe delicate splash and ripple of the stream. Living imprisoned inthe crystal sphere of the intellect she saw the world outside,painted in few but distinct colours, small, comprehensible, movingon a logical orbit. I never knew her posed for an explanation. Shehad the contented atheism of a certain type of French mind andfound as much ease in it as another kind of sweet woman does in herrosary and confessional.
"I cannot interest Brynhild," she said, when I knew her better."She has no affinity with science. She is simply a natureworshipper, and in such places as this she seems to draw life fromthe inanimate life about her. I have sometimes wondered whether shemight not be developed into a kind of bridge between the articulateand the inarticulate, so well does she understand trees andflowers. Her father was like that—he had all sorts of strangepower with animals and plants, and thought he had more than he had.He could never realize that the energy of nature is merelymechanical."
"You think all energy is mechanical?"
"Certainly. We shall lay our finger on the mainspring one dayand the mystery will disappear. But as for Brynhild—I gaveher the best education possible and yet she has never understoodthe conception of a universe moving on mathematical laws to whichwe must submit in body and mind. She has the oddest ideas. I wouldnot willingly say of a child of mine that she is a mystic, andyet—"
She shook her head compassionately. But I scarcely heard. Myeyes were fixed on Brynhild, who stood apart, looking steadily outover the snows. It was a glorious sunset, the west vibrating withgorgeous colour spilt over in torrents that flooded the sky,Terrible splendours—hues for which we have nothought—no name. I had not thought of it as music until I sawher face but she listened as well as saw, and her expressionchanged as it changes when the pomp of a great orchestra breaksupon the silence. It flashed to the chords of blood-red and goldthat was burning fire. It softened through the fugue of wovencrimson gold and flame, to the melancholy minor of ashes-of-rosesand paling green, and so through all the dying glories that fadedslowly to a tranquil grey and left the world to the silver melodyof one sole star that dawned above the ineffable heights of thesnows. Then she listened as a child does to a bird, entranced, witha smile like a butterfly on her parted lips. I never saw such apower of quiet.
She and I were walking next day among the forest ways, thepine-scented sunshine dappling the dropped frondage. We had beenspeaking of her mother. "It is such a misfortune for her," she saidthoughtfully, "that I am not clever. She should have had a daughterwho could have shared her thoughts. She analyses everything,reasons about everything, and that is quite out of my reach."
She moved beside me with her wonderful light step—thepoise and balance of a nymph in the Parthenon frieze.
"How do you see things?"
"See? That is the right word. I see things—I never reasonabout them. They are. For her they move like figures in a sum. Forme every one of them is a window through which one may look to whatis beyond."
"To where?"
"To what they really are—not what they seem."
I looked at her with interest.
"Did you ever hear of the double vision?"
For this is a subject on which the spiritually learned men ofIndia, like the great mystics of all the faiths, have much to say.I had listened with bewilderment and doubt to the expositions of myPandit on this very head. Her simple words seemed for a moment theecho of his deep and searching thought. Yet it surely could not be.Impossible.
"Never. What does it mean?" She raised clear unveiled eyes. "Youmust forgive me for being so stupid, but it is my mother who is athome with all these scientific phrases. I know none of them."
"It means that for some people the material universe—thethings we see with our eyes—is only a mirage, or say, asymbol, which either hides or shadows forth the eternal truth. Andin that sense they see things as they really are, not as they seemto the rest of us. And whether this is the statement of a truth orthe wildest of dreams, I cannot tell."
She did not answer for a moment; then said;
"Are there people who believe this—know it?"
"Certainly. There are people who believe that thought is theonly real thing—that the whole universe is thought madevisible. That we create with our thoughts the very body by which weshall re-act on the universe in lives to be.
"Do you believe it?"
"I don't know. Do you?"
She paused; looked at me, and then went on:
"You see, I don't think things out. I only feel. But this cannotinterest you."
I felt she was eluding the question. She began to interest memore than any one I had ever known. She had extraordinary power ofa sort. Once, in the woods, where I was reading in so deep a shadethat she never saw me, I had an amazing vision of her. She stood ina glade with the sunlight and shade about her; she had no hat and asunbeam turned her hair to pale bronze. A small bright April showerwas falling through the sun, and she stood in pure light thatreflected itself in every leaf and grass-blade. But it was nothingof all this that arrested me, beautiful as it was. She stood asthough life were for the moment suspended;—then, very softly,she made a low musical sound, infinitely wooing, from scarcelyparted lips, and instantly I saw a bird of azure plumage flutterdown and settle on her shoulder, pluming himself there in happysecurity. Again she called softly and another followed the first.Two flew to her feet, two more to her breast and hand. Theycaressed her, clung to her, drew some joyous influence from herpresence. She stood in the glittering rain like Spring with herbirds about her—a wonderful sight. Then, raising one handgently with the fingers thrown back she uttered a different note,perfectly sweet and intimate, and the branches parted and a youngdeer with full bright eyes fixed on her advanced and pushed a softmuzzle into her hand.
In my astonishment I moved, however slightly, and the picturebroke up. The deer sprang back into the trees, the birds flutteredup in a hurry of feathers, and she turned calm eyes upon me, asunstartled as if she had known all the time that I was there.
"You should not have breathed," she said smiling. "They musthave utter quiet."
I rose up and joined her.
"It is a marvel. I can scarcely believe my eyes. How do you doit?"
"My father taught me. They come. How can I tell?"
She turned away and left me. I thought long over this episode. Irecalled words heard in the place of my studies—words I haddismissed without any care at the moment. "To those who see,nothing is alien. They move in the same vibration with all that haslife, be it in bird or flower. And in the Uttermost also, for allthings are One. For such there is no death."
That was beyond me still, but I watched her with profoundinterest. She recalled also words I had half forgotten—
"There was nought above me and nought below, My childhood had not learnt to know; For what are the voices of birds, Aye, and of beasts, but words, our words,— Only so much more sweet."
That might have been written of her. And more.
She had found one day in the woods a flower of a sort I had onceseen in the warm damp forests below Darjiling—ivory white andshaped like a dove in flight. She wore it that evening on herbosom. A week later she wore what I took to be another.
"You have had luck," I said; "I never heard of such a thingbeing seen so high up, and you have found it twice."
"No, it is the same."
"The same? Impossible. You found it more than a week ago." "Iknow. It is ten days. Flowers don't die when one understandsthem—not as most people think."
Her mother looked up and said fretfully:
"Since she was a child Brynhild has had that odd idea. Thatflower is dead and withered. Throw it away, child. It lookshideous."
Was it glamour? What was it? I saw the flower dewy fresh in herbosom She smiled and turned away.
It was that very evening she left the veranda where we weresitting in the subdued light of a little lamp and passed beyondwhere the ray cut the darkness. She went down the perspective oftrees to the edge of he clearing and I rose to follow for it seemedabsolutely unsafe that she should be on the verge of thepanther-haunted woods alone. Mrs. Ingmar turned a page of her bookserenely;
"She will not like it if you go. I cannot imagine that sheshould come to harm. She always goes her own way—light ordark."
I returned to my seat and watched steadfastly. At first I couldsee nothing but as my sight adjusted itself I saw her a long waydown the clearing that opened the snows, and quite certainly also Isaw something like a huge dog detach itself from the woods andbound to her feet. It mingled with her dark dress and I lost it.Mrs. Ingmar said, seeing my anxiety but nothing else; "Her fatherwas just the same;—he had no fear of anything that lives. Nodoubt some people have that power. I have never seen her attractbirds and beasts as he certainly did, but she is quite as fond ofthem."
I could not understand her blindness—what I myself hadseen raised questions I found unanswerable, and her mother sawnothing! Which of us was right? presently she came back slowly andI ventured no word.
A woodland sorcery, innocent as the dawn, hovered about her.What was it? Did the mere love of these creatures make a bondbetween her soul and theirs, or was the ancient dream true andcould she at times move in the same vibration? I thought of her asa wood-spirit sometimes, an expression herself of some passion ofbeauty in Nature, a thought of snows and starry nights and flowingrivers made visible in flesh. It is surely when seized with theurge of some primeval yearning which in man is merely sexual thatNature conceives her fair forms and manifests them, for there is acorrespondence that runs through all creation.
Here I ask myself—Did I love her? In a sense, yes, deeply,but not in the common reading of the phrase. I have trembled withdelight before the wild and terrible splendour of the Himalayanheights-; low golden moons have steeped my soul longing, but I didnot think of these things as mine in any narrow sense, nor sodesire them. They were Angels of the Evangel of beauty. So too wasshe. She had none of the "silken nets and traps of adamant," shewas no sister of the "girls of mild silver or of furiousgold;"—but fair, strong, and her own, a dweller in the Houseof Quiet. I did not covet her. I loved her.
Days passed. There came a night when the winds wereloosed—no moon, the stars flickering like blown tapersthrough driven clouds, the trees swaying and lamenting.
"There will be rain tomorrow." Mrs. Ingmar said, as we partedfor the night. I closed my door. Some great cat of the woods wascrying harshly outside my window, the sound receding towards thebridle way. I slept in a dream of tossing seas and ships labouringamong them.
With the sense of a summons I waked—I cannot tell when.Unmistakable, as if I were called by name. I rose and dressed, andheard distinctly bare feet passing my door. I opened it noiselesslyand looked out into the little passage way that made for the entry,and saw nothing but pools of darkness and a dim light from thesquare of the window at the end. But the wind had swept the skyclear with its flying bosom and was sleeping now in its high placesand the air was filled with a mild moony radiance and a greatstillness.
Now let me speak with restraint and exactness. I was not afraidbut felt as I imagine a dog feels in the presence of his master,conscious of a purpose, a will entirely above his own andincomprehensible, yet to be obeyed without question. I followed myreading of the command, bewildered but docile, and understandingnothing but that I was called.
The lights were out. The house dead silent; the familiar verandaghostly in the night. And now I saw a white figure at the head ofthe steps—Brynhild. She turned and looked over her shoulder,her face pale in the moon, and made the same gesture with which shesummoned her birds. I knew her meaning, for now we were moving inthe same rhythm, and followed as she took the lead. How shall Idescribe that strange night in the jungle. There were fire-flies ordancing points of light that recalled them. Perhaps she was onlythinking them—only thinking the moon and the quiet, for wewere in the world where thought is the one reality. But they wentwith us in a cloud and faintly lighted our way. There wereexquisite wafts of perfume from hidden flowers breathing theirdreams to the night. Here and there a drowsy bird stirred andchirped from the roof of darkness, a low note of content thatgreeted her passing. It was a path intricate and winding and howlong we went, and where, I cannot tell. But at last she stooped andparting the boughs before her we stepped into an open space, andbefore us—I knew it—I knew it!—The House ofBeauty.
She paused at the foot of the great marble steps and looked atme.
"We have met here already."
I did not wonder—I could not. In the Ninth vibrationsurprise had ceased to be. Why had I not recognized herbefore—O dull of heart! That was my only thought. We walkblindfold through the profound darkness of material nature, theblinder because we believe we see it. It is only when the doors ofthe material are closed that the world appears to man as it existsin the eternal truth.
"Did you know this?" I asked, trembling before mystery.
"I knew it, because I am awake. You forgot it in the dull sleepwhich we call daily life. But we were here and THEY began the storyof the King who made this house. Tonight we shall hear it. It hestory of Beauty wandering through the world and the world receivedher not. We hear it in this place because here he agonized for whathe knew too late."
"Was that our only meeting?"
"We meet every night, but you forget when the day brings thesleep of the soul.—You do not sink deep enough into rest toremember. You float on the surface where the little bubbles offoolish dream are about you and I cannot reach you then."
"How can I compel myself to the deeps?"
"You cannot. It will come. But when you have passed up thebridle way and beyond the Shipki, stop at Gyumur. There is theMonastery of Tashigong, and there one will meet you—
"His name?"
"Stephen Clifden. He will tell you what you desire to know.Continue on then with him to Yarkhand. There in the Ninth Vibrationwe shall meet again. It is a long journey but you will becontent."
"Do you certainly know that we shall meet again?"
"When you have learnt, we can meet when we will. He will teachyou the Laya Yoga. You should not linger here in the woods anylonger. You should go on. In three days it will be possible."
"But how have you learnt—a girl and young?"
"Through a close union with Nature—that is one of thethree roads. But I know little as yet. Now take my hand andcome.
"One last question. Is this house ruined and abject as I haveseen it in the daylight, or royal and the house of Gods as we seeit now? Which is truth?"
"In the day you saw it in the empty illusion of blind thought.Tonight, eternally lovely as in the thought of the man who made it.Nothing that is beautiful is lost, though in the sight of theunwise it seems to die. Death is in the eyes we lookthrough—when they are cleansed we see Life only. Now take myhand and come. Delay no more."
She caught my hand and we entered the dim magnificence of thegreat hall. The moon entered with us.
Instantly I had the feeling of supernatural presence. Yet I onlywrite this in deference to common use, for it was absolutelynatural—more so than any I have met in the state called dailylife. It was a thing in which I had a part, and if this wassupernatural so also was I.
Again I saw the Dark One, the Beloved, the young Krishna, abovethe women who loved him. He motioned with his hand as we passed, asthough he waved us smiling on our way. Again the dancers moved in arhythmic tread to the feet of the mountain Goddess—again wefollowed to where she bent to hear. But now, solemn listening facescrowded in the shadows about her, grave eyes fixed immovably uponwhat lay at her feet—a man, submerged in the pure light thatfell from her presence, his dark face stark and fine, lips locked,eyes shut, arms flung out cross-wise in utter abandonment, like afigure of grief invisibly crucified upon his shame. I stopped a fewfeet from him, arrested by a barrier I could not pass. Was it sleepor death or some mysterious state that partook of both? Not sleep,for there was no flutter of breath. Not death—no rigidimmobility struck chill into the air. It was the state ofsubjection where the spirit set free lies tranced in the mightyinfluences which surround us invisibly until we have entered,though but for a moment, the Ninth Vibration.
And now, with these Listeners about us, a clear voice began andstirred the air with music. I have since been asked in what tongueit spoke and could only answer that it reached my ears in the wordsof my childhood, and that I know whatever that language had been itwould so have reached me.
"Great Lady, hear the story of this man's fall, for it is thestory of man. Be pitiful to the blind eyes and give themlight."
There was long since in Ranipur a mighty King and at his birththe wise men declared that unless he cast aside all passions thatdebase the soul, relinquishing the lower desires for the higheruntil a Princess laden with great gifts should come to be hisbride, he would experience great and terrible misfortunes. And hisroyal parents did what they could to possess him with this belief,but they died before he reached manhood. Behold him then, a youngKing in his palace, surrounded with splendour. How should hewithstand the passionate crying of the flesh or believe thatthrough pleasure comes satiety and the loss of that in the spiritwhereby alone pleasure can be enjoyed? For his gift was that hecould win all hearts. They swarmed round him like hiving bees andhovered about him like butterflies. Sometimes he brushed them off.Often he caressed them, and when this happened, each thoughtproudly "I am the Royal Favourite. There is none other thanme."
Also the Princess delayed who would be the crest-jewel of thecrown, bringing with her all good and the blessing of the HighGods, and in consequence of all these things the King took suchpleasures as he could, and they were many, not knowing they darkenthe inner eye whereby what is royal is known through disguises.
(Most pitiful to see, beneath the close-shut lids of the man atthe feet of the Dweller in the Heights, tears forced themselves, asthough a corpse dead to all else lived only to anguish. They flowedlike blood-drops upon his face as he lay enduring, and the voiceproceeded.) What was the charm of the King? Was it his statelyheight and strength? Or his faithless gayety? Or his voice, deepand soft as the sitar when it sings of love? His womensaid—some one thing, some another, but none of these ladieswere of royal blood, and therefore they knew not.
Now one day, the all-privileged jester of the King, said,laughing harshly:
"Maharaj, you divert yourself. But how if, while we feast andplay, the Far Away Princess glided past and was gone, unknown andunwelcomed?"
And the King replied:
"Fool, content yourself. I shall know my Princess, but shedelays so long that I weary."
Now in a far away country was a Princess, daughter of theGreatest, and her Father hesitated to give her in marriage to sucha King for all reported that he was faithless of heart, but havingseen his portrait she loved him and fled in disguise from thepalaces of her Father, and being captured she was brought beforethe King in Ranipur.
He sat upon a cloth of gold and about him was the game he hadkilled in hunting, in great masses of ruffled fur and plumage, andhe turned the beauty of his face carelessly upon her, and as thePrincess looked upon him, her heart yearned to him, and he said inhis voice that was like the male string of the sitar:
"Little slave, what is your desire?"
Then she saw that the long journey had scarred her feet anddimmed her hair with dust, and that the King's eyes, worn with daysand nights of pleasure did not pierce her disguise. Now in her landit is a custom that the blood royal must not proclaim itself, soshe folded her hands and said gently:
"A place in the household of the King." And he, hearing that theWaiting slave of his chief favorite Jayashri was dead, gave herthat place. So the Princess attended on those ladies, courteous andobedient to all authority as beseemed her royalty, and she braidedher bright hair so that it hid the little crowns which thePrincesses of her House must wear always in token of their rank,and every day her patience strengthened.
Sometimes the King, carelessly desiring her laughing face andsad eyes, would send for her to wile away an hour, and he wouldsay; "Dance, little slave, and tell me stories of the farcountries. You quite unlike my Women, doubtless because you are aslave."
And she thought—"No, but because I am aPrincess,"—but this she did not say. She laughed and told himthe most marvellous stories in the world until he laid his headupon her warm bosom, dreaming awake.
There were stories of the great Himalayan solitudes where in thewinter nights the white tiger stares at the witches' dance of theNorthern Lights dazzled by the hurtling of their myriad spears. Andshe told how the King-eagle, hanging motionless over the peaks ofGaurisankar, watches with golden eyes for his prey, and fallinglike a plummet strikes its life out with his clawed heel and,screaming with triumph, bears it to his fierce mate in her crannyof the rocks.
"A gallant story!" the King would say. "More!" Then she told ofthe tropical heats and the stealthy deadly creatures of forest andjungle, and the blue lotus of Buddha swaying on the stilllagoon,—And she spoke of loves of men and women, theirpassion and pain and joy. And when she told of their fidelity andvalour and honour that death cannot quench, her voice was like thesong of a minstrel, for she had read all the stories of the agesand the heart of a Princess told her the rest. And the Kinglistened unwearying though he believed this was but a slave.
(The face of the man at the feet of the Dweller in the Heightstwitched in a white agony. Pearls of sweat were distilled upon hisbrows, but he moved neither hand nor foot, enduring as in a flameof fire. And the voice continued.)
So one day, in the misty green of the Spring, while she restedat his feet in the garden Pavilion, he said to her:
"Little slave, why do you love me?"
And she answered proudly:
"Because you have the heart of a King."
He replied slowly;
"Of the women who have loved me none gave this reason, thoughthey gave many."
She laid her cheek on his hand.
"That is the true reason."
But he drew it away and was vaguely troubled, for her words, heknew not why, reminded him of the Far Away Princess and of thingshe had long forgotten, and he said; "What does a slave know of thehearts of Kings?" And that night he slept or waked alone.
Winter was at hand with its blue and cloudless days, and she wascommanded to meet the King where the lake lay still and shininglike an ecstasy of bliss, and she waited with her chin dropped intothe cup of her hands, looking over the water with eyes that did notsee, for her whole soul said; "How long O my Sovereign Lord, howlong before you know the truth and we enter together into ourKingdom?"
As she sat she heard the King's step, and the colour stole upinto her face in a flush like the earliest sunrise. "He is coming,"she said; and again; "He loves me."
So he came beside the water, walking slowly. But the King wasnot alone. His arm embraced the latest-come beauty from Samarkhand,and, with his head bent, he whispered in her willing ear.
Then clasping her hands, the Princess drew a long sobbingbreath, and he turned and his eyes grew hard as blue steel.
"Go, slave," he cried. "What place have you in Kings' gardens?Go. Let me see you no more."
(The man lying at the feet of the Dweller in the Heights, raiseda heavy arm and flung it above his head, despairing, and it fellagain on the cross of his torment. And the voice went on.)
And as he said this, her heart broke; and she went and her feetwere weary. So she took the wise book she loved and unrolled ituntil she came to a certain passage, and this she read twice; "Ifthe heart of a slave be broken it may be mended with jewels andsoft words, but the heart of a Princess can be healed only by theKing who broke it, or in Yamapura, the City under the Sunset wherethey make all things new. Now, Yama, the Lord of this City, is theLord of Death." And having thus read the Princess rolled the bookand put it from her.
And next day, the King said to his women; "Send for her," forhis heart smote him and he desired to atone royally for the shameof his speech. And they sought and came back saying;
"Maharaj, she is gone. We cannot find her."
Fear grew in the heart of the King—a nameless dread, andhe said, "Search." And again they sought and returned and the Kingwas striding up and down the great hall and none dared cross hispath. But, trembling, they told him, and he replied; "Search again.I will not lose her, and, slave though be, she shall be myQueen."
So they ran, dispersing to the Four Quarters, and King strode upand down the hall, and Loneliness kept step with him and claspedhis hand and looked his eyes.
Then the youngest of the women entered with a tale to tell."Majesty, we have found her. She lies beside the lake. When thebirds fled this morning she fled with them, but upon a longerjourney. Even to Yamapura, the City under the Sunset."
And the King said; "Let none follow." And he strode forthswiftly, white with thoughts he dared not think.
The Princess lay among the gold of the fallen leaves. All wasgold, for her bright hair was out-spread in shining waves and in itshone the glory of the hidden crown. On her face was nosmile—only at last was revealed the patience she had coveredwith laughter so long that even the voice of the King could not nowbreak it into joy. The hands that had clung, the swift feet thathad run beside his, the tender body, mighty to serve and to love,lay within touch but farther away than the uttermost star was theFar Away Princess, known and loved too late.
And he said; "My Princess—O my Princess!" and laid hishead on her cold bosom.
"Too late!" a harsh Voice croaked beside him, and it was thevoice of the Jester who mocks at all things. "Too late! O madness,to despise the blood royal because it humbled itself to service andso was doubly royal. The Far Away Princess came laden with greatgifts, and to her the King's gift was the wage of a slave and abroken heart. Cast your crown and sceptre in the dust, OKing—O King of Fools."
(The man at the feet of the Dweller in the Heights moved. Somedim word shaped upon his locked lips. She listened in a divinecalm. It seemed that the very Gods drew nearer. Again the manessayed speech, the body dead, life only in the words that nonecould hear. The voice went on.)
But the Princess flying wearily because of the sore wound in herheart, came at last to the City under the Sunset, where the Lord ofDeath rules in the House of Quiet, and was there received withroyal honours for in that land are no disguises. And she kneltbefore the Secret One and in a voice broken with agony entreatedhim to heal her. And with veiled and pitying eyes he looked uponher, for many and grievous as are the wounds he has healed this wasmore grievous still. And he said;
"Princess, I cannot, But this I can do—I can give a newheart in a new birth—happy and careless as the heart of achild. Take this escape from the anguish you endure and be atpeace."
But the Princess, white with pain, asked only;
"In this new heart and birth, is there room for the King?"
And the Lord of Peace replied;
"None. He too will be forgotten."
Then she rose to her feet.
"I will endure and when he comes I will serve him once more. Ifhe will he shall heal me, and if not I will endure for ever."
And He who is veiled replied;
"In this sacred City no pain may disturb the air, therefore youmust wait outside in the chill and the dark. Think better,Princess! Also, he must pass through many rebirths, because hebeheld the face of Beauty unveiled and knew her not. And when hecomes he will be weary and weak as a new-born child, and no more agreat King." And the Princess smiled;
"Then he will need me the more," she said; "I will wait and kissthe feet of my King."
"And the Lord of Death was silent. So she went outside into thedarkness of the spaces, and the souls free passed her like homingdoves, and she sat with her hands clasped over the sore wound inher heart, watching the earthward way. And the Princess is keepingstill the day of her long patience."
The voice ceased. And there was a great silence, and thelistening faces drew nearer.
Then the Dweller in the Heights spoke in a voice soft as thefalling of snow in the quiet of frost and moon. I could have weptmyself blind with joy to hear that music. More I dare not say.
"He is in the Lower State of Perception. He sorrows for hisloss. Let him have one instant's light that still he may hope."
She bowed above the man, gazing upon him as a mother might uponher sleeping child. The dead eyelids stirred, lifted, a faint gleamshowed beneath them, an unspeakable weariness. I thought they wouldfall unsatisfied. Suddenly he saw What looked upon him, and aterror of joy no tongue can tell flashed over the dark mirror ofhis face. He stretched a faint hand to touch her feet, a sobbingsigh died upon his lips, and once more the swooning sleep took him.He lay as a dead man before the Assembly.
"The night is far spent," a voice said, from I know not where.And I knew it was said not only for the sleeper but for all, forthough the flying feet of Beauty seem for a moment to outspeed usshe will one day wait our coming and gather us to her bosom.
As before, the vision spread outward like rings in a brokenreflection in water. I saw the girl beside me, but her hand grewlight in mine. I felt it no longer. I heard the roaring wind in thetrees, or was it a great voice thundering in my ears? Sleep tookme. I waked in my little room.
Strange and sad—I saw her next day and did not rememberher whom of all things I desired to know. I remembered the visionand knew that whether in dream or waking I had heard an eternaltruth. I longed with a great longing to meet my beautifulcompanion, and she stood at my side and I was blind.
Now that I have climbed a little higher on the Mount of Visionit seems even to myself that this could not be. Yet it was, and itis true of not this only but of how much else!
She knew me. I learnt that later, but she made no sign. Hersimplicities had carried her far beyond and above me, to placeswhere only the winged things attain—"as a bird among thebird-droves of God."
I have since known that this power of direct simplicity in herwas why among the great mountains we beheld the Divine as theemanation of the terrible beauty about us. We cannot see it as itis—only in some shadowing forth, gathering sufficientstrength for manifestation from the spiritual atoms that haunt theregion where that form has been for ages the accepted vehicle ofadoration. But I was now to set forth to find anotherknowledge—to seek the Beauty that blinds us to all other.Next day the man who was directing my preparations for travel sentme word from Simla that all was ready and I could start two dayslater. I told my friends the time of parting was near.
"But it was no surprise to me," I added, "for I had heardalready that in a very few days I should be on my way."
Mrs. Ingmar was more than kind. She laid a frail hand onmine.
"We shall miss you indeed. If it is possible to send us word ofyour adventures in those wild solitudes I hope you will do it. Ofcourse aviation will soon lay bare their secrets and leave them nomysteries, so you don't go too soon. One may worship science andyet feel it injures the beauty of the world. But what is beautycompared with knowledge?"
"Do you never regret it?" I asked.
"Never, dear Mr. Ormond. I am a worshipper of hard facts andhowever hideous they may be I prefer them to the prismatic coloursof romance."
Brynhild, smiling, quoted;
"Their science roamed from star to star And than itself found nothing greater. What wonder? In a Leyden jar They bottled the Creator?"
"There is nothing greater than science," said Mrs. Ingmar withsoft reverence. "The mind of man is the foot-rule of theuniverse."
She meditated for a moment and then added that my kind interestsin their plans decided her to tell me that she would be returningto Europe and then to Canada in a few months with a favourite nieceas her companion while Brynhild would remain in India with friendsin Mooltan for a time. I looked eagerly at her but she was lost inher own thoughts and it was evidently not the time to say more.
If I had hoped for a vision before I left the neighbourhood ofthat strange House of Beauty where a spirit imprisoned appeared toawait the day of enlightenment I was disappointed. These things donot happen as one expects or would choose. The wind bloweth whereit listeth until the laws which govern the inner life areunderstood, and then we would not choose if we could for we knowthat all is better than well. In this world, either in the blindedsight of daily life or in the clarity of the true sight I have notsince seen it, but that has mattered little, for having heard anauthentic word within its walls I have passed on my wayelsewhere.
Next day a letter from Olesen reached me.
"Dear Ormond, I hope you have had a good time at the House inthe Woods. I saw Rup Singh a few days ago and he wrote the oddmessage I enclose. You know what these natives are, even the mostsensible of them, and you will humour the old fellow for he agesvery fast and I think is breaking up. But this was not what Iwanted to say. I had a letter from a man I had not seen foryears—a fellow called Stephen Clifden, who lives in Kashmir.As a matter of fact I had forgotten his existence but evidently hehas not repaid the compliment for he writes as follows—No, Ihad better send you the note and you can do as you please. I amrushed off my legs with work and the heat is hell with the lid off.And-"
But the rest was of no interest except to a friend of years'standing. I read Rup Singh's message first. It was written in hisown tongue.
"To the Honoured One who has attained to the favour of theFavourable.
"You have with open eyes seen what this humble one has dreamedbut has not known. If the thing be possible, write me this wordthat I may depart in peace. 'With that one who in a former birthyou loved all is well. Fear nothing for him. The way is long but atthe end the lamps of love are lit and the Unstruck music issounded. He lies at the feet of Mercy and there awaits his hour.'And if it be not possible to write these words, write nothing, OHonoured, for though it be in the hells my soul shall find my King,and again I shall serve him as once I served."
I understood, and wrote those words as he had written them.Strange mystery of life—that I who had not known should see,and that this man whose fidelity had not deserted his broken Kingin his utter downfall should have sought with passion for one sightof the beloved face across the waters of death and sought in vain.I thought of those Buddhist words of Seneca—"The soul may beand is in the mass of men drugged and silenced by the seductions ofsense and the deceptions of the world. But if, in some moment ofdetachment and elation, when its captors and jailors relax theirguard, it can escape their clutches, it will seek at once theregion of its birth and its true home."
Well—the shell must break before the bird can fly, and thetime drew near for the faithful servant to seek his lord. Mymessage reached him in time and gladdened him.
I turned then to Clifden's letter.
"Dear Olesen, you will have forgotten me, and feeling sure ofthis I should scarcely have intruded a letter into your busy lifewere it not that I remember your good-nature as a thingunforgettable though so many years have gone by. I hear of yousometimes when Sleigh comes up the Sind valley, for I often camp atSonamarg and above the Zoji La and farther. I want you to give amessage to a man you know who should be expecting to hear from me.Tell him I shall be at the Tashigong Monastery when he reachesGyumur beyond the Shipki. Tell him I have the information he wantsand I will willingly go on with him to Yarkhand and hisdestination. He need not arrange for men beyond Gyumur. All isfixed. So sorry to bother you, old man, but I don't know Ormond'saddress, except that he was with you and has gone up Simla way. Andof course he will be keen to hear the thing is settled."
Amazing. I remembered the message I had heard and this man'swords rang true and kindly, but what could it mean? I really didnot question farther than this for now I could not doubt that I wasguided. Stronger hands than mine had me in charge, and it onlyremained for me to set forth in confidence and joy to an end thatas yet I could not discern. I turned my face gladly to the wonderof the mountains.
Gladly—but with a reservation. I was leaving a friend andone whom I dimly felt might one day be more than afriend—Brynhild Ingmar. That problem must be met before Icould take my way. I thought much of what might be said at parting.True, she had the deepest attraction for me, but true also that Inow beheld a quest stretching out into the unknown which I mustaccept in the spirit of the knight errant. Dare I then bind myheart to any allegiance which would pledge me to a futureinconsistent with what lay before me? How could I tell what shemight think of the things which to me were now real andexternal—the revelation of the only reality that underliesall the seeming. Life can never be the same for the man who haspenetrated to this, and though it may seem a hard saying there canbe but a maimed understanding between him and those who still walkamid the phantoms of death and decay.
Her sympathy with nature was deep and wonderful but might it notbe that though the earth was eloquent to her the skies were silent?I was but a beginner myself—I knew little indeed. Dare I riskthat little in a sweet companionship which would sink me into thecontentment of the life lived by the happily deluded between thecradle and the grave and perhaps close to me for ever that stillsphere where my highest hope abides? I had much to ponder, for howcould I lose her out of my life—though I knew not at allwhether she who had so much to make her happiness would give me asingle thought when I was gone.
If all this seem the very uttermost of selfish vanity, forgive aman who grasped in his hand a treasure so new, so wonderful that hewalked in fear and doubt lest it should slip away and leave him ina world darkened for ever by the torment of the knowledge that itmight have been his and he had bartered it for the mess of pottagethat has bought so many birthrights since Jacob bargained with hisweary brother in the tents of Lahai-roi. I thought I would comeback later with my prize gained and throwing it at her feet ask herwisdom in return, for whatever I might not know I knew well she waswiser than I except in that one shining of the light from Eleusis.I walked alone in the woods thinking of these things and no answersatisfied me.
I did not see her alone until the day I left, for I wascompelled by the arrangements I was making to go down to Simla fora night. And now the last morning had come with goldensun—shot mists rolling upward to disclose the far whitebillows of the sea of eternity, the mountains awaking to theirenormous joys. The trees were dripping glory to the steaming earth;it flowed like rivers into their most secret recesses, moss andflower, fern and leaf floated upon the waves of light revealingtheir inmost soul in triumphant gladness. Far off across thevalleys a cuckoo was calling—the very voice of spring, and inthe green world above my head a bird sang, a feathered joy, soclear, so passionate that I thought the great summer morninglistened in silence to his rapture ringing through the woods. Iwaited until the Jubilate was ended and then went in to bidgood-bye to my friends.
Mrs. Ingmar bid me the kindest farewell and I left her serene inthe negation of all beauty, all hope save that of a world run onthe lines of a model municipality, disease a memory, sewerage,light and air systems perfected, the charted brain sending itscostless messages to the outer parts of the habitable globe, and atleast a hundred years of life with a decent cremation at the end ofit assured to every eugenically born citizen. No more. But I havelong ceased to regret that others use their own eyes whether clearor dim. Better the merest glimmer of light perceived thus than thehearsay of the revelations of others. And by the broken fragmentsof a bewildered hope a man shall eventually reach the goal andrejoice in that dawn where the morning stars sing together and thesons of God shout for joy. It must come, for it is alreadyhere.
Brynhild walked with me through the long glades in the freshthin air to the bridle road where my men and ponies waited, eagerto be off. We stood at last in the fringe of trees on a smallheight which commanded the way;—a high uplifted path cutalong the shoulders of the hills and on the left the sheer drop ofthe valleys. Perhaps seven or eight feet in width and dignified bythe name of the Great Hindustan and Tibet Road it ran winding faraway into Wonderland. Looking down into the valleys, so far beneaththat the solitudes seem to wall them in I thought of all thestrange caravans which have taken this way with tinkle of bells andlaughter now so long silenced, and as I looked I saw a lost littlemonastery in a giant crevice, solitary as a planet on the outermostring of the system, and remembrance flashed into my mind and Isaid;
"I have marching orders that have countermanded my own plans. Iam to journey to the Buddhist Monastery of Tashigong, and theremeet a friend who will tell me what is necessary that I may travelto Yarkhand and beyond. It will be long before I see Kashmir."
In those crystal clear eyes I saw a something new to me—afaint smile, half pitying, half sad;
"Who told you, and where?"
"A girl in a strange place. A woman who has twice guidedme—"
I broke off. Her smile perplexed me. I could not tell what tosay. She repeated in a soft undertone;
"Great Lady, be pitiful to the blind eyes and give themlight."
And instantly I knew. O blind—blind! Was the unhappy Kingof the story duller of heart than I? And shame possessed me. Herewas the chrysoberyl that all day hides its secret in deeps of lucidgreen but when the night comes flames with its fiery ecstasy ofcrimson to the moon, and I—I had been complacentlyconsidering whether I might not blunt my own spiritual instinct bycompanionship with her, while she had been my guide, as infinitelybeyond me in insight as she was in all things beautiful. I couldhave kissed her feet in my deep repentance. True it is that thegateway of the high places is reverence and he who cannot bow hishead shall receive no crown. I saw that my long travel in search ofknowledge would have been utterly vain if I had not learnt thatlesson there and then. In those moments of silence I learnt it onceand for ever.
She stood by me breathing the liquid morning air, her faceturned upon the eternal snows. I caught her hand in a recognitionthat might have ended years of parting, and its warm youth vibratedin mine, the foretaste of all understanding, all unions, of lovethat asks nothing, that fears nothing, that has no petition tomake. She raised her eyes to mine and her tears were a rainbow ofhope. So we stood in silence that was more than any words, and thegolden moments went by. I knew her now for what she was, one ofwhom it might have been written;
"I come from where night falls clearer Than your morning sun can rise; From an earth that to heaven draws nearer Than your visions of Paradise,— For the dreams that your dreamers dream We behold them with open eyes."
With open eyes! Later I asked the nature of the strange bondthat had called her to my side.
"I do not understand that fully myself," she said—"That ispart of the knowledge we must wait for. But you have the eyes thatsee, and that is a tie nothing can break. I had waited long in theHouse of Beauty for you. I guided you there. But between you and methere is also love."
I stretched an eager hand but she repelled it gently, drawingback a little. "Not love of each other though we are friends and inthe future may be infinitely more. But—have you ever seen adrawing of Blake's—a young man stretching his arms to a whiteswan which flies from him on wings he cannot stay? That is thestory of both our lives. We long to be joined in this life, hereand now, to an unspeakable beauty and power whose true believers weare because we have seen and known. There is no love so binding asthe same purpose. Perhaps that is the only true love. And so weshall never be apart though we may never in this world be togetheragain in what is called companionship."
"We shall meet," I said confidently. She smiled and wassilent.
"Do we follow a will-o'-the wisp in parting? Do we give up thesubstance for the shadow? Shall I stay?"
She laughed joyously;
"We give a single rose for a rose-tree that bears seven timesseven. Daily I see more, and you are going where you will beinstructed. As you know my mother prefers for a time to have mycousin with her to help her with the book she means to write. So Ishall have time to myself. What do you think I shall do?"
"Blow away on a great wind. Ride on the crests of tossing waves.Catch a star to light the fireflies!"
She laughed like a bird's song.
"Wrong—wrong! I shall be a student. All I know as yet hascome to me by intuition, but there is Law as well as Love and Iwill learn. I have drifted like a happy cloud before the wind. NowI will learn to be the wind that blows the clouds."
I looked at her in astonishment. If a flower had desired thesame thing it could scarcely have seemed more incredible, for I hadthought her whole life and nature instinctive not intellective. Shesmiled as one who has a beloved secret to keep.
"When you have gained what in this country they call TheKnowledge of Regeneration, come back and ask me what I havelearnt."
She would say no more of that and turned to another matter,speaking with earnestness;
"Before you came here I had a message for you, and StephenClifden will tell you the same thing when you meet. Believe it forit is true. Remember always that the psychical is not the mysticaland that what we seek is not marvel but vision. These two thingsare very far apart, so let the first with all its dangers pass youby, for our way lies to the heights, and for us there is only onedanger—that of turning back and losing what the whole worldcannot give in exchange. I have never seen Stephen Clifden but Iknow much of him. He is a safe guide—a man who has had muchand strange sorrow which has brought him joy that cannot be told.He will take you to those who know the things that you desire. Iwish I might have gone too."
Something in the sweetness of her voice, its high passion, thestrong beauty of her presence woke a poignant longing in my heart.I said;
"I cannot leave you. You are the only guide I can follow. Let ussearch together—you always on before."
"Your way lies there," she pointed to the high mountains. "Andmine to the plains, and if we chose our own we should wander. Butwe shall meet again in the way and time that will be best and withknowledge so enlarged that what we have seen already will be likean empty dream compared to daylight truth. If you knew what waitsfor you you would not delay one moment."
She stood radiant beneath the deodars, a figure of Hope,pointing steadily to the heights. I knew her words were true thoughas yet I could not tell how. I knew that whereas we had seen theWonderful in beautiful though local forms there is a plane wherethe Formless may be apprehended in clear dream and solemnvision-the meeting of spirit with Spirit. What that revelationwould mean I could not guess—how should I?—but I knewthe illusion we call death and decay would wither before it. Thereis a music above and beyond the Ninth Vibration though I must lovethose words for ever for what their hidden meaning gave me.
I took her hand and held it. Strange—beyond allstrangeness that that story of an ancient sorrow should have madeus what we were to each other—should have opened to me thegates of that Country where she wandered content. For the firsttime I had realized in its fulness the loveliness of this crystalnature, clear as flowing water to receive and transmit thelight—itself a prophecy and fulfilment of some higher racewhich will one day inhabit our world when it has learnt the truevalues. She drew a flower from her breast and gave it to me. Itlies before me white and living as I write these words.
I sprang down the road and mounted, giving the word to march.The men shouted and strode on—our faces to the Shipki Passand what lay beyond.
We had parted.
Once, twice, I looked back, and standing in full sunlight, shewaved her hand.
We turned the angle of the rocks.
What I found—what she found is a story strange andbeautiful which I may tell one day to those who care to hear. Thatfor me there were pauses, hesitancies, dreads, on the way I am notconcerned to deny, for so it must always be with the roots of theold beliefs of fear and ignorance buried in the soil of our heartsand ready to throw out their poisonous fibres. But there was neverdoubt. For myself I have long forgotten the meaning of that word inanything that is of real value.
Do not let it be thought that the treasure is reserved for thefew or those of special gifts. And it is as free to the West as tothe East though I own it lies nearer to the surface in the Orientwhere the spiritual genius of the people makes it possible and thegreater and more faithful teachers are found. It is not withoutmeaning that all the faiths of the world have dawned in thosesunrise skies. Yet it is within reach of all and asks onlyrecognition, for the universe has been the mine of itsjewels—
"Median gold it holds, and silver from Atropatene, Ruby and emerald from Hindustan, and Bactrian agate, Bright with beryl and pearl, sardonyx and sapphire."— and more that cannot be uttered— the Lights and Perfections.
So for all seekers I pray this prayer—beautiful in itssonorous Latin, but noble in all the tongues;
"Supplico tibi, Pater et Dux—I pray Thee, Guide of ourvision, that we may remember the nobleness with which Thou hastendowed us, and that Thou wouldest be always on our right and onour left in the motion of our wills, that we may be purged from thecontagion of the body and the affections of the brute and overcomeand rule them. And I pray also that Thou wouldest drive away theblinding darkness from the eyes of our souls that we may know wellwhat is to be held for divine and what for mortal."
"The nobleness with which Thou hast endowed us-" this, and notthe cry of the miserable sinner whose very repentance is no virtuebut the consequence of failure and weakness is the strong music towhich we must march.
And the way is open to the mountains.
There are strange things in this story, but, so far as Iunderstand them, I tell the truth. If you measure the East with aWestern foot-rule you will say, "Impossible." I should have said itmyself.
Of myself I will say as little as I can, for this story is ofVanna Loring. I am an incident only, though I did not know that atfirst.
My name is Stephen Clifden, and I was eight-and-thirty; plentyof money, sound in wind and limb. I had been by way of being awriter before the war, the hobby of a rich man; but if I picked upanything in the welter in France, it was that real work is the onlysalvation this mad world has to offer; so I meant to begin at thebeginning, and learn my trade like a journeyman labourer. I hadcome to the right place. A very wonderful city isPeshawar—rather let us say, two cities—the compounds,the fortifications where Europeans dwell in such peace as theirstrong right arms can secure them; and the native city and bazaarhumming and buzzing like a hive of angry bees with the rumours thatcome up from Lower India or down the Khyber Pass with the camelcaravans loaded with merchandise from Afghanistan, Bokhara, andfarther. And it is because of this that Peshawar is the Key ofIndia, and a city of Romance that stands at every corner, and criesaloud in the market—place. For at Peshawar every able-bodiedman sleeps with his revolver under his pillow, and the old Fort isalways ready in case it should be necessary at brief and sharpnotice to hurry the women and children into it, and possibly, todie in their defense. So enlivening is the neighbourhood of thefrontier tribes that haunt the famous Khyber Pass and the menacinghills where danger is always lurking.
But there was society here, and I was swept into it—therewas chatter, and it galled me.
I was beginning to feel that I had missed my mark, and must gofarther afield, perhaps up into Central Asia, when I met VannaLoring. If I say that her hair was soft and dark; that she had thedeepest hazel eyes I have ever seen, and a sensitive, tender mouth;that she moved with a flowing grace like "a wave of thesea"—it sounds like the portrait of a beauty, and she wasnever that. Also, incidentally, it gives none of her charm. I neverheard any one get any further than that she was "oddlyattractive"—let us leave it at that. She was certainlyattractive to me.
She was the governess of little Winifred Meryon, whose fatherheld the august position of General Commanding the Frontier Forces,and her mother the more commanding position of the reigning beautyof Northern India, generally speaking. No one disputed that. Shewas as pretty as a picture, and her charming photograph had gracedas many illustrated papers as there were illustrated papers tograce.
But Vanna—I gleaned her story by bits when I came acrossher with the child in the gardens. I was beginning to piece ittogether now.
Her love of the strange and beautiful she had inherited from ayoung Italian mother, daughter of a political refugee; herchildhood had been spent in a remote little village in the West ofEngland; half reluctantly she told me how she had brought herselfup after her mother's death and her father's second marriage.Little was said of that, but I gathered that it had been a grief toher, a factor in her flight to the East.
We were walking in the Circular Road then with Winifred in frontleading her Pekingese by its blue ribbon, and we had it almost toourselves except for a few natives passing slow and dignified ontheir own occasions, for fashionable Peshawar was finishing itslast rubber of bridge, before separating to dress for dinner, andhad no time to spare for trivialities and sunsets.
"So when I came to three-and-twenty," she said slowly, "I felt Imust break away from our narrow life. I had a call to Indiastronger than anything on earth. You would not understand but thatwas so, and I had spent every spare moment in teaching myselfIndia—its history, legends, religions, everything! And I wasnot wanted at home, and I had grown afraid."
I could divine years of patience and repression under this plaintale, but also a power that would be dynamic when the authenticvoice called. That was her charm—gentleness instrength—a sweet serenity.
"What were you afraid of?"
"Of growing old and missing what was waiting for me out here.But I could not get away like other people. No money, you see. So Ithought I would come out here and teach. Dare I? Would they let me?I knew I was fighting life and chances and risks if I did it; butit was death if I stayed there. And then—Do you really careto hear?"
"Of course. Tell me how you broke your chain."
"I spare you the family quarrels. I can never go back. But I wasspurred—spurred to take some wild leap; and I took it. Sixyears ago I came out. First I went to a doctor and his wife atCawnpore. They had a wonderful knowledge of the Indian peoples, andthere I learned Hindustani and much else. Then he died. But an aunthad left me two hundred pounds, and I could wait a little andchoose; and so I came here."
It interested me. The courage that pale elastic type of womanhas!
"Have you ever regretted it? Would they take you back if youfailed?"
"Never, to both questions," she said, smiling. "Life isglorious. I've drunk of a cup I never thought to taste; and if Idied tomorrow I should know I had done right. I rejoice in everymoment I live—even when Winifred and I are wrestling witharithmetic."
"I shouldn't have thought life was very easy with LadyMeryon."
"Oh, she is kind enough in an indifferent sort of way. I am notthe persecuted Jane Eyre sort of governess at all. But that is allon the surface and does not matter. It is India I care for-thepeople, the sun, the infinite beauty. It was coming home. You wouldlaugh if I told you I knew Peshawar long before I came here. Knewit—walked here, lived. Before there were English in India atall." She broke off. "You won't understand."
"Oh, I have had that feeling, too," I said patronizingly. "Ifone has read very much about a place-"
"That was not quite what I meant. Never mind. The people, theplace—that is the real thing to me. All this is the dream."The sweep of her hand took in not only Winifred and myself, but thegeneral's stately residence, which to blaspheme in Peshawar is rankinfidelity.
"By George, I would give thousands to feel that! I can't get outof Europe here. I want to write, Miss Loring," I found myselfsaying. "I'd done a bit, and then the war came and blew my life topieces. Now I want to get inside the skin of the East, and I can'tdo it. I see it from outside, with a pane of glass between. No lifein it. If you feel as you say, for God's sake be myinterpreter!"
I really meant what I said. I knew she was a harp that anybreeze would sweep into music. I divined that temperament in herand proposed to use it for my own ends. She had and I had not, thepower to be a part of all she saw, to feel kindred blood running inher own veins. To the average European the native life of India isscarcely interesting, so far is it removed from all comprehension.To me it was interesting, but I could not tell why. I stood outsideand had not the fairy gold to pay for my entrance. Here at allevents she could buy her way where I could not. Without cruelty,which honestly was not my besetting sin—especially wherewomen were concerned, the egoist in me felt I would use her, wouldextract the last drop of the enchantment of her knowledge before Iwent on my way. What more natural than that Vanna or any otherwoman should minister to my thirst for information? Men are likethat. I pretend to be no better than the rest. She pleased myfastidiousness—that fastidiousness which is the onlyausterity in men not otherwise austere.
"Interpret?" she said, looking at me with clear hazel eyes; "howcould I? You were in the native city yesterday. What did youmiss?"
"Everything! I saw masses of colour, light, movement.Brilliantly picturesque people. Children like Asiatic angels.Magnificently scowling ruffians in sheepskin coats. In fact, amovie staged for my benefit. I was afraid they would ring down thecurtain before I had had enough. It had no meaning. When I got backto my diggings I tried to put down what I had just seen, and Iswear there's more inspiration in the guide-book."
"Did you go alone?"
"Yes, I certainly would not go sight-seeing with the Meryoncrowd. Tell me what you felt when you saw it first."
"I went with Sir John's uncle. He was a great traveler. Thecolour struck me dumb. It flames—it sings. Think of the greypinched life in the West! I saw a grave dark potter turning hiswheel, while his little girl stood by, glad at our pleasure, herhead veiled like a miniature woman, tiny baggy trousers, and asilver nose-stud, like a star, in one delicate nostril. In her thinarms she held a heavy baby in a gilt cap, like a monkey. And thewheel turned and whirled until it seemed to be spinning dreams,thick as motes in the sun. The clay rose in smooth spirals underhis hand, and the wheel sang, 'Shall the vessel reprove him whomade one to honour and one to dishonour?' And I saw the potterthumping his wet clay, and the clay, plastic as dream-stuff, shapedswift as light, and the three Fates stood at his shoulder. Dreams,dreams, and all in the spinning of the wheel, and the rich shadowsof the old broken courtyard where he sat. And the wheel stopped andthe thread broke, and the little new shapes he had made stood allabout him, and he was only a potter in Peshawar."
Her voice was like a song. She had utterly forgotten myexistence. I did not dislike it at the moment, for I wanted to hearmore, and the impersonal is the rarest gift a woman can give aman.
"Did you buy anything?"
"He gave me a gift—a flawed jar of turquoise blue, faintturquoise green round the lip. He saw I understood. And then Ibought a little gold cap and a wooden box of jade-green Kabulgrapes. About a rupee, all told. But it was Eastern merchandise,and I was trading from Balsora and Baghdad, and Eleazar's camelswere swaying down from Damascus along the Khyber Pass, and comingin at the great Darwazah, and friends' eyes met me everywhere. I amprofoundly happy here."
The sinking sun lit an almost ecstatic face.
I envied her more deeply than I had ever envied any one. She hadthe secret of immortal youth, and I felt old as I looked at her.One might be eighty and share that passionate impersonal joy. Agecould not wither nor custom stale the infinite variety of herworld's joys. She had a child's dewy youth in her eyes.
There are great sunsets at Peshawar, flaming over the plain,dying in melancholy splendour over the dangerous hills. They toowere hers, in a sense in which they could never be mine. But what acompanion! To my astonishment a wild thought of marriage flashedacross me, to be instantly rebuffed with a shrug.Marriage—that one's wife might talk poetry to one about theEast! Absurd! But what was it these people felt and I could notfeel? Almost, shut up in the prison of self, I knew what Vanna hadfelt in her village—a maddening desire to escape, to be apart of the loveliness that lay beyond me. So might a man love aking's daughter in her hopeless heights.
"It may be very beautiful on the surface," I said morosely; "butthere's a lot of misery below—hateful, they tell me."
"Of course. We shall get to work one day. But look at thesunset. It opens like a mysterious flower. I must take Winifredhome now."
"One moment," I pleaded; "I can only see it through your eyes. Ifeel it while you speak, and then the good minute goes."
She laughed.
"And so must I. Come, Winifred. Look, there's an owl; not like the owlsin the summer dark in England— "Lovely are the curves of the white owl sweeping, Wavy in thedark, lit by one low star."
Suddenly she turned again and looked at me half wistfully.
"It is good to talk to you. You want to know. You are so near itall. I wish I could help you; I am so exquisitely happymyself."
My writing was at a standstill. It seemed the groping of a blindman in a radiant world. Once perhaps I had felt that life was goodin itself—when the guns came thundering toward the Vimy Ridgein a mad gallop of horses, and men shouting and swearing andfrantically urging them on. Then, riding for more than life, I hadtasted life for an instant. Not before or since. But this woman hadthe secret.
Lady Meryon, with her escort of girls and subalterns, camedaintily past the hotel compound, and startled me from my broodingwith her pretty silvery voice.
"Dreaming, Mr. Clifden? It isn't at all wholesome to dream inthe East. Come and dine with us tomorrow. A tiny dance afterwards,you know; or bridge for those who like it."
I had not the faintest notion whether governesses dined with thefamily or came in afterward with the coffee; but it was a sportingchance, and I took it.
Then Sir John came up and joined us.
"You can't well dance tomorrow, Kitty," he said to his wife."There's been an outpost affair in the Swat Hills, and youngFitzgerald has been shot. Come to dinner of course, Clifden. Gladto see you. But no dancing, I think."
Kitty Meryon's mouth drooped like a pouting child's. Was it forthe lost dance, or the lost soldier lying out on the hills in thedying sunset. Who could tell? In either case it was pretty enoughfor the illustrated papers.
"How sad! Such a dear boy. We shall miss him at tennis." Thenbrightly; "Well, we'll have to put the dance off for a week, butcome tomorrow anyhow."
Next evening I went into Lady Meryon's flower-scenteddrawing-room. The electric fans were fluttering and the evening airwas cool. Five or six pretty girls and as many men made up theparty—Kitty Meryon the prettiest of them all, fashionablyundressed in faint pink and crystal, with a charming smile inreadiness, all her gay little flags flying in the rich man'shonour. I am no vainer than other men, but I saw that. Whatever hercharm might be it was none for me. What could I say to interest herwho lived in her foolish little world as one shut in a brightbubble? And she had said the wrong word about youngFitzgerald—I wanted Vanna, with her deep seeing eyes, to saythe right one and adjust those cruel values.
Governesses dine, it appeared, only to fill an unexpected place,or make a decorous entry afterward, to play accompaniments.Fortunately Kitty Meryon sang, in a pinched little soprano, notnearly so pretty as her silver ripple of talk.
It was when the party had settled down to bridge and I wasstanding out, that I ventured to go up to her as she sat knittingby a window—not unwatched by the quick flash of Lady Meryon'seyes as I did it.
"I think you hypnotize me, Miss Loring. When I hear anything Istraightway want to know what you will say. Have you heard ofFitzgerald's death?"
"That is why we are not dancing tonight. Tomorrow the cable willreach his home in England. He was an only child, and they are thegreat people of the village where we are the little people. I knewhis mother as one knows a great lady who is kind to all the villagefolk. It may kill her. It is travelling tonight like a bullet toher heart, and she does not know."
"His father?"
"A brave man—a soldier himself. He will know it was a gooddeath and that Harry would not fail. He did not at Ypres. He wouldnot here. But all joy and hope will be dead in that housetomorrow."
"And what do you think?"
"I am not sorry for Harry, if you mean that. He knew—weall know—that he was on guard here holding the outpostsagainst blood and treachery and terrible things—playing theGreat Game. One never loses at that game if one plays it straight,and I am sure that at the last it was joy he felt and not fear. Hehas not lost. Did you notice in the church a niche before everysoldier's seat to hold his loaded gun? And the tablets on thewalls; "Killed at Kabul River, aged 22."—"Killed on outpostduty."—"Murdered by an Afghan fanatic." This will be onememory more. Why be sorry."
Presently:—
"I am going up to the hills tomorrow, to the Malakhand Fort,with Mrs. Delany, Lady Meryon's aunt, and we shall see thewonderful Tahkt-i-Bahi Monastery on the way. You should do that runbefore you go. The fort is the last but one on the way to Chitral,and beyond that the road is so beset that only soldiers may gofarther, and indeed the regiments escort each other up and down.But it is an early start, for we must be back in Peshawar at sixfor fear of raiding natives."
"I know; they hauled me up in the dusk the other day, and toldme I should be swept off to the hills if I fooled about after dusk.But I say—is it safe for you to go? You ought to have a man.Could I go too?"
I thought she did not look enthusiastic at the proposal.
"Ask. You know I settle nothing. I go where I am sent." She saidit with the happiest smile. I knew they could send her nowhere thatshe would not find joy. I thought her mere presence must send thevibrations of happiness through the household. Yet again—why?For where there is no receiver the current speaks in vain; and foran instant I seemed to see the air full of messages—of speechstriving to utter its passionate truths to deaf ears stopped forever against the breaking waves of sound. But Vanna heard.
She left the room; and when the bridge was over, I made myrequest. Lady Meryon shrugged her shoulders and declared it wouldbe a terribly dull run—the scenery nothing, "and only" (shewhispered) "Aunt Selina and poor Miss Loring?"
Of course I saw at once that she did not like it; but Sir Johnwas all for my going, and that saved the situation.
I certainly could have dispensed with Aunt Selina when theautomobile drew up in the golden river of the sunrise at the hotel.There were only the driver, a personal servant, and the two ladies;Mrs. Delany, comely, pleasant, talkative, and Vanna—
Her face in its dark motoring veil, fine and delicate as a youngmoon in a cloud drift—the sensitive sweet mouth that hadquivered a little when she spoke of Fitzgerald—the pureglance that radiated such kindness to all the world. She sat therewith the Key of Dreams pressed against her slight bosom—hereyes dreaming above it. Already the strange airs of her unknownworld were breathing about me, and as yet I knew not the thingsthat belonged unto my peace.
We glided along the straight military road from Peshawar toNowshera, the gold-bright sun dazzling in its whiteness—astrange drive through the flat, burned country, with the ominousKabul River flowing through it. Military preparations everywhere,and the hills looking watchfully down—alive, as it were, withkeen, hostile eyes. War was at present about us as behind the linesin France; and when we crossed the Kabul River on a bridge ofboats, and I saw its haunted waters, I began to feel the atmosphereof the place closing down upon me. It had a sinister beauty; itbreathed suspense; and I wished, as I was sure Vanna did, forsilence that was not at our command.
For Mrs. Delany felt nothing of it. A bright shallow ripple oftalk was her contribution to the joys of the day; though it was,fortunately, enough for her happiness if we listened and agreed. Iknew Vanna listened only in show. Her intent eyes were fixed on theTahkt-i-Bahi hills after we had swept out of Nowshera; and when thecar drew up at the rough track, she had a strange look of suspenseand pallor. I remember I wondered at the time if she were nervousin the wild open country.
"Now pray don't be shocked," said Mrs. Delany comfortably; "butyou two young people may go up to the monastery, and I shall stayhere. I am dreadfully ashamed of myself, but the sight of that hillis enough for me. Don't hurry. I may have a little doze, and be allthe better company when you get back. No, don't try to persuade me,Mr. Clifden. It isn't the part of a friend."
I cannot say I was sorry, though I had a moment of panic whenVanna offered to stay with her—very much, too, as if shereally meant it. So we set out perforce, Vanna leading steadily, asif she knew the way. She never looked up, and her wish for silencewas so evident, that I followed, lending my hand mutely when thedifficulties obliged it, she accepting absently, and as if herthoughts were far away.
Suddenly she quickened her pace. We had climbed about ninehundred feet, and now the narrow track twisted through therocks—a track that looked as age-worn as no doubt it was. Wethreaded it, and struggled over the ridge, and looked downvictorious on the other side.
There she stopped. A very wonderful sight, of which I had neverseen the like, lay below us. Rock and waste and towering crags, andthe mighty ruin of the monastery set in the fangs of the mountainlike a robber baron's castle, looking far away to the bluemountains of the Debatable Land—the land of mystery anddanger. It stood there—the great ruin of a vast habitation ofmen. Building after building, mysterious and broken, corridors,halls, refectories, cells; the dwelling of a faith so alien that Icould not reconstruct the life that gave it being. And all sinkinggently into ruin that in a century more would confound it with theroots of the mountains.
Grey and wonderful, it clung to the heights and looked witheyeless windows at the past. Somehow I found it infinitelypathetic; the very faith it expressed is dead in India, and noneleft so poor to do it reverence.
But Vanna knew her way. Unerringly she led me from point topoint, and she was visibly at home in the intricacies. Suchknowledge in a young woman bewildered me. Could she have studiedthe plans in the Museum? How else should she know where the abbotlived, or where the refractory brothers were punished?
Once I missed her, while I stooped to examine some scroll-work,and following, found her before one of the few images of the Buddhathat the rapacious Museum had spared—a singularly beautifulbas-relief, the hand raised to enforce the truth the calm lips werespeaking, the drapery falling in stately folds to the bare feet. AsI came up, she had an air as if she had just ceased from movement,and I had a distinct feeling that she had knelt before it—Isaw the look of worship! The thing troubled me like a dream,haunting, impossible, but real.
"How beautiful!" I said in spite of myself, as she pointed tothe image. "In this utter solitude it seems the very spirit of theplace."
"He was. He is," said Vanna.
"Explain to me. I don't understand. I know so little of him.What is the subject?"
She hesitated; then chose her words as if for abeginner;—"It is the Blessed One preaching to theTree-Spirits. See how eagerly they lean from the boughs to listen.This other relief represents him in the state of mystic vision.Here he is drowned in peace. See how it overflows from the closedeyes; the closed lips. The air is filled with his quiet."
"What is he dreaming?"
"Not dreaming—seeing. Peace. He sits at the point wheretime and infinity meet. To attain that vision was the aim of themonks who lived here."
"Did they attain?" I found myself speaking as if she couldcertainly answer.
"A few. There was one, Vasettha, the Brahman, a young man whohad renounced all his possessions and riches, and seated herebefore this image of the Blessed One, he fell often into the mysticstate. He had a strange vision at one time of the future of India,which will surely be fulfilled. He did not forget it in hisrebirths. He remembers-"
She broke off suddenly and said with forcedindifference,—"He would sit here often looking out over themountains; the monks sat at his feet to hear. He became abbot whilestill young. But his story is a sad one."
"I entreat you to tell me."
She looked away over the mountains. "While he was abbothere,—still a young man,—a famous Chinese Pilgrim camedown through Kashmir to visit the Holy Places in India. The abbotwent forward with him to Peshawar, that he might make him welcome.And there came a dancer to Peshawar, named Lilavanti, mostbeautiful! I dare not tell you her beauty. I tremble now tothink-"
Again she paused, and again the faint creeping sense of mysteryinvaded me.
She resumed;—
"The abbot saw her and he loved her. He was young still, youremember. She was a woman of the Hindu faith and hated Buddhism. Itswept him down into the lower worlds of storm and desire. He fledwith Lilavanti and never returned here. So in his rebirth hefell-"
She stopped dead; her face pale as death.
"How do you know? Where have you read it? If I could only findwhat you find and know what you know! The East is like an open bookto you. Tell me the rest."
"How should I know any more?" she said hurriedly. "We must begoing back. You should study the plans of this place at Peshawar.They were very learned monks who lived here. It is famous forlearning."
The life had gone out of her words-out of the ruins. There wasno more to be said.
We clambered down the hill in the hot sunshine, speaking only ofthe view, the strange shrubs and flowers, and, once, the swiftgliding of a snake, and found Mrs. Delany blissfully asleep in themost padded corner of the car. The spirit of the East vanished inher comfortable presence, and luncheon seemed the only matter ofmoment.
"I wonder, my dears," she said, "if you would be verydisappointed and think me very dense if I proposed our giving upthe Malakhand Fort? The driver has been giving me in very poorEnglish such an account of the dangers of that awful road up thehill that I feel no Fort would repay me for its terrors. Do saywhat you feel, Miss Loring. Mr. Clifden can lunch with the officersat Nowshera and come any time. I know I am an atrocity."
There could be only one answer, though Vanna and I knewperfectly well the crafty design of the driver to spare himselfwork. Mrs. Delany remained brightly awake for the run home, andfavored us with many remarkable views on India and itsshortcomings, Vanna, who had a sincere liking for her, laughingwith delight at her description of a visit of condolence with LadyMeryon to the five widows of one of the hill Rajas.
But I own I was pre-occupied. I knew those moments at themonastery had given me a glimpse into the wonderland of her soulthat made me long for more. It was rapidly becoming clear to methat unless my intentions developed on very different lines I mustflee Peshawar. For love is born of sympathy, and sympathy wasstrengthening daily, but for love I had no courage yet.
I feared it as men fear the unknown. I despised myself—butI feared. I will confess my egregious folly and vanity—I hadno doubt as to her reception of my offer if I should make it, butpossessed by a colossal selfishness, I thought only of myself, andfrom that point of view could not decide how I stood to lose orgain. In my wildest accesses of vanity I did not suppose Vannaloved me, but I felt she liked me, and I believe the advantages Ihad to offer would be overwhelming to a woman in her position. So,tossed on the waves of indecision, I inclined to flight.
That night I resolutely began my packing, and wrote a note offarewell to Lady Meryon. The next morning I furiously undid it, anddestroyed the note. And that afternoon I took the shortest way tothe sun-set road to lounge about and wait for Vanna and Winifred.She never came, and I was as unreasonably angry as if I haddeserved the blessing of her presence.
Next day I could see that she tried gently hut clearly todiscourage our meeting and for three days I never saw her at all.Yet I knew that in her solitary life our talks counted for apleasure, and when we met again I thought I saw a new softness inthe lovely hazel deeps of her eyes.
On the day when things became clear to me, I was walking towardsthe Meryons' gates when I met her coming alone along the sunsetroad, in the late gold of the afternoon. She looked pale and alittle wearied, and I remembered I wished I did not know everychange of her face as I did. It was a symptom that alarmed myselfishness—it galled me with the sense that I was no longermy own despot.
"So you have been up the Khyber Pass," she said as I fell intostep at her side. "Tell me—was it as wonderful as youexpected?"
"No, no,—you tell me! It will give me what I missed. Beginat the beginning. Tell me what I saw."
I could not miss the delight of her words, and she laughed,knowing my whim.
"Oh, that Pass!—the wonder of those old roads that haveborne the traffic and romance of the world for ages. Do you thinkthere is anything in the world so fascinating as they are? But didyou go on Tuesday or Friday?"
For these are the only days in the week when the Khyber can besafely entered. The British then turn out the Khyber Rifles and manevery crag, and the loaded caravans move like a tide, and go up anddown the narrow road on their occasions.
Naturally mere sightseers are not welcomed, for much businessmust be got through in that urgent forty eight hours in which lifeis not risked in entering.
"Tuesday. But make a picture for me."
"Well, you gave your word not to photograph or sketch—asif one wanted to when every bit of it is stamped on one's brain!And you went up to Jumrood Fort at the entrance. Did they tell youit is an old Sikh Fort and has been on duty in that turbulent placefor five hundred years And did you see the machine guns in thecourt? And every one armed—even the boys with belts ofcartridges? Then you went up the narrow winding track between themountains, and you said to yourself, 'This is the road of pureromance. It goes up to silken Samarkhand, and I can ride to Bokharaof the beautiful women and to all the dreams. Am I alive and is itreal?' You felt that?"
"All. Every bit. Go on!"
She smiled with pleasure.
"And you saw the little forts on the crags and the men on guardall along the bills, rifles ready! You could hear the guns rattleas they saluted. Do you know that up there men plough with riflesloaded beside them? They have to be men indeed."
"Do you mean to imply that we are not men?"
"Different men at least. This is life in a Border ballad. Such alife as you knew in France but beautiful in a wild—hawk sortof way. Don't the Khyber Rifles bewilder you? They are drawn fromthese very Hill tribes, and will shoot their own fathers andbrothers in the way of duty as comfortably as if they were jackals.Once there was a scrap here and one of the tribesmen sniped our menunbearably. What do you suppose happened? A Khyber Rifle came tothe Colonel and said, 'Let me put an end to him, Colonel Sahib. Iknow exactly where he sits. He is my grandfather.' And he didit!"
"The bond of bread and salt?"
"Yes, and discipline. I'm sometimes half frightened ofdiscipline. It moulds a man like wax. Even God doesn't do that.Well—then you had the traders—wild shaggy men insheepskin and women in massive jewelry of silver andturquoise,-great earrings, heavy bracelets loading their arms,wild, fierce, handsome. And the camels—thousands of them,some going up, some coming down, a mass of human and animal life.Above you, moving figures against the keen blue sky, or deep belowyou in the ravines.
"The camels were swaying along with huge bales of goods, anddark beautiful women in wicker cages perched on them. Silks andcarpets from Bokhara, and blue—eyed Persian cats, and bluerPersian turquoises. Wonderful! And the dust, gilded by thesunshine, makes a vaporous golden atmosphere for it all."
"What was the most wonderful thing you saw there?"
"The most beautiful, I think, was a man—a splendid darkruffian lounging along. He wanted to show off, and his swagger wasperfect. Long black onyx eyes and a tumble of black curls, andteeth like almonds. But what do you think he carried on hiswrist—a hawk with fierce yellow eyes, ringed and chained.Hawking is a favourite sport in the hills. Oh, why doesn't somegreat painter come and paint it all before they take to trains andcars? I long to see it all again, but I never shall."
"Why not," said I. "Surely Sir John can get you up there anyday?"
"Not now. The fighting makes it difficult. But it isn't that. Iam leaving."
"Leaving?" My heart gave a leap. "Why? Where?"
"Leaving Lady Meryon."
"Why—for Heaven's sake?"
"I had rather not tell you."
"But I must know."
"You cannot."
"I shall ask Lady Meryon."
"I forbid you."
And then the unexpected happened, and an unbearable impulseswept me into folly—or was it wisdom?
"Listen to me. I would not have said it yet, but this settlesit. I want you to marry me. I want it atrociously!"
It was a strange word. What I felt for her at that moment wasdifficult to describe. I endured it like a pain that could only beassuaged by her presence, but I endured it angrily. We were walkingon the sunset road—very deserted and quiet at the time. Theplace was propitious if nothing else was.
She looked at me in transparent astonishment;
"Mr. Clifden, are you dreaming? You can't mean what yousay."
"Why can't I? I do. I want you. You have the key of all I carefor. I think of the world without you and find it tasteless."
"Surely you have all the world can give? What do you wantmore?"
"The power to enjoy it—to understand it. You have gotthat—I haven't. I want you always with me to interpret, likea guide to a blind fellow. I am no better."
"Say like a dog, at once!" she interrupted. "At least you arefrank enough to put it on that ground. You have not said you loveme. You could not say it."
"I don't know whether I do or not. I know nothing about love. Iwant you. Indescribably. Perhaps that is love—is it? I neverwanted any one before. I have tried to get away and I can't."
I was brutally frank, you see. She compelled my verythoughts.
"Why have you tried?"
"Because every man likes freedom. But I like you better." "I cantell you the reason," she said in her gentle unwavering voice. "Iam Lady Meryon's governess, and an undesirable. You have feltthat?"
"Don't make me out such a snob. No—yes. You force me intohonesty. I did feel it at first like the miserable fool I am, but Icould kick myself when I think of that now. It is utterlyforgotten. Take me and make me what you will, and forgive me. Onlytell me your secret of joy. How is it you understand everythingalive or dead? I want to live—to see, to know."
It was a rhapsody like a boy's. Yet at the moment I was not evenashamed of it, so sharp was my need.
"I think," she said, slowly, looking straight before her, "thatI had better be quite frank. I don't love you. I don't know whatlove means in the Western sense. It has a very different meaningfor me. Your voice comes to me from an immense distance when youspeak in that way. You want me—but never with a thought ofwhat I might want. Is that love? I like you very deeply as afriend, but we are of different races. There is a gulf."
"A gulf? You are English."
"By birth, yes. In mind, no. And there are things that godeeper, that you could not understand. So I refuse quitedefinitely, and our ways part here, for in a few days I go. I shallnot see you again, but I wish to say good-bye."
The bitterest chagrin was working in my soul. I felt as if allwere deserting me-a sickening feeling of loneliness. I did not knowthe man who was in me, and was a stranger to myself.
"I entreat you to tell me why, and where."
"Since you have made me this offer, I will tell you why. LadyMeryon objected to my friendship with you, and objected in a waywhich-"
She stopped, flushing palely. I caught her hand.
"That settles it!-that she should have dared! I'll go up thisminute and tell her we are engaged. Vanna-Vanna!"
For she disengaged her hand, quietly but firmly.
"On no account. How can I make it more plain to you? I shouldhave gone soon in any case. My place is in the nativecity—that is the life I want. I have work there, I knew itbefore I came out. My sympathies are all with them. They know whatlife is—why even the beggars, poorer than poor, are perfectlyhappy, basking in the great generous sun. Oh, the splendour andriot of life and colour! That's my life—I sicken ofthis."
"But I'll give it to you. Marry me, and we will travel tillyou're tired of it."
"Yes, and look on as at a play—sitting in the stalls, andapplauding when we are pleased. No, I'm going to work there." "ForGod's sake, how? Let me come too."
"You can't. You're not in it. I am going to attach myself to themedical mission at Lahore and learn nursing, and then I shall go tomy own people."
"Missionaries? You've nothing in common with them?"
"Nothing. But they teach what I want. Mr. Clifden, I shall notcome this way again. If I remember—I'll write to you, andtell you what the real world is like."
She smiled, the absorbed little smile I knew and feared. I sawpleading was useless then. I would wait, and never lose sight ofher and of hope.
"Vanna, before you go, give me your gift of sight. Interpret forme. Stay with me a little and make me see."
"What do you mean exactly?" she asked in her gentlest voice,half turning to me.
"Make one journey with me, as my sister, if you will do no more.Though I warn you that all the time I shall be trying to win mywife. But come with me once, and after that—if you will go,you must. Say yes."
Madness! But she hesitated—a hesitation full of hope, andlooked at me with intent eyes.
"I will tell you frankly," she said at last, "that I know myknowledge of the East and kinship with it goes far beyond merewords. In my case the doors were not shut. I believe—I knowthat long ago this was my life. If I spoke for ever I could notmake you understand how much I know and why. So I shall quitecertainly go back to it. Nothing—you least of all, can holdme. But you are my friend—that is a true bond. And if youwould wish me to give you two months before I go, I might do thatif it would in any way help you. As your friend only—youclearly understand. You would not reproach me afterwards when Ileft you, as I should most certainly do?"
"I swear I would not. I swear I would protect you even frommyself. I want you for ever, but if you will only give me twomonths—come! But have you thought that people will talk. Itmay injure you. I'm not worth that, God knows. And you will takenothing I could give you in return."
She spoke very quietly.
"That does not trouble me.—It would only trouble me if youasked what I have not to give. For two months I would travel withyou as a friend, if, like a friend, I paid my own expenses-"
I would have interrupted, but she brushed that firmly aside."No, I must do as I say, and I am quite able to or I should notsuggest it. I would go on no other terms. It would be hard ifbecause we are man and woman I might not do one act of friendshipfor you before we part. For though I refuse your offer utterly, Iappreciate it, and I would make what little return I can. It wouldbe a sharp pain to me to distress you."
Her gentleness and calm, the magnitude of the offer she wasmaking stunned me so that I could scarcely speak. There was such anextraordinary simplicity and generosity in her manner that itappeared to me more enthralling and bewildering than the mostfinished coquetry I had ever known. She gave me opportunities thatthe most ardent lover could in his wildest dream desire, and withthe remoteness in her eyes and her still voice she deprived them ofall hope. It kindled in me a flame that made my throat dry when Itried to speak.
"Vanna, is it a promise? You mean it?"
"If you wish it, yes. But I warn you I think it will not make iteasier for you when the time is over.
"Why two months?"
"Partly because I can afford no more. No! I know what you wouldsay. Partly because I can spare no more time. But I will give youthat, if you wish, though, honestly, I had very much rather not. Ithink it unwise for you. I would protect you if Icould—indeed I would!"
It was my turn to hesitate now. Every moment revealed to me somenew sweetness, some charm that I saw would weave itself into thevery fibre of my I had been! Was I not now a fool? Would it notbeing if the opportunity were given. Oh, fool that be better to lether go before she had become a part of my daily experience? I beganto fear I was courting my own shipwreck. She read my thoughtsclearly.
"Indeed you would be wise to decide against it. Release me frommy promise. It was a mad scheme."
The superiority—or so I felt it—of her gentlenessmaddened me. It might have been I who needed protection, who wasrunning the risk of misjudgment—not she, a lonely woman. Shelooked at me, waiting—trying to be wise for me, never for oneinstant thinking of herself. I felt utterly exiled from the realpurpose of her life.
"I will never release you. I claim your promise. I hold toit."
"Very well then—I will write, and tell you where I shallbe. Good-bye, and if you change your mind, as I hope you will, tellme."
She extended her hand cool as a snowflake, and was gone, walkingswiftly up the road. Ah, let a man beware when his wishesfulfilled, rain down upon him!
To what had I committed myself? She knew her strength and had no fears.I could scarcely realize that she had liking enough for me to make theoffer. That it meant no shade more than she had said I knew well. Shewas safe, but what was to be the result for me? I knew nothing—she wasa beloved mystery. "Strange she is and secret, Strange her eyes; her cheeks arecold as cold sea-shells."
Yet I would risk it, for I knew there was no hope if I let hergo now, and if I saw her again, some glimmer might fall upon mydark.
Next day this reached me:—Dear Mr. Clifden,—
I am going to some Indian friends for a time. On the 15th ofJune I shall be at Srinagar in Kashmir. A friend has allowed me totake her little houseboat, the "Kedarnath." If you like this planwe will share the cost for two months. I warn you it is notluxurious, but I think you will like it. I shall do this whetheryou come or no, for I want a quiet time before I take up my nursingin Lahore. In thinking of all this will you remember that I am nota girl but a woman. I shall be twenty-nine my next birthday.Sincerely yours, VANNA LORING.
P.S. But I still think you would be wiser not to come. I hope tohear you will not.
I replied only this:—Dear Miss Loring,—I think Iunderstand the position fully. I will be there. I thank you withall my heart. Gratefully yours, STEPHEN CLIFDEN.
Three days later I met Lady Meryon, and was swept in to tea. Hermanner was distinctly more cordial as she mentioned casually thatVanna had left—she understood to take up missionarywork—"which is odd," she added with a woman's acrimony, "forshe had no more in common with missionaries than I have, and thatis saying a good deal. Of course she speaks Hindustani perfectly,and could be useful, but I haven't grasped the point of it yet." Isaw she counted on my knowing nothing of the real reason of Vanna'sgoing and left it, of course, at that. The talk drifted away undermy guidance. Vanna evidently puzzled her. She half feared, andwholly misunderstood her.
No message came to me, as time went by, and for the time she hadvanished completely, but I held fast to her promise and lived onthat only.
I take up my life where it ceased to be a mere suspense andbecame life once more.
On the 15th of June, I found myself riding into Srinagar inKashmir, through the pure tremulous green of the mighty poplarsthat hedge the road into the city. The beauty of the country hadhalf stunned me when I entered the mountain barrier of Baramula andsaw the snowy peaks that guard the Happy Valley, with the Jhelumflowing through its tranquil loveliness. The flush of the almondblossom was over, but the iris, like a blue sea of peace hadoverflowed the world—the azure meadows smiled back at theradiant sky. Such blossom! the blue shading into clear violet, likea shoaling sea. The earth, like a cup held in the hand of a god,brimmed with the draught of youth and summer and—love? Butno, for me the very word was sinister. Vanna's face, immutablycalm, confronted it.
That night I slept in a boat at Sopor, and I remember that,waking at midnight, I looked out and saw a mountain with a glorioleof hazy silver about it, misty and faint as a cobweb threaded withdew. The river, there spreading into a lake, was dark under it,flowing in a deep smooth blackness of shadow, and everythingawaited—what? And even while I looked, the moon floatedserenely above the peak, and all was bathed in pure light, thewater rippling and shining in broken silver and pearl. So had Vannafloated into my sky, luminous, sweet, remote. I did not question myheart any more. I knew I loved her.
Two days later I rode into Srinagar, and could scarcely see thewild beauty of that strange Venice of the East, my heart was sobeating in my eyes. I rode past the lovely wooden bridges where thebalconied houses totter to each other across the canals in dimsplendour of carving and age; where the many-coloured native lifecrowds down to the river steps and cleanses its flower-brightrobes, its gold-bright brass vessels in the shining stream, and myheart said only—Vanna, Vanna!
One day, one thought, of her absence had taught me what she wasto me, and if humility and patient endeavor could raise me to herfeet, I was resolved that I would spend my life in labor and thinkit well spent.
My servant dismounted and led his horse, asking from every onewhere the "Kedarnath" could be found, and eager black eyes sparkledand two little bronze images detached themselves from the crowd ofboys, and ran, fleet as fauns, before us.
Above the last bridge the Jhelum broadens out into a statelyriver, controlled at one side by the banked walk known as the Bund,with the Club House upon it and the line of houseboats beneath.Here the visitors flutter up and down and exchange the gossip, thebridge appointments, the little dinners that sit so incongruouslyon the pure Orient that is Kashmir.
She would not be here. My heart told me that, and sure enoughthe boys were leading across the bridge and by a quiet shady way toone of the many backwaters that the great river makes in theenchanting city. There is one waterway stretching on afar to theDal Lake. It looks like a river—it is the very haunt ofpeace. Under those mighty chenar, or plane trees, that are theglory of Kashmir, clouding the water with deep green shadows, thesun can scarcely pierce, save in a dipping sparkle here and thereto intensify the green gloom. The murmur of the city, the chatterof the club, are hundreds of miles away. We rode downward under thetowering trees, and dismounting, saw a little houseboat tethered tothe bank. It was not of the richer sort that haunts the Bund, wherethe native servants follow in a separate boat, and even theelectric light is turned on as part of the luxury. This was a longlow craft, very broad, thatched like a country cottage afloat. Inthe forepart lived the native owner, and his family, their crew,our cooks and servants; for they played many parts in our service.And in the afterpart, room for a life, a dream, the joy or curse& many days to be.
But then, I saw only one thing—Vanna sat under the trees,reading, or looking at the cool dim watery vista, with a singleboat, loaded to the river's edge with melons and scarlet tomatoes,punting lazily down to Srinagar in the sleepy afternoon.
She was dressed in white with a shady hat, and her delicate darkface seemed to glow in the shadow like the heart of a pale rose.For the first time I knew she was beautiful. Beauty shone in herlike the flame in an alabaster lamp, serene, diffused in the veryair about her, so that to me she moved in a mild radiance. She roseto meet me with both hands outstretched—the kindest, mostcordial welcome. Not an eyelash flickered, not a trace ofself-consciousness. If I could have seen her flush ortremble—but no—her eyes were clear and calm as a forestpool. So I remembered her. So I saw her once more.
I tried, with a hopeless pretence, to follow her example andhide what I felt, where she had nothing to hide.
"What a place you have found. Why, it's like the deep heart of awood!"
"Yes, I saw it once when I was here with the Meryons. But we layat the Bund then—just under the Club. This is better. Did youlike the ride up?"
I threw myself on the grass beside her with a feeling of perfectrest.
"It was like a new heaven and a new earth. What a country!"
The very spirit of Quiet seemed to be drowsing in those branchestowering up into the blue, dipping their green fingers into thecrystal of the water. What a heaven!
"Now you shall have your tea and then I will show you yourrooms," she said, smiling at my delight. "We shall stay here a fewdays more that you may see Srinagar, and then they tow us up intothe Dal Lake opposite the Gardens of the Mogul Emperors. And if youthink this beautiful what will you say then?"
I shut my eyes and see still that first meal of my new life. Thelittle table that Pir Baksh, breathing full East in his jade-greenturban, set before her, with its cloth worked in a pattern of thechenar leaves that are the symbol of Kashmir; the brown cakes madeby Ahmad Khan in a miraculous kitchen of his own invention—afew holes burrowed in the river bank, a smoldering fire beneaththem, and a width of canvas for a roof. But it served, and no moreneed be asked of luxury. And Vanna, making it mysteriously thefirst home I ever had known, the central joy of it all. Oh,wonderful days of life that breathe the spirit of immortality andpass so quickly—surely they must be treasured somewhere inEternity that we may look upon their beloved light once more.
"Now you must see the boat. The Kedarnath is not a Dreadnought,but she is broad and very comfortable. And we have many chaperons.They all live in the bows, and exist simply to protect the Sahiblogfrom all discomfort, and very well they do it. That is Ahmad Khanby the kitchen. He cooks for us. Salama owns the boat, and steersher and engages the men to tow us when we move. And when I arrivedhe aired a little English and said piously; The Lord help me togive you no trouble, and the Lord help you! That is his wifesitting on the bank. She speaks little but Kashmiri, but I know alittle of that. Look at the hundred rat-tail plaits of her hair,lengthened with wool, and see her silver and turquoise jewelry. Shewears much of the family fortune and is quite a walking bank.Salama, Ahmad Khan and I talk by the hour. Ahmad comes fromFyzabad. Look at Salama's boy—I call him the Orange Imp. Didyou ever see anything so beautiful?"
I looked in sheer delight, and grasped my camera. Sitting nearus was a lovely little Kashmiri boy of about eight, in a fadedorange coat, and a turban exactly like his father's. His curledblack eyelashes were so long that they made a soft gloom over theupper part of the little golden face. The perfect bow of thescarlet lips, the long eyes, the shy smile, suggested an IndianEros. He sat dipping his feet in the water with little pigeon-likecries of content.
"He paddles at the bow of our little shikara boat with a paddleexactly like a water-lily leaf. Do you like our friends? I lovethem already, and know all their affairs. And now for theboat."
"One moment—If we are friends on a great adventure, I mustcall you Vanna, and you me Stephen."
"Yes, I suppose that is part of it," she said, smiling. "Come,Stephen."
It was like music, but a cold music that chilled me. She shouldhave hesitated, should have flushed—it was I who trembled. SoI followed her across the broad plank into our new home.
"This is our sitting-room. Look, how charming!"
It was better than charming; it was home indeed. Windows at eachside opening down almost to the water, a little table for mealsthat lived mostly on the bank, with a grey pot of iris in themiddle. Another table for writing, photography, and all the littlepursuits of travel. A bookshelf with some well—worn friends.Two long cushioned chairs. Two for meals, and a Bokhara rug, softand pleasant for the feet. The interior was plain unpainted wood,but set so that the grain showed like satin in the rippling lightsfrom the water.
That is the inventory of the place I have loved best in theworld, but what eloquence can describe what it gave me, what itsmemory gives me to this day? And I have no eloquence—what Ifelt leaves me dumb.
"It is perfect," was all I said as she waved her hand proudly."It is home."
"And if you had come alone to Kashmir you would have had a greatrich boat with electric light and a butler. You would never haveseen the people except at meal—times. I think you will likethis better. Well, this is your tiny bedroom, and your bathroom,and beyond the sitting—room are mine. Do you like itall?"
But I could say no more. The charm of her own personality hadtouched everything and left its fragrance like aflower—breath in the air. I was beggared of thanks, but mywhole soul was gratitude. We dined on the bank that evening, thelamp burning steadily in the still air and throwing brokenreflections in the water, while the moon looked in upon themthrough the leaves. I felt extraordinarily young and happy.
The quiet of her voice was soft as the little lap of wateragainst the bows of the boat, and Kahdra, the Orange Imp, wassinging a little wordless song to himself as he washed the platesbeside us. It was a simple meal, and Vanna, abstemious as a hermitnever ate anything but rice and fruit, but I could remember no mealin all my days of luxury where I had eaten with such zest.
"It looks very grand to have so many to wait upon us, doesn'tit? But this is one of the cheapest countries in the world thoughthe old timers mourn over present expenses. You will laugh when Ishow you your share of the cost."
"The wealth of the world could not buy this," I said, and wassilent.
"But you must listen to my plans. We must do a little campingthe last three weeks before we part. Up in the mountains. Are theynot marvellous? They stand like a rampart round us, but not coldand terrible, but "Like as the hills stand round aboutJerusalem"—they are guardian presences. And running up intothem, high-very high, are the valleys and hills where we shallcamp. Tomorrow we shall row through Srinagar, by the old Maharaja'spalace."
And so began a life of sheer enchantment. We knew no one. Thevisitors in Kashmir change nearly every season, and no one cared-noone asked anything of us, and as for our shipmates, a willingaffectionate service was their gift, and no more. Looking back, Iknow in what a wonder-world I was privileged to live. Vanna couldtalk with them all. She did not move apart, a condescending orindifferent foreigner. Kahdra would come to her knee and prattle toher of the great snake that lived up on Mahadeo to devour erringboys who omitted their prayers at proper Moslem intervals. Shewould sit with the baby in her lap while the mother busied herselfin the sunny bows with the mysterious dishes that smelt so savoryto a hungry man. The cuts, the bruises of the neighbourhood allcame to Vanna for treatment.
"I am graduating as a nurse," she would say laughing as she bentover the lean arm of some weirdly wrinkled old lady, bandaging andsoothing at the same moment. Her reward would be some bit offolk-lore, some quaintness of gratitude that I noted down in thelittle book I kept for remembrance—that I do not need, forevery word is in my heart.
We rowed down through the city next day—Salama rowing, andlittle Kahdra lazily paddling at the bow—a wonderful city,with its narrow ways begrimed with the dirt of ages, and itsbalconied houses looking as if disease and sin had soaked into themand given them a vicious tottering beauty, horrible and yet lovelytoo. We saw the swarming life of the bazaar, the white turbanscoming and going, diversified by the rose and yellow Hindu turbans,and the caste-marks, orange and red, on the dark brows.
I saw two women—girls—painted and tired likeJezebel, looking out of one window carved and old, and the greyburnished doves flying about it. They leaned indolently, like allthe old, old wickedness of the East that yet is everyoung—"Flowers of Delight," with smooth black hair braidedwith gold and blossoms, and covered with pale rose veils, and goldembossed disks swinging like lamps beside the olive cheeks, thegreat eyes artificially lengthened and darkened with soorma, andthe curves of the full lips emphasized with vermilion. They lookeddown on us with apathy, a dull weariness that held all the old evilof the wicked humming city.
It had taken shape in those indolent bodies and heavy eyes thatcould flash into life as a snake wakes into fierce darting energywhen the time comes to spring—direct inheritrixes fromLilith, in the fittest setting in the world—the almostexhausted vice of an Oriental city as old as time.
"And look-below here," said Vanna, pointing to one of theghauts—long rugged steps running down to the river.
"When I came yesterday, a great broken crowd was collected here,almost shouldering each other into the water where a boat layrocking. In it lay the body of a man brutally murdered for the sakeof a few rupees and flung into the river. I could see the poorbrown body stark in the boat with a friend weeping beside it. Onthe lovely deodar bridge people leaned over, watching with a grimopen-mouthed curiosity, and business went on gaily where thejewelers make the silver bangles for slender wrists, and the rowsof silver chains that make the necks like 'the Tower of Damascusbuilded for an armory.' It was all very wild and cruel. I went downto them-"
"Vanna—you went down? Horrible!"
"No, you see I heard them say the wife was almost a child andneeds help. So I went. Once long ago at Peshawar I saw the samething happen, and they came and took the child for the service ofthe gods, for she was most lovely, and she clung to the feet of aman in terror, and the priest stabbed her to the heart. She died inmy arms.
"Good God!" I said, shuddering; "what a sight for you! Did theynever hang him?"
"He was not punished. I told you it was a very long time ago.Her expression had a brooding quiet as she looked down into therunning river, almost it might be as if she saw the picture of thatpast misery in the deep water. She said no more. But in her wordsand the terrible crowding of its life, Srinagar seemed to me moreof a nightmare than anything I had seen, excepting only Benares;for the holy Benares is a memory of horror, with a sense of bloodhidden under its frantic crazy devotion, and not far hiddeneither.
"Our own green shade, when we pulled back to it in the eveningcool, was a refuge of unspeakable quiet. She read aloud to me thatevening by the small light of our lamp beneath the trees, and,singularly, she read of joy.
"I have drunk of the Cup of the Ineffable, I have found the keyof the Mystery, Travelling by no track I have come to theSorrowless Land; very easily has the mercy of the great Lord comeupon me. Wonderful is that Land of rest to which no merit can win.There have I seen joy filled to the brim, perfection of joy. Hedances in rapture and waves of form arise from His dance. He holdsall within his bliss."
"What is that?"
"It is from the songs of the great Indian mystic—Kabir.Let me read you more. It is like the singing of a lark, lost in theinfinite of light and heaven."
So in the soft darkness I heard for the first time thoseimmortal words; and hearing, a faint glimmer of understanding brokeupon me as to the source of the peace that surrounded her. I hadaccepted it as an emanation of her own heart when it was thepulsing of the tide of the Divine. She read, choosing a verse hereand there, and I listened with absorption.
Suppose I had been wrong in believing that sorrow is the keynoteof life; that pain is the road of ascent, if road there be; that animplacable Nature and that only, presides over all our pitifulstruggles and seekings and writes a black "Finis" to the holographof our existence?
What then? What was she teaching me? Was she the Interpreter ofa Beauty eternal in the heavens, and reflected like a broken prismin the beauty that walked visible beside me? So I listened like achild to an unknown language, yet ventured my protest.
"In India, in this wonderful country where men have time andwill for speculation such thoughts may be natural. Can they befound in the West?"
"This is from the West—might not Kabir himself have saidit? Certainly he would have felt it. 'Happy is he who seeks not tounderstand the Mystery of God, but who, merging his spirit intoThine, sings to Thy face, O Lord, like a harp, understanding howdifficult it is to know—how easy to love Thee.' We debate andargue and the Vision passes us by. We try to prove it, and kill itin the laboratory of our minds, when on the altar of our souls itwill dwell for ever."
Silence—and I pondered. Finally she laid the book aside,and repeated from memory and in a tone of perfect music; "Kabirsays, 'I shall go to the House of my Lord with my Love at my side;then shall I sound the trumpet of triumph.'"
And when she left me alone in the moonlight silence the olddoubts came back to me—the fear that I saw only through hereyes, and began to believe in joy only because I loved her. Iremember I wrote in the little book I kept for my stray thoughts,these words which are not mine but reflect my thought of her;"Thine is the skill of the Fairy Woman, and the virtue of St.Bride, and the faith of Mary the Mild, and the gracious way of theGreek woman, and the beauty of lovely Emer, and the tenderness ofheart-sweet Deirdre, and the courage of Maev the great Queen, andthe charm of Mouth-of-Music."
Yes, all that and more, but I feared lest I should see theheaven of joy through her eyes only and find it mirage as I hadfound so much else.
SECOND PART Early in the pure dawn the men came and our boat wastowed up into the Dal Lake through crystal waterways and flowerybanks, the men on the path keeping step and straining at the ropeuntil the bronze muscles stood out on their legs and backs,shouting strong rhythmic phrases to mark the pull.
"They shout the Wondrous Names of God—as they are called,"said Vanna when I asked. "They always do that for a timid effort.Bad shah! The Lord, the Compassionate, and so on. I don't thinkthere is any religion about it but it is as natural to them as One,Two, Three, to us. It gives a tremendous lift. Watch and see."
It was part of the delightful strangeness that we should move tothat strong music. We sat on the upper deck and watched thedream—like beauty drift slowly by until we emerged beneath alittle bridge into the fairy land of the lake which the MogulEmperors loved so well that they made their noble pleasance gardenson the banks, and thought it little to travel up yearly fromfar—off Delhi over the snowy Pir Panjal with their Queens andcourts for the perfect summer of Kashmir.
We moored by a low bank under a great wood of chenar trees, andsaw the little table in the wilderness set in the greenest shadewith our chairs beside it, and my pipe laid reverently upon it byKahdra.
Across the glittering water lay on one side the Shalimar Gardenknown to all readers of "Lalla Ruhk"—a paradise of roses; andbeyond it again the lovelier gardens of Nour-Mahal, the Light ofthe Palace, that imperial woman who ruled India under the weakEmperor's name—she whose name he set thus upon his coins:
"By order of King Jehangir. Gold has a hundred splendours addedto it by receiving the name of Nour-Jahan the Queen."
Has any woman ever had a more royal homage than this most royallady—known first as Mihr-u-nissa—Sun of Women, andlater, Nour-Mahal, Light of the Palace, and latest,Nour-Jahan-Begam, Queen, Light of the World?
Here in these gardens she had lived—had seen the snowmountains change from the silver of dawn to the illimitable rose ofsunset. The life, the colour beat insistently upon my brain. Theybuilt a world of magic where every moment was pure gold.Surely—surely to Vanna it must be the same. I believed in myvery soul that she who gave and shared such joy could not beutterly apart from me? Could I then feel certain that I had gainedany ground in these days we had been together? Could she stilldefine the cruel limits she had laid down, or were her eyes kinder,her tones a more broken music? I did not know. Whenever I couldhazard a guess the next minute baffled me.
Just then, in the sunset, she was sitting on deck, singing underher breath and looking absently away to the Gardens across theLake. I could catch the words here and there, and knew them.
"Pale hands I loved beside the Shalimar, Where are you now—who lies beneath your spell? Whom do you lead on Rapture's roadway far, Before you agonize them in farewell?"
"Don't!" I said abruptly. It stung me.
"What?" she asked in surprise. "That is the song every oneremembers here. Poor Laurence Hope! How she knew and loved thisIndia! What are you grumbling at?"
Her smile stung me.
"Never mind," I said morosely. "You don't understand. You neverwill."
And yet I believed sometimes that she would—that time wason my side.
When Kahdra and I pulled her across to Nour-Mahal's garden nextday, how could I not believe it—her face was so full of joyas she looked at me for sympathy?
"I don't think so much beauty is crowded into any other fewmiles in the world—beauty of association, history, nature,everything!" she said with shining eyes. "The lotus flowers are notout yet but when they come that is the last touch of perfection. Doyou remember Homer—'But whoso ate of the honey-sweet fruit ofthe lotus, was neither willing to bring me word again, nor todepart. Nay, their desire was to remain there for ever, feeding onthe lotus with the Lotus Eaters, forgetful of all return.' You knowthe people here eat the roots and seeds? I ate them last year andperhaps that is why I cannot stay away. But look at Nour-Mahal'sgarden!"
We were pulling in among the reeds and the huge carven leaves ofthe water plants, and the snake-headed buds lolling upon them withthe slippery half-sinister look that water-flowers have, as thoughtheir cold secret life belonged to the hidden water world and notto ours. But now the boat was touching the little wooden steps.
O beautiful—most beautiful the green lawns, shaded withhuge pyramids of the chenar trees, the terraced gardens where themarble steps climbed from one to the other, and the mountainstreams flashed singing and shining down the carved marble slopesthat cunning hands had made to delight the Empress of Beauty,between the wildernesses of roses. Her pavilion stands still amongthe flowers, and the waters ripple through it to join thelake—and she is—where? Even in the glory of sunshinethe passing of all fair things was present with me as I saw theempty shell that had held the Pearl of Empire, and her roses thatstill bloom, her waters that still sing for others.
The spray of a hundred fountains was misty diamond dust in thewarm air laden with the scent of myriad flowers. Kahdra followed useverywhere, singing his little tuneless happy song. The worldbrimmed with beauty and joy. And we were together. Words broke fromme.
"Vanna, let it be for ever! Let us live here. I'll give up allthe world for this and you."
"But you see," she said delicately, "it would be 'giving up.'You use the right word. It is not your life. It is a lovelyholiday, no more. You would weary of it. You would want the citylife and your own kind."
I protested with all my soul.
"No. Indeed I will say frankly that it would be loweringyourself to live a lotus-eating life among my people. It is a lifewith which you have no tie. A Westerner who lives like that stepsdown; he loses his birthright just as an Oriental does whoEuropeanizes himself. He cannot live your life nor you his. If youhad work here it would be different. No—six or eight weeksmore; then go away and forget it."
I turned from her. The serpent was in Paradise. When is heabsent?
On one of the terraces a man was beating a tom-tom, and veiledwomen listened, grouped about him in brilliant colours.
"Isn't that all India?" she said; "that dull reiterated sound?It half stupefies, half maddens. Once at Darjiling I saw the Lamas'Devil Dance—the soul, a white-faced child with eyesunnaturally enlarged, fleeing among a rabble of devils—theevil passions. It fled wildly here and there and every way wasblocked. The child fell on its knees, screaming dumbly—youcould see the despair in the staring eyes, but all was drowned inthe thunder of Tibetan drums. No mercy—no escape.Horrible!"
"Even in Europe the drum is awful," I said. "Do you remember inthe French Revolution how they Drowned the victims' voices in athunder roll of drums?"
"I shall always see the face of the child, hunted down to hell,falling on its knees, and screaming without a sound, when I hearthe drum. But listen—a flute! Now if that were the Flute ofKrishna you would have to follow. Let us come!"
I could hear nothing of it, but she insisted and we followed themusic, inaudible to me, up the slopes of the garden that is thefoot-hill of the mighty mountain of Mahadeo, and still I could hearnothing. And Vanna told me strange stories of the Apollo of Indiawhom all hearts must adore, even as the herd-girls adored him inhis golden youth by Jumna river and in the pastures ofBrindaban.
Next day we were climbing the hill to the ruins where the evilmagician brought the King's daughter nightly to his will, flyinglow under a golden moon. Vanna took my arm and I pulled herlaughing up the steepest flowery slopes until we reached theheight, and lo! the arched windows were eyeless and a lonely breezeblowing through the cloisters, and the beautiful yellowish stonearches supported nothing and were but frames for the blue of farlake and mountain and the divine sky. We climbed the broken stairswhere the lizards went by like flashes, and had I the tongue of menand angels I could not tell the wonder that lay beforeus,—the whole wide valley of Kashmir in summer glory, withits scented breeze singing, singing above it.
We sat on the crushed aromatic herbs and among the wild rosesand looked down.
"To think," she said, "that we might have died and never seenit!"
There followed a long silence. I thought she was tired, andwould not break it. Suddenly she spoke in a strange voice, low andtoneless;
"The story of this place. She was the Princess Padmavati, andher home was in Ayodhya. When she woke and found herself here bythe lake she was so terrified that she flung herself in and wasdrowned. They held her back, but she died."
"How do you know?"
"Because a wandering monk came to the abbey of Tahkt-i-Bahi nearPeshawar and told Vasettha the Abbot."
I had nearly spoilt all by an exclamation, but I held myselfback. I saw she was dreaming awake and was unconscious of what shesaid.
"The Abbot said, 'Do not describe her. What talk is this forholy men? The young monks must not hear. Some of them have neverseen a woman. Should a monk speak of such toys?' But the wandererdisobeyed and spoke, and there was a great tumult, and the monksthrew him out at the command of the young Abbot, and he wandereddown to Peshawar, and it was he later—the evilone!—that brought his sister, Lilavanti the Dancer, toPeshawar, and the Abbot fell into her snare. That was hisrevenge!"
Her face was fixed and strange, for a moment her cheek lookedhollow, her eyes dim and grief-worn. What was sheseeing?—what remembering? Was it a story—a memory? Whatwas it?
"She was beautiful?" I prompted.
"Men have said so, but for it he surrendered the Peace. Do notspeak of her accursed beauty."
Her voice died away to a drowsy murmur; her head dropped on myshoulder and for the mere delight of contact I sat still andscarcely breathed, praying that she might speak again, but the goodminute was gone. She drew one or two deep breaths, and sat up witha bewildered look that quickly passed.
"I was quite sleepy for a minute. The climb was so strenuous.Hark—I hear the Flute of Krishna again."
And again I could hear nothing, but she said it was soundingfrom the trees at the base of the hill. Later when we climbed downI found she was right—that a peasant lad, dark and amazinglybeautiful as these Kashmiris often are, was playing on the flute toa girl at his feet—looking up at him with rapt eyes. He flungVanna a flower as we passed. She caught it and put it in her bosom.A singular blossom, three petals of purest white, set against threeleaves of purest green, and lower down the stem the three greenleaves were repeated. It was still in her bosom after dinner, and Ilooked at it more closely.
"That is a curious flower," I said. "Three and three and three.Nine. That makes the mystic number. I never saw a purer white. Whatis it?"
"Of course it is mystic," she said seriously. "It is theNinefold Flower. You saw who gave it?"
"That peasant lad."
She smiled.
"You will see more some day. Some might not even have seenthat."
"Does it grow here?"
"This is the first I have seen. It is said to grow only wherethe gods walk. Do you know that throughout all India Kashmir issaid to be holy ground? It was called long ago the land of thegods, and of strange, but not evil, sorceries. Great marvels wereseen here."
I felt the labyrinthine enchantments of that enchanted land wereclosing about me—a slender web, grey, almost impalpable,finer than fairy silk, was winding itself about my feet. My eyeswere opening to things I had not dreamed. She saw my thought.
"Yes, you could not have seen even that much of him in Peshawar.You did not know then."
"He was not there," I answered, falling half unconsciously intoher tone.
"He is always there—everywhere, and when he plays, all whohear must follow. He was the Pied Piper in Hamelin, he was Pan inHellas. You will hear his wild fluting in many strange places whenyou know how to listen. When one has seen him the rest comes soon.And then you will follow."
"Not away from you, Vanna."
"From the marriage feast, from the Table of the Lord," she said,smiling strangely. "The man who wrote that spoke of another call,but it is the same—Krishna or Christ. When we hear the musicwe follow. And we may lose or gain heaven."
It might have been her compelling personality—it mighthave been the marvels of beauty about me, but I knew well I hadentered at some mystic gate. A pass word had been spoken forme—I was vouched for and might go in. Only a little way asyet. Enchanted forests lay beyond, and perilous seas, but therewere hints, breaths like the wafting of the garments of unspeakablePresences. My talk with Vanna grew less personal, and moreintrospective. I felt the touch of her finger-tips leading me alongthe ways of Quiet—my feet brushed a shining dew. Once, in thetwilight under the chenar trees, I saw a white gleaming and thoughtit a swiftly passing Being, but when in haste I gained the tree Ifound there only a Ninefold flower, white as a spirit in theevening calm. I would not gather it but told Vanna what I hadseen.
"You nearly saw;" she said. "She passed so quickly. It was theSnowy One, Uma, Parvati, the Daughter of the Himalaya. Thatmountain is the mountain of her lord—Shiva. It is natural sheshould be here. I saw her last night lean over the height—herface pillowed on her folded arms, with a low star in the mists ofher hair. Her eyes were like lakes of blue darkness. Vast andwonderful. She is the Mystic Mother of India. You will see soon.You could not have seen the flower until now."
"Do you know," she added, "that in the mountains there arepoppies of clear blue—blue as turquoise. We will go up intothe heights and find them."
And next moment she was planning the camping details, the men,the ponies, with a practical zest that seemed to relegate theoccult to the absurd. Yet the very next day came a wonderfulmoment.
The sun was just setting and, as it were, suddenly the purpleglooms banked up heavy with thunder. The sky was black with fury,the earth passive with dread. I never saw such lightning—itwas continuous and tore in zigzag flashes down the mountains likerents in the substance of the world's fabric. And the thunderroared up in the mountain gorges with shattering echoes. Then fellthe rain, and the whole lake seemed to rise to meet it, and thenoise was like the rattle of musketry. We were standing by thecabin window and she suddenly caught my hand, and I saw in a lightof their own two dancing figures on the tormented water before us.Wild in the tumult, embodied delight, with arms tossed violentlyabove their heads, and feet flung up behind them, skimming thewaves like seagulls, they passed. Their sex I could nottell—I think they had none, but were bubble emanations of therejoicing rush of the rain and the wild retreating laughter of thethunder. I saw the fierce aerial faces and their inhuman glee asthey fled by, and she dropped my hand and they were gone. Slowlythe storm lessened, and in the west the clouds tore raggedlyasunder and a flood of livid yellow light poured down upon thelake—an awful light that struck it into an abyss of fire.Then, as if at a word of command, two glorious rainbows sprangacross the water with the mountains for their piers, each with itsproper colours chorded. They made a Bridge of Dread that stood outradiant against the background of storm—the Twilight of theGods, and the doomed gods marching forth to the last fight. And thethunder growled sullenly away into the recesses of the hill and theterrible rainbows faded until the stars came quietly out and it wasa still night.
But I had seen that what is our dread is the joy of the spiritsof the Mighty Mother, and though the vision faded and I doubtedwhat I had seen, it prepared the way for what I was yet to see. Afew days later we started on what was to be the most exquisitememory of my life. A train of ponies carried our tents and campingnecessaries and there was a pony for each of us. And so, in thecool grey of a divine morning, with little rosy clouds flecking theeastern sky, we set out from Islamabad for Vernag. And this was theorder of our going. She and I led the way, attended by a sais(groom) and a coolie carrying the luncheon basket. Half way wewould stop in some green dell, or by some rushing stream, and thererest and eat our little meal while the rest of the cavalcade passedon to the appointed camping place, and in the late afternoon wewould follow, riding slowly, and find the tents pitched and thekitchen department in full swing. If the place pleased us welingered for some days;—if not, the camp was struck nextmorning, and again we wandered in search of beauty.
The people were no inconsiderable part of my joy. I cannot seewhat they have to gain from such civilization as ours—akindly people and happy. Courtesy and friendliness met useverywhere, and if their labor was hard, their harvest of beautyand laughter seemed to be its reward. The little villages withtheir groves of walnut and fruit trees spoke of no unfulfilledwant, the mulberries which fatten the sleek bears in their seasonfattened the children too. I compared their lot with that of thetoilers in our cities and knew which I would choose. We rode byshimmering fields of barley, with red poppies floating in the cleartransparent green as in deep sea water, through fields of milletlike the sky fallen on the earth, so innocently blue were itsblossoms, and the trees above us were trellised with the wildroses, golden and crimson, and the ways tapestried with the scentedstars of the large white jasmine.
It was strange that later much of what she said, escaped me.Some I noted down at the time, but there were hints, shadows oflovelier things beyond that eluded all but the fringes of memorywhen I tried to piece them together and make a coherence of aliving wonder. For that reason, the best things cannot be told inthis history. It is only the cruder, grosser matters that wordswill hold. The half-touchings—vanishing looks,breaths—O God, I know them, but cannot tell.
In the smaller villages, the head man came often to greet us andmake us welcome, bearing on a flat dish a little offering of cakesand fruit, the produce of the place. One evening a man soapproached, stately in white robes and turban, attended by a littlelad who carried the patriarchal gift beside him. Our tents werepitched under a glorious walnut tree with a running stream at ourfeet.
Vanna of course, was the interpreter, and I called her from hertent as the man stood salaaming before me. It was strange that whenshe came, dressed in white, he stopped in his salutation, and gazedat her in what, I thought, was silent wonder.
She spoke earnestly to him, standing before him with claspedhands, almost, I could think, in the attitude of a suppliant. Theman listened gravely, with only an interjection, now and again, andonce he turned and looked curiously at me. Then he spoke, evidentlymaking some announcement which she received with bowedhead—and when he turned to go with a grave salute, sheperformed a very singular ceremony, moving slowly round him threetimes with clasped hands; keeping him always on the right. Herepaid it with the usual salaam and greeting of peace, which hebestowed also on me, and then departed in deep meditation, his eyesfixed on the ground. I ventured to ask what it all meant, and shelooked thoughtfully at me before replying.
"It was a strange thing. I fear you will not altogetherunderstand, but I will tell you what I can. That man though livinghere among Mahomedans, is a Brahman from Benares, and, what is veryrare in India, a Buddhist. And when he saw me he believed heremembered me in a former birth. The ceremony you saw me perform isone of honour in India. It was his due."
"Did you remember him?" I knew my voice was incredulous.
"Very well. He has changed little but is further on the upwardpath. I saw him with dread for he holds the memory of a great wrongI did. Yet he told me a thing that has filled my heart withjoy."
"Vanna-what is it?"
She had a clear uplifted look which startled me. There wassuddenly a chill air blowing between us.
"I must not tell you yet but you will know soon. He was a goodman. I am glad we have met."
She buried herself in writing in a small book I had noticed andlonged to look into, and no more was said.
We struck camp next day and trekked on towards Vernag—arough march, but one of great beauty, beneath the shade of foresttrees, garlanded with pale roses that climbed from bough to boughand tossed triumphant wreaths into the uppermost blue.
In the afternoon thunder was flapping its wings far off in themountains and a little rain fell while we were lunching under a bigtree. I was considering anxiously how to shelter Vanna, when afarmer invited us to his house—a scene of Biblicalhospitality that delighted us both. He led us up some break-necklittle stairs to a large bare room, open to the clean air all roundthe roof, and with a kind of rough enclosure on the wooden floorwhere the family slept at night. There he opened our basket, andthen, with anxious care, hung clothes and rough draperies about usthat our meal might be unwatched by one or two friends who hadfollowed us in with breathless interest. Still further to entertainus a great rarity was brought out and laid at Vanna's feet assomething we might like to watch—a curious bird in a cage,with brightly barred wings and a singular cry. She fed it withfruit, and it fluttered to her hand. Just so Abraham might havewelcomed his guests, and when we left with words of deepestgratitude, our host made the beautiful obeisance of touching hisforehead with joined hands as he bowed. To me the whole incidenthad an extraordinary grace, and ennobled both host and guest. Butwe met an ascending scale of loveliness so varied in its aspectsthat I passed from one emotion to another and knew no sameness.
That afternoon the camp was pitched at the foot of a mightyhill, under the waving pyramids of the chenars, sweeping theirgreen like the robes of a goddess. Near by was a half circle of lowarches falling into ruin, and as we went in among them I beheld awondrous sight—the huge octagonal tank or basin made by theMogul Emperor Jehangir to receive the waters of a mighty Springwhich wells from the hill and has been held sacred by Hindu andMoslem. And if loveliness can sanctify surely it is sacredindeed.
The tank was more than a hundred feet in diameter and circled bya roughly paved pathway where the little arched cells open that thedevotees may sit and contemplate the lustral waters. There on ablack stone, is sculptured the Imperial inscription comparing thisspring to the holier wells of Paradise, and I thought no less ofit, for it rushes straight from the rock with no aiding stream, andits waters are fifty feet deep, and sweep away from this greatbasin through beautiful low arches in a wild foamingriver—the crystal life-blood of the mountains for everwelling away. The colour and perfect purity of this living jewelwere most marvellous—clear blue-green like a chalcedony, butchanging as the lights in an opal—a wonderful quiveringbrilliance, flickering with the silver of shoals of sacredfish.
But the Mogul Empire is with the snows of yesteryear and thewonder has passed from the Moslems into the keeping of the Hindusonce more, and the Lingam of Shiva, crowned with flowers, is thesymbol in the little shrine by the entrance. Surely in India, thegods are one and have no jealousies among them—so swiftly dotheir glories merge the one into the other.
"How all the Mogul Emperors loved running water," said Vanna. "Ican see them leaning over it in their carved pavilions withdelicate dark faces and pensive eyes beneath their turbans, lost inthe endless reverie of the East while liquid melody passes intotheir dream. It was the music they best loved."
She was leading me into the royal garden below, where the youngriver flows beneath the pavilion set above and across the rush ofthe water.
"I remember before I came to India," she went on, "there werecertain words and phrases that meant the whole East to me. It wasan enchantment. The first flash picture I had wasMilton's—
'Dark faces with white silken turbans wreathed.'
and it still is. I have thought ever since that every man shouldwear a turban. It dignifies the un-comeliest and it is quitecurious to see how many inches a man descends in the scale ofbeauty the moment he takes it off and you see only the skull-capabout which they wind it. They wind it with wonderful skill too. Ihave seen a man take eighteen yards of muslin and throw it roundhis head with a few turns, and in five or six minutes the beautifulfolds were all in order and he looked like a king. Some of theGujars here wear black ones and they are very effective and worthpainting—the black folds and the sullen tempestuous blackbrows underneath."
We sat in the pavilion for awhile looking down on the rushingwater, and she spoke of Akbar, the greatest of the Moguls, andspoke with a curious personal touch, as I thought.
"I wish you would try to write a story of him—one on morehuman lines than has been done yet. No one has accounted for thepassionate quest of truth that was the real secret of his life.Strange in an Oriental despot if you think of it! It really canonly be understood from the Buddhist belief, which curiously seemsto have been the only one he neglected, that a mysterious Karmainfluenced all his thoughts. If I tell you as a key-note for yourstory, that in a past life he had been a Buddhist priest—onewho had fallen away, would that in any way account to you forattempts to recover the lost way? Try to think that out, and towrite the story, not as a Western mind sees it, but pure East."
"That would be a great book to write if one could catch thevoices of the past. But how to do it?"
"I will give you one day a little book that may help you. Theother story I wish you would write is the story of a Dancer ofPeshawar. There is a connection between the two—a story ofruin and repentance."
"Will you tell it to me?"
"A part. In this same book you will find much more, but not all.All cannot be told. You must imagine much. But I think yourimagination will be true."
"Why do you think so?"
"Because in these few days you have learnt so much. You haveseen the Ninefold Flower, and the rain spirits. You will soon hearthe Flute of Krishna which none can hear who cannot dreamtrue."
That night I heard it. I waked, suddenly, to music, and standingin the door of my tent, in the dead silence of the night, lit onlyby a few low stars, I heard the poignant notes of a flute. If ithad called my name it could not have summoned me more clearly, andI followed without a thought of delay, forgetting even Vanna in thestrange urgency that filled me. The music was elusive, seeming tocome first from one side, then from the other, but finally Itracked it as a bee does a flower by the scent, to the gate of theroyal garden—the pleasure place of the dead Emperors.
The gate stood ajar—strange! for I had seen the custodianclose it that evening. Now it stood wide and I went in, walkingnoiselessly over the dewy grass. I knew and could not tell how,that I must be noiseless. Passing as if I were guided, down thecourse of the strong young river, I came to the pavilion thatspanned it—the place where we had stood thatafternoon—and there to my profound amazement, I saw Vanna,leaning against a slight wooden pillar. As if she had expected me,she laid one finger on her lip, and stretching out her hand, tookmine and drew me beside her as a mother might a child. Andinstantly I saw!
On the further bank a young man in a strange diadem or miter ofjewels, bare-breasted and beautiful, stood among the floweringoleanders, one foot lightly crossed over the other as he stood. Hewas like an image of pale radiant gold, and I could have sworn thatthe light came from within rather than fell upon him, for the nightwas very dark. He held the flute to his lips, and as I looked, Ibecame aware that the noise of the rushing water was tapering offinto a murmur scarcely louder than that of a summer bee in theheart of a rose. Therefore the music rose like a fountain ofcrystal drops, cold, clear, and of an entrancing sweetness, and theface above it was such that I had no power to turn my eyes away.How shall I say what it was? All I had ever desired, dreamed,hoped, prayed, looked at me from the remote beauty of the eyes andwith the most persuasive gentleness entreated me, rather thancommanded to follow fearlessly and win. But these are words, andwords shaped in the rough mould of thought cannot convey the deepdesire that would have hurled me to his feet if Vanna had not heldme with a firm restraining hand. Looking up in adoring love to thedark face was a ring of woodland creatures. I thought I coulddistinguish the white clouded robe of a snow-leopard, the softclumsiness of a young bear, and many more, but these shifted andblurred like dream creatures—I could not be sure of them nordefine their numbers. The eyes of the Player looked down upon theirpassionate delight with careless kindness.
Dim images passed through my mind. Orpheus—No, this was noGreek. Pan-yet again, No. Where were the pipes, the goat hoofs? Theyoung Dionysos—No, there were strange jewels instead of hisvines. And then Vanna's voice said as if from a great distance;
"Krishna—the Beloved." And I said aloud, "I see!" And evenas I said it the whole picture blurred together like a dream, and Iwas alone in the pavilion and the water was foaming past me. Had Iwalked in my sleep, I thought, as I made my way hack? As I gainedthe garden gate, before me, like a snowflake, I saw the NinefoldFlower.
When I told her next day, speaking of it as a dream, she saidsimply; "They have opened the door to you. You will not need mesoon.
"I shall always need you. You have taught me everything. I couldsee nothing last night until you took my hand."
"I was not there," she said smiling. "It was only the thought ofme, and you can have that when I am very far away. I was sleepingin my tent. What you called in me then you can always call, even ifI am—dead."
"That is a word which is beginning to have no meaning for me.You have said things to me—no, thought them, that have mademe doubt if there is room in the universe for the thing we havecalled death."
She smiled her sweet wise smile.
"Where we are death is not. Where death is we are not. But youwill understand better soon."
Our march curving took us by the Mogul gardens of Achibal, andthe glorious ruins of the great Temple at Martund, and so down toBawan with its crystal waters and that loveliest camping groundbeside them. A mighty grove of chenar trees, so huge that I felt asif we were in a great sea cave where the air is dyed with the deepshadowy green of the inmost ocean, and the murmuring of the myriadleaves was like a sea at rest. I looked up into the noble heightand my memory of Westminster dwindled, for this led on and up tothe infinite blue, and at night the stars hung like fruit upon thebranches. The water ran with a great joyous rush of release fromthe mountain behind, but was first received in a broad basin fullof sacred fish and reflecting a little temple of Maheshwara and oneof Surya the Sun. Here in this basin the water lay pure and stillas an ecstasy, and beside it was musing the young Brahman priestwho served the temple. Since I had joined Vanna I had begun withher help to study a little Hindustani, and with an aptitude forlanguage could understand here and there. I caught a word or two asshe spoke with him that startled me, when the high-bred asceticface turned serenely upon her, and he addressed her as "My sister,"adding a sentence beyond my learning, but which she willinglytranslated later.—"May He who sits above the Mysteries, havemercy upon thy rebirth."
She said afterwards;
"How beautiful some of these men are. It seems a different typeof beauty from ours, nearer to nature and the old gods. Look atthat priest—the tall figure, the clear olive skin, the darklevel brows, the long lashes that make a soft gloom about theeyes—eyes that have the fathomless depth of a deer's, theproud arch of the lip. I think there is no country wherearistocracy is more clearly marked than in India. The Brahmans arearistocrats of the world. You see it is a religious aristocracy aswell. It has everything that can foster pride and exclusiveness.They spring from the Mouth of Deity. They are His word incarnate.Not many kings are of the Brahman caste, and the Brahmans look downupon them from Sovereign heights. I have known men who would noteat with their own rulers who would have drunk the water thatwashed the Brahmans' feet."
She took me that day, the Brahman with us, to see a cave in themountain. We climbed up the face of the cliff to where a littletree grew on a ledge, and the black mouth yawned. We went in andoften it was so low we had to stoop, leaving the sunlight behinduntil it was like a dim eye glimmering in the velvet blackness. Theair was dank and cold and presently obscene with the smell of bats,and alive with their wings, as they came sweeping about us,gibbering and squeaking. I thought of the rush of the ghosts, blownlike dead leaves in the Odyssey. And then a small rock chamberbranched off, and in this, lit by a bit of burning wood, we saw thebones of a holy man who lived and died there four hundred yearsago. Think of it! He lived there always, with the slow dropping ofwater from the dead weight of the mountain above his head, drop bydrop tolling the minutes away: the little groping feet through thecave that would bring him food and drink, hurrying into the warmthand sunlight again, and his only companion the sacred Lingam whichmeans the Creative Energy that sets the worlds dancing for joyround the sun—that, and the black solitude to sit down besidehim. Surely his bones can hardly be dryer and colder now than theywere then! There must be strange ecstasies in such alife—wild visions in the dark, or it could never beendured.
And so, in marches of about ten miles a day, we came to Pahlgamon the banks of the dancing Lidar. There was now only three weeksleft of the time she had promised. After a few days at Pahlgam themarch would turn and bend its way back to Srinagar, andto—what? I could not believe it was to separation—inher lovely kindness she had grown so close to me that, even for thesake of friendship, I believed our paths must run together to theend, and there were moments when I could still half convince myselfthat I had grown as necessary to her as she was to me. No—notas necessary, for she was life and soul to me, but a part of herdaily experience that she valued and would not easily part with.That evening we were sitting outside the tents, near the camp fire,of pine logs and cones, the leaping flames making the nightbeautiful with gold and leaping sparks, in an attempt to reach themellow splendours of the moon. The men, in various attitudes ofrest, were lying about, and one had been telling a story which hadjust ended in excitement and loud applause.
"These are Mahomedans," said Vanna, "and it is only a story oflove and fighting like the Arabian Nights. If they had been Hindus,it might well have been of Krishna or of Rama and Sita. Their faithcomes from an earlier time and they still see visions. The Moslemis a hard practical faith for men—men of the world too. It isnot visionary now, though it once had its great mysteries."
"I wish you would tell me what you think of the visions orapparitions of the gods that are seen here. Is it all illusion?Tell me your thought."
"How difficult that is to answer. I suppose if love and faithare strong enough they will always create the vibrations to whichthe greater vibrations respond, and so make God in their own imageat any time or place. But that they call up what is the truestreality I have never doubted. There is no shadow without asubstance. The substance is beyond us but under certain conditionsthe shadow is projected and we see it.
"Have I seen or has it been dream?"
"I cannot tell. It may have been the impress of my mind onyours, for I see such things always. You say I took your hand?"
"Take it now."
She obeyed, and instantly, as I felt the firm cool clasp, Iheard the rain of music through the pines—the Flute Playerwas passing. She dropped it smiling and the sweet sound ceased.
"You see! How can I tell what you have seen? You will knowbetter when I am gone. You will stand alone then."
"You will not go—you cannot. I have seen how you haveloved all this wonderful time. I believe it has been as dear to youas to me. And every day I have loved you more. I depend upon youfor everything that makes life worth living. You couldnot—you who are so gentle—you could not commit thesenseless cruelty of leaving me when you have taught me to love youwith every beat of my heart. I have been patient—I have heldmyself in, but I must speak now. Marry me, and teach me. I knownothing. You know all I need to know. For pity's sake be mywife."
I had not meant to say it; it broke from me in the firelightmoonlight with a power that I could not stay. She looked at me witha disarming gentleness.
"Is this fair? Do you remember how at Peshawar I told you Ithought it was a dangerous experiment, and that it would makethings harder for you. But you took the risk like a brave manbecause you felt there were things to be gained—knowledge,insight, beauty. Have you not gained them?"
"Yes. Absolutely."
"Then, is it all loss if I go?"
"Not all. But loss I dare not face."
"I will tell you this. I could not stay if I would. Do youremember the old man on the way to Vernag? He told me that I mustvery soon take up an entirely new life. I have no choice, though ifI had I would still do it."
There was silence and down a long arcade, without any touch ofher hand I heard the music, receding with exquisite modulations toa very great distance, and between the pillared stems, I saw afaint light.
"Do you wish to go?"
"Entirely. But I shall not forget you, Stephen. I will tell yousomething. For me, since I came to India, the gate that shuts usout at birth has opened. How shall I explain? Do you rememberKipling's 'Finest Story in the World'?"
"Yes. Fiction!"
"Not fiction—true, whether he knew it or no. But for methe door has opened wide. First, I remembered piecemeal, with widegaps, then more connectedly. Then, at the end of the first year, Imet one day at Cawnpore, an ascetic, an old man of great beauty andwisdom, and he was able by his own knowledge to enlighten mine. Notwholly—much has come since then. Has come, some of it in waysyou could not understand now, but much by direct sight and hearing.Long, long ago I lived in Peshawar, and my story was a sorrowfulone. I will tell you a little before I go."
"I hold you to your promise. What is there I cannot believe whenyou tell me? But does that life put you altogether away from me?Was there no place for me in any of your memories that has drawn ustogether now? Give me a little hope that in the eternal pilgrimagethere is some bond between us and some rebirth where we may metagain."
"I will tell you that also before we part. I have grown tobelieve that you do love me—and therefore love somethingwhich is infinitely above me."
"And do you love me at all? Am I nothing,Vanna—Vanna?"
"My friend," she said, and laid her hand on mine.
A silence, and then she spoke, very low.
"You must be prepared for very great change, Stephen, and yetbelieve that it does not really change things at all. See how eventhe gods pass and do not change! The early gods of India are goneand Shiva, Vishnu, Krishna have taken their places and are one andthe same. The old Buddhist stories say that in heaven "The flowersof the garland the God wore are withered, his robes of majesty arewaxed old and faded; he falls from his high estate, and is re-borninto a new life." But he lives still in the young God who is bornamong men. The gods cannot die, nor can we nor anything that haslife. Now I must go in."
I sat long in the moonlight thinking. The whole camp was sunk insleep and the young dawn was waking upon the peaks when I turnedin.
The days that were left we spent in wandering up the Lidar Riverto the hills that are the first ramp of the ascent to the greatheights. We found the damp corners where the mushrooms grow likepearls—the mushrooms of which she said—"To me they havealways been fairy things. To see them in the silver-grey dew of theearly mornings—mysteriously there like the manna in thedesert—they are elfin plunder, and as a child I was halfafraid of them. No wonder they are the darlings of folklore,especially in Celtic countries where the Little People move in thestarlight. Strange to think they are here too among strangegods!"
We climbed to where the wild peonies bloom in glory that feweyes see, and the rosy beds of wild sweet strawberries ripen. Everyhour brought with it some new delight, some exquisiteness of sightor of words that I shall remember for ever. She sat one day on arock, holding the sculptured leaves and massive seed-vessels ofsome glorious plant that the Kashmiris believe has magic virtueshidden in the seeds of pure rose embedded in the white down.
"If you fast for three days and eat nine of these in the Nightof No Moon, you can rise on the air light as thistledown and standon the peak of Haramoukh. And on Haramoukh, as you know it isbelieved, the gods dwell. There was a man here who tried thisenchantment. He was a changed man for ever after, wandering andmuttering to himself and avoiding all human intercourse as far ashe could. He was no Kashmiri—A Jat from the Punjab, and theyshowed him to me when I was here with the Meryons, and told me hewould speak to none. But I knew he would speak to me, and hedid."
"Did he tell you anything of what he had seen in the high worldup yonder?"
"He said he had seen the Dream of the God. I could not get morethan that. But there are many people here who believe that theUniverse as we know it is but an image in the dream of Ishvara, theUniversal Spirit—in whom are all the gods—and that whenHe ceases to dream we pass again into the Night of Brahm, and allis darkness until the Spirit of God moves again on the face of thewaters. There are few temples to Brahm. He is above and beyond alldirect worship."
"Do you think he had seen anything?"
"What do I know? Will you eat the seeds? The Night of No Moonwill soon be here."
She held out the seed-vessels, laughing. I write that down buthow record the lovely light of kindliness in her eyes—thealmost submissive gentleness that yet was a defense stronger thansteel. I never knew—how should I?—whether she wassitting by my side or heavens away from me in her own strangeworld. But always she was a sweetness that I could not reach, a cupof nectar that I might not drink, unalterably her own and nevermine, and yet—my friend.
She showed me the wild track up into the mountains where thePilgrims go to pay their devotions at the Great God's shrine in theawful heights, regretting that we were too early for that mostwonderful sight. Above where we were sitting the river fell in atormented white cascade, crashing and feathering into spray-dust ofdiamonds. An eagle was flying above it with a mighty spread ofwings that seemed almost double-jointed in the middle—theycurved and flapped so wide and free. The fierce head wasoutstretched with the rake of a plundering galley as he swept downthe wind, seeking his meat from God, and passed majestic from oursight. The valley beneath us was littered with enormous bouldersspilt from the ancient hollows of the hills. It must have been agreat sight when the giants set them trundling down in work orplay!—I said this to Vanna, who was looking down upon it withmeditative eyes. She roused herself.
"Yes, this really is Giant-Land up here—everything is sohuge. And when they quarrel up in the heights—inJotunheim—and the black storms come down the valleys it islike colossal laughter or clumsy boisterous anger. And the Frostgiants are still at work up there with their great axes of frostand rain. They fling down the side of a mountain or make fresh waysfor the rivers. About sixty years ago—far abovehere—they tore down a mountain side and damned up the mightyIndus, so that for months he was a lake, shut back in the hills.But the river giants are no less strong up here in the heights ofthe world, and lie lay brooding and hiding his time. And then oneawful day he tore the barrier down and roared down the valleycarrying death and ruin with him, and swept away a whole Sikh armyamong other unconsidered trifles. That must have been asoul-shaking sight."
She spoke on, and as she spoke I saw. What are her words as Irecord them? Stray dead leaves pressed in a book—the life andgrace dead. Yet I record, for she taught me what I believe theworld should learn, that the Buddhist philosophers are right whenthey teach that all forms of what we call matter are really butaggregates of spiritual units, and that life itself is a curtainhiding reality as the vast veil of day conceals from our sight thecountless orbs of space. So that the purified mind even whileprisoned in the body, may enter into union with the Real and,according to attainment, see it as it is.
She was an interpreter because she believed this truthprofoundly. She saw the spiritual essence beneath the lovelyillusion of matter, and the air about her was radiant with themotion of strange forces for which the dull world has many namesaiming indeed at the truth, but falling—O how far short ofher calm perception! She was indeed of a Household higher than theHousehold of Faith. She had received enlightenment. She beheld withopen eyes.
Next day our camp was struck and we turned our faces again toSrinagar and to the day of parting. I set down but one strangeincident of our journey, of which I did not speak even to her.
We were camping at Bijbehara, awaiting our house boat, and thesite was by the Maharaja's lodge above the little town. It wasmidnight and I was sleepless—the shadow of the near futurewas upon me. I wandered down to the lovely old wooded bridge acrossthe Jhelum, where the strong young trees grow up from the piles.Beyond it the moon was shining on the ancient Hindu remains closeto the new temple, and as I stood on the bridge I could see thefigure of a man in deepest meditation by the ruins. He was noEuropean. I saw the straight dignified folds of the robes. But itwas not surprising he should be there and I should have thought nomore of it, had I not heard at that instant from the further sideof the river the music of the Flute. I cannot hope to describe thatmusic to any who have not heard it. Suffice it to say that where itcalls he who hears must follow whether in the body or the spirit.Nor can I now tell in which I followed. One day it will call meacross the River of Death, and I shall ford it or sink in theimmeasurable depths and either will be well.
But immediately I was at the other side of the river, standingby the stone Bull of Shiva where he kneels before the Symbol, andlooking steadfastly upon me a few paces away was a man in the dressof a Buddhist monk. He wore the yellow robe that leaves oneshoulder bare; his head was bare also and he held in one hand asmall bowl like a stemless chalice. I knew I was seeing a verystrange inexplicable sight—one that in Kashmir should beincredible, but I put wonder aside for I knew now that I was movingin the sphere where the incredible may well be the actual. Hisexpression was of the most unbroken calm. If I compare it to thepassionless gaze of the Sphinx I misrepresent, for the Riddle ofthe Sphinx still awaits solution, but in this face was a nobleacquiescence and a content that had it vibrated must have passedinto joy.
Words or their equivalent passed between us. I felt hisvoice.
"You have heard the music of the Flute?"
"I have heard."
"What has it given?"
"A consuming longing."
"It is the music of the Eternal. The creeds and the faiths arethe words that men have set to that melody. Listening, it will leadyou to Wisdom. Day by day you will interpret more surely."
"I cannot stand alone."
"You will not need. What has led you will lead you still.Through many births it has led you. How should it fail?"
"What should I do?"
"Go forward."
"What should I shun?"
"Sorrow and fear."
"What should I seek?"
"Joy."
"And the end?"
"Joy. Wisdom. They are the Light and Dark of the Divine." A coldbreeze passed and touched my forehead. I was still standing in themiddle of the bridge above the water gliding to the Ocean, andthere was no figure by the Bull of Shiva. I was alone. I passedback to the tents with the shudder that is not fear but akin todeath upon me. I knew I had been profoundly withdrawn from what wecall actual life, and the return is dread.
The days passed as we floated down the river to Srinagar. Onboard the Kedarnath, now lying in our first berth beneath thechenars near and yet far from the city, the last night had come.Next morning I should begin the long ride to Baramula and beyondthat barrier of the Happy Valley down to Murree and the Punjab.Where afterwards? I neither knew nor cared. My lesson was before meto be learned. I must try to detach myself from all I hadprized—to say to my heart it was but a loan and no gift, andto cling only to the imperishable. And did I as yet certainly knowmore than the A B C of the hard doctrine by which I must live? "Quevivre est difficile, O mon cocur fatigue!"—an immenseweariness possessed me—a passive grief.
Vanna would follow later with the wife of an Indian doctor. Ibelieved she was bound for Lahore but on that point she had notspoken certainly and I felt we should not meet again.
And now my packing was finished, and, as far as my possessionswent, the little cabin had the soulless emptiness that comes withdeparture. I was enduring as best I could. If she had held loyallyto her pact, could I do less. Was she to blame for my wild hopethat in the end she would relent and step down to the householdlevels of love?
She sat by the window—the last time I should see themoonlit banks and her clear face against them. I made and won myfight for the courage of words.
"And now I've finished everything—thank goodness! and wecan talk. Vanna—you will write to me?"
"Once. I promise that."
"Only once? Why? I counted on your words."
"I want to speak to you of something else now. I want to tellyou a memory. But look first at the pale light behind theTakht-i-Suliman."
So I had seen it with her. So I should not see it again. Wewatched until a line of silver sparkled on the black water, andthen she spoke again.
"Stephen, do you remember in the ruined monastery near Peshawar,how I told you of the young Abbot, who came down to Peshawar with aChinese pilgrim? And he never returned."
"I remember. There was a Dancer."
"There was a Dancer. She was Lilavanti, and she was broughtthere to trap him but when she saw him she loved him, and that washis ruin and hers. Trickery he would have known and escaped. Lovecaught him in an unbreakable net, and they fled down the Punjab andno one knew any more. But I know. For two years they lived togetherand she saw the agony in his heart—the anguish of his brokenvows, the face of the Blessed One receding into an infinitedistance. She knew that every day added a link to the heavy Karmathat was bound about the feet she loved, and her soul said "Set himfree," and her heart refused the torture. But her soul was thestronger. She set him free."
"How?"
"She took poison. He became an ascetic in the hills and died inpeace but with a long expiation upon him."
"And she?"
"I am she."
"You!" I heard my voice as if it were another man's. Was itpossible that I—a man of the twentieth century, believed thisimpossible thing? Impossible, and yet—what had I learnt ifnot the unity of Time, the illusion of matter? What is thetwentieth century, what the first? Do they not lie before theSupreme as one, and clean from our petty divisions? And I myselfhad seen what, if I could trust it, asserted the marvels that areno marvels to those who know.
"You loved him?"
"I love him."
"Then there is nothing at all for me."
She resumed as if she had heard nothing.
"I have lost him for many lives. He stepped above me at once,for he was clean gold though he fell, and though I have followed Ihave not found. But that Buddhist beyond Islamabad—you shallhear now what he said. It was this. 'The shut door opens, and thistime he awaits.' I cannot yet say all it means, but there is noLahore for me. I shall meet him soon."
"Vanna, you would not harm yourself again?"
"Never. I should not meet him. But you will see. Now I can talkno more. I will be there tomorrow when you go, and I will ride withyou to the poplar road."
She passed like a shadow into her little dark cabin, and I wasleft alone. I will not dwell on that black loneliness of thespirit, for it has passed—it was the darkness of hell, amadness of jealousy, and could have no enduring life in any heartthat had known her. But it was death while it lasted. I had momentsof horrible belief, of horrible disbelief, but however it might beI knew that she was out of reach for ever. Near me—yes! butonly as the silver image of the moon floated in the water by theboat, with the moon herself cold myriads of miles away. I will sayno more of that last eclipse of what she had wrought in me.
The bright morning came, sunny as if my joys were beginninginstead of ending. Vanna mounted her horse and led the way from theboat. I cast one long look at the little Kedarnath, the home ofthose perfect weeks, of such joy and sorrow as would have seemedimpossible to me in the chrysalis of my former existence. LittleKahdra stood crying bitterly on the bank—the kindly folk whohad served us were gathered saddened and quiet. I set my teeth andfollowed her.
How dear she looked, how kind, how gentle her appealing eyes, asI drew up beside her. She knew what I felt. She knew that the sightof little Kahdra crying as he said good—bye was the last pullat my sore heart. Still she rode steadily on, and still I followed.Once she spoke.
"Stephen, there was a man in Peshawar, kind and true, who lovedthat Lilavanti who had no heart for him. And when she died, it wasin his arms, as a sister might cling to a brother, for the man sheloved had left her. It seems that will not be in this life, but donot think I have been so blind that I did not know my friend."
I could not answer—it was the realization of the utmost Icould hope and it came like healing to my spirit. Better that bondbetween us, slight as most men might think it, than the dearest andclosest with a woman not Vanna. It was the first thrill of a newjoy in my heart—the first, I thank the Infinite, of many andsteadily growing joys and hopes that cannot be uttered here.
I bent to take the hand she stretched to me, but even as theytouched, I saw, passing behind the trees by the road, the young manI had seen in the garden at Vernag—most beautiful, in thestrange miter of his jewelled diadem. His flute was at his lips andthe music rang out sudden and crystal clear as though a woodlandgod were passing to awaken all the joys of the dawn.
The horses heard too. In an instant hers had swerved wildly, andshe lay on the ground at my feet. The music had ceased.
Days had gone before I could recall what had happened then. Ilifted her in my arms and carried her into the rest-house near athand, and the doctor came and looked grave, and a nurse was sentfrom the Mission Hospital. No doubt all was done that was possible,but I knew from the first what it meant and how it would be. Shelay in a white stillness, and the room was quiet as death. Iremembered with unspeakable gratitude later that the nurse had beenmerciful and had not sent me away.
So Vanna lay all day and through the night, and when the dawncame again she stirred and motioned with her hand, although hereyes were closed. I understood, and kneeling, I put my hand underher head, and rested it against my shoulder. Her faint voicemurmured at my ear.
"I dreamed—I was in the pine wood at Pahlgam and it wasthe Night of No Moon, and I was afraid for it was dark, butsuddenly all the trees were covered with little lights like stars,and the greater light was beyond. Nothing to be afraid of."
"Nothing, Beloved."
"And I looked beyond Peshawar, further than eyes could see, andin the ruins of the monastery where we stood, you and I—I sawhim, and he lay with his head at the feet of the Blessed One. Thatis well, is it not?"
"Well, Beloved."
"And it is well I go? Is it not?"
"It is well."
A long silence. The first sun ray touched the floor. Again thewhisper.
"Believe what I have told you. For we shall meet again." Irepeated—
"We shall meet again."
In my arms she died.
Later, when all was over I asked myself if I believed this andanswered with full assurance—Yes.
If the story thus told sounds incredible it was not incredibleto me. I had had a profound experience. What is a miracle? It issimply the vision of the Divine behind nature. It will come indifferent forms according to the eyes that see, but the soul willknow that its perception is authentic.
I could not leave Kashmir, nor was there any need. On thecontrary I saw that there was work for me here among the people shehad loved, and my first aim was to fit myself for that and for thewriting I now felt was to be my career in life. After much thoughtI bought the little Kedarnath and made it my home, very greatly tothe satisfaction of little Kahdra and all the friendly people towhom I owed so much.
Vanna's cabin I made my sleeping room, and it is the simpletruth that the first night I slept in the place that was a Templeof Peace in my thoughts, I had a dream of wordless bliss, andstarting awake for sheer joy I saw her face in the night, human anddear, looking down upon me with that poignant sweetness which wouldseem to be the utmost revelation of love and pity. And as Istretched my hands, another face dawned solemnly from the shadowbeside her with grave brows bent on mine—one I had known andseen in the ruins at Bijbehara. Outside and very near I could hearthe silver weaving of the Flute that in India is the symbol of thecall of the Divine. A dream—yes, but it taught me to live. Atfirst, in my days of grief and loss, I did but dream—the dayswere hard to endure. I will not dwell on that illusion of sorrow,now long dead. I lived only for the night.
"When sleep comes to close each difficult day, When night gives pause to the long watch I keep, And all my bonds I needs must loose apart, Must doff my will as raiment laid away— With the first dream that comes with the first sleep, I run—I run! I am gathered to thy heart!"
To the heart of her pity. Thus for awhile I lived. Slowly Ibecame conscious of her abiding presence about me, day or night Itgrew clearer, closer.
Like the austere Hippolytus to his unseen Goddess, I couldsay;
"Who am more to thee than other mortals are, Whose is the holy lot, As friend with friend to walk and talk with thee, Hearing thy sweet mouth's music in mine ear, But thee beholding not."
That was much, but later, the sunshine was no bar, the bondstrengthened and there have been days in the heights of the hills,in the depths of the woods, when I saw her as in life, passing at adistance, but real and lovely. Life? She had never lived as she didnow—a spirit, freed and rejoicing. For me the door she hadopened would never shut. The Presences were about me, and I enteredupon my heritage of joy, knowing that in Kashmir, the holy land ofBeauty, they walk very near, and lift up the folds of the Dark thatthe initiate may see the light behind.
So I began my solitary life of gladness. I wrote, aided by thelittle book she had left me, full of strangest stories, stranger byfar than my own brain could conceive. Some to berevealed—some to be hidden. And thus the world will one dayreceive the story of the Dancer of Peshawar in her upward lives,that it may know, if it will, that death is nothing—for Lifeand Love are all.
It is recorded that when the Pearl Empress (his mother) asked ofthe philosophic Yellow Emperor which he considered the mostbeautiful of the Imperial concubines, he replied instantly: "TheLady A-Kuei": and when the Royal Parent in profound astonishmentdemanded bow this could be, having regard to the exquisite beautiesin question, the Emperor replied;
"I have never seen her. It was dark when I entered the DragonChamber and dusk of dawn when I rose and left her."
Then said the Pearl Princess;
"Possibly the harmony of her voice solaced the Son ofHeaven?"
But he replied;
"She spoke not."
And the Pearl Empress rejoined:
"Her limbs then are doubtless softer than the kingfisher'splumage?"
But the Yellow Emperor replied;
"Doubtless. Yet I have not touched them. I was that nightimmersed in speculations on the Yin and the Yang. How then should Itouch a woman?"
And the Pearl Empress was silent from very great amazement, notdaring to question further but marveling how the thing might be.And seeing this, the Yellow Emperor recited a poem to the followingeffect:
"It is said that Power rules the world And who shall gainsay it? But Loveliness is the head-jewel upon the brow of Power."
And when the Empress had listened with reverence to the ImperialPoet, she quitted the August Presence.
Immediately, having entered her own palace of the TranquilMotherly Virtues, she caused the Lady A-Kuei to be summoned to herpresence, who came, habited in a purple robe and with pins of jadeand coral in her hair. And the Pearl Empress considered herattentively, recalling the perfect features of the White JadeConcubine, the ambrosial smile of the Princess of FemininePropriety, and the willow-leaf eyebrows of the Lady of Chen, andher astonishment was excessive, because the Lady A-Kuei could notin beauty approach any one of these ladies. Reflecting further shethen placed her behind the screen, and summoned the court artist,Lo Cheng, who had been formerly commissioned to paint the heavenlyfeatures of the Emperor's Ladies, mirrored in still water, thoughhe had naturally not been permitted to view the beautiesthemselves. Of him the Empress demanded:
"Who is the most beautiful—which the most priceless jewelof the dwellers in the Dragon Palace?"
And, with humility, Lo Cheng replied:
"What mortal man shall decide between the white Crane and theSwan, or between the paeony flower and the lotus?" And having thussaid he remained silent, and in him was no help. Finally and afterexhortation the Pearl Empress condescended to threaten him with theloss of a head so useless to himself and to her majesty. Then, ingreat fear and haste he replied:
"Of all the flowers that adorn the garden of the Sun of Heaven,the Lady A-Kuei is the fittest to be gathered by the Imperial Hand,and this is my deliberate opinion."
Now, hearing this statement, the Pearl Empress was submerged inbewilderment, knowing that the Lady A-Kuei had modestly retiredwhen the artist had depicted the reflection of the assembledloveliness of the Inner Chambers, as not counting herself worthy ofportraiture, and her features were therefore unknown to him. Norcould the Empress further question the artist, for when she haddone so, he replied only:
"This is the secret of the Son of Heaven," and, having gainedpermission, he swiftly departed.
Nor could the Lady A-Kuei herself aid her Imperial Majesty, foron being questioned she was overwhelmed with modesty and confusion,and with stammering lips could only repeat:
"This is the secret of his Divine Majesty," imploring with theutmost humility, forgiveness from the Imperial Mother.
The Pearl Empress was unable to eat her supper. In vain werespread before her the delicacies of the Empire. She could buttrifle with a shark's fin and a "Silver Ear" fungus and a dish ofslugs entrapped upon roses, with the dew-like pearls upon them. Herburning curiosity had wholly deprived her of appetite, nor couldthe amusing exertions of the Palace mimes, or a lantern fete uponthe lake restore her to any composure. "This circumstance willcause my flight on the Dragon (death)," she said to herself,"unless I succeed in unveiling the mystery. What therefore shouldbe my next proceeding?"
And so, deeply reflecting, she caused the Chief of the Eunuchsto summon the Princess of Feminine Propriety, the White JadeConcubine and all the other exalted beauties of the HeavenlyPalace.
In due course of time these ladies arrived, paying suitablerespect and obeisance to the Mother of his Divine Majesty. Theywere resplendent in king-fisher ornaments, in jewels of jade,crystal and coral, in robes of silk and gauze, and still moreresplendent in charms that not the Celestial Empire itself couldequal, setting aside entirely all countries of the foreignbarbarians. And in grace and elegance of manners, in skill in thearts of poetry and the lute, what could surpass them?
Like a parterre of flowers they surrounded her Majesty, andawaited her pleasure with perfect decorum, when, having salutedthem with affability she thus addressed them—"Lovelyones—ladies distinguished by the particular attention of yoursovereign and mine, I have sent for you to resolve a doubt and adifficulty. On questioning our sovereign as to whom he regarded asthe loveliest of his garden of beauty he benignantly replied: "TheLady A-Kuei is incomparable," and though this may well be, hefurther graciously added that he had never seen her. Nor, onpursuing the subject, could I learn the Imperial reason. The artistLo Cheng follows in his Master's footsteps, he also never havingseen the favored lady, and he and she reply to me that this is anImperial secret. Declare to me therefore if your perspicacity andthe feminine interest which every lady property takes in the othercan unravel this mystery, for my liver is tormented with anxietybeyond measure."
As soon as the Pearl Empress had spoken she realized that shehad committed a great indiscretion. A babel of voices, of cries,questions and contradictions instantly arose. Decorum wasabandoned. The Lady of Chen swooned, nor could she be revived foran hour, and the Princess of Feminine Propriety and the White JadeConcubine could be dragged apart only by the united efforts of sixof the Palace matrons, so great was their fury the one with theother, each accusing each of encouragement to the Lady A-Kuei'spretensions. So also with the remaining ladies. Shrieks resoundedthrough the Hall of Virtuous Tranquillity, and when the PearlEmpress attempted to pour oil on the troubled waters by speakingsoothing and comfortable words, the august Voice was entirelyinaudible in the tumult.
All sought at length in united indignation for the Lady A-Kuei,but she had modestly withdrawn to the Pearl Pavilion in theImperial Garden and, foreseeing anxieties, had there securedherself on hearing the opening of the Royal Speech.
Finally the ladies were led away by their attendants, weeping,lamenting, raging, according to their several dispositions, and thePearl Empress, left with her own maidens, beheld the floor strewnwith jade pins, kingfisher and coral jewels, and even withfragments of silk and gauze. Nor was she any nearer the solution ofthe desired secret.
That night she tossed upon a bed sleepless though heaped withdown, and her mind raged like a fire up and down all possibleanswers to the riddle, but none would serve. Then, at the dawn,raising herself on one august elbow she called to her venerablenurse and foster mother, the Lady Ma, wise and resourceful in theaffairs and difficulties of women, and, repeating thecircumstances, demanded her counsel.
The Lady Ma considering the matter long and deeply, slowlyreplied:
"This is a great riddle and dangerous, for to intermeddle withthe divine secrets is the high road to the Yellow Springs (death).But the child of my breasts and my exalted Mistress shall never askin vain, for a thwarted curiosity is dangerous as a suppressedfever. I will conceal myself nightly in the Dragon Bedchamber andthis will certainly unveil the truth. And if I perish Iperish."
It is impossible to describe how the Empress heaped Lady Ma withcostly jewels and silken brocades and taels of silver beyondmeasuring—how she placed on her breast the amulet of jadethat had guarded herself from all evil influences, how she calledthe ancestral spirits to witness that she would provide for theLady Ma's remotest descendants if she lost her life in this sublimedevotion to duty.
That night Lady Ma concealed herself behind the Imperial couchin the Dragon Chamber, to await the coming of the Son of Heaven.Slowly dripped the water-clock as the minutes fled away; sorelyached the venerable limbs of the Lady Ma as she crouched in theshadows and saw the rising moon scattering silver through theelegant traceries of carved ebony and ivory; wildly beat her heartas delicately tripping footsteps approached the Dragon Chamber, andthe Princess of Feminine Propriety, attended by her maidens,ascended the Imperial Couch and hastily dismissed them. Yet nosweet repose awaited this favored lady. The Lady Ma could hear hersmothered sobs, her muttered exclamations—nay could even feelthe couch itself tremble as the Princess uttered the hated name ofthe Lady A-Kuei, the poison of jealousy running in every vein. Itwas impossible for Lady Ma to decide which was the most virulent,this, or the poison of curiosity in the heart of the Pearl Empress.Though she loved not the Princess she was compelled to pity suchsuffering. But all thought was banished by the approach of theYellow Emperor, prepared for repose and unattended, in simple butdivine grandeur.
It cannot indeed be supposed that a Celestial Emperor is human,yet there was mortality in the start which his Augustness gave whenthe Princess of Feminine Propriety flinging herself from the Dragoncouch, threw herself at his feet and with tears that flowed likethat river known as "The Sorrow of China," demanded to know whatshe had done that another should be preferred before her; recitingin frantic haste such imperfections of the Lady A-Kuei's appearanceas she could recall (or invent) in the haste of that agitatingmoment.
"That one of her eyes is larger than the other—no humanbeing can doubt" sobbed the lady—"and surely your DivineMajesty cannot be aware that her hair reaches but to her waist, andthat there is a brown mole on the nape of her neck? When she singsit resembles the croak of the crow. It is true that most of thePalace ladies are chosen for anything but beauty, yet she is themost ill-favored. And is it this—this bat-faced lady who ispreferred to me! Would I had never been born: Yet even yourMajesty's own lips have told me I am fair!"
The Yellow Emperor supported the form of the Princess in hisarms. There are moments when even a Son of Heaven is but human."Fair as the rainbow," he murmured, and the Princess faintlysmiled; then gathering the resolution of the Philosopher he addedmanfully—"But the Lady A-Kuei is incomparable. And the reasonis—"
The Lady Ma eagerly stretched her head forward with a hand toeither ear. But the Princess of Feminine Propriety with one shriekhad swooned and in the hurry of summoning attendants and causingher to be conveyed to her own apartments that precious sentence wasnever completed.
Still the Lady Ma groveled behind the Dragon Couch as the Son ofHeaven, left alone, approached the veranda and apostrophizing themoon, murmured—
"O loveliest pale watcher of the destinies of men, illuminatethe beauty of the Lady A-Kuei, and grant that I who have never seenthat beauty may never see it, but remain its constant admirer!" Sosaying, he sought his solitary couch and slept, while the Lady Ma,in a torment of bewilderment, glided from the room.
The matter remained in suspense for several days. The White JadeConcubine was the next lady commanded to the Dragon Chamber, andagain the Lady Ma was in her post of observation. Much she heard,much she saw that was not to the point, but the scene ended asbefore by the dismissal of the lady in tears, and the departure ofthe Lady Ma in ignorance of the secret.
The Emperor's peace was ended.
The singular circumstance was that the Lady A-Kuei was neversummoned by the Yellow Emperor. Eagerly as the Empress watched, notoken of affection for her was ever visible. Nothing could bedetected. It was inexplicable. Finally, devoured by curiosity thatgave her no respite, she resolved on a stratagem that should dispelthe mystery, though it carried with it a risk on which she trembledto reflect. It was the afternoon of a languid summer day, and theYellow Emperor, almost unattended, had come to pay a visit offilial respect to the Pearl Empress. She received him with theceremony due to her sovereign in the porcelain pavilion of theEastern Gardens, with the lotos fish ponds before them, and a faintbreeze occasionally tinkling the crystal wind-bells that decoratedthe shrubs on the cloud and dragon-wrought slopes of the marbleapproach. A bird of brilliant plumage uttered a cry of reverencefrom its gold cage as the Son of Heaven entered. As was hisoccasional custom, and after suitable inquiries as to his parent'shealth, the attendants were all dismissed out of earshot and theEmperor leaned on his cushions and gazed reflectively into thesunshine outside. So had the Court Artist represented him as "TheIncarnation of Philosophic Calm."
"These gardens are fair," said the Empress after a respectfulsilence, moving her fan illustrated with the emblem ofImmortality—the Ho Bird.
"Fair indeed," returned the Emperor.—"It might be supposedthat all sorrow and disturbance would be shut without the ForbiddenPrecincts. Yet it is not so. And though the figures of my ladiesmoving among the flowers appear at this distance instinct with joy,yet—"
He was silent.
"They know not," said the Empress with solemnity "that deathentered the Forbidden Precincts but last night. A disembodiedspirit has returned to its place and doubtless exists in bliss.""Indeed?" returned the Yellow Emperor with indifference—"yetif the spirit is absorbed into the Source whence it came, and thebones have crumbled into nothingness, where does the Ego exist? Thedead are venerable, but no longer of interest."
"Not even when they were loved in life?" said the Empress,caressing the bird in the cage with one jewelled finger, butattentively observing her son from the corner of her august eye."They were; they are not," he remarked sententiously and stifling ayawn; it was a drowsy afternoon. "But who is it that has abandonedus? Surely not the Lady Ma—your Majesty's faithfulfoster-mother?"
"A younger, a lovelier spirit has sought the Yellow Springs,"replied the trembling Empress. "I regret to inform your Majestythat a sudden convulsion last night deprived the Lady A-Kuei oflife. I would not permit the news to reach you lest it should breakyour august night's rest."
There was a silence, then the Emperor turned his eyes serenelyupon his Imperial Mother. "That the statement of my august Parentis merely—let us say—allegoric—does not detractfrom its interest. But had the Lady A-Kuei in truth departed to theYellow Springs I should none the less have received the newswithout uneasiness. What though the sun set—is not the memoryof his light all surpassing?"
No longer could the Pearl Empress endure the excess of hercuriosity. Deeply kowtowing, imploring pardon, with raised handsand tears which no son dare neglect, she besought the Emperor toenlighten her as to this mystery, recounting his praises of thelady and his admission that he had never beheld her, and all thecircumstances connected with this remarkable episode. She omittedonly, (from considerations of delicacy and others,) the vigils ofthe Lady Ma in the Dragon Chamber. The Emperor, sighing, lookedupon the ground, and for a time was silent. Then he replied asfollows:
"Willingly would I have kept silence, but what child darewithstand the plea of a parent? Is it necessary to inform theHeavenly Empress that beauty seen is beauty made familiar and thatfamiliarity is the foe of admiration? How is it possible that Ishould see the Princess of Feminine Propriety, for instance, bynight and day without becoming aware of her imperfections as wellas her graces? How awake in the night without hearing the snoringof the White Jade Concubine and considering the mouth from which itissues as the less lovely. How partake of the society of any womanwithout finding her chattering as the crane, avid of admiration,jealous, destructive of philosophy, fatal to composure, feveredwith curiosity; a creature, in short, a little above the gibbon,but infinitely below the notice of the sage, save as a temporarymeasure of amusement in itself unworthy the philosopher. The facesof all my ladies are known to me. All are fair and all alike. Butone night, as I lay in the Dragon Couch, lost in speculation,absorbed in contemplation of the Yin and the Yang, the night passedfor the solitary dreamer as a dream. In the darkness of the dawn Irose still dreaming, and departed to the Pearl Pavilion in thegarden, and there remained an hour viewing the sunrise andexperiencing ineffable opinions on the destiny of man. Returningthen to a couch which I believed to have been that of the solitaryphilosopher I observed a depression where another form had lain,and in it a jade hairpin such as is worn by my junior beauties.Petrified with amazement at the display of such reserve, suchcontinence, such august self-restraint, I perceived that, lost inmy thoughts, I had had an unimagined companion and that this gentlereminder was from her gentle hand. But whom? I knew not. I thenobserved Lo Cheng the Court Artist in attendance and immediatelydespatched him to make secret enquiry and ascertain the name andcircumstances of that beauty who, unknown, had shared my vigil. Ilearnt on his return that it was the Lady A-Kuei. I had entered theDragon Chamber in a low moonlight, and guessed not her presence.She spoke no word. Finding her Imperial Master thus absorbed, sheinvited no attention, nor in any way obtruded her beauties upon mynotice. Scarcely did she draw breath. Yet reflect upon what shemight have done! The night passed and I remained entirelyunconscious of her presence, and out of respect she would not sleepbut remained reverently and modestly awake, assisting, if it may sobe expressed, at a humble distance, in the speculations which heldme prisoner. What a pearl was here! On learning these details by LoCheng from her own roseate lips, and remembering the unexampledtemptation she had resisted (for well she knew that had she touchedthe Emperor the Philosopher had vanished) I despatched an augustrescript to this favored Lady, conferring on her the degree ofIncomparable Beauty of the First Rank. On condition ofsecrecy."
The Pearl Empress, still in deepest bewilderment, besought hismajesty to proceed. He did so, with his usual dignity.
"Though my mind could not wholly restrain its admiration, yetsecrecy was necessary, for had the facts been known, every lady,from the Princess of Feminine Propriety to the Junior Beauty of theBed Chamber would henceforward have observed only silence and afrigid decorum in the Dragon Bed Chamber. And though the Emperor bea philosopher, yet a philosopher is still a man, and there aremoments when decorum—"
The Emperor paused discreetly; then resumed.
"The world should not be composed entirely of A-Kueis, yet in mymind I behold the Incomparable Lady fair beyond expression. Likethe moon she sails glorious in the heavens to be adored only invision as the one woman who could respect the absorption of theEmperor, and of whose beauty as she lay beside him the philosophercould remain unconscious and therefore untroubled in body. To seeher, to find her earthly, would be an experience for which theEmperor might have courage, but the philosopher never. And attachedto all this is a moral:"
The Pearl Empress urgently inquired its nature.
"Let the wisdom of my august parent discern it," said theEmperor sententiously.
"And the future?" she inquired.
"The—let us call it parable—" said the Emperorpolitely—"with which your Majesty was good enough toentertain me, has suggested a precaution to my mind. I see now alovely form moving among the flowers. It is possible that it may bethe Incomparable Lady, or that at any moment I may come upon herand my ideal be shattered. This must be safeguarded. I mightcommand her retirement to her native province, but who shall insureme against the weakness of my own heart demanding her return? No.Let Your Majesty's words spoken—well—in parable, befulfilled in truth. I shall give orders to the Chief Eunuch thatthe Incomparable Lady tonight shall drink the Draught of CrushedPearls, and be thus restored to the sphere that alone is worthy ofher. Thus are all anxieties soothed, and the honours offered to hervirtuous spirit shall be a glorious repayment of the ideal thatwill ever illuminate my soul."
The Empress was speechless. She had borne the Emperor in herwomb, but the philosopher outsoared her comprehension. She retired,leaving his Majesty in a reverie, endeavoring herself to grasp themoral of which he had spoken, for the guidance of herself and theladies concerned. But whether it inculcated reserve or the reversein the Dragon Chamber, and what the Imperial ladies should followas an example she was, to the end of her life, totally unable tosay. Philosophy indeed walks on the heights. We cannot all expectto follow it.
That night the Incomparable Lady drank the Draught of CrushedPearls.
The Princess of Feminine Propriety and the White Jade Concubine,learning these circumstances, redoubled their charms, theircoquetries and their efforts to occupy what may be described as theinner sanctuary of the Emperor's esteem. Both lived to a green oldage, wealthy and honored, alike firm in the conviction that if theIncomparable Lady had not shown herself so superior to temptationthe Emperor might have been on the whole better pleased, whateverthe sufferings of the philosopher. Both lived to be the tyrants ofmany generations of beauties at the Celestial Court. Both wereassiduous in their devotions before the spirit tablet of thedeparted lady, and in recommending her example of reserve andhumility to every damsel whom it might concern.
It will probably occur to the reader of this unique butveracious story that there is more in it than meets the eye, andmore than the one moral alluded to by the Emperor according to thepoint of view of the different actors.
To the discernment of the reader it must accordingly be left.
Most wonderful is the Irawadi, the mighty river of Burma. In allthe world elsewhere is no such river, bearing the melted snows fromits mysterious sources in the high places of the mountains. Thedawn rises upon its league-wide flood; the moon walks upon it withsilver feet. It is the pulsing heart of the land, living stillthough so many rules and rulers have risen and fallen beside it,their pomps and glories drifting like flotsam dawn the river to theeternal ocean that is the end of all—and the beginning. Deadcivilizations strew its banks, dreaming in the torrid sunshine ofglories that were—of blood-stained gold, jewels wept fromwoeful crowns, nightmare dreams of murder and terror; dreaming alsoof heavenly beauty, for the Lord Buddha looks down in moonlightpeace upon the land that leaped to kiss His footprints, that haslaid its heart in the hand of the Blessed One, and shares thereforein His bliss and content. The Land of the Lord Buddha, where themyriad pagodas lift their golden flames of worship everywhere, andno idlest wind can pass but it ruffles the bells below the kneesuntil they send forth their silver ripple of music to swell thehymn of praise!
There is a little bay on the bank of the flooding river—asilent, deserted place of sanddunes and small bills. When a ship isin sight, some poor folk come and spread out the red lacquer thathelps their scanty subsistence, and the people from the passingship land and barter and in a few minutes are gone on their busyway and silence settles down once more. They neither know nor carethat, near by, a mighty city spread its splendour for miles alongthe river bank, that the king known as Lord of the Golden Palace,The Golden Foot, Lord of the White Elephant, held his state therewith balls of magnificence, obsequious women, fawning courtiers andall the riot and colour of an Eastern tyranny. How should theycare? Now there are ruins—ruins, and the cobras slip in andout through the deserted holy places. They breed their writhingyoung in the sleeping-chambers of queens, the tigers mew in themoonlight, and the giant spider, more terrible than the cobra,strikes with its black poison-claw and, paralyzing the life of thevictim, sucks its brain with slow, lascivious pleasure.
Are these foul creatures more dreadful than some of the men, thewomen, who dwelt in these palaces—the more evil because ofthe human brain that plotted and foresaw? That is known only to themysterious Law that in silence watches and decrees.
But this is a story of the dead days of Pagan, by the Irawadi,and it will be shown that, as the Lotus of the Lord Buddha grows upa white splendour from the black mud of the depths, so also may thesoul of a woman.
In the days of the Lord of the White Elephant, the King PaganMen, was a boy named Mindon, son of second Queen and the King. So,at least, it was said in the Golden Palace, but those who knew thesecrets of such matters whispered that, when the King had taken herby the hand she came to him no maid, and that the boy was the sonof an Indian trader. Furthermore it was said that she herself waswoman of the Rajputs, knowledgeable in spells, incantations andelemental spirits such as the Beloos that terribly haunt wasteplaces, and all Powers that move in the dark, and that thus she hadwon the King. Certainly she had been captured by the King'swar-boats off the coast from a trading-ship bound for Ceylon, andit was her story that, because of her beauty, she was sent thitherto serve as concubine to the King, Tissa of Ceylon. Being captured,she was brought to the Lord of the Golden Palace. The tongue shespoke was strange to all the fighting men, but it was wondrous tosee how swiftly she learnt theirs and spoke it with a sweet ripplesuch as is in the throat of a bird.
She was beautiful exceedingly, with a colour of pale gold uponher and lengths of silk-spun hair, and eyes like those of ajungle-deer, and water might run beneath the arch of her footwithout wetting it, and her breasts were like the cloudy pillowswhere the sun couches at setting. Now, at Pagan, the name theycalled her was Dwaymenau, but her true name, known only to herself,was Sundari, and she knew not the Law of the Blessed Buddha but wasa heathen accursed. In the strong hollow of her hand she held theheart of the King, so that on the birth of her son she had risenfrom a mere concubine to be the second Queen and a power to whomall bowed. The First Queen, Maya, languished in her palace, herpale beauty wasting daily, deserted and lonely, for she had beenthe light of the King's eyes until the coming of the Indian woman,and she loved her lord with a great love and was a noble womanbrought up in honour and all things becoming a queen. But sigh asshe would, the King came never. All night he lay in the arms ofDwaymenau, all day he sat beside her, whether at the great waterpageants or at the festival when the dancing-girls swayed andpostured before him in her gilded chambers. Even when he went forthto hunt the tiger, she went with him as far as a woman may go, andthen stood back only because he would not risk his jewel, her life.So all that was evil in the man she fostered and all that was goodshe cherished not at all, fearing lest he should return to theQueen. At her will he had consulted the Hiwot Daw, the Council ofthe Woon-gyees or Ministers, concerning a divorce of the Queen, butthis they told him could not be since she had kept all the laws ofManu, being faithful, noble and beautiful and having borne him ason.
For, before the Indian woman had come to the King, the Queen hadborne a son, Ananda, and he was pale and slender and the Kingdespised him because of the wiles of Dwaymenau, saying he was fitonly to sit among the women, having the soul of a slave, and helaughed bitterly as the pale child crouched in the corner to seehim pass. If his eyes had been clear, he would have known that herewas no slave, but a heart as much greater than his own as thespirit is stronger than the body. But this he did not know and hestrode past with Dwaymenau's boy on his shoulder, laughing withcruel glee.
And this boy, Mindon, was beautiful and strong as his mother,pale olive of face, with the dark and crafty eyes of the cunningIndian traders, with black hair and a body straight, strong andlong in the leg for his years—apt at the beginnings of bow,sword and spear—full of promise, if the promise was onlywords and looks.
And so matters rested in the palace until Ananda had ten yearsand Mindon nine.
It was the warm and sunny winter and the days were pleasant, andon a certain day the Queen, Maya, went with her ladies to worshipthe Blessed One at the Thapinyu Temple, looking down upon theswiftly flowing river. The temple was exceedingly rich andmagnificent, so gilded with pure gold-leaf that it appeared ofsolid gold. And about the upper part were golden bells beneath thejewelled knee, which wafted very sweetly in the wind and gave fortha crystal-clear music. The ladies bore in their hands moregold-leaf, that they might acquire merit by offering this for theservice of the Master of the Law, and indeed this temple was theoffering of the Queen herself, who, because she bore the name ofthe Mother of the Lord, excelled in good works and was the Moon ofthis lower world in charity and piety.
Though wan with grief and anxiety, this Queen was beautiful. Hereyes, like mournful lakes of darkness, were lovely in the paleivory of her face. Her lips were nobly cut and calm, and by thefavour of the Guardian Nats, she was shaped with grace and health,a worthy mother of kings. Also she wore her jewels like a mightyprincess, a magnificence to which all the people shikoed as shepassed, folding their hands and touching the forehead while theybowed down, kneeling.
Before the colossal image of the Holy One she made her offeringand, attended by her women, she sat in meditation, drawingconsolation from the Tranquillity above her and the silence of theshrine. This ended, the Queen rose and did obeisance to the Lordand, retiring, paced back beneath the White Canopy and entered thecourtyard where the palace stood—a palace of noble teakwood,brown and golden and carved like lace into strange fantasies ofspires and pinnacles and branches where Nats and Tree Spirits andBeloos and swaying river maidens mingled and met amid fruits andleaves and flowers in a wild and joyous confusion. The faces, theblowing garments, whirled into points with the swiftness of thedance, were touched with gold, and so glad was the building that itseemed as if a very light wind might whirl it to the sky, and eventhe sad Queen stopped to rejoice in its beauty as it blossomed inthe sunlight.
And even as she paused, her little son Ananda rushed to meether, pale and panting, and flung himself into her arms with drysobs like those of an overrun man. She soothed him until he couldspeak, and then the grief made way in a rain of tears.
"Mindon has killed my deer. He bared his knife, slit his throatand cast him in the ditch and there he lies."
"There will he not lie long!" shouted Mindon, breaking from thepalace to the group where all were silent now. "For the worms willeat him and the dogs pick clean his bones, and he will show hishorns at his lords no more. If you loved him, White-liver, youshould have taught him better manners to his betters."
With a stifled shriek Ananda caught the slender knife from hisgirdle and flew at Mindon like a cat of the woods. Such things weredone daily by young and old, and this was a long sorrow come to ahead between the boys.
Suddenly, lifting the hangings of the palace gateway, beforethem stood the mother of Mindon, the Lady Dwaymenau, pale as wool,having heard the shout of her boy, so that the two Queens facedeach other, each holding the shoulders of her son, and the ladieswatched, mute as fishes, for it was years since these two hadmet.
"What have you done to my son?" breathed Maya the Queen, dry inthe throat and all but speechless with passion. For indeed hisface, for a child, was ghastly.
"Look at his knife! What would he do to my son?" Dwaymenau wasstiff with hate and spoke as to a slave.
"He has killed my deer and mocks me because I loved him, He isthe devil in this place. Look at the devils in his eyes. Look quickbefore he smiles, my mother."
And indeed, young as the boy was, an evil thing sat in eithereye and glittered upon them. Dwaymenau passed her hand across hisbrow, and he smiled and they were gone.
"The beast ran at me and would have flung me with his horns," hesaid, looking up brightly at his mother. "He had the madness uponhim. I struck once and he was dead. My father would have done thesame.
"That would he not!" said Queen Maya bitterly. "Your fatherwould have crept up, fawning on the deer, and offered him thefruits he loved, stroking him the while. And in trust the beastwould have eaten, and the poison in the fruit would have slain him.For the people of your father meet neither man nor beast in fairfight. With a kiss they stab!"
Horror kept the women staring and silent. No one had dreamedthat the scandal had reached the Queen. Never had she spoken orlooked her knowledge but endured all in patience. Now it sprang outlike a sword among them, and they feared for Maya, whom allloved.
Mindon did not understand. It was beyond him, but he saw he wasscorned. Dwaymenau, her face rigid as a mask, looked pitilessly atthe shaking Queen, and each word dropped from her mouth, hard andcold as the falling of diamonds. She refused the insult.
"If it is thus you speak of our lord and my love, what wonder heforsakes you? Mother of a craven milk runs in your veins and hisfor blood. Take your slinking brat away and weep together! My sonand I go forth to meet the King as he comes from hunting, and towelcome him kingly!" She caught her boy to her with a magnificentgesture; he flung his little arm about her, and laughing loudlythey went off together.
The tension relaxed a little when they were out of sight. Thewomen knew that, since Dwaymenau had refused to take the Queen'smeaning, she would certainly not carry her complaint to the King.They guessed at her reason for this forbearance, but, be that as itmight, it was Certain that no other person would dare to tell himand risk the fate that waits the messenger of evil.
The eldest lady led away the Queen, now almost tottering in thereaction of fear and pain. Oh, that she had controlled her speech!Not for her own sake—for she had lost all and the beggar canlose no more—but for the boy's sake, the unloved child thatstood between the stranger and her hopes. For him she had made aterrible enemy. Weeping, the boy followed her.
"Take comfort, little son," she said, drawing him to hertenderly. "The deer can suffer no more. For the tigers, he does notfear them. He runs in green woods now where there is none to hunt.He is up and away. The Blessed One was once a deer as gentle asyours."
But still the child wept, and the Queen broke down utterly. "Oh,if life be a dream, let us wake, let us wake!" she sobbed. "Forevil things walk in it that cannot live in the light. Or let usdream deeper and forget. Go, little son, yet stay—for who cantell what waits us when the King comes. Let us meet him here."
For she believed that Dwaymenau would certainly carry the taleof her speech to the King, and, if so, what hope but deathtogether?
That night, after the feasting, when the girls were dancing thedance of the fairies and spirits, in gold dresses, winged on thelegs and shoulders, and high, gold-spired and pinnacled caps, theKing missed the little Prince, Ananda, and asked why he wasabsent.
No one answered, the women looking upon each other, untilDwaymenau, sitting beside him, glimmering with rough pearls andrubies, spoke smoothly: "Lord, worshipped and beloved, the two boysquarreled this day, and Ananda's deer attacked our Mindon. He had amadness upon him and thrust with his horns. But, Mindon, your trueson, flew in upon him and in a great fight he slit the beast'sthroat with the knife you gave him. Did he not well?"
"Well," said the King briefly. "But is there no hurt? Havesearched? For he is mine."
There was arrogance in the last sentence and her proud soulrebelled, but smoothly as ever she spoke: "I have searched andthere is not the littlest scratch. But Ananda is weeping becausethe deer is dead, and his mother is angry. What should I do?"
"Nothing. Ananda is worthless and worthless let him be! And forthat pale shadow that was once a woman, let her be forgotten. Andnow, drink, my Queen!"
And Dwaymenau drank but the drink was bitter to her, for a ghosthad risen upon her that day. She had never dreamed that such ascandal had been spoken, and it stunned her very soul with fear,that the Queen should know her vileness and the cheat she had putupon the King. As pure maid he had received her, and she knew, nonebetter, what the doom would be if his trust were broken and he knewthe child not his. She herself had seen this thing done to aconcubine who had a little offended. She was thrust living in asack and this hung between two earthen jars pierced with smallholes, and thus she was set afloat on the terrible river. And nottill the slow filling and sinking of the jars was the agony overand the cries for mercy stilled. No, the Queen's speech was safewith her, but was it safe with the Queen? For her silence,Dwaymenau must take measures.
Then she put it all aside and laughed and jested with the Kingand did indeed for a time forget, for she loved him for hisblack-browed beauty and his courage and royalty and the childliketrust and the man's passion that mingled in him for her. Daily andnightly such prayers as she made to strange gods were that shemight bear a son, true son of his.
Next day, in the noonday stillness when all slept, she led heryoung son by the hand to her secret chamber, and, holding him uponher knees in that rich and golden place, she lifted his face tohers and stared into his eyes. And so unwavering was her gaze, somighty the hard, unblinking stare that his own was held against it,and he stared back as the earth stares breathless at the moon.Gradually the terror faded out of his eyes; they glazed as if in atrance; his head fell stupidly against her bosom; his spirit stoodon the borderland of being and waited.
Seeing this, she took his palm and, molding it like wax, intothe cup of it she dropped clear fluid from a small vessel ofpottery with the fylfot upon its side and the disks of the godShiva. And strange it was to see that lore of India in the palacewhere the Blessed Law reigned in peace. Then, fixing her eyes withpower upon Mindon, she bade him, a pure child, see for her in itsclearness.
"Only virgin-pure can see!" she muttered, staring into his eyes."See! See!"
The eyes of Mindon were closing. He half opened them and lookeddully at his palm. His face was pinched and yellow.
"A woman—a child, on a long couch. Dead! I see!"
"See her face. Is her head crowned with the Queen's jewels?See!"
"Jewels. I cannot see her face. It is hidden."
"Why is it hidden?"
"A robe across her face. Oh, let me go!"
"And the child? See!"
"Let me go. Stop—my head—my head! I cannot see. Thechild is hidden. Her arm holds it. A woman stoops above them."
"A woman? Who? Is it like me? Speak! See!"
"A woman. It is like you, mother—it is like you. I fearvery greatly. A knife—a knife! Blood! I cannot see—Icannot speak! I—I sleep."
His face was ghastly white now, his body cold and collapsed.Terrified, she caught him to her breast and relaxed the power ofher will upon him. For that moment, she was only the passionatemother and quaked to think she might have hurt him. An hour passedand he slept heavily in her arms, and in agony she watched to seethe colour steal back into the olive cheek and white lips. In thesecond hour he waked and stretched himself indolently, yawning likea cat. Her tears dropped like rain upon him as she clasped himviolently to her.
He writhed himself free, petulant and spoilt. "Let me be. I hatekisses and women's tricks. I want to go forth and play. I have hada devil's dream.
"What did you see in your dream, prince of my heart?" She caughtfrantically at the last chance.
"A deer—a tiger. I have forgotten. Let me go." He ran offand she sat alone with her doubts and fears. Yet triumph colouredthem too. She saw a dead woman, a dead child, and herself bendingabove them. She hid the vessel in her bosom and went out among herwomen.
Weeks passed, and never a word that she dreaded from Maya theQueen. The women of Dwaymenau, questioning the Queen's women, heardthat she seemed to have heavy sorrow upon her. Her eyes were likedying lamps and she faded as they. The King never entered herpalace. Drowned in Dwaymenau's wiles and beauty, her slave, herthrall, he forgot all else but his fighting, his hunting and hislong war-boats, and whether the Queen lived or died, he carednothing. Better indeed she should die and her place be emptied forthe beloved, without offence to her powerful kindred.
And now he was to sail upon a raid against the Shan Tsaubwa, whohad denied him tribute of gold and jewels and slaves. Glorious werethe boats prepared for war, of brown teak and gilded until theyshone like gold. Seventy men rowed them, sword and lance besideeach. Warriors crowded them, flags and banners fluttered aboutthem; the shining water reflected the pomp like a mirror and theair rang with song. Dwaymenau stood beside the water with herwomen, bidding the King farewell, and so he saw her, radiant in thedawn, with her boy beside her, and waved his hand to the last.
The ships were gone and the days languished a little at Pagan.They missed the laughter and royalty of the King, and few men, andthose old and weak, were left in the city. The pulse of life beatslower.
And Dwaymenau took rule in the Golden Palace. Queen Maya satlike one in a dream and questioned nothing, and Dwaymenau ruledwith wisdom but none loved her. To all she was the interloper, thewitch-woman, the out-land upstart. Only the fear of the Kingguarded her and her boy, but that was strong. The boys playedtogether sometimes, Mindon tyrannizing and cruel, Ananda fearingand complying, broken in spirit.
Maya the Queen walked daily in the long and empty Golden Hall ofAudience, where none came now that the King was gone, pacing up anddown, gazing wearily at the carved screens and all their woodlandbeauty of gods that did not hear, of happy spirits that had nopity. Like a spirit herself she passed between the red pillars,appearing and reappearing with steps that made no sound, consumedwith hate of the evil woman that had stolen her joy. Like a slowfire it burned in her soul, and the face of the Blessed One washidden from her, and she had forgotten His peace. In thatatmosphere of hate her life dwindled. Her son's dwindled also, andthere was talk among the women of some potion that Dwaymenau hadbeen seen to drop into his noontide drink as she went swiftly by.That might he the gossip of malice, but he pined. His eyes werelarge like a young bird's; his hands like little claws. Theythought the departing year would take him with it. What harm? Verycertainly the King would shed no tear.
It was a sweet and silent afternoon and she wandered in thegreat and lonely hall, sickened with the hate in her soul and herfear for her boy. Suddenly she heard flying footsteps—aboy's, running in mad haste in the outer hall, and, following them,bare feet, soft, thudding.
She stopped dead and every pulse cried—Danger! No time tothink or breathe when Mindon burst into sight, wild with terror andfollowing close beside him a man—a madman, a short bright dahin his grasp, his jaws grinding foam, his wild eyesstarting—one passion to murder. So sometimes from the Natscomes pitiless fury, and men run mad and kill and none knowswhy.
Maya the Queen stiffened to meet the danger. Joy swept throughher soul; her weariness was gone. A fierce smile showed herteeth—a smile of hate, as she stood there and drew her daggerfor defense. For defense—the man would rend the boy and turnon her and she would not die. She would live to triumph that themongrel was dead, and her son, the Prince again and his father'sjoy—for his heart would turn to the child most surely.Justice was rushing on its victim. She would see it and livecontent, the long years of agony wiped out in blood, as wasfitting. She would not flee; she would see it and rejoice. And asshe stood in gladness—these broken thoughts rushing throughher like flashes of lightning—Mindon saw her by the pillarand, screaming in anguish for the first time, fled to her forrefuge.
She raised her knife to meet the staring eyes, the chalk whiteface, and drive him back on the murderer. If the man failed, shewould not! And even as she did this a strange thing befell.Something stronger than hate swept her away like a leaf on theriver; something primeval that lives in the lonely pangs ofchildbirth, that hides in the womb and breasts of the mother. Itwas stronger than she. It was not the hated Mindoin—she sawhim no more. Suddenly it was the eternal Child, lifting dying,appealing eyes to the Woman, as he clung to her knees. She did notthink this—she felt it, and it dominated her utterly. TheWoman answered. As if it had been her own flesh and blood, sheswept the panting body behind her and faced the man with uplifteddagger and knew her victory assured, whether in life or death. Oncame the horrible rush, the flaming eyes, and, if it was chancethat set the dagger against his throat, it was cool strength thatdrove it home and never wavered until the blood welling from thethroat quenched the flame in the wild eyes, and she stoodtriumphing like a war-goddess, with the man at her feet. Then,strong and flushed, Maya the Queen gathered the half-dead boy inher arms, and, both drenched with blood, they moved slowly down thehall and outside met the hurrying crowd, with Dwaymenau, whom thescream had brought to find her son.
"You have killed him! She has killed him!" Scarcely could theRajput woman speak. She was kneeling beside him—he hideouswith blood. "She hated him always. She has murdered him. Seizeher!"
"Woman, what matter your hates and mine?" the Queen said slowly."The boy is stark with fear. Carry him in and send for old MehShway Gon. Woman, be silent!"
When a Queen commands, men and women obey, and a Queen commandedthen. A huddled group lifted the child and carried him away,Dwaymenau with them, still uttering wild threats, and the Queen wasleft alone.
She could not realize what she had done and left undone. Shecould not understand it. She had hated, sickened with loathing, asit seemed for ages, and now, in a moment it had blown away like awhirlwind that is gone. Hate was washed out of her soul and hadleft it cool and white as the Lotus of the Blessed One. What powerhad Dwaymenau to hurt her when that other Power walked beside her?She seemed to float above her in high air and look down upon herwith compassion. Strength, virtue flowed in her veins; weakness,fear were fantasies. She could not understand, but knew that herewas perfect enlightenment. About her echoed the words of theBlessed One: "Never in this world doth hatred cease by hatred, butonly by love. This is an old rule."
"Whereas I was blind, now I see," said Maya the Queen slowly toher own heart. She had grasped the hems of the Mighty.
Words cannot speak the still passion of strength and joy thatpossessed her. Her step was light. As she walked, her soul sangwithin her, for thus it is with those that have received the Law.About them is the Peace.
In the dawn she was told that the Queen, Dwaymenau, would speakwith her, and without a tremor she who had shaken like a leaf atthat name commanded that she should enter. It was Dwaymenau thattrembled as she came into that unknown place.
With cloudy brows and eyes that would reveal no secret, shestood before the high seat where the Queen sat pale andmajestic.
"Is it well with the boy?" the Queen asked earnestly.
"Well," said Dwaymenau, fingering the silver bosses of hergirdle.
"Then—is there more to say?" The tone was that of thegreat lady who courteously ends an audience. "There is more. Themen brought in the body and in its throat your dagger was sticking.And my son has told me that your body was a shield to him. Youoffered your life for his. I did not think to thank you—but Ithank you." She ended abruptly and still her eyes had never met theQueen's.
"I accept your thanks. Yet a mother could do no less."
The tone was one of dismissal but still Dwaymenau lingered.
"The dagger," she said and drew it from her bosom. On the clear,pointed blade the blood had curdled and dried. "I never thought toask a gift of you, but this dagger is a memorial of my son'sdanger. May I keep it?"
"As you will. Here is the sheath." From her girdle she drewit—rough silver, encrusted with rubies from themountains.
The hand rejected it.
"Jewels I cannot take, but bare steel is a fitting gift betweenus two."
"As you will."
The Queen spoke compassionately, and Dwaymenau, still withveiled eyes, was gone without fare well. The empty sheath lay onthe seat—a symbol of the sharp-edged hate that had passed outof her life. She touched the sheath to her lips and, smiling, laidit away.
And the days went by and Dwaymenau came no more before her, andher days were fulfilled with peace. And now again the Queen ruledin the palace wisely and like a Queen, and this Dwaymenau did notdispute, but what her thoughts were no man could tell.
Then came the end.
One night the city awakened to a wild alarm. A terrible fleet ofwar-boats came sweeping along the river thick as locusts—thewar fleet of the Lord of Prome. Battle shouts broke the peace ofthe night to horror; axes battered on the outer doors; the roofs ofthe outer buildings were all aflame. It was no wonderful incident,but a common one enough of those turbulent days—reprisal by apowerful ruler with raids and hates to avenge on the Lord of theGolden Palace. It was indeed a right to be gainsaid only by thestrong arm, and the strong arm was absent; as for the men of Pagan,if the guard failed and the women's courage sank, they would returnto blackened walls, empty chambers and desolation.
At Pagan the guard was small, indeed, for the King's greed ofplunder had taken almost every able man with him. Still, those whowere left did what they could, and the women, alert and brave, withbut few exceptions, gathered the children and handed such weaponsas they could muster to the men, and themselves, taking knives anddaggers, helped to defend the inner rooms.
In the farthest, the Queen, having given her commands andencouraged all with brave words, like a wise, prudent princess, satwith her son beside her. Her duty was now to him. Loved or unloved,he was still the heir, the root of the House tree. If all failed,she must make ransom and terms for him, and, if they died, it mustbe together. He, with sparkling eyes, gay in the danger, stood byher. Thus Dwaymenau found them.
She entered quietly and without any display of emotion and stoodbefore the high seat.
"Great Queen"—she used that title for the firsttime—"the leader is Meng Kyinyo of Prome. There is no mercy.The end is near. Our men fall fast, the women are fleeing. I havecome to say this thing: Save the Prince."
"And how?" asked the Queen, still seated. "I have no power."
"I have sent to Maung Tin, abbot of the Golden Monastery, and hehas said this thing. In the Kyoung across the river he can hide onechild among the novices. Cut his hair swiftly and put upon him thisyellow robe. The time is measured in minutes."
Then the Queen perceived, standing by the pillar, a monk of astern, dark presence, the creature of Dwaymenau. For an instant shepondered. Was the woman selling the child to death? Dwaymenau spokeno word. Her face was a mask. A minute that seemed an hour driftedby, and the yelling and shrieks for mercy drew nearer.
"There will be pursuit," said the Queen. "They will slay him onthe river. Better here with me."
"There will be no pursuit." Dwaymenau fixed her strange eyes onthe Queen for the first time.
What moved in those eyes? The Queen could not tell. Butdespairing, she rose and went to the silent monk, leading thePrince by the hand. Swiftly he stripped the child of the silk pasohof royalty, swiftly he cut the long black tresses knotted on thelittle head, and upon the slender golden body he set the yellowrobe worn by the Lord Himself on earth, and in the small hand heplaced the begging-bowl of the Lord. And now, remote and holy, inthe dress that is of all most sacred, the Prince, standing by themonk, turned to his mother and looked with grave eyes upon her, asthe child Buddha looked upon his Mother—also a Queen. ButDwaymenau stood by silent and lent no help as the Queen folded thePrince in her arms and laid his hand in the hand of the monk andsaw them pass away among the pillars, she standing still andwhite.
She turned to her rival. "If you have meant truly, I thankyou."
"I have meant truly."
She turned to go, but the Queen caught her by the hand.
"Why have you done this?" she asked, looking into the strangeeyes of the strange woman.
Something like tears gathered in them for a moment, but shebrushed them away as she said hurriedly:
"I was grateful. You saved my son. Is it not enough?"
"No, not enough!" cried the Queen. "There is more. Tell me, fordeath is upon us."
"His footsteps are near," said the Indian. "I will speak. I lovemy lord. In death I will not cheat him. What you have known istrue. My child is no child of his. I will not go down to death witha lie upon my lips. Come and see."
Dwaymenau was no more. Sundari, the Indian woman, awful andcalm, led the Queen down the long ball and into her own chamber,where Mindon, the child, slept a drugged sleep. The Queen felt thatshe had never known her; she herself seemed diminished in statureas she followed the stately figure, with its still, dark face. Intothis room the enemy were breaking, shouldering their way at thedoor—a rabble of terrible faces. Their fury was partlychecked when only a sleeping child and two women confronted them,but their leader, a grim and evil-looking man, strode from thehuddle.
"Where is the son of the King?" he shouted. "Speak, women! Whoseis this boy?"
Sundari laid her hand upon her son's shoulder. Not a muscle ofher face flickered.
"This is his son."
"His true son—the son of Maya the Queen?"
"His true son, the son of Maya the Queen."
"Not the younger—the mongrel?"
"The younger—the mongrel died last week of a fever."
Every moment of delay was precious. Her eyes saw only a monk anda boy fleeing across the wide river.
"Which is Maya the Queen?"
"This," said Sundari. "She cannot speak. It is her son—thePrince."
Maya had veiled her face with her hands. Her brain swam, but sheunderstood the noble lie. This woman could love. Their lord wouldnot be left childless. Thought beat like pulses in her—racedalong her veins. She held her breath and was dumb.
His doubt was assuaged and the lust of vengeance was onhim—a madness seized the man. But even his own wild menshrank back a moment, for to slay a sleeping child in cold blood isno man's work.
"You swear it is the Prince. But why? Why do you not lie to savehim if you are the King's woman?"
"Because his mother has trampled me to the earth. I am theIndian woman—the mother of the younger, who is dead and safe.She jeered at me—she mocked me. It is time I should see hersuffer. Suffer now as I have suffered, Maya the Queen!"
This was reasonable—this was like the women he had known.His doubt was gone—he laughed aloud.
"Then feed full of vengeance!" he cried, and drove his knifethrough the child's heart.
For a moment Sundari wavered where she stood, but she heldherself and was rigid as the dead.
"Tha-du! Well done!" she said with an awful smile. "The tree isbroken, the roots cut. And now for us women—our fate, Omaster?"
"Wait here," he answered. "Let not a hair of their heads betouched. Both are fair. The two for me. For the rest draw lots whenall is done."
The uproar surged away. The two stood by the dead boy. So swifthad been his death that he lay as though he still slept—theblack lashes pressed upon his cheek.
With the heredity of their different races upon them, neitherwept. But silently the Queen opened her arms; wide as a woman thatentreats she opened them to the Indian Queen, and speechlessly thetwo clung together. For a while neither spoke.
"My sister!" said Maya the Queen. And again, "O great ofheart!"
She laid her cheek against Sundari's, and a wave of solemn joyseemed to break in her soul and flood it with life and light.
"Had I known sooner!" she said. "For now the night drawson."
"What is time?" answered the Rajput woman. "We stand before theLords of Life and Death. The life you gave was yours, and I amunworthy to kiss the feet of the Queen. Our lord will return andhis son is saved. The House can be rebuilt. My son and I were waifswashed up from the sea. Another wave washes us back to nothingness.Tell him my story and he will loathe me."
"My lips are shut," said the Queen. "Should I betray my sister'shonour? When he speaks of the noble women of old, your name will beamong them. What matters which of us he loves and remembers? Yoursoul and mine have seen the same thing, and we are one. ButI—what have I to do with life? The ship and the bed of theconqueror await us. Should we await them, my sister?"
The bright tears glittered in the eyes of Sundari at the tendername and the love in the face of the Queen. At last she acceptedit.
"My sister, no," she said, and drew from her bosom the dagger ofMaya, with the man's blood rusted upon it. "Here is the way. I havekept this dagger in token of my debt. Nightly have I kissed it,swearing that, when the time came, I would repay my debt to thegreat Queen. Shall I go first or follow, my sister?"
Her voice lingered on the word. It was precious to her. It waslike clear water, laying away the stain of the shameful years.
"Your arm is strong," answered the Queen. "I go first. Becausethe King's son is safe, I bless you. For your love of the King, Ilove you. And here, standing on the verge of life, I testify thatthe words of the Blessed One are truth—that love is All; thathatred is Nothing."
She bared the breast that this woman had madedesolate—that, with the love of this woman, was desolate holonger, and, stooping, laid her hand on the brow of Mindon. Oncemore they embraced, and then, strong and true, and with the Rajputpassion behind the blow, the stroke fell and Sundari had given hersister the crowning mercy of deliverance. She laid the body besideher own son, composing the stately limbs, the quiet eyelids, theblack lengths of hair into majesty. So, she thought, in the greattemple of the Rajput race, the Mother Goddess shed silence and aweupon her worshippers. The two lay like mother and son—oneslight hand of the Queen she laid across the little body as if toguard it.
Her work done, she turned to the entrance and watched the dawncoming glorious over the river. The men shouted and quarreled inthe distance, but she heeded them no more than the chattering ofapes. Her heart was away over the distance to the King, but with nopassion now: so might a mother have thought of her son. He wassleeping, forgetful of even her in his dreams. What matter? She wasglad at heart. The Queen was dearer to her than the King—sostrange is life; so healing is death. She remembered withoutsurprise that she had asked no forgiveness of the Queen for all thecruel wrongs, for the deadly intent—had made no confession.Again what matter? What is forgiveness when love is all?
She turned from the dawn-light to the light in the face of theQueen. It was well. Led by such a hand, she could present herselfwithout fear before the Lords of Life and Death—she and thechild. She smiled. Life is good, but death, which is more life, isbetter. The son of the King was safe, but her own son safer.
When the conqueror reentered the chamber, he found the deadQueen guarding the dead child, and across her feet, as not worthyto lie beside her, was the body of the Indian woman, most beautifulin death.
(Salutation to Ganesa the Lord of Wisdom, and to Saraswate theLady of Sweet Speech!)
This story was composed by the Brahmin Visravas, that dweller onthe banks of holy Kashi; and though the events it records are longpast, yet it is absolutely and immutably true because, by the powerof his yoga, he summoned up every scene before him, and beheld thepersons moving and speaking as in life. Thus he had naught to dobut to set down what befell.
What follows, that hath he seen.
Wide was the plain, the morning sun shining full upon it,drinking up the dew as the Divine drinks up the spirit of man. Farit stretched, resembling the ocean, and riding upon it like astately ship was the league-long Rock of Chitor. It is certainly bythe favour of the Gods that this great fortress of the Rajput Kingsthus rises from the plain, leagues in length, noble in height; andvery strange it is to see the flat earth fall away from it likewaters from the bows of a boat, as it soars into the sky with itsburden of palaces and towers.
Here dwelt the Queen Padmini and her husband Bhimsi, the Rana ofthe Rajputs.
The sight of the holy ascetic Visravas pierced even the secretsof the Rani's bower, where, in the inmost chamber of marble, carveduntil it appeared like lace of the foam of the sea, she was seatedupon cushions of blue Bokhariot silk, like the lotus whose name shebore floating upon the blue depths of the lake. She had just risenfrom the shallow bath of marble at her feet.
Most beautiful was this Queen, a haughty beauty such as shouldbe a Rajput lady; for the name "Rajput" signifies Son of a King,and this lady was assuredly the daughter of Kings and of no lesserpersons. And since that beauty is long since ashes (all thingsbeing transitory), it is permitted to describe the mellowed ivoryof her body, the smooth curves of her hips, and the defiance of herglimmering bosom, half veiled by the long silken tresses ofsandal-scented hair which a maiden on either side, bowing towardher, knotted upon her head. But even he who with his eyes has seenit can scarce tell the beauty of her face—the slender archednose, the great eyes like lakes of darkness in the reeds of hercurled lashes, the mouth of roses, the glance, deer-like but proud,that courted and repelled admiration. This cannot be told, norcould the hand of man paint it. Scarcely could that fair wife ofthe Pandava Prince, Draupadi the Beautiful (who bore upon herperfect form every auspicious mark) excel this lady.
(Ashes—ashes! May Maheshwara have mercy upon herrebirths!)
Throughout India had run the fame of this beauty. In the bazaarof Kashmir they told of it. It was recorded in the palaces ofTravancore, and all the lands that lay between; and in an evilhour—may the Gods curse the mother that bore him!—itreached the ears of Allah-u-Din, the Moslem dog, a very greatfighting man who sat in Middle India, looting and spoiling.
(Ahi! for the beauty that is as a burning flame!)
In the gardens beneath the windows of the Queen, the peacocks,those maharajas of the birds, were spreading the bronze and emeraldof their tails. The sun shone on them as on heaps of jewels, sothat they dazzled the eyes. They stood about the feet of theancient Brahmin sage, he who had tutored the Queen in her childhoodand given her wisdom as the crest-jeweled of her loveliness. He,the Twice-born sat under the shade of a neem tree, hearing thegurgle of the sacred waters from the Cow's Mouth, where the greattank shone under the custard-apple boughs; and, at peace with allthe world, he read in the Scripture which affirms the transience ofall things drifting across the thought of the Supreme like cloudsupon the surface of the Ocean.
(Ahi! that loveliness is also illusion!)
Her women placed about the Queen—that Lotus ofWomen—a robe of silk of which none could say that it wasgreen or blue, the noble colours so mingled into each other underthe latticed gold work of Kashi. They set the jewels on her head,and wide thin rings of gold heavy with great pearls in her ears.Upon the swell of her bosom they clasped the necklace of tableemeralds, large, deep, and full of green lights, which is the tokenof the Chitor queens. Upon her slender ankles they placed thechooris of pure soft gold, set also with grass-green emeralds, andthe delicate souls of her feet they reddened with lac. Nor were herarms forgotten, but loaded with bangles so free from alloy thatthey could be bent between the hands of a child. Then with finepaste they painted the Symbol between her dark brows, and, rising,she shone divine as a nymph of heaven who should cause therighteous to stumble in his austerities and arrest even the glancesof Gods.
(Ahi! that the Transient should be so fair!)
Now it was the hour that the Rana should visit her; for sincethe coming of the Lotus Lady, he had forgotten his other women, andin her was all his heart. He came from the Hall of Audience wherepetitions were heard, and justice done to rich and poor; and as hecame, the Queen, hearing his step on the stone, dismissed herwomen, and smiling to know her loveliness, bowed before him, evenas the Goddess Uma bows before Him who is her other half.
Now he was a tall man, with the falcon look of the Hill Rajputs,and moustaches that curled up to his eyes, lion-waisted and lean inthe flanks like Arjoon himself, a very ruler of men; and as hecame, his hand was on the hilt of the sword that showed beneath hisgold coat of khincob. On the high cushions he sat, and the Rani astep beneath him; and she said, raising her lotus eyes:—
"Speak, Aryaputra, (son of a noble father)—what hathbefallen?"
And he, looking upon her beauty with fear, replied,—
"It is thy beauty, O wife, that brings disaster."
"And how is this?" she asked very earnestly.
For a moment he paused, regarding her as might a stranger, asone who considers a beauty in which he hath no part; and, drawn bythis strangeness, she rose and knelt beside him, pillowing her headupon his heart.
"Say on," she said in her voice of music.
He unfurled a scroll that he had crushed in his strong right hand, andread aloud:— "'Thus says Allah-u-Din, Shadow of God, Wonder of the Age,Viceregent of Kings. We have heard that in the Treasury of Chitor is ajewel, the like of which is not in the Four Seas—the work of the handof the Only God, to whom be praise! This jewel is thy Queen, the LadyPadmini. Now, since the sons of the Prophet are righteous, I desire butto look upon this jewel, and ascribing glory to the Creator, to departin peace. Granted requests are the bonds of friendship; thereforelay the head of acquiescence in the dust of opportunity and name anauspicious day.'"
He crushed it again and flung it furiously from him on themarble.
"The insult is deadly. The sorry son of a debased mother! Wellhe knows that to the meanest Rajput his women are sacred, and howmuch more the daughters and wives of the Kings! The jackals feaston the tongue that speaks this shame! But it is a threat,Beloved—a threat! Give me thy counsel that never failed meyet."
For the Rajputs take counsel with their women who are wise.
They were silent, each weighing the force of resistance thatcould be made; and this the Rani knew even as he.
"It cannot be," she said; "the very ashes of the dead wouldshudder to hear. Shall the Queens of India be made the sport of thebarbarians?"
Her husband looked upon her fair face. She could feel his heartlabor beneath her ear.
"True, wife; but the barbarians are strong. Our men are tigers,each one, but the red dogs of the Dekkan can pull down the tiger,for they are many, and he alone."
Then that great Lady, accepting his words, and conscious of thedanger, murmured this, clinging to her husband:—
"There was a Princess of our line whose beauty made all otherwomen seem as waning moons in the sun's splendour. And many greatKings sought her, and there was contention and war. And, she,fearing that the Rajputs would be crushed to powder between thewarring Kings, sent unto each this message: 'Come on such and sucha day, and thou shalt see my face and hear my choice.' And they,coming, rejoiced exceedingly, thinking each one that he was theChosen. So they came into the great Hall, and there was a table,and somewhat upon it covered with a gold cloth; and an old veiledwoman lifted the gold, and the head of the Princess lay there withthe lashes like night upon her cheek, and between her lips was alittle scroll, saying this: 'I have chosen my Lover and my Lord,and he is mightiest, for he is Death.'—So the Kings wentsilently away. And there was Peace."
The music of her voice ceased, and the Rana clasped hercloser.
"This I cannot do. Better die together. Let us take counsel withthe ancient Brahman, thy guru [teacher], for he is very wise."
She clapped her hands, and the maidens returned, and, bowing,brought the venerable Prabhu Narayan into the Presence, and againthose roses retired.
Respectful salutation was then offered by the King and the Queento that saint, hoary with wisdom—he who had seen her growinto the loveliness of the sea-born Shri, yet had never seen thatloveliness; for he had never raised his eyes above the choorisabout her ankles. To him the King related his anxieties; and he satrapt in musing, and the two waited in dutiful silence until longminutes had fallen away; and at the last he lifted his head,weighted with wisdom, and spoke.
"O King, Descendant of Rama! this outrage cannot be. Yet,knowing the strength and desire of this obscene one and theweakness of our power, it is plain that only with cunning cancunning be met. Hear, therefore, the history of the Fox and theDrum.
"A certain Fox searched for food in the jungle, and so doingbeheld a tree on which hung a drum; and when the boughs knockedupon the parchment, it sounded aloud. Considering, he believed thatso round a form and so great a voice must portend much goodfeeding. Neglecting on this account a fowl that fed near by, heascended to the drum. The drum being rent was but air andparchment, and meanwhile the fowl fled away. And from the eye offolly he shed the tear of disappointment, having bartered thesubstance for the shadow. So must we act with this budmash[scoundrel]. First, receiving his oath that he will depart withoutviolence, hid him hither to a great feast, and say that he shallbehold the face of the Queen in a mirror. Provide that some fairwoman of the city show her face, and then let him depart in peace,showing him friendship. He shall not know he hath not seen thebeauty he would befoul."
After consultation, no better way could be found; but the heartof the great Lady was heavy with foreboding.
(A hi! that Beauty should wander a pilgrim in the ways ofsorrow!)
To Allah-u-Din therefore did the King dispatch this letter byswift riders on mares of Mewar.
After salutations—"Now whereas thou hast said thouwouldest look upon the beauty of the Treasure of Chitor, know it isnot the custom of the Rajputs that any eye should light upon theirtreasure. Yet assuredly, when requests arise between friends, therecannot fail to follow distress of mind and division of soul ifthese are ungranted. So, under promises that follow, I bid thee toa feast at my poor house of Chitor, and thou shalt see that beautyreflected in a mirror, and so seeing, depart in peace from thehouse of a friend."
This being writ by the Twice-Born, the Brahman, did the Ranasign with bitter rage in his heart. And the days passed.
On a certain day found fortunate by the astrologers—a dayof early winter, when the dawns were pure gold and the nightsradiant with a cool moon—did a mighty troop of Moslems settheir camp on the plain of Chitor. It was as if a city hadblossomed in an hour. Those who looked from the walls mutteredprayers to the Lord of the Trident; for these men seemed like theswarms of the locust—people, warriors all, fiercefighting-men. And in the ways of Chitor, and up the steep andwinding causeway from the plains, were warriors also, the chosen ofthe Rajputs, thick as blades of corn hedging the path.
(Ahi! that the blossom of beauty should have swords forthorns!)
Then, leaving his camp, attended by many Chiefs,—may themothers and sires that begot them be accursed!—cameAllah-u-Din, riding toward the Lower Gate, and so upward along thecauseway, between the two rows of men who neither looked nor spoke,standing like the carvings of war in the Caves of Ajunta. And themoon was rising through the sunset as he came beneath the last andseventh gate. Through the towers and palaces he rode with hisfollowing, but no woman, veiled or unveiled,—no, not even anoutcast of the city,—was there to see him come; only the men,armed and silent. So he turned to Munim Khan that rode at hisbridle, saying,—
"Let not the eye of watchfulness close this night on the pillowof forgetfulness!"
And thus he entered the palace.
Very great was the feast in Chitor, and the wines that thoseaccursed should not drink (since the Outcast whom they call theirProphet forbade them) ran like water, and at the right hand ofAllah-u-Din was set the great crystal Cup inlaid with gold by acraft that is now perished; and he filled and refilled it—mayhis own Prophet curse the swine!
But because the sons of Kings eat not with the outcasts, theRana entered after, clothed in chain armor of blue steel, andhaving greeted him, bid him to the sight of that Treasure. AndAllah-u-Din, his eyes swimming with wine, and yet not drunken,followed, and the two went alone.
Purdahs [curtains] of great splendour were hung in the greatHall that is called the Raja's Hall, exceeding rich with gold, andin front of the opening was a kneeling-cushion, and an a gold stoolbefore it a polished mirror.
(Ahi! for gold and beauty, the scourges of the world!)
And the Rana was pale to the lips.
Now as the Princes stood by the purdah, a veiled woman, shroudedin white so that no shape could be seen in her, came forth fromwithin, and kneeling upon the cushion, she unveiled her facebending until the mirror, like a pool of water, held it, and thatonly. And the King motioned his guest to look, and he looked overher veiled shoulder and saw. Very great was the bowed beauty thatthe mirror held, but Allah-u-Din turned to the Rana.
"By the Bread and the Salt, by the Guest-Right, by the Honour ofthy House, I ask—is this the Treasure of Chitor?"
And since the Sun-Descended cannot lie, no, not though theyperish, the Rana answered, flushing darkly,—"This is not theTreasure. Wilt thou spare?"
But he would not, and the woman slipped like a shadow behind thepurdah and no word said.
Then was heard the tinkling of chooris, and the little noisefell upon the silence like a fear, and, parting the curtains, camea woman veiled like the other. She did not kneel, but took themirror in her hand, and Allah-u-Din drew up behind her back. Fromher face she raised the veil of gold Dakka webs, and gazed into themirror, holding it high, and that Accursed stumbled back, blindedwith beauty, saying this only,—"I have seen the Treasure ofChitor."
So the purdah fell about her.
The next day, after the Imaum of the Accursed had called them toprayer, they departed, and Allah-u-Din, paying thanks to the Ranafor honours given and taken, and swearing friendship, besought himto ride to his camp, to see the marvels of gold and steel armorbrought down from the passes, swearing also safe-conduct. Andbecause the Rajputs trust the word even of a foe, he went.
(A hi! that honour should strike hands with traitors!)
The hours went by, heavy-footed like mourners. Padmini the Raniknelt by the window in her tower that overlooks the plains.Motionless she knelt there, as the Goddess Uma lost in herpenances, and she saw her Lord ride forth, and the sparkle of steelwhere the sun shone on them, and the Standard of the Cold Disk onits black ground. So the camp of the Moslem swallowed them up, andthey returned no more. Still she knelt and none dared speak withher; and as the first shade of evening fell across the hills ofRajasthan, she saw a horseman spurting over the flat; and he rodelike the wind, and, seeing, she implored the Gods.
Then entered the Twice-Born, that saint of clear eyes, and hebore a scroll; and she rose and seated herself, and he stood byher, as her ladies cowered like frightened doves before the woe inhis face as he read.
"To the Rose of Beauty, The Pearl among Women, the Chosen of thePalace. Who, having seen thy loveliness, can look on another? Who,having tasted the wine of the Houris, but thirsts forever? Behold,I have thy King as hostage. Come thou and deliver him. I have swornthat he shall return in thy place."
And from a smaller scroll, the Brahman read this:—
"I am fallen in the snare. Act thou as becomes a Rajputni."
Then that Daughter of the Sun lifted her head, for the throngingof armed feet was heard in the Council Hall below. From the floorshe caught her veil and veiled herself in haste, and the Brahmanwith bowed head followed, while her women mourned aloud. And,descending, between the folds of the purdah she appeared white andveiled, and the Brahman beside her, and the eyes of all the Princeswere lowered to her shrouded feet, while the voice they had notheard fell silvery upon the air, and the echoes of the high roofrepeated it.
"Chief of the Rajputs, what is your counsel?" And he of Marwarstepped forward, and not raising his eyes above her feet,answered,—
"Queen, what is thine?"
For the Rajputs have ever heard the voice of their women.
And she said,—
"I counsel that I die and my head be sent to him, that my bloodmay quench his desire."
And each talked eagerly with the other, but amid the tumult theTwice-Born said,—
"This is not good talk. In his rage he will slay the King. By myyoga, I have seen it. Seek another way."
So they sought, but could determine nothing, and they feared toride against the dog, for he held the life of the King; and thetumult was great, but all were for the King's safety.
Then once more she spoke.
"Seeing it is determined that the King's life is more than myhonour, I go this night. In your hand I leave my little son, thePrince Ajeysi. Prepare my litters, seven hundred of the best, forall my women go with me. Depart now, for I have a thought from theGods."
Then, returning to her bower, she spoke this letter to thesaint, and he wrote it, and it was sent to the camp.
After salutations—"Wisdom and strength have attained theirend. Have ready for release the Rana of Chitor, for this night Icome with my ladies, the prize of the conqueror."
When the sun sank, a great procession with torches descended thesteep way of Chitor—seven hundred litters, and in the firstwas borne the Queen, and all her women followed.
All the streets were thronged with women, weeping and beatingtheir breasts. Very greatly they wept, and no men were seen, fortheir livers were black within them for shame as the Treasure ofChitor departed, nor would they look upon the sight. And across theplains went that procession; as if the stars had fallen upon theearth, so glittered the sorrowful lights of the Queen.
But in the camp was great rejoicing, for the Barbarians knewthat many fair women attended on her.
Now, before the entrance to the camp they had made a greatshamiana [tent] ready, hung with shawls of Kashmir and the plunderof Delhi; and there was set a silk divan for the Rani, and besideit stood the Loser and the Gainer, Allah-u-Din and the King,awaiting the Treasure.
Veiled she entered, stepping proudly, and taking no heed of theMoslem, she stood before her husband, and even through the veil hecould feel the eyes he knew.
And that Accursed spoke, laughing.
"I have won-I have won, O King! Bid farewell to the Chosen ofthe Palace—the Beloved of the Viceregent of Kings!"
Then she spoke softly, delicately, in her own tongue, that theoutcast should not guess the matter of her speech.
"Stand by me. Stir not. And when I raise my arm, cry the cry ofthe Rajputs. NOW!"
And she flung her arm above her head, and instantly, like a lionroaring, he shouted, drawing his sword, and from every littersprang an armed man, glittering in steel, and the bearers, humbleof mien, were Rajput knights, every one.
And Allah-u-Din thrust at the breast of the Queen; but aroundthem surged the war, and she was hedged with swords like a rose inthe thickets.
Very full of wine, dull with feasting and lust and surprised,the Moslems fled across the plains, streaming in a broken rabble,cursing and shouting like low-caste women; and the Rajputs, wipingtheir swords, returned from the pursuit and laughed upon eachother.
But what shall be said of the joy of the King and of her who hadimagined this thing, instructed of the Goddess who is the otherhalf of her Lord?
So the procession returned, singing, to Chitor with those Two inthe midst; but among the dogs that fled was Allah-u-Din, his faceblackened with shame and wrath, the curses choking in his foulthroat.
(Aid! that the evil still walk the ways of the world!)
So the time went by and the beauty of the Queen grew, and herKing could see none but hers. Like the moon she obscured the stars,and every day he remembered her wisdom, her valour, and his souldid homage at her feet, and there was great content in Chitor.
It chanced one day that the Queen, looking from her high windowthat like an eagle's nest overhung the precipice, saw, on the plainbeneath, a train of men, walking like ants, and each carried abasket on his back, and behind them was a cloud of dust like agreat army. Already the city was astir because of this thing, andthe rumours came thick and the spies were sent out.
In the dark they returned, and the Rana entered the bower ofPadmini, his eyes burning like coal with hate and wrath, and heflung his arm round his wife like a shield.
"He is returned, and in power. Counsel me again, O wife, forgreat is thy wisdom!"
But she answered only this,—
"Fight, for this time it is to the death."
Then each day she watched bow the baskets of earth, emptied uponthe plain at first, made nothing, an ant heap whereat fools mightlaugh. But each day as the trains of men came, spilling theirbaskets, the great earthworks grew and their height mounted. Dayafter day the Rajputs rode forth and slew; and as they slew itseemed that all the teeming millions of the earth came forth totake the places of the slain. And the Rajputs fell also, and underthe pennons the thundering forces returned daily, thinned of theirbest.
(A hi! that Evil rules the world as God!)
And still the earth grew up to the heights, and the protectionof the hills was slowly withdrawn from Chitor, for on the heightsthey made they set their engines of war.
Then in a red dawn that great saint Narayan came to the Queen,where she watched by her window, and spoke.
"O great lady, I have dreamed a fearful dream. Nay, rather haveI seen a vision."
With her face set like a sword, the Queen said,—
"Say on."
"In a light red like blood, I waked, and beside me stood theMother,—Durga,—awful to see, with a girdle of headsabout her middle; and the drops fell thick and slow from That whichshe held in her hand, and in the other was her sickle of Doom. Nordid she speak, but my soul heard her words."
"Narrate them."
"She commanded: 'Say this to the Rana: "In Chitor is My altar;in Chitor is thy throne. If thou wouldest save either, send forthtwelve crowned Kings of Chitor to die.'"
As he said this, the Rana, fore-spent with fighting, entered andheard the Divine word.
Now there were twelve princes of the Rajput blood, and theyoungest was the son of Padmini. What choice had these mostmiserable but to appease the dreadful anger of the Goddess? So oneach fourth day a King of Chitor was crowned, and for three dayssat upon the throne, and on the fourth day, set in the front, wentforth and died fighting. So perished eleven Kings of Chitor, andnow there was left but the little Ajeysi, the son of the Queen.
And that day was a great Council called.
Few were there. On the plains many lay dead; holding the gatesmany watched; but the blood was red in their hearts and flowed likeIndus in the melting of the snows. And to them spoke the Rana, hishand clenched on his sword, and the other laid on the small darkhead of the Prince Ajeysi, who stood between his knees. And as hespoke his voice gathered strength till it rang through the halllike the voice of Indra when he thunders in the heavens.
"Men of the Rajputs, this child shall not die. Are we becomejackals that we fall upon the weak and tear them? When have we putour women and children in the forefront of the war? I—I onlyam King of Chitor. Narayan shall save this child for the time thatwill surely come. And for us—what shall we do? I die forChitor!"
And like the hollow waves of a great sea they answeredhim,—
"We will die for Chitor."
There was silence and Marwar spoke.
"The women?"
"Do they not know the duty of a Rajputni?" said the King. "Myhousehold has demanded that the caves be prepared."
And the men clashed stew joy with their swords, and the councildispersed.
Then that very great saint, the Twice-Born, put off the sacredthread that is the very soul of the Brahman. In his turban he woundit secretly, and he stained his noble Aryan body until it resembledthe Pariahs, foul for the pure to see, loathsome for the pure totouch, and he put on him the rags of the lowest of the earth, andtaking the Prince, he removed from the body of the child everytrace of royal and Rajput birth, and he appeared like a child ofthe Bhils—the vile forest wanderers that shame not to defiletheir lips with carrion. And in this guise they stood before theQueen; and when she looked on the saint, the tears fell from hereyes like rain, not for grief for her son, nor for death, but thatfor their sake the pure should be made impure and the glory of theBrahman-hood be defiled. And she fell at the old man's feet andlaid her head on the ground before him.
"Rise, daughter!" he said, "and take comfort! Are not the eyesof the Gods clear that they should distinguish?—and this daywe stand before the God of Gods. Have not the Great Ones said,'That which causes life causes also decay and death'? Therefore wewho go and you who stay are alike a part of the Divine. Embrace nowyour child and bless him, for we depart. And it is on account ofthe sacrifice of the Twelve that he is saved alive."
So, controlling her tears, she rose, and clasping the child toher bosom, she bade him be of good cheer since he went with theGods. And that great saint took his hand from hers, and for thefirst time in the life of the Queen he raised his aged eyes to herface, and she gazed at him; but what she read, even the asceticVisravas, who saw all by the power of his yoga, could not tell, forit was beyond speech. Very certainly the peace thereafter possessedher.
So those two went out by the secret ways of the rocks, andwandering far, were saved by the favour of Durga.
And the nights went by and the days, and the time came that nolonger could they hold Chitor, and all hope was dead.
On a certain day the Rana and the Rani stood for the last timein her bower, and looked down into the city; and in the streetswere gathered in a very wonderful procession the women of Chitor;and not one was veiled. Flowers that had bloomed in the innerchambers, great ladies jewelled for a festival, young brides, agedmothers, and girl children clinging to the robes of their motherswho held their babes, crowded the ways. Even the low-caste womenwalked with measured steps and proudly, decked in what they had ofbest, their eyes lengthened with soorma, and flowers in thedarkness of their hair.
The Queen was clothed in a gold robe of rejoicing, her bodicelatticed with diamonds and great gems, and upon her bosom thenecklace of table emeralds, alight with green fire, which is thejewel of the Queens of Chitor. So she stood radiant as a vision ofShri, and it appeared that rays encircled her person.
And the Rana, unarmed save for his sword, had the saffron dressof a bridegroom and the jeweled cap of the Rajput Kings, and belowin the hall were the Princes and Chiefs, clad even as he.
Then, raising her lotus eyes to her lord, the Princesssaid,—
"Beloved, the time is come, and we have chosen rightly, for thisis the way of honour, and it is but another link forged in thechain of existence; for until existence itself is ended and rebirthdestroyed, still shall we meet in lives to come and still behusband and wife. What room then for despair?"
And he answered,—
"This is true. Go first, wife, and I follow. Let not the doorswing to behind thee. But oh, to see thy beauty once more that isthe very speech of Gods with men! Wilt thou surely come again to meand again be fair?"
And for all answer she smiled upon him, and at his feetperformed the obeisance of the Rajput wife when she departs upon ajourney; and they went out together, the Queen unveiled.
As she passed through the Princes, they lowered their eyes sothat none saw her; but when she stood on the steps of the palace,the women all turned eagerly toward her like stars about the moon,and lifting their arms, they began to sing the dirge of the Rajputwomen.
So they marched, and in great companies they marched, companybehind company, young and old, past the Queen, saluting her anddrawing courage from the loveliness and kindness of her unveiledface.
In the rocks beneath the palaces of Chitor are very greatcaves—league long and terrible, with ways of darkness no eyeshave seen; and it is believed that in times past spirits havehaunted them with strange wailings. In these was prepared greatstore of wood and oils and fragrant matters for burning. So tothese caves they marched and, company by company, disappeared intothe darkness; and the voice of their singing grew faint and hollow,and died away, as the men stood watching their women go.
Now, when this was done and the last had gone, the Ranidescended the steps, and the Rana, taking a torch dipped infragrant oils, followed her, and the Princes walked after, cladlike bridegrooms but with no faces of bridal joy. At the entranceof the caves, having lit the torch, he gave it into her hand, andshe, receiving it and smiling, turned once upon the threshold, andfor the first time those Princes beheld the face of the Queen, butthey hid their eyes with their hands when they had seen. So shedeparted within, and the Rana shut to the door and barred andbolted it, and the men with him flung down great rocks before it sothat none should know the way, nor indeed is it known to this day;and with their hands on their swords they waited there, notspeaking, until a great smoke rose between the crevices of therocks, but no sound at all.
(Ashes of roses—ashes of roses!—Ahi! for beauty thatis but touched and remitted!)
The sun was high when those men with their horses and on footmarched down the winding causeway beneath the seven gates, and soforth into the plains, and charging unarmed upon the Moslems, theyperished every man. After, it was asked of one who had seen thegreat slaughter,—
"Say how my King bore himself."
And he who had seen told this:—
"Reaper of the harvest of battle, on the bed of honour he hasspread a carpet of the slain! He sleeps ringed about by hisenemies. How can the world tell of his deeds? The tongue issilent."
When that Accursed, Allah-u-Din, came up the winding height ofthe hills, he found only a dead city, and his heart was sick withinhim.
Now this is the Sack of Chitor, and by the Oath of the Sack ofChitor do the Rajputs swear when they bind their honour.
But it is only the ascetic Visravas who by the power of his yogahas heard every word, and with his eyes beheld that Flame ofBeauty, who, for a brief space illuminating the world as a Queen,returns to birth in many a shape of sorrowful loveliness until theBlue-throated God shall in his favour destroy her rebirths.
Salutation to Ganesa the Elephant-Headed One, and to Shri theLady of Beauty!
In the Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful—the Smiting! A day when the soul shall know what it has sent on or kept back. A day when no soul shall control aught for another. And the bidding belongs to God.
Now the Shah-in-Shah, Shah Jahan, Emperor in India, loved hiswife with a great love. And of all the wives of the Mogul Emperorssurely this Lady Arjemand, Mumtaz-i-Mahal—-the Chosen of thePalace—was the most worthy of love. In the tresses of hersilk-soft hair his heart was bound, and for none other had he somuch as a passing thought since his soul had been submerged in hersweetness. Of her he said, using the words of the poetFaisi,—
"How shall I understand the magic of Love the Juggler? For hemade thy beauty enter at that small gate the pupil of my eye, Andnow—and now my heart cannot contain it!"
But who should marvel? For those who have seen this Arjemandcrowned with the crown the Padishah set upon her sweet low brows,with the lamps of great jewels lighting the dimples of her cheeksas they swung beside them, have most surely seen perfection. He whosat upon the Peacock Throne, where the outspread tail of massedgems is centred by that great ruby, "The Eye of the Peacock, theTribute of the World," valued it not so much as one Jock of thedark and perfumed tresses that rolled to her feet. Less to him thetwelve throne columns set close with pearls than the little pearlsshe showed in her sweet laughter. For if this lady was all beauty,so too she was all goodness; and from the Shah-in-Shah to thepoorest, all hearts of the world knelt in adoration, before theChosen of the Palace. She was, indeed, an extraordinary beauty, inthat she had the soul of a child, and she alone remainedunconscious of her power; and so she walked, crowned and clothedwith humility.
Cold, haughty, and silent was the Shah-in-Shah before sheblessed his arms—flattered, envied, but loved by none. Butthe gift this Lady brought with her was love; and this, shininglike the sun upon ice, melted his coldness, and he became indeedthe kingly centre of a kingly court May the Peace be upon her!
Now it was the dawn of a sorrowful day when the pains of theLady Arjemand came strong and terrible, and she travailed in agony.The hakims (physicians) stroked their beards and reasoned one withanother; the wise women surrounded her, and remedies many and greatwere tried; and still her anguish grew, and in the hall without satthe Shah-in-Shah upon his divan, in anguish of spirit yet greater.The sweat ran on his brows, the knotted veins were thick on histemples, and his eyes, sunk in their caves, showed as those of amaddened man. He crouched on his cushions and stared at the purdahthat divided him from the Lady; and all day the people came andwent about him, and there was silence from the voice he longed tohear; for she would not moan, lest the sound should slay theEmperor. Her women besought her, fearing that her strong silencewould break her heart; but still she lay, her hands clenched in oneanother, enduring; and the Emperor endured without. The Day of theSmiting!
So, as the time of the evening prayer drew nigh, a child wasborn, and the Empress, having done with pain, began to sink slowlyinto that profound sleep that is the shadow cast by the Last. MayAllah the Upholder have mercy on our weakness! And the women, whitewith fear and watching, looked upon her, and whispered one toanother, "It is the end."
And the aged mother of Abdul Mirza, standing at her head, said,"She heeds not the cry of the child. She cannot stay." And thenewly wed wife of Saif Khan, standing at her feet, said, "The voiceof the beloved husband is as the Call of the Angel. Let thePadishah be summoned."
So, the evening prayer being over (but the Emperor had notprayed), the wisest of the hakims, Kazim Sharif, went before himand spoke:—
"Inhallah! May the will of the Issuer of Decrees in all thingsbe done! Ascribe unto the Creator glory, bowing before hisThrone."
And he remained silent; but the Padishah, haggard in his jewels,with his face hidden, answered thickly, "The truth! For Allah hasforgotten his slave."
And Kazim Sharif, bowing at his feet and veiling his face withhis hands, replied:
"The voice of the child cannot reach her, and the Lady ofDelight departs. He who would speak with her must speakquickly."
Then the Emperor rose to his feet unsteadily, like a man drunkwith the forbidden juice; and when Kazim Sharif would havesupported him, he flung aside his hands, and he stumbled, a manwounded to death, as it were, to the marble chamber where shelay.
In that white chamber it was dusk, and they had lit the littlecressets so that a very faint light fell upon her face. A slenderfountain a little cooled the hot, still air with its thin music andits sprinkled diamonds, and outside, the summer lightnings wereplaying wide and blue on the river; but so still was it that thedragging footsteps of the Emperor raised the hair on the flesh ofthose who heard, So the women who should, veiled themselves, andthe others remained like pillars of stone.
Now, when those steps were heard, a faint colour rose in thecheek of the Lady Arjemand; but she did not raise the heavy lashes,or move her hand. And he came up beside her, and the Shadow of God,who should kneel to none, knelt, and his head fell forward upon herbreast; and in the hush the women glided out like ghosts, leavingthe husband with the wife excepting only that her foster-nursestood far off, with eyes averted.
So the minutes drifted by, falling audibly one by one intoeternity, and at the long last she slowly opened her eyes and, asfrom the depths of a dream, beheld the Emperor; and in a voicefaint as the fall of a rose-leaf she said the one word,"Beloved!"
And he from between his clenched teeth, answered, "Speak,wife."
So she, who in all things had loved and served him,—she,Light of all hearts, dispeller of all gloom,—gathered herdying breath for consolation, and raised one hand slowly; and itfell across his, and so remained.
Now, her beauty had been broken in the anguish like a rose instorm; but it returned to her, doubtless that the Padishah mighttake comfort in its memory; and she looked like a houri of Paradisewho, kneeling beside the Zemzem Well, beholds the Waters of Peace.Not Fatmeh herself, the daughter of the Prophet of God, shone moresweetly. She repeated the word, "Beloved"; and after a pause shewhispered on with lips that scarcely stirred, "King of the Age,this is the end."
But still he was like a dead man, nor lifted his face.
"Surely all things pass. And though I go, in your heart I abide,and nothing can sever us. Take comfort."
But there was no answer.
"Nothing but Love's own hand can slay Love. Therefore, rememberme, and I shall live."
And he answered from the darkness of her bosom, "The whole worldshall remember. But when shall I be united to thee? O Allah, howlong wilt thou leave me to waste in this separation?"
And she: "Beloved, what is time? We sleep and the night is gone.Now put your arms about me, for I sink into rest. What words areneeded between us? Love is enough."
So, making not the Profession of Faith,—and what need,since all her life was worship,—the Lady Arjemand turned intohis arms like a child. And the night deepened.
Morning, with its arrows of golden light that struck the riverto splendour! Morning, with its pure breath, its sunshine of joy,and the koels fluting in the Palace gardens! Morning, divine andnew from the hand of the Maker! And in the innermost chamber ofmarble a white silence; and the Lady, the Mirror of Goodness, lyingin the Compassion of Allah, and a broken man stretched on theground beside her. For all flesh, from the camel-driver to theShah-in-Shah, is as one in the Day of the Smiting.
For weeks the Emperor lay before the door of death; and had itopened to him, he had been blessed. So the months went by, and veryslowly the strength returned to him; but his eyes were withered andthe bones stood out in his cheeks. But he resumed his throne, andsat upon it kingly, black-bearded, eagle-eyed, terribly apart inhis grief and his royalty; and so seated among his Usbegs, hedeclared his will.
"For this Lady (upon whom be peace), departed to the mercy ofthe Giver and Taker, shall a tomb-palace be made, the Like of whichis not found in the four corners of the world. Send forth thereforefor craftsmen like the builders of the Temple of Solomon the Wise;for I will build."
So, taking counsel, they sent in haste into Agra for Ustad Isa,the Master-Builder, a man of Shiraz; and he, being presented beforethe Padishah, received his instructions in these words:—
"I will that all the world shall remember the Flower of theWorld, that all hearts shall give thanks for her beauty, which wasindeed the perfect Mirror of the Creator. And since it is abhorrentof Islam that any image be made in the likeness of anything thathas life, make for me a palace-tomb, gracious as she was gracious,lovely as she was lovely. Not such as the tombs of the Kings andthe Conquerors, but of a divine sweetness. Make me a garden on thebanks of Jumna, and build it there, where, sitting in my Pavilionof Marble, I may see it rise."
And Ustad Isa, having heard, said, "Upon my head and eyes!" andwent out from the Presence.
So, musing upon the words of the Padishah, he went to his housein Agra, and there pondered the matter long and deeply; and for awhole day and night he refused all food and secluded himself fromthe society of all men; for he said:—
"This is a weighty thing, for this Lady (upon whom be peace)must visibly dwell in her tomb-palace on the shore of the river;and how shall I, who have never seen her, imagine the grace thatwas in her, and restore it to the world? Oh, had I but the memoryof her face! Could I but see it as the Shah-in-Shah sees it,remembering the past! Prophet of God, intercede for me, that I maylook through his eyes, if but for a moment!"
That night he slept, wearied and weakened with fasting; andwhether it were that the body guarded no longer the gates of thesoul, I cannot say; for, when the body ails, the soul soars freeabove its weakness. But a strange marvel happened.
For, as it seemed to him, he awoke at the mid-noon of the night,and he was sitting, not in his own house, but upon the roof of theroyal palace, looking down on the gliding Jumna, where the low moonslept in silver, and the light was alone upon the water; and therewere no boats, but sleep and dream, hovering hand-in-hand, movedupon the air, and his heart was dilated in the great silence.
Yet he knew well that he waked in some supernatural sphere: forhis eyes could see across the river as if the opposite shore lay athis feet; and he could distinguish every leaf on every tree, andthe flowers moon-blanched and ghost-like. And there, in theblackest shade of the pippala boughs, he beheld a faint light likea pearl; and looking with unspeakable anxiety, he saw within thelight, slowly growing, the figure of a lady exceedingly glorious inmajesty and crowned with a rayed crown of mighty jewels of whiteand golden splendour. Her gold robe fell to her feet,and—very strange to tell—her feet touched not theground, but hung a span's length above it, so that she floated inthe air.
But the marvel of marvels was her face—not, indeed, forits beauty, though that transcended all, but for its singular andcompassionate sweetness, wherewith she looked toward the Palacebeyond the river as if it held the heart of her heart, while deathand its river lay between.
And Ustad Isa said:—"O dream, if this sweetness be but adream, let me never wake! Let me see forever this exquisite work ofAllah the Maker, before whom all the craftsmen are as children! Formy knowledge is as nothing, and I am ashamed in its presence."
And as he spoke, she turned those brimming eyes on him, and hesaw her slowly absorbed into the glory of the moonlight; but as shefaded into dream, he beheld, slowly rising, where her feet had hungin the blessed air, a palace of whiteness, warm as ivory, cold aschastity, domes and cupolas, slender minars, arches of marblefretted into sea-foam, screen within screen of purest marble, tohide the sleeping beauty of a great Queen—silence in theheart of it, and in every line a harmony beyond all music. Gracewas about it—the grace of a Queen who prays and does notcommand; who, seated in her royalty yet inclines all hearts tolove. And he saw that its grace was her grace, and its soul hersoul, and that she gave it for the consolation of the Emperor.
And he fell on his face and worshipped the Master-Builder of theUniverse, saying,—"Praise cannot express thy Perfection.Thine Essence confounds thought. Surely I am but the tool in thehand of the Builder."
And when he awoke, he was lying in his own secret chamber, butbeside him was a drawing such as the craftsmen make of the workthey have imagined in their hearts. And it was the Palace of theTomb.
Henceforward, how should he waver? He was as a slave who obeyshis master, and with haste he summoned to Agra his Army ofBeauty.
Then were assembled all the master craftsmen of India and of theouter world. From Delhi, from Shiraz, even from Baghdad and Syria,they came. Muhammad Hanif, the wise mason, came from Kandahar,Muhammad Sayyid from Mooltan. Amanat Khan, and other great writersof the holy Koran, who should make the scripts of the Book uponfine marble. Inlayers from Kanauj, with fingers like those of theSpirits that bowed before Solomon the King, who should makebeautiful the pure stone with inlay of jewels, as did theirforefathers for the Rajah of Mewar; mighty dealers with agate,cornelian, and lapis lazuli. Came also, from Bokhara, Ata Muhammadand Shakri Muhammad, that they might carve the lilies of the field,very glorious, about that Flower of the World. Men of India, men ofPersia, men of the outer lands, they came at the bidding of UstadIsa, that the spirit of his vision might be made manifest.
And a great council was held among these servants of beauty, sothey made a model in little of the glory that was to be, and laidit at the feet of the Shah-in-Shah; and he allowed it, though notas yet fully discerning their intent. And when it was approved,Ustad Isa called to him a man of Kashmir; and the very hand of theCreator was upon this man, for he could make gardens second only tothe Gardens of Paradise, having been born by that Dal Lake whereare those roses of the earth, the Shalimar and the Nishat Bagh; andto him said Ustad Isa,—
"Behold, Rain Lal Kashmiri, consider this design! Thus and thusshall a white palace, exquisite in perfection, arise on the banksof Jumna. Here, in little, in this model of sandalwood, see whatshall be. Consider these domes, rounded as the Bosom of Beauty,recalling the mystic fruit of the lotus flower. Consider these fourminars that stand about them like Spirits about the Throne. Andremembering that all this shall stand upon a great dais of purestmarble, and that the river shall be its mirror, repeating toeverlasting its loveliness, make me a garden that shall be thethrone room to this Queen."
And Ram Lal Kashmiri salaamed and said, "Obedience!" and wentforth and pondered night and day, journeying even over the snows ofthe Pir Panjal to Kashmir, that he might bathe his eyes in beautywhere she walks, naked and divine, upon the earth, and he it waswho imagined the black marble and white that made the way ofapproach.
So grew the palace that should murmur, like a seashell, in theear of the world the secret of love.
Veiled had that loveliness been in the shadow of the palace; butnow the sun should rise upon it and turn its ivory to gold, shouldset upon it and flush its snow with rose. The moon should lie uponit like the pearls upon her bosom, the visible grace of herpresence breathe about it, the music of her voice hover in thebirds and trees of the garden. Times there were when Ustad Isadespaired lest even these mighty servants of beauty should missperfection. Yet it grew and grew, rising like the growth of aflower.
So on a certain day it stood completed, and beneath the smalltomb in the sanctuary, veiled with screens of wrought marble sofine that they might lift in the breeze,—the veils of aQueen,—slept the Lady Arjemand; and above her a narrow cofferof white marble, enriched in a great script with the Ninety-NineWondrous Names of God. And the Shah-in-Shah, now grey and worn,entered and, standing by her, cried in a loud voice,—"Iascribe to the Unity, the only Creator, the perfection of hishandiwork made visible here by the hand of mortal man. For thebeauty that was secret in my Palace is here revealed; and theCrowned Lady shall sit forever upon the banks of the Jumna River.It was love that commanded this Tomb."
And the golden echo carried his voice up into the high dome, andit died away in whispers of music.
But Ustad Isa standing far off in the throng (for what arecraftsmen in the presence of the mighty?), said softly in hisbeard, "It was Love also that built, and therefore it shallendure."
Now it is told that, on a certain night in summer, when the moonis full, a man who lingers by the straight water, where thecypresses stand over their own image, may see a strangemarvel—may see the Palace of the Taj dissolve like a pearl,and so rise in a mist into the moonlight; and in its place, on herdais of white marble, he shall see the Lady Arjemand,Mumtaz-i-Mahal, the Chosen of the Palace, stand there in the whiteperfection of beauty, smiling as one who hath attained unto thePeace. For she is its soul.
And kneeling before the dais, he shall see Ustad Isa, who madethis body of her beauty; and his face is hidden in his hands.
(O Lovely One-O thou Flower! With Thy beautiful face, with Thybeautiful eyes, pour light upon the world! Adoration toKwannon.)
In Japan in the days of the remote Ancestors, near the littlevillage of Shiobara, the river ran through rocks of a very strangeblue colour, and the bed of the river was also composed of theserocks, so that the clear water ran blue as turquoise gems to thesea.
The great forests murmured beside it, and through their swayingboughs was breathed the song of Eternity. Those who listen may hearif their ears are open. To others it is but the idle sighing of thewind.
Now because of all this beauty there stood in these forests aroughly built palace of unbarked wood, and here the great Emperorwould come from City-Royal to seek rest for his doubtful thoughtsand the cares of state, turning aside often to see the moonlight inShiobara. He sought also the free air and the sound of fallingwater, yet dearer to him than the plucked strings of sho and biwa.For he said;
"Where and how shall We find peace even for a moment, and affordOur heart refreshment even for a single second?"
And it seemed to him that he found such moments at Shiobara.
Only one of his great nobles would His Majesty bring withhim—the Dainagon, and him be chose because he was a worthyand honorable person and very simple of heart.
There was yet another reason why the Son of Heaven inclined tothe little Shiobara. It had reached the Emperor that a Recluse ofthe utmost sanctity dwelt in that forest. His name was Semimaru. Hehad made himself a small hut in the deep woods, much as a decrepitsilkworm might spin his last Cocoon and there had the Peace foundhim.
It had also reached His Majesty that, although blind, he wasexceedingly skilled in the art of playing the biwa, both in theFlowing Fount manner and the Woodpecker manner, and that,especially on nights when the moon was full, this aged man madesuch music as transported the soul. This music His Majesty desiredvery greatly to hear.
Never had Semimaru left his hut save to gather wood or seek fooduntil the Divine Emperor commanded his attendance that he mightsoothe his august heart with music.
Now on this night of nights the moon was full and the snow heavyon the pines, and the earth was white also, and when the moon shonethrough the boughs it made a cold light like dawn, and the shadowsof the trees were black upon it.
The attendants of His Majesty long since slept for sheerweariness, for the night was far spent, but the Emperor and theDainagon still sat with their eyes fixed on the venerable Semimaru.For many hours he had played, drawing strange music from his biwa.Sometimes it had been like rain blowing over the plains of Adzuma,sometimes like the winds roaring down the passes of the YoshinoMountains, and yet again like the voice of far cities. For manyhours they listened without weariness, and thought that all thestories of the ancients might flow past them in the weird musicthat seemed to have neither beginning nor end.
"It is as the river that changes and changes not, and is everand ever the same," said the Emperor in his own soul.
And certainly had a voice announced to His Augustness thatcenturies were drifting by as he listened, he could have felt nosurprise.
Before them, as they sat upon the silken floor cushions, was asmall shrine with a Buddha shelf, and a hanging picture of theAmida Buddha within it—the expression one of rapt peace.Figures of Fugen and Fudo were placed before the curtain doors ofthe shrine, looking up in adoration to the Blessed One. A small andaged pine tree was in a pot of grey porcelain from Chosen—theonly ornament in the chamber.
Suddenly His Majesty became aware that the Dainagon also hadfallen asleep from weariness, and that the recluse was no longerplaying, but was speaking in a still voice like a deeply flowingstream. The Emperor had observed no change from music to speech,nor could he recall when the music had ceased, so that italtogether resembled a dream.
"When I first came here"—the Venerable onecontinued—"it was not my intention to stay long in theforest. As each day dawned, I said; 'In seven days I go.' Andagain—'In seven.' Yet have I not gone. The days glided by andhere have I attained to look on the beginnings of peace. Thenwherefore should I go?—for all life is within the soul. Shallthe fish weary of his pool? And I, who through my blind eyes feelthe moon illuming my forest by night and the sun by day, abide inpeace, so that even the wild beasts press round to hear my music. Ihave come by a path overblown by autumn leaves. But I havecome."
Then said the Divine Emperor as if unconsciously;
"Would that I also might come! But the august duties cannoteasily be laid aside. And I have no wife—no son."
And Semimaru, playing very softly on the strings of his biwamade no other answer, and His Majesty, collecting his thoughts,which had become, as it were, frozen with the cold and the quietand the strange music, spoke thus, as if in a waking dream;
"Why have I not wedded? Because I have desired a bride beyondthe women of earth, and of none such as I desire has the rumorreached me. Consider that Ancestor who wedded Her Shining Majesty!Evil and lovely was she, and the passions were loud about her. Andso it is with women. Trouble and vexation of spirit, or instead agreat weariness. But if the Blessed One would vouchsafe to myprayers a maiden of blossom and dew, with a heart calm asmoonlight, her would I wed. O, honorable One, whose wisdom surveysthe world, is there in any place near or far—in heaven or inearth, such a one that I may seek and find?"
And Semimaru, still making a very low music on his biwa, saidthis;
"Supreme Master, where the Shiobara River breaks away throughthe gorges to the sea, dwelt a poor couple—the husband awood-cutter. They had no children to aid in their toil, and dailythe woman addressed her prayers for a son to the BodhisattwaKwannon, the Lady of Pity who looketh down for ever upon the soundof prayer. Very fervently she prayed, with such offerings as herpoverty allowed, and on a certain night she dreamed this dream. Atthe shrine of the Senju Kwannon she knelt as was her custom, andthat Great Lady, sitting enthroned upon the Lotos of Purity, openedHer eyes slowly from Her divine contemplation and heard the prayerof the wood-cutter's wife. Then stooping like a blown willowbranch, she gathered a bud from the golden lotos plant that stoodupon her altar, and breathing upon it it became pure white andliving, and it exhaled a perfume like the flowers of Paradise, Thisflower the Lady of Pity flung into the bosom of her petitioner, andclosing Her eyes returned into Her divine dream, whilst the womanawoke, weeping for joy.
"But when she sought in her bosom for the Lotos it was gone. Ofall this she boasted loudly to her folk and kin, and the more so,when in due time she perceived herself to be with child, for, fromthat august favour she looked for nothing less than a son, radiantwith the Five Ornaments of riches, health, longevity, beauty, andsuccess. Yet, when her hour was come, a girl was born, andblind."
"Was she welcomed?" asked the dreaming voice of the Emperor.
"Augustness, but as a household drudge. For her food was crueltyand her drink tears. And the shrine of the Senju Kwannon wasneglected by her parents because of the disappointment and shame ofthe unwanted gift. And they believed that, lost in Her divinecontemplation, the Great Lady would not perceive this neglect. TheGods however are known by their great memories."
"Her name?"
"Majesty, Tsuyu-Morning Dew. And like the morning dew she shinesin stillness. She has repaid good for evil to her evil parents,serving them with unwearied service."
"What distinguishes her from others?"
"Augustness, a very great peace. Doubtless the shadow of thedream of the Holy Kwannon. She works, she moves, she smiles as onewho has tasted of content."
"Has she beauty?"
"Supreme Master, am I not blind? But it is said that she has nobeauty that men should desire her. Her face is flat and round, andher eyes blind."
"And yet content?"
"Philosophers might envy her calm. And her blindness is withoutdoubt a grace from the excelling Pity, for could she see her ownexceeding ugliness she must weep for shame. But she sees not. Hersight is inward, and she is well content."
"Where does she dwell?"
"Supreme Majesty, far from here—where in the heart of thewoods the river breaks through the rocks."
"Venerable One, why have you told me this? I asked for a royalmaiden wise and beautiful, calm as the dawn, and you have told meof a wood-cutter's drudge, blind and ugly."
And now Semimaru did not answer, but the tones of the biwa grewlouder and clearer, and they rang like a song of triumph, and theEmperor could hear these words in the voice of the strings.
"She is beautiful as the night, crowned with moon and stars forhim who has eyes to see. Princess Splendour was dim beside her;Prince Fireshine, gloom! Her Shining Majesty was but a darkenedglory before this maid. All beauty shines within her hiddeneyes."
And having uttered this the music became wordless once more, butit still flowed on more and more softly like a river that flowsinto the far distance.
The Emperor stared at the mats, musing—the light of thelamp was burning low. His heart said within him;
"This maiden, cast like a flower from the hand of Kwannon Sama,will I see."
And as he said this the music had faded away into a thread-likesmallness, and when after long thought he raised his august head,he was alone save for the Dainagon, sleeping on the mats behindhim, and the chamber was in darkness. Semimaru had departed insilence, and His Majesty, looking forth into the broad moonlight,could see the track of his feet upon the shining snow, and themusic came back very thinly like spring rain in the trees. Oncemore he looked at the whiteness of the night, and then, stretchinghis august person on the mats, he slept amid dreams of sweetsound.
The next day, forbidding any to follow save the Dainagon, HisMajesty went forth upon the frozen snow where the sun shone in ablinding whiteness. They followed the track of Semimaru's feet farunder the pine trees so heavy with their load of snow that theywere bowed as if with fruit. And the track led on and the air wasso still that the cracking of a bough was like the blow of ahammer, and the sliding of a load of snow from a branch like thefall of an avalanche. Nor did they speak as they went. Theylistened, nor could they say for what.
Then, when they had gone a very great way, the track ceasedsuddenly, as if cut off, and at this spot, under the pines furredwith snow, His Majesty became aware of a perfume so sweet that itwas as though all the flowers of the earth haunted the place withtheir presence, and a music like the biwa of Semimaru was heard inthe tree tops. This sounded far off like the whispering of rainwhen it falls in very small leaves, and presently it died away, anda voice followed after, singing, alone in the woods, so that thesilence appeared to have been created that such a music mightpossess the world. So the Emperor stopped instantly, and theDainagon behind him and he heard these words.
"In me the Heavenly Lotos grew, The fibres ran from head to feet, And my heart was the august Blossom. Therefore the sweetness flowed through the veins of my flesh, And I breathed peace upon all the world, And about me was my fragrance shed That the souls of men should desire me."
Now, as he listened, there came through the wood a maiden,bare—footed, save for grass sandals, and clad in coarseclothing, and she came up and passed them, still singing.
And when she was past, His Majesty put up his hand to his eyes,like one dreaming, and said;
"What have you seen?"
And the Dainagon answered;
"Augustness, a country wench, flat—faced, ugly and blind,and with a voice like a crow. Has not your Majesty seen this?"
The Emperor, still shading his eyes, replied;
"I saw a maiden so beautiful that her Shining Majesty would be ablack blot beside her. As she went, the Spring and all itssweetness blew from her garments. Her robe was green with smallgold flowers. Her eyes were closed, but she resembled a cherrytree, snowy with bloom and dew. Her voice was like the singingflowers of Paradise."
The Dainagon looked at him with fear and compassion;
"Augustness, how should such a lady carry in her arms a bundleof firewood?"
"She bore in her hands three lotos flowers, and where each footfell I saw a lotos bloom and vanish."
They retraced their steps through the wood; His Majesty radiantas Prince Fireshine with the joy that filled his soul; the Dainagondarkened as Prince Firefade with fear, believing that the strangemusic of Semimaru had bewitched His Majesty, or that the maidenherself might possibly have the power of the fox in shape-changingand bewildering the senses.
Very sorrowful and careful was his heart for he loved hisMaster.
That night His Majesty dreamed that he stood before the kakemonoof the Amida Buddha, and that as he raised his eyes in adoration tothe Blessed Face, he beheld the images of Fugen and Fudo, rise upand bow down before that One Who Is. Then, gliding in, before theseHolinesses stood a figure, and it was the wood-cutter's daughterhomely and blinded. She stretched her hands upward as thoughinvoking the supreme Buddha, and then turning to His Majesty shesmiled upon him, her eyes closed as in bliss unutterable. And hesaid aloud.
"Would that I might see her eyes!" and so saying awoke in agreat stillness of snow and moonlight.
Having waked, he said within himself
"This marvel will I wed and she shall be my Empress were shelower than the Eta, and whether her face be lovely or homely. Forshe is certainly a flower dropped from the hand of the Divine."
So when the sun was high His Majesty, again followed by theDainagon, went through the forest swiftly, and like a man that seeshis goal, and when they reached the place where the maiden went by,His Majesty straitly commanded the Dainagon that he should drawapart, and leave him to speak with the maiden; yet that he shouldwatch what befell.
So the Dainagon watched, and again he saw her come, very poorlyclad, and with bare feet that shrank from the snow in her grasssandals, bowed beneath a heavy load of wood upon her shoulders, andher face flat and homely like a girl of the people, and her eyesblind and shut.
And as she came she sang this.
"The Eternal way lies before him, The way that is made manifest in the Wise. The Heart that loves reveals itself to man. For now he draws nigh to the Source. The night advances fast, And lo! the moon shines bright."
And to the Dainagon it seemed a harsh crying nor could hedistinguish any words at all.
But what His Majesty beheld was this. The evening had come onand the moon was rising. The snow had gone. It was the full gloryof spring, and the flowers sprang thick as stars upon the grass,and among them lotos flowers, great as the wheel of a chariot,white and shining with the luminance of the pearl, and upon eachone of these was seated an incarnate Holiness, looking upward withjoined hands. In the trees were the voices of the mystic Birds thatare the utterance of the Blessed One, proclaiming in harmony theFive Virtues, The Five Powers, the Seven Steps ascending to perfectIllumination, the Noble Eightfold Path, and all the Law. And,bearing, in the heart of the Son of Heaven awoke the ThreeRemembrances—the Remembrance of Him who is Blessed,Remembrance of the Law, and Remembrance of the Communion of theAssembly.
So, looking upward to the heavens, he beheld the InfiniteBuddha, high and lifted up in a great raying glory. About Him werethe exalted Bodhisattwas, the mighty Disciples, great Arhats all,and all the countless Angelhood. And these rose high into theinfinite until they could be seen but as a point of fire againstthe moon. With this golden multitude beyond all numbering wasHe.
Then, as His Majesty had seen in the dream of the night, thewood-cutter's daughter, moving through the flowers like one blindthat gropes his way, advanced before the Blessed Feet, anduplifting her hands, did adoration, and her face he could not see,but his heart went with her, adoring also the infinite Buddhaseated in the calms of boundless Light.
Then enlightenment entered at his eyes, as a man that wakes fromsleep, and suddenly he beheld the Maiden crowned and robed andterrible in beauty, and her feet were stayed upon an open lotos,and his soul knew the Senju Kwannon Herself, myriad-armed for thehelping of mankind.
And turning, she smiled as in the vision, but his eyes being nowclear her blinded eyes were opened, and that glory who shall tellas those living founts of Wisdom rayed upon him their ineffablelight? In that ocean was his being drowned, and so, bowed beforethe Infinite Buddha, he received the Greater Illumination.
How great is the Glory of Kwannon!
When the radiance and the vision were withdrawn and only themoon looked over the trees, His Majesty rose upon his feet, andstanding on the snow, surrounded with calm, he called to theDainagon, and asked this;
"What have you seen?"
"Augustness, nothing but the country wench and moon andsnow."
"And heard?"
"Augustness, nothing but the harsh voice of the wood-cutter'sdaughter."
"And felt?"
"Augustness, nothing but the bone-piercing cold." So His Majestyadored that which cannot be uttered, saying;
"So Wisdom, so Glory encompass us about, and we see them not forwe are blinded with illusion. Yet every stone is a jewel and everyclod is spirit and to the hems of the Infinite Buddha all cling.Through the compassion of the Supernal Mercy that walks the earthas the Bodhisattwa Kwannon, am I admitted to wisdom and given sightand hearing. And what is all the world to that happy one who hasbeheld Her eyes!"
And His Majesty returned through the forest.
When, the next day, he sent for the venerable Semimaru that holyrecluse had departed and none knew where. But still when the moonis full a strange music moves in the tree tops of Shiobara.
Then His sacred Majesty returned to City-Royal, havingdetermined to retire into the quiet life, and there, abandoning thethrone to a kinsman wise in greatness, he became a dweller in thedeserted hut of Semimaru.
His life, like a descending moon approaching the hill thatshould hide it, was passed in meditation on that Incarnate Love andCompassion whose glory had augustly been made known to him, andhaving cast aside all save the image of the Divine from his soul,His Majesty became even as that man who desired enlightenment ofthe Blessed One.
For he, desiring instruction, gathered precious flowers, andjourneyed to present them as an offering to the Guatama Buddha.Standing before Him, he stretched forth both his hands holding theflowers.
Then said the Holy One, looking upon his petitioner's righthand;
"Loose your hold of these."
And the man dropped the flowers from his right hand. And theHoly One looking upon his left hand, said;
"Loose your hold of these."
And, sorrowing, he dropped the flowers from his left hand. Andagain the Master said;
"Loose your hold of that which is neither in the right nor inthe left."
And the disciple said very pitifully;
"Lord, of what should I loose my hold for I have nothingleft?"
And He looked upon him steadfastly.
Therefore at last understanding he emptied his soul of alldesire, and of fear that is the shadow of desire, and beingenlightened relinquished all burdens.
So was it also with His Majesty. In peace he dwelt, and becominga great Arhat, in peace he departed to that Uttermost Joy where isthe Blessed One made manifest in Pure Light.
As for the parents of the maiden, they entered after soretroubles into peace, having been remembered by the Infinite. For itis certain that the enemies also of the Supreme Buddha go tosalvation by thinking on Him, even though it be against Him.
And he who tells this truth makes this prayer to the Lady ofPity;
"Grant me, I pray, One dewdrop from Thy willow spray, And in the double Lotos keep My hidden heart asleep."
How great is the Glory of Kwannon!
In the city of Chang-an music filled the palaces, and thefestivities of the Emperor were measured by its beat. Night, andthe full moon swimming like a gold-fish in the garden lakes, gavethe signal for the Feather Jacket and Rainbow Skirt dances.Morning, with the rising sun, summoned the court again to the feastand wine-cup in the floating gardens.
The Emperor Chung Tsu favored this city before all others. TheYen Tower soaring heavenward, the Drum Towers, the Pearl Pagoda,were the only fit surroundings of his magnificence; and in thePavilion of Tranquil Learning were held those discussions whichenlightened the world and spread the fame of the Jade Emperor farand wide. In all respects he adorned the Dragon Throne—in allbut one; for Nature, bestowing so much, withheld one gift, and theImperial heart, as precious as jade, was also as hard, and heeschewed utterly the company of the Hidden Palace Flowers.
Yet the Inner Chambers were filled with ladies chosen from allparts of the Celestial Empire—ladies of the most exquisiteand torturing beauty, moons of loveliness, moving coquettishly onlittle feet, with all the grace of willow branches in a lightbreeze. They were sprinkled with perfumes, adorned with jewels,robed in silks woven with gold and embroidered with designs offlowers and birds. Their faces were painted and their eyebrowsformed into slender and perfect arches whence the soul of man mightwell slip to perdition, and a breath of sweet odor followed eachwherever she moved. Every one might have been the Empress of somelesser kingdom; but though rumours reached the Son of Heaven fromtime to time of their charms,—especially when some newblossom was added to the Imperial bouquet,—he had dismissedthem from his august thoughts, and they languished in a neglect socomplete that the Great Cold Palaces of the Moon were not moreempty than their hearts. They remained under the supervision of thePrincess of Han, August Aunt of the Emperor, knowing that theirLord considered the company of sleeve-dogs and macaws more pleasantthan their own. Nor had he as yet chosen an Empress, and it wasevident that without some miracle, such as the intervention of theMunicipal God, no heir to the throne could be hoped for.
Yet the Emperor one day remembered his imprisoned beauties, andit crossed the Imperial thoughts that even these inferior creaturesmight afford such interest as may be found in the gambols oftrained fleas or other insects of no natural attainments.
Accordingly, he commanded that the subject last discussed in hispresence should be transferred to the Inner Chambers, and it washis Order that the ladies should also discuss it, and theiropinions be engraved on ivory, bound together with red silk andtassels and thus presented at the Dragon feet. The subject chosenwas the following:—
Describe the Qualities of the Ideal Man
Now when this command was laid before the August Aunt, theguardian of the Inner Chambers, she was much perturbed in mind, forsuch a thing was unheard of in all the annals of the Empire.Recovering herself, she ventured to say that the discussion of sucha question might raise very disquieting thoughts in the minds ofthe ladies, who could not be supposed to have any opinions at allon such a subject. Nor was it desirable that they should have. Toevery woman her husband and no other is and must be the Ideal Man.So it was always in the past; so it must ever be. There are certainthings which it is dangerous to question or discuss, and how canladies who have never spoken with any other man than a parent or abrother judge such matters?
"How, indeed," asked this lady of exalted merit, "can the batform an idea of the sunlight, or the carp of the motion of wings?If his Celestial Majesty had commanded a discussion on the SuperiorWoman and the virtues which should adorn her, some sentiments notwholly unworthy might have been offered. But this is a calamity.They come unexpectedly, springing up like mushrooms, and this oneis probably due to the lack of virtue of the inelegant andunintellectual person who is now speaking."
This she uttered in the presence of the principal beauties ofthe Inner Chambers. They sat or reclined about her in attitudes ofperfect loveliness. Two, embroidering silver pheasants, paused withtheir needles suspended above the stretched silk, to hear theAugust Aunt. One, threading beads of jewel jade, permitted them toslip from the string and so distended the rose of her mouth insurprise that the small pearl-shells were visible within. The LadyTortoise, caressing a scarlet and azure macaw, in her agitation sotwitched the feathers that the bird, shrieking, bit her finger. TheLady Golden Bells blushed deeply at the thought of what wasrequired of them; and the little Lady Summer Dress, youngest of allthe assembled beauties, was so alarmed at the prospect that shebegan to sob aloud, until she met the eye of the August Aunt andabruptly ceased.
"It is not, however, to be supposed," said the August Aunt,opening her snuff-bottle of painted crystal, "that the minds of ourdeplorable and unattractive sex are wholly incapable of formingopinions. But speech is a grave matter for women, naturallyslow-witted and feeble-minded as they are. This unenlightenedperson recalls the Odes as saying:—
'A flaw in a piece of white jade May be ground away, But when a woman has spoken foolishly Nothing can be done-'
a consideration which should make every lady here and throughoutthe world think anxiously before speech." So anxiously did theassembled beauties think, that all remained mute as fish in a pool,and the August Aunt continued:—
"Let Tsu-ssu be summoned. It is my intention to suggest to theDragon Emperor that the virtues of women be the subject of ourdiscourse, and I will myself open and conclude the discussion."
Tsu-ssu was not long in kotowing before the August Aunt, whodespatched her message with the proper ceremonial due to itsImperial destination; and meanwhile, in much agitation, thebeauties could but twitter and whisper in each other's ears, andawait the response like condemned prisoners who yet hope forreprieve.
Scarce an hour had dripped away on the water-clock when anImperial Missive bound with yellow silk arrived, and the AugustAunt, rising, kotowed nine times before she received it in herjewelled hand with its delicate and lengthy nails ensheathed inpure gold and set with gems of the first water. She then read italoud, the ladies prostrating themselves.
To the Princess of Han, the August Aunt, the Lady of the NineSuperior Virtues:—
"Having deeply reflected on the wisdom submitted, We thus reply.Women should not be the judges of their own virtues, since theseexist only in relation to men. Let Our Command therefore beexecuted, and tablets presented before us seven days hence, withthe name of each lady appended to her tablet."
It was indeed pitiable to see the anxiety of the ladies! Asacrifice to Kwan-Yin, the Goddess of Mercy, of a jewel from each,with intercession for aid, was proposed by the Lustrous Lady; butthe majority shook their heads sadly. The August Aunt, tossing herhead, declared that, as the Son of Heaven had made no comment onher proposal of opening and closing the discussion, she should takeno part other than safeguarding the interests of propriety. Thismuch increased the alarm, and, kneeling at her feet, the swan-likebeauties, Deep-Snow and Winter Moon implored her aid andcompassion. But, rising indignantly, the August Aunt sought her ownapartments, and for the first time the inmates of the PepperChamber saw with regret the golden dragons embroidered on herback.
It was then that the Round-Faced Beauty ventured a remark. Thismaiden, having been born in the far-off province of Suchuan, wasconsidered a rustic by the distinguished elegance of the Palaceand, therefore, had never spoken unless decorum required. Still,even her detractors were compelled to admit the charms that hadgained her her name. Her face had the flawless outline of thepearl, and like the blossom of the plum was the purity of hercomplexion, upon which the darkness of her eyebrows resembled twosilk-moths alighted to flutter above the brilliance of hereyes—eyes which even the August Aunt had commended after abanquet of unsurpassed variety. Her hair had been compared to thecrow's plumage; her waist was like a roll of silk, and herdiscretion in habiting herself was such that even the Lustrous Ladyand the Lady Tortoise drew instruction from the splendours of herrobes. It created, however, a general astonishment when shespoke.
"Paragons of beauty, what is this dull and opaque-witted personthat she should speak?"
"What, indeed!" said the Celestial Sister. "This entirelyundistinguished person cannot even imagine."
A distressing pause followed, during which many whisperedanxiously. The Lustrous Lady broke it.
"It is true that the highly ornamental Round-Faced Beauty is butlately come, yet even the intelligent Ant may assist the Dragon;and in the presence of alarm, what is decorum? With a tiger behindone, who can recall the Book of Rites and act with befittingelegance?"
"The high-born will at all times remember the Rites!" retortedthe Celestial Sister. "Have we not heard the August Aunt observe:'Those who understand do not speak. Those who speak do notunderstand'?"
The Round-Faced Beauty collected her courage.
"Doubtless this is wisdom; yet if the wise do not speak, whoshould instruct us? The August Aunt herself would be silent."
All were confounded by this dilemma, and the little LadySummer-Dress, still weeping, entreated that the Round-Faced Beautymight be heard. The Heavenly Blossoms then prepared to listen andassumed attitudes of attention, which so disconcerted theRound-Faced Beauty that she blushed like a spring tulip inspeaking.
"Beautiful ladies, our Lord, who is unknown to us all, hasissued an august command. It cannot be disputed, for the whisper ofdisobedience is heard as thunder in the Imperial Presence. Shouldwe not aid each other? If any lady has formed a dream in her soulof the Ideal Man, might not such a picture aid us all? Let us notbe 'say-nothing-do-nothing,' but act!"
They hung their heads and smiled, but none would allow that shehad formed such an image. The little Lady Tortoise, laughing behindher fan of sandalwood, said roguishly: "The Ideal Man should behandsome, liberal in giving, and assuredly he should appreciate thebeauty of his wives. But this we cannot say to the DivineEmperor."
A sigh rustled through the Pepper Chamber. The Celestial Sisterlooked angrily at the speaker.
"This is the talk of children," she said. "Does no one rememberKung-fu-tse's [Confucius] description of the Superior Man?"
Unfortunately none did—not even the Celestial Sisterherself.
"Is it not probable," said the Round-Faced Beauty, "that theDivine Emperor remembers it himself and wishes—"
But the Celestial Sister, yawning audibly, summoned theattendants to bring rose-leaves in honey, and would hear nomore.
The Round-Faced Beauty therefore wandered forth among the mossyrocks and drooping willows of the Imperial Garden, deeplyconsidering the matter. She ascended the bow-curved bridge ofmarble which crossed the Pool of Clear Weather, and from the topidly observed the reflection of her rose-and-gold coat in the waterwhile, with her taper fingers, she crumbled cake for the fortunategold-fish that dwelt in it. And, so doing, she remarked one fish,four-tailed among the six-tailed, and in no way distinguished byelegance, which secured by far the largest share of the crumbsdropped into the pool. Bending lower, she observed this singularfish and its methods.
The others crowded about the spot where the crumbs fell, allherded together. In their eagerness and stupidity they remainedlike a cloud of gold in one spot, slowly waving their tails. Butthis fish, concealing itself behind a miniature rock, waited,looking upward, until the crumbs were falling, and then, rushingforth with the speed of an arrow, scattered the stupid mass offish, and bore off the crumbs to its shelter, where it instantlydevoured them.
"This is notable," said the Round-Faced Beauty. "Observationenlightens the mind. To be apart—to bedistinguished—secures notice!" And she plunged into thoughtagain, wandering, herself a flower, among the gorgeous treepeonies.
On the following day the August Aunt commanded that a writeramong the palace attendants should, with brush and ink, be summonedto transcribe the wisdom of the ladies. She requested that eachwould give three days to thought, relating the following anecdote."There was a man who, taking a piece of ivory, carved it into amulberry leaf, spending three years on the task. When finished itcould not be told from the original, and was a gift suitable forthe Brother of the Sun and Moon. Do likewise!"
"But yet, O Augustness!" said the Celestial Sister, "if the Lordof Heaven took as long with each leaf, there would be few leaves onthe trees, and if-"
The August Aunt immediately commanded silence and retired. Onthe third day she seated herself in her chair of carved ebony,while the attendant placed himself by her feet and prepared torecord her words.
"This insignificant person has decided," began her Augustness,looking round and unscrewing the amber top of her snuff-bottle, "totake an unintelligent part in these proceedings. An example shouldbe set. Attendant, write!"
She then dictated as follows: "The Ideal Man is he who nowdecorates the Imperial Throne, or he who in all humility venturesto resemble the incomparable Emperor. Though he may not hope toattain, his endeavor is his merit. No further description itneeded."
With complacence she inhaled the perfumed snuff, as the writerappended the elegant characters of her Imperial name.
If it is permissible to say that the faces of the beautieslengthened visibly, it should now be said. For it had been theintention of every lady to make an illusion to the CelestialEmperor and depict him as the Ideal Man. Nor had they expected thatthe August Aunt would take any part in the matter.
"Oh, but it was the intention of this commonplace andundignified person to say this very thing!" cried the LustrousLady, with tears in the jewels of her eyes. "I thought no otherhigh-minded and distinguished lady would for a moment think ofit."
"And it was my intention also!" fluttered the little LadyTortoise, wringing her hands! "What now shall this most unlucky andunendurable person do? For three nights has sleep forsaken myunattractive eyelids, and, tossing and turning on a couch deprivedof all comfort, I could only repeat, 'The Ideal Man is the DivineDragon Emperor!'"
"May one of entirely contemptible attainments make a suggestionin this assemblage of scintillating wit and beauty?" inquired theCelestial Sister. "My superficial opinion is that it would be wellto prepare a single paper to which all names should be appended,stating that His Majesty in his Dragon Divinity comprises allideals in his sacred Person."
"Let those words be recorded," said the August Aunt. "What elseshould any lady of discretion and propriety say? In this Palace ofVirtuous Peace, where all is consecrated to the Son of Heaven,though he deigns not to enter it, what other thought dare bebreathed? Has any lady ventured to step outside such a limit? Ifso, let her declare herself!"
All shook their heads, and the August Aunt proceeded: "Let thewriter record this as the opinion of every lady of the ImperialHousehold, and let each name be separately appended."
Had any desired to object, none dared to confront the AugustAunt; but apparently no beauty so desired, for after three nights'sleepless meditation, no other thought than this had occurred toany.
Accordingly, the writer moved from lady to lady and, under thesupervision of the August Aunt, transcribed the following: "TheIdeal Man is the earthly likeness of the Divine Emperor. How shouldit be otherwise?" And under this sentence wrote the name of eachlovely one in succession. The papers were then placed in thehanging sleeves of the August Aunt for safety.
By the decree of Fate, the father of the Round-Faced Beauty had,before he became an ancestral spirit, been a scholar ofdistinction, having graduated at the age of seventy-two with acomposition commended by the Grand Examiner. Having no gold andsilver to give his daughter, he had formed her mind, and hadpresented her with the sole jewel of his family-a pearl as large asa bean. Such was her sole dower, but the accomplished Aunt mayexcel the indolent Prince.
Yet, before the thought in her mind, she hesitated and trembled,recalling the lesson of the gold-fish; and it was with anxiety thatpaled her roseate lips that, on a certain day, she had sought theWillow Bridge Pavilion. There had awaited her a palace attendantskilled with the brush, and there in secrecy and dire affright,hearing the footsteps of the August Aunt in every rustle ofleafage, and her voice in the call of every crow, did theRound-Faced Beauty dictate the following composition:—
"Though the sky rain pearls, it cannot equal the beneficence ofthe Son of Heaven. Though the sky rain jade it cannot equal hismagnificence. He has commanded his slave to describe the qualitiesof the Ideal Man. How should I, a mere woman, do this? I, who havenot seen the Divine Emperor, how should I know what is virtue? I,who have not seen the glory of his countenance, how should I knowwhat is beauty? Report speaks of his excellencies, but I who livein the dark know not. But to the Ideal Woman, the very vices of herhusband are virtues. Should he exalt another, this is a mark of hissuperior taste. Should he dismiss his slave, this is justice. Tothe Ideal Woman there is but one Ideal Man—and that is herlord. From the day she crosses his threshold, to the day when theyclothe her in the garments of Immortality, this is her soleopinion. Yet would that she might receive instruction of what onlyare beauty and virtue in his adorable presence."
This being written, she presented her one pearl to the attendantand fled, not looking behind her, as quickly as her delicate feetwould permit.
On the seventh day the compositions, engraved on ivory and boundwith red silk and tassels, were presented to the Emperor, and forseven days more he forgot their existence. On the eighth the HighChamberlain ventured to recall them to the Imperial memory, and theEmperor glancing slightly at one after another, threw them aside,yawning as he did so. Finally, one arrested his eyes, and readingit more than once he laid it before him and meditated. An hourpassed in this way while the forgotten Lord Chamberlain continuedto kneel. The Son of Heaven, then raising his head, pronouncedthese words: "In the society of the Ideal Woman, she to whomjealousy is unknown, tranquillity might possibly be obtained. Letprayer be made before the Ancestors with the customary offerings,for this is a matter deserving attention."
A few days passed, and an Imperial attendant, escorted by twomandarins of the peacock-feather and crystal-button rank, desiredan audience of the August Aunt, and, speaking before the curtain,informed her that his Imperial Majesty would pay a visit thatevening to the Hall of Tranquil Longevity. Such was her agitationat this honour that she immediately swooned; but, reviving,summoned all the attendants and gave orders for a banquet andmusicians.
Lanterns painted with pheasants and exquisite landscapes werehung on all the pavilions. Tapestries of rose, decorated with theFive-Clawed Dragons, adorned the chambers; and upon the High Seatwas placed a robe of yellow satin embroidered with pearls. All washurry and excitement. The Blossoms of the Palace were soexquisitely decked that one grain more of powder would have madethem too lily-like, and one touch more of rouge, too rosecheeked.It was indeed perfection, and, like lotuses upon a lake, or Asianbirds, gorgeous of plumage, they stood ranged in the outer chamberwhile the Celestial Emperor took his seat.
The Round-Faced Beauty wore no jewels, having bartered her pearlfor her opportunity; but her long coat of jade-green, embroideredwith golden willows, and her trousers of palest rose left nothingto be desired. In her hair two golden peonies were fastened withpins of kingfisher work. The Son of Heaven was seated upon thethrone as the ladies approached, marshaled by the August Aunt. Hewas attired in the Yellow Robe with the Flying Dragons, and uponthe Imperial Head was the Cap, ornamented with one hundred andforty-four priceless gems. From it hung the twelve pendants ofstrings of pearls, partly concealing the august eyes of the JadeEmperor. No greater splendour can strike awe into the soul ofman.
At his command the August Aunt took her seat upon a lesser chairat the Celestial Feet. Her mien was majestic, and struck awe intothe assembled beauties, whose names she spoke aloud as eachapproached and prostrated herself. She then pronounced thesewords:
"Beautiful ones, the Emperor, having considered the opinionssubmitted by you on the subject of the Superior Man, is pleased toexpress his august commendation. Dismiss, therefore, anxiety fromyour minds, and prepare to assist at the humble concert of music wehave prepared for his Divine pleasure."
Slightly raising himself in his chair, the Son of Heaven lookeddown upon that Garden of Beauty, holding in his hand an ivorytablet bound with red silk.
"Lovely ladies," he began, in a voice that assuaged fear, "whoamong you was it that laid before our feet a composition beginningthus—'Though the sky rain pearls'?"
The August Aunt immediately rose.
"Imperial Majesty, none! These eyes supervised everycomposition. No impropriety was permitted."
The Son of Heaven resumed: "Let that lady stand forth."
The words were few, but sufficient. Trembling in every limb, theRound-Faced Beauty separated herself from her companions andprostrated herself, amid the breathless amazement of the Blossomsof the Palace. He looked down upon her as she knelt, pale as a ladycarved in ivory, but lovely as the lotus of Chang-Su. He turned tothe August Aunt. "Princess of Han, my Imperial Aunt, I would speakwith this lady alone."
Decorum itself and the custom of Palaces could not conceal theindignation of the August Aunt as she rose and retired, driving theladies before her as a shepherd drives his sheep.
The Hall of Tranquil Longevity being now empty, the Jade Emperorextended his hand and beckoned the Round-Faced Beauty to approach.This she did, hanging her head like a flower surcharged with dewand swaying gracefully as a wind-bell, and knelt on the lowest stepof the Seat of State.
"Loveliest One," said the Emperor, "I have read yourcomposition. I would know the truth. Did any aid you as you spokeit? Was it the thought of your own heart?"
"None aided, Divine," said she, almost fainting with fear. "Itwas indeed the thought of this illiterate slave, consumed with anunwarranted but uncontrollable passion."
"And have you in truth desired to see your Lord?"
"As a prisoner in a dungeon desires the light, so was it withthis low person."
"And having seen?"
"Augustness, the dull eyes of this slave are blinded withbeauty."
She laid her head before his feet.
"Yet you have depicted, not the Ideal Man, but the Ideal Woman.This was not the Celestial command. How was this?"
"Because, O versatile and auspicious Emperor, the blind cannotbehold the sunlight, and it is only the Ideal Woman who is worthyto comprehend and worship the Ideal Man. For this alone is shecreated."
A smile began to illuminate the Imperial Countenance. "And how,O Round-Faced Beauty, did you evade the vigilance of the AugustAunt?"
She hung her head lower, speaking almost in a whisper. "With herone pearl did this person buy the secrecy of the writer; and whenthe August Aunt slept, did I conceal the paper in her sleeve withthe rest, and her own Imperial hand gave it to the engraver ofivory."
She veiled her face with two jade-white hands that trembledexcessively. On hearing this statement the Celestial Emperor brokeat once into a very great laughter, and he laughed loud and long asa tiller of wheat. The Round-Faced Beauty heard it demurely until,catching the Imperial eye, decorum was forgotten and she toolaughed uncontrollably. So they continued, and finally the Emperorleaned back, drying the tears in his eyes with his august sleeve,and the lady, resuming her gravity, hid her face in her hands, yetregarded him through her fingers.
When the August Aunt returned at the end of an hour with theladies, surrounded by the attendants with their instruments ofmusic, the Round-Faced Beauty was seated in the chair that sheherself had occupied, and on the whiteness of her brow was hung thechain of pearls, which had formed the frontal of the Cap of theEmperor.
It is recorded that, advancing from honour to honour, theRound-Faced Beauty was eventually chosen Empress and became themother of the Imperial Prince. The celestial purity of her mind andthe absence of all flaws of jealousy and anger warranted thisdistinction. But it is also recorded that, after her elevation, noother lady was ever exalted in the Imperial favour or received theslightest notice from the Emperor. For the Empress, now wellacquainted with the Ideal Man, judged it better that hisexperiences of the Ideal Woman should be drawn from herself alone.And as she decreed, so it was done. Doubtless Her Majesty didwell.
It is known that the Emperor departed to the Ancestral Spiritsat an early age, seeking, as the August Aunt observed, that reposewhich on earth could never more be his. But no one has assertedthat this lady's disposition was free from the ordinary blemishesof humanity.
As for the Celestial Empress (who survives in history as one ofthe most astute rulers who ever adorned the Dragon Throne), shecontinued to rule her son and the Empire, surrounded by therespectful admiration of all.
THE END
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