Part 16

Adele much appreciated these flights of fancy among the natives; they seemed so much like nursery stories when she was in the nursery herself. She was on the lookout to kodak each new scene, and at times almost in despair.

“I might as well acknowledge that the Himalayas, like Niagara, cannot be crowded into a small picture, but some of those crazy cacti I really must catch; there now is something already posing to be taken--let me catch him;” and she balanced herself on the top of the trunk to photograph a large tree festooned with vines suggesting the doleful tree decorations in some of the cemeteries at home, only more luxuriant.

“How artistically tearful! How festive-funereal!” exclaimed Miss Winchester, now with them, having changed places with the Professor who had gone to Mrs. Cultus.

“That’s where you’re a little off,” said the civil engineer quizzer. “The botanists would probably call it ‘leguminosa’--have some?”

“Thanks, awfully,” said Miss Winchester with English style and intonation. “Himalaya vegetables may prove more inviting than that one looks, but please don’t risk your precious neck to pick them off the vines.”

The English engineer said that he did not propose to die before reaching the Sanitarium, which remark seemed to strike the Doctor as “not bad, for a colonial living in a warm climate.” So Adele settled the matter by kodaking the whole party overshadowed by the artistically-tearful funereal-festive vegetable-vine.

Near this locality the track indulged in numerous twists and turns, squirming like a huge snake encircling the mountain spur. The train slid out to the verge of a precipice, and then backed off, just before the crash came.

“What a narrow escape!” exclaimed Mrs. Cultus, “I felt as if well shaken, and was about to be taken. I hope to goodness they won’t do it again”--but they did.

They were now rounding a projecting knoll, before passing through a short cut; they then crept under a bridge which, curious to relate, they crossed over hardly a minute later. These engineering gymnastics were utterly preposterous to our explorers.

“Has the train lost its way?” laughed Adele. “Where are we? What next?”

“If I don’t fly off like a bird,” said Miss Winchester, “I expect to enter the bowels of the earth and be a gnome; that will surely be my next incarnation.”

“I prefer the bird,” remarked Adele.

“Which? parrot or peacock? India’s choice. Considering altitude and climate, I think a gnome will suit me. What will you be, Paul?”

“Oh, leave things as they are.”

“But you’ve got to be something if in India,” persisted Miss Winchester.

“Rats!” exclaimed Paul, “as lief as anything else--what nonsense you are talking!”

“There’s method in this railway madness,” suggested the civil engineer; and he showed them some rough sketches he had hurriedly made illustrating the series of loops and zigzags the line had followed between Tindharia and Gumti. “How is that for horseshoe curves, mule-shoes, and other adaptations to the requirements of the road--‘feats of engineering’ we call them.” The Englishman was trying to be facetious.

The lines he had drawn were curious. Paul said they reminded him of the marks left upon the surface of ice by an expert-fancy skater. Miss Winchester said she could use them for an embroidery pattern, the art of embroidery being one of her favorite occupations. The Doctor said they reminded him of a fly travelling over an orange to find out what it was like. Adele said they reminded her of exactly what they represented, only now she had a bird’s-eye view looking down on the whole thing. “I understand it now, but until I saw this drawing I did feel all twisted up.” Curious, indeed, was the association of ideas, each traveller finding suggested by the engineer’s drawing his own tastes, or the memory of some previous experience.

Still higher up, say between four and six thousand feet, the Americans felt really quite at home in the woods; no matter what part of the Middle or Northern States they might have come from there were glimpses to remind them of home; not unlike the loftier parts of the Alleghany range as seen from Blowing Rock, or Cloudland in the Land of the Sky (North and South Carolina), also glimpses suggesting the magnificent distant scenery of Colorado, and even of the Northwest Rockies; but in every case with much greater luxuriance of foliage, and a realizing sense that they were only on the foot-hills, the first steps leading to the Celestial region, still away up and beyond.

Adele searched in her pocket and brought forth her little Stars-and-Stripes badge, and pinned it on her left shoulder. It took very little to make Adele show her colors, and just here where the woods were full of oaks, hemlocks, maples and many other trees which reminded her of home, she concluded this was the proper time to bring out the pocket edition of Old Glory.

The Englishman wondered why she selected that particular time to do such a thing; it seemed such a superfluous proceeding. He would have scorned the idea if he had known that she associated oaks with America in particular. As it was he could not suppress his curiosity.

“May I ask why you show your colors?”

“Because here I feel quite at home.”

“Oh, you Americans think the States take in all creation, don’t you?”

“Well, pretty much; but this is the Queen’s Empire--we admire the Queen immensely, she’s a home-body; and personally I quite envy her.”

“No doubt she would appreciate your appreciation,” remarked the Englishman, again touching the facetious. “May I ask why you envy her?”

“We are going into the expansion business ourselves: the Queen knows all about it.”

“Once you are in, you’ll wish you were out.”

“You made a success; why shouldn’t we? Of course we’ll add some improvements.”

The Englishman laughed heartily. “What do you call success?”

“Making people feel at home,” said Adele.

“And the improvements--some new ’ism or religion, I suppose?”

“Every man to his own religion,” said Adele; “it’s the same as with one’s own home. Religion ought to suit one’s nature as your home suits your life.”

“These people have a great variety of religion,” remarked the Englishman.

“There seems to be no lack,” said Adele, “but really I don’t know yet. I can’t say that I have really worshiped with them, according to their ritual here in their own homes.”

“Well, I wish you joy, but really I don’t understand fully yet as to your idea of home here. I don’t feel at home; we all go back to our homes--Merry England.”

“That’s not what I mean,” said Adele; “this region is the most extraordinary home-country I ever saw, even more so than our own mixed-up country, and that’s saying a great deal.”

“I don’t understand yet,” said the Briton.

“Why, it’s this way, I feel perfectly at home in these woods; the Hindoos were just as much at home a few miles back; the place seems to suit all sorts and conditions of different civilizations, not one civilization only; and the Queen lets them live at home here in peace.”

“They fight like cats and dogs,” said the engineer promptly. “We have the devil’s own time to keep the home, as you call it, quiet.”

“It must be the children that cut up so,” laughed Adele. “Every home is supposed to have its nursery--the world no doubt has; people often call Asia the cradle of the human race. This seems to me to be like God’s nursery.”

“And England’s the nurse!” shouted the Briton.

“Yes, that’s about it.”

“Well, here comes another baby, fresh from the woods, to be taken into the nursery. What do you think of this precious babe? I hand her over to you.”

What Adele saw for the first time was a large, stout Mongolian woman, broad-visaged with slanting eyes, very dirty and unkempt, accompanied by two men of similar mien, neither of whom appeared so masculine as the precious babe herself. These had wandered down from the upper regions--the first glimpse to Adele of the next race they were to encounter.

“Babes in the woods,” remarked the Englishman.

Adele concluded not to call this one a cherub.

XXXIII

A GLIMPSE OF THE PRIMITIVE

The miniature Fly Express having crept over the summit now slid down on the other side for a few miles, into Darjeeling. The mountain resort, though upon such high ground, was surrounded by still loftier elevations; a veritable Sanitorium protected on all sides. It contained more buildings of a public nature than the inquisitive Cultus explorers had expected to find; the Sanitorium and bazaar were surrounded by many substantially built structures, generally upon picturesque sites, schools, a convent, villas, bungalows, and here and there native shanties in unexpected nooks and corners. There were valleys within valleys, and hills upon hills; and domiciles were scattered broadcast over the landscape. No time was consumed, however, in gazing around them when they first arrived. The station and bazaar nearby were lively with Nepaulese, Bhootans, Lepchas, members of the hill tribes of Sikhim, inhabitants of the Darjeeling Terai, with a much smaller contingent of English who seemed to be there to keep the rest in order.

The tiny train had hardly come to a stand-still before a Bhootan woman, a fine specimen physically and decidedly noisy in manner, thrust her broad Mongolian visage, with its high cheek bones and slanting eyes, into the little car window where sat Mrs. Cultus. If a demon had suddenly appeared at close quarters and offered to rub noses with Mrs. C. the effect could not have been more startling. The Mongolian, talking and gesticulating and holding a strap in her hand, made it plain to them that she wished to carry their luggage--she was a woman-porter.

Mrs. Cultus, not ordinarily disconcerted by sudden apparitions, was this time fairly taken aback. Aside from the novelty of a woman-porter, her repulsive appearance was disconcerting; the broad cheeks smeared with red pigment and distorted with grimaces seemed to Mrs. Cultus at first glance as more than grotesque, even appalling. Drawing herself up with dignity she gave a piercing look, as if in defiance, only to discover that the Bhootanesque wild grin was intended for a polite smile, and the smile was that of a young girl trying to be serviceable and obliging. Mrs. Cultus burst out laughing, which the Bhootan girl of course mistook for a cordial acceptance of her offered assistance; and forthwith through the window she seized all such loose articles as lay within reach, piling them in a heap on the platform previous to depositing them in her strap which she placed over her forehead and let fall in a loop down her back. Several articles had already disappeared out of the window before Mrs. Cultus grasped the misunderstanding of her own laughter; but when she found the woman was actually doing the heavy work of a porter, and for her personally, Mrs. Cultus’ American ideas about woman’s sphere and woman’s work asserted themselves. As a member of the Ethical-Social Culturist’s-Reversal Association, she must become an impromptu missionary to enter her protest, and even set things right.

“I can’t allow it!” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “Get me a man! a man! why, it’s outrageous! You’re only a young girl!” and Mrs. Cultus turned to look for the Professor who had already gone in search of a man.

The Bhootan damsel grinned once more, as if astonished, then spoke her mind not unlike the historic waiter who “roared it.” “No man!--don’t want a man! I take! I take all! easy!” and proceeded to show how easily she could take all by lifting a huge bundle of travelling rugs, rezais, nearly as bulky as herself, putting them in the loop of her strap as foundation piece, the smaller heavy things on top, and gave a good grunt of satisfaction when the weight settled on her forehead; and then--smiled again.

Mrs. Cultus, equally practical, at once changed her mind; she concluded it was utterly useless to waste sympathy upon a damsel so eminently qualified to take care of herself; especially since the woman-porter had her own ideas of woman’s sphere, and did not intend to permit any man to take away her trade. If Miss Winchester had been near at the time no doubt she would have been much impressed by the Bhootan grunt of satisfaction for the privilege of carrying luggage; for verily it was a notable addition to her collection.

Such was Mrs. Cultus’ first interview with a specimen of womankind from the immense area of Central Asia, where woman’s rights were already granted after their fashion, and woman’s work performed with a vengeance. Mrs. Cultus little realized that there, in the crowd around her, were not only women-porters, but Thibetan mothers to whom polyandry was no new thing, being in fact a custom of their district. Women who had several husbands because they were the proper things to have; and felt themselves quite equal to do man’s work and a little more, besides. Mrs. Cultus learned this and other items, when a few days later she noticed a pair of rough sandal-boots standing at the door of a hut occupied by a polyandrist household. She was informed that these were equivalent to a notice left outside by one of the husbands that he was on the premises, therefore for the present the others had best keep away. Mrs. Cultus learned, too, that the several husbands were often brothers, hence the household was a more united family than if it were otherwise. Mrs. Cultus was obtaining a realizing sense of relationships among some of the primitives yet upon the earth, and she soon concluded that the more primitive the people the less she personally cared to visit them socially.

XXXIV

ADELE SEES THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS

“_On the mountains is freedom! The breath of decay Never sullies the fresh-flowing air._”

--SCHILLER.

The next day the whole party were domiciled in a little stone structure one-story high, hung like an eyrie upon a cliff. The site overlooked great depths, and their domicile much like a tiny doll’s house perched upon a mantelpiece. Above and beyond were insurmountable heights, and only a narrow pony-path separated this little dwelling from the forest-clad valleys thousands of feet below. Within a few steps a remarkable view-point, a promontory jutting out in mid-air; and before them rose “The Five Points of Eternal Snow.”

Kunchingunga was no “Jungfrau,” but a matron, with her children and grandchildren clustered around her imperial throne.

Adele wandered off alone, and stood upon the promontory, looking forward. On a level with her eye and apparently not far off, soared a giant bird, poised in space, he being thousands of feet above the earth beneath him. Adele waved her handkerchief to attract his attention; the majestic areonaut merely changed the angle of his wings to bring his eye into better position, and refused to approach. A chilly current of air came over the crest of the mountain; Adele drew her wrap about her, and in so doing lost hold upon her kerchief--it floated off on the breeze. It was no sooner free from her hand, than the expert bird sweeping round in majestic curves upon the wings of the wind, picked it up in mid-air, and soon disappeared amid the foliage of the forest. This wild denizen of the woods, who could sustain himself at a perilous height in space, apparently had an instinctive fear of man, even of a young girl, yet no fear of man’s inanimate production, the handkerchief; and his penetrating eye had evidently grasped the situation from the distance of half a mile. Such was the clearness of the atmosphere, and such the acute vision of the bird.

Adele admired his quickness of sight, his natural cleverness, and his wild knowledge of the world, as he sailed away with what she had held in her hand an instant before. “I don’t mind the loss,” said she, “but I do dislike extremely to have things snatched away, first by the wind and then by that eagle. What the Doctor calls ‘the wild forces’ in nature, surely do require taming.”

She looked across the valley. The lower ranges rose above a belt of haze, the mountains above did not appear to rest upon any solid base, and the summits of eternal snows appeared as if in another world--a world where corruption had put on incorruption, the world of purity and whiteness. Seen through the rarefied air above, the apparent nearness of such stupendous masses, solid and firm yet resting upon an ethereal base, somewhat appalled Adele; and she drew her wrap closer about her as her eyes wandered from peak to peak extending in endless length on either side, yet all above and beyond the reach of man. She knew them to be the backbone of a continent, which (when seen from certain elevations, at the end of the rainy season when the southeast monsoon ceases to blow) was visible over an expanse of two hundred miles. She knew this range of peaks must be miles away as the bird flies, yet so wide was the angle between the horizon and those celestial summits, and so great the difference between her own level and that of the Eternal Pure Whiteness, that she felt their presence near, and herself in the presence of the sublime in nature. Her natural eye told her this, and gave her a new physical sensation which was exhilarating, uplifting and inspiring. And with this inspiration came a new incentive to spiritual perception, a tremendous stimulant to idealize. It was, indeed, what she saw--a Celestial Vision.

She caught her breath as she gazed afar; and a sense of wonder, aye, of adoration, welled up from within, and a comprehending love for the beautiful and for the sublime. These emotions, like a powerful impulse heavenward, filled her whole being, and words came--breathed rather than spoken--towards the One who ever dwells in nature, ever listens, and always hears. Forgetting self, unconscious that she was actually praying, she yet prayed. Such is the compelling force of the sublime in nature.

“Our Father who art!--art in Heaven!--Father in Heaven! where all is beautiful!

“And what is this? Oh, how beautiful! just where our Father has built His mansions. Look! those snows and glaciers reflect His Glory! I can see it! That blue canopy overhead, and those forests below, are like the Earth-Beautiful He made for us, and there is the roseate light of a Holy Place. God is there! Yes! I know it--I feel it! He is here, too! Yes! surely. He is here! How holy is this place!”

Then assured of the nearness of her Father Creator, she tried to grasp some idea of the meaning of His Presence to her; and unto her was granted a glimpse of the very highest possible conception of the facts visible in nature, of things as they are, for the study of both science and religion.

She stood in the presence of the loftiest mountains upon the globe; and what were they? What was this earth at her feet?--the world and all that is therein!

“The Lord is in His Holy Temple! The Lord! and His Temple! Holy! both Holy--God and His Temple. I can see that, too! He made it, and all that is therein. He said it was ‘good,’--it is--it must be Holy! It is His own.”

The word “Temple,” and what it implied, impressed itself upon her mind, as if it revealed some tremendous fact in nature which before she had not fully realized. She gazed right and left, up the cross-valleys, and into the forest depths; then finally towards the Celestial Summits bathed in that roseate light which symbolized so much to her personally since her earlier experience when her attention had been called to it by her earthly father. What before she had really seen but dimly, yet strong enough to be a constant aid to enlightenment, now became a living reality. It was verily a temple; and anew she began to idealize her surroundings.

“It is a Cathedral! this whole region! a mighty Cathedral! God’s own, built by Him here in these mountains, the Himalaya Cathedral!--the greatest upon Earth!” And while possessed by this vivid thought, there came a still small voice, as if from a sub-intelligence, whispering: “His service is here, His ritual.” She heard this but faintly; then, rejoicing in her idealization, she went straight on to picture the Cathedral.

“Look! there is the Nave, this great valley! and there is the crypt beneath, that sombre forest far below! There is plenty of room in that Nave for the congregation--free seats everywhere. I can see it filled with all sorts of people. There! there is some one now, in that tea-garden under those tree ferns, a party of them looking towards the blue sky. They wish to know what the weather is going to be like, wish to know what God intends it to be, for they are looking upwards; perhaps that is their way of worshiping! who knows?

“And there is the Transept! there is more than one, those valleys; they reach to the end of the earth. How curious that so many of these valleys lead directly up to the front, not so ‘crosswise’ as in other churches. I never saw a Cathedral so well arranged for approaching and hearing. Ah! there’s a Chapel in that transept! it looks more like a hut! some one within is burning incense--it comes out of the chimney! Well, we’ll call it incense, and that home is a chapel.”

And while she mused, a little group of natives crossed an open field and entered a clump of trees surrounded by shrubbery, a thicket. “Some other sort of worship,” she thought. “I wonder what they are going to do? I’ll wait and see.”

Numerous parties on ponies passed along the mountain roads, ascending and descending from different levels. “Why, this Cathedral has most extensive galleries, and how many real workers all on the move! Well, I rather like a gallery at times; one can sit up there and not feel too conspicuous, only worship.”

Then she noticed that the majority on ponies were going in one direction--northward. “Why are they going that way, I wonder?--why not towards the East as so many do in Cathedrals? No, I forgot; the Moslems turn towards Mecca no matter in what direction they may be from it; but here it is different. These people seem to be approaching and observing their ritual in a different manner and in a different direction. Everything here seems to draw one’s attention northward,” and she mused about this for some time, then:

“The pole star itself is hidden behind that mountain; we are too far south to see it, but I heard Father say it was in that direction. Yes, I remember it was very low in the heavens when I last saw it sparkling there. It is there now, always behind the crest of Kunchingunga. Even if these worshipers cannot see it, they see Kunchingunga, their Holy Mountain, pointing the same way--northward. Now, what does this mean?” and she mused again, but this time only for an instant.

“Oh! I can see why! I understand it!” she exclaimed. “In other directions, stars, as well as lesser things on earth, seem ever moving, revolving, changing; Kunchingunga and the North Star seem never to change. The North Star is towards the centre, all revolve around that fixed point; it is marvellous what a magnificent Clock there is to this Cathedral--the Great Clock in the Heavens, the Clock of Ages, ever revolving around the permanent fixed centre. But then again God is the only Permanent, Unchangeable; and to Him a thousand years are as one day--the Clock says so. Why, of course, in His Cathedral one must look northward; it is like looking towards Him, towards something fixed, that does not change. Oh, I shall always think of this Cathedral with Kunchingunga, its Great Clock, and the hidden star,” and she quoted from Bryant’s “Hymn to the North Star”:

“And thou dost see them rise, Star of the pole! and thou dost see them set. Alone in thy cold skies Thou keepest thy old unmoving station yet.”