Part 19

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was Adele’s turn to be curious.

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

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

“It looks so,” said Adele quietly.

“To pray with that is hard work.”

“She is not conscious of the effort.”

“Well, I should be.”

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

“What?”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“I can; she is a woman, you are not.”

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

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

“By machinery?”

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

“Oh!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Adele!”

“Well?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XLI

PROCESSIONAL BEFORE THE VEIL

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One can’t see the chancel.”

“No.”

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

“What did you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, even in this dull light.”

“The water looks like delicate cambric.”

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

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

“Ah!”

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

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

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

“What does it say, to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Always is a long time.”

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

The Doctor waited.

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

“I trust we may,” said he solemnly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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