{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_1853/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_1853","id":"gutenberg_1853","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1853","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Category: Short Stories","Fantasy fiction","Paranormal fiction","Short stories"],"text":"Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE NINTH VIBRATION AND OTHER STORIES\n\nBy L. Adams Beck\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS:\n\n     THE NINTH VIBRATION\n\n     THE INTERPRETER A ROMANCE OF THE EAST\n\n     THE INCOMPARABLE LADY A STORY OF CHINA WITH A MORAL\n\n     THE HATRED OF THE QUEEN A STORY OF BURMA\n\n     FIRE OF BEAUTY\n\n     THE BUILDING OF THE TAJ MAHAL\n\n     \u201cHOW GREAT IS THE GLORY OF KWANNON!\u201d\n\n     \u201cTHE ROUND-FACED BEAUTY\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE NINTH VIBRATION\n\nThere is a place uplifted nine thousand feet in purest air where one\nof the most ancient tracks in the world runs from India into Tibet.\nIt leaves Simla of the Imperial councils by a stately road; it passes\nbeyond, but now narrowing, climbing higher beside the khuds or steep\ndrops to the precipitous valleys beneath, and the rumor of Simla grows\ndistant and the way is quiet, for, owing to the danger of driving horses\nabove the khuds, such baggage as you own must be carried by coolies, and\nyou yourself must either ride on horseback or in the little horseless\ncarriage of the Orient, here drawn and pushed by four men. And presently\nthe deodars darken the way with a solemn presence, for--\n\n  \u201cThese are the Friars of the wood,\n  The Brethren of the Solitude\n  Hooded and grave--\u201d\n\ntheir breath most austerely pure in the gradually chilling air. Their\ncompanies increase and now the way is through a great wood where it\nhas become a trail and no more, and still it climbs for many miles and\nfinally a rambling bungalow, small and low, is sighted in the deeps of\nthe trees, a mountain stream from unknown heights falling beside it. And\nthis is known as the House in the Woods. Very few people are permitted\nto go there, for the owner has no care for money and makes no provision\nfor guests. You must take your own servant and the khansamah will cook\nyou such simple food as men expect in the wilds, and that is all. You\nstay as long as you please and when you leave not even a gift to the\nkhansamah is permitted.\n\nI had been staying in Ranipur of the plains while I considered the\nquestion of getting to Upper Kashmir by the route from Simla along the\nold way to Chinese Tibet where I would touch Shipki in the Dalai\nLama\u2019s territory and then pass on to Zanskar and so down to Kashmir--a\ntremendous route through the Himalaya and a crowning experience of\nthe mightiest mountain scenery in the world. I was at Ranipur for the\npurpose of consulting my old friend Olesen, now an irrigation official\nin the Rampur district--a man who had made this journey and nearly lost\nhis life in doing it. It is not now perhaps so dangerous as it was, and\nmy life was of no particular value to any one but myself, and the plan\ninterested me.\n\nI pass over the long discussions of ways and means in the blinding heat\nof Ranipur. Olesen put all his knowledge at my service and never uttered\na word of the envy that must have filled him as he looked at the\ndistant snows cool and luminous in blue air, and, shrugging good-natured\nshoulders, spoke of the work that lay before him on the burning\nplains until the terrible summer should drag itself to a close. We had\nvanquished the details and were smoking in comparative silence one night\non the veranda, when he said in his slow reflective way;\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t like the average hotel, Ormond, and you\u2019ll like it still less\nup Simla way with all the Simla crowd of grass-widows and fellows out\nfor as good a time as they can cram into the hot weather. I wonder if I\ncould get you a permit for The House in the Woods while you re waiting\nto fix up your men and route for Shipki.\u201d\n\nHe explained and of course I jumped at the chance. It belonged, he said,\nto a man named Rup Singh, a pandit, or learned man of Ranipur. He had\nalways spent the summer there, but age and failing health made this\nimpossible now, and under certain conditions he would occasionally allow\npeople known to friends of his own to put up there.\n\n\u201cAnd Rup Singh and I are very good friends,\u201d Olesen said; \u201cI won his\nheart by discovering the lost Sukh Mandir, or Hall of Pleasure, built\nmany centuries ago by a Maharao of Ranipur for a summer retreat in the\ngreat woods far beyond Simla. There are lots of legends about it here in\nRanipur. They call it The House of Beauty. Rup Singh\u2019s ancestor had been\na close friend of the Maharao and was with him to the end, and that\u2019s\nwhy he himself sets such store on the place. You have a good chance if I\nask for a permit.\n\n\u201cHe told me the story and since it is the heart of my own I give it\nbriefly. Many centuries ago the Ranipur Kingdom was ruled by the Maharao\nRai Singh a prince of the great lunar house of the Rajputs. Expecting\na bride from some far away kingdom (the name of this is unrecorded)\nhe built the Hall of Pleasure as a summer palace, a house of rare and\ncostly beauty. A certain great chamber he lined with carved figures of\nthe Gods and their stories, almost unsurpassed for truth and life. So,\nwith the pine trees whispering about it the secret they sigh to tell,\nhe hoped to create an earthly Paradise with this Queen in whom all\nloveliness was perfected. And then some mysterious tragedy ended all\nhis hopes. It was rumoured that when the Princess came to his court,\nshe was, by some terrible mistake, received with insult and offered the\nposition only of one of his women. After that nothing was known. Certain\nonly is it that he fled to the hills, to the home of his broken hope,\nand there ended his days in solitude, save for the attendance of two\nfaithful friends who would not abandon him even in the ghostly quiet of\nthe winter when the pine boughs were heavy with snow and a spectral moon\nstared at the panthers shuffling through the white wastes beneath. Of\nthese two Rup Singh\u2019s ancestor was one. And in his thirty fifth year\nthe Maharao died and his beauty and strength passed into legend and his\nkingdom was taken by another and the jungle crept silently over his Hall\nof Pleasure and the story ended.\n\n\u201cThere was not a memory of the place up there,\u201d Olesen went on.\n\u201cCertainly I never heard anything of it when I went up to the Shipki\nin 1904. But I had been able to be useful to Rup Singh and he gave me a\npermit for The House in the Woods, and I stopped there for a few days\u2019\nshooting. I remember that day so well. I was wandering in the dense\nwoods while my men got their midday grub, and I missed the trail somehow\nand found myself in a part where the trees were dark and thick and the\nsilence heavy as lead. It was as if the trees were on guard--they stood\nshoulder to shoulder and stopped the way. Well, I halted, and had a\nnotion there was something beyond that made me doubt whether to go on.\nI must have stood there five minutes hesitating. Then I pushed on,\nbruising the thick ferns under my shooting boots and stooping under the\nknotted boughs. Suddenly I tramped out of the jungle into a clearing,\nand lo and behold a ruined House, with blocks of marble lying all about\nit, and carved pillars and a great roof all being slowly smothered\nby the jungle. The weirdest thing you ever saw. I climbed some fallen\ncolumns to get a better look, and as I did I saw a face flash by at the\narch of a broken window. I sang out in Hindustani, but no answer: only\nthe echo from the woods. Somehow that dampened my ardour, and I didn\u2019t\ngo in to what seemed like a great ruined hall for the place was so\neerie and lonely, and looked mighty snaky into the bargain. So I came\ningloriously away and told Rup Singh. And his whole face changed. \u2018That\nis The House of Beauty,\u2019 he said. \u2018All my life have I sought it and in\nvain. For, friend of my soul, a man must lose himself that he may find\nhimself and what lies beyond, and the trodden path has ever been my\ndoom. And you who have not sought have seen. Most strange are the way\nof the Gods\u2019. Later on I knew this was why he had always gone up yearly,\nthinking and dreaming God knows what. He and I tried for the place\ntogether, but in vain and the whole thing is like a dream. Twice he has\nlet friends of mine stay at The House in the Woods, and I think he won\u2019t\nrefuse now.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid he ever tell you the story?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever. I only know what I\u2019ve picked up here. Some horrible mistake\nabout the Rani that drove the man almost mad with remorse. I\u2019ve heard\nbits here and there. There\u2019s nothing so vital as tradition in India.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wonder\u2019. what really happened.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat we shall never know. I got a little old picture of the\nMaharao--said to be painted by a Pahari artist. It\u2019s not likely to be\nauthentic, but you never can tell. A Brahman sold it to me that he might\ncomplete his daughter\u2019s dowry, and hated doing it.\u201d\n\n\u201cMay I see it?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy certainly. Not a very good light, but--can do,\u201d as the Chinks say.\n\nHe brought it out rolled in silk stuff and I carried it under the\nhanging lamp. A beautiful young man indeed, with the air of race\nthese people have beyond all others;--a cold haughty face, immovably\ndignified. He sat with his hands resting lightly on the arms of his\nchair of State. A crescent of rubies clasped the folds of the turban and\nfrom this sprang an aigrette scattering splendours. The magnificent hilt\nof a sword was ready beside him. The face was not only beautiful but\narresting.\n\n\u201cA strange picture,\u201d I said. \u201cThe artist has captured the man himself.\nI can see him trampling on any one who opposed him, and suffering in the\nsame cold secret way. It ought to be authentic if it isn\u2019t. Don\u2019t you\nknow any more?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing. Well--to bed, and tomorrow I\u2019ll see Rup Singh.\u201d\n\nI was glad when he returned with the permission. I was to be very\ncareful, he said, to make no allusion to the lost palace, for two women\nwere staying at the House in the Woods--a mother and daughter to whom\nRup Singh had granted hospitality because of an obligation he must\nhonor. But with true Oriental distrust of women he had thought fit to\nmake no confidence to them. I promised and asked Olesen if he knew them.\n\n\u201cSlightly. Canadians of Danish blood like my own. Their name is Ingmar.\nSome people think the daughter good-looking. The mother is supposed\nto be clever; keen on occult subjects which she came back to India to\nstudy. The husband was a great naturalist and the kindest of men. He\nalmost lived in the jungle and the natives had all sorts of rumours\nabout his powers. You know what they are. They said the birds and beasts\nfollowed him about. Any old thing starts a legend.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat was the connection with Rup Singh?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe was in difficulties and undeservedly, and Ingmar generously lent\nhim money at a critical time, trusting to his honour for repayment. Like\nmost Orientals he never forgets a good turn and would do anything for\nany of the family--except trust the women with any secret he valued. The\nfather is long dead. By the way Rup Singh gave me a queer message for\nyou. He said; \u2018Tell the Sahib these words--\u201cLet him who finds water in\nthe desert share his cup with him who dies of thirst.\u201d He is certainly\ngetting very old. I don\u2019t suppose he knew himself what he meant.\u201d\n\nI certainly did not. However my way was thus smoothed for me and I took\nthe upward road, leaving Olesen to the long ungrateful toil of the man\nwho devotes his life to India without sufficient time or knowledge to\nmake his way to the inner chambers of her beauty. There is no harder\nmistress unless you hold the pass-key to her mysteries, there is none of\nwhom so little can be told in words but who kindles so deep a passion.\nNecessity sometimes takes me from that enchanted land, but when the\nlatest dawns are shining in my skies I shall make my feeble way back to\nher and die at her worshipped feet. So I went up from Kalka.\n\nI have never liked Simla. It is beautiful enough--eight thousand feet\nup in the grip of the great hills looking toward the snows, the famous\nsummer home of the Indian Government. Much diplomacy is whispered\non Observatory Hill and many are the lighter diversions of which Mr.\nKipling and lesser men have written. But Simla is also a gateway to many\nthings--to the mighty deodar forests that clothe the foot-hills of the\nmountains, to Kulu, to the eternal snows, to the old, old bridle way\nthat leads up to the Shipki Pass and the mysteries of Tibet--and to the\nstrange things told in this story. So I passed through with scarcely a\nglance at the busy gayety of the little streets and the tiny shops\nwhere the pretty ladies buy their rouge and powder. I was attended by\nmy servant Ali Khan, a Mohammedan from Nagpur, sent up with me by Olesen\nwith strong recommendation. He was a stout walker, so too am I, and an\ninveterate dislike to the man-drawn carriage whenever my own legs would\nserve me decided me to walk the sixteen miles to the House in the Woods,\nsending on the baggage. Ali Khan despatched it and prepared to follow\nme, the fine cool air of the hills giving us a zest.\n\n\u201cSubhan Alla! (Praise be to God!) the air is sweet!\u201d he said, stepping\nout behind me. \u201cWhat time does the Sahib look to reach the House?\u201d\n\n\u201cAbout five or six. Now, Ali Khan, strike out of the road. You know the\nway.\u201d\n\nSo we struck up into the glorious pine woods, mountains all about us.\nHere and there as we climbed higher was a little bank of forgotten\nsnow, but spring had triumphed and everywhere was the waving grace of\nmaiden-hair ferns, banks of violets and strangely beautiful little wild\nflowers. These woods are full of panthers, but in day time the only\nprecaution necessary is to take no dog,--a dainty they cannot resist.\nThe air was exquisite with the sun-warm scent of pines, and here and\nthere the trees broke away disclosing mighty ranges of hills covered\nwith rich blue shadows like the bloom on a plum,--the clouds chasing the\nsunshine over the mountain sides and the dark green velvet of the robe\nof pines. I looked across ravines that did not seem gigantic and yet the\nvillages on the other side were like a handful of peas, so tremendous\nwas the scale. I stood now and then to see the rhododendrons, forest\ntrees here with great trunks and massive boughs glowing with blood-red\nblossom, and time went by and I took no count of it, so glorious was the\nclimb.\n\nIt must have been hours later when it struck me that the sun was getting\nlow and that by now we should be nearing The House in the Woods. I said\nas much to Ali Khan. He looked perplexed and agreed. We had reached\na comparatively level place, the trail faint but apparent, and it\nsurprised me that we heard no sound of life from the dense wood where\nour goal must be.\n\n\u201cI know not, Presence,\u201d he said. \u201cMay his face be blackened that\ndirected me. I thought surely I could not miss the way, and yet-\u201d\n\nWe cast back and could see no trail forking from the one we were on.\nThere was nothing for it but to trust to luck and push on. But I began\nto be uneasy and so was the man. I had stupidly forgotten to unpack\nmy revolver, and worse, we had no food, and the mountain air is an\nappetiser, and at night the woods have their dangers, apart from being\nabsolutely trackless. We had not met a living being since we left the\nroad and there seemed no likelihood of asking for directions. I stopped\nno longer for views but went steadily on, Ali Khan keeping up a running\nfire of low-voiced invocations and lamentations. And now it was dusk and\nthe position decidedly unpleasant.\n\nIt was at that moment I saw a woman before us walking lightly and\nsteadily under the pines. She must have struck into the trail from\nthe side for she never could have kept before us all the way. A native\nwoman, but wearing the all-concealing boorka, more like a town dweller\nthan a woman of the hills. I put on speed and Ali Khan, now very tired,\ntoiled on behind me as I came up with her and courteously asked the\nway. Her face was entirely hidden, but the answering voice was clear and\nsweet. I made up my mind she was young, for it had the bird-like thrill\nof youth.\n\n\u201cIf the Presence continues to follow this path he will arrive. It is not\nfar. They wait for him.\u201d\n\nThat was all. It left me with a desire to see the veiled face. We passed\non and Ali Khan looked fearfully back.\n\n\u201cAjaib! (Wonderful!) A strange place to meet one of the purdah-nashin\n(veiled women)\u201d he muttered. \u201cWhat would she be doing up here in the\nheights? She walked like a Khanam (khan\u2019s wife) and I saw the gleam of\ngold under the boorka.\u201d\n\nI turned with some curiosity as he spoke, and lo! there was no human\nbeing in sight. She had disappeared from the track behind us and it was\nimpossible to say where. The darkening trees were beginning to hold the\ndusk and it seemed unimaginable that a woman should leave the way and\ntake to the dangers of the woods.\n\n\u201cPuna-i-Khoda--God protect us!\u201d said Ali Khan in a shuddering whisper.\n\u201cShe was a devil of the wilds. Press on, Sahib. We should not be here in\nthe dark.\u201d\n\nThere was nothing else to do. We made the best speed we could, and the\ntrees grew more dense and the trail fainter between the close trunks,\nand so the night came bewildering with the expectation that we must pass\nthe night unfed and unarmed in the cold of the heights. They might send\nout a search party from The House in the Woods--that was still a hope,\nif there were no other. And then, very gradually and wonderfully the\nmoon dawned over the tree tops and flooded the wood with mysterious\nsilver lights and about her rolled the majesty of the stars. We pressed\non into the heart of the night. From the dense black depths we emerged\nat last. An open glade lay before us--the trees falling back to right\nand left to disclose--what?\n\nA long low house of marble, unlit, silent, bathed in pale splendour and\nshadow. About it stood great deodars, clothed in clouds of the white\nblossoming clematis, ghostly and still. Acacias hung motionless trails\nof heavily scented bloom as if carved in ivory. It was all silent as\ndeath. A flight of nobly sculptured steps led up to a broad veranda and\na wide open door with darkness behind it. Nothing more.\n\nI forced myself to shout in Hindustani--the cry seeming a brutal outrage\nupon the night, and an echo came back numbed in the black woods. I tried\nonce more and in vain. We stood absorbed also into the silence.\n\n\u201cYa Alla! it is a house of the dead!\u201d whispered Ali Khan, shuddering at\nmy shoulder,--and even as the words left his lips I understood where we\nwere. \u201cIt is the Sukh Mandir.\u201d I said. \u201cIt is the House of the Maharao\nof Ranipur.\u201d\n\nIt was impossible to be in Ranipur and hear nothing of the dead house\nof the forest and Ali Khan had heard--God only knows what tales. In his\nterror all discipline, all the inborn respect of the native forsook him,\nand without word or sign he turned and fled along the track, crashing\nthrough the forest blind and mad with fear. It would have been insanity\nto follow him, and in India the first rule of life is that the Sahib\nshows no fear, so I left him to his fate whatever it might be, believing\nat the same time that a little reflection and dread of the lonely forest\nwould bring him to heel quickly.\n\nI stood there and the stillness flowed like water about me. It was\nas though I floated upon it--bathed in quiet. My thoughts adjusted\nthemselves. Possibly it was not the Sukh Mandir. Olesen had spoken of\nruin. I could see none. At least it was shelter from the chill which is\nalways present at these heights when the sun sets,--and it was beautiful\nas a house not made with hands. There was a sense of awe but no fear as\nI went slowly up the great steps and into the gloom beyond and so gained\nthe hall.\n\nThe moon went with me and from a carven arch filled with marble tracery\nrained radiance that revealed and hid. Pillars stood about me, wonderful\nwith horses ramping forward as in the Siva Temple at Vellore. They\nappeared to spring from the pillars into the gloom urged by invisible\nriders, the effect barbarously rich and strange--motion arrested, struck\ndumb in a violent gesture, and behind them impenetrable darkness. I\ncould not see the end of this hall--for the moon did not reach it, but\nlooking up I beheld the walls fretted in great panels into the utmost\nsplendour of sculpture, encircling the stories of the Gods amid a\ntwining and under-weaving of leaves and flowers. It was more like a\ntemple than a dwelling. Siva, as Nataraja the Cosmic Dancer, the Rhythm\nof the Universe, danced before me, flinging out his arms in the passion\nof creation. Kama, the Indian Eros, bore his bow strung with honey-sweet\nblack bees that typify the heart\u2019s desire. Krishna the Beloved smiled\nabove the herd-maidens adoring at his feet. Ganesha the Elephant-Headed,\nsat in massive calm, wreathing his wise trunk about him. And many more.\nBut all these so far as I could see tended to one centre panel larger\nthan any, representing two life-size figures of a dim beauty. At first\nI could scarcely distinguish one from the other in the upward-reflected\nlight, and then, even as I stood, the moving moon revealed the two as\nif floating in vapor. At once I recognized the subject--I had seen it\nalready in the ruined temple of Ranipur, though the details differed.\nParvati, the Divine Daughter of the Himalaya, the Emanation of the\nmighty mountains, seated upon a throne, listening to a girl who played\non a Pan pipe before her. The goddess sat, her chin leaned upon her\nhand, her shoulders slightly inclined in a pose of gentle sweetness,\nlooking down upon the girl at her feet, absorbed in the music of the\nhills and lonely places. A band of jewels, richly wrought, clasped the\nveil on her brows, and below the bare bosom a glorious girdle clothed\nher with loops and strings and tassels of jewels that fell to her\nknees--her only garment.\n\nThe girl was a lovely image of young womanhood, the proud swell of the\nbreast tapering to the slim waist and long limbs easily folded as she\nhalf reclined at the divine feet, her lips pressed to the pipe. Its\nsilent music mysteriously banished fear. The sleep must be sweet\nindeed that would come under the guardianship of these two fair\ncreatures--their gracious influence was dewy in the air. I resolved that\nI would spend the night beside them. Now with the march of the moon dim\nvistas of the walls beyond sprang into being. Strange mythologies--the\nincarnations of Vishnu the Preserver, the Pastoral of Krishna the\nBeautiful. I promised myself that next day I would sketch some of the\nloveliness about me. But the moon was passing on her way--I folded the\ncoat I carried into a pillow and lay down at the feet of the goddess and\nher nymph. Then a moonlit quiet I slept in a dream of peace.\n\nSleep annihilates time. Was it long or short when I woke like a man\nfloating up to the surface from tranquil deeps? That I cannot tell, but\nonce more I possessed myself and every sense was on guard.\n\nMy hearing first. Bare feet were coming, falling softly as leaves, but\nunmistakable. There was a dim whispering but I could hear no word. I\nrose on my elbow and looked down the long hall. Nothing. The moonlight\nlay in pools of light and seas of shadow on the floor, and the feet drew\nnearer. Was I afraid? I cannot tell, but a deep expectation possessed\nme as the sound grew like the rustle of grasses parted in a fluttering\nbreeze, and now a girl came swiftly up the steps, irradiate in the\nmoonlight, and passing up the hall stood beside me. I could see her\nrobe, her feet bare from the jungle, but her face wavered and changed\nand re-united like the face of a dream woman. I could not fix it for\none moment, yet knew this was the messenger for whom I had waited all\nmy life--for whom one strange experience, not to be told at present, had\nprepared me in early manhood. Words came, and I said:\n\n\u201cIs this a dream?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo. We meet in the Ninth Vibration. All here is true.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs a dream never true?\u201d\n\n\u201cSometimes it is the echo of the Ninth Vibration and therefore a\nharmonic of truth. You are awake now. It is the day-time that is the\nsleep of the soul. You are in the Lower Perception, wherein the truth\nbehind the veil of what men call Reality is perceived.\u201d\n\n\u201cCan I ascend?\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot tell. That is for you, not me.\n\n\u201cWhat do I perceive tonight?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Present as it is in the Eternal. Say no more. Come with me.\u201d\n\nShe stretched her hand and took mine with the assurance of a goddess,\nand we went up the hall where the night had been deepest between the\ngreat pillars.\n\nNow it is very clear to me that in every land men, when the doors of\nperception are opened, will see what we call the Supernatural clothed\nin the image in which that country has accepted it. Blake, the mighty\nmystic, will see the Angels of the Revelation, driving their terrible\nway above Lambeth--it is not common nor unclean. The fisherman, plying\nhis coracle on the Thames will behold the consecration of the great new\nAbbey of Westminster celebrated with mass and chant and awful lights\nin the dead mid-noon of night by that Apostle who is the Rock of the\nChurch. Before him who wanders in Thessaly Pan will brush the dewy\nlawns and slim-girt Artemis pursue the flying hart. In the pale gold of\nEgyptian sands the heavy brows of Osiris crowned with the pshent will\nbrood above the seer and the veil of Isis tremble to the lifting. For\nall this is the rhythm to which the souls of men are attuned and in that\nvibration they will see, and no other, since in this the very mountains\nand trees of the land are rooted. So here, where our remote ancestors\nworshipped the Gods of Nature, we must needs stand before the Mystic\nMother of India, the divine daughter of the Himalaya.\n\nHow shall I describe the world we entered? The carvings upon the walls\nhad taken life--they had descended. It was a gathering of the dreams men\nhave dreamed here of the Gods, yet most real and actual. They watched in\na serenity that set them apart in an atmosphere of their own--forms of\nindistinct majesty and august beauty, absolute, simple, and everlasting.\nI saw them as one sees reflections in rippled water--no more. But\nall faces turned to the place where now a green and flowering leafage\nenshrined and partly hid the living Nature Goddess, as she listened to\na voice that was not dumb to me. I saw her face only in glimpses of an\nindescribable sweetness, but an influence came from her presence like\nthe scent of rainy pine forests, the coolness that breathes from great\nrivers, the passion of Spring when she breaks on the world with a wave\nof flowers. Healing and life flowed from it. Understanding also. It\nseemed I could interpret the very silence of the trees outside into the\nexpression of their inner life, the running of the green life-blood in\ntheir veins, the delicate trembling of their finger-tips.\n\nMy companion and I were not heeded. We stood hand in hand like children\nwho have innocently strayed into a palace, gazing in wonderment. The\naugust life went its way upon its own occasions, and, if we would, we\nmight watch. Then the voice, clear and cold, proceeding, as it were,\nwith some story begun before we had strayed into the Presence, the whole\nassembly listening in silence.\n\n\u201c--and as it has been so it will be, for the Law will have the blind\nsoul carried into a body which is a record of the sins it has committed,\nand will not suffer that soul to escape from rebirth into bodies until\nit has seen the truth--\u201d\n\nAnd even as this was said and I listened, knowing myself on the verge of\nsome great knowledge, I felt sleep beginning to weigh upon my eyelids.\nThe sound blurred, flowed unsyllabled as a stream, the girl\u2019s hand grew\nlight in mine; she was fading, becoming unreal; I saw her eyes like\nfaint stars in a mist. They were gone. Arms seemed to receive me--to lay\nme to sleep and I sank below consciousness, and the night took me.\n\nWhen I awoke the radiant arrows of the morning were shooting into the\nlong hall where I lay, but as I rose and looked about me, strange--most\nstrange, ruin encircled me everywhere. The blue sky was the roof. What I\nhad thought a palace lost in the jungle, fit to receive its King should\nhe enter, was now a broken hall of State; the shattered pillars were\nfestooned with waving weeds, the many coloured lantana grew between the\nfallen blocks of marble. Even the sculptures on the walls were difficult\nto decipher. Faintly I could trace a hand, a foot, the orb of a\nwoman\u2019s bosom, the gracious outline of some young God, standing above a\ncrouching worshipper. No more. Yes, and now I saw above me as the dawn\ntouched it the form of the Dweller in the Windhya Hills, Parvati the\nBeautiful, leaning softly over something breathing music at her feet.\nYet I knew I could trace the almost obliterated sculpture only because\nI had already seen it defined in perfect beauty. A deep crack ran across\nthe marble; it was weathered and stained by many rains, and little ferns\ngrew in the crevices, but I could reconstruct every line from my own\nknowledge. And how? The Parvati of Ranipur differed in many important\ndetails. She stood, bending forward, wheras this sweet Lady sat. Her\nattendants were small satyr-like spirits of the wilds, piping and\nfluting, in place of the reclining maiden. The sweeping scrolls of a\ngreat halo encircled her whole person. Then how could I tell what this\nnearly obliterated carving had been? I groped for the answer and could\nnot find it. I doubted--\n\n  \u201cWere such things here as we do speak about?\n  Or have we eaten of the insane root\n  That takes the reason captive?\u201d\n\nMemory rushed over me like the sea over dry sands. A girl--there had\nbeen a girl--we had stood with clasped hands to hear a strange music,\nbut in spite of the spiritual intimacy of those moments I could not\nrecall her face. I saw it cloudy against a background of night and\ndream, the eyes remote as stars, and so it eluded me. Only her presence\nand her words survived; \u201cWe meet in the Ninth Vibration. All here is\ntrue.\u201d But the Ninth Vibration itself was dream-land. I had never heard\nthe phrase--I could not tell what was meant, nor whether my apprehension\nwas true or false. I knew only that the night had taken her and the dawn\ndenied her, and that, dream or no dream, I stood there with a pang of\nloss that even now leaves me wordless.\n\nA bird sang outside in the acacias, clear and shrill for day, and this\nawakened my senses and lowered me to the plane where I became aware of\ncold and hunger, and was chilled with dew. I passed down the tumbled\nsteps that had been a stately ascent the night before and made my way\ninto the jungle by the trail, small and lost in fern, by which we had\ncome. Again I wandered, and it was high noon before I heard mule bells\nat a distance, and, thus guided, struck down through the green tangle\nto find myself, wearied but safe, upon the bridle way that leads to Fagu\nand the far Shipki. Two coolies then directed me to The House in the\nWoods.\n\nAll was anxiety there. Ali Khan had arrived in the night, having found\nhis way under the guidance of blind flight and fear. He had brought the\nnews that I was lost in the jungle and amid the dwellings of demons. It\nwas, of course, hopeless to search in the dark, though the khansamah and\nhis man had gone as far as they dared with lanterns and shouting,\nand with the daylight they tried again and were even now away. It was\nuseless to reproach the man even if I had cared to do so. His ready plea\nwas that as far as men were concerned he was as brave as any (which\nwas true enough as I had reason to know later) but that when it came to\ndevilry the Twelve Imaums themselves would think twice before facing it.\n\n\u201cInshalla ta-Alla! (If the sublime God wills!) this unworthy one will\none day show the Protector of the poor, that he is a respectable person\nand no coward, but it is only the Sahibs who laugh in the face of\ndevils.\u201d\n\nHe went off to prepare me some food, consumed with curiosity as to my\nadventures, and when I had eaten I found my tiny whitewashed cell, for\nthe room was little more, and slept for hours.\n\nLate in the afternoon I waked and looked out. A low but glowing\nsunlight suffused the wild garden reclaimed from the strangle-hold of\nthe jungle and hemmed in with rocks and forest. A few simple flowers had\nbeen planted here and there, but its chief beauty was a mountain stream,\nbrown and clear as the eyes of a dog, that fell from a crag above into\na rocky basin, maidenhair ferns growing in such masses about it that\nit was henceforward scarcely more than a woodland voice. Beside it two\ngreat deodars spread their canopies, and there a woman sat in a low\nchair, a girl beside her reading aloud. She had thrown her hat off and\nthe sunshine turned her massed dark hair to bronze. That was all I could\nsee. I went out and joined them, taking the note of introduction which\nOlesen had given me.\n\nI pass over the unessentials of my story; their friendly greetings and\nsympathy for my adventure. It set us at ease at once and I knew my stay\nwould be the happier for their presence though it is not every woman one\nwould choose as a companion in the great mountain country. But what\nis germane to my purpose must be told, and of this a part is the\npersonality of Brynhild Ingmar. That she was beautiful I never doubted,\nthough I have heard it disputed and smiled inwardly as the disputants\nurged lip and cheek and shades of rose and lily, weighing and\nappraising. Let me describe her as I saw her or, rather, as I can,\nadding that even without all this she must still have been beautiful\nbecause of the deep significance to those who had eyes to see or\nfeel some mysterious element which mingled itself with her presence\ncomparable only to the delight which the power and spiritual essence of\nNature inspires in all but the dullest minds. I know I cannot hope to\nconvey this in words. It means little if I say I thought of all quiet\nlovely solitary things when I looked into her calm eyes,--that when she\nmoved it was like clear springs renewed by flowing, that she seemed the\nperfect flowering of a day in June, for these are phrases. Does Nature\nknow her wonders when she shines in her strength? Does a woman know the\ninfinite meanings her beauty may have for the beholder? I cannot tell.\nNor can I tell if I saw this girl as she may have seemed to those who\nread only the letter of the book and are blind to its spirit, or in the\ndeepest sense as she really was in the sight of That which created her\nand of which she was a part. Surely it is a proof of the divinity of\nlove that in and for a moment it lifts the veil of so-called reality and\nshows each to the other mysteriously perfect and inspiring as the world\nwill never see them, but as they exist in the Eternal, and in the sight\nof those who have learnt that the material is but the dream, and the\nvision of love the truth.\n\nI will say then, for the alphabet of what I knew but cannot tell, that\nshe had the low broad brows of a Greek Nature Goddess, the hair swept\nback wing-like from the temples and massed with a noble luxuriance. It\nlay like rippled bronze, suggesting something strong and serene in its\nessence. Her eyes were clear and gray as water, the mouth sweetly curved\nabove a resolute chin. It was a face which recalled a modelling in\nmarble rather than the charming pastel and aquarelle of a young woman\u2019s\ncolouring, and somehow I thought of it less as the beauty of a woman\nthan as some sexless emanation of natural things, and this impression\nwas strengthened by her height and the long limbs, slender and strong as\nthose of some youth trained in the pentathlon, subject to the severest\ndiscipline until all that was superfluous was fined away and the perfect\nform expressing the true being emerged. The body was thus more beautiful\nthan the face, and I may note in passing that this is often the case,\nbecause the face is more directly the index of the restless and unhappy\nsoul within and can attain true beauty only when the soul is in harmony\nwith its source.\n\nShe was a little like her pale and wearied mother. She might resemble\nher still more when the sorrow of this world that worketh death should\nhave had its will of her. I had yet to learn that this would never\nbe--that she had found the open door of escape.\n\nWe three spent much time together in the days that followed. I never\ntired of their company and I think they did not tire of mine, for\nmy wanderings through the world and my studies in the ancient Indian\nliteratures and faiths with the Pandit Devaswami were of interest to\nthem both though in entirely different ways. Mrs. Ingmar was a woman who\ncentred all her interests in books and chiefly in the scientific forms\nof occult research. She was no believer in anything outside the range\nof what she called human experience. The evidences had convinced her of\nnothing but a force as yet unclassified in the scientific categories and\nall her interest lay in the undeveloped powers of brain which might be\ndiscovered in the course of ignorant and credulous experiment. We met\ntherefore on the common ground of rejection of the so-called occultism\nof the day, though I knew even then, and how infinitely better now, that\nher constructions were wholly misleading.\n\nNearly all day she would lie in her chair under the deodars by the\ndelicate splash and ripple of the stream. Living imprisoned in the\ncrystal sphere of the intellect she saw the world outside, painted in\nfew but distinct colours, small, comprehensible, moving on a logical\norbit. I never knew her posed for an explanation. She had the contented\natheism of a certain type of French mind and found as much ease in it as\nanother kind of sweet woman does in her rosary and confessional.\n\n\u201cI cannot interest Brynhild,\u201d she said, when I knew her better. \u201cShe has\nno affinity with science. She is simply a nature worshipper, and in such\nplaces as this she seems to draw life from the inanimate life about her.\nI have sometimes wondered whether she might not be developed into a kind\nof bridge between the articulate and the inarticulate, so well does she\nunderstand trees and flowers. Her father was like that--he had all sorts\nof strange power with animals and plants, and thought he had more than\nhe had. He could never realize that the energy of nature is merely\nmechanical.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou think all energy is mechanical?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly. We shall lay our finger on the mainspring one day and\nthe mystery will disappear. But as for Brynhild--I gave her the best\neducation possible and yet she has never understood the conception of a\nuniverse moving on mathematical laws to which we must submit in body and\nmind. She has the oddest ideas. I would not willingly say of a child of\nmine that she is a mystic, and yet--\u201d\n\nShe shook her head compassionately. But I scarcely heard. My eyes were\nfixed on Brynhild, who stood apart, looking steadily out over the snows.\nIt was a glorious sunset, the west vibrating with gorgeous colour spilt\nover in torrents that flooded the sky, Terrible splendours--hues for\nwhich we have no thought--no name. I had not thought of it as music\nuntil I saw her face but she listened as well as saw, and her expression\nchanged as it changes when the pomp of a great orchestra breaks upon the\nsilence. It flashed to the chords of blood-red and gold that was burning\nfire. It softened through the fugue of woven crimson gold and flame, to\nthe melancholy minor of ashes-of-roses and paling green, and so through\nall the dying glories that faded slowly to a tranquil grey and left\nthe world to the silver melody of one sole star that dawned above the\nineffable heights of the snows. Then she listened as a child does to\na bird, entranced, with a smile like a butterfly on her parted lips. I\nnever saw such a power of quiet.\n\nShe and I were walking next day among the forest ways, the pine-scented\nsunshine dappling the dropped frondage. We had been speaking of her\nmother. \u201cIt is such a misfortune for her,\u201d she said thoughtfully, \u201cthat\nI am not clever. She should have had a daughter who could have shared\nher thoughts. She analyses everything, reasons about everything, and\nthat is quite out of my reach.\u201d\n\nShe moved beside me with her wonderful light step--the poise and balance\nof a nymph in the Parthenon frieze.\n\n\u201cHow do you see things?\u201d\n\n\u201cSee? That is the right word. I see things--I never reason about them.\nThey are. For her they move like figures in a sum. For me every one of\nthem is a window through which one may look to what is beyond.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo where?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo what they really are--not what they seem.\u201d\n\nI looked at her with interest.\n\n\u201cDid you ever hear of the double vision?\u201d\n\nFor this is a subject on which the spiritually learned men of India,\nlike the great mystics of all the faiths, have much to say. I had\nlistened with bewilderment and doubt to the expositions of my Pandit\non this very head. Her simple words seemed for a moment the echo of his\ndeep and searching thought. Yet it surely could not be. Impossible.\n\n\u201cNever. What does it mean?\u201d She raised clear unveiled eyes. \u201cYou must\nforgive me for being so stupid, but it is my mother who is at home with\nall these scientific phrases. I know none of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt means that for some people the material universe--the things we see\nwith our eyes--is only a mirage, or say, a symbol, which either hides\nor shadows forth the eternal truth. And in that sense they see things as\nthey really are, not as they seem to the rest of us. And whether this is\nthe statement of a truth or the wildest of dreams, I cannot tell.\u201d\n\nShe did not answer for a moment; then said;\n\n\u201cAre there people who believe this--know it?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly. There are people who believe that thought is the only real\nthing--that the whole universe is thought made visible. That we create\nwith our thoughts the very body by which we shall re-act on the universe\nin lives to be.\n\n\u201cDo you believe it?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know. Do you?\u201d\n\nShe paused; looked at me, and then went on:\n\n\u201cYou see, I don\u2019t think things out. I only feel. But this cannot\ninterest you.\u201d\n\nI felt she was eluding the question. She began to interest me more than\nany one I had ever known. She had extraordinary power of a sort. Once,\nin the woods, where I was reading in so deep a shade that she never\nsaw me, I had an amazing vision of her. She stood in a glade with the\nsunlight and shade about her; she had no hat and a sunbeam turned her\nhair to pale bronze. A small bright April shower was falling through the\nsun, and she stood in pure light that reflected itself in every leaf and\ngrass-blade. But it was nothing of all this that arrested me,\nbeautiful as it was. She stood as though life were for the moment\nsuspended;--then, very softly, she made a low musical sound, infinitely\nwooing, from scarcely parted lips, and instantly I saw a bird of azure\nplumage flutter down and settle on her shoulder, pluming himself there\nin happy security. Again she called softly and another followed the\nfirst. Two flew to her feet, two more to her breast and hand. They\ncaressed her, clung to her, drew some joyous influence from her\npresence. She stood in the glittering rain like Spring with her birds\nabout her--a wonderful sight. Then, raising one hand gently with the\nfingers thrown back she uttered a different note, perfectly sweet and\nintimate, and the branches parted and a young deer with full bright eyes\nfixed on her advanced and pushed a soft muzzle into her hand.\n\nIn my astonishment I moved, however slightly, and the picture broke up.\nThe deer sprang back into the trees, the birds fluttered up in a hurry\nof feathers, and she turned calm eyes upon me, as unstartled as if she\nhad known all the time that I was there.\n\n\u201cYou should not have breathed,\u201d she said smiling. \u201cThey must have utter\nquiet.\u201d\n\nI rose up and joined her.\n\n\u201cIt is a marvel. I can scarcely believe my eyes. How do you do it?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy father taught me. They come. How can I tell?\u201d\n\nShe turned away and left me. I thought long over this episode. I\nrecalled words heard in the place of my studies--words I had dismissed\nwithout any care at the moment. \u201cTo those who see, nothing is alien.\nThey move in the same vibration with all that has life, be it in bird\nor flower. And in the Uttermost also, for all things are One. For such\nthere is no death.\u201d\n\nThat was beyond me still, but I watched her with profound interest. She\nrecalled also words I had half forgotten--\n\n  \u201cThere was nought above me and nought below,\n   My childhood had not learnt to know;\n   For what are the voices of birds,\n   Aye, and of beasts, but words, our words,--\n   Only so much more sweet.\u201d\n\nThat might have been written of her. And more.\n\nShe had found one day in the woods a flower of a sort I had once seen\nin the warm damp forests below Darjiling--ivory white and shaped like a\ndove in flight. She wore it that evening on her bosom. A week later she\nwore what I took to be another.\n\n\u201cYou have had luck,\u201d I said; \u201cI never heard of such a thing being seen\nso high up, and you have found it twice.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, it is the same.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe same? Impossible. You found it more than a week ago.\u201d \u201cI know. It\nis ten days. Flowers don\u2019t die when one understands them--not as most\npeople think.\u201d\n\nHer mother looked up and said fretfully:\n\n\u201cSince she was a child Brynhild has had that odd idea. That flower is\ndead and withered. Throw it away, child. It looks hideous.\u201d\n\nWas it glamour? What was it? I saw the flower dewy fresh in her bosom\nShe smiled and turned away.\n\nIt was that very evening she left the veranda where we were sitting in\nthe subdued light of a little lamp and passed beyond where the ray cut\nthe darkness. She went down the perspective of trees to the edge of he\nclearing and I rose to follow for it seemed absolutely unsafe that she\nshould be on the verge of the panther-haunted woods alone. Mrs. Ingmar\nturned a page of her book serenely;\n\n\u201cShe will not like it if you go. I cannot imagine that she should come\nto harm. She always goes her own way--light or dark.\u201d\n\nI returned to my seat and watched steadfastly. At first I could see\nnothing but as my sight adjusted itself I saw her a long way down the\nclearing that opened the snows, and quite certainly also I saw something\nlike a huge dog detach itself from the woods and bound to her feet. It\nmingled with her dark dress and I lost it. Mrs. Ingmar said, seeing my\nanxiety but nothing else; \u201cHer father was just the same;--he had no fear\nof anything that lives. No doubt some people have that power. I have\nnever seen her attract birds and beasts as he certainly did, but she is\nquite as fond of them.\u201d\n\nI could not understand her blindness--what I myself had seen raised\nquestions I found unanswerable, and her mother saw nothing! Which of us\nwas right? presently she came back slowly and I ventured no word.\n\nA woodland sorcery, innocent as the dawn, hovered about her. What was\nit? Did the mere love of these creatures make a bond between her soul\nand theirs, or was the ancient dream true and could she at times move\nin the same vibration? I thought of her as a wood-spirit sometimes, an\nexpression herself of some passion of beauty in Nature, a thought of\nsnows and starry nights and flowing rivers made visible in flesh. It is\nsurely when seized with the urge of some primeval yearning which in\nman is merely sexual that Nature conceives her fair forms and manifests\nthem, for there is a correspondence that runs through all creation.\n\nHere I ask myself--Did I love her? In a sense, yes, deeply, but not in\nthe common reading of the phrase. I have trembled with delight before\nthe wild and terrible splendour of the Himalayan heights-; low golden\nmoons have steeped my soul longing, but I did not think of these things\nas mine in any narrow sense, nor so desire them. They were Angels of the\nEvangel of beauty. So too was she. She had none of the \u201csilken nets and\ntraps of adamant,\u201d she was no sister of the \u201cgirls of mild silver or of\nfurious gold;\u201d--but fair, strong, and her own, a dweller in the House of\nQuiet. I did not covet her. I loved her.\n\nDays passed. There came a night when the winds were loosed--no moon,\nthe stars flickering like blown tapers through driven clouds, the trees\nswaying and lamenting.\n\n\u201cThere will be rain tomorrow.\u201d Mrs. Ingmar said, as we parted for the\nnight. I closed my door. Some great cat of the woods was crying harshly\noutside my window, the sound receding towards the bridle way. I slept in\na dream of tossing seas and ships labouring among them.\n\nWith the sense of a summons I waked--I cannot tell when. Unmistakable,\nas if I were called by name. I rose and dressed, and heard distinctly\nbare feet passing my door. I opened it noiselessly and looked out into\nthe little passage way that made for the entry, and saw nothing but\npools of darkness and a dim light from the square of the window at the\nend. But the wind had swept the sky clear with its flying bosom and was\nsleeping now in its high places and the air was filled with a mild moony\nradiance and a great stillness.\n\nNow let me speak with restraint and exactness. I was not afraid but felt\nas I imagine a dog feels in the presence of his master, conscious of a\npurpose, a will entirely above his own and incomprehensible, yet to\nbe obeyed without question. I followed my reading of the command,\nbewildered but docile, and understanding nothing but that I was called.\n\nThe lights were out. The house dead silent; the familiar veranda\nghostly in the night. And now I saw a white figure at the head of the\nsteps--Brynhild. She turned and looked over her shoulder, her face\npale in the moon, and made the same gesture with which she summoned her\nbirds. I knew her meaning, for now we were moving in the same rhythm,\nand followed as she took the lead. How shall I describe that strange\nnight in the jungle. There were fire-flies or dancing points of light\nthat recalled them. Perhaps she was only thinking them--only thinking\nthe moon and the quiet, for we were in the world where thought is the\none reality. But they went with us in a cloud and faintly lighted our\nway. There were exquisite wafts of perfume from hidden flowers breathing\ntheir dreams to the night. Here and there a drowsy bird stirred and\nchirped from the roof of darkness, a low note of content that greeted\nher passing. It was a path intricate and winding and how long we went,\nand where, I cannot tell. But at last she stooped and parting the boughs\nbefore her we stepped into an open space, and before us--I knew it--I\nknew it!--The House of Beauty.\n\nShe paused at the foot of the great marble steps and looked at me.\n\n\u201cWe have met here already.\u201d\n\nI did not wonder--I could not. In the Ninth vibration surprise had\nceased to be. Why had I not recognized her before--O dull of heart! That\nwas my only thought. We walk blindfold through the profound darkness of\nmaterial nature, the blinder because we believe we see it. It is only\nwhen the doors of the material are closed that the world appears to man\nas it exists in the eternal truth.\n\n\u201cDid you know this?\u201d I asked, trembling before mystery.\n\n\u201cI knew it, because I am awake. You forgot it in the dull sleep which we\ncall daily life. But we were here and THEY began the story of the King\nwho made this house. Tonight we shall hear it. It he story of Beauty\nwandering through the world and the world received her not. We hear it\nin this place because here he agonized for what he knew too late.\u201d\n\n\u201cWas that our only meeting?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe meet every night, but you forget when the day brings the sleep of\nthe soul.--You do not sink deep enough into rest to remember. You float\non the surface where the little bubbles of foolish dream are about you\nand I cannot reach you then.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow can I compel myself to the deeps?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou cannot. It will come. But when you have passed up the bridle\nway and beyond the Shipki, stop at Gyumur. There is the Monastery of\nTashigong, and there one will meet you--\n\n\u201cHis name?\u201d\n\n\u201cStephen Clifden. He will tell you what you desire to know. Continue on\nthen with him to Yarkhand. There in the Ninth Vibration we shall meet\nagain. It is a long journey but you will be content.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you certainly know that we shall meet again?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen you have learnt, we can meet when we will. He will teach you\nthe Laya Yoga. You should not linger here in the woods any longer. You\nshould go on. In three days it will be possible.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut how have you learnt--a girl and young?\u201d\n\n\u201cThrough a close union with Nature--that is one of the three roads. But\nI know little as yet. Now take my hand and come.\n\n\u201cOne last question. Is this house ruined and abject as I have seen it in\nthe daylight, or royal and the house of Gods as we see it now? Which is\ntruth?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn the day you saw it in the empty illusion of blind thought. Tonight,\neternally lovely as in the thought of the man who made it. Nothing that\nis beautiful is lost, though in the sight of the unwise it seems to die.\nDeath is in the eyes we look through--when they are cleansed we see Life\nonly. Now take my hand and come. Delay no more.\u201d\n\nShe caught my hand and we entered the dim magnificence of the great\nhall. The moon entered with us.\n\nInstantly I had the feeling of supernatural presence. Yet I only write\nthis in deference to common use, for it was absolutely natural--more so\nthan any I have met in the state called daily life. It was a thing in\nwhich I had a part, and if this was supernatural so also was I.\n\nAgain I saw the Dark One, the Beloved, the young Krishna, above the\nwomen who loved him. He motioned with his hand as we passed, as though\nhe waved us smiling on our way. Again the dancers moved in a rhythmic\ntread to the feet of the mountain Goddess--again we followed to where\nshe bent to hear. But now, solemn listening faces crowded in the shadows\nabout her, grave eyes fixed immovably upon what lay at her feet--a man,\nsubmerged in the pure light that fell from her presence, his dark face\nstark and fine, lips locked, eyes shut, arms flung out cross-wise in\nutter abandonment, like a figure of grief invisibly crucified upon his\nshame. I stopped a few feet from him, arrested by a barrier I could not\npass. Was it sleep or death or some mysterious state that partook of\nboth? Not sleep, for there was no flutter of breath. Not death--no rigid\nimmobility struck chill into the air. It was the state of subjection\nwhere the spirit set free lies tranced in the mighty influences which\nsurround us invisibly until we have entered, though but for a moment,\nthe Ninth Vibration.\n\nAnd now, with these Listeners about us, a clear voice began and stirred\nthe air with music. I have since been asked in what tongue it spoke and\ncould only answer that it reached my ears in the words of my childhood,\nand that I know whatever that language had been it would so have reached\nme.\n\n\u201cGreat Lady, hear the story of this man\u2019s fall, for it is the story of\nman. Be pitiful to the blind eyes and give them light.\u201d\n\nThere was long since in Ranipur a mighty King and at his birth the wise\nmen declared that unless he cast aside all passions that debase the\nsoul, relinquishing the lower desires for the higher until a Princess\nladen with great gifts should come to be his bride, he would experience\ngreat and terrible misfortunes. And his royal parents did what they\ncould to possess him with this belief, but they died before he reached\nmanhood. Behold him then, a young King in his palace, surrounded with\nsplendour. How should he withstand the passionate crying of the flesh or\nbelieve that through pleasure comes satiety and the loss of that in the\nspirit whereby alone pleasure can be enjoyed? For his gift was that\nhe could win all hearts. They swarmed round him like hiving bees and\nhovered about him like butterflies. Sometimes he brushed them off. Often\nhe caressed them, and when this happened, each thought proudly \u201cI am the\nRoyal Favourite. There is none other than me.\u201d\n\nAlso the Princess delayed who would be the crest-jewel of the crown,\nbringing with her all good and the blessing of the High Gods, and in\nconsequence of all these things the King took such pleasures as he\ncould, and they were many, not knowing they darken the inner eye whereby\nwhat is royal is known through disguises.\n\n(Most pitiful to see, beneath the close-shut lids of the man at the\nfeet of the Dweller in the Heights, tears forced themselves, as though\na corpse dead to all else lived only to anguish. They flowed like\nblood-drops upon his face as he lay enduring, and the voice proceeded.)\nWhat was the charm of the King? Was it his stately height and strength?\nOr his faithless gayety? Or his voice, deep and soft as the sitar when\nit sings of love? His women said--some one thing, some another, but none\nof these ladies were of royal blood, and therefore they knew not.\n\nNow one day, the all-privileged jester of the King, said, laughing\nharshly:\n\n\u201cMaharaj, you divert yourself. But how if, while we feast and play, the\nFar Away Princess glided past and was gone, unknown and unwelcomed?\u201d\n\nAnd the King replied:\n\n\u201cFool, content yourself. I shall know my Princess, but she delays so\nlong that I weary.\u201d\n\nNow in a far away country was a Princess, daughter of the Greatest,\nand her Father hesitated to give her in marriage to such a King for all\nreported that he was faithless of heart, but having seen his portrait\nshe loved him and fled in disguise from the palaces of her Father, and\nbeing captured she was brought before the King in Ranipur.\n\nHe sat upon a cloth of gold and about him was the game he had killed in\nhunting, in great masses of ruffled fur and plumage, and he turned the\nbeauty of his face carelessly upon her, and as the Princess looked upon\nhim, her heart yearned to him, and he said in his voice that was like\nthe male string of the sitar:\n\n\u201cLittle slave, what is your desire?\u201d\n\nThen she saw that the long journey had scarred her feet and dimmed her\nhair with dust, and that the King\u2019s eyes, worn with days and nights of\npleasure did not pierce her disguise. Now in her land it is a custom\nthat the blood royal must not proclaim itself, so she folded her hands\nand said gently:\n\n\u201cA place in the household of the King.\u201d And he, hearing that the Waiting\nslave of his chief favorite Jayashri was dead, gave her that place. So\nthe Princess attended on those ladies, courteous and obedient to all\nauthority as beseemed her royalty, and she braided her bright hair so\nthat it hid the little crowns which the Princesses of her House\nmust wear always in token of their rank, and every day her patience\nstrengthened.\n\nSometimes the King, carelessly desiring her laughing face and sad eyes,\nwould send for her to wile away an hour, and he would say; \u201cDance,\nlittle slave, and tell me stories of the far countries. You quite unlike\nmy Women, doubtless because you are a slave.\u201d\n\nAnd she thought--\u201cNo, but because I am a Princess,\u201d--but this she did\nnot say. She laughed and told him the most marvellous stories in the\nworld until he laid his head upon her warm bosom, dreaming awake.\n\nThere were stories of the great Himalayan solitudes where in the winter\nnights the white tiger stares at the witches\u2019 dance of the Northern\nLights dazzled by the hurtling of their myriad spears. And she told\nhow the King-eagle, hanging motionless over the peaks of Gaurisankar,\nwatches with golden eyes for his prey, and falling like a plummet\nstrikes its life out with his clawed heel and, screaming with triumph,\nbears it to his fierce mate in her cranny of the rocks.\n\n\u201cA gallant story!\u201d the King would say. \u201cMore!\u201d Then she told of the\ntropical heats and the stealthy deadly creatures of forest and jungle,\nand the blue lotus of Buddha swaying on the still lagoon,--And she spoke\nof loves of men and women, their passion and pain and joy. And when she\ntold of their fidelity and valour and honour that death cannot quench,\nher voice was like the song of a minstrel, for she had read all the\nstories of the ages and the heart of a Princess told her the rest. And\nthe King listened unwearying though he believed this was but a slave.\n\n(The face of the man at the feet of the Dweller in the Heights twitched\nin a white agony. Pearls of sweat were distilled upon his brows, but\nhe moved neither hand nor foot, enduring as in a flame of fire. And the\nvoice continued.)\n\nSo one day, in the misty green of the Spring, while she rested at his\nfeet in the garden Pavilion, he said to her:\n\n\u201cLittle slave, why do you love me?\u201d\n\nAnd she answered proudly:\n\n\u201cBecause you have the heart of a King.\u201d\n\nHe replied slowly;\n\n\u201cOf the women who have loved me none gave this reason, though they gave\nmany.\u201d\n\nShe laid her cheek on his hand.\n\n\u201cThat is the true reason.\u201d\n\nBut he drew it away and was vaguely troubled, for her words, he knew\nnot why, reminded him of the Far Away Princess and of things he had long\nforgotten, and he said; \u201cWhat does a slave know of the hearts of Kings?\u201d\n And that night he slept or waked alone.\n\nWinter was at hand with its blue and cloudless days, and she was\ncommanded to meet the King where the lake lay still and shining like an\necstasy of bliss, and she waited with her chin dropped into the cup of\nher hands, looking over the water with eyes that did not see, for her\nwhole soul said; \u201cHow long O my Sovereign Lord, how long before you know\nthe truth and we enter together into our Kingdom?\u201d\n\nAs she sat she heard the King\u2019s step, and the colour stole up into her\nface in a flush like the earliest sunrise. \u201cHe is coming,\u201d she said; and\nagain; \u201cHe loves me.\u201d\n\nSo he came beside the water, walking slowly. But the King was not alone.\nHis arm embraced the latest-come beauty from Samarkhand, and, with his\nhead bent, he whispered in her willing ear.\n\nThen clasping her hands, the Princess drew a long sobbing breath, and he\nturned and his eyes grew hard as blue steel.\n\n\u201cGo, slave,\u201d he cried. \u201cWhat place have you in Kings\u2019 gardens? Go. Let\nme see you no more.\u201d\n\n(The man lying at the feet of the Dweller in the Heights, raised a heavy\narm and flung it above his head, despairing, and it fell again on the\ncross of his torment. And the voice went on.)\n\nAnd as he said this, her heart broke; and she went and her feet were\nweary. So she took the wise book she loved and unrolled it until she\ncame to a certain passage, and this she read twice; \u201cIf the heart of\na slave be broken it may be mended with jewels and soft words, but the\nheart of a Princess can be healed only by the King who broke it, or in\nYamapura, the City under the Sunset where they make all things new. Now,\nYama, the Lord of this City, is the Lord of Death.\u201d And having thus read\nthe Princess rolled the book and put it from her.\n\nAnd next day, the King said to his women; \u201cSend for her,\u201d for his heart\nsmote him and he desired to atone royally for the shame of his speech.\nAnd they sought and came back saying;\n\n\u201cMaharaj, she is gone. We cannot find her.\u201d\n\nFear grew in the heart of the King--a nameless dread, and he said,\n\u201cSearch.\u201d And again they sought and returned and the King was striding\nup and down the great hall and none dared cross his path. But,\ntrembling, they told him, and he replied; \u201cSearch again. I will not lose\nher, and, slave though be, she shall be my Queen.\u201d\n\nSo they ran, dispersing to the Four Quarters, and King strode up and\ndown the hall, and Loneliness kept step with him and clasped his hand\nand looked his eyes.\n\nThen the youngest of the women entered with a tale to tell. \u201cMajesty,\nwe have found her. She lies beside the lake. When the birds fled this\nmorning she fled with them, but upon a longer journey. Even to Yamapura,\nthe City under the Sunset.\u201d\n\nAnd the King said; \u201cLet none follow.\u201d And he strode forth swiftly, white\nwith thoughts he dared not think.\n\nThe Princess lay among the gold of the fallen leaves. All was gold,\nfor her bright hair was out-spread in shining waves and in it shone the\nglory of the hidden crown. On her face was no smile--only at last was\nrevealed the patience she had covered with laughter so long that even\nthe voice of the King could not now break it into joy. The hands that\nhad clung, the swift feet that had run beside his, the tender body,\nmighty to serve and to love, lay within touch but farther away than the\nuttermost star was the Far Away Princess, known and loved too late.\n\nAnd he said; \u201cMy Princess--O my Princess!\u201d and laid his head on her cold\nbosom.\n\n\u201cToo late!\u201d a harsh Voice croaked beside him, and it was the voice of\nthe Jester who mocks at all things. \u201cToo late! O madness, to despise\nthe blood royal because it humbled itself to service and so was doubly\nroyal. The Far Away Princess came laden with great gifts, and to her the\nKing\u2019s gift was the wage of a slave and a broken heart. Cast your crown\nand sceptre in the dust, O King--O King of Fools.\u201d\n\n(The man at the feet of the Dweller in the Heights moved. Some dim word\nshaped upon his locked lips. She listened in a divine calm. It seemed\nthat the very Gods drew nearer. Again the man essayed speech, the body\ndead, life only in the words that none could hear. The voice went on.)\n\nBut the Princess flying wearily because of the sore wound in her heart,\ncame at last to the City under the Sunset, where the Lord of Death rules\nin the House of Quiet, and was there received with royal honours for in\nthat land are no disguises. And she knelt before the Secret One and in\na voice broken with agony entreated him to heal her. And with veiled and\npitying eyes he looked upon her, for many and grievous as are the wounds\nhe has healed this was more grievous still. And he said;\n\n\u201cPrincess, I cannot, But this I can do--I can give a new heart in a new\nbirth--happy and careless as the heart of a child. Take this escape from\nthe anguish you endure and be at peace.\u201d\n\nBut the Princess, white with pain, asked only;\n\n\u201cIn this new heart and birth, is there room for the King?\u201d\n\nAnd the Lord of Peace replied;\n\n\u201cNone. He too will be forgotten.\u201d\n\nThen she rose to her feet.\n\n\u201cI will endure and when he comes I will serve him once more. If he will\nhe shall heal me, and if not I will endure for ever.\u201d\n\nAnd He who is veiled replied;\n\n\u201cIn this sacred City no pain may disturb the air, therefore you must\nwait outside in the chill and the dark. Think better, Princess! Also,\nhe must pass through many rebirths, because he beheld the face of Beauty\nunveiled and knew her not. And when he comes he will be weary and weak\nas a new-born child, and no more a great King.\u201d And the Princess smiled;\n\n\u201cThen he will need me the more,\u201d she said; \u201cI will wait and kiss the\nfeet of my King.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the Lord of Death was silent. So she went outside into the darkness\nof the spaces, and the souls free passed her like homing doves, and she\nsat with her hands clasped over the sore wound in her heart, watching\nthe earthward way. And the Princess is keeping still the day of her long\npatience.\u201d\n\nThe voice ceased. And there was a great silence, and the listening faces\ndrew nearer.\n\nThen the Dweller in the Heights spoke in a voice soft as the falling of\nsnow in the quiet of frost and moon. I could have wept myself blind with\njoy to hear that music. More I dare not say.\n\n\u201cHe is in the Lower State of Perception. He sorrows for his loss. Let\nhim have one instant\u2019s light that still he may hope.\u201d\n\nShe bowed above the man, gazing upon him as a mother might upon her\nsleeping child. The dead eyelids stirred, lifted, a faint gleam showed\nbeneath them, an unspeakable weariness. I thought they would fall\nunsatisfied. Suddenly he saw What looked upon him, and a terror of\njoy no tongue can tell flashed over the dark mirror of his face. He\nstretched a faint hand to touch her feet, a sobbing sigh died upon his\nlips, and once more the swooning sleep took him. He lay as a dead man\nbefore the Assembly.\n\n\u201cThe night is far spent,\u201d a voice said, from I know not where. And I\nknew it was said not only for the sleeper but for all, for though the\nflying feet of Beauty seem for a moment to outspeed us she will one day\nwait our coming and gather us to her bosom.\n\nAs before, the vision spread outward like rings in a broken reflection\nin water. I saw the girl beside me, but her hand grew light in mine. I\nfelt it no longer. I heard the roaring wind in the trees, or was it a\ngreat voice thundering in my ears? Sleep took me. I waked in my little\nroom.\n\nStrange and sad--I saw her next day and did not remember her whom of all\nthings I desired to know. I remembered the vision and knew that whether\nin dream or waking I had heard an eternal truth. I longed with a great\nlonging to meet my beautiful companion, and she stood at my side and I\nwas blind.\n\nNow that I have climbed a little higher on the Mount of Vision it seems\neven to myself that this could not be. Yet it was, and it is true of not\nthis only but of how much else!\n\nShe knew me. I learnt that later, but she made no sign. Her simplicities\nhad carried her far beyond and above me, to places where only the winged\nthings attain--\u201cas a bird among the bird-droves of God.\u201d\n\nI have since known that this power of direct simplicity in her was why\namong the great mountains we beheld the Divine as the emanation of\nthe terrible beauty about us. We cannot see it as it is--only in some\nshadowing forth, gathering sufficient strength for manifestation from\nthe spiritual atoms that haunt the region where that form has been for\nages the accepted vehicle of adoration. But I was now to set forth to\nfind another knowledge--to seek the Beauty that blinds us to all other.\nNext day the man who was directing my preparations for travel sent me\nword from Simla that all was ready and I could start two days later. I\ntold my friends the time of parting was near.\n\n\u201cBut it was no surprise to me,\u201d I added, \u201cfor I had heard already that\nin a very few days I should be on my way.\u201d\n\nMrs. Ingmar was more than kind. She laid a frail hand on mine.\n\n\u201cWe shall miss you indeed. If it is possible to send us word of your\nadventures in those wild solitudes I hope you will do it. Of course\naviation will soon lay bare their secrets and leave them no mysteries,\nso you don\u2019t go too soon. One may worship science and yet feel it\ninjures the beauty of the world. But what is beauty compared with\nknowledge?\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you never regret it?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cNever, dear Mr. Ormond. I am a worshipper of hard facts and however\nhideous they may be I prefer them to the prismatic colours of romance.\u201d\n\nBrynhild, smiling, quoted;\n\n  \u201cTheir science roamed from star to star\n   And than itself found nothing greater.\n   What wonder? In a Leyden jar\n   They bottled the Creator?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is nothing greater than science,\u201d said Mrs. Ingmar with soft\nreverence. \u201cThe mind of man is the foot-rule of the universe.\u201d\n\nShe meditated for a moment and then added that my kind interests in\ntheir plans decided her to tell me that she would be returning to\nEurope and then to Canada in a few months with a favourite niece as her\ncompanion while Brynhild would remain in India with friends in Mooltan\nfor a time. I looked eagerly at her but she was lost in her own thoughts\nand it was evidently not the time to say more.\n\nIf I had hoped for a vision before I left the neighbourhood of that\nstrange House of Beauty where a spirit imprisoned appeared to await the\nday of enlightenment I was disappointed. These things do not happen as\none expects or would choose. The wind bloweth where it listeth until the\nlaws which govern the inner life are understood, and then we would not\nchoose if we could for we know that all is better than well. In this\nworld, either in the blinded sight of daily life or in the clarity of\nthe true sight I have not since seen it, but that has mattered little,\nfor having heard an authentic word within its walls I have passed on my\nway elsewhere.\n\nNext day a letter from Olesen reached me.\n\n\u201cDear Ormond, I hope you have had a good time at the House in the Woods.\nI saw Rup Singh a few days ago and he wrote the odd message I enclose.\nYou know what these natives are, even the most sensible of them, and you\nwill humour the old fellow for he ages very fast and I think is breaking\nup. But this was not what I wanted to say. I had a letter from a man I\nhad not seen for years--a fellow called Stephen Clifden, who lives in\nKashmir. As a matter of fact I had forgotten his existence but evidently\nhe has not repaid the compliment for he writes as follows--No, I had\nbetter send you the note and you can do as you please. I am rushed off\nmy legs with work and the heat is hell with the lid off. And-\u201d\n\nBut the rest was of no interest except to a friend of years\u2019 standing. I\nread Rup Singh\u2019s message first. It was written in his own tongue.\n\n\u201cTo the Honoured One who has attained to the favour of the Favourable.\n\n\u201cYou have with open eyes seen what this humble one has dreamed but\nhas not known. If the thing be possible, write me this word that I may\ndepart in peace. \u2018With that one who in a former birth you loved all is\nwell. Fear nothing for him. The way is long but at the end the lamps of\nlove are lit and the Unstruck music is sounded. He lies at the feet of\nMercy and there awaits his hour.\u2019 And if it be not possible to write\nthese words, write nothing, O Honoured, for though it be in the hells my\nsoul shall find my King, and again I shall serve him as once I served.\u201d\n\nI understood, and wrote those words as he had written them. Strange\nmystery of life--that I who had not known should see, and that this man\nwhose fidelity had not deserted his broken King in his utter downfall\nshould have sought with passion for one sight of the beloved face across\nthe waters of death and sought in vain. I thought of those Buddhist\nwords of Seneca--\u201cThe soul may be and is in the mass of men drugged and\nsilenced by the seductions of sense and the deceptions of the world.\nBut if, in some moment of detachment and elation, when its captors and\njailors relax their guard, it can escape their clutches, it will seek at\nonce the region of its birth and its true home.\u201d\n\nWell--the shell must break before the bird can fly, and the time drew\nnear for the faithful servant to seek his lord. My message reached him\nin time and gladdened him.\n\nI turned then to Clifden\u2019s letter.\n\n\u201cDear Olesen, you will have forgotten me, and feeling sure of this I\nshould scarcely have intruded a letter into your busy life were it not\nthat I remember your good-nature as a thing unforgettable though so many\nyears have gone by. I hear of you sometimes when Sleigh comes up the\nSind valley, for I often camp at Sonamarg and above the Zoji La and\nfarther. I want you to give a message to a man you know who should\nbe expecting to hear from me. Tell him I shall be at the Tashigong\nMonastery when he reaches Gyumur beyond the Shipki. Tell him I have the\ninformation he wants and I will willingly go on with him to Yarkhand\nand his destination. He need not arrange for men beyond Gyumur. All\nis fixed. So sorry to bother you, old man, but I don\u2019t know Ormond\u2019s\naddress, except that he was with you and has gone up Simla way. And of\ncourse he will be keen to hear the thing is settled.\u201d\n\nAmazing. I remembered the message I had heard and this man\u2019s words\nrang true and kindly, but what could it mean? I really did not question\nfarther than this for now I could not doubt that I was guided. Stronger\nhands than mine had me in charge, and it only remained for me to set\nforth in confidence and joy to an end that as yet I could not discern. I\nturned my face gladly to the wonder of the mountains.\n\nGladly--but with a reservation. I was leaving a friend and one whom I\ndimly felt might one day be more than a friend--Brynhild Ingmar. That\nproblem must be met before I could take my way. I thought much of what\nmight be said at parting. True, she had the deepest attraction for me,\nbut true also that I now beheld a quest stretching out into the unknown\nwhich I must accept in the spirit of the knight errant. Dare I then\nbind my heart to any allegiance which would pledge me to a future\ninconsistent with what lay before me? How could I tell what she\nmight think of the things which to me were now real and external--the\nrevelation of the only reality that underlies all the seeming. Life can\nnever be the same for the man who has penetrated to this, and though it\nmay seem a hard saying there can be but a maimed understanding between\nhim and those who still walk amid the phantoms of death and decay.\n\nHer sympathy with nature was deep and wonderful but might it not be that\nthough the earth was eloquent to her the skies were silent? I was but\na beginner myself--I knew little indeed. Dare I risk that little in a\nsweet companionship which would sink me into the contentment of the\nlife lived by the happily deluded between the cradle and the grave and\nperhaps close to me for ever that still sphere where my highest hope\nabides? I had much to ponder, for how could I lose her out of my\nlife--though I knew not at all whether she who had so much to make her\nhappiness would give me a single thought when I was gone.\n\nIf all this seem the very uttermost of selfish vanity, forgive a man who\ngrasped in his hand a treasure so new, so wonderful that he walked\nin fear and doubt lest it should slip away and leave him in a world\ndarkened for ever by the torment of the knowledge that it might have\nbeen his and he had bartered it for the mess of pottage that has bought\nso many birthrights since Jacob bargained with his weary brother in\nthe tents of Lahai-roi. I thought I would come back later with my\nprize gained and throwing it at her feet ask her wisdom in return, for\nwhatever I might not know I knew well she was wiser than I except in\nthat one shining of the light from Eleusis. I walked alone in the woods\nthinking of these things and no answer satisfied me.\n\nI did not see her alone until the day I left, for I was compelled by the\narrangements I was making to go down to Simla for a night. And now the\nlast morning had come with golden sun--shot mists rolling upward to\ndisclose the far white billows of the sea of eternity, the mountains\nawaking to their enormous joys. The trees were dripping glory to the\nsteaming earth; it flowed like rivers into their most secret recesses,\nmoss and flower, fern and leaf floated upon the waves of light revealing\ntheir inmost soul in triumphant gladness. Far off across the valleys\na cuckoo was calling--the very voice of spring, and in the green world\nabove my head a bird sang, a feathered joy, so clear, so passionate that\nI thought the great summer morning listened in silence to his rapture\nringing through the woods. I waited until the Jubilate was ended and\nthen went in to bid good-bye to my friends.\n\nMrs. Ingmar bid me the kindest farewell and I left her serene in the\nnegation of all beauty, all hope save that of a world run on the lines\nof a model municipality, disease a memory, sewerage, light and air\nsystems perfected, the charted brain sending its costless messages to\nthe outer parts of the habitable globe, and at least a hundred years\nof life with a decent cremation at the end of it assured to every\neugenically born citizen. No more. But I have long ceased to regret\nthat others use their own eyes whether clear or dim. Better the merest\nglimmer of light perceived thus than the hearsay of the revelations of\nothers. And by the broken fragments of a bewildered hope a man shall\neventually reach the goal and rejoice in that dawn where the morning\nstars sing together and the sons of God shout for joy. It must come, for\nit is already here.\n\nBrynhild walked with me through the long glades in the fresh thin air\nto the bridle road where my men and ponies waited, eager to be off. We\nstood at last in the fringe of trees on a small height which commanded\nthe way;--a high uplifted path cut along the shoulders of the hills and\non the left the sheer drop of the valleys. Perhaps seven or eight feet\nin width and dignified by the name of the Great Hindustan and Tibet Road\nit ran winding far away into Wonderland. Looking down into the valleys,\nso far beneath that the solitudes seem to wall them in I thought of all\nthe strange caravans which have taken this way with tinkle of bells\nand laughter now so long silenced, and as I looked I saw a lost little\nmonastery in a giant crevice, solitary as a planet on the outermost ring\nof the system, and remembrance flashed into my mind and I said;\n\n\u201cI have marching orders that have countermanded my own plans. I am to\njourney to the Buddhist Monastery of Tashigong, and there meet a friend\nwho will tell me what is necessary that I may travel to Yarkhand and\nbeyond. It will be long before I see Kashmir.\u201d\n\nIn those crystal clear eyes I saw a something new to me--a faint smile,\nhalf pitying, half sad;\n\n\u201cWho told you, and where?\u201d\n\n\u201cA girl in a strange place. A woman who has twice guided me--\u201d\n\nI broke off. Her smile perplexed me. I could not tell what to say. She\nrepeated in a soft undertone;\n\n\u201cGreat Lady, be pitiful to the blind eyes and give them light.\u201d\n\nAnd instantly I knew. O blind--blind! Was the unhappy King of the story\nduller of heart than I? And shame possessed me. Here was the chrysoberyl\nthat all day hides its secret in deeps of lucid green but when the night\ncomes flames with its fiery ecstasy of crimson to the moon, and I--I had\nbeen complacently considering whether I might not blunt my own spiritual\ninstinct by companionship with her, while she had been my guide, as\ninfinitely beyond me in insight as she was in all things beautiful. I\ncould have kissed her feet in my deep repentance. True it is that the\ngateway of the high places is reverence and he who cannot bow his head\nshall receive no crown. I saw that my long travel in search of knowledge\nwould have been utterly vain if I had not learnt that lesson there and\nthen. In those moments of silence I learnt it once and for ever.\n\nShe stood by me breathing the liquid morning air, her face turned upon\nthe eternal snows. I caught her hand in a recognition that might\nhave ended years of parting, and its warm youth vibrated in mine, the\nforetaste of all understanding, all unions, of love that asks nothing,\nthat fears nothing, that has no petition to make. She raised her eyes to\nmine and her tears were a rainbow of hope. So we stood in silence that\nwas more than any words, and the golden moments went by. I knew her now\nfor what she was, one of whom it might have been written;\n\n  \u201cI come from where night falls clearer\n   Than your morning sun can rise;\n   From an earth that to heaven draws nearer\n   Than your visions of Paradise,--\n   For the dreams that your dreamers dream\n   We behold them with open eyes.\u201d\n\nWith open eyes! Later I asked the nature of the strange bond that had\ncalled her to my side.\n\n\u201cI do not understand that fully myself,\u201d she said--\u201cThat is part of the\nknowledge we must wait for. But you have the eyes that see, and that is\na tie nothing can break. I had waited long in the House of Beauty for\nyou. I guided you there. But between you and me there is also love.\u201d\n\nI stretched an eager hand but she repelled it gently, drawing back a\nlittle. \u201cNot love of each other though we are friends and in the future\nmay be infinitely more. But--have you ever seen a drawing of Blake\u2019s--a\nyoung man stretching his arms to a white swan which flies from him on\nwings he cannot stay? That is the story of both our lives. We long to\nbe joined in this life, here and now, to an unspeakable beauty and power\nwhose true believers we are because we have seen and known. There is no\nlove so binding as the same purpose. Perhaps that is the only true love.\nAnd so we shall never be apart though we may never in this world be\ntogether again in what is called companionship.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe shall meet,\u201d I said confidently. She smiled and was silent.\n\n\u201cDo we follow a will-o\u2019-the wisp in parting? Do we give up the substance\nfor the shadow? Shall I stay?\u201d\n\nShe laughed joyously;\n\n\u201cWe give a single rose for a rose-tree that bears seven times seven.\nDaily I see more, and you are going where you will be instructed. As you\nknow my mother prefers for a time to have my cousin with her to help her\nwith the book she means to write. So I shall have time to myself. What\ndo you think I shall do?\u201d\n\n\u201cBlow away on a great wind. Ride on the crests of tossing waves. Catch a\nstar to light the fireflies!\u201d\n\nShe laughed like a bird\u2019s song.\n\n\u201cWrong--wrong! I shall be a student. All I know as yet has come to me\nby intuition, but there is Law as well as Love and I will learn. I have\ndrifted like a happy cloud before the wind. Now I will learn to be the\nwind that blows the clouds.\u201d\n\nI looked at her in astonishment. If a flower had desired the same thing\nit could scarcely have seemed more incredible, for I had thought her\nwhole life and nature instinctive not intellective. She smiled as one\nwho has a beloved secret to keep.\n\n\u201cWhen you have gained what in this country they call The Knowledge of\nRegeneration, come back and ask me what I have learnt.\u201d\n\nShe would say no more of that and turned to another matter, speaking\nwith earnestness;\n\n\u201cBefore you came here I had a message for you, and Stephen Clifden\nwill tell you the same thing when you meet. Believe it for it is true.\nRemember always that the psychical is not the mystical and that what we\nseek is not marvel but vision. These two things are very far apart, so\nlet the first with all its dangers pass you by, for our way lies to the\nheights, and for us there is only one danger--that of turning back and\nlosing what the whole world cannot give in exchange. I have never seen\nStephen Clifden but I know much of him. He is a safe guide--a man who\nhas had much and strange sorrow which has brought him joy that cannot be\ntold. He will take you to those who know the things that you desire. I\nwish I might have gone too.\u201d\n\nSomething in the sweetness of her voice, its high passion, the strong\nbeauty of her presence woke a poignant longing in my heart. I said;\n\n\u201cI cannot leave you. You are the only guide I can follow. Let us search\ntogether--you always on before.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour way lies there,\u201d she pointed to the high mountains. \u201cAnd mine to\nthe plains, and if we chose our own we should wander. But we shall\nmeet again in the way and time that will be best and with knowledge\nso enlarged that what we have seen already will be like an empty dream\ncompared to daylight truth. If you knew what waits for you you would not\ndelay one moment.\u201d\n\nShe stood radiant beneath the deodars, a figure of Hope, pointing\nsteadily to the heights. I knew her words were true though as yet I\ncould not tell how. I knew that whereas we had seen the Wonderful in\nbeautiful though local forms there is a plane where the Formless may be\napprehended in clear dream and solemn vision-the meeting of spirit with\nSpirit. What that revelation would mean I could not guess--how should\nI?--but I knew the illusion we call death and decay would wither before\nit. There is a music above and beyond the Ninth Vibration though I must\nlove those words for ever for what their hidden meaning gave me.\n\nI took her hand and held it. Strange--beyond all strangeness that that\nstory of an ancient sorrow should have made us what we were to each\nother--should have opened to me the gates of that Country where she\nwandered content. For the first time I had realized in its fulness the\nloveliness of this crystal nature, clear as flowing water to receive and\ntransmit the light--itself a prophecy and fulfilment of some higher race\nwhich will one day inhabit our world when it has learnt the true values.\nShe drew a flower from her breast and gave it to me. It lies before me\nwhite and living as I write these words.\n\nI sprang down the road and mounted, giving the word to march. The men\nshouted and strode on--our faces to the Shipki Pass and what lay beyond.\n\nWe had parted.\n\nOnce, twice, I looked back, and standing in full sunlight, she waved her\nhand.\n\nWe turned the angle of the rocks.\n\nWhat I found--what she found is a story strange and beautiful which\nI may tell one day to those who care to hear. That for me there were\npauses, hesitancies, dreads, on the way I am not concerned to deny,\nfor so it must always be with the roots of the old beliefs of fear and\nignorance buried in the soil of our hearts and ready to throw out their\npoisonous fibres. But there was never doubt. For myself I have long\nforgotten the meaning of that word in anything that is of real value.\n\nDo not let it be thought that the treasure is reserved for the few or\nthose of special gifts. And it is as free to the West as to the East\nthough I own it lies nearer to the surface in the Orient where the\nspiritual genius of the people makes it possible and the greater and\nmore faithful teachers are found. It is not without meaning that all the\nfaiths of the world have dawned in those sunrise skies. Yet it is within\nreach of all and asks only recognition, for the universe has been the\nmine of its jewels--\n\n  \u201cMedian gold it holds, and silver from Atropatene, Ruby and\n  emerald from Hindustan, and Bactrian agate, Bright with beryl\n  and pearl, sardonyx and sapphire.\u201d--\n  and more that cannot be uttered--\n  the Lights and Perfections.\n\nSo for all seekers I pray this prayer--beautiful in its sonorous Latin,\nbut noble in all the tongues;\n\n\u201cSupplico tibi, Pater et Dux--I pray Thee, Guide of our vision, that\nwe may remember the nobleness with which Thou hast endowed us, and that\nThou wouldest be always on our right and on our left in the motion of\nour wills, that we may be purged from the contagion of the body and the\naffections of the brute and overcome and rule them. And I pray also\nthat Thou wouldest drive away the blinding darkness from the eyes of our\nsouls that we may know well what is to be held for divine and what for\nmortal.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe nobleness with which Thou hast endowed us-\u201d this, and not the\ncry of the miserable sinner whose very repentance is no virtue but the\nconsequence of failure and weakness is the strong music to which we must\nmarch.\n\nAnd the way is open to the mountains.\n\n\n\n\nTHE INTERPRETER A ROMANCE OF THE EAST\n\n\nI\n\nThere are strange things in this story, but, so far as I understand\nthem, I tell the truth. If you measure the East with a Western foot-rule\nyou will say, \u201cImpossible.\u201d I should have said it myself.\n\nOf myself I will say as little as I can, for this story is of Vanna\nLoring. I am an incident only, though I did not know that at first.\n\nMy name is Stephen Clifden, and I was eight-and-thirty; plenty of money,\nsound in wind and limb. I had been by way of being a writer before the\nwar, the hobby of a rich man; but if I picked up anything in the welter\nin France, it was that real work is the only salvation this mad world\nhas to offer; so I meant to begin at the beginning, and learn my trade\nlike a journeyman labourer. I had come to the right place. A very\nwonderful city is Peshawar--rather let us say, two cities--the\ncompounds, the fortifications where Europeans dwell in such peace as\ntheir strong right arms can secure them; and the native city and bazaar\nhumming and buzzing like a hive of angry bees with the rumours that\ncome up from Lower India or down the Khyber Pass with the camel caravans\nloaded with merchandise from Afghanistan, Bokhara, and farther. And\nit is because of this that Peshawar is the Key of India, and a city\nof Romance that stands at every corner, and cries aloud in the\nmarket--place. For at Peshawar every able-bodied man sleeps with his\nrevolver under his pillow, and the old Fort is always ready in case it\nshould be necessary at brief and sharp notice to hurry the women and\nchildren into it, and possibly, to die in their defense. So enlivening\nis the neighbourhood of the frontier tribes that haunt the famous Khyber\nPass and the menacing hills where danger is always lurking.\n\nBut there was society here, and I was swept into it--there was chatter,\nand it galled me.\n\nI was beginning to feel that I had missed my mark, and must go farther\nafield, perhaps up into Central Asia, when I met Vanna Loring. If I say\nthat her hair was soft and dark; that she had the deepest hazel eyes\nI have ever seen, and a sensitive, tender mouth; that she moved with a\nflowing grace like \u201ca wave of the sea\u201d--it sounds like the portrait of a\nbeauty, and she was never that. Also, incidentally, it gives none of her\ncharm. I never heard any one get any further than that she was \u201coddly\nattractive\u201d--let us leave it at that. She was certainly attractive to\nme.\n\nShe was the governess of little Winifred Meryon, whose father held\nthe august position of General Commanding the Frontier Forces, and her\nmother the more commanding position of the reigning beauty of Northern\nIndia, generally speaking. No one disputed that. She was as pretty as\na picture, and her charming photograph had graced as many illustrated\npapers as there were illustrated papers to grace.\n\nBut Vanna--I gleaned her story by bits when I came across her with the\nchild in the gardens. I was beginning to piece it together now.\n\nHer love of the strange and beautiful she had inherited from a young\nItalian mother, daughter of a political refugee; her childhood had\nbeen spent in a remote little village in the West of England; half\nreluctantly she told me how she had brought herself up after her\nmother\u2019s death and her father\u2019s second marriage. Little was said of\nthat, but I gathered that it had been a grief to her, a factor in her\nflight to the East.\n\nWe were walking in the Circular Road then with Winifred in front leading\nher Pekingese by its blue ribbon, and we had it almost to ourselves\nexcept for a few natives passing slow and dignified on their own\noccasions, for fashionable Peshawar was finishing its last rubber of\nbridge, before separating to dress for dinner, and had no time to spare\nfor trivialities and sunsets.\n\n\u201cSo when I came to three-and-twenty,\u201d she said slowly, \u201cI felt I must\nbreak away from our narrow life. I had a call to India stronger than\nanything on earth. You would not understand but that was so, and I had\nspent every spare moment in teaching myself India--its history, legends,\nreligions, everything! And I was not wanted at home, and I had grown\nafraid.\u201d\n\nI could divine years of patience and repression under this plain tale,\nbut also a power that would be dynamic when the authentic voice called.\nThat was her charm--gentleness in strength--a sweet serenity.\n\n\u201cWhat were you afraid of?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf growing old and missing what was waiting for me out here. But I\ncould not get away like other people. No money, you see. So I thought I\nwould come out here and teach. Dare I? Would they let me? I knew I was\nfighting life and chances and risks if I did it; but it was death if I\nstayed there. And then--Do you really care to hear?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course. Tell me how you broke your chain.\u201d\n\n\u201cI spare you the family quarrels. I can never go back. But I was\nspurred--spurred to take some wild leap; and I took it. Six years ago I\ncame out. First I went to a doctor and his wife at Cawnpore. They had\na wonderful knowledge of the Indian peoples, and there I learned\nHindustani and much else. Then he died. But an aunt had left me two\nhundred pounds, and I could wait a little and choose; and so I came\nhere.\u201d\n\nIt interested me. The courage that pale elastic type of woman has!\n\n\u201cHave you ever regretted it? Would they take you back if you failed?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever, to both questions,\u201d she said, smiling. \u201cLife is glorious. I\u2019ve\ndrunk of a cup I never thought to taste; and if I died tomorrow I should\nknow I had done right. I rejoice in every moment I live--even when\nWinifred and I are wrestling with arithmetic.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shouldn\u2019t have thought life was very easy with Lady Meryon.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, she is kind enough in an indifferent sort of way. I am not the\npersecuted Jane Eyre sort of governess at all. But that is all on the\nsurface and does not matter. It is India I care for-the people, the sun,\nthe infinite beauty. It was coming home. You would laugh if I told you\nI knew Peshawar long before I came here. Knew it--walked here, lived.\nBefore there were English in India at all.\u201d She broke off. \u201cYou won\u2019t\nunderstand.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I have had that feeling, too,\u201d I said patronizingly. \u201cIf one has\nread very much about a place-\u201d\n\n\u201cThat was not quite what I meant. Never mind. The people, the\nplace--that is the real thing to me. All this is the dream.\u201d The sweep\nof her hand took in not only Winifred and myself, but the general\u2019s\nstately residence, which to blaspheme in Peshawar is rank infidelity.\n\n\u201cBy George, I would give thousands to feel that! I can\u2019t get out of\nEurope here. I want to write, Miss Loring,\u201d I found myself saying. \u201cI\u2019d\ndone a bit, and then the war came and blew my life to pieces. Now I want\nto get inside the skin of the East, and I can\u2019t do it. I see it from\noutside, with a pane of glass between. No life in it. If you feel as you\nsay, for God\u2019s sake be my interpreter!\u201d\n\nI really meant what I said. I knew she was a harp that any breeze would\nsweep into music. I divined that temperament in her and proposed to use\nit for my own ends. She had and I had not, the power to be a part of all\nshe saw, to feel kindred blood running in her own veins. To the average\nEuropean the native life of India is scarcely interesting, so far is it\nremoved from all comprehension. To me it was interesting, but I could\nnot tell why. I stood outside and had not the fairy gold to pay for my\nentrance. Here at all events she could buy her way where I could not.\nWithout cruelty, which honestly was not my besetting sin--especially\nwhere women were concerned, the egoist in me felt I would use her, would\nextract the last drop of the enchantment of her knowledge before I went\non my way. What more natural than that Vanna or any other woman should\nminister to my thirst for information? Men are like that. I pretend\nto be no better than the rest. She pleased my fastidiousness--that\nfastidiousness which is the only austerity in men not otherwise austere.\n\n\u201cInterpret?\u201d she said, looking at me with clear hazel eyes; \u201chow could\nI? You were in the native city yesterday. What did you miss?\u201d\n\n\u201cEverything! I saw masses of colour, light, movement. Brilliantly\npicturesque people. Children like Asiatic angels. Magnificently scowling\nruffians in sheepskin coats. In fact, a movie staged for my benefit. I\nwas afraid they would ring down the curtain before I had had enough. It\nhad no meaning. When I got back to my diggings I tried to put down\nwhat I had just seen, and I swear there\u2019s more inspiration in the\nguide-book.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you go alone?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I certainly would not go sight-seeing with the Meryon crowd. Tell\nme what you felt when you saw it first.\u201d\n\n\u201cI went with Sir John\u2019s uncle. He was a great traveler. The colour\nstruck me dumb. It flames--it sings. Think of the grey pinched life in\nthe West! I saw a grave dark potter turning his wheel, while his little\ngirl stood by, glad at our pleasure, her head veiled like a miniature\nwoman, tiny baggy trousers, and a silver nose-stud, like a star, in one\ndelicate nostril. In her thin arms she held a heavy baby in a gilt cap,\nlike a monkey. And the wheel turned and whirled until it seemed to be\nspinning dreams, thick as motes in the sun. The clay rose in smooth\nspirals under his hand, and the wheel sang, \u2018Shall the vessel reprove\nhim who made one to honour and one to dishonour?\u2019 And I saw the potter\nthumping his wet clay, and the clay, plastic as dream-stuff, shaped\nswift as light, and the three Fates stood at his shoulder. Dreams,\ndreams, and all in the spinning of the wheel, and the rich shadows of\nthe old broken courtyard where he sat. And the wheel stopped and the\nthread broke, and the little new shapes he had made stood all about him,\nand he was only a potter in Peshawar.\u201d\n\nHer voice was like a song. She had utterly forgotten my existence. I\ndid not dislike it at the moment, for I wanted to hear more, and the\nimpersonal is the rarest gift a woman can give a man.\n\n\u201cDid you buy anything?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe gave me a gift--a flawed jar of turquoise blue, faint turquoise\ngreen round the lip. He saw I understood. And then I bought a little\ngold cap and a wooden box of jade-green Kabul grapes. About a rupee, all\ntold. But it was Eastern merchandise, and I was trading from Balsora and\nBaghdad, and Eleazar\u2019s camels were swaying down from Damascus along the\nKhyber Pass, and coming in at the great Darwazah, and friends\u2019 eyes met\nme everywhere. I am profoundly happy here.\u201d\n\nThe sinking sun lit an almost ecstatic face.\n\nI envied her more deeply than I had ever envied any one. She had the\nsecret of immortal youth, and I felt old as I looked at her. One might\nbe eighty and share that passionate impersonal joy. Age could not wither\nnor custom stale the infinite variety of her world\u2019s joys. She had a\nchild\u2019s dewy youth in her eyes.\n\nThere are great sunsets at Peshawar, flaming over the plain, dying in\nmelancholy splendour over the dangerous hills. They too were hers, in\na sense in which they could never be mine. But what a companion! To\nmy astonishment a wild thought of marriage flashed across me, to be\ninstantly rebuffed with a shrug. Marriage--that one\u2019s wife might talk\npoetry to one about the East! Absurd! But what was it these people felt\nand I could not feel? Almost, shut up in the prison of self, I knew what\nVanna had felt in her village--a maddening desire to escape, to be a\npart of the loveliness that lay beyond me. So might a man love a king\u2019s\ndaughter in her hopeless heights.\n\n\u201cIt may be very beautiful on the surface,\u201d I said morosely; \u201cbut there\u2019s\na lot of misery below--hateful, they tell me.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course. We shall get to work one day. But look at the sunset. It\nopens like a mysterious flower. I must take Winifred home now.\u201d\n\n\u201cOne moment,\u201d I pleaded; \u201cI can only see it through your eyes. I feel it\nwhile you speak, and then the good minute goes.\u201d\n\nShe laughed.\n\n\u201cAnd so must I. Come, Winifred. Look, there\u2019s an owl; not like the owls\nin the summer dark in England--\n\n \u201cLovely are the curves of the white owl sweeping,  Wavy in the\ndark, lit by one low star.\u201d\n\nSuddenly she turned again and looked at me half wistfully.\n\n\u201cIt is good to talk to you. You want to know. You are so near it all. I\nwish I could help you; I am so exquisitely happy myself.\u201d\n\nMy writing was at a standstill. It seemed the groping of a blind man\nin a radiant world. Once perhaps I had felt that life was good in\nitself--when the guns came thundering toward the Vimy Ridge in a mad\ngallop of horses, and men shouting and swearing and frantically urging\nthem on. Then, riding for more than life, I had tasted life for an\ninstant. Not before or since. But this woman had the secret.\n\nLady Meryon, with her escort of girls and subalterns, came daintily past\nthe hotel compound, and startled me from my brooding with her pretty\nsilvery voice.\n\n\u201cDreaming, Mr. Clifden? It isn\u2019t at all wholesome to dream in the East.\nCome and dine with us tomorrow. A tiny dance afterwards, you know; or\nbridge for those who like it.\u201d\n\nI had not the faintest notion whether governesses dined with the family\nor came in afterward with the coffee; but it was a sporting chance, and\nI took it.\n\nThen Sir John came up and joined us.\n\n\u201cYou can\u2019t well dance tomorrow, Kitty,\u201d he said to his wife. \u201cThere\u2019s\nbeen an outpost affair in the Swat Hills, and young Fitzgerald has\nbeen shot. Come to dinner of course, Clifden. Glad to see you. But no\ndancing, I think.\u201d\n\nKitty Meryon\u2019s mouth drooped like a pouting child\u2019s. Was it for the lost\ndance, or the lost soldier lying out on the hills in the dying sunset.\nWho could tell? In either case it was pretty enough for the illustrated\npapers.\n\n\u201cHow sad! Such a dear boy. We shall miss him at tennis.\u201d Then brightly;\n\u201cWell, we\u2019ll have to put the dance off for a week, but come tomorrow\nanyhow.\u201d\n\n\nII\n\n\nNext evening I went into Lady Meryon\u2019s flower-scented drawing-room. The\nelectric fans were fluttering and the evening air was cool. Five or\nsix pretty girls and as many men made up the party--Kitty Meryon the\nprettiest of them all, fashionably undressed in faint pink and crystal,\nwith a charming smile in readiness, all her gay little flags flying in\nthe rich man\u2019s honour. I am no vainer than other men, but I saw that.\nWhatever her charm might be it was none for me. What could I say to\ninterest her who lived in her foolish little world as one shut in a\nbright bubble? And she had said the wrong word about young Fitzgerald--I\nwanted Vanna, with her deep seeing eyes, to say the right one and adjust\nthose cruel values.\n\nGovernesses dine, it appeared, only to fill an unexpected place, or make\na decorous entry afterward, to play accompaniments. Fortunately Kitty\nMeryon sang, in a pinched little soprano, not nearly so pretty as her\nsilver ripple of talk.\n\nIt was when the party had settled down to bridge and I was standing out,\nthat I ventured to go up to her as she sat knitting by a window--not\nunwatched by the quick flash of Lady Meryon\u2019s eyes as I did it.\n\n\u201cI think you hypnotize me, Miss Loring. When I hear anything I\nstraightway want to know what you will say. Have you heard of\nFitzgerald\u2019s death?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is why we are not dancing tonight. Tomorrow the cable will reach\nhis home in England. He was an only child, and they are the great people\nof the village where we are the little people. I knew his mother as one\nknows a great lady who is kind to all the village folk. It may kill her.\nIt is travelling tonight like a bullet to her heart, and she does not\nknow.\u201d\n\n\u201cHis father?\u201d\n\n\u201cA brave man--a soldier himself. He will know it was a good death and\nthat Harry would not fail. He did not at Ypres. He would not here. But\nall joy and hope will be dead in that house tomorrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what do you think?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not sorry for Harry, if you mean that. He knew--we all know--that\nhe was on guard here holding the outposts against blood and treachery\nand terrible things--playing the Great Game. One never loses at that\ngame if one plays it straight, and I am sure that at the last it was joy\nhe felt and not fear. He has not lost. Did you notice in the church\na niche before every soldier\u2019s seat to hold his loaded gun? And the\ntablets on the walls; \u201cKilled at Kabul River, aged 22.\u201d--\u201cKilled on\noutpost duty.\u201d--\u201cMurdered by an Afghan fanatic.\u201d This will be one memory\nmore. Why be sorry.\u201d\n\nPresently:--\n\n\u201cI am going up to the hills tomorrow, to the Malakhand Fort, with Mrs.\nDelany, Lady Meryon\u2019s aunt, and we shall see the wonderful Tahkt-i-Bahi\nMonastery on the way. You should do that run before you go. The fort is\nthe last but one on the way to Chitral, and beyond that the road is so\nbeset that only soldiers may go farther, and indeed the regiments escort\neach other up and down. But it is an early start, for we must be back in\nPeshawar at six for fear of raiding natives.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know; they hauled me up in the dusk the other day, and told me I\nshould be swept off to the hills if I fooled about after dusk. But I\nsay--is it safe for you to go? You ought to have a man. Could I go too?\u201d\n\nI thought she did not look enthusiastic at the proposal.\n\n\u201cAsk. You know I settle nothing. I go where I am sent.\u201d She said it with\nthe happiest smile. I knew they could send her nowhere that she would\nnot find joy. I thought her mere presence must send the vibrations of\nhappiness through the household. Yet again--why? For where there is no\nreceiver the current speaks in vain; and for an instant I seemed to see\nthe air full of messages--of speech striving to utter its passionate\ntruths to deaf ears stopped for ever against the breaking waves of\nsound. But Vanna heard.\n\nShe left the room; and when the bridge was over, I made my request. Lady\nMeryon shrugged her shoulders and declared it would be a terribly dull\nrun--the scenery nothing, \u201cand only\u201d (she whispered) \u201cAunt Selina and\npoor Miss Loring?\u201d\n\nOf course I saw at once that she did not like it; but Sir John was all\nfor my going, and that saved the situation.\n\nI certainly could have dispensed with Aunt Selina when the automobile\ndrew up in the golden river of the sunrise at the hotel. There were only\nthe driver, a personal servant, and the two ladies; Mrs. Delany, comely,\npleasant, talkative, and Vanna--\n\nHer face in its dark motoring veil, fine and delicate as a young moon in\na cloud drift--the sensitive sweet mouth that had quivered a little when\nshe spoke of Fitzgerald--the pure glance that radiated such kindness to\nall the world. She sat there with the Key of Dreams pressed against her\nslight bosom--her eyes dreaming above it. Already the strange airs of\nher unknown world were breathing about me, and as yet I knew not the\nthings that belonged unto my peace.\n\nWe glided along the straight military road from Peshawar to Nowshera,\nthe gold-bright sun dazzling in its whiteness--a strange drive through\nthe flat, burned country, with the ominous Kabul River flowing through\nit. Military preparations everywhere, and the hills looking watchfully\ndown--alive, as it were, with keen, hostile eyes. War was at present\nabout us as behind the lines in France; and when we crossed the Kabul\nRiver on a bridge of boats, and I saw its haunted waters, I began to\nfeel the atmosphere of the place closing down upon me. It had a sinister\nbeauty; it breathed suspense; and I wished, as I was sure Vanna did, for\nsilence that was not at our command.\n\nFor Mrs. Delany felt nothing of it. A bright shallow ripple of talk was\nher contribution to the joys of the day; though it was, fortunately,\nenough for her happiness if we listened and agreed. I knew Vanna\nlistened only in show. Her intent eyes were fixed on the Tahkt-i-Bahi\nhills after we had swept out of Nowshera; and when the car drew up\nat the rough track, she had a strange look of suspense and pallor. I\nremember I wondered at the time if she were nervous in the wild open\ncountry.\n\n\u201cNow pray don\u2019t be shocked,\u201d said Mrs. Delany comfortably; \u201cbut you two\nyoung people may go up to the monastery, and I shall stay here. I am\ndreadfully ashamed of myself, but the sight of that hill is enough for\nme. Don\u2019t hurry. I may have a little doze, and be all the better company\nwhen you get back. No, don\u2019t try to persuade me, Mr. Clifden. It isn\u2019t\nthe part of a friend.\u201d\n\nI cannot say I was sorry, though I had a moment of panic when Vanna\noffered to stay with her--very much, too, as if she really meant it. So\nwe set out perforce, Vanna leading steadily, as if she knew the way.\nShe never looked up, and her wish for silence was so evident, that I\nfollowed, lending my hand mutely when the difficulties obliged it, she\naccepting absently, and as if her thoughts were far away.\n\nSuddenly she quickened her pace. We had climbed about nine hundred feet,\nand now the narrow track twisted through the rocks--a track that looked\nas age-worn as no doubt it was. We threaded it, and struggled over the\nridge, and looked down victorious on the other side.\n\nThere she stopped. A very wonderful sight, of which I had never seen the\nlike, lay below us. Rock and waste and towering crags, and the mighty\nruin of the monastery set in the fangs of the mountain like a robber\nbaron\u2019s castle, looking far away to the blue mountains of the Debatable\nLand--the land of mystery and danger. It stood there--the great ruin\nof a vast habitation of men. Building after building, mysterious and\nbroken, corridors, halls, refectories, cells; the dwelling of a faith so\nalien that I could not reconstruct the life that gave it being. And all\nsinking gently into ruin that in a century more would confound it with\nthe roots of the mountains.\n\nGrey and wonderful, it clung to the heights and looked with eyeless\nwindows at the past. Somehow I found it infinitely pathetic; the very\nfaith it expressed is dead in India, and none left so poor to do it\nreverence.\n\nBut Vanna knew her way. Unerringly she led me from point to point, and\nshe was visibly at home in the intricacies. Such knowledge in a young\nwoman bewildered me. Could she have studied the plans in the Museum?\nHow else should she know where the abbot lived, or where the refractory\nbrothers were punished?\n\nOnce I missed her, while I stooped to examine some scroll-work, and\nfollowing, found her before one of the few images of the Buddha that the\nrapacious Museum had spared--a singularly beautiful bas-relief, the hand\nraised to enforce the truth the calm lips were speaking, the drapery\nfalling in stately folds to the bare feet. As I came up, she had an air\nas if she had just ceased from movement, and I had a distinct feeling\nthat she had knelt before it--I saw the look of worship! The thing\ntroubled me like a dream, haunting, impossible, but real.\n\n\u201cHow beautiful!\u201d I said in spite of myself, as she pointed to the image.\n\u201cIn this utter solitude it seems the very spirit of the place.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe was. He is,\u201d said Vanna.\n\n\u201cExplain to me. I don\u2019t understand. I know so little of him. What is the\nsubject?\u201d\n\nShe hesitated; then chose her words as if for a beginner;--\u201cIt is the\nBlessed One preaching to the Tree-Spirits. See how eagerly they lean\nfrom the boughs to listen. This other relief represents him in the state\nof mystic vision. Here he is drowned in peace. See how it overflows from\nthe closed eyes; the closed lips. The air is filled with his quiet.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is he dreaming?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot dreaming--seeing. Peace. He sits at the point where time and\ninfinity meet. To attain that vision was the aim of the monks who lived\nhere.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid they attain?\u201d I found myself speaking as if she could certainly\nanswer.\n\n\u201cA few. There was one, Vasettha, the Brahman, a young man who had\nrenounced all his possessions and riches, and seated here before this\nimage of the Blessed One, he fell often into the mystic state. He had a\nstrange vision at one time of the future of India, which will surely be\nfulfilled. He did not forget it in his rebirths. He remembers-\u201d\n\nShe broke off suddenly and said with forced indifference,--\u201cHe would sit\nhere often looking out over the mountains; the monks sat at his feet to\nhear. He became abbot while still young. But his story is a sad one.\u201d\n\n\u201cI entreat you to tell me.\u201d\n\nShe looked away over the mountains. \u201cWhile he was abbot here,--still a\nyoung man,--a famous Chinese Pilgrim came down through Kashmir to visit\nthe Holy Places in India. The abbot went forward with him to Peshawar,\nthat he might make him welcome. And there came a dancer to Peshawar,\nnamed Lilavanti, most beautiful! I dare not tell you her beauty. I\ntremble now to think-\u201d\n\nAgain she paused, and again the faint creeping sense of mystery invaded\nme.\n\nShe resumed;--\n\n\u201cThe abbot saw her and he loved her. He was young still, you remember.\nShe was a woman of the Hindu faith and hated Buddhism. It swept him down\ninto the lower worlds of storm and desire. He fled with Lilavanti and\nnever returned here. So in his rebirth he fell-\u201d\n\nShe stopped dead; her face pale as death.\n\n\u201cHow do you know? Where have you read it? If I could only find what you\nfind and know what you know! The East is like an open book to you. Tell\nme the rest.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow should I know any more?\u201d she said hurriedly. \u201cWe must be going\nback. You should study the plans of this place at Peshawar. They were\nvery learned monks who lived here. It is famous for learning.\u201d\n\nThe life had gone out of her words-out of the ruins. There was no more\nto be said.\n\nWe clambered down the hill in the hot sunshine, speaking only of the\nview, the strange shrubs and flowers, and, once, the swift gliding of a\nsnake, and found Mrs. Delany blissfully asleep in the most padded corner\nof the car. The spirit of the East vanished in her comfortable presence,\nand luncheon seemed the only matter of moment.\n\n\u201cI wonder, my dears,\u201d she said, \u201cif you would be very disappointed and\nthink me very dense if I proposed our giving up the Malakhand Fort? The\ndriver has been giving me in very poor English such an account of the\ndangers of that awful road up the hill that I feel no Fort would repay\nme for its terrors. Do say what you feel, Miss Loring. Mr. Clifden can\nlunch with the officers at Nowshera and come any time. I know I am an\natrocity.\u201d\n\nThere could be only one answer, though Vanna and I knew perfectly well\nthe crafty design of the driver to spare himself work. Mrs. Delany\nremained brightly awake for the run home, and favored us with many\nremarkable views on India and its shortcomings, Vanna, who had a sincere\nliking for her, laughing with delight at her description of a visit of\ncondolence with Lady Meryon to the five widows of one of the hill Rajas.\n\nBut I own I was pre-occupied. I knew those moments at the monastery had\ngiven me a glimpse into the wonderland of her soul that made me long\nfor more. It was rapidly becoming clear to me that unless my intentions\ndeveloped on very different lines I must flee Peshawar. For love is born\nof sympathy, and sympathy was strengthening daily, but for love I had no\ncourage yet.\n\nI feared it as men fear the unknown. I despised myself--but I feared.\nI will confess my egregious folly and vanity--I had no doubt as to her\nreception of my offer if I should make it, but possessed by a colossal\nselfishness, I thought only of myself, and from that point of view could\nnot decide how I stood to lose or gain. In my wildest accesses of vanity\nI did not suppose Vanna loved me, but I felt she liked me, and I believe\nthe advantages I had to offer would be overwhelming to a woman in her\nposition. So, tossed on the waves of indecision, I inclined to flight.\n\nThat night I resolutely began my packing, and wrote a note of farewell\nto Lady Meryon. The next morning I furiously undid it, and destroyed the\nnote. And that afternoon I took the shortest way to the sun-set road to\nlounge about and wait for Vanna and Winifred. She never came, and I was\nas unreasonably angry as if I had deserved the blessing of her presence.\n\nNext day I could see that she tried gently hut clearly to discourage our\nmeeting and for three days I never saw her at all. Yet I knew that in\nher solitary life our talks counted for a pleasure, and when we met\nagain I thought I saw a new softness in the lovely hazel deeps of her\neyes.\n\n\nIII\n\n\nOn the day when things became clear to me, I was walking towards the\nMeryons\u2019 gates when I met her coming alone along the sunset road, in the\nlate gold of the afternoon. She looked pale and a little wearied, and I\nremembered I wished I did not know every change of her face as I did. It\nwas a symptom that alarmed my selfishness--it galled me with the sense\nthat I was no longer my own despot.\n\n\u201cSo you have been up the Khyber Pass,\u201d she said as I fell into step at\nher side. \u201cTell me--was it as wonderful as you expected?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no,--you tell me! It will give me what I missed. Begin at the\nbeginning. Tell me what I saw.\u201d\n\nI could not miss the delight of her words, and she laughed, knowing my\nwhim.\n\n\u201cOh, that Pass!--the wonder of those old roads that have borne the\ntraffic and romance of the world for ages. Do you think there is\nanything in the world so fascinating as they are? But did you go on\nTuesday or Friday?\u201d\n\nFor these are the only days in the week when the Khyber can be safely\nentered. The British then turn out the Khyber Rifles and man every crag,\nand the loaded caravans move like a tide, and go up and down the narrow\nroad on their occasions.\n\nNaturally mere sightseers are not welcomed, for much business must be\ngot through in that urgent forty eight hours in which life is not risked\nin entering.\n\n\u201cTuesday. But make a picture for me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, you gave your word not to photograph or sketch--as if one wanted\nto when every bit of it is stamped on one\u2019s brain! And you went up to\nJumrood Fort at the entrance. Did they tell you it is an old Sikh Fort\nand has been on duty in that turbulent place for five hundred years And\ndid you see the machine guns in the court? And every one armed--even the\nboys with belts of cartridges? Then you went up the narrow winding track\nbetween the mountains, and you said to yourself, \u2018This is the road of\npure romance. It goes up to silken Samarkhand, and I can ride to Bokhara\nof the beautiful women and to all the dreams. Am I alive and is it\nreal?\u2019 You felt that?\u201d\n\n\u201cAll. Every bit. Go on!\u201d\n\nShe smiled with pleasure.\n\n\u201cAnd you saw the little forts on the crags and the men on guard all\nalong the bills, rifles ready! You could hear the guns rattle as they\nsaluted. Do you know that up there men plough with rifles loaded beside\nthem? They have to be men indeed.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you mean to imply that we are not men?\u201d\n\n\u201cDifferent men at least. This is life in a Border ballad. Such a life as\nyou knew in France but beautiful in a wild--hawk sort of way. Don\u2019t the\nKhyber Rifles bewilder you? They are drawn from these very Hill tribes,\nand will shoot their own fathers and brothers in the way of duty as\ncomfortably as if they were jackals. Once there was a scrap here and\none of the tribesmen sniped our men unbearably. What do you suppose\nhappened? A Khyber Rifle came to the Colonel and said, \u2018Let me put\nan end to him, Colonel Sahib. I know exactly where he sits. He is my\ngrandfather.\u2019 And he did it!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe bond of bread and salt?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, and discipline. I\u2019m sometimes half frightened of discipline. It\nmoulds a man like wax. Even God doesn\u2019t do that. Well--then you had the\ntraders--wild shaggy men in sheepskin and women in massive jewelry of\nsilver and turquoise,-great earrings, heavy bracelets loading their\narms, wild, fierce, handsome. And the camels--thousands of them, some\ngoing up, some coming down, a mass of human and animal life. Above\nyou, moving figures against the keen blue sky, or deep below you in the\nravines.\n\n\u201cThe camels were swaying along with huge bales of goods, and dark\nbeautiful women in wicker cages perched on them. Silks and carpets from\nBokhara, and blue--eyed Persian cats, and bluer Persian turquoises.\nWonderful! And the dust, gilded by the sunshine, makes a vaporous golden\natmosphere for it all.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat was the most wonderful thing you saw there?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe most beautiful, I think, was a man--a splendid dark ruffian\nlounging along. He wanted to show off, and his swagger was perfect. Long\nblack onyx eyes and a tumble of black curls, and teeth like almonds.\nBut what do you think he carried on his wrist--a hawk with fierce yellow\neyes, ringed and chained. Hawking is a favourite sport in the hills. Oh,\nwhy doesn\u2019t some great painter come and paint it all before they take to\ntrains and cars? I long to see it all again, but I never shall.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not,\u201d said I. \u201cSurely Sir John can get you up there any day?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot now. The fighting makes it difficult. But it isn\u2019t that. I am\nleaving.\u201d\n\n\u201cLeaving?\u201d My heart gave a leap. \u201cWhy? Where?\u201d\n\n\u201cLeaving Lady Meryon.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy--for Heaven\u2019s sake?\u201d\n\n\u201cI had rather not tell you.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I must know.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou cannot.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall ask Lady Meryon.\u201d\n\n\u201cI forbid you.\u201d\n\nAnd then the unexpected happened, and an unbearable impulse swept me\ninto folly--or was it wisdom?\n\n\u201cListen to me. I would not have said it yet, but this settles it. I want\nyou to marry me. I want it atrociously!\u201d\n\nIt was a strange word. What I felt for her at that moment was difficult\nto describe. I endured it like a pain that could only be assuaged by\nher presence, but I endured it angrily. We were walking on the sunset\nroad--very deserted and quiet at the time. The place was propitious if\nnothing else was.\n\nShe looked at me in transparent astonishment;\n\n\u201cMr. Clifden, are you dreaming? You can\u2019t mean what you say.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy can\u2019t I? I do. I want you. You have the key of all I care for. I\nthink of the world without you and find it tasteless.\u201d\n\n\u201cSurely you have all the world can give? What do you want more?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe power to enjoy it--to understand it. You have got that--I haven\u2019t.\nI want you always with me to interpret, like a guide to a blind fellow.\nI am no better.\u201d\n\n\u201cSay like a dog, at once!\u201d she interrupted. \u201cAt least you are frank\nenough to put it on that ground. You have not said you love me. You\ncould not say it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know whether I do or not. I know nothing about love. I want\nyou. Indescribably. Perhaps that is love--is it? I never wanted any one\nbefore. I have tried to get away and I can\u2019t.\u201d\n\nI was brutally frank, you see. She compelled my very thoughts.\n\n\u201cWhy have you tried?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause every man likes freedom. But I like you better.\u201d \u201cI can tell\nyou the reason,\u201d she said in her gentle unwavering voice. \u201cI am Lady\nMeryon\u2019s governess, and an undesirable. You have felt that?\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t make me out such a snob. No--yes. You force me into honesty.\nI did feel it at first like the miserable fool I am, but I could kick\nmyself when I think of that now. It is utterly forgotten. Take me and\nmake me what you will, and forgive me. Only tell me your secret of joy.\nHow is it you understand everything alive or dead? I want to live--to\nsee, to know.\u201d\n\nIt was a rhapsody like a boy\u2019s. Yet at the moment I was not even ashamed\nof it, so sharp was my need.\n\n\u201cI think,\u201d she said, slowly, looking straight before her, \u201cthat I had\nbetter be quite frank. I don\u2019t love you. I don\u2019t know what love means\nin the Western sense. It has a very different meaning for me. Your voice\ncomes to me from an immense distance when you speak in that way. You\nwant me--but never with a thought of what I might want. Is that love? I\nlike you very deeply as a friend, but we are of different races. There\nis a gulf.\u201d\n\n\u201cA gulf? You are English.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy birth, yes. In mind, no. And there are things that go deeper, that\nyou could not understand. So I refuse quite definitely, and our ways\npart here, for in a few days I go. I shall not see you again, but I wish\nto say good-bye.\u201d\n\nThe bitterest chagrin was working in my soul. I felt as if all were\ndeserting me-a sickening feeling of loneliness. I did not know the man\nwho was in me, and was a stranger to myself.\n\n\u201cI entreat you to tell me why, and where.\u201d\n\n\u201cSince you have made me this offer, I will tell you why. Lady Meryon\nobjected to my friendship with you, and objected in a way which-\u201d\n\nShe stopped, flushing palely. I caught her hand.\n\n\u201cThat settles it!-that she should have dared! I\u2019ll go up this minute and\ntell her we are engaged. Vanna-Vanna!\u201d\n\nFor she disengaged her hand, quietly but firmly.\n\n\u201cOn no account. How can I make it more plain to you? I should have gone\nsoon in any case. My place is in the native city--that is the life I\nwant. I have work there, I knew it before I came out. My sympathies are\nall with them. They know what life is--why even the beggars, poorer than\npoor, are perfectly happy, basking in the great generous sun. Oh, the\nsplendour and riot of life and colour! That\u2019s my life--I sicken of\nthis.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I\u2019ll give it to you. Marry me, and we will travel till you\u2019re tired\nof it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, and look on as at a play--sitting in the stalls, and applauding\nwhen we are pleased. No, I\u2019m going to work there.\u201d \u201cFor God\u2019s sake, how?\nLet me come too.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou can\u2019t. You\u2019re not in it. I am going to attach myself to the medical\nmission at Lahore and learn nursing, and then I shall go to my own\npeople.\u201d\n\n\u201cMissionaries? You\u2019ve nothing in common with them?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing. But they teach what I want. Mr. Clifden, I shall not come this\nway again. If I remember--I\u2019ll write to you, and tell you what the real\nworld is like.\u201d\n\nShe smiled, the absorbed little smile I knew and feared. I saw pleading\nwas useless then. I would wait, and never lose sight of her and of hope.\n\n\u201cVanna, before you go, give me your gift of sight. Interpret for me.\nStay with me a little and make me see.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean exactly?\u201d she asked in her gentlest voice, half\nturning to me.\n\n\u201cMake one journey with me, as my sister, if you will do no more. Though\nI warn you that all the time I shall be trying to win my wife. But come\nwith me once, and after that--if you will go, you must. Say yes.\u201d\n\nMadness! But she hesitated--a hesitation full of hope, and looked at me\nwith intent eyes.\n\n\u201cI will tell you frankly,\u201d she said at last, \u201cthat I know my knowledge\nof the East and kinship with it goes far beyond mere words. In my case\nthe doors were not shut. I believe--I know that long ago this was my\nlife. If I spoke for ever I could not make you understand how much I\nknow and why. So I shall quite certainly go back to it. Nothing--you\nleast of all, can hold me. But you are my friend--that is a true bond.\nAnd if you would wish me to give you two months before I go, I might do\nthat if it would in any way help you. As your friend only--you clearly\nunderstand. You would not reproach me afterwards when I left you, as I\nshould most certainly do?\u201d\n\n\u201cI swear I would not. I swear I would protect you even from myself. I\nwant you for ever, but if you will only give me two months--come! But\nhave you thought that people will talk. It may injure you. I\u2019m not worth\nthat, God knows. And you will take nothing I could give you in return.\u201d\n\nShe spoke very quietly.\n\n\u201cThat does not trouble me.--It would only trouble me if you asked what\nI have not to give. For two months I would travel with you as a friend,\nif, like a friend, I paid my own expenses-\u201d\n\nI would have interrupted, but she brushed that firmly aside. \u201cNo, I must\ndo as I say, and I am quite able to or I should not suggest it. I would\ngo on no other terms. It would be hard if because we are man and woman I\nmight not do one act of friendship for you before we part. For though I\nrefuse your offer utterly, I appreciate it, and I would make what little\nreturn I can. It would be a sharp pain to me to distress you.\u201d\n\nHer gentleness and calm, the magnitude of the offer she was making\nstunned me so that I could scarcely speak. There was such an\nextraordinary simplicity and generosity in her manner that it appeared\nto me more enthralling and bewildering than the most finished coquetry\nI had ever known. She gave me opportunities that the most ardent lover\ncould in his wildest dream desire, and with the remoteness in her eyes\nand her still voice she deprived them of all hope. It kindled in me a\nflame that made my throat dry when I tried to speak.\n\n\u201cVanna, is it a promise? You mean it?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you wish it, yes. But I warn you I think it will not make it easier\nfor you when the time is over.\n\n\u201cWhy two months?\u201d\n\n\u201cPartly because I can afford no more. No! I know what you would say.\nPartly because I can spare no more time. But I will give you that,\nif you wish, though, honestly, I had very much rather not. I think it\nunwise for you. I would protect you if I could--indeed I would!\u201d\n\nIt was my turn to hesitate now. Every moment revealed to me some new\nsweetness, some charm that I saw would weave itself into the very\nfibre of my I had been! Was I not now a fool? Would it not being if the\nopportunity were given. Oh, fool that be better to let her go before she\nhad become a part of my daily experience? I began to fear I was courting\nmy own shipwreck. She read my thoughts clearly.\n\n\u201cIndeed you would be wise to decide against it. Release me from my\npromise. It was a mad scheme.\u201d\n\nThe superiority--or so I felt it--of her gentleness maddened me. It\nmight have been I who needed protection, who was running the risk of\nmisjudgment--not she, a lonely woman. She looked at me, waiting--trying\nto be wise for me, never for one instant thinking of herself. I felt\nutterly exiled from the real purpose of her life.\n\n\u201cI will never release you. I claim your promise. I hold to it.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well then--I will write, and tell you where I shall be. Good-bye,\nand if you change your mind, as I hope you will, tell me.\u201d\n\nShe extended her hand cool as a snowflake, and was gone, walking swiftly\nup the road. Ah, let a man beware when his wishes fulfilled, rain down\nupon him!\n\nTo what had I committed myself? She knew her strength and had no fears.\nI could scarcely realize that she had liking enough for me to make the\noffer. That it meant no shade more than she had said I knew well. She\nwas safe, but what was to be the result for me? I knew nothing--she was\na beloved mystery.\n\n \u201cStrange she is and secret,  Strange her eyes; her cheeks are\ncold as cold sea-shells.\u201d\n\nYet I would risk it, for I knew there was no hope if I let her go now,\nand if I saw her again, some glimmer might fall upon my dark.\n\nNext day this reached me:--Dear Mr. Clifden,--\n\nI am going to some Indian friends for a time. On the 15th of June I\nshall be at Srinagar in Kashmir. A friend has allowed me to take her\nlittle houseboat, the \u201cKedarnath.\u201d If you like this plan we will share\nthe cost for two months. I warn you it is not luxurious, but I think you\nwill like it. I shall do this whether you come or no, for I want a quiet\ntime before I take up my nursing in Lahore. In thinking of all this will\nyou remember that I am not a girl but a woman. I shall be twenty-nine my\nnext birthday. Sincerely yours, VANNA LORING.\n\nP.S. But I still think you would be wiser not to come. I hope to hear\nyou will not.\n\nI replied only this:--Dear Miss Loring,--I think I understand the\nposition fully. I will be there. I thank you with all my heart.\nGratefully yours, STEPHEN CLIFDEN.\n\n\nIV\n\n\nThree days later I met Lady Meryon, and was swept in to tea. Her manner\nwas distinctly more cordial as she mentioned casually that Vanna had\nleft--she understood to take up missionary work--\u201cwhich is odd,\u201d she\nadded with a woman\u2019s acrimony, \u201cfor she had no more in common with\nmissionaries than I have, and that is saying a good deal. Of course she\nspeaks Hindustani perfectly, and could be useful, but I haven\u2019t grasped\nthe point of it yet.\u201d I saw she counted on my knowing nothing of the\nreal reason of Vanna\u2019s going and left it, of course, at that. The talk\ndrifted away under my guidance. Vanna evidently puzzled her. She half\nfeared, and wholly misunderstood her.\n\nNo message came to me, as time went by, and for the time she had\nvanished completely, but I held fast to her promise and lived on that\nonly.\n\nI take up my life where it ceased to be a mere suspense and became life\nonce more.\n\nOn the 15th of June, I found myself riding into Srinagar in Kashmir,\nthrough the pure tremulous green of the mighty poplars that hedge the\nroad into the city. The beauty of the country had half stunned me when\nI entered the mountain barrier of Baramula and saw the snowy peaks that\nguard the Happy Valley, with the Jhelum flowing through its tranquil\nloveliness. The flush of the almond blossom was over, but the iris, like\na blue sea of peace had overflowed the world--the azure meadows smiled\nback at the radiant sky. Such blossom! the blue shading into clear\nviolet, like a shoaling sea. The earth, like a cup held in the hand of a\ngod, brimmed with the draught of youth and summer and--love? But no, for\nme the very word was sinister. Vanna\u2019s face, immutably calm, confronted\nit.\n\nThat night I slept in a boat at Sopor, and I remember that, waking at\nmidnight, I looked out and saw a mountain with a gloriole of hazy silver\nabout it, misty and faint as a cobweb threaded with dew. The river,\nthere spreading into a lake, was dark under it, flowing in a deep smooth\nblackness of shadow, and everything awaited--what? And even while I\nlooked, the moon floated serenely above the peak, and all was bathed in\npure light, the water rippling and shining in broken silver and pearl.\nSo had Vanna floated into my sky, luminous, sweet, remote. I did not\nquestion my heart any more. I knew I loved her.\n\nTwo days later I rode into Srinagar, and could scarcely see the wild\nbeauty of that strange Venice of the East, my heart was so beating\nin my eyes. I rode past the lovely wooden bridges where the balconied\nhouses totter to each other across the canals in dim splendour of\ncarving and age; where the many-coloured native life crowds down to the\nriver steps and cleanses its flower-bright robes, its gold-bright brass\nvessels in the shining stream, and my heart said only--Vanna, Vanna!\n\nOne day, one thought, of her absence had taught me what she was to me,\nand if humility and patient endeavor could raise me to her feet, I was\nresolved that I would spend my life in labor and think it well spent.\n\nMy servant dismounted and led his horse, asking from every one where the\n\u201cKedarnath\u201d could be found, and eager black eyes sparkled and two little\nbronze images detached themselves from the crowd of boys, and ran, fleet\nas fauns, before us.\n\nAbove the last bridge the Jhelum broadens out into a stately river,\ncontrolled at one side by the banked walk known as the Bund, with the\nClub House upon it and the line of houseboats beneath. Here the visitors\nflutter up and down and exchange the gossip, the bridge appointments,\nthe little dinners that sit so incongruously on the pure Orient that is\nKashmir.\n\nShe would not be here. My heart told me that, and sure enough the boys\nwere leading across the bridge and by a quiet shady way to one of the\nmany backwaters that the great river makes in the enchanting city. There\nis one waterway stretching on afar to the Dal Lake. It looks like a\nriver--it is the very haunt of peace. Under those mighty chenar, or\nplane trees, that are the glory of Kashmir, clouding the water with deep\ngreen shadows, the sun can scarcely pierce, save in a dipping sparkle\nhere and there to intensify the green gloom. The murmur of the city, the\nchatter of the club, are hundreds of miles away. We rode downward under\nthe towering trees, and dismounting, saw a little houseboat tethered to\nthe bank. It was not of the richer sort that haunts the Bund, where the\nnative servants follow in a separate boat, and even the electric light\nis turned on as part of the luxury. This was a long low craft, very\nbroad, thatched like a country cottage afloat. In the forepart lived the\nnative owner, and his family, their crew, our cooks and servants; for\nthey played many parts in our service. And in the afterpart, room for a\nlife, a dream, the joy or curse & many days to be.\n\nBut then, I saw only one thing--Vanna sat under the trees, reading, or\nlooking at the cool dim watery vista, with a single boat, loaded to the\nriver\u2019s edge with melons and scarlet tomatoes, punting lazily down to\nSrinagar in the sleepy afternoon.\n\nShe was dressed in white with a shady hat, and her delicate dark face\nseemed to glow in the shadow like the heart of a pale rose. For the\nfirst time I knew she was beautiful. Beauty shone in her like the flame\nin an alabaster lamp, serene, diffused in the very air about her, so\nthat to me she moved in a mild radiance. She rose to meet me with both\nhands outstretched--the kindest, most cordial welcome. Not an eyelash\nflickered, not a trace of self-consciousness. If I could have seen her\nflush or tremble--but no--her eyes were clear and calm as a forest pool.\nSo I remembered her. So I saw her once more.\n\nI tried, with a hopeless pretence, to follow her example and hide what I\nfelt, where she had nothing to hide.\n\n\u201cWhat a place you have found. Why, it\u2019s like the deep heart of a wood!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I saw it once when I was here with the Meryons. But we lay at the\nBund then--just under the Club. This is better. Did you like the ride\nup?\u201d\n\nI threw myself on the grass beside her with a feeling of perfect rest.\n\n\u201cIt was like a new heaven and a new earth. What a country!\u201d\n\nThe very spirit of Quiet seemed to be drowsing in those branches\ntowering up into the blue, dipping their green fingers into the crystal\nof the water. What a heaven!\n\n\u201cNow you shall have your tea and then I will show you your rooms,\u201d she\nsaid, smiling at my delight. \u201cWe shall stay here a few days more that\nyou may see Srinagar, and then they tow us up into the Dal Lake opposite\nthe Gardens of the Mogul Emperors. And if you think this beautiful what\nwill you say then?\u201d\n\nI shut my eyes and see still that first meal of my new life. The little\ntable that Pir Baksh, breathing full East in his jade-green turban, set\nbefore her, with its cloth worked in a pattern of the chenar leaves\nthat are the symbol of Kashmir; the brown cakes made by Ahmad Khan in\na miraculous kitchen of his own invention--a few holes burrowed in the\nriver bank, a smoldering fire beneath them, and a width of canvas for\na roof. But it served, and no more need be asked of luxury. And Vanna,\nmaking it mysteriously the first home I ever had known, the central\njoy of it all. Oh, wonderful days of life that breathe the spirit of\nimmortality and pass so quickly--surely they must be treasured somewhere\nin Eternity that we may look upon their beloved light once more.\n\n\u201cNow you must see the boat. The Kedarnath is not a Dreadnought, but she\nis broad and very comfortable. And we have many chaperons. They all\nlive in the bows, and exist simply to protect the Sahiblog from all\ndiscomfort, and very well they do it. That is Ahmad Khan by the kitchen.\nHe cooks for us. Salama owns the boat, and steers her and engages the\nmen to tow us when we move. And when I arrived he aired a little English\nand said piously; The Lord help me to give you no trouble, and the Lord\nhelp you! That is his wife sitting on the bank. She speaks little but\nKashmiri, but I know a little of that. Look at the hundred rat-tail\nplaits of her hair, lengthened with wool, and see her silver and\nturquoise jewelry. She wears much of the family fortune and is quite\na walking bank. Salama, Ahmad Khan and I talk by the hour. Ahmad comes\nfrom Fyzabad. Look at Salama\u2019s boy--I call him the Orange Imp. Did you\never see anything so beautiful?\u201d\n\nI looked in sheer delight, and grasped my camera. Sitting near us was a\nlovely little Kashmiri boy of about eight, in a faded orange coat, and\na turban exactly like his father\u2019s. His curled black eyelashes were\nso long that they made a soft gloom over the upper part of the little\ngolden face. The perfect bow of the scarlet lips, the long eyes, the shy\nsmile, suggested an Indian Eros. He sat dipping his feet in the water\nwith little pigeon-like cries of content.\n\n\u201cHe paddles at the bow of our little shikara boat with a paddle exactly\nlike a water-lily leaf. Do you like our friends? I love them already,\nand know all their affairs. And now for the boat.\u201d\n\n\u201cOne moment--If we are friends on a great adventure, I must call you\nVanna, and you me Stephen.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I suppose that is part of it,\u201d she said, smiling. \u201cCome, Stephen.\u201d\n\nIt was like music, but a cold music that chilled me. She should have\nhesitated, should have flushed--it was I who trembled. So I followed her\nacross the broad plank into our new home.\n\n\u201cThis is our sitting-room. Look, how charming!\u201d\n\nIt was better than charming; it was home indeed. Windows at each side\nopening down almost to the water, a little table for meals that lived\nmostly on the bank, with a grey pot of iris in the middle. Another\ntable for writing, photography, and all the little pursuits of travel.\nA bookshelf with some well--worn friends. Two long cushioned chairs.\nTwo for meals, and a Bokhara rug, soft and pleasant for the feet. The\ninterior was plain unpainted wood, but set so that the grain showed like\nsatin in the rippling lights from the water.\n\nThat is the inventory of the place I have loved best in the world, but\nwhat eloquence can describe what it gave me, what its memory gives me to\nthis day? And I have no eloquence--what I felt leaves me dumb.\n\n\u201cIt is perfect,\u201d was all I said as she waved her hand proudly. \u201cIt is\nhome.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd if you had come alone to Kashmir you would have had a great rich\nboat with electric light and a butler. You would never have seen the\npeople except at meal--times. I think you will like this better.\nWell, this is your tiny bedroom, and your bathroom, and beyond the\nsitting--room are mine. Do you like it all?\u201d\n\nBut I could say no more. The charm of her own personality had touched\neverything and left its fragrance like a flower--breath in the air. I\nwas beggared of thanks, but my whole soul was gratitude. We dined on\nthe bank that evening, the lamp burning steadily in the still air and\nthrowing broken reflections in the water, while the moon looked in upon\nthem through the leaves. I felt extraordinarily young and happy.\n\nThe quiet of her voice was soft as the little lap of water against\nthe bows of the boat, and Kahdra, the Orange Imp, was singing a little\nwordless song to himself as he washed the plates beside us. It was a\nsimple meal, and Vanna, abstemious as a hermit never ate anything but\nrice and fruit, but I could remember no meal in all my days of luxury\nwhere I had eaten with such zest.\n\n\u201cIt looks very grand to have so many to wait upon us, doesn\u2019t it? But\nthis is one of the cheapest countries in the world though the old timers\nmourn over present expenses. You will laugh when I show you your share\nof the cost.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe wealth of the world could not buy this,\u201d I said, and was silent.\n\n\u201cBut you must listen to my plans. We must do a little camping the\nlast three weeks before we part. Up in the mountains. Are they not\nmarvellous? They stand like a rampart round us, but not cold and\nterrible, but \u201cLike as the hills stand round about Jerusalem\u201d--they are\nguardian presences. And running up into them, high-very high, are the\nvalleys and hills where we shall camp. Tomorrow we shall row through\nSrinagar, by the old Maharaja\u2019s palace.\u201d\n\n\nV\n\nAnd so began a life of sheer enchantment. We knew no one. The visitors\nin Kashmir change nearly every season, and no one cared-no one asked\nanything of us, and as for our shipmates, a willing affectionate service\nwas their gift, and no more. Looking back, I know in what a wonder-world\nI was privileged to live. Vanna could talk with them all. She did not\nmove apart, a condescending or indifferent foreigner. Kahdra would\ncome to her knee and prattle to her of the great snake that lived up on\nMahadeo to devour erring boys who omitted their prayers at proper Moslem\nintervals. She would sit with the baby in her lap while the mother\nbusied herself in the sunny bows with the mysterious dishes that smelt\nso savory to a hungry man. The cuts, the bruises of the neighbourhood\nall came to Vanna for treatment.\n\n\u201cI am graduating as a nurse,\u201d she would say laughing as she bent over\nthe lean arm of some weirdly wrinkled old lady, bandaging and soothing\nat the same moment. Her reward would be some bit of folk-lore, some\nquaintness of gratitude that I noted down in the little book I kept for\nremembrance--that I do not need, for every word is in my heart.\n\nWe rowed down through the city next day--Salama rowing, and little\nKahdra lazily paddling at the bow--a wonderful city, with its narrow\nways begrimed with the dirt of ages, and its balconied houses looking\nas if disease and sin had soaked into them and given them a vicious\ntottering beauty, horrible and yet lovely too. We saw the swarming life\nof the bazaar, the white turbans coming and going, diversified by the\nrose and yellow Hindu turbans, and the caste-marks, orange and red, on\nthe dark brows.\n\nI saw two women--girls--painted and tired like Jezebel, looking out of\none window carved and old, and the grey burnished doves flying about\nit. They leaned indolently, like all the old, old wickedness of the East\nthat yet is ever young--\u201cFlowers of Delight,\u201d with smooth black hair\nbraided with gold and blossoms, and covered with pale rose veils, and\ngold embossed disks swinging like lamps beside the olive cheeks, the\ngreat eyes artificially lengthened and darkened with soorma, and the\ncurves of the full lips emphasized with vermilion. They looked down\non us with apathy, a dull weariness that held all the old evil of the\nwicked humming city.\n\nIt had taken shape in those indolent bodies and heavy eyes that could\nflash into life as a snake wakes into fierce darting energy when the\ntime comes to spring--direct inheritrixes from Lilith, in the fittest\nsetting in the world--the almost exhausted vice of an Oriental city as\nold as time.\n\n\u201cAnd look-below here,\u201d said Vanna, pointing to one of the ghauts--long\nrugged steps running down to the river.\n\n\u201cWhen I came yesterday, a great broken crowd was collected here, almost\nshouldering each other into the water where a boat lay rocking. In it\nlay the body of a man brutally murdered for the sake of a few rupees and\nflung into the river. I could see the poor brown body stark in the boat\nwith a friend weeping beside it. On the lovely deodar bridge people\nleaned over, watching with a grim open-mouthed curiosity, and business\nwent on gaily where the jewelers make the silver bangles for slender\nwrists, and the rows of silver chains that make the necks like \u2018the\nTower of Damascus builded for an armory.\u2019 It was all very wild and\ncruel. I went down to them-\u201d\n\n\u201cVanna--you went down? Horrible!\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, you see I heard them say the wife was almost a child and needs\nhelp. So I went. Once long ago at Peshawar I saw the same thing happen,\nand they came and took the child for the service of the gods, for she\nwas most lovely, and she clung to the feet of a man in terror, and the\npriest stabbed her to the heart. She died in my arms.\n\n\u201cGood God!\u201d I said, shuddering; \u201cwhat a sight for you! Did they never\nhang him?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe was not punished. I told you it was a very long time ago. Her\nexpression had a brooding quiet as she looked down into the running\nriver, almost it might be as if she saw the picture of that past misery\nin the deep water. She said no more. But in her words and the terrible\ncrowding of its life, Srinagar seemed to me more of a nightmare than\nanything I had seen, excepting only Benares; for the holy Benares is a\nmemory of horror, with a sense of blood hidden under its frantic crazy\ndevotion, and not far hidden either.\n\n\u201cOur own green shade, when we pulled back to it in the evening cool, was\na refuge of unspeakable quiet. She read aloud to me that evening by the\nsmall light of our lamp beneath the trees, and, singularly, she read of\njoy.\n\n\u201cI have drunk of the Cup of the Ineffable, I have found the key of the\nMystery, Travelling by no track I have come to the Sorrowless Land; very\neasily has the mercy of the great Lord come upon me. Wonderful is that\nLand of rest to which no merit can win. There have I seen joy filled\nto the brim, perfection of joy. He dances in rapture and waves of form\narise from His dance. He holds all within his bliss.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is that?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is from the songs of the great Indian mystic--Kabir. Let me read you\nmore. It is like the singing of a lark, lost in the infinite of light\nand heaven.\u201d\n\nSo in the soft darkness I heard for the first time those immortal words;\nand hearing, a faint glimmer of understanding broke upon me as to\nthe source of the peace that surrounded her. I had accepted it as an\nemanation of her own heart when it was the pulsing of the tide of the\nDivine. She read, choosing a verse here and there, and I listened with\nabsorption.\n\nSuppose I had been wrong in believing that sorrow is the keynote\nof life; that pain is the road of ascent, if road there be; that an\nimplacable Nature and that only, presides over all our pitiful struggles\nand seekings and writes a black \u201cFinis\u201d to the holograph of our\nexistence?\n\nWhat then? What was she teaching me? Was she the Interpreter of a Beauty\neternal in the heavens, and reflected like a broken prism in the beauty\nthat walked visible beside me? So I listened like a child to an unknown\nlanguage, yet ventured my protest.\n\n\u201cIn India, in this wonderful country where men have time and will for\nspeculation such thoughts may be natural. Can they be found in the\nWest?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is from the West--might not Kabir himself have said it? Certainly\nhe would have felt it. \u2018Happy is he who seeks not to understand the\nMystery of God, but who, merging his spirit into Thine, sings to\nThy face, O Lord, like a harp, understanding how difficult it is to\nknow--how easy to love Thee.\u2019 We debate and argue and the Vision passes\nus by. We try to prove it, and kill it in the laboratory of our minds,\nwhen on the altar of our souls it will dwell for ever.\u201d\n\nSilence--and I pondered. Finally she laid the book aside, and repeated\nfrom memory and in a tone of perfect music; \u201cKabir says, \u2018I shall go\nto the House of my Lord with my Love at my side; then shall I sound the\ntrumpet of triumph.\u2019\u201d\n\nAnd when she left me alone in the moonlight silence the old doubts came\nback to me--the fear that I saw only through her eyes, and began to\nbelieve in joy only because I loved her. I remember I wrote in the\nlittle book I kept for my stray thoughts, these words which are not mine\nbut reflect my thought of her; \u201cThine is the skill of the Fairy Woman,\nand the virtue of St. Bride, and the faith of Mary the Mild, and the\ngracious way of the Greek woman, and the beauty of lovely Emer, and the\ntenderness of heart-sweet Deirdre, and the courage of Maev the great\nQueen, and the charm of Mouth-of-Music.\u201d\n\nYes, all that and more, but I feared lest I should see the heaven of joy\nthrough her eyes only and find it mirage as I had found so much else.\n\nSECOND PART Early in the pure dawn the men came and our boat was towed\nup into the Dal Lake through crystal waterways and flowery banks, the\nmen on the path keeping step and straining at the rope until the bronze\nmuscles stood out on their legs and backs, shouting strong rhythmic\nphrases to mark the pull.\n\n\u201cThey shout the Wondrous Names of God--as they are called,\u201d said Vanna\nwhen I asked. \u201cThey always do that for a timid effort. Bad shah! The\nLord, the Compassionate, and so on. I don\u2019t think there is any religion\nabout it but it is as natural to them as One, Two, Three, to us. It\ngives a tremendous lift. Watch and see.\u201d\n\nIt was part of the delightful strangeness that we should move to that\nstrong music. We sat on the upper deck and watched the dream--like\nbeauty drift slowly by until we emerged beneath a little bridge into the\nfairy land of the lake which the Mogul Emperors loved so well that they\nmade their noble pleasance gardens on the banks, and thought it little\nto travel up yearly from far--off Delhi over the snowy Pir Panjal with\ntheir Queens and courts for the perfect summer of Kashmir.\n\nWe moored by a low bank under a great wood of chenar trees, and saw the\nlittle table in the wilderness set in the greenest shade with our chairs\nbeside it, and my pipe laid reverently upon it by Kahdra.\n\nAcross the glittering water lay on one side the Shalimar Garden known\nto all readers of \u201cLalla Ruhk\u201d--a paradise of roses; and beyond it\nagain the lovelier gardens of Nour-Mahal, the Light of the Palace, that\nimperial woman who ruled India under the weak Emperor\u2019s name--she whose\nname he set thus upon his coins:\n\n\u201cBy order of King Jehangir. Gold has a hundred splendours added to it by\nreceiving the name of Nour-Jahan the Queen.\u201d\n\nHas any woman ever had a more royal homage than this most royal\nlady--known first as Mihr-u-nissa--Sun of Women, and later, Nour-Mahal,\nLight of the Palace, and latest, Nour-Jahan-Begam, Queen, Light of the\nWorld?\n\nHere in these gardens she had lived--had seen the snow mountains change\nfrom the silver of dawn to the illimitable rose of sunset. The life, the\ncolour beat insistently upon my brain. They built a world of magic where\nevery moment was pure gold. Surely--surely to Vanna it must be the same.\nI believed in my very soul that she who gave and shared such joy could\nnot be utterly apart from me? Could I then feel certain that I had\ngained any ground in these days we had been together? Could she still\ndefine the cruel limits she had laid down, or were her eyes kinder, her\ntones a more broken music? I did not know. Whenever I could hazard a\nguess the next minute baffled me.\n\nJust then, in the sunset, she was sitting on deck, singing under her\nbreath and looking absently away to the Gardens across the Lake. I could\ncatch the words here and there, and knew them.\n\n  \u201cPale hands I loved beside the Shalimar,\n   Where are you now--who lies beneath your spell?\n   Whom do you lead on Rapture\u2019s roadway far,\n   Before you agonize them in farewell?\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t!\u201d I said abruptly. It stung me.\n\n\u201cWhat?\u201d she asked in surprise. \u201cThat is the song every one remembers\nhere. Poor Laurence Hope! How she knew and loved this India! What are\nyou grumbling at?\u201d\n\nHer smile stung me.\n\n\u201cNever mind,\u201d I said morosely. \u201cYou don\u2019t understand. You never will.\u201d\n\nAnd yet I believed sometimes that she would--that time was on my side.\n\nWhen Kahdra and I pulled her across to Nour-Mahal\u2019s garden next day, how\ncould I not believe it--her face was so full of joy as she looked at me\nfor sympathy?\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t think so much beauty is crowded into any other few miles in\nthe world--beauty of association, history, nature, everything!\u201d she said\nwith shining eyes. \u201cThe lotus flowers are not out yet but when they come\nthat is the last touch of perfection. Do you remember Homer--\u2018But whoso\nate of the honey-sweet fruit of the lotus, was neither willing to bring\nme word again, nor to depart. Nay, their desire was to remain there\nfor ever, feeding on the lotus with the Lotus Eaters, forgetful of all\nreturn.\u2019 You know the people here eat the roots and seeds? I ate them\nlast year and perhaps that is why I cannot stay away. But look at\nNour-Mahal\u2019s garden!\u201d\n\nWe were pulling in among the reeds and the huge carven leaves of the\nwater plants, and the snake-headed buds lolling upon them with the\nslippery half-sinister look that water-flowers have, as though their\ncold secret life belonged to the hidden water world and not to ours. But\nnow the boat was touching the little wooden steps.\n\nO beautiful--most beautiful the green lawns, shaded with huge pyramids\nof the chenar trees, the terraced gardens where the marble steps climbed\nfrom one to the other, and the mountain streams flashed singing and\nshining down the carved marble slopes that cunning hands had made to\ndelight the Empress of Beauty, between the wildernesses of roses. Her\npavilion stands still among the flowers, and the waters ripple through\nit to join the lake--and she is--where? Even in the glory of sunshine\nthe passing of all fair things was present with me as I saw the empty\nshell that had held the Pearl of Empire, and her roses that still bloom,\nher waters that still sing for others.\n\nThe spray of a hundred fountains was misty diamond dust in the warm air\nladen with the scent of myriad flowers. Kahdra followed us everywhere,\nsinging his little tuneless happy song. The world brimmed with beauty\nand joy. And we were together. Words broke from me.\n\n\u201cVanna, let it be for ever! Let us live here. I\u2019ll give up all the world\nfor this and you.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you see,\u201d she said delicately, \u201cit would be \u2018giving up.\u2019 You use\nthe right word. It is not your life. It is a lovely holiday, no more.\nYou would weary of it. You would want the city life and your own kind.\u201d\n\nI protested with all my soul.\n\n\u201cNo. Indeed I will say frankly that it would be lowering yourself to\nlive a lotus-eating life among my people. It is a life with which you\nhave no tie. A Westerner who lives like that steps down; he loses his\nbirthright just as an Oriental does who Europeanizes himself. He cannot\nlive your life nor you his. If you had work here it would be different.\nNo--six or eight weeks more; then go away and forget it.\u201d\n\nI turned from her. The serpent was in Paradise. When is he absent?\n\nOn one of the terraces a man was beating a tom-tom, and veiled women\nlistened, grouped about him in brilliant colours.\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t that all India?\u201d she said; \u201cthat dull reiterated sound? It\nhalf stupefies, half maddens. Once at Darjiling I saw the Lamas\u2019 Devil\nDance--the soul, a white-faced child with eyes unnaturally enlarged,\nfleeing among a rabble of devils--the evil passions. It fled wildly\nhere and there and every way was blocked. The child fell on its knees,\nscreaming dumbly--you could see the despair in the staring eyes, but\nall was drowned in the thunder of Tibetan drums. No mercy--no escape.\nHorrible!\u201d\n\n\u201cEven in Europe the drum is awful,\u201d I said. \u201cDo you remember in the\nFrench Revolution how they Drowned the victims\u2019 voices in a thunder roll\nof drums?\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall always see the face of the child, hunted down to hell, falling\non its knees, and screaming without a sound, when I hear the drum. But\nlisten--a flute! Now if that were the Flute of Krishna you would have to\nfollow. Let us come!\u201d\n\nI could hear nothing of it, but she insisted and we followed the music,\ninaudible to me, up the slopes of the garden that is the foot-hill of\nthe mighty mountain of Mahadeo, and still I could hear nothing. And\nVanna told me strange stories of the Apollo of India whom all hearts\nmust adore, even as the herd-girls adored him in his golden youth by\nJumna river and in the pastures of Brindaban.\n\nNext day we were climbing the hill to the ruins where the evil magician\nbrought the King\u2019s daughter nightly to his will, flying low under a\ngolden moon. Vanna took my arm and I pulled her laughing up the steepest\nflowery slopes until we reached the height, and lo! the arched windows\nwere eyeless and a lonely breeze blowing through the cloisters, and the\nbeautiful yellowish stone arches supported nothing and were but frames\nfor the blue of far lake and mountain and the divine sky. We climbed\nthe broken stairs where the lizards went by like flashes, and had I the\ntongue of men and angels I could not tell the wonder that lay before\nus,--the whole wide valley of Kashmir in summer glory, with its scented\nbreeze singing, singing above it.\n\nWe sat on the crushed aromatic herbs and among the wild roses and looked\ndown.\n\n\u201cTo think,\u201d she said, \u201cthat we might have died and never seen it!\u201d\n\nThere followed a long silence. I thought she was tired, and would not\nbreak it. Suddenly she spoke in a strange voice, low and toneless;\n\n\u201cThe story of this place. She was the Princess Padmavati, and her home\nwas in Ayodhya. When she woke and found herself here by the lake she was\nso terrified that she flung herself in and was drowned. They held her\nback, but she died.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you know?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause a wandering monk came to the abbey of Tahkt-i-Bahi near\nPeshawar and told Vasettha the Abbot.\u201d\n\nI had nearly spoilt all by an exclamation, but I held myself back. I saw\nshe was dreaming awake and was unconscious of what she said.\n\n\u201cThe Abbot said, \u2018Do not describe her. What talk is this for holy men?\nThe young monks must not hear. Some of them have never seen a woman.\nShould a monk speak of such toys?\u2019 But the wanderer disobeyed and spoke,\nand there was a great tumult, and the monks threw him out at the command\nof the young Abbot, and he wandered down to Peshawar, and it was he\nlater--the evil one!--that brought his sister, Lilavanti the Dancer, to\nPeshawar, and the Abbot fell into her snare. That was his revenge!\u201d\n\nHer face was fixed and strange, for a moment her cheek looked hollow,\nher eyes dim and grief-worn. What was she seeing?--what remembering? Was\nit a story--a memory? What was it?\n\n\u201cShe was beautiful?\u201d I prompted.\n\n\u201cMen have said so, but for it he surrendered the Peace. Do not speak of\nher accursed beauty.\u201d\n\nHer voice died away to a drowsy murmur; her head dropped on my shoulder\nand for the mere delight of contact I sat still and scarcely breathed,\npraying that she might speak again, but the good minute was gone. She\ndrew one or two deep breaths, and sat up with a bewildered look that\nquickly passed.\n\n\u201cI was quite sleepy for a minute. The climb was so strenuous. Hark--I\nhear the Flute of Krishna again.\u201d\n\nAnd again I could hear nothing, but she said it was sounding from the\ntrees at the base of the hill. Later when we climbed down I found she\nwas right--that a peasant lad, dark and amazingly beautiful as\nthese Kashmiris often are, was playing on the flute to a girl at his\nfeet--looking up at him with rapt eyes. He flung Vanna a flower as we\npassed. She caught it and put it in her bosom. A singular blossom, three\npetals of purest white, set against three leaves of purest green, and\nlower down the stem the three green leaves were repeated. It was still\nin her bosom after dinner, and I looked at it more closely.\n\n\u201cThat is a curious flower,\u201d I said. \u201cThree and three and three. Nine.\nThat makes the mystic number. I never saw a purer white. What is it?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course it is mystic,\u201d she said seriously. \u201cIt is the Ninefold\nFlower. You saw who gave it?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat peasant lad.\u201d\n\nShe smiled.\n\n\u201cYou will see more some day. Some might not even have seen that.\u201d\n\n\u201cDoes it grow here?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is the first I have seen. It is said to grow only where the gods\nwalk. Do you know that throughout all India Kashmir is said to be holy\nground? It was called long ago the land of the gods, and of strange, but\nnot evil, sorceries. Great marvels were seen here.\u201d\n\nI felt the labyrinthine enchantments of that enchanted land were closing\nabout me--a slender web, grey, almost impalpable, finer than fairy silk,\nwas winding itself about my feet. My eyes were opening to things I had\nnot dreamed. She saw my thought.\n\n\u201cYes, you could not have seen even that much of him in Peshawar. You did\nnot know then.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe was not there,\u201d I answered, falling half unconsciously into her\ntone.\n\n\u201cHe is always there--everywhere, and when he plays, all who hear must\nfollow. He was the Pied Piper in Hamelin, he was Pan in Hellas. You\nwill hear his wild fluting in many strange places when you know how to\nlisten. When one has seen him the rest comes soon. And then you will\nfollow.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot away from you, Vanna.\u201d\n\n\u201cFrom the marriage feast, from the Table of the Lord,\u201d she said, smiling\nstrangely. \u201cThe man who wrote that spoke of another call, but it is the\nsame--Krishna or Christ. When we hear the music we follow. And we may\nlose or gain heaven.\u201d\n\nIt might have been her compelling personality--it might have been the\nmarvels of beauty about me, but I knew well I had entered at some mystic\ngate. A pass word had been spoken for me--I was vouched for and might go\nin. Only a little way as yet. Enchanted forests lay beyond, and perilous\nseas, but there were hints, breaths like the wafting of the garments of\nunspeakable Presences. My talk with Vanna grew less personal, and more\nintrospective. I felt the touch of her finger-tips leading me along\nthe ways of Quiet--my feet brushed a shining dew. Once, in the twilight\nunder the chenar trees, I saw a white gleaming and thought it a swiftly\npassing Being, but when in haste I gained the tree I found there only\na Ninefold flower, white as a spirit in the evening calm. I would not\ngather it but told Vanna what I had seen.\n\n\u201cYou nearly saw;\u201d she said. \u201cShe passed so quickly. It was the Snowy\nOne, Uma, Parvati, the Daughter of the Himalaya. That mountain is the\nmountain of her lord--Shiva. It is natural she should be here. I saw her\nlast night lean over the height--her face pillowed on her folded arms,\nwith a low star in the mists of her hair. Her eyes were like lakes of\nblue darkness. Vast and wonderful. She is the Mystic Mother of India.\nYou will see soon. You could not have seen the flower until now.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you know,\u201d she added, \u201cthat in the mountains there are poppies of\nclear blue--blue as turquoise. We will go up into the heights and find\nthem.\u201d\n\nAnd next moment she was planning the camping details, the men, the\nponies, with a practical zest that seemed to relegate the occult to the\nabsurd. Yet the very next day came a wonderful moment.\n\nThe sun was just setting and, as it were, suddenly the purple glooms\nbanked up heavy with thunder. The sky was black with fury, the earth\npassive with dread. I never saw such lightning--it was continuous and\ntore in zigzag flashes down the mountains like rents in the substance\nof the world\u2019s fabric. And the thunder roared up in the mountain gorges\nwith shattering echoes. Then fell the rain, and the whole lake seemed to\nrise to meet it, and the noise was like the rattle of musketry. We were\nstanding by the cabin window and she suddenly caught my hand, and I\nsaw in a light of their own two dancing figures on the tormented water\nbefore us. Wild in the tumult, embodied delight, with arms tossed\nviolently above their heads, and feet flung up behind them, skimming the\nwaves like seagulls, they passed. Their sex I could not tell--I think\nthey had none, but were bubble emanations of the rejoicing rush of the\nrain and the wild retreating laughter of the thunder. I saw the fierce\naerial faces and their inhuman glee as they fled by, and she dropped my\nhand and they were gone. Slowly the storm lessened, and in the west the\nclouds tore raggedly asunder and a flood of livid yellow light poured\ndown upon the lake--an awful light that struck it into an abyss of fire.\nThen, as if at a word of command, two glorious rainbows sprang across\nthe water with the mountains for their piers, each with its proper\ncolours chorded. They made a Bridge of Dread that stood out radiant\nagainst the background of storm--the Twilight of the Gods, and the\ndoomed gods marching forth to the last fight. And the thunder growled\nsullenly away into the recesses of the hill and the terrible rainbows\nfaded until the stars came quietly out and it was a still night.\n\nBut I had seen that what is our dread is the joy of the spirits of the\nMighty Mother, and though the vision faded and I doubted what I had\nseen, it prepared the way for what I was yet to see. A few days later we\nstarted on what was to be the most exquisite memory of my life. A train\nof ponies carried our tents and camping necessaries and there was a\npony for each of us. And so, in the cool grey of a divine morning, with\nlittle rosy clouds flecking the eastern sky, we set out from Islamabad\nfor Vernag. And this was the order of our going. She and I led the way,\nattended by a sais (groom) and a coolie carrying the luncheon basket.\nHalf way we would stop in some green dell, or by some rushing stream,\nand there rest and eat our little meal while the rest of the cavalcade\npassed on to the appointed camping place, and in the late afternoon we\nwould follow, riding slowly, and find the tents pitched and the kitchen\ndepartment in full swing. If the place pleased us we lingered for some\ndays;--if not, the camp was struck next morning, and again we wandered\nin search of beauty.\n\nThe people were no inconsiderable part of my joy. I cannot see what they\nhave to gain from such civilization as ours--a kindly people and happy.\nCourtesy and friendliness met us everywhere, and if their labor was\nhard, their harvest of beauty and laughter seemed to be its reward. The\nlittle villages with their groves of walnut and fruit trees spoke of no\nunfulfilled want, the mulberries which fatten the sleek bears in their\nseason fattened the children too. I compared their lot with that of\nthe toilers in our cities and knew which I would choose. We rode by\nshimmering fields of barley, with red poppies floating in the clear\ntransparent green as in deep sea water, through fields of millet like\nthe sky fallen on the earth, so innocently blue were its blossoms,\nand the trees above us were trellised with the wild roses, golden and\ncrimson, and the ways tapestried with the scented stars of the large\nwhite jasmine.\n\nIt was strange that later much of what she said, escaped me. Some I\nnoted down at the time, but there were hints, shadows of lovelier things\nbeyond that eluded all but the fringes of memory when I tried to piece\nthem together and make a coherence of a living wonder. For that reason,\nthe best things cannot be told in this history. It is only the cruder,\ngrosser matters that words will hold. The half-touchings--vanishing\nlooks, breaths--O God, I know them, but cannot tell.\n\nIn the smaller villages, the head man came often to greet us and make\nus welcome, bearing on a flat dish a little offering of cakes and fruit,\nthe produce of the place. One evening a man so approached, stately\nin white robes and turban, attended by a little lad who carried the\npatriarchal gift beside him. Our tents were pitched under a glorious\nwalnut tree with a running stream at our feet.\n\nVanna of course, was the interpreter, and I called her from her tent as\nthe man stood salaaming before me. It was strange that when she came,\ndressed in white, he stopped in his salutation, and gazed at her in\nwhat, I thought, was silent wonder.\n\nShe spoke earnestly to him, standing before him with clasped hands,\nalmost, I could think, in the attitude of a suppliant. The man listened\ngravely, with only an interjection, now and again, and once he turned\nand looked curiously at me. Then he spoke, evidently making some\nannouncement which she received with bowed head--and when he turned to\ngo with a grave salute, she performed a very singular ceremony, moving\nslowly round him three times with clasped hands; keeping him always on\nthe right. He repaid it with the usual salaam and greeting of peace,\nwhich he bestowed also on me, and then departed in deep meditation, his\neyes fixed on the ground. I ventured to ask what it all meant, and she\nlooked thoughtfully at me before replying.\n\n\u201cIt was a strange thing. I fear you will not altogether understand,\nbut I will tell you what I can. That man though living here among\nMahomedans, is a Brahman from Benares, and, what is very rare in India,\na Buddhist. And when he saw me he believed he remembered me in a former\nbirth. The ceremony you saw me perform is one of honour in India. It was\nhis due.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you remember him?\u201d I knew my voice was incredulous.\n\n\u201cVery well. He has changed little but is further on the upward path. I\nsaw him with dread for he holds the memory of a great wrong I did. Yet\nhe told me a thing that has filled my heart with joy.\u201d\n\n\u201cVanna-what is it?\u201d\n\nShe had a clear uplifted look which startled me. There was suddenly a\nchill air blowing between us.\n\n\u201cI must not tell you yet but you will know soon. He was a good man. I am\nglad we have met.\u201d\n\nShe buried herself in writing in a small book I had noticed and longed\nto look into, and no more was said.\n\nWe struck camp next day and trekked on towards Vernag--a rough march,\nbut one of great beauty, beneath the shade of forest trees, garlanded\nwith pale roses that climbed from bough to bough and tossed triumphant\nwreaths into the uppermost blue.\n\nIn the afternoon thunder was flapping its wings far off in the mountains\nand a little rain fell while we were lunching under a big tree. I was\nconsidering anxiously how to shelter Vanna, when a farmer invited us to\nhis house--a scene of Biblical hospitality that delighted us both. He\nled us up some break-neck little stairs to a large bare room, open to\nthe clean air all round the roof, and with a kind of rough enclosure on\nthe wooden floor where the family slept at night. There he opened our\nbasket, and then, with anxious care, hung clothes and rough draperies\nabout us that our meal might be unwatched by one or two friends who had\nfollowed us in with breathless interest. Still further to entertain us\na great rarity was brought out and laid at Vanna\u2019s feet as something\nwe might like to watch--a curious bird in a cage, with brightly barred\nwings and a singular cry. She fed it with fruit, and it fluttered to her\nhand. Just so Abraham might have welcomed his guests, and when we left\nwith words of deepest gratitude, our host made the beautiful obeisance\nof touching his forehead with joined hands as he bowed. To me the whole\nincident had an extraordinary grace, and ennobled both host and guest.\nBut we met an ascending scale of loveliness so varied in its aspects\nthat I passed from one emotion to another and knew no sameness.\n\nThat afternoon the camp was pitched at the foot of a mighty hill, under\nthe waving pyramids of the chenars, sweeping their green like the robes\nof a goddess. Near by was a half circle of low arches falling into\nruin, and as we went in among them I beheld a wondrous sight--the huge\noctagonal tank or basin made by the Mogul Emperor Jehangir to receive\nthe waters of a mighty Spring which wells from the hill and has been\nheld sacred by Hindu and Moslem. And if loveliness can sanctify surely\nit is sacred indeed.\n\nThe tank was more than a hundred feet in diameter and circled by a\nroughly paved pathway where the little arched cells open that the\ndevotees may sit and contemplate the lustral waters. There on a black\nstone, is sculptured the Imperial inscription comparing this spring to\nthe holier wells of Paradise, and I thought no less of it, for it rushes\nstraight from the rock with no aiding stream, and its waters are fifty\nfeet deep, and sweep away from this great basin through beautiful low\narches in a wild foaming river--the crystal life-blood of the mountains\nfor ever welling away. The colour and perfect purity of this living\njewel were most marvellous--clear blue-green like a chalcedony, but\nchanging as the lights in an opal--a wonderful quivering brilliance,\nflickering with the silver of shoals of sacred fish.\n\nBut the Mogul Empire is with the snows of yesteryear and the wonder has\npassed from the Moslems into the keeping of the Hindus once more, and\nthe Lingam of Shiva, crowned with flowers, is the symbol in the little\nshrine by the entrance. Surely in India, the gods are one and have no\njealousies among them--so swiftly do their glories merge the one into\nthe other.\n\n\u201cHow all the Mogul Emperors loved running water,\u201d said Vanna. \u201cI can see\nthem leaning over it in their carved pavilions with delicate dark faces\nand pensive eyes beneath their turbans, lost in the endless reverie of\nthe East while liquid melody passes into their dream. It was the music\nthey best loved.\u201d\n\nShe was leading me into the royal garden below, where the young river\nflows beneath the pavilion set above and across the rush of the water.\n\n\u201cI remember before I came to India,\u201d she went on, \u201cthere were\ncertain words and phrases that meant the whole East to me. It was an\nenchantment. The first flash picture I had was Milton\u2019s--\n\n   \u2018Dark faces with white silken turbans wreathed.\u2019\n\nand it still is. I have thought ever since that every man should wear a\nturban. It dignifies the un-comeliest and it is quite curious to see how\nmany inches a man descends in the scale of beauty the moment he takes it\noff and you see only the skull-cap about which they wind it. They wind\nit with wonderful skill too. I have seen a man take eighteen yards of\nmuslin and throw it round his head with a few turns, and in five or six\nminutes the beautiful folds were all in order and he looked like a king.\nSome of the Gujars here wear black ones and they are very effective and\nworth painting--the black folds and the sullen tempestuous black brows\nunderneath.\u201d\n\nWe sat in the pavilion for awhile looking down on the rushing water, and\nshe spoke of Akbar, the greatest of the Moguls, and spoke with a curious\npersonal touch, as I thought.\n\n\u201cI wish you would try to write a story of him--one on more human lines\nthan has been done yet. No one has accounted for the passionate quest\nof truth that was the real secret of his life. Strange in an Oriental\ndespot if you think of it! It really can only be understood from the\nBuddhist belief, which curiously seems to have been the only one he\nneglected, that a mysterious Karma influenced all his thoughts. If I\ntell you as a key-note for your story, that in a past life he had been a\nBuddhist priest--one who had fallen away, would that in any way account\nto you for attempts to recover the lost way? Try to think that out, and\nto write the story, not as a Western mind sees it, but pure East.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat would be a great book to write if one could catch the voices of\nthe past. But how to do it?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will give you one day a little book that may help you. The other\nstory I wish you would write is the story of a Dancer of Peshawar. There\nis a connection between the two--a story of ruin and repentance.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you tell it to me?\u201d\n\n\u201cA part. In this same book you will find much more, but not all. All\ncannot be told. You must imagine much. But I think your imagination will\nbe true.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy do you think so?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause in these few days you have learnt so much. You have seen the\nNinefold Flower, and the rain spirits. You will soon hear the Flute of\nKrishna which none can hear who cannot dream true.\u201d\n\nThat night I heard it. I waked, suddenly, to music, and standing in the\ndoor of my tent, in the dead silence of the night, lit only by a few low\nstars, I heard the poignant notes of a flute. If it had called my name\nit could not have summoned me more clearly, and I followed without a\nthought of delay, forgetting even Vanna in the strange urgency that\nfilled me. The music was elusive, seeming to come first from one side,\nthen from the other, but finally I tracked it as a bee does a flower by\nthe scent, to the gate of the royal garden--the pleasure place of the\ndead Emperors.\n\nThe gate stood ajar--strange! for I had seen the custodian close it that\nevening. Now it stood wide and I went in, walking noiselessly over the\ndewy grass. I knew and could not tell how, that I must be noiseless.\nPassing as if I were guided, down the course of the strong young river,\nI came to the pavilion that spanned it--the place where we had stood\nthat afternoon--and there to my profound amazement, I saw Vanna, leaning\nagainst a slight wooden pillar. As if she had expected me, she laid one\nfinger on her lip, and stretching out her hand, took mine and drew me\nbeside her as a mother might a child. And instantly I saw!\n\nOn the further bank a young man in a strange diadem or miter of jewels,\nbare-breasted and beautiful, stood among the flowering oleanders, one\nfoot lightly crossed over the other as he stood. He was like an image\nof pale radiant gold, and I could have sworn that the light came from\nwithin rather than fell upon him, for the night was very dark. He held\nthe flute to his lips, and as I looked, I became aware that the noise\nof the rushing water was tapering off into a murmur scarcely louder than\nthat of a summer bee in the heart of a rose. Therefore the music rose\nlike a fountain of crystal drops, cold, clear, and of an entrancing\nsweetness, and the face above it was such that I had no power to turn my\neyes away. How shall I say what it was? All I had ever desired, dreamed,\nhoped, prayed, looked at me from the remote beauty of the eyes and with\nthe most persuasive gentleness entreated me, rather than commanded to\nfollow fearlessly and win. But these are words, and words shaped in the\nrough mould of thought cannot convey the deep desire that would have\nhurled me to his feet if Vanna had not held me with a firm restraining\nhand. Looking up in adoring love to the dark face was a ring of woodland\ncreatures. I thought I could distinguish the white clouded robe of a\nsnow-leopard, the soft clumsiness of a young bear, and many more, but\nthese shifted and blurred like dream creatures--I could not be sure of\nthem nor define their numbers. The eyes of the Player looked down upon\ntheir passionate delight with careless kindness.\n\nDim images passed through my mind. Orpheus--No, this was no Greek.\nPan-yet again, No. Where were the pipes, the goat hoofs? The young\nDionysos--No, there were strange jewels instead of his vines. And then\nVanna\u2019s voice said as if from a great distance;\n\n\u201cKrishna--the Beloved.\u201d And I said aloud, \u201cI see!\u201d And even as I said it\nthe whole picture blurred together like a dream, and I was alone in the\npavilion and the water was foaming past me. Had I walked in my sleep, I\nthought, as I made my way hack? As I gained the garden gate, before me,\nlike a snowflake, I saw the Ninefold Flower.\n\nWhen I told her next day, speaking of it as a dream, she said simply;\n\u201cThey have opened the door to you. You will not need me soon.\n\n\u201cI shall always need you. You have taught me everything. I could see\nnothing last night until you took my hand.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was not there,\u201d she said smiling. \u201cIt was only the thought of me, and\nyou can have that when I am very far away. I was sleeping in my tent.\nWhat you called in me then you can always call, even if I am--dead.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is a word which is beginning to have no meaning for me. You have\nsaid things to me--no, thought them, that have made me doubt if there is\nroom in the universe for the thing we have called death.\u201d\n\nShe smiled her sweet wise smile.\n\n\u201cWhere we are death is not. Where death is we are not. But you will\nunderstand better soon.\u201d\n\nOur march curving took us by the Mogul gardens of Achibal, and the\nglorious ruins of the great Temple at Martund, and so down to Bawan\nwith its crystal waters and that loveliest camping ground beside them.\nA mighty grove of chenar trees, so huge that I felt as if we were in a\ngreat sea cave where the air is dyed with the deep shadowy green of the\ninmost ocean, and the murmuring of the myriad leaves was like a sea at\nrest. I looked up into the noble height and my memory of Westminster\ndwindled, for this led on and up to the infinite blue, and at night\nthe stars hung like fruit upon the branches. The water ran with a great\njoyous rush of release from the mountain behind, but was first received\nin a broad basin full of sacred fish and reflecting a little temple of\nMaheshwara and one of Surya the Sun. Here in this basin the water lay\npure and still as an ecstasy, and beside it was musing the young Brahman\npriest who served the temple. Since I had joined Vanna I had begun with\nher help to study a little Hindustani, and with an aptitude for language\ncould understand here and there. I caught a word or two as she spoke\nwith him that startled me, when the high-bred ascetic face turned\nserenely upon her, and he addressed her as \u201cMy sister,\u201d adding a\nsentence beyond my learning, but which she willingly translated\nlater.--\u201cMay He who sits above the Mysteries, have mercy upon thy\nrebirth.\u201d\n\nShe said afterwards;\n\n\u201cHow beautiful some of these men are. It seems a different type of\nbeauty from ours, nearer to nature and the old gods. Look at that\npriest--the tall figure, the clear olive skin, the dark level brows, the\nlong lashes that make a soft gloom about the eyes--eyes that have the\nfathomless depth of a deer\u2019s, the proud arch of the lip. I think there\nis no country where aristocracy is more clearly marked than in India.\nThe Brahmans are aristocrats of the world. You see it is a religious\naristocracy as well. It has everything that can foster pride and\nexclusiveness. They spring from the Mouth of Deity. They are His word\nincarnate. Not many kings are of the Brahman caste, and the Brahmans\nlook down upon them from Sovereign heights. I have known men who would\nnot eat with their own rulers who would have drunk the water that washed\nthe Brahmans\u2019 feet.\u201d\n\nShe took me that day, the Brahman with us, to see a cave in the\nmountain. We climbed up the face of the cliff to where a little tree\ngrew on a ledge, and the black mouth yawned. We went in and often it was\nso low we had to stoop, leaving the sunlight behind until it was like\na dim eye glimmering in the velvet blackness. The air was dank and\ncold and presently obscene with the smell of bats, and alive with\ntheir wings, as they came sweeping about us, gibbering and squeaking.\nI thought of the rush of the ghosts, blown like dead leaves in the\nOdyssey. And then a small rock chamber branched off, and in this, lit by\na bit of burning wood, we saw the bones of a holy man who lived and died\nthere four hundred years ago. Think of it! He lived there always, with\nthe slow dropping of water from the dead weight of the mountain above\nhis head, drop by drop tolling the minutes away: the little groping feet\nthrough the cave that would bring him food and drink, hurrying into\nthe warmth and sunlight again, and his only companion the sacred Lingam\nwhich means the Creative Energy that sets the worlds dancing for joy\nround the sun--that, and the black solitude to sit down beside him.\nSurely his bones can hardly be dryer and colder now than they were then!\nThere must be strange ecstasies in such a life--wild visions in the\ndark, or it could never be endured.\n\nAnd so, in marches of about ten miles a day, we came to Pahlgam on the\nbanks of the dancing Lidar. There was now only three weeks left of the\ntime she had promised. After a few days at Pahlgam the march would turn\nand bend its way back to Srinagar, and to--what? I could not believe it\nwas to separation--in her lovely kindness she had grown so close to me\nthat, even for the sake of friendship, I believed our paths must run\ntogether to the end, and there were moments when I could still half\nconvince myself that I had grown as necessary to her as she was to me.\nNo--not as necessary, for she was life and soul to me, but a part of her\ndaily experience that she valued and would not easily part with. That\nevening we were sitting outside the tents, near the camp fire, of pine\nlogs and cones, the leaping flames making the night beautiful with gold\nand leaping sparks, in an attempt to reach the mellow splendours of the\nmoon. The men, in various attitudes of rest, were lying about, and one\nhad been telling a story which had just ended in excitement and loud\napplause.\n\n\u201cThese are Mahomedans,\u201d said Vanna, \u201cand it is only a story of love and\nfighting like the Arabian Nights. If they had been Hindus, it might\nwell have been of Krishna or of Rama and Sita. Their faith comes from an\nearlier time and they still see visions. The Moslem is a hard practical\nfaith for men--men of the world too. It is not visionary now, though it\nonce had its great mysteries.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish you would tell me what you think of the visions or apparitions\nof the gods that are seen here. Is it all illusion? Tell me your\nthought.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow difficult that is to answer. I suppose if love and faith are strong\nenough they will always create the vibrations to which the greater\nvibrations respond, and so make God in their own image at any time or\nplace. But that they call up what is the truest reality I have never\ndoubted. There is no shadow without a substance. The substance is beyond\nus but under certain conditions the shadow is projected and we see it.\n\n\u201cHave I seen or has it been dream?\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot tell. It may have been the impress of my mind on yours, for I\nsee such things always. You say I took your hand?\u201d\n\n\u201cTake it now.\u201d\n\nShe obeyed, and instantly, as I felt the firm cool clasp, I heard the\nrain of music through the pines--the Flute Player was passing. She\ndropped it smiling and the sweet sound ceased.\n\n\u201cYou see! How can I tell what you have seen? You will know better when I\nam gone. You will stand alone then.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will not go--you cannot. I have seen how you have loved all this\nwonderful time. I believe it has been as dear to you as to me. And every\nday I have loved you more. I depend upon you for everything that makes\nlife worth living. You could not--you who are so gentle--you could not\ncommit the senseless cruelty of leaving me when you have taught me to\nlove you with every beat of my heart. I have been patient--I have held\nmyself in, but I must speak now. Marry me, and teach me. I know nothing.\nYou know all I need to know. For pity\u2019s sake be my wife.\u201d\n\nI had not meant to say it; it broke from me in the firelight moonlight\nwith a power that I could not stay. She looked at me with a disarming\ngentleness.\n\n\u201cIs this fair? Do you remember how at Peshawar I told you I thought it\nwas a dangerous experiment, and that it would make things harder for\nyou. But you took the risk like a brave man because you felt there were\nthings to be gained--knowledge, insight, beauty. Have you not gained\nthem?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes. Absolutely.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, is it all loss if I go?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot all. But loss I dare not face.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will tell you this. I could not stay if I would. Do you remember the\nold man on the way to Vernag? He told me that I must very soon take up\nan entirely new life. I have no choice, though if I had I would still do\nit.\u201d\n\nThere was silence and down a long arcade, without any touch of her hand\nI heard the music, receding with exquisite modulations to a very great\ndistance, and between the pillared stems, I saw a faint light.\n\n\u201cDo you wish to go?\u201d\n\n\u201cEntirely. But I shall not forget you, Stephen. I will tell you\nsomething. For me, since I came to India, the gate that shuts us out at\nbirth has opened. How shall I explain? Do you remember Kipling\u2019s \u2018Finest\nStory in the World\u2019?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes. Fiction!\u201d\n\n\u201cNot fiction--true, whether he knew it or no. But for me the door has\nopened wide. First, I remembered piecemeal, with wide gaps, then more\nconnectedly. Then, at the end of the first year, I met one day at\nCawnpore, an ascetic, an old man of great beauty and wisdom, and he was\nable by his own knowledge to enlighten mine. Not wholly--much has come\nsince then. Has come, some of it in ways you could not understand\nnow, but much by direct sight and hearing. Long, long ago I lived in\nPeshawar, and my story was a sorrowful one. I will tell you a little\nbefore I go.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hold you to your promise. What is there I cannot believe when you\ntell me? But does that life put you altogether away from me? Was there\nno place for me in any of your memories that has drawn us together now?\nGive me a little hope that in the eternal pilgrimage there is some bond\nbetween us and some rebirth where we may met again.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will tell you that also before we part. I have grown to believe that\nyou do love me--and therefore love something which is infinitely above\nme.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do you love me at all? Am I nothing, Vanna--Vanna?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy friend,\u201d she said, and laid her hand on mine.\n\nA silence, and then she spoke, very low.\n\n\u201cYou must be prepared for very great change, Stephen, and yet believe\nthat it does not really change things at all. See how even the gods pass\nand do not change! The early gods of India are gone and Shiva, Vishnu,\nKrishna have taken their places and are one and the same. The old\nBuddhist stories say that in heaven \u201cThe flowers of the garland the\nGod wore are withered, his robes of majesty are waxed old and faded;\nhe falls from his high estate, and is re-born into a new life.\u201d But he\nlives still in the young God who is born among men. The gods cannot die,\nnor can we nor anything that has life. Now I must go in.\u201d\n\nI sat long in the moonlight thinking. The whole camp was sunk in sleep\nand the young dawn was waking upon the peaks when I turned in.\n\nThe days that were left we spent in wandering up the Lidar River to the\nhills that are the first ramp of the ascent to the great heights.\nWe found the damp corners where the mushrooms grow like pearls--the\nmushrooms of which she said--\u201cTo me they have always been fairy things.\nTo see them in the silver-grey dew of the early mornings--mysteriously\nthere like the manna in the desert--they are elfin plunder, and as a\nchild I was half afraid of them. No wonder they are the darlings of\nfolklore, especially in Celtic countries where the Little People move in\nthe starlight. Strange to think they are here too among strange gods!\u201d\n\nWe climbed to where the wild peonies bloom in glory that few eyes see,\nand the rosy beds of wild sweet strawberries ripen. Every hour brought\nwith it some new delight, some exquisiteness of sight or of words that\nI shall remember for ever. She sat one day on a rock, holding the\nsculptured leaves and massive seed-vessels of some glorious plant that\nthe Kashmiris believe has magic virtues hidden in the seeds of pure rose\nembedded in the white down.\n\n\u201cIf you fast for three days and eat nine of these in the Night of No\nMoon, you can rise on the air light as thistledown and stand on the peak\nof Haramoukh. And on Haramoukh, as you know it is believed, the gods\ndwell. There was a man here who tried this enchantment. He was a changed\nman for ever after, wandering and muttering to himself and avoiding all\nhuman intercourse as far as he could. He was no Kashmiri--A Jat from the\nPunjab, and they showed him to me when I was here with the Meryons, and\ntold me he would speak to none. But I knew he would speak to me, and he\ndid.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid he tell you anything of what he had seen in the high world up\nyonder?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe said he had seen the Dream of the God. I could not get more than\nthat. But there are many people here who believe that the Universe as\nwe know it is but an image in the dream of Ishvara, the Universal\nSpirit--in whom are all the gods--and that when He ceases to dream we\npass again into the Night of Brahm, and all is darkness until the Spirit\nof God moves again on the face of the waters. There are few temples to\nBrahm. He is above and beyond all direct worship.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you think he had seen anything?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do I know? Will you eat the seeds? The Night of No Moon will soon\nbe here.\u201d\n\nShe held out the seed-vessels, laughing. I write that down but how\nrecord the lovely light of kindliness in her eyes--the almost submissive\ngentleness that yet was a defense stronger than steel. I never knew--how\nshould I?--whether she was sitting by my side or heavens away from me in\nher own strange world. But always she was a sweetness that I could not\nreach, a cup of nectar that I might not drink, unalterably her own and\nnever mine, and yet--my friend.\n\nShe showed me the wild track up into the mountains where the Pilgrims go\nto pay their devotions at the Great God\u2019s shrine in the awful heights,\nregretting that we were too early for that most wonderful sight. Above\nwhere we were sitting the river fell in a tormented white cascade,\ncrashing and feathering into spray-dust of diamonds. An eagle was\nflying above it with a mighty spread of wings that seemed almost\ndouble-jointed in the middle--they curved and flapped so wide and free.\nThe fierce head was outstretched with the rake of a plundering galley as\nhe swept down the wind, seeking his meat from God, and passed majestic\nfrom our sight. The valley beneath us was littered with enormous\nboulders spilt from the ancient hollows of the hills. It must have\nbeen a great sight when the giants set them trundling down in work\nor play!--I said this to Vanna, who was looking down upon it with\nmeditative eyes. She roused herself.\n\n\u201cYes, this really is Giant-Land up here--everything is so huge. And when\nthey quarrel up in the heights--in Jotunheim--and the black storms\ncome down the valleys it is like colossal laughter or clumsy boisterous\nanger. And the Frost giants are still at work up there with their great\naxes of frost and rain. They fling down the side of a mountain or make\nfresh ways for the rivers. About sixty years ago--far above here--they\ntore down a mountain side and damned up the mighty Indus, so that for\nmonths he was a lake, shut back in the hills. But the river giants are\nno less strong up here in the heights of the world, and lie lay brooding\nand hiding his time. And then one awful day he tore the barrier down and\nroared down the valley carrying death and ruin with him, and swept away\na whole Sikh army among other unconsidered trifles. That must have been\na soul-shaking sight.\u201d\n\nShe spoke on, and as she spoke I saw. What are her words as I record\nthem? Stray dead leaves pressed in a book--the life and grace dead. Yet\nI record, for she taught me what I believe the world should learn, that\nthe Buddhist philosophers are right when they teach that all forms of\nwhat we call matter are really but aggregates of spiritual units, and\nthat life itself is a curtain hiding reality as the vast veil of\nday conceals from our sight the countless orbs of space. So that the\npurified mind even while prisoned in the body, may enter into union with\nthe Real and, according to attainment, see it as it is.\n\nShe was an interpreter because she believed this truth profoundly. She\nsaw the spiritual essence beneath the lovely illusion of matter, and the\nair about her was radiant with the motion of strange forces for which\nthe dull world has many names aiming indeed at the truth, but falling--O\nhow far short of her calm perception! She was indeed of a Household\nhigher than the Household of Faith. She had received enlightenment. She\nbeheld with open eyes.\n\nNext day our camp was struck and we turned our faces again to Srinagar\nand to the day of parting. I set down but one strange incident of our\njourney, of which I did not speak even to her.\n\nWe were camping at Bijbehara, awaiting our house boat, and the site was\nby the Maharaja\u2019s lodge above the little town. It was midnight and I was\nsleepless--the shadow of the near future was upon me. I wandered down to\nthe lovely old wooded bridge across the Jhelum, where the strong young\ntrees grow up from the piles. Beyond it the moon was shining on the\nancient Hindu remains close to the new temple, and as I stood on the\nbridge I could see the figure of a man in deepest meditation by the\nruins. He was no European. I saw the straight dignified folds of the\nrobes. But it was not surprising he should be there and I should have\nthought no more of it, had I not heard at that instant from the further\nside of the river the music of the Flute. I cannot hope to describe\nthat music to any who have not heard it. Suffice it to say that where\nit calls he who hears must follow whether in the body or the spirit. Nor\ncan I now tell in which I followed. One day it will call me across the\nRiver of Death, and I shall ford it or sink in the immeasurable depths\nand either will be well.\n\nBut immediately I was at the other side of the river, standing by the\nstone Bull of Shiva where he kneels before the Symbol, and looking\nsteadfastly upon me a few paces away was a man in the dress of a\nBuddhist monk. He wore the yellow robe that leaves one shoulder bare;\nhis head was bare also and he held in one hand a small bowl like a\nstemless chalice. I knew I was seeing a very strange inexplicable\nsight--one that in Kashmir should be incredible, but I put wonder aside\nfor I knew now that I was moving in the sphere where the incredible may\nwell be the actual. His expression was of the most unbroken calm. If I\ncompare it to the passionless gaze of the Sphinx I misrepresent, for the\nRiddle of the Sphinx still awaits solution, but in this face was a noble\nacquiescence and a content that had it vibrated must have passed into\njoy.\n\nWords or their equivalent passed between us. I felt his voice.\n\n\u201cYou have heard the music of the Flute?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have heard.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat has it given?\u201d\n\n\u201cA consuming longing.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is the music of the Eternal. The creeds and the faiths are the words\nthat men have set to that melody. Listening, it will lead you to Wisdom.\nDay by day you will interpret more surely.\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot stand alone.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will not need. What has led you will lead you still. Through many\nbirths it has led you. How should it fail?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat should I do?\u201d\n\n\u201cGo forward.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat should I shun?\u201d\n\n\u201cSorrow and fear.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat should I seek?\u201d\n\n\u201cJoy.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the end?\u201d\n\n\u201cJoy. Wisdom. They are the Light and Dark of the Divine.\u201d A cold breeze\npassed and touched my forehead. I was still standing in the middle of\nthe bridge above the water gliding to the Ocean, and there was no figure\nby the Bull of Shiva. I was alone. I passed back to the tents with the\nshudder that is not fear but akin to death upon me. I knew I had been\nprofoundly withdrawn from what we call actual life, and the return is\ndread.\n\nThe days passed as we floated down the river to Srinagar. On board the\nKedarnath, now lying in our first berth beneath the chenars near and yet\nfar from the city, the last night had come. Next morning I should begin\nthe long ride to Baramula and beyond that barrier of the Happy Valley\ndown to Murree and the Punjab. Where afterwards? I neither knew nor\ncared. My lesson was before me to be learned. I must try to detach\nmyself from all I had prized--to say to my heart it was but a loan\nand no gift, and to cling only to the imperishable. And did I as yet\ncertainly know more than the A B C of the hard doctrine by which I\nmust live? \u201cQue vivre est difficile, O mon cocur fatigue!\u201d--an immense\nweariness possessed me--a passive grief.\n\nVanna would follow later with the wife of an Indian doctor. I believed\nshe was bound for Lahore but on that point she had not spoken certainly\nand I felt we should not meet again.\n\nAnd now my packing was finished, and, as far as my possessions went, the\nlittle cabin had the soulless emptiness that comes with departure. I was\nenduring as best I could. If she had held loyally to her pact, could\nI do less. Was she to blame for my wild hope that in the end she would\nrelent and step down to the household levels of love?\n\nShe sat by the window--the last time I should see the moonlit banks and\nher clear face against them. I made and won my fight for the courage of\nwords.\n\n\u201cAnd now I\u2019ve finished everything--thank goodness! and we can talk.\nVanna--you will write to me?\u201d\n\n\u201cOnce. I promise that.\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly once? Why? I counted on your words.\u201d\n\n\u201cI want to speak to you of something else now. I want to tell you a\nmemory. But look first at the pale light behind the Takht-i-Suliman.\u201d\n\nSo I had seen it with her. So I should not see it again. We watched\nuntil a line of silver sparkled on the black water, and then she spoke\nagain.\n\n\u201cStephen, do you remember in the ruined monastery near Peshawar, how I\ntold you of the young Abbot, who came down to Peshawar with a Chinese\npilgrim? And he never returned.\u201d\n\n\u201cI remember. There was a Dancer.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere was a Dancer. She was Lilavanti, and she was brought there to\ntrap him but when she saw him she loved him, and that was his ruin and\nhers. Trickery he would have known and escaped. Love caught him in an\nunbreakable net, and they fled down the Punjab and no one knew any more.\nBut I know. For two years they lived together and she saw the agony in\nhis heart--the anguish of his broken vows, the face of the Blessed One\nreceding into an infinite distance. She knew that every day added a link\nto the heavy Karma that was bound about the feet she loved, and her soul\nsaid \u201cSet him free,\u201d and her heart refused the torture. But her soul was\nthe stronger. She set him free.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe took poison. He became an ascetic in the hills and died in peace\nbut with a long expiation upon him.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd she?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am she.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou!\u201d I heard my voice as if it were another man\u2019s. Was it possible\nthat I--a man of the twentieth century, believed this impossible thing?\nImpossible, and yet--what had I learnt if not the unity of Time, the\nillusion of matter? What is the twentieth century, what the first?\nDo they not lie before the Supreme as one, and clean from our petty\ndivisions? And I myself had seen what, if I could trust it, asserted the\nmarvels that are no marvels to those who know.\n\n\u201cYou loved him?\u201d\n\n\u201cI love him.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen there is nothing at all for me.\u201d\n\nShe resumed as if she had heard nothing.\n\n\u201cI have lost him for many lives. He stepped above me at once, for he was\nclean gold though he fell, and though I have followed I have not found.\nBut that Buddhist beyond Islamabad--you shall hear now what he said. It\nwas this. \u2018The shut door opens, and this time he awaits.\u2019 I cannot yet\nsay all it means, but there is no Lahore for me. I shall meet him soon.\u201d\n\n\u201cVanna, you would not harm yourself again?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever. I should not meet him. But you will see. Now I can talk no more.\nI will be there tomorrow when you go, and I will ride with you to the\npoplar road.\u201d\n\nShe passed like a shadow into her little dark cabin, and I was left\nalone. I will not dwell on that black loneliness of the spirit, for\nit has passed--it was the darkness of hell, a madness of jealousy, and\ncould have no enduring life in any heart that had known her. But it was\ndeath while it lasted. I had moments of horrible belief, of horrible\ndisbelief, but however it might be I knew that she was out of reach for\never. Near me--yes! but only as the silver image of the moon floated in\nthe water by the boat, with the moon herself cold myriads of miles away.\nI will say no more of that last eclipse of what she had wrought in me.\n\nThe bright morning came, sunny as if my joys were beginning instead of\nending. Vanna mounted her horse and led the way from the boat. I cast\none long look at the little Kedarnath, the home of those perfect weeks,\nof such joy and sorrow as would have seemed impossible to me in the\nchrysalis of my former existence. Little Kahdra stood crying bitterly on\nthe bank--the kindly folk who had served us were gathered saddened and\nquiet. I set my teeth and followed her.\n\nHow dear she looked, how kind, how gentle her appealing eyes, as I drew\nup beside her. She knew what I felt. She knew that the sight of little\nKahdra crying as he said good--bye was the last pull at my sore heart.\nStill she rode steadily on, and still I followed. Once she spoke.\n\n\u201cStephen, there was a man in Peshawar, kind and true, who loved that\nLilavanti who had no heart for him. And when she died, it was in his\narms, as a sister might cling to a brother, for the man she loved had\nleft her. It seems that will not be in this life, but do not think I\nhave been so blind that I did not know my friend.\u201d\n\nI could not answer--it was the realization of the utmost I could hope\nand it came like healing to my spirit. Better that bond between us,\nslight as most men might think it, than the dearest and closest with a\nwoman not Vanna. It was the first thrill of a new joy in my heart--the\nfirst, I thank the Infinite, of many and steadily growing joys and hopes\nthat cannot be uttered here.\n\nI bent to take the hand she stretched to me, but even as they touched,\nI saw, passing behind the trees by the road, the young man I had seen\nin the garden at Vernag--most beautiful, in the strange miter of his\njewelled diadem. His flute was at his lips and the music rang out sudden\nand crystal clear as though a woodland god were passing to awaken all\nthe joys of the dawn.\n\nThe horses heard too. In an instant hers had swerved wildly, and she lay\non the ground at my feet. The music had ceased.\n\nDays had gone before I could recall what had happened then. I lifted\nher in my arms and carried her into the rest-house near at hand, and\nthe doctor came and looked grave, and a nurse was sent from the Mission\nHospital. No doubt all was done that was possible, but I knew from the\nfirst what it meant and how it would be. She lay in a white stillness,\nand the room was quiet as death. I remembered with unspeakable gratitude\nlater that the nurse had been merciful and had not sent me away.\n\nSo Vanna lay all day and through the night, and when the dawn came again\nshe stirred and motioned with her hand, although her eyes were closed.\nI understood, and kneeling, I put my hand under her head, and rested it\nagainst my shoulder. Her faint voice murmured at my ear.\n\n\u201cI dreamed--I was in the pine wood at Pahlgam and it was the Night of No\nMoon, and I was afraid for it was dark, but suddenly all the trees were\ncovered with little lights like stars, and the greater light was beyond.\nNothing to be afraid of.\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing, Beloved.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I looked beyond Peshawar, further than eyes could see, and in the\nruins of the monastery where we stood, you and I--I saw him, and he lay\nwith his head at the feet of the Blessed One. That is well, is it not?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, Beloved.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd it is well I go? Is it not?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is well.\u201d\n\nA long silence. The first sun ray touched the floor. Again the whisper.\n\n\u201cBelieve what I have told you. For we shall meet again.\u201d I repeated--\n\n\u201cWe shall meet again.\u201d\n\nIn my arms she died.\n\nLater, when all was over I asked myself if I believed this and answered\nwith full assurance--Yes.\n\nIf the story thus told sounds incredible it was not incredible to me.\nI had had a profound experience. What is a miracle? It is simply the\nvision of the Divine behind nature. It will come in different forms\naccording to the eyes that see, but the soul will know that its\nperception is authentic.\n\nI could not leave Kashmir, nor was there any need. On the contrary I saw\nthat there was work for me here among the people she had loved, and my\nfirst aim was to fit myself for that and for the writing I now felt\nwas to be my career in life. After much thought I bought the little\nKedarnath and made it my home, very greatly to the satisfaction of\nlittle Kahdra and all the friendly people to whom I owed so much.\n\nVanna\u2019s cabin I made my sleeping room, and it is the simple truth that\nthe first night I slept in the place that was a Temple of Peace in my\nthoughts, I had a dream of wordless bliss, and starting awake for sheer\njoy I saw her face in the night, human and dear, looking down upon\nme with that poignant sweetness which would seem to be the utmost\nrevelation of love and pity. And as I stretched my hands, another face\ndawned solemnly from the shadow beside her with grave brows bent on\nmine--one I had known and seen in the ruins at Bijbehara. Outside and\nvery near I could hear the silver weaving of the Flute that in India is\nthe symbol of the call of the Divine. A dream--yes, but it taught me to\nlive. At first, in my days of grief and loss, I did but dream--the days\nwere hard to endure. I will not dwell on that illusion of sorrow, now\nlong dead. I lived only for the night.\n\n   \u201cWhen sleep comes to close each difficult day,\n    When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,\n    And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,\n    Must doff my will as raiment laid away--\n    With the first dream that comes with the first sleep,\n    I run--I run! I am gathered to thy heart!\u201d\n\nTo the heart of her pity. Thus for awhile I lived. Slowly I became\nconscious of her abiding presence about me, day or night It grew\nclearer, closer.\n\nLike the austere Hippolytus to his unseen Goddess, I could say;\n\n   \u201cWho am more to thee than other mortals are,\n    Whose is the holy lot,\n    As friend with friend to walk and talk with thee,\n    Hearing thy sweet mouth\u2019s music in mine ear,\n    But thee beholding not.\u201d\n\nThat was much, but later, the sunshine was no bar, the bond strengthened\nand there have been days in the heights of the hills, in the depths of\nthe woods, when I saw her as in life, passing at a distance, but real\nand lovely. Life? She had never lived as she did now--a spirit, freed\nand rejoicing. For me the door she had opened would never shut. The\nPresences were about me, and I entered upon my heritage of joy, knowing\nthat in Kashmir, the holy land of Beauty, they walk very near, and lift\nup the folds of the Dark that the initiate may see the light behind.\n\nSo I began my solitary life of gladness. I wrote, aided by the little\nbook she had left me, full of strangest stories, stranger by far than\nmy own brain could conceive. Some to be revealed--some to be hidden. And\nthus the world will one day receive the story of the Dancer of Peshawar\nin her upward lives, that it may know, if it will, that death is\nnothing--for Life and Love are all.\n\n\n\n\nTHE INCOMPARABLE LADY\n\nA STORY OF CHINA WITH A MORAL\n\nIt is recorded that when the Pearl Empress (his mother) asked of the\nphilosophic Yellow Emperor which he considered the most beautiful of the\nImperial concubines, he replied instantly: \u201cThe Lady A-Kuei\u201d: and when\nthe Royal Parent in profound astonishment demanded bow this could\nbe, having regard to the exquisite beauties in question, the Emperor\nreplied;\n\n\u201cI have never seen her. It was dark when I entered the Dragon Chamber\nand dusk of dawn when I rose and left her.\u201d\n\nThen said the Pearl Princess;\n\n\u201cPossibly the harmony of her voice solaced the Son of Heaven?\u201d\n\nBut he replied;\n\n\u201cShe spoke not.\u201d\n\nAnd the Pearl Empress rejoined:\n\n\u201cHer limbs then are doubtless softer than the kingfisher\u2019s plumage?\u201d\n\nBut the Yellow Emperor replied;\n\n\u201cDoubtless. Yet I have not touched them. I was that night immersed in\nspeculations on the Yin and the Yang. How then should I touch a woman?\u201d\n\nAnd the Pearl Empress was silent from very great amazement, not daring\nto question further but marveling how the thing might be. And seeing\nthis, the Yellow Emperor recited a poem to the following effect:\n\n    \u201cIt is said that Power rules the world\n    And who shall gainsay it?\n    But Loveliness is the head-jewel upon the brow of Power.\u201d\n\nAnd when the Empress had listened with reverence to the Imperial Poet,\nshe quitted the August Presence.\n\nImmediately, having entered her own palace of the Tranquil Motherly\nVirtues, she caused the Lady A-Kuei to be summoned to her presence, who\ncame, habited in a purple robe and with pins of jade and coral in her\nhair. And the Pearl Empress considered her attentively, recalling the\nperfect features of the White Jade Concubine, the ambrosial smile of the\nPrincess of Feminine Propriety, and the willow-leaf eyebrows of the Lady\nof Chen, and her astonishment was excessive, because the Lady A-Kuei\ncould not in beauty approach any one of these ladies. Reflecting further\nshe then placed her behind the screen, and summoned the court artist, Lo\nCheng, who had been formerly commissioned to paint the heavenly\nfeatures of the Emperor\u2019s Ladies, mirrored in still water, though he had\nnaturally not been permitted to view the beauties themselves. Of him the\nEmpress demanded:\n\n\u201cWho is the most beautiful--which the most priceless jewel of the\ndwellers in the Dragon Palace?\u201d\n\nAnd, with humility, Lo Cheng replied:\n\n\u201cWhat mortal man shall decide between the white Crane and the Swan,\nor between the paeony flower and the lotus?\u201d And having thus said he\nremained silent, and in him was no help. Finally and after exhortation\nthe Pearl Empress condescended to threaten him with the loss of a head\nso useless to himself and to her majesty. Then, in great fear and haste\nhe replied:\n\n\u201cOf all the flowers that adorn the garden of the Sun of Heaven, the Lady\nA-Kuei is the fittest to be gathered by the Imperial Hand, and this is\nmy deliberate opinion.\u201d\n\nNow, hearing this statement, the Pearl Empress was submerged in\nbewilderment, knowing that the Lady A-Kuei had modestly retired when the\nartist had depicted the reflection of the assembled loveliness of the\nInner Chambers, as not counting herself worthy of portraiture, and her\nfeatures were therefore unknown to him. Nor could the Empress further\nquestion the artist, for when she had done so, he replied only:\n\n\u201cThis is the secret of the Son of Heaven,\u201d and, having gained\npermission, he swiftly departed.\n\nNor could the Lady A-Kuei herself aid her Imperial Majesty, for on being\nquestioned she was overwhelmed with modesty and confusion, and with\nstammering lips could only repeat:\n\n\u201cThis is the secret of his Divine Majesty,\u201d imploring with the utmost\nhumility, forgiveness from the Imperial Mother.\n\nThe Pearl Empress was unable to eat her supper. In vain were spread\nbefore her the delicacies of the Empire. She could but trifle with a\nshark\u2019s fin and a \u201cSilver Ear\u201d fungus and a dish of slugs entrapped upon\nroses, with the dew-like pearls upon them. Her burning curiosity had\nwholly deprived her of appetite, nor could the amusing exertions of\nthe Palace mimes, or a lantern fete upon the lake restore her to\nany composure. \u201cThis circumstance will cause my flight on the Dragon\n(death),\u201d she said to herself, \u201cunless I succeed in unveiling the\nmystery. What therefore should be my next proceeding?\u201d\n\nAnd so, deeply reflecting, she caused the Chief of the Eunuchs to summon\nthe Princess of Feminine Propriety, the White Jade Concubine and all the\nother exalted beauties of the Heavenly Palace.\n\nIn due course of time these ladies arrived, paying suitable respect and\nobeisance to the Mother of his Divine Majesty. They were resplendent in\nking-fisher ornaments, in jewels of jade, crystal and coral, in robes\nof silk and gauze, and still more resplendent in charms that not\nthe Celestial Empire itself could equal, setting aside entirely all\ncountries of the foreign barbarians. And in grace and elegance of\nmanners, in skill in the arts of poetry and the lute, what could surpass\nthem?\n\nLike a parterre of flowers they surrounded her Majesty, and awaited her\npleasure with perfect decorum, when, having saluted them with affability\nshe thus addressed them--\u201cLovely ones--ladies distinguished by the\nparticular attention of your sovereign and mine, I have sent for you\nto resolve a doubt and a difficulty. On questioning our sovereign as to\nwhom he regarded as the loveliest of his garden of beauty he benignantly\nreplied: \u201cThe Lady A-Kuei is incomparable,\u201d and though this may well be,\nhe further graciously added that he had never seen her. Nor, on pursuing\nthe subject, could I learn the Imperial reason. The artist Lo Cheng\nfollows in his Master\u2019s footsteps, he also never having seen the favored\nlady, and he and she reply to me that this is an Imperial secret.\nDeclare to me therefore if your perspicacity and the feminine interest\nwhich every lady property takes in the other can unravel this mystery,\nfor my liver is tormented with anxiety beyond measure.\u201d\n\nAs soon as the Pearl Empress had spoken she realized that she had\ncommitted a great indiscretion. A babel of voices, of cries, questions\nand contradictions instantly arose. Decorum was abandoned. The Lady of\nChen swooned, nor could she be revived for an hour, and the Princess of\nFeminine Propriety and the White Jade Concubine could be dragged apart\nonly by the united efforts of six of the Palace matrons, so great was\ntheir fury the one with the other, each accusing each of encouragement\nto the Lady A-Kuei\u2019s pretensions. So also with the remaining ladies.\nShrieks resounded through the Hall of Virtuous Tranquillity, and when\nthe Pearl Empress attempted to pour oil on the troubled waters by\nspeaking soothing and comfortable words, the august Voice was entirely\ninaudible in the tumult.\n\nAll sought at length in united indignation for the Lady A-Kuei, but she\nhad modestly withdrawn to the Pearl Pavilion in the Imperial Garden and,\nforeseeing anxieties, had there secured herself on hearing the opening\nof the Royal Speech.\n\nFinally the ladies were led away by their attendants, weeping,\nlamenting, raging, according to their several dispositions, and the\nPearl Empress, left with her own maidens, beheld the floor strewn with\njade pins, kingfisher and coral jewels, and even with fragments of silk\nand gauze. Nor was she any nearer the solution of the desired secret.\n\nThat night she tossed upon a bed sleepless though heaped with down,\nand her mind raged like a fire up and down all possible answers to the\nriddle, but none would serve. Then, at the dawn, raising herself on one\naugust elbow she called to her venerable nurse and foster mother, the\nLady Ma, wise and resourceful in the affairs and difficulties of women,\nand, repeating the circumstances, demanded her counsel.\n\nThe Lady Ma considering the matter long and deeply, slowly replied:\n\n\u201cThis is a great riddle and dangerous, for to intermeddle with the\ndivine secrets is the high road to the Yellow Springs (death). But the\nchild of my breasts and my exalted Mistress shall never ask in vain, for\na thwarted curiosity is dangerous as a suppressed fever. I will conceal\nmyself nightly in the Dragon Bedchamber and this will certainly unveil\nthe truth. And if I perish I perish.\u201d\n\nIt is impossible to describe how the Empress heaped Lady Ma with costly\njewels and silken brocades and taels of silver beyond measuring--how she\nplaced on her breast the amulet of jade that had guarded herself from\nall evil influences, how she called the ancestral spirits to witness\nthat she would provide for the Lady Ma\u2019s remotest descendants if she\nlost her life in this sublime devotion to duty.\n\nThat night Lady Ma concealed herself behind the Imperial couch in the\nDragon Chamber, to await the coming of the Son of Heaven. Slowly dripped\nthe water-clock as the minutes fled away; sorely ached the venerable\nlimbs of the Lady Ma as she crouched in the shadows and saw the rising\nmoon scattering silver through the elegant traceries of carved ebony and\nivory; wildly beat her heart as delicately tripping footsteps approached\nthe Dragon Chamber, and the Princess of Feminine Propriety, attended by\nher maidens, ascended the Imperial Couch and hastily dismissed them. Yet\nno sweet repose awaited this favored lady. The Lady Ma could hear her\nsmothered sobs, her muttered exclamations--nay could even feel the\ncouch itself tremble as the Princess uttered the hated name of the Lady\nA-Kuei, the poison of jealousy running in every vein. It was impossible\nfor Lady Ma to decide which was the most virulent, this, or the poison\nof curiosity in the heart of the Pearl Empress. Though she loved not the\nPrincess she was compelled to pity such suffering. But all thought was\nbanished by the approach of the Yellow Emperor, prepared for repose and\nunattended, in simple but divine grandeur.\n\nIt cannot indeed be supposed that a Celestial Emperor is human, yet\nthere was mortality in the start which his Augustness gave when the\nPrincess of Feminine Propriety flinging herself from the Dragon couch,\nthrew herself at his feet and with tears that flowed like that river\nknown as \u201cThe Sorrow of China,\u201d demanded to know what she had done that\nanother should be preferred before her; reciting in frantic haste such\nimperfections of the Lady A-Kuei\u2019s appearance as she could recall (or\ninvent) in the haste of that agitating moment.\n\n\u201cThat one of her eyes is larger than the other--no human being can\ndoubt\u201d sobbed the lady--\u201cand surely your Divine Majesty cannot be aware\nthat her hair reaches but to her waist, and that there is a brown mole\non the nape of her neck? When she sings it resembles the croak of the\ncrow. It is true that most of the Palace ladies are chosen for anything\nbut beauty, yet she is the most ill-favored. And is it this--this\nbat-faced lady who is preferred to me! Would I had never been born: Yet\neven your Majesty\u2019s own lips have told me I am fair!\u201d\n\nThe Yellow Emperor supported the form of the Princess in his arms.\nThere are moments when even a Son of Heaven is but human. \u201cFair as the\nrainbow,\u201d he murmured, and the Princess faintly smiled; then gathering\nthe resolution of the Philosopher he added manfully--\u201cBut the Lady\nA-Kuei is incomparable. And the reason is--\u201d\n\nThe Lady Ma eagerly stretched her head forward with a hand to either\near. But the Princess of Feminine Propriety with one shriek had swooned\nand in the hurry of summoning attendants and causing her to be conveyed\nto her own apartments that precious sentence was never completed.\n\nStill the Lady Ma groveled behind the Dragon Couch as the Son of\nHeaven, left alone, approached the veranda and apostrophizing the moon,\nmurmured--\n\n\u201cO loveliest pale watcher of the destinies of men, illuminate the beauty\nof the Lady A-Kuei, and grant that I who have never seen that beauty may\nnever see it, but remain its constant admirer!\u201d So saying, he sought\nhis solitary couch and slept, while the Lady Ma, in a torment of\nbewilderment, glided from the room.\n\nThe matter remained in suspense for several days. The White Jade\nConcubine was the next lady commanded to the Dragon Chamber, and again\nthe Lady Ma was in her post of observation. Much she heard, much she\nsaw that was not to the point, but the scene ended as before by the\ndismissal of the lady in tears, and the departure of the Lady Ma in\nignorance of the secret.\n\nThe Emperor\u2019s peace was ended.\n\nThe singular circumstance was that the Lady A-Kuei was never summoned\nby the Yellow Emperor. Eagerly as the Empress watched, no token of\naffection for her was ever visible. Nothing could be detected. It was\ninexplicable. Finally, devoured by curiosity that gave her no respite,\nshe resolved on a stratagem that should dispel the mystery, though it\ncarried with it a risk on which she trembled to reflect. It was the\nafternoon of a languid summer day, and the Yellow Emperor, almost\nunattended, had come to pay a visit of filial respect to the Pearl\nEmpress. She received him with the ceremony due to her sovereign in the\nporcelain pavilion of the Eastern Gardens, with the lotos fish ponds\nbefore them, and a faint breeze occasionally tinkling the crystal\nwind-bells that decorated the shrubs on the cloud and dragon-wrought\nslopes of the marble approach. A bird of brilliant plumage uttered a cry\nof reverence from its gold cage as the Son of Heaven entered. As was\nhis occasional custom, and after suitable inquiries as to his parent\u2019s\nhealth, the attendants were all dismissed out of earshot and the Emperor\nleaned on his cushions and gazed reflectively into the sunshine\noutside. So had the Court Artist represented him as \u201cThe Incarnation of\nPhilosophic Calm.\u201d\n\n\u201cThese gardens are fair,\u201d said the Empress after a respectful silence,\nmoving her fan illustrated with the emblem of Immortality--the Ho Bird.\n\n\u201cFair indeed,\u201d returned the Emperor.--\u201cIt might be supposed that all\nsorrow and disturbance would be shut without the Forbidden Precincts.\nYet it is not so. And though the figures of my ladies moving among the\nflowers appear at this distance instinct with joy, yet--\u201d\n\nHe was silent.\n\n\u201cThey know not,\u201d said the Empress with solemnity \u201cthat death entered the\nForbidden Precincts but last night. A disembodied spirit has returned to\nits place and doubtless exists in bliss.\u201d \u201cIndeed?\u201d returned the Yellow\nEmperor with indifference--\u201cyet if the spirit is absorbed into the\nSource whence it came, and the bones have crumbled into nothingness,\nwhere does the Ego exist? The dead are venerable, but no longer of\ninterest.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot even when they were loved in life?\u201d said the Empress, caressing the\nbird in the cage with one jewelled finger, but attentively observing\nher son from the corner of her august eye. \u201cThey were; they are not,\u201d he\nremarked sententiously and stifling a yawn; it was a drowsy afternoon.\n\u201cBut who is it that has abandoned us? Surely not the Lady Ma--your\nMajesty\u2019s faithful foster-mother?\u201d\n\n\u201cA younger, a lovelier spirit has sought the Yellow Springs,\u201d replied\nthe trembling Empress. \u201cI regret to inform your Majesty that a sudden\nconvulsion last night deprived the Lady A-Kuei of life. I would not\npermit the news to reach you lest it should break your august night\u2019s\nrest.\u201d\n\nThere was a silence, then the Emperor turned his eyes serenely upon his\nImperial Mother. \u201cThat the statement of my august Parent is merely--let\nus say--allegoric--does not detract from its interest. But had the Lady\nA-Kuei in truth departed to the Yellow Springs I should none the less\nhave received the news without uneasiness. What though the sun set--is\nnot the memory of his light all surpassing?\u201d\n\nNo longer could the Pearl Empress endure the excess of her curiosity.\nDeeply kowtowing, imploring pardon, with raised hands and tears which no\nson dare neglect, she besought the Emperor to enlighten her as to this\nmystery, recounting his praises of the lady and his admission that he\nhad never beheld her, and all the circumstances connected with this\nremarkable episode. She omitted only, (from considerations of delicacy\nand others,) the vigils of the Lady Ma in the Dragon Chamber. The\nEmperor, sighing, looked upon the ground, and for a time was silent.\nThen he replied as follows:\n\n\u201cWillingly would I have kept silence, but what child dare withstand the\nplea of a parent? Is it necessary to inform the Heavenly Empress that\nbeauty seen is beauty made familiar and that familiarity is the foe\nof admiration? How is it possible that I should see the Princess of\nFeminine Propriety, for instance, by night and day without becoming\naware of her imperfections as well as her graces? How awake in the night\nwithout hearing the snoring of the White Jade Concubine and considering\nthe mouth from which it issues as the less lovely. How partake of the\nsociety of any woman without finding her chattering as the crane, avid\nof admiration, jealous, destructive of philosophy, fatal to composure,\nfevered with curiosity; a creature, in short, a little above the gibbon,\nbut infinitely below the notice of the sage, save as a temporary measure\nof amusement in itself unworthy the philosopher. The faces of all my\nladies are known to me. All are fair and all alike. But one night, as I\nlay in the Dragon Couch, lost in speculation, absorbed in contemplation\nof the Yin and the Yang, the night passed for the solitary dreamer as a\ndream. In the darkness of the dawn I rose still dreaming, and departed\nto the Pearl Pavilion in the garden, and there remained an hour viewing\nthe sunrise and experiencing ineffable opinions on the destiny of man.\nReturning then to a couch which I believed to have been that of the\nsolitary philosopher I observed a depression where another form had\nlain, and in it a jade hairpin such as is worn by my junior beauties.\nPetrified with amazement at the display of such reserve, such\ncontinence, such august self-restraint, I perceived that, lost in\nmy thoughts, I had had an unimagined companion and that this gentle\nreminder was from her gentle hand. But whom? I knew not. I then observed\nLo Cheng the Court Artist in attendance and immediately despatched him\nto make secret enquiry and ascertain the name and circumstances of that\nbeauty who, unknown, had shared my vigil. I learnt on his return that\nit was the Lady A-Kuei. I had entered the Dragon Chamber in a low\nmoonlight, and guessed not her presence. She spoke no word. Finding her\nImperial Master thus absorbed, she invited no attention, nor in any way\nobtruded her beauties upon my notice. Scarcely did she draw breath. Yet\nreflect upon what she might have done! The night passed and I remained\nentirely unconscious of her presence, and out of respect she would not\nsleep but remained reverently and modestly awake, assisting, if it may\nso be expressed, at a humble distance, in the speculations which held me\nprisoner. What a pearl was here! On learning these details by Lo Cheng\nfrom her own roseate lips, and remembering the unexampled temptation\nshe had resisted (for well she knew that had she touched the Emperor\nthe Philosopher had vanished) I despatched an august rescript to this\nfavored Lady, conferring on her the degree of Incomparable Beauty of the\nFirst Rank. On condition of secrecy.\u201d\n\nThe Pearl Empress, still in deepest bewilderment, besought his majesty\nto proceed. He did so, with his usual dignity.\n\n\u201cThough my mind could not wholly restrain its admiration, yet secrecy\nwas necessary, for had the facts been known, every lady, from the\nPrincess of Feminine Propriety to the Junior Beauty of the Bed Chamber\nwould henceforward have observed only silence and a frigid decorum in\nthe Dragon Bed Chamber. And though the Emperor be a philosopher, yet a\nphilosopher is still a man, and there are moments when decorum--\u201d\n\nThe Emperor paused discreetly; then resumed.\n\n\u201cThe world should not be composed entirely of A-Kueis, yet in my mind I\nbehold the Incomparable Lady fair beyond expression. Like the moon she\nsails glorious in the heavens to be adored only in vision as the one\nwoman who could respect the absorption of the Emperor, and of whose\nbeauty as she lay beside him the philosopher could remain unconscious\nand therefore untroubled in body. To see her, to find her earthly,\nwould be an experience for which the Emperor might have courage, but the\nphilosopher never. And attached to all this is a moral:\u201d\n\nThe Pearl Empress urgently inquired its nature.\n\n\u201cLet the wisdom of my august parent discern it,\u201d said the Emperor\nsententiously.\n\n\u201cAnd the future?\u201d she inquired.\n\n\u201cThe--let us call it parable--\u201d said the Emperor politely--\u201cwith which\nyour Majesty was good enough to entertain me, has suggested a precaution\nto my mind. I see now a lovely form moving among the flowers. It is\npossible that it may be the Incomparable Lady, or that at any moment I\nmay come upon her and my ideal be shattered. This must be safeguarded.\nI might command her retirement to her native province, but who shall\ninsure me against the weakness of my own heart demanding her return?\nNo. Let Your Majesty\u2019s words spoken--well--in parable, be fulfilled in\ntruth. I shall give orders to the Chief Eunuch that the Incomparable\nLady tonight shall drink the Draught of Crushed Pearls, and be thus\nrestored to the sphere that alone is worthy of her. Thus are all\nanxieties soothed, and the honours offered to her virtuous spirit shall\nbe a glorious repayment of the ideal that will ever illuminate my soul.\u201d\n\nThe Empress was speechless. She had borne the Emperor in her womb, but\nthe philosopher outsoared her comprehension. She retired, leaving his\nMajesty in a reverie, endeavoring herself to grasp the moral of which\nhe had spoken, for the guidance of herself and the ladies concerned. But\nwhether it inculcated reserve or the reverse in the Dragon Chamber, and\nwhat the Imperial ladies should follow as an example she was, to the\nend of her life, totally unable to say. Philosophy indeed walks on the\nheights. We cannot all expect to follow it.\n\nThat night the Incomparable Lady drank the Draught of Crushed Pearls.\n\nThe Princess of Feminine Propriety and the White Jade Concubine,\nlearning these circumstances, redoubled their charms, their coquetries\nand their efforts to occupy what may be described as the inner sanctuary\nof the Emperor\u2019s esteem. Both lived to a green old age, wealthy and\nhonored, alike firm in the conviction that if the Incomparable Lady had\nnot shown herself so superior to temptation the Emperor might have been\non the whole better pleased, whatever the sufferings of the philosopher.\nBoth lived to be the tyrants of many generations of beauties at the\nCelestial Court. Both were assiduous in their devotions before the\nspirit tablet of the departed lady, and in recommending her example of\nreserve and humility to every damsel whom it might concern.\n\nIt will probably occur to the reader of this unique but veracious story\nthat there is more in it than meets the eye, and more than the one\nmoral alluded to by the Emperor according to the point of view of the\ndifferent actors.\n\nTo the discernment of the reader it must accordingly be left.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HATRED OF THE QUEEN\n\nA Story of Burma\n\nMost wonderful is the Irawadi, the mighty river of Burma. In all the\nworld elsewhere is no such river, bearing the melted snows from its\nmysterious sources in the high places of the mountains. The dawn rises\nupon its league-wide flood; the moon walks upon it with silver feet. It\nis the pulsing heart of the land, living still though so many rules and\nrulers have risen and fallen beside it, their pomps and glories drifting\nlike flotsam dawn the river to the eternal ocean that is the end of\nall--and the beginning. Dead civilizations strew its banks, dreaming in\nthe torrid sunshine of glories that were--of blood-stained gold, jewels\nwept from woeful crowns, nightmare dreams of murder and terror; dreaming\nalso of heavenly beauty, for the Lord Buddha looks down in moonlight\npeace upon the land that leaped to kiss His footprints, that has laid\nits heart in the hand of the Blessed One, and shares therefore in His\nbliss and content. The Land of the Lord Buddha, where the myriad pagodas\nlift their golden flames of worship everywhere, and no idlest wind can\npass but it ruffles the bells below the knees until they send forth\ntheir silver ripple of music to swell the hymn of praise!\n\nThere is a little bay on the bank of the flooding river--a silent,\ndeserted place of sanddunes and small bills. When a ship is in sight,\nsome poor folk come and spread out the red lacquer that helps their\nscanty subsistence, and the people from the passing ship land and barter\nand in a few minutes are gone on their busy way and silence settles\ndown once more. They neither know nor care that, near by, a mighty city\nspread its splendour for miles along the river bank, that the king\nknown as Lord of the Golden Palace, The Golden Foot, Lord of the White\nElephant, held his state there with balls of magnificence, obsequious\nwomen, fawning courtiers and all the riot and colour of an Eastern\ntyranny. How should they care? Now there are ruins--ruins, and the\ncobras slip in and out through the deserted holy places. They breed\ntheir writhing young in the sleeping-chambers of queens, the tigers mew\nin the moonlight, and the giant spider, more terrible than the cobra,\nstrikes with its black poison-claw and, paralyzing the life of the\nvictim, sucks its brain with slow, lascivious pleasure.\n\nAre these foul creatures more dreadful than some of the men, the women,\nwho dwelt in these palaces--the more evil because of the human brain\nthat plotted and foresaw? That is known only to the mysterious Law that\nin silence watches and decrees.\n\nBut this is a story of the dead days of Pagan, by the Irawadi, and it\nwill be shown that, as the Lotus of the Lord Buddha grows up a white\nsplendour from the black mud of the depths, so also may the soul of a\nwoman.\n\nIn the days of the Lord of the White Elephant, the King Pagan Men, was a\nboy named Mindon, son of second Queen and the King. So, at least, it\nwas said in the Golden Palace, but those who knew the secrets of such\nmatters whispered that, when the King had taken her by the hand she\ncame to him no maid, and that the boy was the son of an Indian trader.\nFurthermore it was said that she herself was woman of the Rajputs,\nknowledgeable in spells, incantations and elemental spirits such as the\nBeloos that terribly haunt waste places, and all Powers that move in\nthe dark, and that thus she had won the King. Certainly she had been\ncaptured by the King\u2019s war-boats off the coast from a trading-ship bound\nfor Ceylon, and it was her story that, because of her beauty, she was\nsent thither to serve as concubine to the King, Tissa of Ceylon. Being\ncaptured, she was brought to the Lord of the Golden Palace. The tongue\nshe spoke was strange to all the fighting men, but it was wondrous to\nsee how swiftly she learnt theirs and spoke it with a sweet ripple such\nas is in the throat of a bird.\n\nShe was beautiful exceedingly, with a colour of pale gold upon her and\nlengths of silk-spun hair, and eyes like those of a jungle-deer, and\nwater might run beneath the arch of her foot without wetting it, and her\nbreasts were like the cloudy pillows where the sun couches at setting.\nNow, at Pagan, the name they called her was Dwaymenau, but her true\nname, known only to herself, was Sundari, and she knew not the Law of\nthe Blessed Buddha but was a heathen accursed. In the strong hollow of\nher hand she held the heart of the King, so that on the birth of her son\nshe had risen from a mere concubine to be the second Queen and a power\nto whom all bowed. The First Queen, Maya, languished in her palace, her\npale beauty wasting daily, deserted and lonely, for she had been the\nlight of the King\u2019s eyes until the coming of the Indian woman, and she\nloved her lord with a great love and was a noble woman brought up in\nhonour and all things becoming a queen. But sigh as she would, the King\ncame never. All night he lay in the arms of Dwaymenau, all day he sat\nbeside her, whether at the great water pageants or at the festival when\nthe dancing-girls swayed and postured before him in her gilded chambers.\nEven when he went forth to hunt the tiger, she went with him as far as\na woman may go, and then stood back only because he would not risk his\njewel, her life. So all that was evil in the man she fostered and all\nthat was good she cherished not at all, fearing lest he should return\nto the Queen. At her will he had consulted the Hiwot Daw, the Council of\nthe Woon-gyees or Ministers, concerning a divorce of the Queen, but\nthis they told him could not be since she had kept all the laws of Manu,\nbeing faithful, noble and beautiful and having borne him a son.\n\nFor, before the Indian woman had come to the King, the Queen had borne\na son, Ananda, and he was pale and slender and the King despised him\nbecause of the wiles of Dwaymenau, saying he was fit only to sit among\nthe women, having the soul of a slave, and he laughed bitterly as the\npale child crouched in the corner to see him pass. If his eyes had been\nclear, he would have known that here was no slave, but a heart as much\ngreater than his own as the spirit is stronger than the body. But this\nhe did not know and he strode past with Dwaymenau\u2019s boy on his shoulder,\nlaughing with cruel glee.\n\nAnd this boy, Mindon, was beautiful and strong as his mother, pale olive\nof face, with the dark and crafty eyes of the cunning Indian traders,\nwith black hair and a body straight, strong and long in the leg for his\nyears--apt at the beginnings of bow, sword and spear--full of promise,\nif the promise was only words and looks.\n\nAnd so matters rested in the palace until Ananda had ten years and\nMindon nine.\n\nIt was the warm and sunny winter and the days were pleasant, and on a\ncertain day the Queen, Maya, went with her ladies to worship the Blessed\nOne at the Thapinyu Temple, looking down upon the swiftly flowing river.\nThe temple was exceedingly rich and magnificent, so gilded with pure\ngold-leaf that it appeared of solid gold. And about the upper part were\ngolden bells beneath the jewelled knee, which wafted very sweetly in\nthe wind and gave forth a crystal-clear music. The ladies bore in their\nhands more gold-leaf, that they might acquire merit by offering this\nfor the service of the Master of the Law, and indeed this temple was\nthe offering of the Queen herself, who, because she bore the name of\nthe Mother of the Lord, excelled in good works and was the Moon of this\nlower world in charity and piety.\n\nThough wan with grief and anxiety, this Queen was beautiful. Her eyes,\nlike mournful lakes of darkness, were lovely in the pale ivory of\nher face. Her lips were nobly cut and calm, and by the favour of the\nGuardian Nats, she was shaped with grace and health, a worthy mother of\nkings. Also she wore her jewels like a mighty princess, a magnificence\nto which all the people shikoed as she passed, folding their hands and\ntouching the forehead while they bowed down, kneeling.\n\nBefore the colossal image of the Holy One she made her offering and,\nattended by her women, she sat in meditation, drawing consolation from\nthe Tranquillity above her and the silence of the shrine. This ended,\nthe Queen rose and did obeisance to the Lord and, retiring, paced back\nbeneath the White Canopy and entered the courtyard where the palace\nstood--a palace of noble teakwood, brown and golden and carved like lace\ninto strange fantasies of spires and pinnacles and branches where Nats\nand Tree Spirits and Beloos and swaying river maidens mingled and met\namid fruits and leaves and flowers in a wild and joyous confusion. The\nfaces, the blowing garments, whirled into points with the swiftness of\nthe dance, were touched with gold, and so glad was the building that it\nseemed as if a very light wind might whirl it to the sky, and even\nthe sad Queen stopped to rejoice in its beauty as it blossomed in the\nsunlight.\n\nAnd even as she paused, her little son Ananda rushed to meet her, pale\nand panting, and flung himself into her arms with dry sobs like those of\nan overrun man. She soothed him until he could speak, and then the grief\nmade way in a rain of tears.\n\n\u201cMindon has killed my deer. He bared his knife, slit his throat and cast\nhim in the ditch and there he lies.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere will he not lie long!\u201d shouted Mindon, breaking from the palace\nto the group where all were silent now. \u201cFor the worms will eat him and\nthe dogs pick clean his bones, and he will show his horns at his lords\nno more. If you loved him, White-liver, you should have taught him\nbetter manners to his betters.\u201d\n\nWith a stifled shriek Ananda caught the slender knife from his girdle\nand flew at Mindon like a cat of the woods. Such things were done daily\nby young and old, and this was a long sorrow come to a head between the\nboys.\n\nSuddenly, lifting the hangings of the palace gateway, before them stood\nthe mother of Mindon, the Lady Dwaymenau, pale as wool, having heard the\nshout of her boy, so that the two Queens faced each other, each holding\nthe shoulders of her son, and the ladies watched, mute as fishes, for it\nwas years since these two had met.\n\n\u201cWhat have you done to my son?\u201d breathed Maya the Queen, dry in the\nthroat and all but speechless with passion. For indeed his face, for a\nchild, was ghastly.\n\n\u201cLook at his knife! What would he do to my son?\u201d Dwaymenau was stiff\nwith hate and spoke as to a slave.\n\n\u201cHe has killed my deer and mocks me because I loved him, He is the devil\nin this place. Look at the devils in his eyes. Look quick before he\nsmiles, my mother.\u201d\n\nAnd indeed, young as the boy was, an evil thing sat in either eye and\nglittered upon them. Dwaymenau passed her hand across his brow, and he\nsmiled and they were gone.\n\n\u201cThe beast ran at me and would have flung me with his horns,\u201d he said,\nlooking up brightly at his mother. \u201cHe had the madness upon him. I\nstruck once and he was dead. My father would have done the same.\n\n\u201cThat would he not!\u201d said Queen Maya bitterly. \u201cYour father would have\ncrept up, fawning on the deer, and offered him the fruits he loved,\nstroking him the while. And in trust the beast would have eaten, and the\npoison in the fruit would have slain him. For the people of your father\nmeet neither man nor beast in fair fight. With a kiss they stab!\u201d\n\nHorror kept the women staring and silent. No one had dreamed that\nthe scandal had reached the Queen. Never had she spoken or looked her\nknowledge but endured all in patience. Now it sprang out like a sword\namong them, and they feared for Maya, whom all loved.\n\nMindon did not understand. It was beyond him, but he saw he was scorned.\nDwaymenau, her face rigid as a mask, looked pitilessly at the shaking\nQueen, and each word dropped from her mouth, hard and cold as the\nfalling of diamonds. She refused the insult.\n\n\u201cIf it is thus you speak of our lord and my love, what wonder he\nforsakes you? Mother of a craven milk runs in your veins and his for\nblood. Take your slinking brat away and weep together! My son and I\ngo forth to meet the King as he comes from hunting, and to welcome him\nkingly!\u201d She caught her boy to her with a magnificent gesture; he flung\nhis little arm about her, and laughing loudly they went off together.\n\nThe tension relaxed a little when they were out of sight. The women knew\nthat, since Dwaymenau had refused to take the Queen\u2019s meaning, she\nwould certainly not carry her complaint to the King. They guessed at her\nreason for this forbearance, but, be that as it might, it was Certain\nthat no other person would dare to tell him and risk the fate that waits\nthe messenger of evil.\n\nThe eldest lady led away the Queen, now almost tottering in the reaction\nof fear and pain. Oh, that she had controlled her speech! Not for her\nown sake--for she had lost all and the beggar can lose no more--but for\nthe boy\u2019s sake, the unloved child that stood between the stranger and\nher hopes. For him she had made a terrible enemy. Weeping, the boy\nfollowed her.\n\n\u201cTake comfort, little son,\u201d she said, drawing him to her tenderly. \u201cThe\ndeer can suffer no more. For the tigers, he does not fear them. He runs\nin green woods now where there is none to hunt. He is up and away. The\nBlessed One was once a deer as gentle as yours.\u201d\n\nBut still the child wept, and the Queen broke down utterly. \u201cOh, if life\nbe a dream, let us wake, let us wake!\u201d she sobbed. \u201cFor evil things walk\nin it that cannot live in the light. Or let us dream deeper and forget.\nGo, little son, yet stay--for who can tell what waits us when the King\ncomes. Let us meet him here.\u201d\n\nFor she believed that Dwaymenau would certainly carry the tale of her\nspeech to the King, and, if so, what hope but death together?\n\nThat night, after the feasting, when the girls were dancing the dance\nof the fairies and spirits, in gold dresses, winged on the legs and\nshoulders, and high, gold-spired and pinnacled caps, the King missed the\nlittle Prince, Ananda, and asked why he was absent.\n\nNo one answered, the women looking upon each other, until Dwaymenau,\nsitting beside him, glimmering with rough pearls and rubies, spoke\nsmoothly: \u201cLord, worshipped and beloved, the two boys quarreled this\nday, and Ananda\u2019s deer attacked our Mindon. He had a madness upon him\nand thrust with his horns. But, Mindon, your true son, flew in upon him\nand in a great fight he slit the beast\u2019s throat with the knife you gave\nhim. Did he not well?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the King briefly. \u201cBut is there no hurt? Have searched? For\nhe is mine.\u201d\n\nThere was arrogance in the last sentence and her proud soul rebelled,\nbut smoothly as ever she spoke: \u201cI have searched and there is not the\nlittlest scratch. But Ananda is weeping because the deer is dead, and\nhis mother is angry. What should I do?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing. Ananda is worthless and worthless let him be! And for that\npale shadow that was once a woman, let her be forgotten. And now, drink,\nmy Queen!\u201d\n\nAnd Dwaymenau drank but the drink was bitter to her, for a ghost had\nrisen upon her that day. She had never dreamed that such a scandal had\nbeen spoken, and it stunned her very soul with fear, that the Queen\nshould know her vileness and the cheat she had put upon the King. As\npure maid he had received her, and she knew, none better, what the doom\nwould be if his trust were broken and he knew the child not his.\nShe herself had seen this thing done to a concubine who had a little\noffended. She was thrust living in a sack and this hung between two\nearthen jars pierced with small holes, and thus she was set afloat on\nthe terrible river. And not till the slow filling and sinking of the\njars was the agony over and the cries for mercy stilled. No, the Queen\u2019s\nspeech was safe with her, but was it safe with the Queen? For her\nsilence, Dwaymenau must take measures.\n\nThen she put it all aside and laughed and jested with the King and did\nindeed for a time forget, for she loved him for his black-browed beauty\nand his courage and royalty and the childlike trust and the man\u2019s\npassion that mingled in him for her. Daily and nightly such prayers as\nshe made to strange gods were that she might bear a son, true son of\nhis.\n\nNext day, in the noonday stillness when all slept, she led her young son\nby the hand to her secret chamber, and, holding him upon her knees in\nthat rich and golden place, she lifted his face to hers and stared into\nhis eyes. And so unwavering was her gaze, so mighty the hard, unblinking\nstare that his own was held against it, and he stared back as the earth\nstares breathless at the moon. Gradually the terror faded out of his\neyes; they glazed as if in a trance; his head fell stupidly against her\nbosom; his spirit stood on the borderland of being and waited.\n\nSeeing this, she took his palm and, molding it like wax, into the cup\nof it she dropped clear fluid from a small vessel of pottery with the\nfylfot upon its side and the disks of the god Shiva. And strange it was\nto see that lore of India in the palace where the Blessed Law reigned\nin peace. Then, fixing her eyes with power upon Mindon, she bade him, a\npure child, see for her in its clearness.\n\n\u201cOnly virgin-pure can see!\u201d she muttered, staring into his eyes. \u201cSee!\nSee!\u201d\n\nThe eyes of Mindon were closing. He half opened them and looked dully at\nhis palm. His face was pinched and yellow.\n\n\u201cA woman--a child, on a long couch. Dead! I see!\u201d\n\n\u201cSee her face. Is her head crowned with the Queen\u2019s jewels? See!\u201d\n\n\u201cJewels. I cannot see her face. It is hidden.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy is it hidden?\u201d\n\n\u201cA robe across her face. Oh, let me go!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the child? See!\u201d\n\n\u201cLet me go. Stop--my head--my head! I cannot see. The child is hidden.\nHer arm holds it. A woman stoops above them.\u201d\n\n\u201cA woman? Who? Is it like me? Speak! See!\u201d\n\n\u201cA woman. It is like you, mother--it is like you. I fear very greatly. A\nknife--a knife! Blood! I cannot see--I cannot speak! I--I sleep.\u201d\n\nHis face was ghastly white now, his body cold and collapsed. Terrified,\nshe caught him to her breast and relaxed the power of her will upon him.\nFor that moment, she was only the passionate mother and quaked to think\nshe might have hurt him. An hour passed and he slept heavily in her\narms, and in agony she watched to see the colour steal back into the\nolive cheek and white lips. In the second hour he waked and stretched\nhimself indolently, yawning like a cat. Her tears dropped like rain upon\nhim as she clasped him violently to her.\n\nHe writhed himself free, petulant and spoilt. \u201cLet me be. I hate kisses\nand women\u2019s tricks. I want to go forth and play. I have had a devil\u2019s\ndream.\n\n\u201cWhat did you see in your dream, prince of my heart?\u201d She caught\nfrantically at the last chance.\n\n\u201cA deer--a tiger. I have forgotten. Let me go.\u201d He ran off and she sat\nalone with her doubts and fears. Yet triumph coloured them too. She saw\na dead woman, a dead child, and herself bending above them. She hid the\nvessel in her bosom and went out among her women.\n\nWeeks passed, and never a word that she dreaded from Maya the Queen. The\nwomen of Dwaymenau, questioning the Queen\u2019s women, heard that she seemed\nto have heavy sorrow upon her. Her eyes were like dying lamps and she\nfaded as they. The King never entered her palace. Drowned in Dwaymenau\u2019s\nwiles and beauty, her slave, her thrall, he forgot all else but his\nfighting, his hunting and his long war-boats, and whether the Queen\nlived or died, he cared nothing. Better indeed she should die and\nher place be emptied for the beloved, without offence to her powerful\nkindred.\n\nAnd now he was to sail upon a raid against the Shan Tsaubwa, who had\ndenied him tribute of gold and jewels and slaves. Glorious were the\nboats prepared for war, of brown teak and gilded until they shone like\ngold. Seventy men rowed them, sword and lance beside each. Warriors\ncrowded them, flags and banners fluttered about them; the shining water\nreflected the pomp like a mirror and the air rang with song. Dwaymenau\nstood beside the water with her women, bidding the King farewell, and so\nhe saw her, radiant in the dawn, with her boy beside her, and waved his\nhand to the last.\n\nThe ships were gone and the days languished a little at Pagan. They\nmissed the laughter and royalty of the King, and few men, and those old\nand weak, were left in the city. The pulse of life beat slower.\n\nAnd Dwaymenau took rule in the Golden Palace. Queen Maya sat like one in\na dream and questioned nothing, and Dwaymenau ruled with wisdom but none\nloved her. To all she was the interloper, the witch-woman, the out-land\nupstart. Only the fear of the King guarded her and her boy, but that\nwas strong. The boys played together sometimes, Mindon tyrannizing and\ncruel, Ananda fearing and complying, broken in spirit.\n\nMaya the Queen walked daily in the long and empty Golden Hall of\nAudience, where none came now that the King was gone, pacing up and\ndown, gazing wearily at the carved screens and all their woodland beauty\nof gods that did not hear, of happy spirits that had no pity. Like\na spirit herself she passed between the red pillars, appearing and\nreappearing with steps that made no sound, consumed with hate of the\nevil woman that had stolen her joy. Like a slow fire it burned in her\nsoul, and the face of the Blessed One was hidden from her, and she had\nforgotten His peace. In that atmosphere of hate her life dwindled. Her\nson\u2019s dwindled also, and there was talk among the women of some potion\nthat Dwaymenau had been seen to drop into his noontide drink as she went\nswiftly by. That might he the gossip of malice, but he pined. His\neyes were large like a young bird\u2019s; his hands like little claws. They\nthought the departing year would take him with it. What harm? Very\ncertainly the King would shed no tear.\n\nIt was a sweet and silent afternoon and she wandered in the great and\nlonely hall, sickened with the hate in her soul and her fear for her\nboy. Suddenly she heard flying footsteps--a boy\u2019s, running in mad haste\nin the outer hall, and, following them, bare feet, soft, thudding.\n\nShe stopped dead and every pulse cried--Danger! No time to think or\nbreathe when Mindon burst into sight, wild with terror and following\nclose beside him a man--a madman, a short bright dah in his grasp, his\njaws grinding foam, his wild eyes starting--one passion to murder. So\nsometimes from the Nats comes pitiless fury, and men run mad and kill\nand none knows why.\n\nMaya the Queen stiffened to meet the danger. Joy swept through her soul;\nher weariness was gone. A fierce smile showed her teeth--a smile\nof hate, as she stood there and drew her dagger for defense. For\ndefense--the man would rend the boy and turn on her and she would not\ndie. She would live to triumph that the mongrel was dead, and her son,\nthe Prince again and his father\u2019s joy--for his heart would turn to the\nchild most surely. Justice was rushing on its victim. She would see it\nand live content, the long years of agony wiped out in blood, as was\nfitting. She would not flee; she would see it and rejoice. And as\nshe stood in gladness--these broken thoughts rushing through her like\nflashes of lightning--Mindon saw her by the pillar and, screaming in\nanguish for the first time, fled to her for refuge.\n\nShe raised her knife to meet the staring eyes, the chalk white face, and\ndrive him back on the murderer. If the man failed, she would not! And\neven as she did this a strange thing befell. Something stronger than\nhate swept her away like a leaf on the river; something primeval that\nlives in the lonely pangs of childbirth, that hides in the womb and\nbreasts of the mother. It was stronger than she. It was not the hated\nMindoin--she saw him no more. Suddenly it was the eternal Child, lifting\ndying, appealing eyes to the Woman, as he clung to her knees. She did\nnot think this--she felt it, and it dominated her utterly. The Woman\nanswered. As if it had been her own flesh and blood, she swept the\npanting body behind her and faced the man with uplifted dagger and knew\nher victory assured, whether in life or death. On came the horrible\nrush, the flaming eyes, and, if it was chance that set the dagger\nagainst his throat, it was cool strength that drove it home and never\nwavered until the blood welling from the throat quenched the flame in\nthe wild eyes, and she stood triumphing like a war-goddess, with the\nman at her feet. Then, strong and flushed, Maya the Queen gathered the\nhalf-dead boy in her arms, and, both drenched with blood, they moved\nslowly down the hall and outside met the hurrying crowd, with Dwaymenau,\nwhom the scream had brought to find her son.\n\n\u201cYou have killed him! She has killed him!\u201d Scarcely could the Rajput\nwoman speak. She was kneeling beside him--he hideous with blood. \u201cShe\nhated him always. She has murdered him. Seize her!\u201d\n\n\u201cWoman, what matter your hates and mine?\u201d the Queen said slowly. \u201cThe\nboy is stark with fear. Carry him in and send for old Meh Shway Gon.\nWoman, be silent!\u201d\n\nWhen a Queen commands, men and women obey, and a Queen commanded then.\nA huddled group lifted the child and carried him away, Dwaymenau with\nthem, still uttering wild threats, and the Queen was left alone.\n\nShe could not realize what she had done and left undone. She could not\nunderstand it. She had hated, sickened with loathing, as it seemed for\nages, and now, in a moment it had blown away like a whirlwind that is\ngone. Hate was washed out of her soul and had left it cool and white as\nthe Lotus of the Blessed One. What power had Dwaymenau to hurt her when\nthat other Power walked beside her? She seemed to float above her in\nhigh air and look down upon her with compassion. Strength, virtue flowed\nin her veins; weakness, fear were fantasies. She could not understand,\nbut knew that here was perfect enlightenment. About her echoed the words\nof the Blessed One: \u201cNever in this world doth hatred cease by hatred,\nbut only by love. This is an old rule.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhereas I was blind, now I see,\u201d said Maya the Queen slowly to her own\nheart. She had grasped the hems of the Mighty.\n\nWords cannot speak the still passion of strength and joy that possessed\nher. Her step was light. As she walked, her soul sang within her, for\nthus it is with those that have received the Law. About them is the\nPeace.\n\nIn the dawn she was told that the Queen, Dwaymenau, would speak with\nher, and without a tremor she who had shaken like a leaf at that name\ncommanded that she should enter. It was Dwaymenau that trembled as she\ncame into that unknown place.\n\nWith cloudy brows and eyes that would reveal no secret, she stood before\nthe high seat where the Queen sat pale and majestic.\n\n\u201cIs it well with the boy?\u201d the Queen asked earnestly.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Dwaymenau, fingering the silver bosses of her girdle.\n\n\u201cThen--is there more to say?\u201d The tone was that of the great lady who\ncourteously ends an audience. \u201cThere is more. The men brought in the\nbody and in its throat your dagger was sticking. And my son has told me\nthat your body was a shield to him. You offered your life for his. I did\nnot think to thank you--but I thank you.\u201d She ended abruptly and still\nher eyes had never met the Queen\u2019s.\n\n\u201cI accept your thanks. Yet a mother could do no less.\u201d\n\nThe tone was one of dismissal but still Dwaymenau lingered.\n\n\u201cThe dagger,\u201d she said and drew it from her bosom. On the clear, pointed\nblade the blood had curdled and dried. \u201cI never thought to ask a gift of\nyou, but this dagger is a memorial of my son\u2019s danger. May I keep it?\u201d\n\n\u201cAs you will. Here is the sheath.\u201d From her girdle she drew it--rough\nsilver, encrusted with rubies from the mountains.\n\nThe hand rejected it.\n\n\u201cJewels I cannot take, but bare steel is a fitting gift between us two.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs you will.\u201d\n\nThe Queen spoke compassionately, and Dwaymenau, still with veiled eyes,\nwas gone without fare well. The empty sheath lay on the seat--a symbol\nof the sharp-edged hate that had passed out of her life. She touched the\nsheath to her lips and, smiling, laid it away.\n\nAnd the days went by and Dwaymenau came no more before her, and her days\nwere fulfilled with peace. And now again the Queen ruled in the palace\nwisely and like a Queen, and this Dwaymenau did not dispute, but what\nher thoughts were no man could tell.\n\nThen came the end.\n\nOne night the city awakened to a wild alarm. A terrible fleet of\nwar-boats came sweeping along the river thick as locusts--the war fleet\nof the Lord of Prome. Battle shouts broke the peace of the night\nto horror; axes battered on the outer doors; the roofs of the outer\nbuildings were all aflame. It was no wonderful incident, but a common\none enough of those turbulent days--reprisal by a powerful ruler with\nraids and hates to avenge on the Lord of the Golden Palace. It was\nindeed a right to be gainsaid only by the strong arm, and the strong arm\nwas absent; as for the men of Pagan, if the guard failed and the women\u2019s\ncourage sank, they would return to blackened walls, empty chambers and\ndesolation.\n\nAt Pagan the guard was small, indeed, for the King\u2019s greed of plunder\nhad taken almost every able man with him. Still, those who were left\ndid what they could, and the women, alert and brave, with but few\nexceptions, gathered the children and handed such weapons as they could\nmuster to the men, and themselves, taking knives and daggers, helped to\ndefend the inner rooms.\n\nIn the farthest, the Queen, having given her commands and encouraged all\nwith brave words, like a wise, prudent princess, sat with her son beside\nher. Her duty was now to him. Loved or unloved, he was still the heir,\nthe root of the House tree. If all failed, she must make ransom\nand terms for him, and, if they died, it must be together. He, with\nsparkling eyes, gay in the danger, stood by her. Thus Dwaymenau found\nthem.\n\nShe entered quietly and without any display of emotion and stood before\nthe high seat.\n\n\u201cGreat Queen\u201d--she used that title for the first time--\u201cthe leader is\nMeng Kyinyo of Prome. There is no mercy. The end is near. Our men fall\nfast, the women are fleeing. I have come to say this thing: Save the\nPrince.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how?\u201d asked the Queen, still seated. \u201cI have no power.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have sent to Maung Tin, abbot of the Golden Monastery, and he has\nsaid this thing. In the Kyoung across the river he can hide one child\namong the novices. Cut his hair swiftly and put upon him this yellow\nrobe. The time is measured in minutes.\u201d\n\nThen the Queen perceived, standing by the pillar, a monk of a stern,\ndark presence, the creature of Dwaymenau. For an instant she pondered.\nWas the woman selling the child to death? Dwaymenau spoke no word.\nHer face was a mask. A minute that seemed an hour drifted by, and the\nyelling and shrieks for mercy drew nearer.\n\n\u201cThere will be pursuit,\u201d said the Queen. \u201cThey will slay him on the\nriver. Better here with me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere will be no pursuit.\u201d Dwaymenau fixed her strange eyes on the\nQueen for the first time.\n\nWhat moved in those eyes? The Queen could not tell. But despairing,\nshe rose and went to the silent monk, leading the Prince by the hand.\nSwiftly he stripped the child of the silk pasoh of royalty, swiftly\nhe cut the long black tresses knotted on the little head, and upon the\nslender golden body he set the yellow robe worn by the Lord Himself on\nearth, and in the small hand he placed the begging-bowl of the Lord.\nAnd now, remote and holy, in the dress that is of all most sacred, the\nPrince, standing by the monk, turned to his mother and looked with grave\neyes upon her, as the child Buddha looked upon his Mother--also a Queen.\nBut Dwaymenau stood by silent and lent no help as the Queen folded the\nPrince in her arms and laid his hand in the hand of the monk and saw\nthem pass away among the pillars, she standing still and white.\n\nShe turned to her rival. \u201cIf you have meant truly, I thank you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have meant truly.\u201d\n\nShe turned to go, but the Queen caught her by the hand.\n\n\u201cWhy have you done this?\u201d she asked, looking into the strange eyes of\nthe strange woman.\n\nSomething like tears gathered in them for a moment, but she brushed them\naway as she said hurriedly:\n\n\u201cI was grateful. You saved my son. Is it not enough?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, not enough!\u201d cried the Queen. \u201cThere is more. Tell me, for death is\nupon us.\u201d\n\n\u201cHis footsteps are near,\u201d said the Indian. \u201cI will speak. I love my\nlord. In death I will not cheat him. What you have known is true. My\nchild is no child of his. I will not go down to death with a lie upon my\nlips. Come and see.\u201d\n\nDwaymenau was no more. Sundari, the Indian woman, awful and calm, led\nthe Queen down the long ball and into her own chamber, where Mindon, the\nchild, slept a drugged sleep. The Queen felt that she had never known\nher; she herself seemed diminished in stature as she followed the\nstately figure, with its still, dark face. Into this room the enemy were\nbreaking, shouldering their way at the door--a rabble of terrible faces.\nTheir fury was partly checked when only a sleeping child and two women\nconfronted them, but their leader, a grim and evil-looking man, strode\nfrom the huddle.\n\n\u201cWhere is the son of the King?\u201d he shouted. \u201cSpeak, women! Whose is this\nboy?\u201d\n\nSundari laid her hand upon her son\u2019s shoulder. Not a muscle of her face\nflickered.\n\n\u201cThis is his son.\u201d\n\n\u201cHis true son--the son of Maya the Queen?\u201d\n\n\u201cHis true son, the son of Maya the Queen.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot the younger--the mongrel?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe younger--the mongrel died last week of a fever.\u201d\n\nEvery moment of delay was precious. Her eyes saw only a monk and a boy\nfleeing across the wide river.\n\n\u201cWhich is Maya the Queen?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis,\u201d said Sundari. \u201cShe cannot speak. It is her son--the Prince.\u201d\n\nMaya had veiled her face with her hands. Her brain swam, but she\nunderstood the noble lie. This woman could love. Their lord would not be\nleft childless. Thought beat like pulses in her--raced along her veins.\nShe held her breath and was dumb.\n\nHis doubt was assuaged and the lust of vengeance was on him--a madness\nseized the man. But even his own wild men shrank back a moment, for to\nslay a sleeping child in cold blood is no man\u2019s work.\n\n\u201cYou swear it is the Prince. But why? Why do you not lie to save him if\nyou are the King\u2019s woman?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause his mother has trampled me to the earth. I am the Indian\nwoman--the mother of the younger, who is dead and safe. She jeered at\nme--she mocked me. It is time I should see her suffer. Suffer now as I\nhave suffered, Maya the Queen!\u201d\n\nThis was reasonable--this was like the women he had known. His doubt was\ngone--he laughed aloud.\n\n\u201cThen feed full of vengeance!\u201d he cried, and drove his knife through the\nchild\u2019s heart.\n\nFor a moment Sundari wavered where she stood, but she held herself and\nwas rigid as the dead.\n\n\u201cTha-du! Well done!\u201d she said with an awful smile. \u201cThe tree is broken,\nthe roots cut. And now for us women--our fate, O master?\u201d\n\n\u201cWait here,\u201d he answered. \u201cLet not a hair of their heads be touched.\nBoth are fair. The two for me. For the rest draw lots when all is done.\u201d\n\nThe uproar surged away. The two stood by the dead boy. So swift had been\nhis death that he lay as though he still slept--the black lashes pressed\nupon his cheek.\n\nWith the heredity of their different races upon them, neither wept. But\nsilently the Queen opened her arms; wide as a woman that entreats\nshe opened them to the Indian Queen, and speechlessly the two clung\ntogether. For a while neither spoke.\n\n\u201cMy sister!\u201d said Maya the Queen. And again, \u201cO great of heart!\u201d\n\nShe laid her cheek against Sundari\u2019s, and a wave of solemn joy seemed to\nbreak in her soul and flood it with life and light.\n\n\u201cHad I known sooner!\u201d she said. \u201cFor now the night draws on.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is time?\u201d answered the Rajput woman. \u201cWe stand before the Lords of\nLife and Death. The life you gave was yours, and I am unworthy to kiss\nthe feet of the Queen. Our lord will return and his son is saved. The\nHouse can be rebuilt. My son and I were waifs washed up from the sea.\nAnother wave washes us back to nothingness. Tell him my story and he\nwill loathe me.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy lips are shut,\u201d said the Queen. \u201cShould I betray my sister\u2019s honour?\nWhen he speaks of the noble women of old, your name will be among them.\nWhat matters which of us he loves and remembers? Your soul and mine have\nseen the same thing, and we are one. But I--what have I to do with life?\nThe ship and the bed of the conqueror await us. Should we await them, my\nsister?\u201d\n\nThe bright tears glittered in the eyes of Sundari at the tender name and\nthe love in the face of the Queen. At last she accepted it.\n\n\u201cMy sister, no,\u201d she said, and drew from her bosom the dagger of Maya,\nwith the man\u2019s blood rusted upon it. \u201cHere is the way. I have kept this\ndagger in token of my debt. Nightly have I kissed it, swearing that,\nwhen the time came, I would repay my debt to the great Queen. Shall I go\nfirst or follow, my sister?\u201d\n\nHer voice lingered on the word. It was precious to her. It was like\nclear water, laying away the stain of the shameful years.\n\n\u201cYour arm is strong,\u201d answered the Queen. \u201cI go first. Because the\nKing\u2019s son is safe, I bless you. For your love of the King, I love you.\nAnd here, standing on the verge of life, I testify that the words of the\nBlessed One are truth--that love is All; that hatred is Nothing.\u201d\n\nShe bared the breast that this woman had made desolate--that, with the\nlove of this woman, was desolate ho longer, and, stooping, laid her hand\non the brow of Mindon. Once more they embraced, and then, strong and\ntrue, and with the Rajput passion behind the blow, the stroke fell and\nSundari had given her sister the crowning mercy of deliverance. She\nlaid the body beside her own son, composing the stately limbs, the quiet\neyelids, the black lengths of hair into majesty. So, she thought, in the\ngreat temple of the Rajput race, the Mother Goddess shed silence and awe\nupon her worshippers. The two lay like mother and son--one slight hand\nof the Queen she laid across the little body as if to guard it.\n\nHer work done, she turned to the entrance and watched the dawn coming\nglorious over the river. The men shouted and quarreled in the distance,\nbut she heeded them no more than the chattering of apes. Her heart was\naway over the distance to the King, but with no passion now: so might a\nmother have thought of her son. He was sleeping, forgetful of even her\nin his dreams. What matter? She was glad at heart. The Queen was dearer\nto her than the King--so strange is life; so healing is death. She\nremembered without surprise that she had asked no forgiveness of the\nQueen for all the cruel wrongs, for the deadly intent--had made no\nconfession. Again what matter? What is forgiveness when love is all?\n\nShe turned from the dawn-light to the light in the face of the Queen.\nIt was well. Led by such a hand, she could present herself without fear\nbefore the Lords of Life and Death--she and the child. She smiled. Life\nis good, but death, which is more life, is better. The son of the King\nwas safe, but her own son safer.\n\nWhen the conqueror reentered the chamber, he found the dead Queen\nguarding the dead child, and across her feet, as not worthy to lie\nbeside her, was the body of the Indian woman, most beautiful in death.\n\n\n\n\nFIRE OF BEAUTY\n\n(Salutation to Ganesa the Lord of Wisdom, and to Saraswate the Lady of\nSweet Speech!)\n\nThis story was composed by the Brahmin Visravas, that dweller on the\nbanks of holy Kashi; and though the events it records are long past, yet\nit is absolutely and immutably true because, by the power of his yoga,\nhe summoned up every scene before him, and beheld the persons moving\nand speaking as in life. Thus he had naught to do but to set down what\nbefell.\n\nWhat follows, that hath he seen.\n\n\nI\n\nWide was the plain, the morning sun shining full upon it, drinking up\nthe dew as the Divine drinks up the spirit of man. Far it stretched,\nresembling the ocean, and riding upon it like a stately ship was the\nleague-long Rock of Chitor. It is certainly by the favour of the Gods\nthat this great fortress of the Rajput Kings thus rises from the plain,\nleagues in length, noble in height; and very strange it is to see the\nflat earth fall away from it like waters from the bows of a boat, as it\nsoars into the sky with its burden of palaces and towers.\n\nHere dwelt the Queen Padmini and her husband Bhimsi, the Rana of the\nRajputs.\n\nThe sight of the holy ascetic Visravas pierced even the secrets of the\nRani\u2019s bower, where, in the inmost chamber of marble, carved until it\nappeared like lace of the foam of the sea, she was seated upon cushions\nof blue Bokhariot silk, like the lotus whose name she bore floating upon\nthe blue depths of the lake. She had just risen from the shallow bath of\nmarble at her feet.\n\nMost beautiful was this Queen, a haughty beauty such as should be a\nRajput lady; for the name \u201cRajput\u201d signifies Son of a King, and this\nlady was assuredly the daughter of Kings and of no lesser persons. And\nsince that beauty is long since ashes (all things being transitory),\nit is permitted to describe the mellowed ivory of her body, the smooth\ncurves of her hips, and the defiance of her glimmering bosom, half\nveiled by the long silken tresses of sandal-scented hair which a maiden\non either side, bowing toward her, knotted upon her head. But even\nhe who with his eyes has seen it can scarce tell the beauty of her\nface--the slender arched nose, the great eyes like lakes of darkness\nin the reeds of her curled lashes, the mouth of roses, the glance,\ndeer-like but proud, that courted and repelled admiration. This cannot\nbe told, nor could the hand of man paint it. Scarcely could that fair\nwife of the Pandava Prince, Draupadi the Beautiful (who bore upon her\nperfect form every auspicious mark) excel this lady.\n\n(Ashes--ashes! May Maheshwara have mercy upon her rebirths!)\n\nThroughout India had run the fame of this beauty. In the bazaar of\nKashmir they told of it. It was recorded in the palaces of Travancore,\nand all the lands that lay between; and in an evil hour--may the Gods\ncurse the mother that bore him!--it reached the ears of Allah-u-Din, the\nMoslem dog, a very great fighting man who sat in Middle India, looting\nand spoiling.\n\n(Ahi! for the beauty that is as a burning flame!)\n\nIn the gardens beneath the windows of the Queen, the peacocks, those\nmaharajas of the birds, were spreading the bronze and emerald of their\ntails. The sun shone on them as on heaps of jewels, so that they dazzled\nthe eyes. They stood about the feet of the ancient Brahmin sage, he\nwho had tutored the Queen in her childhood and given her wisdom as the\ncrest-jeweled of her loveliness. He, the Twice-born sat under the shade\nof a neem tree, hearing the gurgle of the sacred waters from the Cow\u2019s\nMouth, where the great tank shone under the custard-apple boughs; and,\nat peace with all the world, he read in the Scripture which affirms the\ntransience of all things drifting across the thought of the Supreme like\nclouds upon the surface of the Ocean.\n\n(Ahi! that loveliness is also illusion!)\n\nHer women placed about the Queen--that Lotus of Women--a robe of silk\nof which none could say that it was green or blue, the noble colours so\nmingled into each other under the latticed gold work of Kashi. They set\nthe jewels on her head, and wide thin rings of gold heavy with great\npearls in her ears. Upon the swell of her bosom they clasped the\nnecklace of table emeralds, large, deep, and full of green lights, which\nis the token of the Chitor queens. Upon her slender ankles they placed\nthe chooris of pure soft gold, set also with grass-green emeralds, and\nthe delicate souls of her feet they reddened with lac. Nor were her arms\nforgotten, but loaded with bangles so free from alloy that they could be\nbent between the hands of a child. Then with fine paste they painted the\nSymbol between her dark brows, and, rising, she shone divine as a nymph\nof heaven who should cause the righteous to stumble in his austerities\nand arrest even the glances of Gods.\n\n(Ahi! that the Transient should be so fair!)\n\n\nII\n\nNow it was the hour that the Rana should visit her; for since the coming\nof the Lotus Lady, he had forgotten his other women, and in her was all\nhis heart. He came from the Hall of Audience where petitions were heard,\nand justice done to rich and poor; and as he came, the Queen, hearing\nhis step on the stone, dismissed her women, and smiling to know her\nloveliness, bowed before him, even as the Goddess Uma bows before Him\nwho is her other half.\n\nNow he was a tall man, with the falcon look of the Hill Rajputs, and\nmoustaches that curled up to his eyes, lion-waisted and lean in the\nflanks like Arjoon himself, a very ruler of men; and as he came, his\nhand was on the hilt of the sword that showed beneath his gold coat of\nkhincob. On the high cushions he sat, and the Rani a step beneath him;\nand she said, raising her lotus eyes:--\n\n\u201cSpeak, Aryaputra, (son of a noble father)--what hath befallen?\u201d\n\nAnd he, looking upon her beauty with fear, replied,--\n\n\u201cIt is thy beauty, O wife, that brings disaster.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how is this?\u201d she asked very earnestly.\n\nFor a moment he paused, regarding her as might a stranger, as one\nwho considers a beauty in which he hath no part; and, drawn by this\nstrangeness, she rose and knelt beside him, pillowing her head upon his\nheart.\n\n\u201cSay on,\u201d she said in her voice of music.\n\nHe unfurled a scroll that he had crushed in his strong right hand, and\nread aloud:--\n\n \u201c\u2018Thus says Allah-u-Din, Shadow of God, Wonder of the Age,\nViceregent of Kings. We have heard that in the Treasury of Chitor is a\njewel, the like of which is not in the Four Seas--the work of the hand\nof the Only God, to whom be praise! This jewel is thy Queen, the Lady\nPadmini. Now, since the sons of the Prophet are righteous, I desire but\nto look upon this jewel, and ascribing glory to the Creator, to depart\nin peace. Granted requests are the bonds of friendship; therefore\nlay the head of acquiescence in the dust of opportunity and name an\nauspicious day.\u2019\u201d\n\nHe crushed it again and flung it furiously from him on the marble.\n\n\u201cThe insult is deadly. The sorry son of a debased mother! Well he knows\nthat to the meanest Rajput his women are sacred, and how much more the\ndaughters and wives of the Kings! The jackals feast on the tongue that\nspeaks this shame! But it is a threat, Beloved--a threat! Give me thy\ncounsel that never failed me yet.\u201d\n\nFor the Rajputs take counsel with their women who are wise.\n\nThey were silent, each weighing the force of resistance that could be\nmade; and this the Rani knew even as he.\n\n\u201cIt cannot be,\u201d she said; \u201cthe very ashes of the dead would shudder to\nhear. Shall the Queens of India be made the sport of the barbarians?\u201d\n\nHer husband looked upon her fair face. She could feel his heart labor\nbeneath her ear.\n\n\u201cTrue, wife; but the barbarians are strong. Our men are tigers, each\none, but the red dogs of the Dekkan can pull down the tiger, for they\nare many, and he alone.\u201d\n\nThen that great Lady, accepting his words, and conscious of the danger,\nmurmured this, clinging to her husband:--\n\n\u201cThere was a Princess of our line whose beauty made all other women seem\nas waning moons in the sun\u2019s splendour. And many great Kings sought her,\nand there was contention and war. And, she, fearing that the Rajputs\nwould be crushed to powder between the warring Kings, sent unto each\nthis message: \u2018Come on such and such a day, and thou shalt see my face\nand hear my choice.\u2019 And they, coming, rejoiced exceedingly, thinking\neach one that he was the Chosen. So they came into the great Hall, and\nthere was a table, and somewhat upon it covered with a gold cloth; and\nan old veiled woman lifted the gold, and the head of the Princess lay\nthere with the lashes like night upon her cheek, and between her lips\nwas a little scroll, saying this: \u2018I have chosen my Lover and my Lord,\nand he is mightiest, for he is Death.\u2019--So the Kings went silently away.\nAnd there was Peace.\u201d\n\nThe music of her voice ceased, and the Rana clasped her closer.\n\n\u201cThis I cannot do. Better die together. Let us take counsel with the\nancient Brahman, thy guru [teacher], for he is very wise.\u201d\n\nShe clapped her hands, and the maidens returned, and, bowing, brought\nthe venerable Prabhu Narayan into the Presence, and again those roses\nretired.\n\nRespectful salutation was then offered by the King and the Queen to that\nsaint, hoary with wisdom--he who had seen her grow into the loveliness\nof the sea-born Shri, yet had never seen that loveliness; for he had\nnever raised his eyes above the chooris about her ankles. To him the\nKing related his anxieties; and he sat rapt in musing, and the two\nwaited in dutiful silence until long minutes had fallen away; and at the\nlast he lifted his head, weighted with wisdom, and spoke.\n\n\u201cO King, Descendant of Rama! this outrage cannot be. Yet, knowing the\nstrength and desire of this obscene one and the weakness of our power,\nit is plain that only with cunning can cunning be met. Hear, therefore,\nthe history of the Fox and the Drum.\n\n\u201cA certain Fox searched for food in the jungle, and so doing beheld\na tree on which hung a drum; and when the boughs knocked upon the\nparchment, it sounded aloud. Considering, he believed that so round a\nform and so great a voice must portend much good feeding. Neglecting on\nthis account a fowl that fed near by, he ascended to the drum. The drum\nbeing rent was but air and parchment, and meanwhile the fowl fled away.\nAnd from the eye of folly he shed the tear of disappointment, having\nbartered the substance for the shadow. So must we act with this budmash\n[scoundrel]. First, receiving his oath that he will depart without\nviolence, hid him hither to a great feast, and say that he shall behold\nthe face of the Queen in a mirror. Provide that some fair woman of\nthe city show her face, and then let him depart in peace, showing him\nfriendship. He shall not know he hath not seen the beauty he would\nbefoul.\u201d\n\nAfter consultation, no better way could be found; but the heart of the\ngreat Lady was heavy with foreboding.\n\n(A hi! that Beauty should wander a pilgrim in the ways of sorrow!)\n\nTo Allah-u-Din therefore did the King dispatch this letter by swift\nriders on mares of Mewar.\n\nAfter salutations--\u201cNow whereas thou hast said thou wouldest look upon\nthe beauty of the Treasure of Chitor, know it is not the custom of the\nRajputs that any eye should light upon their treasure. Yet assuredly,\nwhen requests arise between friends, there cannot fail to follow\ndistress of mind and division of soul if these are ungranted. So, under\npromises that follow, I bid thee to a feast at my poor house of Chitor,\nand thou shalt see that beauty reflected in a mirror, and so seeing,\ndepart in peace from the house of a friend.\u201d\n\nThis being writ by the Twice-Born, the Brahman, did the Rana sign with\nbitter rage in his heart. And the days passed.\n\n\nIII\n\nOn a certain day found fortunate by the astrologers--a day of early\nwinter, when the dawns were pure gold and the nights radiant with a\ncool moon--did a mighty troop of Moslems set their camp on the plain of\nChitor. It was as if a city had blossomed in an hour. Those who looked\nfrom the walls muttered prayers to the Lord of the Trident; for these\nmen seemed like the swarms of the locust--people, warriors all, fierce\nfighting-men. And in the ways of Chitor, and up the steep and winding\ncauseway from the plains, were warriors also, the chosen of the Rajputs,\nthick as blades of corn hedging the path.\n\n(Ahi! that the blossom of beauty should have swords for thorns!)\n\nThen, leaving his camp, attended by many Chiefs,--may the mothers and\nsires that begot them be accursed!--came Allah-u-Din, riding toward the\nLower Gate, and so upward along the causeway, between the two rows of\nmen who neither looked nor spoke, standing like the carvings of war in\nthe Caves of Ajunta. And the moon was rising through the sunset as he\ncame beneath the last and seventh gate. Through the towers and palaces\nhe rode with his following, but no woman, veiled or unveiled,--no, not\neven an outcast of the city,--was there to see him come; only the men,\narmed and silent. So he turned to Munim Khan that rode at his bridle,\nsaying,--\n\n\u201cLet not the eye of watchfulness close this night on the pillow of\nforgetfulness!\u201d\n\nAnd thus he entered the palace.\n\nVery great was the feast in Chitor, and the wines that those accursed\nshould not drink (since the Outcast whom they call their Prophet forbade\nthem) ran like water, and at the right hand of Allah-u-Din was set the\ngreat crystal Cup inlaid with gold by a craft that is now perished; and\nhe filled and refilled it--may his own Prophet curse the swine!\n\nBut because the sons of Kings eat not with the outcasts, the Rana\nentered after, clothed in chain armor of blue steel, and having greeted\nhim, bid him to the sight of that Treasure. And Allah-u-Din, his eyes\nswimming with wine, and yet not drunken, followed, and the two went\nalone.\n\nPurdahs [curtains] of great splendour were hung in the great Hall that\nis called the Raja\u2019s Hall, exceeding rich with gold, and in front of the\nopening was a kneeling-cushion, and an a gold stool before it a polished\nmirror.\n\n(Ahi! for gold and beauty, the scourges of the world!)\n\nAnd the Rana was pale to the lips.\n\nNow as the Princes stood by the purdah, a veiled woman, shrouded in\nwhite so that no shape could be seen in her, came forth from within,\nand kneeling upon the cushion, she unveiled her face bending until\nthe mirror, like a pool of water, held it, and that only. And the King\nmotioned his guest to look, and he looked over her veiled shoulder\nand saw. Very great was the bowed beauty that the mirror held, but\nAllah-u-Din turned to the Rana.\n\n\u201cBy the Bread and the Salt, by the Guest-Right, by the Honour of thy\nHouse, I ask--is this the Treasure of Chitor?\u201d\n\nAnd since the Sun-Descended cannot lie, no, not though they perish, the\nRana answered, flushing darkly,--\u201cThis is not the Treasure. Wilt thou\nspare?\u201d\n\nBut he would not, and the woman slipped like a shadow behind the purdah\nand no word said.\n\nThen was heard the tinkling of chooris, and the little noise fell upon\nthe silence like a fear, and, parting the curtains, came a woman veiled\nlike the other. She did not kneel, but took the mirror in her hand, and\nAllah-u-Din drew up behind her back. From her face she raised the veil\nof gold Dakka webs, and gazed into the mirror, holding it high, and that\nAccursed stumbled back, blinded with beauty, saying this only,--\u201cI have\nseen the Treasure of Chitor.\u201d\n\nSo the purdah fell about her.\n\nThe next day, after the Imaum of the Accursed had called them to prayer,\nthey departed, and Allah-u-Din, paying thanks to the Rana for honours\ngiven and taken, and swearing friendship, besought him to ride to his\ncamp, to see the marvels of gold and steel armor brought down from the\npasses, swearing also safe-conduct. And because the Rajputs trust the\nword even of a foe, he went.\n\n(A hi! that honour should strike hands with traitors!)\n\n\nIV\n\nThe hours went by, heavy-footed like mourners. Padmini the Rani knelt by\nthe window in her tower that overlooks the plains. Motionless she knelt\nthere, as the Goddess Uma lost in her penances, and she saw her Lord\nride forth, and the sparkle of steel where the sun shone on them, and\nthe Standard of the Cold Disk on its black ground. So the camp of the\nMoslem swallowed them up, and they returned no more. Still she knelt and\nnone dared speak with her; and as the first shade of evening fell across\nthe hills of Rajasthan, she saw a horseman spurting over the flat; and\nhe rode like the wind, and, seeing, she implored the Gods.\n\nThen entered the Twice-Born, that saint of clear eyes, and he bore a\nscroll; and she rose and seated herself, and he stood by her, as her\nladies cowered like frightened doves before the woe in his face as he\nread.\n\n\u201cTo the Rose of Beauty, The Pearl among Women, the Chosen of the Palace.\nWho, having seen thy loveliness, can look on another? Who, having tasted\nthe wine of the Houris, but thirsts forever? Behold, I have thy King as\nhostage. Come thou and deliver him. I have sworn that he shall return in\nthy place.\u201d\n\nAnd from a smaller scroll, the Brahman read this:--\n\n\u201cI am fallen in the snare. Act thou as becomes a Rajputni.\u201d\n\nThen that Daughter of the Sun lifted her head, for the thronging of\narmed feet was heard in the Council Hall below. From the floor she\ncaught her veil and veiled herself in haste, and the Brahman with bowed\nhead followed, while her women mourned aloud. And, descending, between\nthe folds of the purdah she appeared white and veiled, and the Brahman\nbeside her, and the eyes of all the Princes were lowered to her shrouded\nfeet, while the voice they had not heard fell silvery upon the air, and\nthe echoes of the high roof repeated it.\n\n\u201cChief of the Rajputs, what is your counsel?\u201d And he of Marwar stepped\nforward, and not raising his eyes above her feet, answered,--\n\n\u201cQueen, what is thine?\u201d\n\nFor the Rajputs have ever heard the voice of their women.\n\nAnd she said,--\n\n\u201cI counsel that I die and my head be sent to him, that my blood may\nquench his desire.\u201d\n\nAnd each talked eagerly with the other, but amid the tumult the\nTwice-Born said,--\n\n\u201cThis is not good talk. In his rage he will slay the King. By my yoga, I\nhave seen it. Seek another way.\u201d\n\nSo they sought, but could determine nothing, and they feared to ride\nagainst the dog, for he held the life of the King; and the tumult was\ngreat, but all were for the King\u2019s safety.\n\nThen once more she spoke.\n\n\u201cSeeing it is determined that the King\u2019s life is more than my honour,\nI go this night. In your hand I leave my little son, the Prince Ajeysi.\nPrepare my litters, seven hundred of the best, for all my women go with\nme. Depart now, for I have a thought from the Gods.\u201d\n\nThen, returning to her bower, she spoke this letter to the saint, and he\nwrote it, and it was sent to the camp.\n\nAfter salutations--\u201cWisdom and strength have attained their end. Have\nready for release the Rana of Chitor, for this night I come with my\nladies, the prize of the conqueror.\u201d\n\nWhen the sun sank, a great procession with torches descended the steep\nway of Chitor--seven hundred litters, and in the first was borne the\nQueen, and all her women followed.\n\nAll the streets were thronged with women, weeping and beating their\nbreasts. Very greatly they wept, and no men were seen, for their livers\nwere black within them for shame as the Treasure of Chitor departed,\nnor would they look upon the sight. And across the plains went that\nprocession; as if the stars had fallen upon the earth, so glittered the\nsorrowful lights of the Queen.\n\nBut in the camp was great rejoicing, for the Barbarians knew that many\nfair women attended on her.\n\nNow, before the entrance to the camp they had made a great shamiana\n[tent] ready, hung with shawls of Kashmir and the plunder of Delhi; and\nthere was set a silk divan for the Rani, and beside it stood the Loser\nand the Gainer, Allah-u-Din and the King, awaiting the Treasure.\n\nVeiled she entered, stepping proudly, and taking no heed of the Moslem,\nshe stood before her husband, and even through the veil he could feel\nthe eyes he knew.\n\nAnd that Accursed spoke, laughing.\n\n\u201cI have won-I have won, O King! Bid farewell to the Chosen of the\nPalace--the Beloved of the Viceregent of Kings!\u201d\n\nThen she spoke softly, delicately, in her own tongue, that the outcast\nshould not guess the matter of her speech.\n\n\u201cStand by me. Stir not. And when I raise my arm, cry the cry of the\nRajputs. NOW!\u201d\n\nAnd she flung her arm above her head, and instantly, like a lion\nroaring, he shouted, drawing his sword, and from every litter sprang an\narmed man, glittering in steel, and the bearers, humble of mien, were\nRajput knights, every one.\n\nAnd Allah-u-Din thrust at the breast of the Queen; but around them\nsurged the war, and she was hedged with swords like a rose in the\nthickets.\n\nVery full of wine, dull with feasting and lust and surprised, the\nMoslems fled across the plains, streaming in a broken rabble, cursing\nand shouting like low-caste women; and the Rajputs, wiping their swords,\nreturned from the pursuit and laughed upon each other.\n\nBut what shall be said of the joy of the King and of her who had\nimagined this thing, instructed of the Goddess who is the other half of\nher Lord?\n\nSo the procession returned, singing, to Chitor with those Two in the\nmidst; but among the dogs that fled was Allah-u-Din, his face blackened\nwith shame and wrath, the curses choking in his foul throat.\n\n(Aid! that the evil still walk the ways of the world!)\n\n\nV\n\nSo the time went by and the beauty of the Queen grew, and her King could\nsee none but hers. Like the moon she obscured the stars, and every day\nhe remembered her wisdom, her valour, and his soul did homage at her\nfeet, and there was great content in Chitor.\n\nIt chanced one day that the Queen, looking from her high window that\nlike an eagle\u2019s nest overhung the precipice, saw, on the plain beneath,\na train of men, walking like ants, and each carried a basket on his\nback, and behind them was a cloud of dust like a great army. Already the\ncity was astir because of this thing, and the rumours came thick and the\nspies were sent out.\n\nIn the dark they returned, and the Rana entered the bower of Padmini,\nhis eyes burning like coal with hate and wrath, and he flung his arm\nround his wife like a shield.\n\n\u201cHe is returned, and in power. Counsel me again, O wife, for great is\nthy wisdom!\u201d\n\nBut she answered only this,--\n\n\u201cFight, for this time it is to the death.\u201d\n\nThen each day she watched bow the baskets of earth, emptied upon the\nplain at first, made nothing, an ant heap whereat fools might laugh. But\neach day as the trains of men came, spilling their baskets, the great\nearthworks grew and their height mounted. Day after day the Rajputs rode\nforth and slew; and as they slew it seemed that all the teeming millions\nof the earth came forth to take the places of the slain. And the Rajputs\nfell also, and under the pennons the thundering forces returned daily,\nthinned of their best.\n\n(A hi! that Evil rules the world as God!)\n\nAnd still the earth grew up to the heights, and the protection of the\nhills was slowly withdrawn from Chitor, for on the heights they made\nthey set their engines of war.\n\nThen in a red dawn that great saint Narayan came to the Queen, where she\nwatched by her window, and spoke.\n\n\u201cO great lady, I have dreamed a fearful dream. Nay, rather have I seen a\nvision.\u201d\n\nWith her face set like a sword, the Queen said,--\n\n\u201cSay on.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn a light red like blood, I waked, and beside me stood the\nMother,--Durga,--awful to see, with a girdle of heads about her middle;\nand the drops fell thick and slow from That which she held in her hand,\nand in the other was her sickle of Doom. Nor did she speak, but my soul\nheard her words.\u201d\n\n\u201cNarrate them.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe commanded: \u2018Say this to the Rana: \u201cIn Chitor is My altar; in Chitor\nis thy throne. If thou wouldest save either, send forth twelve crowned\nKings of Chitor to die.\u2019\u201d\n\nAs he said this, the Rana, fore-spent with fighting, entered and heard\nthe Divine word.\n\nNow there were twelve princes of the Rajput blood, and the youngest was\nthe son of Padmini. What choice had these most miserable but to appease\nthe dreadful anger of the Goddess? So on each fourth day a King of\nChitor was crowned, and for three days sat upon the throne, and on the\nfourth day, set in the front, went forth and died fighting. So perished\neleven Kings of Chitor, and now there was left but the little Ajeysi,\nthe son of the Queen.\n\nAnd that day was a great Council called.\n\nFew were there. On the plains many lay dead; holding the gates many\nwatched; but the blood was red in their hearts and flowed like Indus in\nthe melting of the snows. And to them spoke the Rana, his hand clenched\non his sword, and the other laid on the small dark head of the Prince\nAjeysi, who stood between his knees. And as he spoke his voice gathered\nstrength till it rang through the hall like the voice of Indra when he\nthunders in the heavens.\n\n\u201cMen of the Rajputs, this child shall not die. Are we become jackals\nthat we fall upon the weak and tear them? When have we put our women\nand children in the forefront of the war? I--I only am King of Chitor.\nNarayan shall save this child for the time that will surely come. And\nfor us--what shall we do? I die for Chitor!\u201d\n\nAnd like the hollow waves of a great sea they answered him,--\n\n\u201cWe will die for Chitor.\u201d\n\nThere was silence and Marwar spoke.\n\n\u201cThe women?\u201d\n\n\u201cDo they not know the duty of a Rajputni?\u201d said the King. \u201cMy household\nhas demanded that the caves be prepared.\u201d\n\nAnd the men clashed stew joy with their swords, and the council\ndispersed.\n\nThen that very great saint, the Twice-Born, put off the sacred thread\nthat is the very soul of the Brahman. In his turban he wound it\nsecretly, and he stained his noble Aryan body until it resembled the\nPariahs, foul for the pure to see, loathsome for the pure to touch,\nand he put on him the rags of the lowest of the earth, and taking the\nPrince, he removed from the body of the child every trace of royal and\nRajput birth, and he appeared like a child of the Bhils--the vile forest\nwanderers that shame not to defile their lips with carrion. And in this\nguise they stood before the Queen; and when she looked on the saint, the\ntears fell from her eyes like rain, not for grief for her son, nor for\ndeath, but that for their sake the pure should be made impure and the\nglory of the Brahman-hood be defiled. And she fell at the old man\u2019s feet\nand laid her head on the ground before him.\n\n\u201cRise, daughter!\u201d he said, \u201cand take comfort! Are not the eyes of the\nGods clear that they should distinguish?--and this day we stand before\nthe God of Gods. Have not the Great Ones said, \u2018That which causes life\ncauses also decay and death\u2019? Therefore we who go and you who stay are\nalike a part of the Divine. Embrace now your child and bless him, for we\ndepart. And it is on account of the sacrifice of the Twelve that he is\nsaved alive.\u201d\n\nSo, controlling her tears, she rose, and clasping the child to her\nbosom, she bade him be of good cheer since he went with the Gods. And\nthat great saint took his hand from hers, and for the first time in the\nlife of the Queen he raised his aged eyes to her face, and she gazed at\nhim; but what she read, even the ascetic Visravas, who saw all by\nthe power of his yoga, could not tell, for it was beyond speech. Very\ncertainly the peace thereafter possessed her.\n\nSo those two went out by the secret ways of the rocks, and wandering\nfar, were saved by the favour of Durga.\n\n\nVI\n\nAnd the nights went by and the days, and the time came that no longer\ncould they hold Chitor, and all hope was dead.\n\nOn a certain day the Rana and the Rani stood for the last time in her\nbower, and looked down into the city; and in the streets were gathered\nin a very wonderful procession the women of Chitor; and not one was\nveiled. Flowers that had bloomed in the inner chambers, great ladies\njewelled for a festival, young brides, aged mothers, and girl children\nclinging to the robes of their mothers who held their babes, crowded the\nways. Even the low-caste women walked with measured steps and proudly,\ndecked in what they had of best, their eyes lengthened with soorma, and\nflowers in the darkness of their hair.\n\nThe Queen was clothed in a gold robe of rejoicing, her bodice latticed\nwith diamonds and great gems, and upon her bosom the necklace of table\nemeralds, alight with green fire, which is the jewel of the Queens of\nChitor. So she stood radiant as a vision of Shri, and it appeared that\nrays encircled her person.\n\nAnd the Rana, unarmed save for his sword, had the saffron dress of a\nbridegroom and the jeweled cap of the Rajput Kings, and below in the\nhall were the Princes and Chiefs, clad even as he.\n\nThen, raising her lotus eyes to her lord, the Princess said,--\n\n\u201cBeloved, the time is come, and we have chosen rightly, for this is\nthe way of honour, and it is but another link forged in the chain of\nexistence; for until existence itself is ended and rebirth destroyed,\nstill shall we meet in lives to come and still be husband and wife. What\nroom then for despair?\u201d\n\nAnd he answered,--\n\n\u201cThis is true. Go first, wife, and I follow. Let not the door swing to\nbehind thee. But oh, to see thy beauty once more that is the very speech\nof Gods with men! Wilt thou surely come again to me and again be fair?\u201d\n\nAnd for all answer she smiled upon him, and at his feet performed the\nobeisance of the Rajput wife when she departs upon a journey; and they\nwent out together, the Queen unveiled.\n\nAs she passed through the Princes, they lowered their eyes so that none\nsaw her; but when she stood on the steps of the palace, the women all\nturned eagerly toward her like stars about the moon, and lifting their\narms, they began to sing the dirge of the Rajput women.\n\nSo they marched, and in great companies they marched, company behind\ncompany, young and old, past the Queen, saluting her and drawing courage\nfrom the loveliness and kindness of her unveiled face.\n\nIn the rocks beneath the palaces of Chitor are very great caves--league\nlong and terrible, with ways of darkness no eyes have seen; and it\nis believed that in times past spirits have haunted them with strange\nwailings. In these was prepared great store of wood and oils and\nfragrant matters for burning. So to these caves they marched and,\ncompany by company, disappeared into the darkness; and the voice of\ntheir singing grew faint and hollow, and died away, as the men stood\nwatching their women go.\n\nNow, when this was done and the last had gone, the Rani descended the\nsteps, and the Rana, taking a torch dipped in fragrant oils, followed\nher, and the Princes walked after, clad like bridegrooms but with no\nfaces of bridal joy. At the entrance of the caves, having lit the torch,\nhe gave it into her hand, and she, receiving it and smiling, turned once\nupon the threshold, and for the first time those Princes beheld the face\nof the Queen, but they hid their eyes with their hands when they had\nseen. So she departed within, and the Rana shut to the door and barred\nand bolted it, and the men with him flung down great rocks before it so\nthat none should know the way, nor indeed is it known to this day; and\nwith their hands on their swords they waited there, not speaking, until\na great smoke rose between the crevices of the rocks, but no sound at\nall.\n\n(Ashes of roses--ashes of roses!--Ahi! for beauty that is but touched\nand remitted!)\n\nThe sun was high when those men with their horses and on foot marched\ndown the winding causeway beneath the seven gates, and so forth into the\nplains, and charging unarmed upon the Moslems, they perished every man.\nAfter, it was asked of one who had seen the great slaughter,--\n\n\u201cSay how my King bore himself.\u201d\n\nAnd he who had seen told this:--\n\n\u201cReaper of the harvest of battle, on the bed of honour he has spread a\ncarpet of the slain! He sleeps ringed about by his enemies. How can the\nworld tell of his deeds? The tongue is silent.\u201d\n\nWhen that Accursed, Allah-u-Din, came up the winding height of the\nhills, he found only a dead city, and his heart was sick within him.\n\nNow this is the Sack of Chitor, and by the Oath of the Sack of Chitor do\nthe Rajputs swear when they bind their honour.\n\nBut it is only the ascetic Visravas who by the power of his yoga has\nheard every word, and with his eyes beheld that Flame of Beauty, who,\nfor a brief space illuminating the world as a Queen, returns to birth in\nmany a shape of sorrowful loveliness until the Blue-throated God shall\nin his favour destroy her rebirths.\n\nSalutation to Ganesa the Elephant-Headed One, and to Shri the Lady of\nBeauty!\n\n\n\n\nTHE BUILDING OF THE TAJ MAHAL\n\n   In the Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful--the Smiting!\n   A day when the soul shall know what it has sent on or kept back.\n   A day when no soul shall control aught for another.\n   And the bidding belongs to God.\n\n\nTHE KORAN.\n\nI\n\nNow the Shah-in-Shah, Shah Jahan, Emperor in India, loved his wife with\na great love. And of all the wives of the Mogul Emperors surely this\nLady Arjemand, Mumtaz-i-Mahal---the Chosen of the Palace--was the most\nworthy of love. In the tresses of her silk-soft hair his heart was\nbound, and for none other had he so much as a passing thought since\nhis soul had been submerged in her sweetness. Of her he said, using the\nwords of the poet Faisi,--\n\n\u201cHow shall I understand the magic of Love the Juggler? For he made thy\nbeauty enter at that small gate the pupil of my eye, And now--and now my\nheart cannot contain it!\u201d\n\nBut who should marvel? For those who have seen this Arjemand crowned\nwith the crown the Padishah set upon her sweet low brows, with the lamps\nof great jewels lighting the dimples of her cheeks as they swung beside\nthem, have most surely seen perfection. He who sat upon the Peacock\nThrone, where the outspread tail of massed gems is centred by that great\nruby, \u201cThe Eye of the Peacock, the Tribute of the World,\u201d valued it not\nso much as one Jock of the dark and perfumed tresses that rolled to her\nfeet. Less to him the twelve throne columns set close with pearls than\nthe little pearls she showed in her sweet laughter. For if this lady was\nall beauty, so too she was all goodness; and from the Shah-in-Shah to\nthe poorest, all hearts of the world knelt in adoration, before the\nChosen of the Palace. She was, indeed, an extraordinary beauty, in that\nshe had the soul of a child, and she alone remained unconscious of her\npower; and so she walked, crowned and clothed with humility.\n\nCold, haughty, and silent was the Shah-in-Shah before she blessed his\narms--flattered, envied, but loved by none. But the gift this Lady\nbrought with her was love; and this, shining like the sun upon ice,\nmelted his coldness, and he became indeed the kingly centre of a kingly\ncourt May the Peace be upon her!\n\nNow it was the dawn of a sorrowful day when the pains of the Lady\nArjemand came strong and terrible, and she travailed in agony. The\nhakims (physicians) stroked their beards and reasoned one with another;\nthe wise women surrounded her, and remedies many and great were tried;\nand still her anguish grew, and in the hall without sat the Shah-in-Shah\nupon his divan, in anguish of spirit yet greater. The sweat ran on his\nbrows, the knotted veins were thick on his temples, and his eyes, sunk\nin their caves, showed as those of a maddened man. He crouched on his\ncushions and stared at the purdah that divided him from the Lady; and\nall day the people came and went about him, and there was silence from\nthe voice he longed to hear; for she would not moan, lest the sound\nshould slay the Emperor. Her women besought her, fearing that her strong\nsilence would break her heart; but still she lay, her hands clenched in\none another, enduring; and the Emperor endured without. The Day of the\nSmiting!\n\nSo, as the time of the evening prayer drew nigh, a child was born,\nand the Empress, having done with pain, began to sink slowly into\nthat profound sleep that is the shadow cast by the Last. May Allah the\nUpholder have mercy on our weakness! And the women, white with fear\nand watching, looked upon her, and whispered one to another, \u201cIt is the\nend.\u201d\n\nAnd the aged mother of Abdul Mirza, standing at her head, said, \u201cShe\nheeds not the cry of the child. She cannot stay.\u201d And the newly wed\nwife of Saif Khan, standing at her feet, said, \u201cThe voice of the beloved\nhusband is as the Call of the Angel. Let the Padishah be summoned.\u201d\n\nSo, the evening prayer being over (but the Emperor had not prayed), the\nwisest of the hakims, Kazim Sharif, went before him and spoke:--\n\n\u201cInhallah! May the will of the Issuer of Decrees in all things be done!\nAscribe unto the Creator glory, bowing before his Throne.\u201d\n\nAnd he remained silent; but the Padishah, haggard in his jewels, with\nhis face hidden, answered thickly, \u201cThe truth! For Allah has forgotten\nhis slave.\u201d\n\nAnd Kazim Sharif, bowing at his feet and veiling his face with his\nhands, replied:\n\n\u201cThe voice of the child cannot reach her, and the Lady of Delight\ndeparts. He who would speak with her must speak quickly.\u201d\n\nThen the Emperor rose to his feet unsteadily, like a man drunk with\nthe forbidden juice; and when Kazim Sharif would have supported him, he\nflung aside his hands, and he stumbled, a man wounded to death, as it\nwere, to the marble chamber where she lay.\n\nIn that white chamber it was dusk, and they had lit the little cressets\nso that a very faint light fell upon her face. A slender fountain a\nlittle cooled the hot, still air with its thin music and its sprinkled\ndiamonds, and outside, the summer lightnings were playing wide and blue\non the river; but so still was it that the dragging footsteps of the\nEmperor raised the hair on the flesh of those who heard, So the women\nwho should, veiled themselves, and the others remained like pillars of\nstone.\n\nNow, when those steps were heard, a faint colour rose in the cheek of\nthe Lady Arjemand; but she did not raise the heavy lashes, or move her\nhand. And he came up beside her, and the Shadow of God, who should kneel\nto none, knelt, and his head fell forward upon her breast; and in the\nhush the women glided out like ghosts, leaving the husband with the wife\nexcepting only that her foster-nurse stood far off, with eyes averted.\n\nSo the minutes drifted by, falling audibly one by one into eternity, and\nat the long last she slowly opened her eyes and, as from the depths of\na dream, beheld the Emperor; and in a voice faint as the fall of a\nrose-leaf she said the one word, \u201cBeloved!\u201d\n\nAnd he from between his clenched teeth, answered, \u201cSpeak, wife.\u201d\n\nSo she, who in all things had loved and served him,--she, Light of\nall hearts, dispeller of all gloom,--gathered her dying breath for\nconsolation, and raised one hand slowly; and it fell across his, and so\nremained.\n\nNow, her beauty had been broken in the anguish like a rose in storm; but\nit returned to her, doubtless that the Padishah might take comfort in\nits memory; and she looked like a houri of Paradise who, kneeling beside\nthe Zemzem Well, beholds the Waters of Peace. Not Fatmeh herself, the\ndaughter of the Prophet of God, shone more sweetly. She repeated the\nword, \u201cBeloved\u201d; and after a pause she whispered on with lips that\nscarcely stirred, \u201cKing of the Age, this is the end.\u201d\n\nBut still he was like a dead man, nor lifted his face.\n\n\u201cSurely all things pass. And though I go, in your heart I abide, and\nnothing can sever us. Take comfort.\u201d\n\nBut there was no answer.\n\n\u201cNothing but Love\u2019s own hand can slay Love. Therefore, remember me, and\nI shall live.\u201d\n\nAnd he answered from the darkness of her bosom, \u201cThe whole world shall\nremember. But when shall I be united to thee? O Allah, how long wilt\nthou leave me to waste in this separation?\u201d\n\nAnd she: \u201cBeloved, what is time? We sleep and the night is gone. Now put\nyour arms about me, for I sink into rest. What words are needed between\nus? Love is enough.\u201d\n\nSo, making not the Profession of Faith,--and what need, since all her\nlife was worship,--the Lady Arjemand turned into his arms like a child.\nAnd the night deepened.\n\nMorning, with its arrows of golden light that struck the river to\nsplendour! Morning, with its pure breath, its sunshine of joy, and the\nkoels fluting in the Palace gardens! Morning, divine and new from\nthe hand of the Maker! And in the innermost chamber of marble a white\nsilence; and the Lady, the Mirror of Goodness, lying in the Compassion\nof Allah, and a broken man stretched on the ground beside her. For all\nflesh, from the camel-driver to the Shah-in-Shah, is as one in the Day\nof the Smiting.\n\n\nII\n\nFor weeks the Emperor lay before the door of death; and had it opened\nto him, he had been blessed. So the months went by, and very slowly the\nstrength returned to him; but his eyes were withered and the bones stood\nout in his cheeks. But he resumed his throne, and sat upon it kingly,\nblack-bearded, eagle-eyed, terribly apart in his grief and his royalty;\nand so seated among his Usbegs, he declared his will.\n\n\u201cFor this Lady (upon whom be peace), departed to the mercy of the Giver\nand Taker, shall a tomb-palace be made, the Like of which is not found\nin the four corners of the world. Send forth therefore for craftsmen\nlike the builders of the Temple of Solomon the Wise; for I will build.\u201d\n\nSo, taking counsel, they sent in haste into Agra for Ustad Isa, the\nMaster-Builder, a man of Shiraz; and he, being presented before the\nPadishah, received his instructions in these words:--\n\n\u201cI will that all the world shall remember the Flower of the World,\nthat all hearts shall give thanks for her beauty, which was indeed the\nperfect Mirror of the Creator. And since it is abhorrent of Islam that\nany image be made in the likeness of anything that has life, make for me\na palace-tomb, gracious as she was gracious, lovely as she was lovely.\nNot such as the tombs of the Kings and the Conquerors, but of a divine\nsweetness. Make me a garden on the banks of Jumna, and build it there,\nwhere, sitting in my Pavilion of Marble, I may see it rise.\u201d\n\nAnd Ustad Isa, having heard, said, \u201cUpon my head and eyes!\u201d and went out\nfrom the Presence.\n\nSo, musing upon the words of the Padishah, he went to his house in Agra,\nand there pondered the matter long and deeply; and for a whole day and\nnight he refused all food and secluded himself from the society of all\nmen; for he said:--\n\n\u201cThis is a weighty thing, for this Lady (upon whom be peace) must\nvisibly dwell in her tomb-palace on the shore of the river; and how\nshall I, who have never seen her, imagine the grace that was in her, and\nrestore it to the world? Oh, had I but the memory of her face! Could I\nbut see it as the Shah-in-Shah sees it, remembering the past! Prophet\nof God, intercede for me, that I may look through his eyes, if but for a\nmoment!\u201d\n\nThat night he slept, wearied and weakened with fasting; and whether it\nwere that the body guarded no longer the gates of the soul, I cannot\nsay; for, when the body ails, the soul soars free above its weakness.\nBut a strange marvel happened.\n\nFor, as it seemed to him, he awoke at the mid-noon of the night, and\nhe was sitting, not in his own house, but upon the roof of the royal\npalace, looking down on the gliding Jumna, where the low moon slept in\nsilver, and the light was alone upon the water; and there were no boats,\nbut sleep and dream, hovering hand-in-hand, moved upon the air, and his\nheart was dilated in the great silence.\n\nYet he knew well that he waked in some supernatural sphere: for his eyes\ncould see across the river as if the opposite shore lay at his feet;\nand he could distinguish every leaf on every tree, and the flowers\nmoon-blanched and ghost-like. And there, in the blackest shade of the\npippala boughs, he beheld a faint light like a pearl; and looking with\nunspeakable anxiety, he saw within the light, slowly growing, the figure\nof a lady exceedingly glorious in majesty and crowned with a rayed crown\nof mighty jewels of white and golden splendour. Her gold robe fell to\nher feet, and--very strange to tell--her feet touched not the ground,\nbut hung a span\u2019s length above it, so that she floated in the air.\n\nBut the marvel of marvels was her face--not, indeed, for its beauty,\nthough that transcended all, but for its singular and compassionate\nsweetness, wherewith she looked toward the Palace beyond the river as if\nit held the heart of her heart, while death and its river lay between.\n\nAnd Ustad Isa said:--\u201cO dream, if this sweetness be but a dream, let me\nnever wake! Let me see forever this exquisite work of Allah the Maker,\nbefore whom all the craftsmen are as children! For my knowledge is as\nnothing, and I am ashamed in its presence.\u201d\n\nAnd as he spoke, she turned those brimming eyes on him, and he saw her\nslowly absorbed into the glory of the moonlight; but as she faded into\ndream, he beheld, slowly rising, where her feet had hung in the blessed\nair, a palace of whiteness, warm as ivory, cold as chastity, domes and\ncupolas, slender minars, arches of marble fretted into sea-foam, screen\nwithin screen of purest marble, to hide the sleeping beauty of a great\nQueen--silence in the heart of it, and in every line a harmony beyond\nall music. Grace was about it--the grace of a Queen who prays and does\nnot command; who, seated in her royalty yet inclines all hearts to love.\nAnd he saw that its grace was her grace, and its soul her soul, and\nthat she gave it for the consolation of the Emperor.\n\nAnd he fell on his face and worshipped the Master-Builder of the\nUniverse, saying,--\u201cPraise cannot express thy Perfection. Thine Essence\nconfounds thought. Surely I am but the tool in the hand of the Builder.\u201d\n\nAnd when he awoke, he was lying in his own secret chamber, but beside\nhim was a drawing such as the craftsmen make of the work they have\nimagined in their hearts. And it was the Palace of the Tomb.\n\nHenceforward, how should he waver? He was as a slave who obeys his\nmaster, and with haste he summoned to Agra his Army of Beauty.\n\nThen were assembled all the master craftsmen of India and of the outer\nworld. From Delhi, from Shiraz, even from Baghdad and Syria, they came.\nMuhammad Hanif, the wise mason, came from Kandahar, Muhammad Sayyid from\nMooltan. Amanat Khan, and other great writers of the holy Koran, who\nshould make the scripts of the Book upon fine marble. Inlayers from\nKanauj, with fingers like those of the Spirits that bowed before Solomon\nthe King, who should make beautiful the pure stone with inlay of jewels,\nas did their forefathers for the Rajah of Mewar; mighty dealers with\nagate, cornelian, and lapis lazuli. Came also, from Bokhara, Ata\nMuhammad and Shakri Muhammad, that they might carve the lilies of the\nfield, very glorious, about that Flower of the World. Men of India, men\nof Persia, men of the outer lands, they came at the bidding of Ustad\nIsa, that the spirit of his vision might be made manifest.\n\nAnd a great council was held among these servants of beauty, so they\nmade a model in little of the glory that was to be, and laid it at the\nfeet of the Shah-in-Shah; and he allowed it, though not as yet fully\ndiscerning their intent. And when it was approved, Ustad Isa called to\nhim a man of Kashmir; and the very hand of the Creator was upon this\nman, for he could make gardens second only to the Gardens of Paradise,\nhaving been born by that Dal Lake where are those roses of the earth,\nthe Shalimar and the Nishat Bagh; and to him said Ustad Isa,--\n\n\u201cBehold, Rain Lal Kashmiri, consider this design! Thus and thus shall\na white palace, exquisite in perfection, arise on the banks of Jumna.\nHere, in little, in this model of sandalwood, see what shall be.\nConsider these domes, rounded as the Bosom of Beauty, recalling the\nmystic fruit of the lotus flower. Consider these four minars that stand\nabout them like Spirits about the Throne. And remembering that all this\nshall stand upon a great dais of purest marble, and that the river shall\nbe its mirror, repeating to everlasting its loveliness, make me a garden\nthat shall be the throne room to this Queen.\u201d\n\nAnd Ram Lal Kashmiri salaamed and said, \u201cObedience!\u201d and went forth and\npondered night and day, journeying even over the snows of the Pir Panjal\nto Kashmir, that he might bathe his eyes in beauty where she walks,\nnaked and divine, upon the earth, and he it was who imagined the black\nmarble and white that made the way of approach.\n\nSo grew the palace that should murmur, like a seashell, in the ear of\nthe world the secret of love.\n\nVeiled had that loveliness been in the shadow of the palace; but now the\nsun should rise upon it and turn its ivory to gold, should set upon\nit and flush its snow with rose. The moon should lie upon it like the\npearls upon her bosom, the visible grace of her presence breathe about\nit, the music of her voice hover in the birds and trees of the garden.\nTimes there were when Ustad Isa despaired lest even these mighty\nservants of beauty should miss perfection. Yet it grew and grew, rising\nlike the growth of a flower.\n\nSo on a certain day it stood completed, and beneath the small tomb in\nthe sanctuary, veiled with screens of wrought marble so fine that\nthey might lift in the breeze,--the veils of a Queen,--slept the Lady\nArjemand; and above her a narrow coffer of white marble, enriched in\na great script with the Ninety-Nine Wondrous Names of God. And the\nShah-in-Shah, now grey and worn, entered and, standing by her, cried in\na loud voice,--\u201cI ascribe to the Unity, the only Creator, the perfection\nof his handiwork made visible here by the hand of mortal man. For the\nbeauty that was secret in my Palace is here revealed; and the Crowned\nLady shall sit forever upon the banks of the Jumna River. It was love\nthat commanded this Tomb.\u201d\n\nAnd the golden echo carried his voice up into the high dome, and it died\naway in whispers of music.\n\nBut Ustad Isa standing far off in the throng (for what are craftsmen\nin the presence of the mighty?), said softly in his beard, \u201cIt was Love\nalso that built, and therefore it shall endure.\u201d\n\nNow it is told that, on a certain night in summer, when the moon is\nfull, a man who lingers by the straight water, where the cypresses stand\nover their own image, may see a strange marvel--may see the Palace of\nthe Taj dissolve like a pearl, and so rise in a mist into the moonlight;\nand in its place, on her dais of white marble, he shall see the Lady\nArjemand, Mumtaz-i-Mahal, the Chosen of the Palace, stand there in the\nwhite perfection of beauty, smiling as one who hath attained unto the\nPeace. For she is its soul.\n\nAnd kneeling before the dais, he shall see Ustad Isa, who made this body\nof her beauty; and his face is hidden in his hands.\n\n\n\n\n\u201cHOW GREAT IS THE GLORY OF KWANNON!\u201d\n\nA JAPANESE STORY\n\n\n(O Lovely One-O thou Flower! With Thy beautiful face, with Thy beautiful\neyes, pour light upon the world! Adoration to Kwannon.)\n\nIn Japan in the days of the remote Ancestors, near the little village of\nShiobara, the river ran through rocks of a very strange blue colour, and\nthe bed of the river was also composed of these rocks, so that the clear\nwater ran blue as turquoise gems to the sea.\n\nThe great forests murmured beside it, and through their swaying boughs\nwas breathed the song of Eternity. Those who listen may hear if their\nears are open. To others it is but the idle sighing of the wind.\n\nNow because of all this beauty there stood in these forests a roughly\nbuilt palace of unbarked wood, and here the great Emperor would come\nfrom City-Royal to seek rest for his doubtful thoughts and the cares of\nstate, turning aside often to see the moonlight in Shiobara. He sought\nalso the free air and the sound of falling water, yet dearer to him than\nthe plucked strings of sho and biwa. For he said;\n\n\u201cWhere and how shall We find peace even for a moment, and afford Our\nheart refreshment even for a single second?\u201d\n\nAnd it seemed to him that he found such moments at Shiobara.\n\nOnly one of his great nobles would His Majesty bring with him--the\nDainagon, and him be chose because he was a worthy and honorable person\nand very simple of heart.\n\nThere was yet another reason why the Son of Heaven inclined to the\nlittle Shiobara. It had reached the Emperor that a Recluse of the\nutmost sanctity dwelt in that forest. His name was Semimaru. He had made\nhimself a small hut in the deep woods, much as a decrepit silkworm might\nspin his last Cocoon and there had the Peace found him.\n\nIt had also reached His Majesty that, although blind, he was exceedingly\nskilled in the art of playing the biwa, both in the Flowing Fount manner\nand the Woodpecker manner, and that, especially on nights when the moon\nwas full, this aged man made such music as transported the soul. This\nmusic His Majesty desired very greatly to hear.\n\nNever had Semimaru left his hut save to gather wood or seek food until\nthe Divine Emperor commanded his attendance that he might soothe his\naugust heart with music.\n\nNow on this night of nights the moon was full and the snow heavy on the\npines, and the earth was white also, and when the moon shone through the\nboughs it made a cold light like dawn, and the shadows of the trees were\nblack upon it.\n\nThe attendants of His Majesty long since slept for sheer weariness, for\nthe night was far spent, but the Emperor and the Dainagon still sat\nwith their eyes fixed on the venerable Semimaru. For many hours he had\nplayed, drawing strange music from his biwa. Sometimes it had been like\nrain blowing over the plains of Adzuma, sometimes like the winds roaring\ndown the passes of the Yoshino Mountains, and yet again like the voice\nof far cities. For many hours they listened without weariness, and\nthought that all the stories of the ancients might flow past them in the\nweird music that seemed to have neither beginning nor end.\n\n\u201cIt is as the river that changes and changes not, and is ever and ever\nthe same,\u201d said the Emperor in his own soul.\n\nAnd certainly had a voice announced to His Augustness that centuries\nwere drifting by as he listened, he could have felt no surprise.\n\nBefore them, as they sat upon the silken floor cushions, was a small\nshrine with a Buddha shelf, and a hanging picture of the Amida Buddha\nwithin it--the expression one of rapt peace. Figures of Fugen and\nFudo were placed before the curtain doors of the shrine, looking up in\nadoration to the Blessed One. A small and aged pine tree was in a pot of\ngrey porcelain from Chosen--the only ornament in the chamber.\n\nSuddenly His Majesty became aware that the Dainagon also had fallen\nasleep from weariness, and that the recluse was no longer playing, but\nwas speaking in a still voice like a deeply flowing stream. The Emperor\nhad observed no change from music to speech, nor could he recall when\nthe music had ceased, so that it altogether resembled a dream.\n\n\u201cWhen I first came here\u201d--the Venerable one continued--\u201cit was not my\nintention to stay long in the forest. As each day dawned, I said; \u2018In\nseven days I go.\u2019 And again--\u2018In seven.\u2019 Yet have I not gone. The days\nglided by and here have I attained to look on the beginnings of peace.\nThen wherefore should I go?--for all life is within the soul. Shall the\nfish weary of his pool? And I, who through my blind eyes feel the moon\nilluming my forest by night and the sun by day, abide in peace, so that\neven the wild beasts press round to hear my music. I have come by a path\noverblown by autumn leaves. But I have come.\u201d\n\nThen said the Divine Emperor as if unconsciously;\n\n\u201cWould that I also might come! But the august duties cannot easily be\nlaid aside. And I have no wife--no son.\u201d\n\nAnd Semimaru, playing very softly on the strings of his biwa made\nno other answer, and His Majesty, collecting his thoughts, which had\nbecome, as it were, frozen with the cold and the quiet and the strange\nmusic, spoke thus, as if in a waking dream;\n\n\u201cWhy have I not wedded? Because I have desired a bride beyond the\nwomen of earth, and of none such as I desire has the rumor reached me.\nConsider that Ancestor who wedded Her Shining Majesty! Evil and lovely\nwas she, and the passions were loud about her. And so it is with women.\nTrouble and vexation of spirit, or instead a great weariness. But if the\nBlessed One would vouchsafe to my prayers a maiden of blossom and dew,\nwith a heart calm as moonlight, her would I wed. O, honorable One, whose\nwisdom surveys the world, is there in any place near or far--in heaven\nor in earth, such a one that I may seek and find?\u201d\n\nAnd Semimaru, still making a very low music on his biwa, said this;\n\n\u201cSupreme Master, where the Shiobara River breaks away through the gorges\nto the sea, dwelt a poor couple--the husband a wood-cutter. They had no\nchildren to aid in their toil, and daily the woman addressed her prayers\nfor a son to the Bodhisattwa Kwannon, the Lady of Pity who looketh down\nfor ever upon the sound of prayer. Very fervently she prayed, with such\nofferings as her poverty allowed, and on a certain night she dreamed\nthis dream. At the shrine of the Senju Kwannon she knelt as was her\ncustom, and that Great Lady, sitting enthroned upon the Lotos of Purity,\nopened Her eyes slowly from Her divine contemplation and heard the\nprayer of the wood-cutter\u2019s wife. Then stooping like a blown willow\nbranch, she gathered a bud from the golden lotos plant that stood upon\nher altar, and breathing upon it it became pure white and living, and it\nexhaled a perfume like the flowers of Paradise, This flower the Lady\nof Pity flung into the bosom of her petitioner, and closing Her eyes\nreturned into Her divine dream, whilst the woman awoke, weeping for joy.\n\n\u201cBut when she sought in her bosom for the Lotos it was gone. Of all this\nshe boasted loudly to her folk and kin, and the more so, when in due\ntime she perceived herself to be with child, for, from that august\nfavour she looked for nothing less than a son, radiant with the Five\nOrnaments of riches, health, longevity, beauty, and success. Yet, when\nher hour was come, a girl was born, and blind.\u201d\n\n\u201cWas she welcomed?\u201d asked the dreaming voice of the Emperor.\n\n\u201cAugustness, but as a household drudge. For her food was cruelty and her\ndrink tears. And the shrine of the Senju Kwannon was neglected by her\nparents because of the disappointment and shame of the unwanted gift.\nAnd they believed that, lost in Her divine contemplation, the Great Lady\nwould not perceive this neglect. The Gods however are known by their\ngreat memories.\u201d\n\n\u201cHer name?\u201d\n\n\u201cMajesty, Tsuyu-Morning Dew. And like the morning dew she shines in\nstillness. She has repaid good for evil to her evil parents, serving\nthem with unwearied service.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat distinguishes her from others?\u201d\n\n\u201cAugustness, a very great peace. Doubtless the shadow of the dream of\nthe Holy Kwannon. She works, she moves, she smiles as one who has tasted\nof content.\u201d\n\n\u201cHas she beauty?\u201d\n\n\u201cSupreme Master, am I not blind? But it is said that she has no beauty\nthat men should desire her. Her face is flat and round, and her eyes\nblind.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet content?\u201d\n\n\u201cPhilosophers might envy her calm. And her blindness is without doubt\na grace from the excelling Pity, for could she see her own exceeding\nugliness she must weep for shame. But she sees not. Her sight is inward,\nand she is well content.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere does she dwell?\u201d\n\n\u201cSupreme Majesty, far from here--where in the heart of the woods the\nriver breaks through the rocks.\u201d\n\n\u201cVenerable One, why have you told me this? I asked for a royal maiden\nwise and beautiful, calm as the dawn, and you have told me of a\nwood-cutter\u2019s drudge, blind and ugly.\u201d\n\nAnd now Semimaru did not answer, but the tones of the biwa grew louder\nand clearer, and they rang like a song of triumph, and the Emperor could\nhear these words in the voice of the strings.\n\n\u201cShe is beautiful as the night, crowned with moon and stars for him\nwho has eyes to see. Princess Splendour was dim beside her; Prince\nFireshine, gloom! Her Shining Majesty was but a darkened glory before\nthis maid. All beauty shines within her hidden eyes.\u201d\n\nAnd having uttered this the music became wordless once more, but it\nstill flowed on more and more softly like a river that flows into the\nfar distance.\n\nThe Emperor stared at the mats, musing--the light of the lamp was\nburning low. His heart said within him;\n\n\u201cThis maiden, cast like a flower from the hand of Kwannon Sama, will I\nsee.\u201d\n\nAnd as he said this the music had faded away into a thread-like\nsmallness, and when after long thought he raised his august head, he was\nalone save for the Dainagon, sleeping on the mats behind him, and the\nchamber was in darkness. Semimaru had departed in silence, and His\nMajesty, looking forth into the broad moonlight, could see the track of\nhis feet upon the shining snow, and the music came back very thinly like\nspring rain in the trees. Once more he looked at the whiteness of the\nnight, and then, stretching his august person on the mats, he slept amid\ndreams of sweet sound.\n\nThe next day, forbidding any to follow save the Dainagon, His Majesty\nwent forth upon the frozen snow where the sun shone in a blinding\nwhiteness. They followed the track of Semimaru\u2019s feet far under the pine\ntrees so heavy with their load of snow that they were bowed as if with\nfruit. And the track led on and the air was so still that the cracking\nof a bough was like the blow of a hammer, and the sliding of a load of\nsnow from a branch like the fall of an avalanche. Nor did they speak as\nthey went. They listened, nor could they say for what.\n\nThen, when they had gone a very great way, the track ceased suddenly,\nas if cut off, and at this spot, under the pines furred with snow, His\nMajesty became aware of a perfume so sweet that it was as though all the\nflowers of the earth haunted the place with their presence, and a music\nlike the biwa of Semimaru was heard in the tree tops. This sounded far\noff like the whispering of rain when it falls in very small leaves, and\npresently it died away, and a voice followed after, singing, alone in\nthe woods, so that the silence appeared to have been created that such a\nmusic might possess the world. So the Emperor stopped instantly, and the\nDainagon behind him and he heard these words.\n\n   \u201cIn me the Heavenly Lotos grew,\n    The fibres ran from head to feet,\n    And my heart was the august Blossom.\n    Therefore the sweetness flowed through the veins of my flesh,\n    And I breathed peace upon all the world,\n    And about me was my fragrance shed\n    That the souls of men should desire me.\u201d\n\nNow, as he listened, there came through the wood a maiden, bare--footed,\nsave for grass sandals, and clad in coarse clothing, and she came up and\npassed them, still singing.\n\nAnd when she was past, His Majesty put up his hand to his eyes, like one\ndreaming, and said;\n\n\u201cWhat have you seen?\u201d\n\nAnd the Dainagon answered;\n\n\u201cAugustness, a country wench, flat--faced, ugly and blind, and with a\nvoice like a crow. Has not your Majesty seen this?\u201d\n\nThe Emperor, still shading his eyes, replied;\n\n\u201cI saw a maiden so beautiful that her Shining Majesty would be a black\nblot beside her. As she went, the Spring and all its sweetness blew from\nher garments. Her robe was green with small gold flowers. Her eyes were\nclosed, but she resembled a cherry tree, snowy with bloom and dew. Her\nvoice was like the singing flowers of Paradise.\u201d\n\nThe Dainagon looked at him with fear and compassion;\n\n\u201cAugustness, how should such a lady carry in her arms a bundle of\nfirewood?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe bore in her hands three lotos flowers, and where each foot fell I\nsaw a lotos bloom and vanish.\u201d\n\nThey retraced their steps through the wood; His Majesty radiant as\nPrince Fireshine with the joy that filled his soul; the Dainagon\ndarkened as Prince Firefade with fear, believing that the strange music\nof Semimaru had bewitched His Majesty, or that the maiden herself might\npossibly have the power of the fox in shape-changing and bewildering the\nsenses.\n\nVery sorrowful and careful was his heart for he loved his Master.\n\nThat night His Majesty dreamed that he stood before the kakemono of the\nAmida Buddha, and that as he raised his eyes in adoration to the Blessed\nFace, he beheld the images of Fugen and Fudo, rise up and bow down\nbefore that One Who Is. Then, gliding in, before these Holinesses stood\na figure, and it was the wood-cutter\u2019s daughter homely and blinded. She\nstretched her hands upward as though invoking the supreme Buddha, and\nthen turning to His Majesty she smiled upon him, her eyes closed as in\nbliss unutterable. And he said aloud.\n\n\u201cWould that I might see her eyes!\u201d and so saying awoke in a great\nstillness of snow and moonlight.\n\nHaving waked, he said within himself\n\n\u201cThis marvel will I wed and she shall be my Empress were she lower than\nthe Eta, and whether her face be lovely or homely. For she is certainly\na flower dropped from the hand of the Divine.\u201d\n\nSo when the sun was high His Majesty, again followed by the Dainagon,\nwent through the forest swiftly, and like a man that sees his goal,\nand when they reached the place where the maiden went by, His Majesty\nstraitly commanded the Dainagon that he should draw apart, and leave him\nto speak with the maiden; yet that he should watch what befell.\n\nSo the Dainagon watched, and again he saw her come, very poorly clad,\nand with bare feet that shrank from the snow in her grass sandals, bowed\nbeneath a heavy load of wood upon her shoulders, and her face flat and\nhomely like a girl of the people, and her eyes blind and shut.\n\nAnd as she came she sang this.\n\n   \u201cThe Eternal way lies before him,\n    The way that is made manifest in the Wise.\n    The Heart that loves reveals itself to man.\n    For now he draws nigh to the Source.\n    The night advances fast,\n    And lo! the moon shines bright.\u201d\n\nAnd to the Dainagon it seemed a harsh crying nor could he distinguish\nany words at all.\n\nBut what His Majesty beheld was this. The evening had come on and the\nmoon was rising. The snow had gone. It was the full glory of spring, and\nthe flowers sprang thick as stars upon the grass, and among them lotos\nflowers, great as the wheel of a chariot, white and shining with\nthe luminance of the pearl, and upon each one of these was seated an\nincarnate Holiness, looking upward with joined hands. In the trees were\nthe voices of the mystic Birds that are the utterance of the Blessed\nOne, proclaiming in harmony the Five Virtues, The Five Powers, the Seven\nSteps ascending to perfect Illumination, the Noble Eightfold Path, and\nall the Law. And, bearing, in the heart of the Son of Heaven awoke the\nThree Remembrances--the Remembrance of Him who is Blessed, Remembrance\nof the Law, and Remembrance of the Communion of the Assembly.\n\nSo, looking upward to the heavens, he beheld the Infinite Buddha,\nhigh and lifted up in a great raying glory. About Him were the exalted\nBodhisattwas, the mighty Disciples, great Arhats all, and all the\ncountless Angelhood. And these rose high into the infinite until they\ncould be seen but as a point of fire against the moon. With this golden\nmultitude beyond all numbering was He.\n\nThen, as His Majesty had seen in the dream of the night, the\nwood-cutter\u2019s daughter, moving through the flowers like one blind that\ngropes his way, advanced before the Blessed Feet, and uplifting her\nhands, did adoration, and her face he could not see, but his heart\nwent with her, adoring also the infinite Buddha seated in the calms of\nboundless Light.\n\nThen enlightenment entered at his eyes, as a man that wakes from sleep,\nand suddenly he beheld the Maiden crowned and robed and terrible in\nbeauty, and her feet were stayed upon an open lotos, and his soul knew\nthe Senju Kwannon Herself, myriad-armed for the helping of mankind.\n\nAnd turning, she smiled as in the vision, but his eyes being now clear\nher blinded eyes were opened, and that glory who shall tell as those\nliving founts of Wisdom rayed upon him their ineffable light? In that\nocean was his being drowned, and so, bowed before the Infinite Buddha,\nhe received the Greater Illumination.\n\nHow great is the Glory of Kwannon!\n\nWhen the radiance and the vision were withdrawn and only the moon looked\nover the trees, His Majesty rose upon his feet, and standing on the\nsnow, surrounded with calm, he called to the Dainagon, and asked this;\n\n\u201cWhat have you seen?\u201d\n\n\u201cAugustness, nothing but the country wench and moon and snow.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd heard?\u201d\n\n\u201cAugustness, nothing but the harsh voice of the wood-cutter\u2019s daughter.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd felt?\u201d\n\n\u201cAugustness, nothing but the bone-piercing cold.\u201d So His Majesty adored\nthat which cannot be uttered, saying;\n\n\u201cSo Wisdom, so Glory encompass us about, and we see them not for we\nare blinded with illusion. Yet every stone is a jewel and every clod\nis spirit and to the hems of the Infinite Buddha all cling. Through the\ncompassion of the Supernal Mercy that walks the earth as the Bodhisattwa\nKwannon, am I admitted to wisdom and given sight and hearing. And what\nis all the world to that happy one who has beheld Her eyes!\u201d\n\nAnd His Majesty returned through the forest.\n\nWhen, the next day, he sent for the venerable Semimaru that holy recluse\nhad departed and none knew where. But still when the moon is full a\nstrange music moves in the tree tops of Shiobara.\n\nThen His sacred Majesty returned to City-Royal, having determined\nto retire into the quiet life, and there, abandoning the throne to a\nkinsman wise in greatness, he became a dweller in the deserted hut of\nSemimaru.\n\nHis life, like a descending moon approaching the hill that should hide\nit, was passed in meditation on that Incarnate Love and Compassion whose\nglory had augustly been made known to him, and having cast aside all\nsave the image of the Divine from his soul, His Majesty became even as\nthat man who desired enlightenment of the Blessed One.\n\nFor he, desiring instruction, gathered precious flowers, and journeyed\nto present them as an offering to the Guatama Buddha. Standing before\nHim, he stretched forth both his hands holding the flowers.\n\nThen said the Holy One, looking upon his petitioner\u2019s right hand;\n\n\u201cLoose your hold of these.\u201d\n\nAnd the man dropped the flowers from his right hand. And the Holy One\nlooking upon his left hand, said;\n\n\u201cLoose your hold of these.\u201d\n\nAnd, sorrowing, he dropped the flowers from his left hand. And again the\nMaster said;\n\n\u201cLoose your hold of that which is neither in the right nor in the left.\u201d\n\nAnd the disciple said very pitifully;\n\n\u201cLord, of what should I loose my hold for I have nothing left?\u201d\n\nAnd He looked upon him steadfastly.\n\nTherefore at last understanding he emptied his soul of all desire, and\nof fear that is the shadow of desire, and being enlightened relinquished\nall burdens.\n\nSo was it also with His Majesty. In peace he dwelt, and becoming a great\nArhat, in peace he departed to that Uttermost Joy where is the Blessed\nOne made manifest in Pure Light.\n\nAs for the parents of the maiden, they entered after sore troubles into\npeace, having been remembered by the Infinite. For it is certain that\nthe enemies also of the Supreme Buddha go to salvation by thinking on\nHim, even though it be against Him.\n\nAnd he who tells this truth makes this prayer to the Lady of Pity;\n\n  \u201cGrant me, I pray,\n   One dewdrop from Thy willow spray,\n   And in the double Lotos keep\n   My hidden heart asleep.\u201d\n\nHow great is the Glory of Kwannon!\n\n\n\n\nTHE ROUND-FACED BEAUTY\n\nA STORY OF THE CHINESE COURT\n\nIn the city of Chang-an music filled the palaces, and the festivities of\nthe Emperor were measured by its beat. Night, and the full moon swimming\nlike a gold-fish in the garden lakes, gave the signal for the Feather\nJacket and Rainbow Skirt dances. Morning, with the rising sun, summoned\nthe court again to the feast and wine-cup in the floating gardens.\n\nThe Emperor Chung Tsu favored this city before all others. The Yen Tower\nsoaring heavenward, the Drum Towers, the Pearl Pagoda, were the only\nfit surroundings of his magnificence; and in the Pavilion of Tranquil\nLearning were held those discussions which enlightened the world and\nspread the fame of the Jade Emperor far and wide. In all respects he\nadorned the Dragon Throne--in all but one; for Nature, bestowing so\nmuch, withheld one gift, and the Imperial heart, as precious as jade,\nwas also as hard, and he eschewed utterly the company of the Hidden\nPalace Flowers.\n\nYet the Inner Chambers were filled with ladies chosen from all parts of\nthe Celestial Empire--ladies of the most exquisite and torturing beauty,\nmoons of loveliness, moving coquettishly on little feet, with all the\ngrace of willow branches in a light breeze. They were sprinkled with\nperfumes, adorned with jewels, robed in silks woven with gold and\nembroidered with designs of flowers and birds. Their faces were painted\nand their eyebrows formed into slender and perfect arches whence the\nsoul of man might well slip to perdition, and a breath of sweet odor\nfollowed each wherever she moved. Every one might have been the Empress\nof some lesser kingdom; but though rumours reached the Son of Heaven\nfrom time to time of their charms,--especially when some new blossom was\nadded to the Imperial bouquet,--he had dismissed them from his august\nthoughts, and they languished in a neglect so complete that the Great\nCold Palaces of the Moon were not more empty than their hearts. They\nremained under the supervision of the Princess of Han, August Aunt\nof the Emperor, knowing that their Lord considered the company of\nsleeve-dogs and macaws more pleasant than their own. Nor had he as yet\nchosen an Empress, and it was evident that without some miracle, such\nas the intervention of the Municipal God, no heir to the throne could be\nhoped for.\n\nYet the Emperor one day remembered his imprisoned beauties, and it\ncrossed the Imperial thoughts that even these inferior creatures might\nafford such interest as may be found in the gambols of trained fleas or\nother insects of no natural attainments.\n\nAccordingly, he commanded that the subject last discussed in his\npresence should be transferred to the Inner Chambers, and it was his\nOrder that the ladies should also discuss it, and their opinions be\nengraved on ivory, bound together with red silk and tassels and thus\npresented at the Dragon feet. The subject chosen was the following:--\n\nDescribe the Qualities of the Ideal Man\n\nNow when this command was laid before the August Aunt, the guardian of\nthe Inner Chambers, she was much perturbed in mind, for such a thing\nwas unheard of in all the annals of the Empire. Recovering herself, she\nventured to say that the discussion of such a question might raise\nvery disquieting thoughts in the minds of the ladies, who could not\nbe supposed to have any opinions at all on such a subject. Nor was it\ndesirable that they should have. To every woman her husband and no other\nis and must be the Ideal Man. So it was always in the past; so it must\never be. There are certain things which it is dangerous to question or\ndiscuss, and how can ladies who have never spoken with any other man\nthan a parent or a brother judge such matters?\n\n\u201cHow, indeed,\u201d asked this lady of exalted merit, \u201ccan the bat form\nan idea of the sunlight, or the carp of the motion of wings? If his\nCelestial Majesty had commanded a discussion on the Superior Woman and\nthe virtues which should adorn her, some sentiments not wholly unworthy\nmight have been offered. But this is a calamity. They come unexpectedly,\nspringing up like mushrooms, and this one is probably due to the lack of\nvirtue of the inelegant and unintellectual person who is now speaking.\u201d\n\nThis she uttered in the presence of the principal beauties of the\nInner Chambers. They sat or reclined about her in attitudes of perfect\nloveliness. Two, embroidering silver pheasants, paused with their\nneedles suspended above the stretched silk, to hear the August Aunt.\nOne, threading beads of jewel jade, permitted them to slip from the\nstring and so distended the rose of her mouth in surprise that the small\npearl-shells were visible within. The Lady Tortoise, caressing a scarlet\nand azure macaw, in her agitation so twitched the feathers that the\nbird, shrieking, bit her finger. The Lady Golden Bells blushed deeply\nat the thought of what was required of them; and the little Lady Summer\nDress, youngest of all the assembled beauties, was so alarmed at the\nprospect that she began to sob aloud, until she met the eye of the\nAugust Aunt and abruptly ceased.\n\n\u201cIt is not, however, to be supposed,\u201d said the August Aunt, opening her\nsnuff-bottle of painted crystal, \u201cthat the minds of our deplorable and\nunattractive sex are wholly incapable of forming opinions. But speech\nis a grave matter for women, naturally slow-witted and feeble-minded as\nthey are. This unenlightened person recalls the Odes as saying:--\n\n   \u2018A flaw in a piece of white jade\n    May be ground away,\n    But when a woman has spoken foolishly\n    Nothing can be done-\u2019\n\na consideration which should make every lady here and throughout the\nworld think anxiously before speech.\u201d So anxiously did the assembled\nbeauties think, that all remained mute as fish in a pool, and the August\nAunt continued:--\n\n\u201cLet Tsu-ssu be summoned. It is my intention to suggest to the Dragon\nEmperor that the virtues of women be the subject of our discourse, and I\nwill myself open and conclude the discussion.\u201d\n\nTsu-ssu was not long in kotowing before the August Aunt, who despatched\nher message with the proper ceremonial due to its Imperial destination;\nand meanwhile, in much agitation, the beauties could but twitter and\nwhisper in each other\u2019s ears, and await the response like condemned\nprisoners who yet hope for reprieve.\n\nScarce an hour had dripped away on the water-clock when an Imperial\nMissive bound with yellow silk arrived, and the August Aunt, rising,\nkotowed nine times before she received it in her jewelled hand with its\ndelicate and lengthy nails ensheathed in pure gold and set with gems\nof the first water. She then read it aloud, the ladies prostrating\nthemselves.\n\nTo the Princess of Han, the August Aunt, the Lady of the Nine Superior\nVirtues:--\n\n\u201cHaving deeply reflected on the wisdom submitted, We thus reply. Women\nshould not be the judges of their own virtues, since these exist only\nin relation to men. Let Our Command therefore be executed, and tablets\npresented before us seven days hence, with the name of each lady\nappended to her tablet.\u201d\n\nIt was indeed pitiable to see the anxiety of the ladies! A sacrifice to\nKwan-Yin, the Goddess of Mercy, of a jewel from each, with intercession\nfor aid, was proposed by the Lustrous Lady; but the majority shook their\nheads sadly. The August Aunt, tossing her head, declared that, as the\nSon of Heaven had made no comment on her proposal of opening and closing\nthe discussion, she should take no part other than safeguarding the\ninterests of propriety. This much increased the alarm, and, kneeling at\nher feet, the swan-like beauties, Deep-Snow and Winter Moon implored her\naid and compassion. But, rising indignantly, the August Aunt sought her\nown apartments, and for the first time the inmates of the Pepper Chamber\nsaw with regret the golden dragons embroidered on her back.\n\nIt was then that the Round-Faced Beauty ventured a remark. This maiden,\nhaving been born in the far-off province of Suchuan, was considered a\nrustic by the distinguished elegance of the Palace and, therefore, had\nnever spoken unless decorum required. Still, even her detractors were\ncompelled to admit the charms that had gained her her name. Her face had\nthe flawless outline of the pearl, and like the blossom of the plum was\nthe purity of her complexion, upon which the darkness of her eyebrows\nresembled two silk-moths alighted to flutter above the brilliance of her\neyes--eyes which even the August Aunt had commended after a banquet of\nunsurpassed variety. Her hair had been compared to the crow\u2019s plumage;\nher waist was like a roll of silk, and her discretion in habiting\nherself was such that even the Lustrous Lady and the Lady Tortoise drew\ninstruction from the splendours of her robes. It created, however, a\ngeneral astonishment when she spoke.\n\n\u201cParagons of beauty, what is this dull and opaque-witted person that\nshe should speak?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, indeed!\u201d said the Celestial Sister. \u201cThis entirely\nundistinguished person cannot even imagine.\u201d\n\nA distressing pause followed, during which many whispered anxiously. The\nLustrous Lady broke it.\n\n\u201cIt is true that the highly ornamental Round-Faced Beauty is but lately\ncome, yet even the intelligent Ant may assist the Dragon; and in the\npresence of alarm, what is decorum? With a tiger behind one, who can\nrecall the Book of Rites and act with befitting elegance?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe high-born will at all times remember the Rites!\u201d retorted the\nCelestial Sister. \u201cHave we not heard the August Aunt observe: \u2018Those who\nunderstand do not speak. Those who speak do not understand\u2019?\u201d\n\nThe Round-Faced Beauty collected her courage.\n\n\u201cDoubtless this is wisdom; yet if the wise do not speak, who should\ninstruct us? The August Aunt herself would be silent.\u201d\n\nAll were confounded by this dilemma, and the little Lady Summer-Dress,\nstill weeping, entreated that the Round-Faced Beauty might be heard.\nThe Heavenly Blossoms then prepared to listen and assumed attitudes of\nattention, which so disconcerted the Round-Faced Beauty that she blushed\nlike a spring tulip in speaking.\n\n\u201cBeautiful ladies, our Lord, who is unknown to us all, has issued an\naugust command. It cannot be disputed, for the whisper of disobedience\nis heard as thunder in the Imperial Presence. Should we not aid each\nother? If any lady has formed a dream in her soul of the Ideal\nMan, might not such a picture aid us all? Let us not be\n\u2018say-nothing-do-nothing,\u2019 but act!\u201d\n\nThey hung their heads and smiled, but none would allow that she had\nformed such an image. The little Lady Tortoise, laughing behind her\nfan of sandalwood, said roguishly: \u201cThe Ideal Man should be handsome,\nliberal in giving, and assuredly he should appreciate the beauty of his\nwives. But this we cannot say to the Divine Emperor.\u201d\n\nA sigh rustled through the Pepper Chamber. The Celestial Sister looked\nangrily at the speaker.\n\n\u201cThis is the talk of children,\u201d she said. \u201cDoes no one remember\nKung-fu-tse\u2019s [Confucius] description of the Superior Man?\u201d\n\nUnfortunately none did--not even the Celestial Sister herself.\n\n\u201cIs it not probable,\u201d said the Round-Faced Beauty, \u201cthat the Divine\nEmperor remembers it himself and wishes--\u201d\n\nBut the Celestial Sister, yawning audibly, summoned the attendants to\nbring rose-leaves in honey, and would hear no more.\n\nThe Round-Faced Beauty therefore wandered forth among the mossy rocks\nand drooping willows of the Imperial Garden, deeply considering the\nmatter. She ascended the bow-curved bridge of marble which crossed the\nPool of Clear Weather, and from the top idly observed the reflection of\nher rose-and-gold coat in the water while, with her taper fingers, she\ncrumbled cake for the fortunate gold-fish that dwelt in it. And, so\ndoing, she remarked one fish, four-tailed among the six-tailed, and in\nno way distinguished by elegance, which secured by far the largest share\nof the crumbs dropped into the pool. Bending lower, she observed this\nsingular fish and its methods.\n\nThe others crowded about the spot where the crumbs fell, all herded\ntogether. In their eagerness and stupidity they remained like a cloud of\ngold in one spot, slowly waving their tails. But this fish, concealing\nitself behind a miniature rock, waited, looking upward, until the\ncrumbs were falling, and then, rushing forth with the speed of an\narrow, scattered the stupid mass of fish, and bore off the crumbs to its\nshelter, where it instantly devoured them.\n\n\u201cThis is notable,\u201d said the Round-Faced Beauty. \u201cObservation enlightens\nthe mind. To be apart--to be distinguished--secures notice!\u201d And she\nplunged into thought again, wandering, herself a flower, among the\ngorgeous tree peonies.\n\nOn the following day the August Aunt commanded that a writer among the\npalace attendants should, with brush and ink, be summoned to transcribe\nthe wisdom of the ladies. She requested that each would give three\ndays to thought, relating the following anecdote. \u201cThere was a man who,\ntaking a piece of ivory, carved it into a mulberry leaf, spending three\nyears on the task. When finished it could not be told from the original,\nand was a gift suitable for the Brother of the Sun and Moon. Do\nlikewise!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut yet, O Augustness!\u201d said the Celestial Sister, \u201cif the Lord of\nHeaven took as long with each leaf, there would be few leaves on the\ntrees, and if-\u201d\n\nThe August Aunt immediately commanded silence and retired. On the third\nday she seated herself in her chair of carved ebony, while the attendant\nplaced himself by her feet and prepared to record her words.\n\n\u201cThis insignificant person has decided,\u201d began her Augustness, looking\nround and unscrewing the amber top of her snuff-bottle, \u201cto take an\nunintelligent part in these proceedings. An example should be set.\nAttendant, write!\u201d\n\nShe then dictated as follows: \u201cThe Ideal Man is he who now decorates\nthe Imperial Throne, or he who in all humility ventures to resemble the\nincomparable Emperor. Though he may not hope to attain, his endeavor is\nhis merit. No further description it needed.\u201d\n\nWith complacence she inhaled the perfumed snuff, as the writer appended\nthe elegant characters of her Imperial name.\n\nIf it is permissible to say that the faces of the beauties lengthened\nvisibly, it should now be said. For it had been the intention of every\nlady to make an illusion to the Celestial Emperor and depict him as the\nIdeal Man. Nor had they expected that the August Aunt would take any\npart in the matter.\n\n\u201cOh, but it was the intention of this commonplace and undignified person\nto say this very thing!\u201d cried the Lustrous Lady, with tears in the\njewels of her eyes. \u201cI thought no other high-minded and distinguished\nlady would for a moment think of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd it was my intention also!\u201d fluttered the little Lady Tortoise,\nwringing her hands! \u201cWhat now shall this most unlucky and unendurable\nperson do? For three nights has sleep forsaken my unattractive eyelids,\nand, tossing and turning on a couch deprived of all comfort, I could\nonly repeat, \u2018The Ideal Man is the Divine Dragon Emperor!\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cMay one of entirely contemptible attainments make a suggestion in this\nassemblage of scintillating wit and beauty?\u201d inquired the Celestial\nSister. \u201cMy superficial opinion is that it would be well to prepare a\nsingle paper to which all names should be appended, stating that His\nMajesty in his Dragon Divinity comprises all ideals in his sacred\nPerson.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet those words be recorded,\u201d said the August Aunt. \u201cWhat else should\nany lady of discretion and propriety say? In this Palace of Virtuous\nPeace, where all is consecrated to the Son of Heaven, though he deigns\nnot to enter it, what other thought dare be breathed? Has any lady\nventured to step outside such a limit? If so, let her declare herself!\u201d\n\nAll shook their heads, and the August Aunt proceeded: \u201cLet the writer\nrecord this as the opinion of every lady of the Imperial Household, and\nlet each name be separately appended.\u201d\n\nHad any desired to object, none dared to confront the August Aunt;\nbut apparently no beauty so desired, for after three nights\u2019 sleepless\nmeditation, no other thought than this had occurred to any.\n\nAccordingly, the writer moved from lady to lady and, under the\nsupervision of the August Aunt, transcribed the following: \u201cThe Ideal\nMan is the earthly likeness of the Divine Emperor. How should it be\notherwise?\u201d And under this sentence wrote the name of each lovely one\nin succession. The papers were then placed in the hanging sleeves of the\nAugust Aunt for safety.\n\nBy the decree of Fate, the father of the Round-Faced Beauty had, before\nhe became an ancestral spirit, been a scholar of distinction, having\ngraduated at the age of seventy-two with a composition commended by the\nGrand Examiner. Having no gold and silver to give his daughter, he\nhad formed her mind, and had presented her with the sole jewel of his\nfamily-a pearl as large as a bean. Such was her sole dower, but the\naccomplished Aunt may excel the indolent Prince.\n\nYet, before the thought in her mind, she hesitated and trembled,\nrecalling the lesson of the gold-fish; and it was with anxiety that\npaled her roseate lips that, on a certain day, she had sought the Willow\nBridge Pavilion. There had awaited her a palace attendant skilled with\nthe brush, and there in secrecy and dire affright, hearing the footsteps\nof the August Aunt in every rustle of leafage, and her voice in the\ncall of every crow, did the Round-Faced Beauty dictate the following\ncomposition:--\n\n\u201cThough the sky rain pearls, it cannot equal the beneficence of the Son\nof Heaven. Though the sky rain jade it cannot equal his magnificence. He\nhas commanded his slave to describe the qualities of the Ideal Man.\nHow should I, a mere woman, do this? I, who have not seen the Divine\nEmperor, how should I know what is virtue? I, who have not seen the\nglory of his countenance, how should I know what is beauty? Report\nspeaks of his excellencies, but I who live in the dark know not. But to\nthe Ideal Woman, the very vices of her husband are virtues. Should he\nexalt another, this is a mark of his superior taste. Should he dismiss\nhis slave, this is justice. To the Ideal Woman there is but one Ideal\nMan--and that is her lord. From the day she crosses his threshold, to\nthe day when they clothe her in the garments of Immortality, this is her\nsole opinion. Yet would that she might receive instruction of what only\nare beauty and virtue in his adorable presence.\u201d\n\nThis being written, she presented her one pearl to the attendant and\nfled, not looking behind her, as quickly as her delicate feet would\npermit.\n\nOn the seventh day the compositions, engraved on ivory and bound with\nred silk and tassels, were presented to the Emperor, and for seven\ndays more he forgot their existence. On the eighth the High Chamberlain\nventured to recall them to the Imperial memory, and the Emperor glancing\nslightly at one after another, threw them aside, yawning as he did so.\nFinally, one arrested his eyes, and reading it more than once he laid it\nbefore him and meditated. An hour passed in this way while the forgotten\nLord Chamberlain continued to kneel. The Son of Heaven, then raising his\nhead, pronounced these words: \u201cIn the society of the Ideal Woman, she to\nwhom jealousy is unknown, tranquillity might possibly be obtained. Let\nprayer be made before the Ancestors with the customary offerings, for\nthis is a matter deserving attention.\u201d\n\nA few days passed, and an Imperial attendant, escorted by two mandarins\nof the peacock-feather and crystal-button rank, desired an audience of\nthe August Aunt, and, speaking before the curtain, informed her that his\nImperial Majesty would pay a visit that evening to the Hall of Tranquil\nLongevity. Such was her agitation at this honour that she immediately\nswooned; but, reviving, summoned all the attendants and gave orders for\na banquet and musicians.\n\nLanterns painted with pheasants and exquisite landscapes were hung on\nall the pavilions. Tapestries of rose, decorated with the Five-Clawed\nDragons, adorned the chambers; and upon the High Seat was placed a robe\nof yellow satin embroidered with pearls. All was hurry and excitement.\nThe Blossoms of the Palace were so exquisitely decked that one grain\nmore of powder would have made them too lily-like, and one touch more of\nrouge, too rosecheeked. It was indeed perfection, and, like lotuses upon\na lake, or Asian birds, gorgeous of plumage, they stood ranged in the\nouter chamber while the Celestial Emperor took his seat.\n\nThe Round-Faced Beauty wore no jewels, having bartered her pearl for her\nopportunity; but her long coat of jade-green, embroidered with golden\nwillows, and her trousers of palest rose left nothing to be desired. In\nher hair two golden peonies were fastened with pins of kingfisher work.\nThe Son of Heaven was seated upon the throne as the ladies approached,\nmarshaled by the August Aunt. He was attired in the Yellow Robe with the\nFlying Dragons, and upon the Imperial Head was the Cap, ornamented\nwith one hundred and forty-four priceless gems. From it hung the twelve\npendants of strings of pearls, partly concealing the august eyes of the\nJade Emperor. No greater splendour can strike awe into the soul of man.\n\nAt his command the August Aunt took her seat upon a lesser chair at the\nCelestial Feet. Her mien was majestic, and struck awe into the assembled\nbeauties, whose names she spoke aloud as each approached and prostrated\nherself. She then pronounced these words:\n\n\u201cBeautiful ones, the Emperor, having considered the opinions submitted\nby you on the subject of the Superior Man, is pleased to express his\naugust commendation. Dismiss, therefore, anxiety from your minds, and\nprepare to assist at the humble concert of music we have prepared for\nhis Divine pleasure.\u201d\n\nSlightly raising himself in his chair, the Son of Heaven looked down\nupon that Garden of Beauty, holding in his hand an ivory tablet bound\nwith red silk.\n\n\u201cLovely ladies,\u201d he began, in a voice that assuaged fear, \u201cwho among you\nwas it that laid before our feet a composition beginning thus--\u2018Though\nthe sky rain pearls\u2019?\u201d\n\nThe August Aunt immediately rose.\n\n\u201cImperial Majesty, none! These eyes supervised every composition. No\nimpropriety was permitted.\u201d\n\nThe Son of Heaven resumed: \u201cLet that lady stand forth.\u201d\n\nThe words were few, but sufficient. Trembling in every limb, the\nRound-Faced Beauty separated herself from her companions and prostrated\nherself, amid the breathless amazement of the Blossoms of the Palace. He\nlooked down upon her as she knelt, pale as a lady carved in ivory, but\nlovely as the lotus of Chang-Su. He turned to the August Aunt. \u201cPrincess\nof Han, my Imperial Aunt, I would speak with this lady alone.\u201d\n\nDecorum itself and the custom of Palaces could not conceal the\nindignation of the August Aunt as she rose and retired, driving the\nladies before her as a shepherd drives his sheep.\n\nThe Hall of Tranquil Longevity being now empty, the Jade Emperor\nextended his hand and beckoned the Round-Faced Beauty to approach. This\nshe did, hanging her head like a flower surcharged with dew and swaying\ngracefully as a wind-bell, and knelt on the lowest step of the Seat of\nState.\n\n\u201cLoveliest One,\u201d said the Emperor, \u201cI have read your composition.\nI would know the truth. Did any aid you as you spoke it? Was it the\nthought of your own heart?\u201d\n\n\u201cNone aided, Divine,\u201d said she, almost fainting with fear. \u201cIt\nwas indeed the thought of this illiterate slave, consumed with an\nunwarranted but uncontrollable passion.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd have you in truth desired to see your Lord?\u201d\n\n\u201cAs a prisoner in a dungeon desires the light, so was it with this low\nperson.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd having seen?\u201d\n\n\u201cAugustness, the dull eyes of this slave are blinded with beauty.\u201d\n\nShe laid her head before his feet.\n\n\u201cYet you have depicted, not the Ideal Man, but the Ideal Woman. This was\nnot the Celestial command. How was this?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause, O versatile and auspicious Emperor, the blind cannot behold\nthe sunlight, and it is only the Ideal Woman who is worthy to comprehend\nand worship the Ideal Man. For this alone is she created.\u201d\n\nA smile began to illuminate the Imperial Countenance. \u201cAnd how, O\nRound-Faced Beauty, did you evade the vigilance of the August Aunt?\u201d\n\nShe hung her head lower, speaking almost in a whisper. \u201cWith her one\npearl did this person buy the secrecy of the writer; and when the August\nAunt slept, did I conceal the paper in her sleeve with the rest, and her\nown Imperial hand gave it to the engraver of ivory.\u201d\n\nShe veiled her face with two jade-white hands that trembled excessively.\nOn hearing this statement the Celestial Emperor broke at once into a\nvery great laughter, and he laughed loud and long as a tiller of wheat.\nThe Round-Faced Beauty heard it demurely until, catching the Imperial\neye, decorum was forgotten and she too laughed uncontrollably. So they\ncontinued, and finally the Emperor leaned back, drying the tears in his\neyes with his august sleeve, and the lady, resuming her gravity, hid her\nface in her hands, yet regarded him through her fingers.\n\nWhen the August Aunt returned at the end of an hour with the ladies,\nsurrounded by the attendants with their instruments of music, the\nRound-Faced Beauty was seated in the chair that she herself had\noccupied, and on the whiteness of her brow was hung the chain of pearls,\nwhich had formed the frontal of the Cap of the Emperor.\n\nIt is recorded that, advancing from honour to honour, the Round-Faced\nBeauty was eventually chosen Empress and became the mother of the\nImperial Prince. The celestial purity of her mind and the absence of all\nflaws of jealousy and anger warranted this distinction. But it is also\nrecorded that, after her elevation, no other lady was ever exalted in\nthe Imperial favour or received the slightest notice from the Emperor.\nFor the Empress, now well acquainted with the Ideal Man, judged it\nbetter that his experiences of the Ideal Woman should be drawn from\nherself alone. And as she decreed, so it was done. Doubtless Her Majesty\ndid well.\n\nIt is known that the Emperor departed to the Ancestral Spirits at an\nearly age, seeking, as the August Aunt observed, that repose which on\nearth could never more be his. But no one has asserted that this lady\u2019s\ndisposition was free from the ordinary blemishes of humanity.\n\nAs for the Celestial Empress (who survives in history as one of the most\nastute rulers who ever adorned the Dragon Throne), she continued to rule\nher son and the Empire, surrounded by the respectful admiration of all.","title":"The ninth vibration and other stories","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":68667}