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[Illustration: View from Pinnacle on Roof of Cathedral--the
Delectable Mountains beyond.
Among the Himalayas. Supposed highest summits on the earth’s
surface. Elevation, 29,000 feet. From near Sundookphoo, 1885.]
A TWENTIETH CENTURY IDEALIST
by
HENRY PETTIT
Under the Surface of the Ordinary Life Lie Great Mysteries--
The Real Part of Man Is in His Ideals
[Illustration: (Colophon)]
The Grafton Press
Publishers New York
Copyright, 1905,
by
Henry Pettit
TABLE OF CONTENTS
AND
PLAN OF THE BOOK
CHAP. PAGE
_PROLOGUE._
I. (a) INQUISITIVE ADMIRATION--TWO KINDS 1
II. (b) HOW THE PROFESSOR WAS WON 7
_PART FIRST._
_At Home in the States. The Physical Dominant._
III. ADELE HERSELF 17
IV. SHE HEARS THE WORDS OF A SONG 23
V. AFTER DARK IN THE PARK--THE DOCTOR 39
VI. AN AVATAR IN THE OCCIDENT 44
(a) Conversation with Papa.
(b) The Theophany of Spring. Adele in the Park.
VII. OFF TO ASIA 55
_PART SECOND._
_Crossing the Atlantic--Up the Mediterranean.
Mentality Dominant._
VIII. A STUDIO FOR IMPRESSIONS 61
IX. A BUDGET OF NEW SCIENCES 64
X. PALMISTRY POSES AS MENTAL SCIENCE 71
XI. AMATEUR MENTAL SCIENCE 76
XII. AMATEUR TACTICS--A FRIGHT-FULL CURE 83
XIII. ADELE’S MEDITATIONS 89
XIV. ANOTHER COMMOTION--RELIGIOUS-CURATIVE 92
What is Perfection?
XV. TWO SIMULTANEOUS SOLILOQUIES 105
XVI. COURAGE VERSUS FOOLHARDINESS 110
XVII. TWO RESCUES, AND TWO GIRLS 115
XVIII. A SENSATION VERSUS AN IMPRESSION 120
XIX. GIBRALTAR APPEARS AND DISAPPEARS 124
XX. THE ARTISTIC SENSE. AT CAPRI 130
XXI. AN ARTIST WITH DOUBLE VISION 135
XXII. THE SECRET OF A LIFE 144
XXIII. OLYMPUS--COURT FESTIVITIES 149
XXIV. THE GODS INTERFERE 152
XXV. APHRODITE RISES FROM THE SEA 159
Eros-Cupid--The Modern-Antique.
_Intermezzo._
XXVI. ALLEGRO--THE WORLD’S HIGHWAY 169
XXVII. ANDANTE--THE ROYAL ROUTE 173
XXVIII. THE AFTERGLOW 174
_PART THIRD._
_In the Far East. Spirituality Dominant._
XXIX. MYSTIFICATION--ILLNESS AND HALLUCINATION 180
XXX. CONVALESCENCE AND COMMON SENSE 188
XXXI. OFF TO THE HIMALAYAS 196
XXXII. THE START UPWARDS 200
The Himalaya Railway--Fly Express.
XXXIII. A GLIMPSE OF THE PRIMITIVE 214
THE HIMALAYA CATHEDRAL.
XXXIV. ADELE SEES THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS 217
XXXV. THE CATHEDRAL BY THE SUPREME ARCHITECT 225
XXXVI. PROGRESS OF THE BUILDING 229
XXXVII. PRIMATE OF THE CATHEDRAL 233
The Message of the Seer--Ex-Cathedra.
_Intermezzo._
_The Voice in Nature._
XXXVIII. CATHEDRAL ORCHESTRA AND ORGAN 241
Divine Solos.
XXXIX. ON A PINNACLE IN NATURE 243
XL. A GLIMPSE OF TAOISM 253
XLI. PROCESSIONAL BEFORE THE VEIL 262
XLII. ON HOLY GROUND 269
XLIII. SACRIFICE 274
XLIV. THE EVERYDAY RITUAL 282
Adele and Paul. A Dandy passes by.
XLV. RITUAL OF THE HUMAN RACE 292
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
VIEW FROM PINNACLE ON ROOF OF CATHEDRAL--THE DELECTABLE
MOUNTAINS BEYOND.
Among the Himalayas. Supposed highest summits on
the earth’s surface. Elevation, 29,000 feet. From near
Sundookphoo, 1885 _Frontispiece_
AS INCENSE ASCENDS--SYMBOLIC, FROM AGES PAST, OF THE
PRAYERS OF HUMANITY.
The Kunchingunga Snowy Range. Elevation, 28,156
feet. Scene from Observatory Hill, Darjeeling 268
“Nature herself is an idea of the mind and is never presented to
the senses. She lies under the veil of appearances, but is herself
never apparent. To the art of the ideal is lent, or, rather,
absolutely given, the privilege to grasp the spirit of all, and
bind it in a corporeal form.”
“Art has for its object not merely to afford a transient pleasure,
to excite to a momentary dream of liberty; its aim is to make us
absolutely free. And this is accomplished by awakening, exercising,
and perfecting in us a power to remove to an objective distance the
sensible world (which otherwise only burdens us as rugged matter,
and presses us down with a brute influence); to transform it into
the free working of our spirit, and thus acquire a dominion over
the material by means of ideas. For the very reason also that
true art requires somewhat of the objective and real, it is not
satisfied with a show of truth: it rears its ideal edifice on truth
itself--on the solid and deep foundation of Nature.”
--From Schiller’s _The Use of the Chorus in Tragedy_.
A TWENTIETH CENTURY IDEALIST
I
INQUISITIVE ADMIRATION
There certainly is a subtle charm from personal intercourse with
those who seek a comprehensive view of life, and strive to live
according to their own ideals. People who live upon broader lines
than their neighbors are apt to be interesting from that fact alone,
and the charm becomes quite fascinating when these ideals take form
and they practice what they profess. Even if they do not succeed
according to our notions, and fail to grasp until late in life some
of the profound concepts which underlie the manifest workings of the
mind of nature, the effort on their part counts in their favor--their
actions speak louder than words.
The Doctor was in his library when he mused thus. Books upon peculiar
subjects lay around him, some open, others closed; and his eye
fell upon a few articles which had been selected for their special
significance quite as carefully as the books. The Doctor was much
interested in what he called “the hidden meaning of things,” and the
character of his library, with its peculiar contents, showed the fact.
Putting aside his cigar, he looked across the room, as if to give
audible expression to his thoughts, towards a younger man of quite a
different type, an individual whose very presence suggested he had
not ignored athletics while at college, even if the studies had been
exacting.
The Doctor was about to call him by name, when he hesitated, his
deeper interest in the young fellow asserted itself; he concluded to
take a good look at him first, and avoid if possible any error in
approaching the subject he wished to bring up. He already knew him so
well that it did not take long to recall certain facts bearing upon
the situation.
Paul was not as a general thing given to bothering about hidden
meanings. His diving below the surface had been chiefly as a swimmer,
from early boyhood until more recent experience. He possessed a
keener appreciation of surface values and the exhilaration from a
good bath rather than what he might bring up by deep diving. But
being young, energetic, and sincere, his very energy itself was
bound to bring him down to the verge of deeper experience. In fact
as the Doctor looked at him he appeared like unto one standing upon
the rockbound coast of the ocean of life ready to take the plunge,
whenever--he felt like it.
“Take things as they are,” was one of Paul’s favorite expressions.
The Doctor concluded he would, and broke the silence:
“How did you enjoy last evening?”
“Immensely.”
“Thought you would.”
“Yes? Greatly obliged for the introduction,” and Paul continued
examining some illustrations in a periodical apropos of the coming
coronation in England.
The Doctor determined to rivet his attention.
“I admire Adele Cultus greatly, don’t you?”
“No doubt she would look well, wearing a coronet like this--look at
it.”
The Doctor did not look, but continued:
“She certainly has some ideal of her own about life in general, and,
I suspect, about herself in particular.”
“Shouldn’t wonder,” said Paul, laconic.
“But she is thoroughly sincere about it.”
“Possibly, but last night the sincerity was all on my side.”
“How so?”
“Well, I would have danced with her the evening through, if she had
let me--she loves dancing.”
The Doctor’s eyes twinkled: “Don’t you think she is a striking
personality?”
“Striking? Oh, yes! gracefully so, deux-temps spirituelle. I felt the
effect at once.”
“In character?”
Paul smiled. “I call it strikingly practical--no nonsense; she
wouldn’t let me, and that settled it.”
“Of course she had her own way--at a ball,” remarked the Doctor dryly.
“Oh, of course! of course! She certainly would support a coronet
first-rate; it would not be the coronet’s part to support her.”
“No doubt you are right, Paul. I was only asking some test
questions,” and the Doctor subsided, as if he had more to say but
would not venture.
“Test questions? Whom were you testing?” asked Paul.
“Both of you,” said the Doctor.
“Where did you first meet her?” asked Paul, still examining the
periodical.
“Where?--we didn’t meet! I heard her voice through the crack of a
door.”
“H’m!” And Paul put down his book.
“It was while I was convalescent at the hospital after that bicycle
accident. She was a volunteer nurse, and a remarkably good one among
not a few devoted women. You were right about her being practical and
spirituelle, and so was I about her being spiritual.”
Paul took up a cigarette. A cloud of smoke enveloped his head, his
facial expression hid behind the cloud. The Doctor continued:
“You know it takes a fair combination of the practical and spiritual
to make a true nurse?”
Paul agreed mentally, but all the Doctor heard was a voice from
behind the cloud, “she dances like an angel.”
Angelic dancing not being in the Doctor’s repertoire of investigation,
he changed to another point of view.
“While I was convalescent at the hospital it was very amusing to read
hands by palmistry. I read her hand.”
“You held her hand, you mean?”
“Of course.”
“You don’t mean to tell me you read her character by the lines
written in her hand! Nonsense!”
“I did not. I merely noticed the natural tendencies of the individual
as shown by the form of the hand. Her characteristics, not her
character.”
“I don’t believe in it,” remarked Paul, positive.
“You don’t? Well, just swap hands with some other fellow and observe
the consequences.”
Paul laughed. “Excuse me--quite satisfied with my own.”
“Just so,” said the Doctor, “and there is good reason why you feel
the satisfaction; the consequences would be not only absurd, but
positively disastrous.”
Paul began to feel interested as the Doctor forced the practical
issue upon his attention.
“The consequences of any change from the special form of your own
hand would only prove that the other fellow’s hands do not fit your
personality.”
Paul, who really knew much more about persons than personalities,
blew another cloud of smoke towards the ceiling, and listened.
“You know, Nature never makes any mistakes.”
“I hope not, or I’m a goner,” quizzed Paul.
“And personality is really made up of three in one, a trinity of the
physical, mental, and spiritual. You’re a sort of trinity yourself,
my boy. You’ll find it out some day if you don’t swap hands with
some other fellow and spoil your own combination.”
“What did you learn by holding Miss Cultus’ hand?”
The Doctor was a little slow in replying, in fact, choosing which of
the many things he had observed was the particular one to which he
had best call Paul’s attention. Then he spoke:
“She shows marked individuality based upon rather a rare type, yet
a mixed hand; most Americans and Chinese are mixed. You know, pure
types are very rare.”
“You don’t say so?” quizzed Paul; “‘mixed,’ and like the Chinese.
What a wonderful insight for diagnosis palmistry possesses!” The
Doctor continued:
“In the main, her hand manifests the exceeding rare psychic
type,--that is, she loves and seeks the truth for its own sake.”
“There! I told you she was angelic, a practical angel,” interrupted
Paul. The Doctor kept straight on:
“And with this there are other features indicating both the useful
and the philosophic elements in her make-up, very strong, each in its
own relative domain.”
“Extraordinary! truly!” quoth Paul. “The useful must have come to the
front when she was acting nurse, and the philosophic when she told me
we had danced enough for one evening. As to the psychic,--let me see!
the psychic!--well, to be frank, Doctor, I can’t say I have seen that
as yet.”
“Oh, yes, you have,” thought the Doctor, “or you would not be showing
the interest you are taking just now.” This _sub rosa_, and then he
turned the topic once more:
“Where do you suppose she got those traits, so forcible in
combination?”
“Got her hands?” exclaimed Paul the practical. “Inherited them of
course, even the skin-deep profundity of palmistry is not required to
guess a diagnosis for that.”
The Doctor’s eyes again twinkled. “Whom did she inherit them from?”
“Father and mother,--what nonsense to ask!”
“Why not her grandparents?”
“Give it up,” said Paul. “Take things as they are.”
Now, the result of this decidedly mixed but suggestive conversation
was to excite curiosity in both the Doctor and Paul. Not that they
formed a conspiracy to learn about Miss Cultus’ forbears; quite
the contrary. Simply by friction in time they learned something of
the natural causes which had produced her charming personality, so
attractive to all who met her.
That they both had been led to respect and admire her upon short
acquaintance was only too evident,--on the surface. What was not
quite so evident, for neither of them had said so, was that each had
noticed her devotion to her mother, constant, ever thoughtful, as
if to make her appear to the best advantage: as to her father, she
simply idolized him.
Some of the items they learned had best be stated at once, for her
ancestors, in immediate relationship, certainly did cast their
shadows before; and the blending of the shades and shadows later on
in her life, formed a character that was lovely and inspiring.
II
HOW THE PROFESSOR WAS WON
Few who knew Mrs. Cultus in after years, when as an active woman of
the world she displayed much tact dominated by kindly consideration
for others, would have suspected the peculiar phases of development
through which she passed in younger days, during the immature period
of youth when the same natural tendencies took different forms, and
were so different in degree. From one point of view the difference
in degree produced a difference in kind--she appeared to be a
different sort of woman. What she did when young was often mistaken
for selfishness alone, whereas the same natural tendency, operating
as reasonable ambition, after finding its true sphere, exerted a far
nobler activity, profoundly different in both degree and kind. Not
a few expressed surprise when her ambition to lead became coupled
with a determination to help others along at the same time. Always
ambitious, and with strong social instincts, she read the book of
life rather than literary productions; but when she did deign to
peruse a popular novel, her criticism punctured the absurdities of
modern snap-shot incongruity. She was never selfish at heart, but
she certainly did have a way of using the world without abusing it,
personally; and her own way of expressing herself.
As to the Professor, her husband, he found himself going to be
married without having fully analyzed the case.
Charming manners and cultivated tastes, largely inherited from
antecedents in the professional walks of life, had led Professor
Cultus to fascinate and charm not a few during his youth and early
manhood,--what more natural! He was slow however to realize that in
so doing he might encounter another, gifted as himself yet of an
entirely different type, complementary; and so it came to pass.
While returning from a congress of anthropologists which met on the
Continent, where there had been much discussion of the _genus homo_
through many stages of development, the Professor was fated to be
himself taught a lesson in anthropology which never after lost its
hold upon him. It gave him much subject for thought, but not exactly
of the kind suitable for a technical paper before the next congress.
He met an individual whose antecedents no doubt did have the same
number of fingers and toes as his own, but whose “thinking matter”
in her brain seemed to operate differently from his own; and whose
experience in life had been very different; one of whose position in
the chain of physiological development he knew much intellectually,
but whose innate appreciation of facts and ability to perform he had
no adequate realizing sense whatever; her avenue to truth, through
heredity, being quite different from his own.
They were fellow passengers upon one of the palatial steamers which
then first appeared upon the North Atlantic, and it took her only the
ten days’ voyage to capture the Professor, his charming manners, his
intellectual efforts and his anthropological researches, all complete.
How did she do it? and what did she propose to do with him after she
got him?
The answer might be given in a single sentence: she met him first
with his own weapons, charming manners and an intellect as bright as
his own; then caught him because he was objectively philosophic and
for pure science, so called, while she was subjectively philosophic
and for pure material results. She was quite as philosophic as he
was,--also knew chalk from cheese when she saw it. The Professor
preferred to analyze the composition before forming an opinion.
While he was analyzing, she so mixed the ingredients in his mental
laboratory that he could no longer differentiate or reason upon the
subject of a marriage at all: and in truth it must be stated, his own
youth was not much inclined that way either. His heart got the better
of his head.
Thus was the youthful Professor actually forced to accept the
situation philosophically. He flattered himself that in time he would
be able to investigate more fully, and make any needed adjustments
later on. She flattered herself that she would be quite equal to any
emergency that might arise, as she proposed not only to push him to
the very front among his contemporaries, but also use his exalted
position to attain her own social ends.
When they first met, both away from home, in mid-ocean, their mental
activities alert, stimulated by what each had experienced abroad, and
little on hand to occupy the time, the conditions were favorable.
Even the menu on board ship was highly seasoned after its kind,
during the day, and after dark the stars twinkled doubly in the
heavens above, and the mysterious depths below, while they looked at
“the Dipper” together.
No sooner did the charmingly vivacious young lady observe the
Professor’s attractive appearance than she made up her mind; and
noticing that he sat at the Captain’s table as one of the selected
few on board, she determined to know him personally.
Professor Cultus in young manhood certainly did look handsome, of
the intellectual type. His dark eyes were noticed by others besides
Miss Carlotta Gains. The prospect of this new acquaintance was quite
enough to cause her to exert herself, so she frankly told Fraulein
Ritter, under whose care she was returning home, that she would like
immensely to have that gentleman presented to her.
Carlotta had been to Berlin, taking lessons in singing under Fraulein
Ritter’s direction and chaperonage; had been under rather strict
surveillance while studying, and had not much enjoyed that particular
phase of a young woman’s student life in Berlin. When once clear of
the Continental proprieties, the American girl began again to assert
herself. Carlotta was certainly fortunate in having such a one as
Fraulein Ritter to consult, for she in turn was quite an authority
in her own branch. Educated at Weimar during the days of Liszt’s
supremacy, Fraulein Ritter had no small reputation afterwards from
her publications relating to music in general and voice culture
in particular. Incidentally she had met not a few of the members
attending the congress,--in fact, Professor Cultus had already
been presented to her in Berlin; so there being nothing to shock
Fraulein’s German sense of propriety in granting Carlotta’s request,
an introduction followed.
“Professor, allow me to present you to my pupil, Miss Carlotta
Gains. Possibly you have heard of her father, Mr. Anthony G. Gains,
of Silverton, Eldorado.” Why Fraulein should have supposed that
any knowledge of Anthony Gains out in Eldorado could possibly have
reached the Professor can only be attributed to the benign influence
of Carlotta’s lucky star, and the other well authenticated fact that
“the world is not so big after all.” As luck would have it, the
Professor had known Mr. Gains fairly well, and not so many years
back, when at the early stage of his career he had been called upon
to give expert testimony in a certain law suit involving technical
information. The Professor had found Mr. Gains a first-rate,
all-round, square-minded American, from his point of view, and Grab
Gains, as his Eldorado friends dubbed him, had much appreciated the
young scientist’s unbiased clear statements as a witness. Being
astute and practical in business, upon gaining the law suit he had
given his expert, on the spot, the biggest fee he had received up
to that time,--not for his testimony--oh, no,--for some other work
which came up incidentally, quite beyond his expenses and regular
charge.
Gains’s business foresight was not devoid of results. The Professor
at once thought he knew much about the antecedents of the young
lady, and expressed himself as delighted to meet the daughter of his
former friend. Of course he referred to the general circumstances
under which they had met, and praised Eldorado as a locality of great
scientific interest.
Miss Carlotta put two and two together, and recalled her father’s
remark that he would never have gained that case if the Professor had
not “talked science so that the jury could understand.” The Professor
seemed pleased to know it. Carlotta at once determined to appreciate
the Professor just as that jury had done; so she immediately
introduced a topic bound to be of interest to him.
“What a success your congress proved to be, Professor.”
“Quite so,--more than we anticipated. But I did not suspect it would
attract your attention.”
“Why not? Fraulein takes all the publications; I intend to read your
paper with special interest,” her ambition leading her more than half
way.
The Professor looked quizzical. “I fear you will find it rather slow
for cursory reading.” Then his responsive manner getting the best of
him he added with considerable effect: “It will give me the greatest
pleasure to make it clear if I can.”
Carlotta took him up at once,--but on a topic she did know something
about as well as he, and stated it after her own fashion.
“I noticed that one of the discussions was about the peculiar
costumes of certain tribes. Now, I never did understand why the
darker races should introduce brilliant colors in dress so much more
naturally and effectively than we do.”
The Professor instantly looked at her own dress and thought it very
effective, in excellent taste. Carlotta continued:
“Now, with us color is often so arbitrary, mere fashion, the
arrangement artificial, and when the thing is unbecoming you feel
just like a martyr;” then, musingly, “but he won’t find that in me.”
Professor Cultus laughingly replied that “he really knew little about
dress”--which was a fib for an anthropologist--but he supposed that
“Dame Fashion was a capricious jade who often made her reputation
by producing whims to meet the demand for something new; she had
certainly been known to introduce what was hideous to many, simply to
cover up the defects of a favorite patron.”
Carlotta at once thought, “Well, there’s nothing hideous about me. I
wonder what he means?”
The Professor once started, went on about the darker races using the
primitive and secondary colors only with such marked effect; that
they really knew little about hues and shades as our civilization
differentiates colors and effects. He was then going on to add
something about color in jewels adding great effect to rich costumes,
when Carlotta gave a little start, drew her wrap about her and said
she felt cold and chilly.
Fraulein at once suggested they should leave the deck for the saloon.
Carlotta acquiesced as if very grateful, and begged the Professor to
excuse her.
Of course he did so promptly, with sympathy excited by fear lest she
might have suffered in consequence of his keeping her standing too
long in a cold wind.
Nothing of the sort. It was the reference made to jewels by the
Professor which had caused her impromptu nervous chill. Could he
possibly have noticed the too many rings she wore and concluded
she might be rather loud in her taste? That must be rectified at
once,--so Carlotta caught a chill on the spot, merely a little
sympathetic chill, but enough to get away and arrange things better
for the next interview. Certainly her tact showed foresight as well
as power to meet an emergency from her point of view.
She knew instinctively the value of sympathy as well as propinquity.
She had gained her first point, an introduction; now for the
second, sympathy: and she was not slow to act,--much quicker than
the Professor dreamed of. She did things first and discussed them
afterwards; that was one of her accomplishments which he often
observed later on.
No sooner in her state-room than Miss Gains snatched off every
ring, all but one, a fine ruby rich in color but not too large;
“rubies never are,” she said, pensive. On this one she looked with
much satisfaction, it would meet her requirements yet not excite
suspicion, the removal of all might do so.
But why the ruby?
Carlotta was astute, like her papa, much more so than the Professor
imagined,--he learned that also later on. What troubled her now
was no new matter, and largely in her own imagination. A biologist
would have told her it was inherited. Being a pronounced blonde
of the florid type, vivacious, fond of excitement, she had often
noticed that her hands became rather rosy in color. So the ardent yet
astute Miss Gains had evolved the brilliant yet practical idea that
the ruby would be “the very thing to throw the other red into the
shade--people will notice the ruby and speak of that.” If she could
not avoid being too rosy, in her own imagination, the ruby should
take the blame.
Carlotta was politic also, like her papa, much more so than the
Professor thought--he found that out also later on. So she retained
the ruby only, and wore a red tocque when next on deck. She would no
doubt have put on her golf jacket if on shore, so determined was she
to make those hands look as refined as possible.
The Professor’s sympathy was now to be encouraged. If the too many
rings were to be kept out of sight, it was far more important to keep
the object of sympathy in sight. Carlotta determined not to get over
that chill too soon,--not to remain so chilly that the state-room was
the only warm place, but just chilly enough to seek convalescence
wrapped up in a becoming garment, resting in an easy chair in some
retired corner, or on deck where the lights illumined others, and not
herself. Just chilly enough to require the little attentions of a
sympathetic friend, whose sympathy she could make warmer as her own
cold chill wore off.
Miss Carlotta was diplomatic, as the Professor also found out.
Once ensconced in that easy chair with the Professor to keep the
chills off, her success was already assured. Her greatest triumph
consisted undoubtedly in that she displayed such a bright intelligent
appreciation of the Professor’s point of view about everything,
anything from chalk and cheese to volcanoes and earthquakes, not
omitting the science of games, especially ping-pong, and the usual
dose of theosophy; and so much policy and diplomacy as to her own
point of view, that to this day the intellectual scientist ascribes
the results primarily to his own ability in courting.
It was in fact a double game of life and chances, the game of all
games, of heart and head, that two can play at. Carlotta won for
life, whereas the Professor began by taking chances. Propinquity at
sea,--floating on the waves from which rose Aphrodite.
Of course it became evident to the Professor that Carlotta was
precisely the person he most desired in life,--so appreciative,
intellectually bright, much knowledge of the world for her age; and
as she had incidentally remarked on one occasion, quite comfortable
as to worldly goods;--although, to be frank, he laid little stress
upon the latter at that time, having much confidence in his own
resources. He was often glad of it, however, later on; it also proved
one of the things he learned subsequently.
Before they left the steamer there was an understanding, and the way
seemed smooth to expect a favorable consideration from Carlotta’s
parental governor. Her mother was no longer living, which accounted
for Carlotta’s being under the care of Fraulein.
As a matter of fact Anthony Gains was not surprised in the least when
his daughter returned engaged to be married, and easily accepted
the situation philosophically; indeed, rather congratulated himself
that she had not been too independent, like some, but deigned to go
through the formalities of making the announcement subject to his
approval.
“Much better to avoid unnecessary fuss,” he said to himself, “and it
gives me a good chance to spare the Professor’s feelings. In case
they had given me the slip, I suppose a rumpus would have been in
order. Carlotta’s sensible,--I know her well,--I’m glad she lived in
the West before going to Europe.” Her father did know her well, much
better really than he who then desired to take the chances. Papa also
remembered with much satisfaction the young scientist who had given
“plain talk to that jury.” He concluded he might be able to give
plain talk to his household if emergency required it. Finally he told
them frankly:
“Having gone through the mill myself, I guess you two can manage your
own business first-rate. I don’t suppose you object if I coöperate.”
As his practical coöperation took effect even before the marriage,
when he settled a handsome sum upon Carlotta, the Professor thought
still more highly of his prospective father-in-law.
Not till all was over, the ceremony an accomplished fact, and the
young people off on another tour apropos of the occasion,--not till
then did Anthony Gains allow himself to whisper in a room where there
was no telephone:
“They’ll be comfortable anyhow. These scientific fellows make so
little they are not extravagant as a class. I guess it will be all
right--God bless ’em.”
* * * * *
Such had been an early but important chapter in the experience of
the immediate ancestors of Adele Cultus;--of her whom both the Doctor
and Paul had admired,--Paul because she was practical, the Doctor
because she was spiritual.
III
ADELE HERSELF
It is not so much what was said, as who said it and how they said it,
that will convey an adequate impression of the charm exerted by Adele
upon those she met. Of her two dozen desperately intimate friends at
school, each had been known to exclaim, “Why, of course I know her;
isn’t she just too lovely for anything?” and that covered the whole
ground.
When during college days a coterie of Juniors decided to invite
some Seniors to “a tea,”--not “to tea,” for all were excruciatingly
academic at that period, there was a spirited debate as to the
special duties of each girl during the function, but not the
slightest doubt that Adele should head the Reception Committee. “Why,
my dear, she’s just the one for that place. Don’t you see it? We’ll
show them the proper ‘pose.’”
As a matter of fact, Adele did receive; also “poured out” at times;
also introduced some strangers to her own kindred spirits to banish
any feeling of uneasiness; and finally achieved the undoubted triumph
of making two girls friends again, the girls much excited, holding
diametrically opposite opinions upon the momentous question of
Cleopatra’s cruelty to animals.
When she graduated, valedictorian of her class, she made an address
neither too long nor too short, not unlike her gown, precisely
as it should be,--pointedly academic to start with and meet the
case, then somewhat more colloquial, recalling the good times they
all had passed, and concluding with a touching appeal “never to
forget Alma Mater.” The entire class mentally promised they never
would, “nor you either, Adele,” and she was deluged with so many
future-correspondents that the prospect became really alarming.
When she made her début, scarcely an evening passed that some “man”
did not tell her confidentially: “You look lovely to-night, Miss
Cultus;” and when upon a certain full-dress occasion she sat with Mr.
Warder on the stairway, presumably with none but the old stand-up
clock to listen, the first remark she heard was, “Oh, I’m so glad,
Miss Cultus, we can have a chat, alone!” “Alone!” exclaimed Adele.
“Why, certainly, alone in the crowd,”--and as she drew her skirts
aside to allow four other couples and a queue of waiters to pass, her
clear responsive laugh appreciative of the situation, made Mr. Warder
enjoy the public seclusion immensely.
Evidently there was a personal magnetism about Adele which affected
all more or less, and many whose own characteristics were totally
unlike hers.
At a glance anyone would have noticed her light hair flowing free,
yet under control, tinged with sunlight, the sunlight of youth;
hers was a fair complexion like her mother’s, yet with her father’s
lustrous eyes. She was a blonde with dark eyes; once seen, a picture
in the mind’s eye.
Her father’s facial expression played over her countenance,
manifesting that responsive personal interest which drew many to
her. Her mother, as we already know, could express that responsive
attitude also, and exercise the personal influence when she chose,
but with Adele it was spontaneous, perfectly natural, and her smile
sincere, ingenuous, rather than ingenious, one of the most precious
and potent gifts a woman can possess.
And some of her other gifts by heredity were also very evident, but
modified. Dame Nature had been exceedingly kind, and given her as it
were only those elements which intensified the better traits of the
previous generations. Her active mind reminded one of her father’s
intellectual ability in science, but it was so modified by her
mother’s more comprehensive susceptibility and impressionability in
many directions, her worldly wisdom and promptness, that in Adele
it took a different turn from either one of the parents. Her social
instincts could not be suppressed, but fundamentally they tended
towards an appreciation and insight of the humanities and ethical
subjects rather than the material interests one might look for in
the granddaughter of Anthony Gains, or the intellectual abstractions
which might have come from the Professor’s mode of thought.
Before graduating, some one asked her what she proposed to do after
leaving college, for all felt a brilliant career was open. Adele was
rather reserved in answering this question, and generally replied
that there was so much which ought to be done in the world, no
doubt she would be very busy. But to her mother she confided on
one occasion her innermost thought, she “would like to work in the
slums.” This so horrified Mamma that Adele’s name was entered upon
the fashionable Assembly list for the coming season without delay, as
an antidote in case of emergency, although somewhat premature as to
time.
It would never do to oppose Adele. She was already unaccustomed
to that sort of management, and would assert herself even if she
regretted it afterwards. A compromise was in order. She did not go
to work in the slums, and did attend fashionable functions with her
mother, but after serious conversation with her father on the subject
of the practice of medicine by women, and her own observations of
the constant demand for trained nurses who would not upset the whole
household, she concluded to look into that matter herself, and
volunteered to serve in the hospital during war times.
“I must do something to help along; and nobody need know, unless I
choose.” It was while thus serving that the Doctor and Paul had first
met her, when the Doctor was a patient after his bicycle accident in
a miniature cyclone. It was in the hospital that Doctor Wise had
first read her hand, and made a note of it as approaching the psychic
type more clearly than any other he had then met.
From the Doctor’s point of view Adele’s hand was indeed suggestive,
but not so purely psychical as to intimate mysticism to excess.
It was rather that of a vivid idealist than a moody mystic,--too
much intellectuality in the upper part, as well as assertion in the
thumb and clearness in the head-line, not to influence and modify
the natural tendency and scope as shown by the general form. It
was not the hand of one whose vague aspirations after the good but
unattainable would lead to extremes either in the activities of
communism or socialistic vagaries, nor in the opposite direction
towards the passive life of an ascetic. Either one would have soon
disgusted Adele. It was the hand of one who endeavored to be logical,
and did have common sense; yet in the exuberance of feeling sometimes
put her hero upon a pedestal only to find the pedestal had a crack
in it and the hero was in danger. As to the hero himself, he was
never affected; she remained true to her hero, no sawdust in him; but
she certainly did put him quietly aside on the shelf when she found
herself beyond his point of view. She simply put him on the shelf
to “think it out for himself,” as she had done for herself,--and in
consequence had more would-be heroes following in her train, striving
to catch up, than is generally found in the domain of hero worship.
Youth has its sway. Adele was most delightfully enthusiastic at
times, often bent upon what she called “having a good time.” Then
she was a picture worthy of Fortuny’s art in a sunny Spanish patio;
but in quieter moments as introspective as one of Millais’ peasants;
rather over-confident in her own resources, having really not met as
yet any opposition worthy of the name, unless perhaps a weak patient
who refused to take medicine. Then she took a sip herself, and told
him “Now you’ve got to take it,” and he did,--because her actions
spoke louder even than her words.
Her father had several times told her to read the world as if it were
a book, and she had heard her mother refer to certain society leaders
who acted a part that did not suit their own style. She determined
to know and read all passers-by, from cooks with a sauce-pan to
princesses with a crooked coronet, including Tom, Dick and Harry
of course; and she found it so highly interesting, that when about
eighteen she thought she might--yes--she might, in time,--write a
novel herself; in fact she did write the title page, and the chapter
on “Direful Conflict,” in which the sauce-pan and coronet almost came
to blows. Whether to make that chapter the beginning of her novel or
the ending, proved the poser, so it too was put upon the shelf with
the heroes.
The most interesting thing to people is people themselves. Adele’s
maternal instincts told her this very soon.
Things are of real value about in proportion to the effort they cost.
Her instincts from her father suggested this, but she did not believe
it at first. It might be, but was not pleasant to think of. She knew
well enough that all that glitters is not gold, but sometimes thought
that glitter might be when it wasn’t. When she found herself deceived
in this respect her conclusions took a pronounced feminine form of
expression. “Mother! I don’t think so very much of Mr. Upham they all
talk about. He tries to show off--absurdly condescending, and talks
as if he knew more about it than anybody else. Nobody really thinks
of what he says, only of him. I think him a bore.”
“Well, don’t let him know it, my dear,” promptly answered Mrs.
Cultus. “One has to become accustomed to trifles. I generally look
the other way and avoid them.”
“I’m not going through the world on stilts, anyhow,” laughed Adele.
“No, my dear, I trust not, nor on a bicycle either; neither is
becoming.”
Adele watched her father whenever they went out together, with
almost precocious interest. She wished to discover how he made
himself so agreeable to others and finally concluded that “Father’s
manners are perfection.” She followed her father’s advice quite as
naturally as she did her mother’s, the wisdom of which often appealed
to her also; but in spite of her affection for both, she soon began
to perceive there was something much more subtle in life than worldly
wisdom. Things seen were by no means so potent as some other things
unseen. She would use the world, but not let it use her. “I shall
soon be used up myself” was the way she expressed it after having had
rather too much of a good time.
Without actually formulating the pros and cons in her own mind, she
really decided not to attempt any part unless she could do justice to
it under the stimulus of her own approval.
Things seen, and never ignored, were already becoming subservient to
things unseen.
Such was Adele as a girl, and during the few years when her college
experience was prime factor in her life.
IV
ADELE HEARS THE WORDS OF A SONG
There was just enough of chilly winter left to make the springtime
fascinating and a wood fire still acceptable in the cozy library
where Doctor Wise and his younger friend Paul Warder sat together
expecting guests. They occupied bachelor apartments in common. A
delicious aroma from wood logs permeated the atmosphere.
There was music also, for the eye as well as the ear. The firelight
played in crescendo and diminuendo, with now and again marked rhythm
and very peculiar accents. The sound of wheels reverberated clearly
in the cool night air and ceased opposite the portal. An expectant
waiting, but no response, no frou-frou from silken skirts passing
along the hallway as anticipated. Instead, Benson,--Benson the
butler, his countenance a foot long.
“Some one, sir!”
“I presume so.”
“Some one, with his--his trunk.”
“His trunk!” The Doctor lowered the bridge of his nose, and peered at
Benson over his eye-glasses.
“Yes, sir! a big one.”
“What’s that for? What will he do with it? What will we do with it?”
“Show him up, Benson,” said Paul, promptly; “trunk and all.”
Paul’s eyes twinkled as he vanished through the doorway.
“Never heard of such a thing,” mused the Doctor, “bringing a trunk
to a musicale. Must be some mistake! Benson! I say, Benson! Show him
next door.”
“Not yet I hope,” and amid shouts of laughter in rushed two
fellows,--Paul bringing Henri Semple--“Harry”--of all their musical
friends the one most welcome and opportune.
The Doctor was delighted, and gave him a good squeeze--no time for
much else.
“Benson! put Mr. Semple’s trunk in his own room, you know the one I
mean; and now, Harry, if you don’t get inside that trunk quickly as
possible the state of the country will not be safe, an invasion is
threatened at any minute. Put on your regimentals at once, and help
us out.”
Semple, who understood the Doctor’s lingo from many years back, took
in the situation at a glance. He had hardly time to laugh about the
Doctor’s being “the same old chappie as ever,” when he was literally
thrust towards the stairway, to follow the trunk, and put on his
evening clothes.
The episode had been one of Paul’s agreeable surprises so often had
in store for the Doctor.
Semple’s name had appeared upon the passenger list of an ocean flyer
just arrived. Paul sought him by telephone, caught him, and insisted
upon his coming. Semple, already in traveler’s shape, had “hustled”
to reach his old friends. The time was short, but Harry in true
American fashion had “got there”--that was all, with the regimentals
ready to be put on.
It is not necessary to produce the bachelor’s visiting list and
mark off all those who honored the occasion with their presence.
Paul always made it a point to have plenty of men on hand at his
entertainments; whether at chit-chat-musicale or conversational game
of whist, all went off with a rush. Those who took their pleasure
more seriously were furnished excellent opportunity in the library,
while the conversational music-racket progressed in the parlor.
The trio, Doctor, Paul and Semple, were already standing in line,
like three serenaders in white waistcoats, when Mrs. Maxwell was
ushered in. She had kindly consented to act as matron, knowing all so
well; in fact had entertained both Paul and Semple at her picturesque
cottage, “The Kedge.” Her vivacious presence at once brought with
it a breezy atmosphere from the romantic coast of Maine, where “The
Kedge” stood perched like a barnacle upon a boulder, and the winds
wafted white spray falling like a lace mantle upon dahlias and
nasturtiums at her feet.
And with her Miss Dorothy, her niece, whose charming letters the
winter previous from Ischl had given vivid pictures of experience
abroad, Vienna life, and Egyptian mysteries known only to herself and
the Sphinx.
A dozen or more soon followed. Conversation already at its height
when Professor and Mrs. Cultus entered, also their daughter Adele
whom the Doctor had before met under such peculiar circumstances
at the hospital. Adele looked radiant, having brought with her an
intimate friend, Miss Winchester, for whom she had requested an
invitation. The Doctor greeted them with both hands, for he had
already detected the devotion which had sprung up between these two
girls. They seemed a host in themselves wherever they went. He made
Miss Winchester feel at home at once, and she accepted the situation
promptly; she had the happy faculty of doing that sort of thing.
The Doctor enjoyed her frankness. She was like, yet very unlike
Adele; no doubt much in common between them, yet of a very different
temperament. The inquisitive Doctor perceived this at a glance.
“Must read her hand,” he cogitated, for his interest in Adele made
him curious to know more of the one to whom Adele seemed especially
devoted.
Others dropped in later, the rooms became well filled. The guests
sought easy chairs, Paul taking special pains to see that Mrs. Cultus
was comfortably settled. Mrs. Cultus in turn had made up her mind to
hear Paul sing with the Doctor as accompanist. She had heard that
they performed “stunts,” whatever they might prove to be, and now
was her opportunity; also, she wished the stunts just as soon as
possible. “Keep it up,” said Mrs. Cultus, _sotto voce_.
Of course Paul could not refuse point blank, but he must be permitted
to do so in his own way, for none knew better than he and the Doctor
that their music together was of such a peculiar nature that unless
led up to judiciously the effect would be utterly ruined. In fact
there was nothing in it but “the spirit of the thing,” and little
technique whatever except to meet the demand of this spirit of the
thing. They had never had either time or inclination to cultivate
and keep technique-on-tap,--a thing to be turned on and off like a
fountain before an admiring public. Nevertheless, the little they
could do gave a deal of pleasure to those not already hypnotized
by digital gymnastics, or become satiated from eating too much
candy-music.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Cultus’ ideas about leading up to anything in
the domain of music had been originally formed upon her experience
when leading in the german, and in spite of her short but higher
experience in Germany, her natural propensities often prevailed. As
to any preparation of the mind and ear for the reception of given
musical sounds and kindred forms of artistic and poetic expression,
she was lamentably wanting, in fact her tactics often little better
than a box of tacks to irritate the acuter sensibilities of those to
whom she appealed with so much apparent appreciation. Mrs. Cultus
never listened for the tone-color, simply because she could not
constitutionally; she really could not, it was not in her to hear
what she could hear.