down the Roseate Sea, the two lovers journeyed. As they skirted the
shore, never did delicate tints upon a sapphire surface give back
more heavenly reflections! Those sunny days, under double awnings,
when none dared look at a thermometer lest he himself should melt
away. Those first-magnitude starlit nights when sleeping on deck,
with glimpses of others passing like spooks in the dark; and in the
distance, on “P. and O.” boats, the invisible friends known to be
there.
The last glimpse of Boreas was in a storm brewing off in the
direction of the Ægean Sea. Some thought they saw him in
propria-persona, gesticulating upon the high cliffs of Candia as the
vessel sailed by in the teeth of the wind, but this individual proved
to be merely a Turkish brigand, one of the gang which infested that
region.
But are not all such minor incidents already recorded in the
chronicles of the Cultus family for publication in future
genealogical records? How at Alexandria the Doctor took little
interest in the modern city upon the island of Pharos, but much
interest in the Ancient Library with no books left! How, since said
Library was destroyed some time ago, Paul and Adele managed to
reconstruct a brand new temple with lamps, incense, and priests--all
complete, to say nothing of singing birds, and vestal virgins each
carrying a sieve instead of a lamp! How Miss Winchester met the Four
Hundred élite of Alexandria at the base of Pompey’s Pillar, and was
kodaked by Paul with the four hundred gamins at her feet, asking for
backsheesh; this historic picture labeled, “Hypatia Addressing the
Multitude. A. D. MDCCCLXXXXIX.” How Mrs. Cultus took in the situation
from a barouche, positively refusing to set foot on the sward of
a country famous for asps and beetles; and also how Mrs. Cultus
announced that Cleopatra’s relish for pearls was in good taste, only
it carried her too far. How the unfortunate noseless Sphynx turned
up her nose, as usual, at all innocents abroad; and how Mrs. Cultus,
when entering the memorial bridal chamber of Cheops, slipped upon
the inclined staircase which leads thereto, and fell into the arms
of a modern bridegroom--a young sheik. How the Professor stood upon
the apex of Cheops and took notes, alternate notes upon lichens
which grew there, and upon Memphis where it once was. Is it not also
recorded among the archives of modern Egypt how, during the period of
occupation of Shepherd’s, cards were left in due form upon Pharaoh’s
mummy in the Boulak Museum; and how Mrs. Cultus received in turn a
scarab, and some little scarabei, of Manchester manufacture, taken
from the left pocket of Pharaoh’s forty-second cousin, after reposing
there since A. D. 1492 (some said from 4000 B. C.)--a slight token
of regard from the Pharonic dynasty to the latest Republic on earth?
Was it not recorded also at the time, in the society column of the
“Pyramid Times,” that “Miss Pearline Cultus and Mr. Adolph Warder
were last seen behind an umbrella on the top of the Pyramid with
their feet hanging over the top step?” probably the most conspicuous
perch on the globe for two lovers.
And above all, was it not also jotted down in the private
memoranda of both Paul and Adele, when passing Mocha and Perim
and Aden, in and out of the gloaming, that the voyage was perfect
bliss, the coffee--nectar fit for the gods, and the coals of
Perim--black diamonds? As to Aden, the much-abused Aden, said
to be separated only by a thin sheet of Manila paper from the
infernal-region-frying-pan--such assertions proved absolutely false.
Aden was a Paradise of fruit and flowers, its reservoir like Lake
Tahoe, and its inhabitants--white-robed angels with Chinese features,
flying hither and thither in phantom jinrikishas. Was it not here at
Aden that Paul had the innocent audacity to open that delicious but
appalling fruit, the dorian, chopping it with a hatchet under their
very noses, only to hurl both dorian and hatchet into the sea for
the delectation of fishes whose noses were equal to the occasion?
And finally, did not the whole party, except Mrs. Cultus, visit
Mother Eve at Djeddah, and find her the most attenuated specimen
of humanity, both physically and historically, that anyone could
imagine, at least forty feet long, aged six millenniums (some say
eight or nine; possibly seven times seven, or thereabouts), with her
toes turned up about two feet? And did they not make the astonishing
discovery which Mrs. Cultus at once reported to the Politely Civil
Archæological Society, that our own Mother Eve was really very dark
in complexion; in fact, quite a fast black (since local tradition
said so, and tradition was invariably exact, if not too exact)?--a
case of proving too much; which wonderful discovery made them all
wonder and debate if they themselves, being white at present, might
not possibly be changed backwards, and revert to original color and
type before entering Mahomet’s Paradise.
* * * * *
Youth! Oh, Youth! how many are thy pleasures and privileges, and
thou dost not realize it. Thine the period when all things are
interesting, new sensations at every turn, and little responsibility
to interfere with whims. Go to the circus, go globe-trotting in
an automobile, and take part in the show. Oh, Youth! thine is the
blessed time of freedom, although thou mayst not think so. Thou wilt,
no doubt, hear much good advice, but follow thine own inclinations,
and enjoy the happy privilege of changing thy mind on short notice.
Mrs. Cultus was no longer youthful, but she held on to the privileges
just the same.
“I always change my mind, Frank, when it suits me. I fully intended
to call upon Eva at Djeddah, certainly the first lady in the land,
even if she were only Mahomet’s wife, and not our mutual ancestress;
but, Frank, when it turned out so midsummer hot, with such a brazen
sky, I gave it up. Why, Frank Winchester, I wouldn’t appear in
the condition you were, in that bedraggled gown and hat and felt
slippers--no! not if I really wished to call. That’s wisdom, my
dear; take an elder’s advice. Never hesitate to change your mind,
especially when it suits you.”
XXVII
INTERMEZZO--ANDANTE
_The Royal Route._
_O Science!_ How true thou art! How true thou strivest to be! Yet,
what is not claimed in thy name, when few are the golden gems picked
up upon the limited shore of this single world! We learn of thee,
O Science! through thee! by thee! but ever when we ask of thee the
Bread of Life, thou givest us a stone; and when we ask for a fish,
thou givest us a serpent. From the beginning it has been so. Know
thyself, O Science! thy finite place. Learn even as a little child
sitting at the feet of Infinite Knowledge.
_O Philosophy!_ How noble thou art, to seek the truth in all things
as they are; ignoring nothing in nature, in any province of thought,
word or deed--in Science or Religion. But thou revealest nothing.
Thy intellect is finite--not infinite; thy standpoint mortal--not
immortal. Thou art god-like--but not God.
_O Religion!_ Thou Voice of the Mind of Nature! of Our
Almighty-Father, Creator; accepting all of Truth in Science and
Philosophy; yet, ever speaking of a higher and better life, here and
hereafter. How many untruths have been spoken in Thy name, even spoken
as _ex cathedra_, taking Thy name in vain; yet, verily none can escape
Thee, Thyself, O Thou Holy Spirit of Truth in Love, in the heart of
Humanity--Immanuel, God with us!
XXVIII
THE AFTERGLOW
Again the shores had vanished, this time Europe left behind, and the
Orient lifting before them. It was after the sun had plunged beneath
the waves, and the distance was illumined with the afterglow; when
the Parsee matrons had retired to rest, publicly, upon the saloon
floors, and some mysterious figures re-entered to recline on deck
in awkward pose, with crooked necks against chairs and skylights,
that Paul and Adele also glided forward, past captain and capstan,
to their favorite spot. Only the prow of the vessel when it mounted
the billows, and a spooky lanthorn aloft, hung in space between them
and the constellations. Together they gazed forwards and upwards,
listening to the thoughts of the stilly night.
“Fond memories for other days,” remarked Adele.
Paul looked round to discover the object supposed to suggest
memories, and then concluded his chair was not quite close enough to
hers.
“There it is,” said she, looking toward the constellation of the
Southern Cross, resplendent in the heavens. “I never shall forget it.”
“Beautiful, each star a gem, all gems; but----”
“I cannot conceive anything more suggestive or more appropriate in
the heavens than that cross,” said Adele.
“I am yet inclined to think that perhaps Orion is still more
magnificent.”
“Don’t let’s make comparisons, Paul. I don’t feel in the mood just
now; that only spoils our present enjoyment.”
“All right; take things as they are,” and Paul looked again at the
constellation.
“See those four stars, Adele; they would make an exquisite pin. Would
you like one in that form?”
“Pin! Please don’t think I care only for trinkets, and at such a
time as this! Please don’t, it only belittles everything;” her voice
betraying a slight trace of emotion.
Paul vowed inwardly that he would acquiesce in everything she said,
so in duty bound endeavored to be philosophic himself.
“There’s nothing like being natural, even when it feels unnatural.”
Adele laughed outright.
“My dear Paul, philosophy never did sit well on you; please don’t.”
Paul felt somewhat subdued, and immediately changed the subject.
“What was it you said you wished to ask me?”
“Oh, yes, about being inquisitive. We’re all getting so horribly
inquisitive that I’ve had a curious experience. I really don’t know
what I think.”
It was Paul’s turn to laugh. “Oh, that comes from thinking too much.
Give it up; we’ve got something else on hand just now; don’t let’s
think.”
This idea seemed to impress Adele rather favorably in her present
mood, but she could not resist the temptation to continue.
“Paul, I really feel that I must exert my will--yes, I must will that
I won’t--no! I mustn’t won’t anything, that is not what I mean. I
can’t untangle my thoughts while talking. Paul, try to help me; you
do the talking.”
“I know exactly what’s the matter with you, Adele; what Frank
Winchester would call your ‘thinking apparatus’ is a little weary,
and I have a sure cure--put it here;” his shoulder being very
convenient. “Now we can talk without thinking or think without
talking; just as you please.”
Adele felt safer, and her mind much less disturbed.
“I’m so very inquisitive,” said she.
“That’s perfectly natural,” acquiesced Paul, who was himself feeling
quite comfortable; “most women, I mean most people, are.”
“Doctor Wise is,” said Adele. “I like to hear him talk.”
“Oh, that’s the way the wind blows, is it?” exclaimed Paul. “I knew
you would tell me sooner or later. I know the Doctor like a book.
He’s the best friend I have in the world; but I’ll tell you something
about him.”
“I don’t wish to know unless it’s good,” said Adele, then paused an
instant; “but I think he can trust both of us.”
“Oh, yes, but the Doctor’s this way; now I tell you this in
confidence. He often forgets how old he is, and thinks we are about
the same age.”
“I don’t see anything very confidential in that; besides, I rather
like these middle-aged old fellows who must wear glasses and won’t
wear ‘specs;’ they keep their youth.”
“You surely don’t like frisky old boys?” laughed Paul.
“Nonsense! People may live many years and yet not be aged. The
Doctor’s not frisky.”
“Nor very slow, either,” laughed Paul. “Only he will persist in
looking backward, and above one’s head, and sometimes inside of one,
while you and I always look forward; don’t we, Adele?”
“Why, of course.”
“Well, then, when we reach his age, we may find some satisfaction
in the other thing, but just at present I don’t feel like it. The
Doctor mixes me up, too, sometimes; even when I understand his words
perfectly. It’s the after-effects.”
“‘After-effects’ is good,” said Adele. “I’ve felt ’em myself,
lately--in my state-room; but even before that, when they talked in
the Sunday-school about Jebusites and Perizites, the most mixed-up
crowd I ever met; almost as bad as those so-called scientists we met
on the Atlantic. Now, I really care more about Porto Rico and the
Philippine Islanders than any of those ancient or modern mixtures;
and to return to what I started with, don’t you think the Doctor
attempts to explain too much?”
“Well, yes--and no. Of course there are some things no fellow can
find out, but the Doctor is not really trying to discover; he merely
tries to arrange after his own fashion what he already has read and
experienced. He really sees much more than most of us, and he told me
he had discovered that fact written in the palm of his own hand.”
“I see he has you well in hand,” said Adele, thoughtlessly.
Paul winced.
Adele felt a slight shiver, and was sorry she had so spoken.
“He has helped me greatly,” said Paul, reminiscent of the Doctor’s
friendship. “I never met a man who tried more to give his friends
something worth thinking and talking about instead of twaddle and
bosh.”
“And that’s just where my trouble comes in,” said Adele. “I don’t
care for twaddle and bosh, but isn’t there such a thing as too much
thinking; I mean too much thinking about too many things? I’ve a
great notion to do something radical.”
“Gracious! You a Radical? What do you propose to do?”
“Change my mind.”
“Don’t do that; it’s too radical! Change your method, or your
climate; but for heaven’s sake leave your mind alone.” And Paul’s
sudden outburst of laughter attracted attention from the night
watchman, who came forward to see if anything was wanted.
“Nothing. Thanks!” answered Paul.
“Oh, yes, there is,” continued Adele; “something must be done. I
cannot undertake to keep up with all that’s going on above, below,
outside, inside and underneath. I used to think so at college, but
now it’s fatiguing. It’s not safe to live with all creation coming
down on you at every turn.”
“I never thought Atlas a happy man,” interjected Paul.
“He gives me the backache to look at him,” said Adele; “and I’ve a
notion not even to listen to philosophers or, in fact, any talk that
involves so many ifs and buts in one’s own mind. Others may enjoy
that game; I don’t. I told Father I detested ‘exceptions’ to rules
when at school, and now it’s worse. I’m getting to think that most
people had best leave such things alone in real life. What do you
think about it?”
Paul felt a thrill of satisfaction run through him as Adele allowed
herself to run on, giving vent to her feelings; and she also felt a
pressure of endearment which thrilled also.
“My dearest,” said he, “that’s the wisest thing you ever thought out
in your life. You’re the most level-headed girl I ever met in all
my days.” He spoke as if both he and she were quite as old as the
Doctor. Then, wishing to be very profound, Paul tried to be eloquent.
“Adele! do you know what you have done?--the most--h’m!--the most
satisfactory thing I could have wished for in life.”
“Nothing radical, I trust, or I probably shall regret it;” her voice
fading away towards the last in secret amusement.
“God knows! The Lord only knows how much trouble it will save
us--after we’re settled.”
“Don’t swear, my dear, don’t swear! I’ve been thinking about it for
some time. It’s the kind of philosophy I really believe in.”
“So do I,” said Paul, his voice betraying strong feeling.
“Not to bother with ’osophies or sophistries, anthropologies or any
other apologies,” said Adele. “I want to live a free, open life--a
life in the open.”
“Take things as they are.”
“Yes, and people as we find them--try to do them good.”
A pause followed.
Paul was striving to grasp within his own consciousness what an
admirable girl Adele was, and how happy he ought to be with such a
true woman for his wife; but such thoughts only confused him. All he
could do was to whisper, more to himself than to her, the old, old
words, “How I do love you, love you with all my heart!”
She heard him, and her heart responded.
“Do you know what _you_ have done?” asked Adele softly, intertwining
her fingers in his. The sympathetic touch, the currents of emotion,
vitality and supreme strength entered his very soul.
“Given me,” said she, “for my very own that which I most crave.”
He bowed his head in reverence, and could not lift so much as his
eyes towards heaven.
“Oh, Paul, do you know what that means? Faith in one to love and
trust.”
He made a movement as if trying to speak, but she grasped his hand
anew, and pressed it.
They did not speak, only thought, and loved each other.
The Southern Cross shone resplendent in the heavens above.
“Let Nature be your teacher;
Sweet is the love which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Misshapes the beauteous form of things.
We murder to dissect--
Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.”
--WORDSWORTH.
XXIX
ILLNESS AND HALLUCINATION
At last they had reached the Far East--a new world densely populated
with darker races, dark forms clothed in white or multi-colored
garments; many with little clothing at all. The faces intelligent,
the profiles often more clear-cut and refined than their own. People
who told them frankly that their physiognomy showed “pink faces with
green eyes”--quite a revelation, since they had never before seen
themselves as others see them, from that point of view.
It was at Bombay Mrs. Cultus first encountered the prolific
assortment of “boys,” Khidmatgars and Jadoo Wallahs, punka boys,
and boys from Goa. It did not take her long to grasp the situation,
simply because she purposely kept her own personal assortment
constantly on “the grand jump.” “I must find out what each fellow
can do, but won’t; and what he can’t do, but will. As Paul would
say, ‘This caste-business and somebody else’s business is most
distracting.’”
As to the Jadoo Wallahs and their famous tricks, Mrs. Cultus had set
her heart upon detecting the manner of growth of that celebrated
mango-tree, and in consequence had an experience.
The magician went through his whole performance as it is usually
given, and was about to take up his bush and walk, when Mrs. Cultus
at once exclaimed: “Not so quick, please! You say it grew in ten
minutes; that mango bush?”
“You saw it, Mem Sahib,” said the magician respectfully.
“Then there’s a humbug in that tree,” remarked Mrs. Cultus blandly.
The Wallah seemed a little thrown off his guard.
“Show us the roots! the roots!” demanded Mrs. Cultus, as if giving
orders.
“Pardon, pardon, Mem Sahib! I thought you said a bug was in the
tree;” and instantly the magician’s acting became superb; his whole
attitude changed. One might have supposed he considered it most
unreasonable to ask to see the roots of a tree. Possibly, this one
had roots, but then they might be so small you could not see them.
Who knows what really was there under ground? He didn’t; but he could
take the risk of digging to discover.
Considering the little pile of earth was only six inches high and
stood upon a cemented pavement, Mrs. Cultus told him to “go to work
and dig them up.” And then came the surprise for her; a surprise
which caused her never to forget that she had been in India.
The Jadoo Wallah, taking the bush by the stem near the ground with
one hand, loosened it carefully from the earth. In lifting it into
the air, a half-opened seed, still attached below ground, and the
tendrils of new roots appeared. As the small clods of earth fell
away from these roots, the whole bush from topmost leaf to lowest
root-tendril, was exposed to view at full length. Tremendous applause
followed. Mrs. Cultus was thoroughly nonplussed, mystified; but not
too much to find her purse and pay the Wallah well for his skill and
preparation.
“Those roots,” whispered Adele, “made me feel uncanny when the little
clods of earth fell from them.”
“Bits of string, soiled with moist earth, make very good roots when
seen from a distance,” remarked the Doctor, laughing. “Even better
imitations than the tendrils and flowers in your hat, my dear.”
Thus, during their very first glimpses of India, they realized they
were encountering an intelligent people, a branch of their own Aryan
race, but of dark complexion, and given over to skilful mystification.
Before reaching Calcutta, the physical exertions of the tourists had
been considerable. Mrs. Cultus in particular, owing to her natural
antipathy to a warm climate, seemed to suffer more than any, and
in consequence became seriously ill. One cannot say suddenly ill,
as often the case, although her perambulations at Benares, and
in the vicinity of Patna to visit the Buddha’s bo-tree, had been
quite enough to produce serious results. Her strong nerves and
her persistent determination not to be a burden to others unless
physically incapacitated, carried her through until Calcutta was
reached. Upon their arrival she would have broken down at once
if Western “grit” and feminine curiosity had not again asserted
themselves. She would not give up; not at least until she had
obtained her own impression of the Bengalese capital and Government
House, to be able to talk about them afterwards at home. Then she did
succumb, half-purposely as it were, really when she had left it until
too late.
“If I must take my turn at collapsing, this is a much better place
than some of the bungalows where we were forced to bunk. I might as
well give in and have done with it. Adele, my dear, I really do feel
wretched.” This, when she was already so feeble as to be unable to
stand.
The daughter of Anthony “Grab” Gains, of Colorado, had both grit and
worldly wisdom by inheritance, but she had little suspicion then
that these characteristics could be so forcibly demonstrated, even
while the spiritual element was in the ascendant. This spiritual
element had not before been especially evident--in fact, it had lain
dormant, making her appear one-sided, and often unappreciative of
much that interested her daughter as well as her husband and Doctor
Wise. The Calcutta physician soon pronounced her case important if
not serious, due to over-exposure in regions where malaria of various
kinds should have been guarded against. Evidently few precautions had
been taken; malarial germs of some sort had entered her system; what
particular fever would result could only be determined after further
observation and certain tests. This much the physician told the
Professor.
Mrs. Cultus, who could interpret every change of expression in her
husband’s countenance, and could read his thoughts in such matters
much more quickly than he suspected, took in the exact situation a
few minutes after the physician left her, when her husband entered
and began to potter around her room, anxious, but striving to appear
just the opposite. She noticed him, a little later, take up a bottle
of medicine, tasting it as if he wished to make sure as to its
contents. After he had gone out, she said to Adele:
“My daughter, your father is such a dear man. Do you know what he
did?--tasted that medicine himself first, just to satisfy himself it
was all right for me. Now just suppose it had been poison?”
Adele looked tenderly at her mother, fearing lest the fever had
already begun to affect her brain, and was causing absurd notions.
This proved to be the case. Mrs. Cultus became more and more flighty,
complaining: “My head feels so light; it seems to be sailing off like
a balloon.” Then, again, speaking in disconnected phrases, her ideas
all mixed and inconsequent. Adele concluded she did not always say
what she meant to say, and therefore did not give the impression she
intended to convey.
All of which, being quite natural, was not surprising; only when at
intervals among her absurd vagaries the patient startled them all by
some exceptionally sane remark, indicating a very level head, indeed.
It was then that Adele felt confused, and hardly knew what to do; she
did not understand the case.
Drawing affection led her to put her arm around her mother’s neck, to
place her cheek next hers, and to cherish her. The invalid did not
even whisper in reply, but her tacit acceptance seemed to indicate
that she knew it was her daughter near, very near, and felt her
touch--that was enough. Fevered imagination was thus often soothed by
the reality of love.