THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
DAVIS
GIFT OF
THE PIERCE FAMILY
Unclean and Spotted
from the World
By
MRS. WILLIAM BECKMAN
Author of
Backshecsh, A Woman's Wanderings
Ofli&itafeet & Eap Company
(INCORPORATED)
PUBLISHERS
SAN FRANCISCO
1906
UBKARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
DAVIS
Copyright igo6
by
Mrs. William Beckman
To the lover of Nature, the lover of Love, and the
lover of Truth : The descriptions of travel, the journal,
and all of the letters and incidents as given in the book
are absolutely true. It was ordained that some must
suffer, and one, so far as human knowledge extends, goes
unpunished. Verily truth at times seems strangest of all
things in this strange life of ours.
CONTENTS
PAGE
1 9
II 16
III 20
IV 30
V 36
VI 50
VII 58
VIII 62
IX 66
X 82
XI 89
XII in
XIII 117
XIV 121
XV 130
XVI 138
XVII 147
XVIII 155
XIX 170
XX 179
XXI 190
XXII 200
XXIII 209
XXIV 218
XXV 225
XXVI 236
XXVII 25 1
XXVIII 262
XXIX 268
XXX.. . 271
Contents
PAGE
XXXI 275
XXXII 284
XXXIII 292
XXXIV 301
XXXV 313
XXXVI 328
XXXVII 336
XXXVIII 357
XXXIX 370
XL 377
XLI... 394
XLIL. . 396
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
PLOWING IN MEXICO 32
TEMPLE OF GUADALUPE, ZACATECAS 33
MISSION SANTA BARBARA 4
MILK VENDER IN MEXICO 53
CATACOMBS OF GUANAJUATO, MEXICO 56
WOMAN GRINDING CORN 64
OX CART AND PEON 83
IXTACCIHUATL, I?^? 1 FEET 86
WYNDAM GLACIER 101
CATHEDRAL AND ZOCALO, MEXICO CITY 123
PORTE DEL POPOLO AND CLEOPATRA^S NEEDLE 139
HARVESTING THE CORN IN MEXICO 151
PIGSKINS FILLED WITH PULQUE I7O
WATER-CARRIER, CUERNAVACA 174
FOUNTAIN UNDER THE MANGO TREES, CUERNAVACA, MEXICO 177
MAGUEY PLANT AND SAP-GATHERER IQI
PYRAMID OF CHOLULA IQ3
STREET SCENE IN CHOLULA IQ5
CARRYING THE OLLAS WATER-COOLERS 2IO
A CORN CART IN MEXICO AND ORGAN CACTUS 214
HUT AND CACTUS FENCE, MITLA 225
CHILDREN AT GATEWAY OF ORGAN HEDGE 227
FRONT OF PALACE, MITLA RUINS 22Q
RUINS, MITLA 232
CHOCOLATE DROPS 234
A GROUP OF NATIVES OF MITLA 251
GROUP OF WOMEN WASHING 256
BARRANCA AT TEOCELI, NEAR JALAPA 2OO
MONUMENT IN FLORENCE WHERE SAVONAROLA WAS BURNED 282
CALIFORNIA LIVE OAK 2p6
List of Illustrations
PAGE
FOUNTAIN AT ALAMEDA, VERA CRUZ, MEXICO 305
GRAND CANON 317
MOSQUE OF SANTA SOPHIA 32Q
ENTRANCE TO BLACK SEA 331
GREEK SOLDIER 335
SHEPHERDS AND FLOCKS ON THE ROAD TO JERUSALEM 359
DAMASCUS GATE, PORTE DE DAMASCUS 362
ECCE HOMO ARCH, JERUSALEM 365
THE WELL AND ROAD WHERE WENT THE THREE WISE MEN 367
COLONNADE OF THE MOSQUE OF OMAR, JERUSALEM, PALESTINE 368
Unclean and Spotted from the World
"Oh silent land to which we move,
Enough if there alone be love ! "
"Go and keep yourself unclean and spotted from the
world."
Clear and distinct came the words, in a shrill childish
voice, while a flush of anger burned in the cheeks, and the
blue eyes flashed a look of scorn, as with a toss of her yellow
curls the child pushed her small companion from her with
a gesture of contempt.
"What is the trouble, Ruth?" asked a kindly voice
from the vine-wreathed veranda.
"I was preachin' to her and told her what the minister said
to us this morning. She was naughty and needed to be talked
to," answered the child.
"But you did not say it right. The minister said, 'Keep
yourselves clean and unspotted from the world.' '
"Well, I won't change it for she does not keep clean. She
hates to be washed and likes to play in the sand and get mud-
spots on her clothes. So p'raps it is good to leave my talk as
it is," and Ruth settled herself on the steps of the veranda
with an air of one who had done her whole duty.
"What were you and Alice quarreling about?" asked her
mother.
"Oh, nuthin', only she wanted me to go and pick water-
cresses and I wouldn't. She teased me so I pushed her away.
1 didn't want to get wet and muddy so she has gone away by
herself."
Ruth picked up her pet kitten and twisted its tail until it
meowed pitifully. Then sang out lustily, "Don't talk about
sufferin' here below."
"Don't dear, you hurt me as much as you hurt the kitten."
io UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"Hurt you, mama," cried the impulsive child, throwing
the kitten sprawling on the ground, and rushing up the steps
threw herself into her mother's arms. "Why mama? Why
does it hurt you? I've heard you sing that song often."
"Yes, but the other line tells you of 'Loving Jesus,' and
does not mean that you must be cruel."
"Well, I can't talk about things or sing either of something
I know nuthin' about when I see things I know. But what
can I say about lovin' somebody I'm not acquainted with ? "
"You will know better, dear, when you are older, but you
must listen closely and you will remember the sermons, and I
know you will be a better child and everybody will love you
all the more if you are sweet and kind. You must not be cruel
to your kitten nor cross to Alice."
"I can be good and I will try; but I don't want to go to
church where even you look drowsy, mama ; and it is stupid
in there. I can't remember what the preacher says for I look
out through the window and wish I were up in the trees with
the birds or lying on the grass listening to them for they sing
and are glad. They have their meetin's too when every little
bird talks and does not have to sit and listen to some older
bird and there is never a mama to tell them to keep quiet,
'You must be seen and not heard' ; but everyone is a preacher
and chatters and sings his own tale and knows what he is
talkin' about probably as well as the preacher does."
"Why Ruth. Where do you get such ideas?"
"Oh, I don't know. I just think them out and I know it is
all true. I love to watch them. They don't have to listen
to stories of things that happened so long ago that they just
guess if it ever happened. The birds do things they want to
and that is why they are always happy. Mama I get tired
listening to 'In the beginnin',' and then other times we have
the 'begats.' I get sick of it. I don't want to hear about the
'begats.' I want to be out-doors and know about the things
that are here, the birds, flowers and children suit me."
"But Ruthie you must not say these things," counseled her
mother, and she, wise in her loving motherhood said not
too much, but tenderly strove to guide the impetuous child
aright until Ruth, begging forgiveness, said :
FROM THE WORLD n
"I want you to come out with me. Let us sit under the
trees. Let us forget the sermons and just look up at the blue
skies through the trees and sing 'Nearer.' That song, when
you sing it makes me feel better than sermons, for then I want
to be good and never again be naughty if I can help it."
It was many years after that afternoon, in reading over
some old letters, one written by her mother, recounting the
child's rather odd and wilful ways, to her absent father that
Ruth came across it and others recalling much of her child
hood days.
Yes, she murmured, I was the child; wilful in many
ways, thinking my own thoughts, rejecting much that was not
according to my childish ideas. How I hated the wasted
Sundays as I thought them, listening to conundrums about
Adam and Eve, the Garden of Eden, the serpent which I
hated, and the apple 1 wanted and didn't blame Eve for
eating, only I wondered why she was so anxious to divide it
with Adam. But that was not so bad as the "begats," Seth,
Noah and a lot of others I could not remember, and the
Ark and two by twos we learned so long ago while yearn
ing for the beautiful living things that were of such
unbounded interest to me.
Yet, even if wearying and tiresome to me then, how I
love to recall those dear, sweet days, and my heart is very
tender when I think of her who tried hard to give me a por
tion of faith the faith which passeth all understanding, and
the memory of my indifference is bitter. The gentle words
and pained look in her dear eyes are clearer to me now
than then, and cut scars on my heart that time can never
efface. Now I know too well that it is too late, for the sweet
voice is stilled and the dear eyes are closed forever.
There are many changes since then. The tiny brook where
Aileen, my dearest playmate, and I played, seems smaller
to me now than it did when we tossed pebbles into the clear
depths and made boats of paper and cast them loose upon its
swift ripples.
My life has broadened and deepened and there has been
sorrow enough and not too much joy. But in looking back
ward how I love the sunlight on the ripples and sparkling
waters of that brook that meant so much to me, rushing on
12 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
and on, ever to some unknown fairy region, to my mind, and
the longing to go to sail away on those waters like the frail
boats grew as I grew, and made me make strange resolves in
my mind as to what I should do when old enough to leave
school.
There was much to look forward to. Everything was
new, and it was a buoyant, exuberant life that Aileen and I
enjoyed. We had our disputes, for she did not take kindly
to her books, and I was prone to lecture her. But she was
wilful and cared more for out-door life than anything or any
pursuit within the house. I was content with my books and
my music. She loved the flowers and was interested in the
myriads of insect life that were in evidence everywhere to
her quick eyes.
"Why," she said once to me, "I'd rather lie under a tree
and listen to the hum of the bees, the insects, the slatting of
the katydids and crickets, the soft, sweet music of the wires
that the winds touch and send the faint quivering sounds
down to me, than listen to your not always perfect touch
upon the piano."
"But, Aileen, we must learn, and cannot know unless we
try."
"I'm not going to try. The birds know how to sing. They
do not sit by the hour trying octaves. Kittens can talk to each
other; so do the little chickens. They know what the mother
hen says as soon as they're hatched. The goslings know how
to swim without being taught, and all the animals know each
other without an introduction. Why, my pony only the other
day met another one on the road when I was riding him.
He stopped, they rubbed noses, and in some way knew they
were old friends, for the strange pony turned and trotted
contentedly along. He wasn't worried about position, money
or 'our set.' They liked each other and that was enough."
"Why, Aileen, what nonsense you are talking. Our
mamas could not allow us to trot away with strange children.
It would never do, they might be very naughty."
"Well, I'm thinking it all out, and am studying about it,
and I, too, shall know for myself sometime."
All these ideas were discussed when we were mere slips of
girls, and all of Aileen's spare time away from school was
FROM THE WORLD 13
devoted to out-door life. Her one gift was sketching and
painting, and as she grew, she was allowed all the spare time
possible. She was an artist by nature and instinct. Her pas
sion was nature in all its moods and phases, and when we
were yet children she said: "When I am tired of painting
these things and can do it to suit me, especially those gnarled
old trees, I shall go and paint the cedars of Lebanon."
"Of Lebanon," I echoed in astonishment.
"Yes, that is why I am working so hard."
"But how are you going to paint trees on the other side of
the world?"
"Never mind. When I am ready to do them I will be
there," she answered.
"Yes; in an airship, and drop down on one of your air
castles," I said.
So we would talk, and I would humor her fancies, and the
hours we passed talking and speculating on the future were
many indeed. Life was not mere existence to her. She
seemed buoyed up with an indefinable, delightful, joyous
spirit, which shone in her eyes and bubbled from her lips
in song and laughter.
The blue skies and warm, bright sunshine which were never
dim or dulled for her half the year round seemed to have
given a certain warmth to her nature. She reveled in each
new day, and the sun was seldom up before she was dressed
and out in the unclouded splendor through all the golden
hours, until the sun changed into a fiery disk and the cool blue
mists of night shut like a dream-curtain the crimson glory.
Then, again, when the moon shone a bright and radiant
globe in the star-sprinkled heavens, it touched another chord
of her being and at times when we were wont to sit on the
vine-covered veranda talking, crooning some quaint melody,
or in silence, I have seen her eyes fill with tears and drop
unheeded as she thought.
Hers was a sensitive nature, and I dreaded the future for
her before I scarcely knew why. Her capacitv for enjoyment,
her delight in everything that was beautiful, the sudden
changes in her moods, a shrinking from all pain or sorrow
made me often wonder how it would fare with her if trouble
or wrong ever came to her.
i 4 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"Do you know, Ruth, that there are times when my soul
seems drawn up, up out of my body when 1 gaze on the dear
twinkling stars? What mean the strange thoughts, the
thrill that is like an electric shock, only it is sweet, for it
touches my heart on nights like this. Foolish you think them,
I know, but there is something appealing and comforting,
too," she babbled on one evening in a like strain, and added:
"And I want to tell you something else, Ruth," she said
dreamily. "That star, the middle one in the handle of the
great dipper, is where I'm going when I die. And if I go
first, you can look up at my home afterwards and remember
where I am."
These were her fanciful hours, just as she had her freak
days; one I often recall. We were wandering along the
sloping hills, away from the rest of the party who were spend
ing a day in the foothills. We were talking of Jacob's Lad
der and the Pillow of Stone, and she told me to lie down and
try a stone for a pillow. Looking up the mountain slope, she
said "They are God's ladders to climb to the skies."
Suddenly she cried, "I am going to try it. I am going
up this beautiful stairway, among the blossoms and bees.
You stay here until I get to the blue sky up there where the
white clouds hide the top of the ladder. I'll go until I can
hear the angels sing. Then I will come back and sing to you
the songs I hear. I know the music is grand, and I want
to see their wings. You know when we played meetin' the
other night, Frank prayed and said, 'Dear God, when I get
to heaven I want to be an angel with great wings, tipped with
the colors of the rainbow.' Well, I do not want to wait. I
think I can see them if I go now before they go back to their
dear little white homes that are so bright when the sun goes
down ; for you know that is the time God turns on the elec
tric lights in each house so that every angel may know the
way to his home."
She was away like a flash, up the grassy slopes, and
I waited patiently until the evening shadows shut out the rosy
light and it grew dark under the trees. Suddenly a sound, a
wail it seemed to me, struck terror to my heart. I sprang up
and fled down the manzanita-lined pathway with sobbing
breath and the fear that something was pursuing me. Then
FROM THE WORLD 15
my dress was caught with a terrible grasp and I fell senseless,
where they found me, after searching and calling for us in
vain. My yell of fright brought them and they found me
with my dress caught on a bush, and farther up, Aileen, also,
quietly sleeping, the angels and stars forgotten.
II
"Hath this fellow no feeling of his business?
Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness."
"Jack, I dropped in for a moment to tell you I'm going
away. I am going to leave care, which I have lately been
thinking of only in capital letters, to bury itself in some grave
or groove. There is but little difference in the spelling, you
know; and if I do not get out of the aforesaid groove it will
end in the former for me, if I go on in the same old routine.'*
"Going to replace the old raveled sleeve of care with a
new one, Frank?" said his friend.
"Yes. I'm going to bury it, and with the taps shall pray
that it never be resurrected. It has served faithfully for
years and is old enough to be on the retired list upon half
pay, if it refuses to stay dead. I want a change and a new
recruit for the next year or so, and I want you to come with
me. 1 need you. You will serve as sauce and butter to the
sometimes dry toast of travel. I want a companion, and I
need you. The time is now; the golden grains of opportunity
are slipping by. I am weary of the life I have known. The
tangled sophistries of the world choke my soul, and I must
get away from it for a while. I long for freedom, the free
dom of the mesas, the rush and whirr of wheels over deserts
and mountains, the joy of change and relief from one's
environments."
"You're a queer fellow, Frank. Do you suppose you are
going to get out of the civilized world. If so, where is your
Ultima Thule?"
"No; but I am going to try the dolce far niente for a time.
I shall go wherever my fancy dictates. Mexico first dear
land of manana. There shall be only tomorrows for me for
a while, I assure you. Instead of the mild effort at Bohe-
mianism in a frappe wine now and then, and a petit souper by
people with money here, I shall see again the real thing in the
Latin quarter that bears no resemblance to American Bohe-
16
FROM THE WORLD 17
mianism. Then the trattiors and cafes of the spaghetti-loving
Italians, where smoke and garlic are abundant, and odors
'told and untold are omnipresent. But even so, in all its best
or worst, I will find a sort of people who do not take life
seriously, but live each day as it should be lived, without too
much thought or care for the next one to come."
"So you think you will find a people who enjoy life and find
their daily bread showered down on them, as the children of
Israel?"
"No. I do not expect miracles in this age of electricity
and wireless telegraphy. But I have been across the Atlantic
once before, you know, and I shall find it different from this
eternal rush and struggle for gold or supremacy."
"Would you have a man lead an idle, aimless life?"
"Not necessarily idle nor aimless, but with less of the desire
to gain a little more than some other fellow, and content with
a competence, for ambition crowds out the nobler part of
man frequently, and one desire gained is succeeded by some
thing more difficult and less easy to obtain. Few are content
to stop before they find their Waterloos. Death is the only
sure thing, and that often comes the quicker for the rush and
struggle in trying to reach the goal."
"When a man's business commands his entire attention all
of his time, what is he to do but endure or enjoy as best he
may," said Jack. "I know of no other reasonable way."
"Well, I am going to try a more reasonable way, for I am
dividing my affairs among several people who will not find
the work too arduous, and some of the money I have made
I am going, by travel, to convert into mind. I want diver
sion new thoughts and new ideas. I want to see people ; to
know a few, perhaps, who are content, who will rise when
they have slept enough, who take time to eat and who work
in order that there may be enough and to spare, but who
are not possessed of the spirit of unrest of saving and
hoarding gold. I know a man who is very wealthy who eats
a hurried breakfast, gulps down a cup of coffee and a bite of
toast. 'I have no time to talk,' he tells his wife; is up and
away to his office as fast as electricity can take him ; return
ing at night, eats his dinner in silence, too tired to converse,
and retires only to re-live every day the same routine. So
1 8 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
the years are going fast. A great deal of the beautiful in
life is unknown to him. Avarice and its twin ambition
have mastered the man. He and his family are sacrificed to
the Moloch of promise. For the future always holds a
promise of something different. When once the germ disease
of avarice gets in the brain nothing but death can effect a
cure."
u
'I am sorry, Frank. You will have to find someone else.
My environments suit me pretty well, and I enjoy my life,
prosaic, as you please to call it; chacun a son gout, you know.
I hope you will enjoy your freedom and come back cured."
"Cured of what?"
"Some odd emotional vagaries that possess your usually
clear brain," said Jack.
"I don't want to be cured; don't want to be unnecessarily!
sane. I may not possess a crazy 'bug' because I want some-j
thing outside the daily life of him who lives, works, and I
draws his salary. I may come back and put the halter about
my neck, but I shall not be in a hurry, I fancy. The tramp
life will suit me for a time. I have envied the tramps at
timc c . lying on the cool grass placidly enjoying the fragrant
winds and the cool shade of the trees, where the dandelions
make yellow splashes and the hoary-headed elders, showing
above the young ones, whitening in the sun, show how short
lived they are and the need of making the most of our time
So, before my thatch begins to whiten and get thin, I shall lei
others do the hurrying and simply enjoy my allotted hours 01
idleness as they appeal to me."
"Well, my boy, go and have your fill of the manana land
Have your fill of travel also; cast dignity to the devil; be wile
and free; go back to the primitive once more; forget th<
eternal grind, as you are pleased to term it; take life in bi^i
doses, not on the homeopathic plan; enjoy the Egyptian sun
sets, they will be more numerous than the sunrises that yoi
will see, I think. And when your wings are tired, just flo]
down here again and we will jog on contentedly for the resi
of our lives. By the way, if you are yearning for someone t<
go with you ask Fred Marshall, he is out of sorts. A disap
pointment, or something, and 1 learn he is leaving very soon.
FROM THE WORLD 19
"Is that true? If you will not come with me I will see if
he and I cannot go together. I shall write you when on my
travels, just to divert your mind now and then, you know."
Ill
"The worldly Hope men set their hearts upon
Turns ashes or it prospers ; and anon,
Like snow upon the desert's dusty face
Lighting a little hour or two is gone.''
EDITH HAMMOND WRITES TO HER FRIEND,
AILEEN LIVINGSTON
I must give you the details of this eventful afternoon, dear
Aileen. Mama was vexed with me because I refused to go
to an afternoon card party with some of my girl friends. I
refused, and said to them: "I want to be out in God's sun
shine and have it in my face and in my heart. You girls may
go and have your progressive whist or euchre hours under
the gas-light, in close rooms, but I prefer the breath of the
lupins out there on the hills and the purifying atmosphere
from the crisp salt waters. I will drink it in and be glad. It
will be more beneficial to me than that which you will imbibe,
however fine the liquid or the quality of cut-glass.
"You can progress in that style if you like, but you know
summer is my Lenten season and I am not going to any
dances or card parties. I will do penance in other ways.
Duplicate whist with some of those mentally unhinged women
you are constantly meeting? No! I like easier methods.
If I must wear peas in my shoes I will parboil them first, while
observing the letter of the law. I do not see that the time of
the year has much to do with it if one observes the rule.
Summer time is proper for Lent, anyway, according to my
ideas," I told them.
They insisted 1 was silly, but I was not to be coerced ; told
them I was not going to tax my mind with echoes, fourth-
leads, tierces and sequences; that I feared the consequences
if I yielded, and that none of those nerve-disturbing things
could tempt me. I told them I would neither lead or follow
them into temptation or encourage them in sinning against
heaven by killing the glorious afternoon, and shutting myself
FROM THE WORLD 21
up in close rooms, however attractive they might be. "Be off
with you," I said. "I shall out and tell my secrets to the
bees."
Then they clamored for the secrets. I agreed to tell them
one. It is this: "I am learning better every day how to
enjoy life as each day goes by, and my name will not
figure among those present at the 'charming afternoon' which
will appear in the social column of the papers." I was called
a goose, and several complimentary names before they gave
me up as hopeless.
1 hurried away as soon as they left, and drove a long dis
tance out in the country. The afternoon was perfect and
satisfied every instinct of my soul. When tired of driving I
drew up under the shade of a great live oak, and tying my
horse, gave myself up to the beauty and the serenity of the
place.
Resting on the flower-strewn grass, where the sun filtered
through the foliage, I breathed a sigh of thankfulness that
life had for this one day at least given me the opportunity of
doing what I wanted to do. My conscientious scruples were
profitable to me. It was not that I really objected to an after
noon with the girls, but I was more in need of the quieting
influences I knew would be mine, away from the tongues that
vex one's soul at times. So I gave myself up to the warmth
and soothing restfulness of the afternoon.
Somewhere, up among the branches of the tree, a saucy
jay-bird was jawing and scolding because of my intrusion,
and a tiny linnet was singing softly and sweetly from a frag
rant acacia near by. There was a hum of insects in the air;
the bees droning from one flower to another, heavy winged
and laden with their cargoes of honey.
Somewhere, further up the hill-side, a mocking-bird was
singing his heart out in the fullness of joy, that came in trills
and gurgling sounds so nearer heaven than I, for he was at
peace with the whole world and himself, and poured out the
throbbing pulsing notes, lending an additional charm to the
calm afternoon. The busy wheels and cogs of thought and
worry relaxed and moved slowly. I was conscious of but one
thought, one feeling, in the delightful languor that saturated
22 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
my being, and that was the thought of you; and wishing that
you, of all the world, were with me.
A faint humming sound, sweet and low in its vibrations,
came to my ears, a sort of an accompaniment to my thoughts.
It was the wires overhead responding to the soft breezes that
touched them gently and lovingly, and the sweet pulsing
sounds found a responsive chord in my heart, and 1 lay listen
ing, my soul steeped in the delightful calm of the hour. I
wondered if you were not sending thought messages to me,
and that the winds had brought them and they were thrilling
me with the soft cadence that comes from your love, which I
feel and understand.
There are mysteries which we do not understand in nature,
perhaps never will. And while I'm idly speculating a wood
pecker high up on an old tree gives his telegraphic signals
in short, sharp taps. Instantly, but faintly heard, comes the
answering tap-tap, tap-tap, of his mate. And soon, with a
flash of wings she is beside him clinging with clinched feet in
the rough bark, head downward, discussing the contents of
last year's acorn.
I realize that there are signals in nature we are not
acquainted with. But that does not prove they do not exist.
I love the companionship of mystery. There is something
that responds to an inner-self hardly yet fathomed within me.
But this I know, my pulse is beating, the restless blood surg
ing in my veins is longing for something inexplicable to me
now, but it is calling, calling me. Some magnetic current is
striving to make itself understood. The wires and the birds
have startled me into a realizing sense of something which is
coming to me, and I am trying to give you a telegraphic sig
nal by letter a rather plain tap-tap of my pen, scratching
my ideas to you in the vain hope that you will interpret the
strange feeling I have in writing this.
I returned late, hoping that my sin of omission would have
been forgotten. Not so. Mama was waiting for me and
told me she did not approve of my actions lately.
"What ails you, Edith?" she said. "You seem entirely
changed. You used to enjoy going out with your friends.
Now you seem to ignore all social duties, and it displeases
me very much."
FROM THE WORLD 23
1 told her I was wearied beyond telling of teas and recep
tions; that the crush and idle talk was only a little worse than
the card parties; that I preferred fresh air, and then she grew
sarcastic, and said: "Sunburn and freckles are better, I sup
pose."
You know mama's delightful air when I rebel against
conventionalities.
"Hereditary aloofness in my make-up is not inherited from
you, mama," I said to her. "A little bit of blood of one of
my primitive ancestors is awakening and stirring in my veins,
bidding me break away from the life you have lived and I,
too, have been compelled to endure up to this time. Now
it must be changed. I want a wider horizon; one that seems
glowing and shimmering in the distance. The East is calling
to the West. I dream of Nomad's fires, gleaming in the dusk
of evenings in strange forests. I want the unknown and the
blessed possibilities of change from the eternal sameness of
the life I am living, which must have been intended for some
other purpose than the one I know now."
Then she seemed to have a new idea. "Edith, when a girl
like you experiences a sudden change of heart, and all at once
discovers that there are birds, bees and flowers in the world
that the skies are blue, and the sun red at sunset, and the
moon round when it is full there is, to a dead moral cer
tainty, a man in the case. I did not know you had a particu
lar penchant for anyone, yet you have all the symptoms."
Mama can be angelic when she chooses.
I told her I was acquainted with some kinds of birds, but
was pretty sure I did not belong to the black-bird species,
because I did not enjoy the crowd, the chatter and noise. I
can enjoy life without the company of a man, or the com
pany of some of those Postum-brained nervous girls, who
turn mental somersaults in trying to solve the question as to
whether a ten-spot will take a trick after the higher cards
have been played.
That roused mama again, for I had hit at her favorite bev
erage, for she is too "nervy" to drink coffee, so I had to take
another turn.
"There, dear," I said to her, "drink any kind of beverage
you wish ; drown your cares in the cup that invigorates but
24 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
does not inebriate. Only remember that care is a pretty hard
thing to drown, and sometimes outlasts those who try to
murder it. But let us forget all this nonsense in a good cup
of tea, for the present."
"My dear, if only you would not try to aggravate me and
be more like other girls. I cannot understand why you prefer
the country and want to be so much alone."
"Probably not, mama; but I do not care to imitate. I do
not want to be just like other girls. I am myself, and am
happier, I think, than if I lived according to your ideas, for it
would consist in doing, as a rule, the things I do not want to
do, in order to have the things I do not want."
"I do not quite know what you mean, Edith ."
"I think it is not necessary to read the handwriting on the
wall through an interpreter. It is simply this: you do not
care for anything in the world but society. Your sole ambi
tion is to keep within the charmed circle, as you think it is.
You are more than satisfied with the never varying rounds
of dinners, theatre parties and other functions. You think
I ought to be content with these things, and a possible hus
band, belonging to the same circle, with the same life ahead of
me that yours has been, which is pleasant enough in its way.
But it is not according to my ideas of a life of contentment,
usefulness or happiness."
"You are utterly without reason, my dear. Your ideas of
a simple life are senseless. You have always had the luxuries
and therefore have not the faintest idea of what life would
be without them. Your idea of a different life would mean a
few less imported gowns, less of parties and theatres, I sup
pose."
"Not altogether, mama. But I would like to know people
who think about things other than the where-withal they shall
be clothed, fed or amused. I think I am far happier and
healthier in the open air than the girls who were here after
me to go with them and pass the sweet, bright hours in arti-,
finally lighted rooms, with closed windows and drawn cur- 1
tains, where they breathe the refuse of each other's breath ir;
rooms malodorous with cut and decaying flowers."
"Edith, what has changed you so much? You have always
enjoyed these same things you now condemn."
FROM THE WORLD 25
"Perhaps 1 am learning new ones. I .certainly am weaned
of progressive luncheons and other affairs that mean anything
but progression in health, intellect or wisdom, which have
scant opportunity within the darkened chambers where the
crowds prattle without thought or reason for that matter,
with never a single uplifting thought."
"In the abstract you may be correct, but in practice it won't
work. You cannot live up to your ideas unless you go beyond
the pale of civilization; and I am at a loss to know why you
had a change of heart. You seemed to be very happy and to
enjoy yourself earlier in the season."
"I saw enough of the social life and it has not left a very
pleasant impression. I can see and enjoy another kind of
life, one that is not associated with odors of veiled musk and
stagnant wines. I prefer the life I have decided upon. I
am going to give up society. I am not like the average girl,
and there is no use trying. I cannot be satisfied with criticiz
ing my friends and their style of dress. The eternal themes
that absorb the matron, dress, domestics and disease, the
extravagances of some, the economy of others, the table linen,
silver and the wines, are a never-ending subject for praise or
censure. I know I am profanely frivolous because I do not
care for the accessories, if they are dainty, sweet and clean.
If the effect is satisfactory I never consider the value, but
enjoy the dinner and company, if they are worth while. I
know you would like me to be more like Ruth. She ought to
have been your daughter, she would have satisfied your every
instinct. I know how you enjoy discussing these things with her.
But for me, I seem to know instinctively the shoddy and the
shams of life without going into details. If the punch is made
with Apollinaris instead of champagne I might or not know
the difference, and accept the fact without living it over and
talking about it days after."
"I do not think, my dear, that your life would be the worse
if you copied after Ruth somewhat."
"Well you know, mama dear, that I am not a copyist, and
I know, too, that she is built on an entirely different plan.
Apollinaris, tea and toast are according to her taste, and
have a sort of religious flavor. I know she thinks a Bohemian
26 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
is a first cousin to Satan himself, while I find the idea of
Bohemia rather alluring. It would be a change you know."
Then she took me to task for censuring others, and wound
up by saying that if I were more like Ruth it would be far
better for me; that Ruth would not sit with her feet on the
window-sill like a man.
"Then she can never enjoy herself half as well as the man
and myself," I retorted, and then told her there was no use
trying to reconstruct me.
"I am going to get all the good I can out of life, and you
must not expect me to sit up straight and keep my hands and
arms in place like the doll you once gave me. I used to fix
her arms and legs in one position and she would sit and stare
at me until I jerked her into some other position. And it
made me so angry because she wouldn't wiggle her toes that
I pounded them off."
"Yes, I remember your dolls never lasted very long. Now,
Ruth's were always kept immaculate, even as she herself was
and is now."
"Yes, she pretends to be sw'eet and modest, and does it
pretty well, too. But she is normal, I think, and is probably
as naked under those dainty frills as the rest of us. She pre
tends to be good and passes for the real coin among the
guinea-hen crowd she plays to, those antiques who chatter
and cackle about the times when they were young, when girls
didn't put their feet on chairs or window-sills or wear knick
erbockers, play golf or do anything but attend to the affairs
of the house.
"Perhaps 1 am too matter of fact, mama. I do not play
to the gallery for applause and then turn somersaults when
the door is locked. I am too natural to be anything for effect.
I know Ruth thinks me beyond redemption. She used to
call me a worm of the earth. Perhaps I am, but being a
worm or otherwise, as the savants may decide, I am at least
discriminating, and the saving grace of humor in me keeps me
from being miserable or following in her footsteps. At least
I am pretty sure that no ancestor of mine ever lived in an
Indian jungle or belonged to the ape worshippers. Perhaps
hers did. Hence her evident affinity for some of those ape
like creatures she is so fond of associating with and quoting.
FROM THE WORLD 27
She is a good deal like the young minister, she is constantly
with, who wears his hair parted in the middle and keeps it
smooth and slick in a rather saintly way; but the blue glints
in his black hair are indicative of a dash of something in his
nature opposite the saintly order."
"Edith, you positively shock me. How do you know any
thing about blue glints and a tendency to evil because the man
happens to be neat and tidy in his personal habits?"
"I spend some of my time studying human nature as well as
tramping about in an aimless way, as you are pleased to
think, mama, and I think because he affects the law-giver of
Sinai and wears his collar buttoned in the back it does not
change the whole nature of the man."
"I am sure you misjudge the man, dear, and I wish you
would try to learn from him, for his is the mission, and the
privilege to teach, to instruct, to soften the pain and misery
of the \vorld and to help us bear the idea of the unfathomed
mystery of the other world."
"Yes, I know, and his voice is soft and pleasant, soothing
to some, 1 fancy. But I honor him with my doubts. He is
very fond of giving me choice morsels from the Ten Com
mandments that are terse, concise and epigrammatic, but seem
to forbid a good many things that I rather enjoy."
"With all your foolishness, my child, I did not think you
were sacrilegious."
"I am not sacrilegious because I happen to enjoy certain
things and am puzzled over others. I think of the law-giver
of Sinai, and the Commandment 'Thou shalt not kill,'
announced to the children of Israel by Moses after he had
killed his man.
"And I wonder, too, how Abraham would fare in the pres
ent day if he were here and passed his wife off as his sister
to some millionaire so that he might become the possessor
of wealth in the shape of presents. It would be automobiles,
yachts and private cars now, instead of sheep, goats and cat
tle. But the sin of today was just and right, according to the
Law in the good old days."
Then when I saw mama was actually gasping for breath
at my audacity, added to the surprise that I had ever opened
the Bible we know so little of each other, Aileen that I
28 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
kissed her and was off like a flash before she could utter
another word.
Several things prevented me from finishing and starting
this letter to you, my dear, and then something so very
important loomed up on the horizon that had heretofore
bounded my life that I was dazed.
There was something new in mama's manner the next day,
and I felt, as when very little and very naughty, that it was
as well to expect something. And I was not quite satisfied
with myself for teasing her as I have been doing lately, but 1
somehow she or other things have got on my nerves. I felt
almost neurotic and wondered if I needed the rest cure, which
many I know have indulged in.
Before I was driven to that or some other appalling thing
I was informed by degrees that I had worried mama so much
lately by my unorthodox opinions and unconventional behav
ior that she has decided to allow me to go away for awhile,
thinking that travel will be not only to my liking, but will
benefit me.
She realizes I have had a surfeit of society, and that travel
will bring about a more reasonable frame of mind and event
ually restore me to the proper place in the frivolous world
where she moves and has her being.
Dear mama is right, according to her way of thinking.
She is good and charitable and does what she thinks is just
by her family and the world generally. But it is not the life
I can endure. Surely there is something more satisfying in
the world than the life I have so far known and lived. If the
best part of our lives runs first and leaves the dregs at the last,
I want to enjoy the clearest and purest while I may, and take
the best God sends as I go along.
I shall try to take only about as many burdens as my con
stitution will bear, and live up to them. I think it is useless
banking time on term deposits for the proverbial dull or rainy
days to come. Enough to think of them when they arrive, ,
for I know I can enjoy the bright ones that are born fresh
and new with each somersault of the old world, if I forget
that they are dull or gloomy ones that may come while I am
enjoying the beauty of each bright one.
FROM THE WORLD 29
I fully agree with Seneca when he wisely remarks that
"The soul is never in its right place until it be delivered from
the cares of human affairs." Therefore, I am resolved that
firry soul shall take its proper place in the universe and be
delivered from cares, human or otherwise, and be satisfied
with the Now and Here of life, as I shall find it in other
lands among other people. The folly of remembering, the
wisdom of forgetting all that should pass out of my life shall
be my aim.
I shall not strive or worry over what I do not have. I shall
[ be satisfied with what I have, and envy no human being, and
[try to acquire knowledge rather than give up a life to the
| social world which gives but a poor return for the invest
ment.
I shall try to be honest, frank, gentle and kind, avoiding
gossiping tongues, but listening eagerly to the voices of nature
which harden not the heart or sear the conscience; to bear
the reverses that may come to me, as best I can, trust-
i ing that all will tend to purify and strengthen the better
part in me, that my days may not be altogether unharmonious
but pleasant and agreeable to me.
These Commandments I have given unto myself, dear
Aileen, and now you shall write me of your life, even to its
innermost thoughts and depths, as I shall write you, wherever
I am, and tell unto you only of myself, knowing you will
observe faithfully the biblical injunction, "Rehearse not unto
another that which is told thee, and shalt thou fare none the
worse." For the present, adios.
IV
"Death doesn't hurt in its time, but to miss
Simply to miss one's life ! "
EXTRACTS FROM FRANK LINDSAY'S JOURNAL, SENT TO
JACK GORDON
Thank heaven we are leaving the old scenes and old
sounds. Getting away from the noises of city life, the screech
ing, exasperating quarrels of the sparrows and the harsher
voices of the human hawks, crying their wares in the streets,
the sounds that are in every one's ears; that beat unceasingly
like the ocean farther out against the rock-girt Golden Gate,
coming in fitful bursts like storm-gusts sounds that are
varied and assertive, that dare you to forget, to hope for
silence from the turmoil and unrest of those who live, love
and have their being amid the irritating, depressing and
overpowering sounds that abide there always.
The " wander-lust," strange and mysterious that has been
stirring in my blood for months the fever of unrest and
restlessness that has been upon me, already seems slipping
from me. A drop of the old Aryan blood leavens my being,
and the migratory instincts of birds, the quivering of invisible
wings that have kept me restless and unsatisfied for so long,
are quiet, now that I am speeding like the winds, on, and on
toward Mexico.
I recall dun rivers of shifting sands, gleaming, tawny and
yellow amid sparse grasses and sage and grease-wood. There
were sapphire lakes and dry arroyos in whose depths the cacti
and nasturtiums made great splashes of color. In moist
water-ways there were brilliant wavy lines of purple, bor
dered by the yellow, misty, quivering mustard blossoms that,
like death, have all seasons for their own in California.
There were wonderful days and strange visions at night.
One, I remember, when propped upon my pillows I watched
the effect of the weird moonlight upon that desolate region of
3
FROM THE WORLD 31
the Salton Sea. The light brooding over it was like the gray,
pallid light of death, it seemed so cold and lonely. The
engine's black breath left streaks above the white desert and
hovered over the stunted shrubs and gaunt cacti that spread
out whip-like branches. As w went further on there were
other and varied species of cacti, with vicious thorns sternly
and solemnly pointing in silence to the starlit skies.
We are getting into the dreamy belt,, where things seem
unreal and fanciful. There are mirages that are more beau
tiful and entrancing, more fascinating than realities we have
passed. There are atolls in placid seas which seem to rise
and fall about them as the rosy light of the sun pierces the
blue mist and glints the pulsing waves lapping their shores.
Anon there were rivers and lakes bordered by forests, all
so faithfully mirrored in their depths that it was hard indeed
to believe the vision was not real.
Strange corformation of mountains are on every hand, as
we speed on over the table-lands of Mexico. There are vast
stretches of land that know no May or June, where the
breath from moist mosses and delicate flowers and buds are
unknown.
There are no soft twitterings from happy birds, no dewy
mornings or moist twilights. The dear old earth is not so
alluring here. There is no wet loam whose steaming warmth,
fragrant with herbs, comes like incense into the nostrils. No
gurgling brooks or babble of gossipy rivulets are here to tell
the story of bird and insect life, and happy denizens of for
est and plain of other countries.
But there is a fascination in the desolate regions that
stretch on and on in such a wonderful vista of color, shading
from gray to violet tints, in the solemn silence brooding over
the lifeless deserts; even as a zopilote or buzzard now
and then is seen far up in the sky, poising on still and seem
ingly lifeless wings, over the gray infinity of space.
But the precursor of civilization our train is speeding
along the trail of the Toltecs and Aztecs. It is the great
"road-runner," wingless, yet skimming along, girding the
old Montezuma land with glittering tracks. And in the
kaleidoscopic changes that have been strangly interesting, we
come at last to the cultivated lands of Mexico. We see the
32 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
great haciendas, from whose high-walled enclosures the flocks
come forth. There are immense herds of cattle going in one
direction; flocks of sheep and goats, black, brown and white,
guarded by their Indian shepherds in another. There are the
peons tilling the soil where grow the corn and cotton. The
land is cut in small squares with deep trenches, deeper than
I have ever seen, except in Greece, showing the need of irri
gation and the abundance of water for it.
Cotton is perennial and needs to be planted but once in
three years, the soil being wonderfully fertile and needing
PLOWING IN MEXICO.
but little cultivation, their queer wooden plows, barely
scratching the surface; and yet it produces two or three crops
of certain things a year.
I see women in the huts grinding the softened corn on the
metatas. Others standing, bare-limbed, in the ditches wash
ing the clothes in water that often looks unfit for the purpose.
There are overburdened men and donkeys toiling with
loads of wood and corn almost beyond endurance, the
donkeys subsisting on any stray bit of straw or grass they
may find.
The peon works, in this land of cheap silver, for thirteen
cents per day, eating his tortillas and drinking pulque, if he
FROM THE WORLD 33
has a spare centavo. His meat, if he has any, is often the
entrails of fowls and animals. But we are in the tropics, and
though the wind is often piercingly cold, they live without
meat, in the main, and wear as few clothes as possible.
And then, one dull gray morning we find ourselves in Zaca-
tecas. I see square buildings, low and flat-roofed, huddled
and barnacled against the hill-sides. There are domes and
towers dominating them. Broken gray walls show here and
there, and I think a bit of the Orient, a portion of Palestine
has dropped down here in this cactus-lined country.
TEMPLE OF GUADALUPE, ZACATECAS.
There are terraces and steep declivities, reminding me of
Bethlehem. There is the public fountain with the unveiled
but reboso-draped women, doubled up over the high curbing,
scooping up the scanty supply of water, filling the large red
earthen jars, mere girls carrying such heavy loads that I do
not wonder so many of the women are undersized. I think
they telescope the vertebra of the spinal column at an early
age and never get pulled out later in life.
We visited the chapel of the Guadalupe, some miles distant
from Zacatecas, which is said to be one of the prettiest in
Mexico, rich in gold, silver and onyx trimmings. The high
altar w r as gorgeous, and the inlaid floors were a decided con-
34 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
trast to the worn and uneven floor of the old church, which
was more interesting to me in its old age than the new chapel,
which simply represented wealth, being the gift of some
person.
Fred said, "Let us see the market; I fancy we will find
something of interest there."
Old and quaint indeed we found it. A motley throng of
people were wandering among the little heaped-up sections,
representing inches or feet, according to the quantity the
owners possessed. Everything one could think of was here.
Small bunches of vegetables, usually half a dozen in each
heap. There were beans and corn, tamales, tortillas, turkeys,
chili, charcoal, chickens, and narancas (oranges), which we
found very sweet and luscious. There were roots and edible
grasses, crockery, quaint sandals and the omnipresent scrapes
and rebosos for the men and women.
Fred was more interested than he has been so far. His
artistic temperament has been aroused and surely these half
naked people, especially the children, would make very at
tractive pictures. I fancy he will find something to do in the
line of sketches and paintings as soon as he finds the time and
I hope he may very soon, for it will serve to divert his mind
from the fickle fair one left behind. There are some very
attractive faces here, Jack, that would make your old cal
loused heart give an extra thump.
I once thought the Italians could take the blue ribbon for
ill-treatment of their horses, but I had not visited Mexico
then. The donkeys bearing heavy burdens were prodded
unmercifully and some I saw pulling the street cars were
lashed into a gallop by merciless drivers, the whips cutting
into their sides and legs at every jump. Tottering with fa
tigue and weakness it seemed the beasts were being subjected
to the very acme of brutality and I turned my eyes away from
the tortured creatures.
The natives here seem to be but little better off than the
overburdened donkeys, they are so miserable, ragged and
unkempt. Such poverty I have never seen, not even among
Italy's beggars. Here the wretched lazzaroni, with senses
steeped in pulque, dripping with vermin, infest the plazas
FROM THE WORLD 35
.and jostle one in the streets. The dirt and grime make my
civilized cuticle shrink with fear.
Seeking rest from the filth of the streets I entered an old
, church on our return to Zacatecas, for my stomach was in
clined to turn somersaults at some of the scenes. A Madonna
and some candles at the altar at the farther end of the
church showed dimly and herein were the poor asking aid
, from above but keeping an eye on the stranger, also. On
Heaving, a wretched figure at the portal, so deformed and
drawn that his face was on the bias, one eye being a couple
of inches higher than the other, begged me so piteously for
: centavo that the milk of human kindness was something more
than skimmed milk, for it instantly turned into whipped
: cream, and 1 counted out the coveted centavos until his poor,
dull eyes brightened, and he said, "Gracia, Senor," over and
[over, while from his poor old eyes rolled tears of thankful-
jness; sobs and words of praise to Madre de Dios made me
I the worn, but willing traveler, feel glad that I had bestowed
j a little of the cheap coin of the country upon so needy an
object. I went away more content, knowing he would have
- food for days to come, for there is a great deal of suffering
in Zacatecas.
The silver mines that have yielded untold wealth and
have been worked since the fifteenth century, are closed, and
the people who have known no other employment for gen
erations, whose ancestors burrowed into these surrounding
hills from whose rock-ribbed sides untold millions have been
taken, are now mostly without employment.
As I leave, my last glance rests upon a trail leading up to
ithe Church Los Remedies, high on a hill above the city,
; where the faithful go, inch by inch, on their knees for pen
ance and absolution. I thought to walk the rough streets;
to live where every drop of water used must be carried from
the fountain to the houses, some such weary distances away,
would be penance enough for most things one could be guilty
of in Zacatecas.
"The soul of music, I have heard men say,
Is to have grieved."
A CHILD'S GRIEF
ALICE HEATON'S STORY
A little child lay on a small mound where grew no grass
or flowers, sobbing her little heart out because there was only
the bare, yellow soil, so unlike the graves near by which were
well kept and beautiful, in the closely trimmed sward with
growing plants and cut flowers in abundance.
"O, mama, mama," she cried, "why is the earth so bare?
You loved flowers so much. Why does not God let them
grow over your dear, sweet face? Never mind, you shall
have them, 1 will put them over you and hide the ugly earth."
And away she sped.
There was a florist near by. She remembered seeing
flowers in great bunches at the door as she went to the cem
etery. Snatching several bunches of them she was away like
a flash, and ran with all her strength toward the cemetery,
so intent on her errand of love that she did not observe that
she was pursued by a man.
A woman clad in mourning saw the child running with her
pursuer after her and followed. As the child fell on the
grave with her arm full of flowers, she raised her hand beck
oning to the man who pursued. He paused, breathless, in
his efforts to overtake the child.
"What is the trouble?" the woman asked in a low voice.
"She stole the flowers from our place," he replied.
"Wait a moment," she said, as he started forward, for the
child, recovering her breath, was wiping the tears from her
eyes, and then began to dig in the earth with her little fingers
planting the flowers in the bare soil.
"Mama, dear," they heard her say, while the tears were
again streaming down her cheeks. "You shall have the dear
3 6
FROM THE WORLD 37
little flowers growing above you. I will find them some
where, even if I get them as I have today, and I will find
some grass, too. You know how we used to gather the
flowers and how we loved them. O mama, are you lonely
down there ? I am here talking to you and telling you how
lonely I am, too. And I am so afraid at night. I have no
one to tuck me in bed and to kiss me. Nobody at all, dear
mama, to cuddle me up and sing to me as you once did."
Tears fell from the woman's eyes as she turned and mas
tering her emotions asked, in a choked voice.
I "How much are the flowers worth?"
The man raised his chin, as if swallowing something, then
said, "Never mind, let her have them. But, perhaps, you
had better speak to her and make her understand that it is
wrong to steal." And he went away.
Waiting until the little girl had planted her flowers the
woman went up to her and asked :
"What are you doing here alone, my child?"
"I'm not your child; I'm nobody's child. My mama is
down there. I saw them put her in and throw the great
, clods on her coffin. Then they took me away though I cried
and begged them to let me stay. I didn't want to leave her
in the dark. You know she never left me in the night alone.
She always sat by me and talked and sang to me until I went
: to sleep. I ran away this morning and came here. I thought
there would be some geramiums and bervenas growing here."
.:! The woman smiled at the pronounciation, but waited in
it silence as the child continued.
"I saw the other graves were all covered with grass and
flowers when they took me away."
"Well, dear, you must wait and maybe some verbenas and
geraniums will grow. Perhaps God will see to it. But you
must never take any more flowers as you have done today.
\t Do you not know that it was wrong that you stole them?"
err "No, I did not know. I thought flowers were for every-
i body. We always had them until mama was sick, and we
icame to town. I did not know it was wrong, and if it is I
re will get them anyway. If God don't treat her like he has
-.: the others, I will do it myself." And she straightened herself
up with a determined air.
3 8 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"You must wait. It will take time. All these graves once
looked like your mother's. They were bare at first. Do you
not know it?"
"No. I was never in a place like this until they brought
my mama here. I hate the cold earth. She loved the little
flowers so much. Oh, I can't bear it. I want my mama, and
I want to die, too. I could jump into the river, you know
and die quickly. I saw a little bird fall into the water once
I would just keep my head under the water. It wouldn't take
long, would it?" she asked, earnestly.
"Not very long," replied the woman, "but who would be
left to look after your mother's grave if you were not here?'
"I hadn't thought of that. I only know how my throat
hurts when 1 think of her and want her arms around me.
want to go to her, whether it is Heaven or Hell I've
heard the preacher talk about. It would be all I want, jus
to be with mama. I don't care where it is, if I can only be
with her."
"You will, dear, some time. God knows best, but you mus
try to be patient."
"How do I know what God thinks or does? He hasn'
been very kind. Look at this grave with nothin' at all bu
dirt, only what I have put on it, and that you tell me is wrong
I hate God and the angels and don't believe they care."
And the poor child put her hands to her throat and san
down beside the grave.
"Has no one told you that your mother has gone to
beautiful land where there are always flowers and music; s-j
many flowers that it must seem pitiful to the dear angels u
there," and she pointed to heaven, "when they see us, e
penally you, as you were a few minutes ago putting the poo
perishable flowers in the ground that will soon wither an
fade away."
"Do you think they will give her flowers?" she aske*!
anxiously.
"Surely, and she will have far more beautiful ones thzf
you have ever seen. She will have more than enough for yr
and herself when you go to her. But you must not hate G(
and the angels. You must love them and try to do right ai j,
FROM THE WORLD 39
be kind and loving to all. And now I must go. Tell me your
name."
"Alice Heaton," replied the child.
"And who takes care of you?"
"Selma, my nurse, and I must hurry back for she will be
angry. But I don't care. I'm coming again, and if there
are flowers here I shall know God has heard me ask Him to
be fair; to treat mama like the others. I shall love Him
and try to be good and remember what you told me."
"Go home, now, pray to God and see if your prayers are
not answered. Keep saying 'God is good. He knows all
will be well.' Promise me you will do so."
"I will. I feel better now. You are kind like my own
mama. Good-bye," and she ran away quickly.
After she was gone the woman went to the florist near the
cemetery and directed him to plant geraniums and verbenas
on the grave. "Do so at once, cover it all over, keep them
growing throughout the whole year, and send the bill to me."
Giving her address she left hoping that when the child saw
the grave again she would believe that 'God had been fair*
and her little jealous heart satisfied.
"Is there never a chink in the world above
Where they listen for words from below ? "
Every morning the sun and shade fought disputing inch
by inch for possession. When the sun had conquered the
cold, black shadows and drove them from the angle of the
old wall I would go and nestle in the warm sunny nook and
watch the padres at work in their garden. It looked peace
ful and beautiful to me within that little gray, walled-in
Eden, filled with vines and palms.
I used to look with longing eyes. There were no forbid
den fruits for them and I rebelled at the idea that they could
eat the great clusters of grapes while I was barred from them.
I had an abundance of fruit and food, but none was ever
half so tempting to me as those hanging inside the fence
through which I would gaze with envy.
The garden, small and meagre enough, was of more in
terest to me than the freedom of the world without. It was
4 o
UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
simply the idea that I could not get in the garden that made
my childish heart rebel.
But the walls of the old Mission, its arches and cold stone
floors, were of unfailing interest to me until I grew old
enough to learn of what small compass were the lives of the
padres.
I often thought it would be heavenly to wear a long, brown
apron tied with a rope. Then I could play in the dust and
MISSION SANTA BARBARA.
roll like the sparrows if I liked and not be punished for get
ting my clothes soiled and hear the "Don't be so naughty,
Alice. Try to keep your clothes clean like Ruth." "Ruth,"
I grew to hate the name and the girl. She was never very
fond of playing in the sand, the acme of delight to me, to
build little mounds and fashion houses of sticks and build \
walls like the dear old Mission I loved so well.
I remember the last time we played together and that she
refused to go with me in quest of water-cresses. She taunted
me with being untidy and said:
FROM THE WORLD 41
"Go, keep yourself unclean and spotted from the world."
I was hurt and hid away behind the hedge but I heard her
.mother reproving her, telling her she was unkind and some-
lithing I did not understand about not saying it right; that it
fwas different in the Bible. I resolved I would find out for
. myself sometime and kept repeating the words over and
over until they were indelibly fixed in my mind.
I ran home shortly afterwards. I remember the house was
in confusion; that I was not allowed to see my mama and
there was terror in my heart. Everybody seemed distressed.
| Nurse tried to divert my mind. It seemed like a horrible
if dream and it was still more horrible when they told me my
a mama was dead; that she had gone to heaven and left me
with only my nurse.
I cried and wanted my own mama, and it seemed as though
! I should die when they took her away and put her in the
{ grave. I hated heaven and God, and the angels, where they
i told me she had gone. I needed her for I was a little child
and had no one whom I loved or who loved me as she did.
I dimly recall running away and going to her grave; of
taking some flowers, and a kind lady who spoke to me who
comforted me in some way. Then I remember we went away
the next day. I was not permitted to go to her grave again.
I was put in a school where there were a lot of other girls
where after a time my grief grew less and finally the memory
of the life near the old Mission and my loss became indis
tinct and almost forgotten.
Being left alone among strangers I grew up wilful and
careless, but given to solitude, and having no confidential
companions grew into the habit of writing my thoughts down
which I kept concealed from all eyes save my own.
It (did not take me very long to find out that I was envied
by the girls in the school for my mirror showed a face that
was different from theirs and at times some of them would
praise my hair, my eyes, and complexion, telling me how
beautiful I was.
This made me happy and as I grew up into a tall, slender
maiden, somehow when anyone spoke of my beauty I would
always think of Ruth and I wished for only one thing on
42 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
earth, and that was to find Ruth when I should be out ol
school, and hoped that I would be more beautiful than she.
Strange that in forgetting so much that happened in nr
young life my memory clung to that last time I saw her and
her words which seemed an insult to me. Possibly the loss
of my mother helped to fix them in my mind "Unclean andl
spotted from the world" I knew now the real quotation and
I hated her in my heart for the injustice. I knew I was clean
bodily; that I was fair to look upon, and the thought of sin
or wrong, except my dislike for her, had not entered into my
mind.
Strange how trifles will change our likes and dislikes, how
very little it takes to make an enemy or a friend in this world J
And then, one day I found my school days at the convent
were ended. I was told that I was to be taken to the home
of my adopted parents and I was taken away by a middle-
aged woman who came after me. She seemed surprised when
she saw me and heard my name, Alice Heaton.
"I did not expect to find such a grown-up young lady." 1
heard her say to the Mother Superior.
"She is not very large or strong, I think, and she should
be allowed to live out doors for a while, at least," replied the
Mother. "But she has been a good student and is far better
educated than most girls of her age. She has never cared
for the society of other students, seemingly preferring the
teachers or myself, and I am sure her adopted parents will be
pleased."
Though spoken in an undertone I heard every word and
was proud to be praised. I had never been told I had been a
good student or praised in any way that I remembered. I
was anxious about my new home and dreaded leaving the
convent, the only home I knew. I asked a question or two
after we started on our journey, but Miss Hill was not com
municative. I only learned that my adopted parents were
old; that they had known my mother. But beyond that she
would or could not tell me.
After a day's journey I found myself in the house of my
adopted parents, both old and stern, but treating me with
studied courtesy, never giving me a loving word or a kiss
of welcome. I was shown my rooms and was allowed all
FROM THE WORLD 43
freedom as to how I should employ my time, but I was chilled
when in their presence.
As the days went by I pondered often on their conduct
and wondered why they adopted me, why they wanted me
with them when I was sure in my heart they were ill at ease
when I was with them. One day I heard the two old people
talking about sending me away to Europe with Miss Hill
who had brought me to them.
"I simply cannot endure it after all these years. It is as
though Alice had come back. She is the image of her mother
when we two went away and left her."
There was a sound as though Mrs. Browning was weeping.
I was stricken with terror lest I should be found out and
accused of eaves-dropping but I was hidden by the curtains
and had been reading, and in reality was so engrossed in my
book that I had not known when they came in. So I dared
not stir.
"Yes," said Mr. Browning, "I am sorry we have brought
her here, but you know it was her mother's last request and
something had to be done. She had finished there and they
could not very well keep her at the convent. We could not
allow her to teach, you know," and he sighed. "Perhaps we
were too stern with her mother. We might have found
some better way."
"Never. I could not have lived and let the truth be known.
She did not care for us and I ceased to love her as I once did
for she broke my heart, and cared more for another than for
me. No, every day the girl is here it seems to grow worse.
I thought the old wound was healed in a measure, but it is
not so. We are too old to travel and it may do her some
good, and will keep her mind occupied until she is older. She
brings only the old unhappiness, the deceit and treachery of
her mother into this house where we must stay, and must re
main, for I could not endure to have her with us in the old
home where her mother was born. We must guard her
closely until she is a little older and pray God we can find
some good man who will marry her before she knows the
ways of the world. We will keep her alone as much as pos
sible for the present. O God, how the old pain comes back!"
and she pressed her hand to her heart.
44 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"Don't think more of it than you can help. Our way has
been long and hard, but we must endure as best we can. May
God in heaven eternally condemn to perdition the cause of
all our misery and grief him and his children's children
and if there is a just God, may he in the midst of his torments
see the result of his work here ! Come," he said, arising, "no
more of this. I will not permit it. You must go to your
room and rest."
I was filled with amazement. What did they mean? They
knew my mother and said I looked like her. But why should
it distress them ? And why were they so unhappy when 1 was
with them ? Why did they have me come ? All the perplex
ing "whys" that came to me and they wanted to send me
away? They did not love me to travel a while, and marry
some good man.
Over and over I found myself repeating the words. I was
pleased with the idea marry and get away from them. I
did not love them, and now that I knew that I was not wel
come, but only tolerated, I was determined to get away as
soon as I could.
I was also determined to question Mrs. Browning, no
matter what the result would be. I wanted to know some
thing about my mother and my father, too. I have never
heard him mentioned. I was too young to know or miss a
father when my mother died, and later, at school, when I
grew old enough to ponder over it, I had no one in whom I
could confide. I only knew that I was adopted by some peo
ple who would care for me when I left school; that they
were traveling in Europe, having lost their only child, and
adopted me when my mother died.
I seemed to dimly recall a stern looking man whom I had
never seen, who was present when my mama was buried. But
that recollection had faded out of my mind until I saw Mr.
Browning. He seemed somehow associated with my grief
and terror at that time.
I was put into school by my nurse and told to be good and
ask no questions; that "my mama would not like it." That
was enough for me. If mama wanted me to be good I would
try to please her, for I thought she knew, and the good sis
ters encouraged me in the belief.
(FROM THE WORLD 45
But now that I am a woman almost, it is different and
though in the house with my adopted parents where every
* comfort and luxury except the luxury of love was mine, I
^felt I must ask questions. I was anxious to know if they
i loved my mother. Why it grieved them so to have me with
them. Why did they love her once, and then cease to care
for her?
Oh, the misery of it all ! I had never been treated like
other girls I knew it too well. But I felt I would brave their
displeasure by asking. So awaiting my opportunity, I asked.
"Why did you adopt me?"
Mrs. Browning looked startled, and after a moment said,
<i"Why do you ask that question?"
"Because I am old enough to know something about my-
f'self. I have always been kept in ignorance have never
jknown if there was any living person who cared for me; and
4have never known to whom I was indebted for my food,
clothing and tuition. You know something about my par-
jents. I know my mother is dead but tell me, is my father
living?"
I looked her squarely in the face. She evidently knew I
.was determined not to be put off any longer. Her face
* became death-like in its pallor. Somehow she reminded me of
;the look I saw on my mother's face when they put her in the
i coffin a look that had haunted me all my life.
"Why do you ask about your father? Did your mother
ever mention him?"
"I was so young I do not remember. I only thought of
her. I never heard or knew anything about my father."
"Then continue to think of her and ask no questions. When
you are of age or we are dead, there is something you will
learn, but," and her voice grew stern and her eyes looked so
! fierce that I trembled, "do not for one instant forget that
i-you are not to ask any questions about your mother or
father."
She hissed the last word as though she could not put
.enough scorn and contempt in her tone. I was indignant.
"Why may I not ask? She was my mother and you knew
her. Why has my life been spoiled? I have never been
treated like other girls at school. Each one but me had let-
46 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
ters, gifts and loving remembrances. I was alone, an object
of sympathy, and as I now realize of suspicion. A dead
mother was all I had to make me feel I ever belonged to any
one. You never sent me one word of love or of kindness.
Yet I was adopted by you and your husband. How do I
know that I really belong here, and why am I here if you
hate the name of my mother? And now you tell me I am
not to know if 1 have a father living or dead."
I flung the words at her, my face so transfigured by hate
that, glancing in a mirror, I scarcely knew; myself.
"Oh, you are a wicked, wicked woman, and I hate you for
you are cruel. Tell me one thing, this instant," I stormed.
"Have I any right to live here at all? Have I any money or
do you and your husband" (I could not call him father as I
had been requested to do so) "give me all I have? If so I
won't live another day under your roof. I can live some
where else or die. It would be easier than this life now that
I know!" I paused choking with tears I could not control.
"Know what?" she asked faintly.
"Know that you hate me as you did my mother."
"Hate your mother! O God," she moaned, and sinking
in her chair, her head fell back and I screamed, thinking she
was dead. The maid hearing my scream of fright rushed
in and summoning help they worked a long time before she
showed any sign of life. I, trembling and contrite, was help
less, thinking I had killed her. Yet strange enough when
she had recovered sufficiently to be taken to her room I felt
no remorse, but in some way felt she deserved to die.
I went out for a walk. I wanted to think and plan out
what I should do. One idea only was uppermost in my mind
that was to get away from the two inhuman beings, who,
hating my mother, must also hate me. I would be true to her.
I would not eat at the table or sit and hear Mr. Browning
return thanks when he had only hate in his heart for my
beautiful dead mother.
Oh, the bitterness and desolation that filled my heart. ]
threw myself down on the green grass and wept as I had noi^
wept since I lost my mother, sobbing my heart out. I die
not hear footsteps and knew not that anyone was near unti
a voice said:
FROM THE WORLD 47
"What is the matter, my poor child?"
"I am not a child, and what are my troubles to you?" I
demanded, flinging back my tangled hair and darting an
ingry look through my tears which would not be stayed.
"I beg your pardon. I was going up to the house," point-
ng to the Browning home, "and I thought you had fallen
md were hurt."
Dashing the tears from my eyes 1 looked up again seeing
nore clearly and my heart seemed to stop beating for a inm
ate, choking me and sending the blood to my face until it
Durnt my cheeks and neck. I had never looked into eyes like
lis before. Had never seen a man so handsome, tall and
jtrong, with such an infinite pity showing in his eyes for me.
nvoluntarily I extended my hand.
"I am sorry I was rude to you, but I am hurt sorely
lurt," and again I could not restrain my tears. His warm
lasp thrilled me with a strange, new sensation, one hitherto
anknown to me. I wanted at that moment nothing so much
n all the world as to fall in his arms and tell him of my
roubles, my cheerless life, and my longing for love some-
g :hing denied me, and unknown since my mother had left me
ie fi small child to the coldness of strangers and a strange life.
j "Sit down a moment," he said, and still holding my hand
e ie continued: "Some time when we know each other, when
rj.il know your name and we become good friends, you can tell
] Then he smiled and his eyes looked as if he was laughing
it me. This caused me to flush with anger and shame once
nore. I longed for pity but resented the idea of being
aughed at.
"We shall never know each other or meet again," I said,
vith all the dignity I could assume. "My adopted father does
lot entertain at all, especially strangers."
"And where does your wise and good adopted father
ive?"
"He is not good, and I hate them both. They live up
here" pointing to the house which showed through the
rees.
tjl "Surely you do not mean that Charles Browning is your
idopted father? I did not know he had an adopted child."
48 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"Neither did I until I was brought here from the convent
recently. I had heard that somewhere in the world there
were people who had adopted me, but they never came to seb
me, never wrote, and now " again I paused, trembling with-
my pent-up grief.
"Had you not better wait until some other time before you;
say anything more? I see how you are suffering." Anc|
again he held my hand in his strong clasp.
"No," I sobbed, "I will tell you now. Perhaps you cad
help me, for I am going away from here. I hate the place
and those two old people. They are cruel."
"Poor child. How could they be cruel to you? Surely
they could not be other than kind to a helpless young creaturd
like you."
1 loved him for the look and the way he said "like you"
from that moment.
"I will tell you, now," I said, "my mother died when I was
only a little child about six years old. I knew nothing but
love until she died. She was good and beautiful. I remem
ber well."
"I'm sure of it," he replied, with a strange look in his eyes,
I was surprised with the remark, but went on. "After she
was buried they would not let me see her grave, but I ran
away once and stole some flowers to put on her grave."
"You stole them?" he asked.
"Yes, but I did not know that it was stealing, or wrong
until a lady came to the grave and told me. It was so bare
and desolate I wanted flowers for it." I paused, even then
I could not think of that poor little mound without a pang
for myself, and my desolation.
"Then nurse took me away from there to a convent where
I have been ever since until a month or two ago when they
brought me here. I have tried to ask something about my
dear, dead mother, and tried again today to find out from
Mrs. Browning something about my parents and asked hei
why I had not the right to know something about my father
and mother. I have never heard him mentioned, you know.
She was very stern and angry and told me I was never to men
tion their names either to her or her husband. Then I told hei
I knew she hated my mother and that I would not live with
FROM THE WORLD 49
hem any longer. At that she fainted and when they brought
ler to, and took her to her room, I came out here to think
nd plan what 1 should do. I was so lonely and Here
had to stop I could go no further.
"Don't say another word, dear child. You must control
ourself. I have come to see your adopted father on busi-
icss; you have been brave in trying to smother your grief in
Jelling me your pitiful story. Will you promise me to stay
Iiere a while, no matter if it is hard for you, if I give you my
lolemn promise to be your friend, to help you all I can to
j.nake your poor, lonely life seem more desirable to you? I
Ivill see you again," he said.
"Will you will you, truly?" I said, clinging to his hands,
f 'Oh, it will seem like my own dear mother was here again to
liave some one to care for me just a little, you know only
li little I repeated, my heart leaping at the idea that
Jome one cared for me, a stranger to any evidence of sym
pathy except in the most casual way.
"As sure as we two live I shall see you, and soon. Now,
iheer up, and don't forget your promise," he said, as he went
jiway hurriedly, never pausing or looking back until the path
lent and hid him from me.
I sat in a sort of dazed stupor. I had never in all my life
round anyone who seemed to care for me, or look with such
Icind and tender eyes into mine. There was tenderness in
Iheir depths and his words reassured me. Surely I would
Jceep my promise. I would show him I could be something
Jnore than a child.
New sensations were stirring within me. I felt like an
ther being than the one who had run in heedless anguish and
mpotent fury down the shaded path an hour ago. I seemed
o have changed in that short time. Something new and
trange had come into my heart. I no longer felt that I was a
lesolate, uncared for girl. He said he would be my friend,
kept saying over and over, and wandering along the path,
suddenly stopped with a start. I found I was singing. I
lad forgotten my grief.
VI
"Love in the heart can no more be exhausted than the sweet melodies
in the throats of song-birds ! "
FRANK LINDSAY TO JACK GORDON
"I am thoroughly pleased with my journey so far, but Fred
does not seem to enter into the spirit of travel as I wish he
would, for he is moody and irritable at times. One day as we
were passing some fascinating bits of scenery I said, "Fred
isn't this simply delightful?"
"Yes, but how much more satisfactory if one's heart were
in it. If one could look upon scenes with one he loved be
side him. If the heartaches were gone and one could look
into love-lit, appreciative eyes now and then, it would be all
in the world I could ask for or desire."
"You can't forget with all this change even for a little
while?" I asked him.
"1 cannot. I shall never be able to forget. She is my
ideal, my love, despite everything. I love her and shall be
true to that love though she does not care."
"Don't be a fool and play the ostrich."
"What do you mean by playing the ostrich?"
"It is a habit of the ostrich for the female to select her
mate. She chooses one according to her liking and gives him
a coy peck on the beak, soothes him with a few strokes of her
neck against his, and the marriage ceremony is complete. He
follows her meekly and is her captive for life. He builds the
nest as is right and proper, but when the eggs are laid, he
sits on them all of the night and half the day. Now, it seems
to me you are a good deal like the average ostrich. A wo
man made a pretense of loving you, kissed you and allowed
you to return the compliment, and now you are willing to fol
low her all the rest of your days and be the dutiful nonentity
you surely would be, if you were to mate with a woman who
has proved heartless as you lead me to believe."
5
FROM THE WORLD 51
"I may have been an ostrich in some other sphere. I do
not know, but I will take my hat off to the ostrich and bow
to his constancy. Faithfulness is born in some of us, others
acquire it, and I am so constituted that I am not fluctuating
like the tide. I am what I am, and without looking back
ward more than is possible nor forward for that matter, I try
to carry my burden as best I may, whether it be man-like or
ostrich-like, as you please."
"1 knew of one ostrich I should like vou to imitate," I told
Fred.
"Well, tell me of his particular characteristics."
"This up-to-date ostrich husband discharged his duties
faithfully and though rather deficient in the matter of brain,
was capable of seeing and reasoning as it proved. For, while
he was dutifully keeping the embryo ostriches warm two-
thirds of the time his gay consort was busily engaged in flirt
ing with another fellow. He brooded over the fact as well
as the eggs, all the while feeling his nails growing longer;'
and though his legs were rather cramped from lack of exer
cise he arose in all the dignity of outraged ostrich-hood one
day and making a law unto himself kicked his gay wife to
death."
Fred laughed at the sketch I had drawn as I hoped he
would, for I try to divert his mind from his love affair as
much as possible.
"I know, Frank, that you think me weak, and perhaps, I
am. Heaven knows I would willingly forget, even 'kick' if
I could. But somehow I cannot feel revengeful. I cannot
even forget. If I could, it would be easier to bear. But only
a little while ago a glint of sunshine over on those hills
brought back a day not very long ago when the leaves of
gold and green ran riot to the foothills, when the jay-bird
scolded and the quail piped 'cuidado, cuidado,' while the
wood-pecker shrilled 'yakit, yakit,' from the pine trees, that
she told me she loved me, and would always love me. Frank,
1 tasted the divine elixir on that day which, once taken, lasts
forever. For it means to me as it has to others who have
drank of the sweetest of all draughts, aye, even the bitterest,
too, as I know and feel of love love that will not die but
will abide in my heart, for it came to me a very tidal wave
52 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
from that great sea of love that pervades the whole world
which by some wanton chance struck me and left me without
strength, without the power or desire to recover or forget.
I only know that I shall love her as long as life endures and
beyond this life, if God wills."
"Fred, old man, I wish I could say something, a consoling
word, but I cannot, only I advise you to try to enjoy the society
of other girls. I know the girl you love, she has those wide-
open, blue eyes, that go so well with her fair face and yellow
hair. She is sweet and fresh to look upon, as June roses are
fragrant and delicious, But there are narrow, selfish traits
of character it is often so for her Madonna-like face does
not show the cruel spirit. Eyes and lips speak of in
nocence, but often, as in her case, there is a fiendish, cat-like
soul in her fair body. I know how she played with Norman
Duane, even before you knew her, won his heart for mere
sport and the vanity of it, then sent him adrift, his soul seared
and his heart empty. Yet she goes on her smiling way, her
beautiful eyes, bright and sparkling, as she weaves her spell
around other men as she did you, my friend. So I ask yon
is it worth while?"
"I do not know. Yet surely it cannot have been in vain
my love for her, for 1 have known, if only for a brief time,
the ineffable bliss of a close embrace: have felt her heart
throb against my own that was madly beating, suffocating me
with the blood rushing wildly with the exquisite happiness of
a first kiss upon her lips. A whole lifetime was centered in
that blissful moment before she tore herself from my arms
and left me. It was afterwards that I knew it was but a
pretense of love on her part, and not maiden innocence and
modesty that made her leave me so hurriedly. But even now,
knowing her falseness and deceit I cannot help but love her
and feel that life can never be the same again in all the years
that may be mine."
"Do not be too sure. Don't say you can love only one
girl until you have tried to love others. There are plenty
with true hearts whose love would shame yours, perhaps.
Try one with gray eyes. She will not fail you, but will be
true as steel."
FROM THE WORLD
53
"How do you know?" said Fred, looking up in an inter
ested way. "Is there someone you know? "
"Never mind. We are talking of your life now. Try
your best to enjoy the diversion of travel, exercise your will
power. Forget the past, live in the present, make a pretense
of love-making as she did, and in a short time you will find
out that what you think is impossible is in reality possible
and enjoyable. And now," I said to him, "let us forget all
MILK VENDER IN MEXICO.
that is past, all that is unpleasant, if possible, and try to en
joy this wonderful old country in the new world."
Thus 1 talked to Fred as we passed on southward from
Zacatecas through a fertile and well cultivated country.
Fields of corn and grain; groves and orchards greeted us
until we found ourselves at the charming city of Aguas Cali-
entes. Here there is an abundance of water, both hot and
cold.
Down the new paseo or boulevard, along her streets and
in the plaza I saw palms, bananas, orange and umbrella trees
and artistic groupings of flowers and plants. There are other
artistic groupings, also, consisting of natives the Reception
54 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
Committee, I call them who are always in evidence at every
station with some sort of wares for sale.
Nearly every man who travels knows by the time he has
passed the northern boundary line twenty-three and a half
degrees from the equator and entered into the torrid zone,
that Aguas Calientes is the place for Mexican drawn-work and
the majority of women know the place only by the quality
and quantity of material purchased there. Male and female,
young and old are lined up displaying all sorts and kinds of
work. "Pesos," "centavos," ring in one's ears from the
crowded station, until one wearies of feather-work, hair-work,
cotton and linen drawn-work.
Escaping from the crowd we refused the offer of a guide
to see any or all of the twelve churches; but gladly chose one
of the bathing establishments which are famous for their hot
baths and continued on our journey refreshed in body and in
spirit.
At Silva we left the main line going east to Marfil by rail,
thence some miles by street cars to Guanajuato where are
located the richest silver mines in the world, up the ravine
from Marfil, which I found to be quite a Moorish looking
village, over a road which took eighty-five years to build,
but which is so substantial and good that, like the low, stone
houses, it looks as if it were built to stay. The people are the
cliff-dwellers of today, for the hills are so steep that niches
are cut in the hill-side for the houses. There are terraces and
charming nooks at the upper end of Guanajuato where the
park La Presa is located, which is the chief resort of the
masses.
Near here are the terraces of artificial lakes which are sup
plied from springs in the mountains, and water being scarce,
as in so many places in the Republic it is stored by a series of
dams which are remarkable in their system.
Over these stone dams and walls were all sorts of clinging
vines running riot. Here the gorgeous Bougainvilleas flaunt
their rich wine-red blossoms over gray, mossy, stony abut
ments and retaining walls, trail over verandas and dip into
the clear water that in placid pools lie in front of many a
charming home.
FROM THE WORLD 55
The private residences of the wealthiest people are built
near these lakes and are mostly of stone taken from the quar
ries near the city. Green seems to be the predominating color
although there is a variety of beautiful tints and colors.
There -is a hint of the vine-terraces of the Rhine and a
suspicion of Venice with the walled-in waterways over which
are fancy bridges connecting with the streets.
From the quarries on the mountain sides we saw men
bringing down on their backs blocks of stone. There were
frail little burros, also tottering under heavy slabs, and then
I ceased to wonder at the stone houses barnacled on the ter
raced hills with only goat-like trails leading thereto. Nowhere
else could such houses be built, for in no other country I had
visited do men and donkeys bear such marvelous burdens,
carrying all the stone used in building houses and public
buildings.
It seems to me there should be shrines put up all over
Mexico as a tribute to the burro and the Indian, so much has
been done by both. The traditional mule has inadvertently
or otherwise founded churches, discovered mines, and located
treasure. He and the visionary Indian have been the "sure
thing" in establishing wealth and locating places of worship,
yet neither has as yet had any recognition unless it be bearing
ever heavier burdens.
If the mule that discovered the mines in Guanajuato had
known the torture he was to inflict on his kind by the opening
of the silver mines, he would not have tried by pantomime or
otherwise to have emulated Balaam's beast. For in these
mines, that since the conquest have yielded billions of gold
and silver, or about three-eighths of the total yield of the
globe during that period, the mule has played an important
part in the reduction works and extracting the ore.
Everything connected with the city was of interest to us,
and if the work be a little hard for those manana-lovi.no;
people they are at least prosperous and not poverty stricken,
as in Zacatecas.
We went through the prison filled with convicts, and saw
them all busy at various trades. They are not kept in idle
ness here. This prison is historically known as the Alhondiga
de Granaditas, which Hidalgo captured in his fight for inde-
5 6 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
pendence. A wreath is now hung where his head was exposed
for so long. Honor came, as it often does, later, for the
Republic is now Hidalgo's true monument.
One of the most interesting objects in the city is the Pan
theon, which consists of about ten acres of ground, perched
high upon the hill above the town. The earth of this ceme
tery was carried up from the lower levels on the backs of
convicts.
I saw 7 some open graves from which the bones of some
poor mortals had been taken. They were strewn around
CATACOMBS OF GUANAJUATO, MEXICO.
on the ground while the grave was being prepared for
another new-comer. The bodies are put in the ground for
five years, and if no further payment is advanced the bones
are taken up and piled in an underground charnel house.
I went down a spiral stairway and saw, heaped in indis
criminate confusion, the bones of some thirty thousand
manana people for whom there are no tomorrows. It is
worse than the church of Cologne, with none of the artistic
effects of the Church of the Capucines in Rome, though at one
end of this chamber of gruesome memories were some mum
mies in good preservation.
FROM THE WORLD 57
This, the fifth city in Mexico, is progressive, having a
theatre four stories in height which is said to be the largest
in North America built of stone; it shows such a variety of
colors that the walls look as if they had been frescoed, and
its appointments are perfect.
Our time was all too short in this city, where there is so
much that is odd, instructive and interesting. The wonderful
engineering, the ride on the street cars back to Marfil, the
sharp curves and dusty roads thronged with people, driving
the donkeys, children and pigs everywhere a strange medley
greeted us.
We saw men in the river bed with spoon-shaped affairs
made from the leaves of the maguey plant, who were wash
ing the black mud for silver that may have escaped from
the reduction works.
There were men carrying water in jars which are almost
as long as the carriers themselves, and huddled here and there
were groups taking their afternoon T., which, taken literally,
means the everlasting omnipresent tortilla.
Fashions do not change in this by-and-by land. They
soften the corn and roll it on a flat stone with another one,
grind it into paste, pat it in the hands into cakes, then bake
it on a thin stone or metal plate, just as they did ages ago,
and seem content with their inheritance.
VII
"Rome, whatever mood is hers,
To me, she is entrancing and adorable."
EDITH HAMMOND'S LETTER TO AILEEN LIVINGSTON
Yes, dear, I am in sun-blest Italy, and am enjoying every
day of my life here. Recollections are sweet of happy times
gone by, but actual living in the present is worth a great deal
more. This world is given us to make the best we possibly
can of it and our lives, and we can make or mar our days, I
fancy. I am simply living up to my ideas of making the best
of each day and am thankful for health and am glad to be
alive and to appreciate my good luck in being here.
I am not wasting hours moaning over the inevitable, nor
do I feel like an old aunt of mine who used to sing "I am glad
that I was born to die," and "Shed not a tear o'er your
friend's early bier."
I used to ponder over the w r ords and wondered how anyone
could be glad to die, and asked my father once what "early
beer" meant. I had never seen him drinking beer in the
morning and said, "Why does auntie sing about shedding
tears over it?"
He was drinking his usual glass of beer in the evening, and
he looked surprised for a moment and then had such a fit of
coughing and choking that I was frightened, but was not
allowed to remain long, and as I was hustled off to bed I
heard him laughing. It was a long time before I knew the
difference in the spelling and meaning of the t\vo w r ords.
Well, at any rate my auntie died, and she begged and
implored the doctor to save her life. She did not feel glad
at all when her time came to die, and I fancy a few of us are
when well and happy. So there is no use in being hypocrit
ical, but make the best we can out of our lives, and when the
time comes that will end the drama for us, try to meet
it bravely. One cannot die but once you know. There
fore I am enjoying the present to the utmost of my capacity.
58
FROM THE WORLD 59
Today I lunched in a trattior, on the Aventine, and looked
out on the ruins of the Palatine. The group of churches on
the Coelian Hill were sharply defined against a radiant sky.
Avalanches of snow-white blossoms fell and clustered about
the steep sides of the Palatine, making a vivid, joyous, bloom
ing life above the old ruins.
How I wished for you as I sat in the palm-shaded window-
seat and watched the wavering sunlight sifting through the
branches, casting a cool, greenish light in the dim, old hall
that reminded me of cloistered arcades where pale-faced
nuns once walked in peace, trying to forget the ruins of high
hopes amid the ruins so patent and tangible about them. For
this is an old brick building confiscated from the church, and
one thinks of the days when this was a refuge from the
world's cruelty and scorn.
Within the shelter of these cloisters they lived, weighed
down by the brutal force of matter that blasts so many lives
striving for some unknown joy, some reward hereafter, by
renouncing a greater part of all that makes life worth living.
1 fancy it did not then, as now, take very long to disillusion
them to the bare, colorless existence that stretched on and
on in endless unvarying days. The idea is not at all pleasing
to me. I know that I would and do even now, with the old
heart-ache fierce within me, make the best that I can of my
life.
I am idealist enough to love life that has color, form,
music and beauty in it, and though oppressed with unsatisfied,
longing with my whole soul for something that has gone out
of my life, there is yet something within me that bids me not
despair but look hopefully beyond the moment. And so I
am not altogether dull and despondent.
I never want to lose my illusions. There are some beauti
ful ones left in me yet, the illusion that there is love, truth
and friendship in the world despite my experience. These
exist, and that some of them are still mine is much indeed to
me. Were I to be disillusioned then indeed it were time to
die. I do not believe that it is necessary for life to be a
tragedy and I am not exactly striving to make a comedy of
mine. Neither one nor the other would be enjoyable to me.
I want for my friends only those who can see and speak of
60 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
the best that is in those they know. Who look upon the two
evils that predominate in poor humanity envy and jeal
ousy as if they were immoral and should be avoided as such.
And who look upon gossip as a monster of so frightful a
mien that an introduction should be avoided, and realize that
an ignorance of the bane of social life gossip means
peace and calmness of soul and conscience, a knowledge
and indulgence thereof means moral deterioration and
degrades those who are caught in its wiles.
I want all the sunshine, all the brightness of life that is
possible. I want the odor of flowers and all the fresh, beau
tiful things in nature. I want the best that I can find in the
dear world, for methinks the true philosophy of life is to get
as much sweetness out of it as possible.
Any joy that is not shared with another is of short dura
tion. Therefore I must share some of the delights I am
enjoying with you, knowing your appreciation of this dear
old city and all that concerns me and my happiness in my
travels.
There are hours, however, which are rich to me, hours
of solitude which I do not care to share with the unapprecia-
tive people who are with me, for in those hours I can create
a heaven of my own, and live blissful moments in retrospec
tion and anticipation or let the high tide of the present flood
my soul with the sweet things that are, and then I want no
one to share those joys with me. Evanescent? Yes, but sweet
with the very essence of life's best, which is at least com
forting and soul-satisfying.
Each day leaves its impressions and I store up something
that may enrich my life and may be of some use to others,
things that you and 1 may enjoy when we meet in days to
come. Yet in my busy moments my thoughts often fly your
way. I think of you out there, beyond the plains, among the
misty blue mountains, by the stream we love that ripples
joyously over the golden sands.
I listen to a bird singing in the ilex trees, and farther
away, so far it seems but an echo, I hear the answer that tells
the mate the little mother bird is waiting for him. And still
farther away across leagues of water and plains I hear, in
imagination, your voice and long for your dear companion-
FROM THE WORLD 61
ship and my heart aches for you while my thoughts turn your
way and toward some dear, remembered spot we two have
seen together.
I think of the fragrant spring-time and breathe again the
air laden with odors from azaleas, madrona and wild grape
vine. I see the great red splashes of the passion flower amid
the green trailing vines rioting over hedges and trees. There
is a world of sweetness and brightness about you. My heart
longs for you, and a sob is only half-smothered as I look
through a blurred vision at the sun, a great golden globe, as
he dips into the green forests of the Borghese Gardens and
is hidden from me, but is journeying toward you on the rim of
the Western world.
But even as the last yellow beam dies away and faster than
light my thoughts fly. And through the force of their inten
sity and my will-power I shall make you know tonight that I
am thinking of you, that my love is with you, as in the dear
old days when we knew only the delight and innocent joys of
childhood. And while I am happy in my life here in wander
ing about among soul-satisfying things, it is only natural that
I should long for you now and then.
I shall write you again, but promise to say less of self and
more of what I see; only now and then do I succumb to the
pangs of nostalgia and allow my pen the freedom my tongue
cannot have.
VIII
"In truth and treason, in good and guilt,
In wild ruins and altars low,
In battered walls and blood misspilt,
Glorious, gory Mexico."
FROM THE LAND OF MANANAS TO THE LAND OF TODAYS
One of our most interesting and instructive jaunts, friend
Jack, was a detour westward from Irapuato toward San Bias,
on the Pacific Ocean, to Guadalajara, conceded to be the most
beautiful city in Mexico. This, the second city in the Republic,
is charming with its plazas, Government buildings and the
Cathedral whose great towers dominate the landscape. The
city is more picturesque from a distance than it appears when
one is in it. This jewel of Mexico has much that is pleasing
and much that makes one shiver.
I remember some pleasant evenings we spent in the main
plaza, which is surrounded by splendid buildings and filled
with trees and flowers. The air was fragrant with odors of
orange blossoms, roses and violets. I breathed the perfume
and listened to the entrancing music that came from the
band-stands, heard the soft musical language, watched the
strange customs and exceecjjngly odd way the natives have,
the men walking one way around the park, the women in
another direction. There is no mingling of the sexes in
Mexico as in our country, but there are many sly glances as
they pass and repass under the blaze of the electric lights.
I recall the grand Cathedral and the fine view from the
towers of the city and surrounding country.
There were roof-gardens looking less poetical than the
term sounds. For the flat roofs are used more often than
otherwise for raising chickens as well as flowers. The hens
are usually tied by one leg and they may talk and scold the
little ones and tell them to go and scratch for a living, but
it is no use; instinct is all right; but the juicy worm is not in
evidence on the roofs in Mexico.
62
FROM THE WORLD 63
A painting, "The Assumption," by Murillo, for which
thousands of dollars have been refused, is an attraction in the
richly decorated interior of the Cathedral.
And in connection with this church, a friend told us later,
that while there he saw some travelers from our own country
dancing on the altar steps in a side chapel. What a howl
would go up from these shameless, w r ould-be funny people
were foreigners to so desecrate our churches!
We visited one of the hospitals which is so large that it
contains twenty-three patios or courts where grow fragrant
flowers, and the refreshing sound comes to the patients from
the fountains. Everything possible seems to be done for the
sick and unfortunate in the way of open courts, fresh air,
competent physicians and nurses. Some things struck me as
rather incongruous, however. In passing through a corridor
I saw a room piled high with ready-made coffins of all sizes,
and in another room was a poor, unfortunate girl on a cot
with a new-born baby beside her, and on a table near by
were two grinning skulls !
Yet, withal, the inmates are far better off than are their
poor fellow-beings who live across the river and in the suburb,
San Juan de Dios. There I saw poverty and all its ghastli-
ness as I have never seen it elsewhere.
In Italy, Egypt or the Orient, there seems to be something
in temperament or climatic conditions to relieve the dreari
ness of poverty. Here the poor are huddled together in
narrow, filthy streets, living in low square houses which have
no windows.
The women rarely have shoes or sandals. A short skirt,
some sort of waist, and the inevitable reboso draped about the
head and shoulders constitute the usual dress. While more
often than otherwise there is a baby slung at the back, securely
bound in the folds of the reboso, leaving the mother's hands
free for work or carrying other heavy burdens.
The dress or undress of the male element is far more
picturesque, consisting as a rule of a pair of drawers of thin
white cotton and a shirt both usually looking as if they had
been left over from a rummage sale a scrape and sombrero
and a piece of leather for the sole of the feet with a strap or
two across the upper part of the foot, passes for shoes or
64 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
sandals. The scrape keeps the man warm during the day,
and does for covering for both man and woman during the
night.
It takes but little to start a couple in life when they agree
to share the same scrape. These peons are so poor that few
of them save money enough for the marriage ceremonies, so
they dispense with the usual formula that is necessary in
higher circles, and purchase an alba or water-jar, a jug and
piece or two of pottery, a pot for beans (frijoles), a flat dish
WOMAN GRINDING CORN.
of pottery or metal for the tortillas, a patate or square mat
made of rushes which is their only bed, and which is placed
on the earthen floor. These are about all that are needed for
house-keeping purposes. The frijoles and chili con carne, if
they have meat, are scooped up on the tortillas which answer
for plates and spoons.
A good deal of time and energy is saved, aside from an
economical view in thus eating plates and spoons with each
meal. It is just as well, for the women spend most of their
time preparing the corn, grinding and patting it into cakes,
and baking it over the tiny charcoal fires. If corn is king
FROM THE WORLD 65
in Mexico the woman who shells, grinds and prepares it for
the eating ought to be pretty close to the throne.
There is not much spare time for the woman in this land of
mythical tomorrows. Besides cooking she must carry the
water from the public fountains and wash her rags in any
pool convenient for washing. Cities have public places for
washing lavenderias which are creditable, but they are
not for the poor. I have seen mere girls carrying heavy jars
filled with water from the fountains which a man would take
and throw upon the streets, a primitive way of sprinkling,
though rather easy for the man.
Other girls I saw who were a sort of traveling department
store, carrying some two dozen or more sombreros piled high
upon their heads, with as many baskets and odds and ends of
things slung about their shoulders, walking the streets earning
a few centavos. Yet I have heard it averred that these are the
happiest people on earth. It may be so. One cannot judge
from a flying visit, yet save in two or three instances I saw
no children playing, as we are accustomed to see.
If outward demonstration counts, apathy and stoicism,
coupled with endurance may mean happiness in the tropics,
but I prefer the songs bubbling from the lips of the laughter-
loving beggars of Italy, to the worshippers of the bull ring
and cock-fighting Mexicans. Still one does not need to brood
over these conditions.
It was far more pleasant to wander through other parts
of the city where the wealthy live and see the beautiful gar
dens and handsome streets and houses with enticing glimpses
of the patios or courts filled with gorgeous tropical flowers
and vines and admire the fascinating women coquettishly
peering out through the iron-barred windows.
And when over-wearied with the day's work it was charm
ing to dine in the quaint hotel where palms and flowers lent
their charm, and later to sit higher up in the open court where
we smoked and azed upward at a frescoing that has never
been equaled. The dark blue skies and myriads of glittering
stars were the only roof and seemed so low that one could
almost touch them. Rest was sweet indeed, with heaven
seemingly so near.
IX
"Show me the woman who can live without love, and I will show you
one who lacks the element that sanctifies her sex and makes her the
favored of God, in spite of her original sin.'"
ALICE HEATON AND HER FRIEND
It was several days before I saw my adopted mother again.
She was ill, and I had my meals alone. Mr. Browning had
his meals served in a room adjoining hers in order to be near
her. I did not ask to see her as she had not sent for me and
I was free to do as I wished. Hence there was but little time
spent in-doors save when I was sleeping. I would take my
luncheon and spend the entire day either in riding or with a
book wandering among the hills.
Every day, after that first day when Mrs. Browning was
taken ill, I met my one friend. 1 saw him somewhere and
sometime during the day. At first it was by accident, he
said, as he was spending a few days in the neighborhood.
Then he would ask me if I was to ride or walk the next day.
If I was going to ride he would show me some beautiful
trails. He always had an excuse and in my innocence I thought
he was more than kind to take so much trouble and give his
time to a young girl like myself.
He told me not to think for a moment that it was anything
but selfishness on his part, as he was alone and enjoyed show
ing me the places that were old to him; but looking at them
through my eyes he seemed to be finding something new all
the time.
And then, as if to satisfy my scruples, he said he had
spoken to Mr. Browning and he preferred that I should be
accompanied by him rather than going about alone.
"It is not safe for you. There are all sorts of men camping
and fishing in this region. So you must not go far away
unless it is on horseback, and then it is best to keep on the
broad road."
I said I had never taken any of the by-paths until he came.
66
FROM THE WORLD 67
"That is right, Alice, keep on the highways unless I am
along to protect you."
Thinking I had Mr. Browning's permission and resenting
any interference on behalf of Miss Hill, who was a deceitful,
prying sort of person, 1 never mentioned where I went or that
I saw anyone in my daily outing.
Soon I grew to be sorry when the evening came and I had
to go home. I was always glad when the first peep of day
came. I arose early, was impatient for breakfast and the
hour to arrive when I might start out in the early morning to
meet my new-found friend.
Mr. Bertram as he had told me to call him, from the
first meeting had been kinder to me than anyone else had
ever been. He had asked me and I told him all I knew about
my life, which was not much. 1 only remembered my mother
and the school, and again I would express my determination
to go away, that I was only staying there because I had
promised him.
"When you go away I will go too," I said. "I will not
remain here where I am only tolerated. I have been unhappy
all my life since I have been left alone. How lonely and
wretched I never knew until I met you." And I looked up
into his eyes with the ready tears in mine.
"Dear child, is it true? Has your poor little heart been
starving for love and affection all your life?"
"I have never loved anyone since I lost my mother until
until ' I paused, ashamed of myself, I had nearly said,
"until I knew you."
But a sudden shyness and confusion bewildered me, and I
sprang up from the seat where we had been resting and
running away began gathering some flowers. Looking back
after a time I saw him bent over with his hands over his eyes.
I thought I heard him groan, and ran back.
"Are you ill?" I asked, frightened by the drawn look in
his face.
"For a moment. Run away and get me some of those
flowers, please. I will be all right soon."
I was obedient and went away, staying a long time, while
he lay prone on the ground, not moving until at last he sprang
up and calling to me, said :
68 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"Come, Alice, it is time to return. I am going back to the
city tonight. I hated to tell you for you seemed happy in
our jaunts about the country."
"Going away?" My flowers fell; my hands went to my
heart which seemed to pain me. Something in my throat
seemed to sting and choke me. I had not thought it pos
sible that he would go away so suddenly. I must have turned
pale, for he sprang to my side, put his arms about me and
gently seated me on the little mound of moss where I had
been resting so happily before.
"Don't look like that," he said, smoothing my hair. "I
will come again and soon."
"Oh! I can't bear it. I won't be left alone. I have told
you how wretched 1 was before I knew you. I don't know
how to live, how to get through the days without you. I
cannot stay here with those two old people whom I do not
love and who do not love, scarcely tolerate me."
"Alice, you are mistaken. There is some mystery about
your birth. I do not know what it is, but I am sure your
adopted parents do not hate you as you seem to think they
do. Your father he is in law, you know said in answer to
a question of mine regarding you, that they were surprised
to find you a young lady. They had thought of you only as
a child until you came, and that you looked so like your
mother they could scarcely endure your presence."
"But why? why?" I broke in, "if I look like her and if
they loved her why do they not show me a little of the love
they once must have felt for her?"
"There was something wrong. I do not know who your
mother or father was, but they never forgave her or allowed
her name spoken. She had a fortune of her own, inherited
from a relative, and by the way, this has been kept for you.
So much I know, and I think in time you might win them.
How could they resist you if you cared to gain their love?"
"Do you think so?" I said eagerly. Then the thought
of my dear dead one, hardened my heart.
"No, I do not want their love if they could not forgive
her, no matter what her offense was, neither will I forgive
them. They are hard and cruel. They knew where she was
FROM THE WORLD 69
buried, out there on the sunny-sloping hill near the old
Mission, at Santa Barbara. I did not know myself for a long
time where we lived. I was so small when taken away from
there, but I know now. One of the sisters told me that much,
and some day soon I am going back there to find her grave.
I remember even now there were some little wooden boards
with her name. I could spell it then, when I put the flowers
on her grave. Won't you help me to get away? I want to
go. Oh, you do not know how it grieves me, the thought of
that lonely grave."
"Perhaps your adopted parents have seen that it is not
uncared for," he replied.
"Do you think you would dare find out from Mr.
Browning if he has been kind or tender to her memory and
placed a stone over her, telling the world that she was not
forgotten. I think I could love him for that. Will you, dear
Mr. Bertram?"
"Bertram," he repeated, as if surprised. "Ah, yes, and
by the way, if you should have any conversation with your
adopted parents or anyone in the household you need not
mention that we have been meeting."
"But you said you had spoken to Mr. Browning."
"Certainly, but as you know he is peculiar, and as he will
not go anywhere with you himself, he might not want you to
know that he had given his consent for another man to
accompany you. Besides, they do not know we have met
every day, do they?"
"No one knows from me that I have met or known you.
Why should I tell the servants? I do not gossip and I am
not responsible to them or anyone for that matter. I do
whatever -I like and am pretty well satisfied if I can keep away
from them all."
"I knew it ! I was sure, young as you are, that you are not
the girl to tell all you know."
"I have never told anything to anyone concerning myself.
Why should 1 ? And besides there has been so little
"There will be more and more coming into your life all the
time now. Your eyes and your face will make history for
you."
70 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"I do not understand," I said, the blood rushing to my face
as his eyes held mine with such a strange look that I could
not take mine from his until he looked away.
"Never mind just now, you will know before long. How
old are you, Alice?"
"I am only seventeen," I replied.
"So young and so innocent of the ways of the world," I
heard him say, softly, as if thinking of something.
"Now, my little friend, I must see you safely home, or a
part of the way, and then good-bye. Would you kiss me
just once before I leave you?"
"But I have never in all my life kissed a man, or scarcely
anyone since I was child," longing with my whole soul to
throw my arms around his neck, as 1 remembered I had done
when I kissed my mother. Yet not daring, something held
me back, seemed pulling me away from him, while his eves
were drawing me to him all the while.
"Must I," and my voice sounded strange to me, "kiss
you?"
He did not speak, but opened his arms and I flung myself
on his breast with my arms around his neck, and found his
warm trembling lips pressed to mine. Again and again he
kissed my lips, my cheeks and my hair, while I clung to him.
A strange ecstasy filled my whole being. My heart was
beating so that I was almost breathless. He placed his hand
on my breast.
"Poor little fluttering heart, do not be frightened," he said,
and placed me down on the seat, sinking on his knees as he
released me.
He smiled and smoothed my hair, stroking it tenderly
"And you have never kissed a man before?" he said.
"I have never known or been alone with a man until I met
you," I answered.
"Then you must promise me here and now, by the memory
of this first kiss that you will not allow any other man to kiss
you. Will you, dear Alice?" And he crushed me to his
breast with such force that I moaned with pain. He arose,
and holding me from him, said :
"Do you promise? Will you swear that you will kiss no
one but me?"
FROM THE WORLD 71
"Never, in all my life?" I asked.
"Not without my permission. The world would think it
wrong, little girl. You must remember and do as I tell you."
"If it is wrong why did you ask me? I have no one to tell
me what is right or wrong. I never heard the subject dis
cussed at school."
"Do you mean to say that you girls never talked about
such things?" he asked in astonishment.
"I was never confidential with any of the girls, they did
not seem to care particularly for me. I spent most of my
time with my books and my music, and the Mother Superior
was my only friend and she never talked about men."
"I can well believe it, my innocent little dove." And then
he said, "I must go at once before it is too late, come
quickly," and hurrying me away we went on rapidly.
I was grieved and astonished. "Too late!' I wondered
what he meant and yet could not summon courage to ask.
Before we reached the broad road which led up to the house
he turned.
"You haven't given me your promise," he said. "Promise
me now that you will never allow any man to hold you in
his arms or kiss you until I give you permission."
"Does that mean I am never to kiss you again? Have I
done wrong?" I asked, while the tears sprang into my eyes.
"No, dear child, that does not apply to you and me."
"Then 1 promise you with my whole heart, and I shall
keep it. I have never told a lie in all my life."
I laughed now, it seemed so absurd, the idea of me kissing
a man, when I only knew Mr. Browning and the men ser
vants.
"That is better," he said when I laughed. 'Now try to be
cheerful. I shall not be away long, only I may not be able
to stay very long at a time. But I will surely come soon.
Good-bye."
I looked up pleadingly into his face. "Why must you go?
I think I shall die if left here all alone."
"One does not die so easily. If we both could it would be
better. O child, child, you drive me mad. God forgive me
for 1 know too well what I do."
72 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
Once more he took me in his arms, kissing me again and
again. I felt a hot tear on my face, then he flung me from
him and was out of sight in a moment, leaving me happier
than I had ever been in my life.
I was glad to be alone for a time. My whole being thrilled
with happiness. For the first time in my life I realized what
a gift life was, to live and to love! Oh, I knew the mean
ing, the riddle of life now. For years I had hungered for
affection and for sympathy. Now I knew that my whole
heart and my very being was his. That with the first kiss,
the woman was born and childhood had fled.
I not only loved him but it seemed as though I was in love
with the whole world. I even felt pity, in a strange new
feeling for the two old people up there in the lonely house,
and I thought if they loved my mother once maybe they
would turn their hearts toward me when they knew. 1
recalled Mrs. Browning's words, "If she can only marry some
good man." She had wanted me to marry before I knew the
"ways of the world."
I thought I was very learned in the ways of the world
already. I had been allowed free access to the library and
chose such books as I desired, without question or comment.
I had devoured numberless books of romance which had
opened a new world to me, and fired my imagination and
had given me the idea that a man never kissed a girl unless
he loved and expected to marry her. Oh, it would all be
right very soon now, and then they would be kind to me. I
might even learn to say "father" and "mother" in time.
As I thought of my new life it seemed as though my heart
was almost bursting with the joy and pain of my love, and
somehow everything looked different. The waters of the
bay dimpled and sparkled in the warm glow of the afternoon
sun.
"Ah, I know what the warm sunshine is to the earth now,"
I said, "it warms it like his kisses warmed and thrilled me
with a new life. It is summer now in my heart, as it is
summer on the land and the sea. Oh, 1 pray I shall not be
wicked or hate anyone, now that I love and am loved."
I knew now what a desolate life I had lived. I had been
like a poor creeping vine trying to grow up against a marble
FROM THE WORLD 73
wall, seeking to find some crevice, some opening whereby I
might find warmth and the light, only to fall back hopeless
and chilled, until now. Kind heaven ! Where were thy
angels that there was not one to whisper in my ear the folly
of letting my heart spill out its first, best, and only love where
it was worse thanMdle, and the divinity upon whom I lavished
my heart's best treasure was, I had yet to learn in all its bitter
ness, only common clay.
Even in the first instant, when I knew I loved my darling,
I felt that it would be the love of my life, that all the love
I had to give now or evermore was in his keeping, and I
thought nothing on earth or in heaven could change or make
me love him less.
It was oil and balm for my starved heart. It soothed the
turbulence of my nature. I felt and knew it to be true. It
calmed the sea of my existence, it was as if an Aphrodite
had broken the undreamed-of depths and sent the ripples
widening with low sweet music that widened and spread on
and on to infinity. I did not pause to think that there could
ever be anything but the ineffable happiness of loving and
being loved.
That he loved me I never doubted any more than the
existence of God. Why, he had kissed me and held me in his
arms ! Was not that enough ?
In that kiss all the bitterness seemed to have left me. I
thought of Moses on the lonely mount of Nebo. I too, saw
the fair domain of love spread out before me, the beautiful
land of love and happiness, and even now I stood upon
the border. 1 was really within the gates and claimed my
inheritance.
I remembered the story of Moses and his wanderings; of
the long years of toil and weary marches; the trouble and
care, and that after all he was not permitted to enter the land
of Canaan. And I was only seventeen years old. Yet I had
thought my years were long and that they had been empty
and desolate because no one had ever shown much interest
or cared for me at all.
Now I had entered into the inheritance of love which I felt
was my right, and I began to plan for my new life therein.
I wondered if he had a home, or if we could live somewhere
74 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
up here on the sloping hills, for I felt I could never be happy
in the city.
So ran my thoughts, weaving beautiful web and woof for
the future. 1 did not know that I was not eating or that Miss
Hill sat like a death's head at the feast, until glancing up I
found her piercing eyes fixed upon me.
"You do not eat, and seem excited. Has anything unusual
happened?"
"Yes," I answered, almost inclined, in my new found joy,
to take her into my confidence and tell her how happy I was,
but remembering my promise to say nothing, I added: "Yes,
I had a dream today that made me very happy."
"And might I ask what you dreamed?"
"1 dreamed for the first time in my life since my mother
died some one kissed me and smoothed my hair as if they
cared."
"And it was a dream, you say?" she said. I saw suspicion
in her steel-gray eyes.
"Only a dream what else could it be?" I answered.
"Nothing of the sort could happen in this house or vicinity.
A kiss would be frapped here. It would be like putting
your lips to a bit of frosty iron I heard an Eastern girl speak
of once."
"You are inclined to be facetious," she said, sarcastically.
"Oh, no, 1 think not; but tell me, have you ever kissed
any one in this house or witnessed an effort?"
"Kiss anybody!" She seemed horrified. "One would think
you had been brought up on kisses, you talk so glibly of
them."
"One's imagination cannot be curbed there might be
bliss."
"Yes," she retorted, "and microbes, too."
"I do not think I shall fear microbes if I ever have an op
portunity to contract them; I am young, you know, and can
afford to wait a while. Now, if I were past forty"- - and I
looked at the crow's feet around her eyes and felt there was
not much chance of contagion for her "one contracts diseases
more easily when one is young."
I saw her sallow face redden a little. I was having my
revenge and might talk about the danger and told her there
FROM THE WORLD 75
would not be the slightest danger of her contracting microbes
by kissing.
"You have already contracted a disease that you will
scarcely get rid of without severe methods," she said.
"What dreadful malady might it be?" I answered, teas-
ingly.
"Impertinence," she said, as she arose and left the table.
Her vanity was wounded, I knew. But she had never seemed
to like me and resented my coming, I thought, so I had not
tried to conciliate her.
Suddenly it flashed across my mind that I had not been
nice and my new resolves, my love, that had made me feel
kindly toward everyone opened my eyes to the fact that I was
not respectful. I jumped from my chair, ran to her, grasped
her hand and said:
"Forgive me, I was wrong and not respectful."
She opened her eyes in astonishment. It was the first evi
dence of emotion she had seen in me.
"I do not want to be impertinent or sarcastic, but no one
in this household has by word or action shown me that I was
welcome. You all seem to copy the manners of your
employers. I seem to be here on sufferance by them and toler
ated by the others, you, especially. Why are you not kinder?
What have I done that I should be treated so? When I
come in the house from outdoors it is like coming into a cel
lar. The atmosphere is cold. The human registers here do
not generate warmth."
"Possibly we could not compete with the one that has
aroused you to unusual action. You are changed since
since your dream of today," she sneered.
I was paralyzed for a brief moment. I saw it was to be
war between us, and I threw back my head and laughed. Not
for worlds would I permit her to think the shaft had struck
home.
"Then, with your kind permission, I will go on with my
dreams," and I knew my eyes flashed defiance.
"I could not expect anything else what is bred in the
bone and you well, I think it will not be very long before
you are in a different mood. You may even yet be willing
to curry favor from me; then my time will come."
7 6 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"Never," I said, and in my soul I knew that whatever my
fate I would die rather than appeal to her, cold and heart
less as she appeared.
"Why should I expect love, sympathy or mercy, if such
were ever needed from you? There is no milk of human
kindness within your body. If punctured, your veins would
ooze ice-water, I am sure."
Just then I saw Mrs. Browning standing in the doorway.
She looked feeble and so much older than when I saw her
last. 1 was certain she had heard every word of our con
versation and I was not sorry, for I had borne covert sneers
until I was on the verge of active rebellion against the entire
household.
"You can go, Jane," she said to my ruffled enemy, I
knew she was not my friend.
"Sit down, Alice," she said, "I have recovered sufficiently
to have a little conversation with you. I know you are not
happy in this house and we have been planning to send you
away with Jane for a year's travel."
"With Jane! I will not go with her," I said, with
vehemence.
"Why not? I pray. She is faithful and trustworthy."
"Yes, faithful to you and detests me. I will not go with
her. But tell me first what did she mean by saying 'bred
in the bone' why are you all keeping something from me?
Do you think I am so stupid that 1 do not realize that there
is some mystery? I am not a child any longer and you have
no right to treat me as such."
"I have the right to do as I choose and can compel you to
obey me for another year at least," she said, her eyes gleam
ing like coals, her brows knit together. "J ane has told me
that you have spent but little time about the house since
I have been ill, and it is also said," she spoke in
a voice that trembled with emotion, "that your days have not
been spent in solitude."
Oh, that prying old Jane, with her cat-like step and steely
eyes. I knew then what she meant by "curry favor." Indeed,
well, we would see.
"So you have not been too ill to set your spies at work," I
said, in cool even tones. The blood of some old warring
FROM THE WORLD 77
ancestor of mine was aroused. I would not cringe or show fear
though it be war to the death. I was no coward. I had done
no wrong. Why, only today I had thought I could love her,
and that she would be pleased when I told her I was going
to fulfill her wishes that I was to marry a "good man," her
own words that had come to me with the realizing sense of
love in that first kiss.
But now confession was out of the question. I would not
give her the satisfaction of knowing what I knew, and yet
through it all my heart was singing for joy; for I had some
one now to tell my sorrows to, some one who would kiss and
console me. Their unkindness could not hurt me longer. So
my thoughts ran on until I heard her speaking again.
"I have done what I deemed my duty. I did not know
what sort of a girl you were or what the convent had made of
you. I hoped the influence there might counteract certain
tendencies which I feared were inherent."
"And pray what 'certain tendencies' do you refer to?"
I was curious to know to learn something of inherited
characteristics. I had studied a little in that direction:
"Duplicity and following your own desires, regardless of
consequences," she answered.
I felt that in a measure she was right, though I had not
thought of concealment. She had been ill since I had been
meeting Mr. Bertram, and I could not tell her had I so desired.
Besides in all the weeks since my arrival I had come
and gone unquestioned, and I knew Mr. Browning had given
his consent. Then suddenly the thought came to me that
Mr. Bertram had said, "Do not mention our meeting." His
word weighed more with me than anything else in the world,
so I answered :
"You evidently are not satisfied with the convent training
and are going to experiment in another direction."
"You are quick to comprehend, therefore I want you to
accept the situation and that without any useless opposition.
You are to make your preparations at once. Perhaps you
may understand why I am anxious that you should go as soon
as possible, though I had not intended sending you away to
travel for a while but events have forced me to action.
You will go to the city tomorrow with Jane and pur-
7 8 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
chase a wardrobe, suitable for traveling. It will be com
paratively easy for you to find all you need. Jane will know
all that is required if you do not."
"So you have settled it according to your wishes. Now,
listen to me. First of all I want you to answer a question:
Did my mother leave any money for me, and who has fur
nished the money needful for me all the years since she died?
I demand that you answer me truthfully."
She waited as if in doubt, but finally said: "Yes, there is
money of your own awaiting you when you need it."
"If I consent to go away with with the disagreeable per
son you have selected," I said sweetly, "can it be arranged
that I may have the use of my money for anything I may
desire to purchase? 1 have a good many whims which you
have not understood."
"We prefer that you should not use the money, even if it
is yours, until you are eighteen; but, if you insist, it is easily
managed and it will be so arranged, if you will be reasonable
and not give me further cause for uneasiness."
"I want it all settled before I go to the city. I want to
begin by selecting some little things with my own money."
"My husband is going to the city tomorrow it will be
arranged that you can draw so much money per month."
She named the sum which was far beyond my expectations.
Why, I thought, I must be rich in my own right. I would
not be obliged to accept any favors from them and in my
heart I knew I would not. She could keep her secrets. The
mystery of my birth and my adoption she would not reveal
to me.
Well, I would be reticent also. I had formulated plans
which she might learn sometime, but not from me. When
once I was put in possession of what was rightfully mine, 1
could laugh at her. I would go and hide from her and her
spying servants for a year. Then, when I was of age, I
would defy her and would come and go as I pleased.
But all the while I was laughing in my heart, for I thought
if I were married how surprised they would be, and I pictured
myself coming back just once, sending my card in with Mrs.
Bertram upon it, and then I would see her and ask if she
thought I had learned the ways of the world, and if she did
FROM THE WORLD 79
not think my husband was quite capable of being my guar
dian, and that I had taken the law in my own hands and
adopted a husband who was exactly to my liking.
My thoughts ran riot. 1 was almost crazed with the sudden
change in my affairs and when she dismissed me I retired to
my room. Early the next morning I was out of the house
eager to be alone while planning for the future.
I went on and on past familiar places and still on up the
beautiful ravine, climbing the sloping sides of Mt. Tamal-
pais, pausing now and then to wonder and admire. About
me lay the deep silences of the hills, broken now and then by
the wood-pecker's hammering away in glee on some old
decayed pine tree, or the shrill quarrelings of the blue jays
as they flashed by like streaks of the rich sky above me, lur
ing me, and calling me to follow them to their haunts.
The solemn sweetness of the hills, the fragrance of the
pines brought forth by the sun's warm rays on the feathery
foliage was restful and delicious. I felt as if I were part of
the forces which were about me. I could feel the quickening
pulses of the forest, could, it seemed to me, hear the heart
throbs that sent the quick running sap up and up to the far
thest tip of the tiniest twig. The warmth and fragrance touched
my heart with its softening influences the high and lofty
peak above me, the wide landscape, the ocean glittering like
an amethyst beneath a violet sky and over against the farther
side of the bay lay the great city.
I found myself speculating upon its vast length stretching
back even out to the ocean's borders. I had been there only
once and had not cared for the cold winds and fogs that
chilled me, but now I looked with greater interest. Some
where in that wilderness of streets and houses was the man
I loved. Ah, I thought, I shall not mind the foggy evenings
or the cold winds when I am safe within the shelter of his
arms. Glad, happy thoughts came to me my life seemed
expanding and broadening with the vision.
The narrow boundaries hitherto known melted away. I
had never before known what freedom really meant. I felt
today for the first time the foretaste of emancipation. In
one sense I was to be mistress of myself and my actions. I
8o UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
was taking long breaths of freedom. The freedom of the
hills was mine and life was to be henceforth unfettered.
I sensed the odors of the woods, heard the clear call of
the birds, happy in their leafy coverts. I understood now
as never before theirs were the joy notes in nature. They are,
I thought, the vivified, crystallized notes of immortality. Each
day is for them only so many hours of gladness and song.
They do not answer for their actions one unto another. There
is no bearing of one another's sorrows no overburdened
heart is touched to the quick by the sorrows of others.
Theirs seemed the right life and the only life to live, a
life of song, of love, two by two building their nests, the
earth furnishing their food and their home, and between
times singing glad notes of thankfulness in the sheer joy of
being alive.
Over and over, more clear and insistent, came the song of
the orioles swinging high above my head, and the robin's
joyous anthem to the fresh spring morning came to my ears
as he stopped now and then to call, "sweet, sweet," to his
mate hidden in her downy nest.
Added to these was the wordless eloquence of the wind
among the pine trees which seemed to possess a subtle mean
ing in the faint sweet music that stole into my heart. It was
so far away, so touchingly soft and tender in the weaving and
unweaving of melodies. There were deep tones like God's
great voice coming from the sea answering unto sea against
the rock-ribbed Golden Gate. Then nearer me the gentle
zephyrs sighed beneath the canopy overhead, clear, soft
and lulling, like angels singing while the quivering trees
clapped their rounded leaves together in joyous glee.
It seemed to me I heard a far-away echo of myriads of
angel hands applauding the grand symphony, Nature respond
ing to Nature's God, harmonious, divinely tender and appeal
ing; and lying prone on the warm pine needles I watched the
great fleecy, foamy clouds rise higher and higher piling above
my head, and I fancied I saw a chariot and a great white
throne, then hosts of dim figures surrounding a form I eag
erly imagined to be the King of kings; and amon^ them I
seemed to see a face the face of my mother. With a sob
of joy I held up my arms heaven's gates seemed near for a
FROM THE WORLD 81
moment then the vision faded. That day can never fade.
The picture will always be bright in memory's halls, and
sacred, too, for never more in life could there be another like
it. I hated to see the shadows lengthen as I loitered on the
way back, looking down aisles of forest trees, gathering the
perishable flowers, listening to the innumerable sounds that
seemed to be pulsing in sympathy with my happy heart.
I watched the undulating madronas and laurel trees and
heard whisperings soft and gentle like nuns in prayer com
ing to me from the great cloistered forest, that even if they
brought no tangible message were full of the essence of peace
and the spirit of love which was a balm and a blessing to me.
I looked upon the fair scenes. The Mount of Beatitudes
was sublime and beautiful. I felt I had received a benedic
tion today. The lovely little valleys, the wide stretch of
waters extending to unknown regions, the islands dotting the
bay showed through a luminous atmosphere fair, hazy,
dreamy symbolical of my life that was to be. I went down
from that enchanted mountain with a strange peace in my
heart, and so happy that I was glad I had no one with me to
mar my dreams. I could tell it to the winds in soft, low
snatches of song, the perfumed airs that blew out, and on
over the depthless ocean holding its treasures of pearls and
gold, guarding them as my heart did the warm gulf-stream
of his love that had found and warmed the cold and uncared-
for life that was so precious to me now. Then I was sud
denly stricken with fear lest I might die before knowing the
absolute bliss of being his, before I might give myself up to
the vast unbounded love that I knew existed within me; that
being bestowed upon one so good and so kind would create
a paradise of our own and make earth so beautiful that the
, heart could ask for no greater happiness.
X
"A song whose echoes softly fell
Around my heart and wove its mystic spell ;
A laugh, a cry, a heart that broke
What matters life or love?
It all ends in smoke."
"Do you remember those lines, Fred?" I asked him one
morning, "and do you not wish the writer were here? She
might improvise some equally appropriate lines while we
smoke, as she did the aforesaid lines. Caro mia; I think I
could willingly forego all these languishing eyes for just one
look into yours today," I said.
"It would be a change," replied Fred. "She is worth her
weight in gold. She is not enervating. There is a sort of
tonic in her presence, in her smile and the good strong clasp
of her hand is inspiring. She flashes her vivid personality
upon one's sluggish brain with an intensity that is exhilara
ting. You have mentioned the one woman who would be a
joy forever in traveling. What made you think of her?"
"I do not know; the smoke got in my eyes, I think. I
often wonder what that vivified bit of femininity knows about
a 'heart that broke.' How do any of us know, unless one
is a fool like myself and talks. Never mind," I said hastily
changing the subject, for really I am getting quite light-
hearted about Fred. His gloominess is perceptibly vanishing
as we are busy with our sight-seeing and once or twice I have
found him chaffing with the senoritas while buying their
wares, and he is given, I observe, to returning the languishing
glances bestowed upon us from the fair faces that peer at us
from the iron-barred windows. Not for several pesos, how
ever, would 1 allow him to know that I detect the slightest
change.
1 think this jaunt will prove as beneficial to his shattered
heart and broken life as it will to my jaded and run-down
nervous system. We are both in the mood to enjoy every
hour and a fascination of the places visited has mastered us.
It seems as if we are both fast forgetting the old life and en-
8*
FROM THE WORLD 83
tering a new one with zest and renewed energy. I only wish
I could go more into detail than the mere outlines of travel
that must content you for the present, and so I will continue
my description.
Guadalajara, contrary to the rule about first impressions,
grew in attractiveness upon me, possibly, because of the
many charming places in the vicinity. I remember San Pedro
and the ride along the ancient calzada lined with mag
nificent old trees. This, the favorite suburb of Guadalajara,
OX-CART AND PEON.
has well-paved streets, handsome residences embowered in
tropical foliage and surrounded by beautiful gardens. It
seemed another world out there amid the beautiful out-of-
town homes. "Summer residences" are not spoken of in a
region where it is always summer.
I recall another day and a drive along the beautiful river
out to Zapopan, where a delightful afternoon was spent
studying the people, enjoying the quaint life and wandering
through a marvelous church. We returned late in the after
noon over a road so old and worn that it seemed more like
the worn-out bed of some water- forgotten stream.
84 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
We stopped now and then to gather fruits from strange
trees and watched the peons carrying enormous burdens on
their backs. Most of the products of the country are trans
ported to the city by men and donkeys. Here, at
least, it was necessary for the road was so rough that we had
to leave the carriage quite often, and a two-wheeled cart
would be out of the question.
As the sun went down a golden light shone over the beau
tiful valley of the Lerma. Some old aqueducts reminding me
of the Roman Campagna were in the distance; other old ruins
showed here and there, and shapeless forms draped in
rebosos and scrapes rode silently along the tortuous road. As
we came near to the city the golden glow faded from the
Gothic-Tuscan towers of the Basilica, the white spires of the
churches and Oriental-looking houses gleamed in a soft light.
Faint musical sounds from bells came across the plateau,
sounding the mystic hour of the Angelus. The rhythmic beat
was in my ears. The breath of the soft tropic night, fragrant
and sweet, was in my nostrils; and the last look at the
great plaza with its lights and gay throngs of people drove
all that was unpleasant from my mind.
And I remember for some impressions are lasting only
the beautiful and charming Florence of Mexico as I saw it
on that last evening. The scene was enchanting, and even
the poor ragged bits of humanity seemed transformed into a
happy and contented lot, each and all enjoying the dolce far
niente of the hour.
Once again we were in the cars with our train speeding
over one of the most attractive and fertile sections of Mexico,
through a portion of the State of Jalisco along the Lerma
the Mississippi of the Republic. There were glimpses of
Lake Chapala, which is larger than the Lake of Geneva, and
higher than the top of Mount Washington.
The route lay through a splendid wheat country and the
miles of fields of a large hacienda, where were thousands of
men at work on the different farms for the hacienda is the
headquarters of the vast estate and hundreds of oxen and
other animals were at work or being pastured on the rich
lands.
FROM THE WORLD 85
A whole village clusters around the residence of the pro
prietor, and there are electric lights and a railroad owned
and operated by the owner of miles and miles of land which
produces anything and everything the heart desires.
We skimmed over steel threads along the trail of the Tol-
tecs and Aztecs through this old land of the Montezumas,
finding much of interest in every mile.
Between the dark and the daylight we paused at Irapuato
on the main line, famous for its strawberries. Ghost-like
figures offered baskets heaped with the fruit and soft voices
cried, "Fresas, fresas dos reales," and for twenty-five cents
or less than ten in our money, one can buy a basketful. They
ripen every month in the year and are abundant, for there is
plenty of water for irrigation, though their up-to-date water
works in the plaza consists of an old-time crotch-and-pole
well-sweep.
But even that is better than the conditions in Marfil, where
I saw nude men on a tread-mill drawing the water, bent
double on the high wheels, no stopping or resting, working
the livelong day, as do so many others in this land of free
silver, for thirteen cents per diem.
We speeded on over the hills, those same hills over which
the mysterious Toltecs came from the north in the year 648.
The scenery is grand; there are mountains, valleys and plains
with haciendas dotting the landscape amid well-tilled fields,
which must possess wonderfully rich soil, judging from the
primitive plows which barely stir up the earth.
Then we paused at Queretaro, one of the smallest divisions
of the Republic, but one that is replete with history. 1
thought of poor Carlotta, who lost her reason; of Maximil
ian, who was shot; of the crosses on the hill, which are grim
evidences of the futility of an attempted monarchy on the
North American continent.
We passed under some stone arches of an aqueduct which
brings the water into the city from the mountains. This lux
ury the city enjoys through the generosity of one man. A
vision of the picturesque arches left a deep impression upon
my mind as we left the town and the clamorous opal-
venders.
86
UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
Further on the train stopped, and we got out to look at
a great piece of work which has no parallel in the history of
IXTACCIHUATL,
FEET.
civilization the famous Nochistongo the futile cut or canal
which is some twelve miles in length, with an average depth
of one hundred and eighty feet. Every foot of earth was
carried out on the shoulders of men. Millions of dollars and
FROM THE WORLD 87
thousands of lives were lost, yet it failed in its purpose of
draining the City of Mexico.
From the train we had a vision of broken mountains and
hills, hamlets, lakes and towns, while reaching far up toward
a turquoise sky of blue were peaks of far-away ranges. Yet
in the clear atmosphere the white glistening snows on the
peaks of Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl seemed almost within
reach. Then, amid a jangle of emotions, Fred and I found
ourselves in the city Cortez captured.
The history of the City of Mexico is substantially the his
tory of the country; but I am not a historian as you know,
Jack, simply a traveler intent on whatever is pleasing or of
interest to me, and I only mention a few of the things that
appeal to me.
The Hotel Iturbide, where we lodged, stands where Aztec
kings once had their gardens for their wild beasts, and is
where the first church was built by the Franciscans, of stone
taken from the Aztec temple. It is an old palace transformed
into a hotel. Its main patio is not attractive, being destitute
of plants and flowers, but it is rich in carved stone, arches and
columns.
Our names and the number of the rooms being written on
the hotel register which is a black-board we were shown
our rooms which opened on a smaller court. The gentleman
of the bed chamber brought the lampere and cerrillo lamp
and matches then agua caliente and with a "buenas noches,
senors," we were left with the absolute necessities of life,
in peace after our long journey, though he thought, if appear
ances were worth anything, that water was useless.
In going out the next morning I found myself
shivering with cold, and try as I might the triumph
of mind over matter did not occur. I reasoned that it was
not cold; that I was down in the torrid zone, and, while assert
ing that I was warm, knew that my hands and feet were
cold; that there were little rills of icy coldness chasing up and
down my spinal column.
Then I remembered that I was one and a half miles nearer
heaven than when at home, and wicked thoughts of a desirable
place in regions lower down restored my good humor and a
laugh changed the temperature.
88 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
From the roof of the hotel I saw the charming city about
me. There were towers and domes, parks and plazas, long
tree-lined avenues. Electric cars were everywhere on lines
radiating in all directions from the Plaza Major, which is
dominated and overshadowed by the great cathedral tow
ering on one side and the President's Palace on the other.
Here the bands play and the poorer classes throng the paths
and rest on the seats. It is their own or rather is left prin
cipally to them.
The Alameda, farther down on the Paseo, leading out
toward Chapultepec is for the better class. We sat in the same
Alameda one Sunday under a canvas covering which is put
up each Sabbath, and watched the fashionable parade which
is much like the Sunday church parade in London.
Everyone evidently had on his or her best. Some of the
dresses of the women were very much of the texture which
our women wear in California in June. We enjoyed the rich
costumes, bright faces, and low musical language.
Here we saw the rather fetching double-kiss always given
on the cheek there are some sanitary customs in Mexico
and the affectionate pat on the shoulder and pretty way of
saluting each other. Society may be seen and appreciated at
the Alameda at noon on Sundays and the other extreme at
the Plaza Major late in the afternoon.
XI
[
"He is coming, he is coming;
In my throbing heart I feel it ;
There is music in my blood and it whispers all day long.
That my love unknown comes toward me !
Ah, my heart he need not steal it,
For I cannot hide the secret that it murmurs in its song.''
As TOLD IN THE JOURNAL
My slumbers were very light that night, and the next morn
ing, true to her promise, Mrs. Browning gave me papers and
instructions regarding my money. She could not dream how
glad I was to feel that I was independent and free from them
all. I had planned to slip away from Jane and find my way
to the station. I would go to Santa Barbara, to my mother's
grave. Perhaps 1 might live again in the little cottage. I
thought I would know it, and, sanctified by her presence, I
would be happy and I could assume another name so my
guardian could not trace me. I was not learned in the ways
of the world as yet. It was all quite easy now as I planned
it.
First of all, when we arrived in the city I insisted that Jane
should take me to the bank where I drew so large an amount
of money that she stared in astonishment. All being satis
factory, I told her that as Mrs. Browning had said we were
to start soon on our travels, I did not want to come again
before leaving and that I wanted money to get what I desired.
All this was true. There was no falsehood. I needed it
and though she did not know it, I was not going to have the
horror of her company. Later came the farce of purchasing
what I knew to be needless articles, and all the while I was
wondering how I could lose myself.
Finally fate was kind to me, Jane went up in an elevator
on some errand, telling me to remain in the aisle of the store
until she returned. I was out like a flash, hurrying away I
knew not whither. I sprang on a car and almost before I
8 9
9 o
UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
realized where I was, found the car was at the Ferry. 1 got
off, as did the other occupants of the car, and stood unde
cided for a moment, then a hand was placed on my shoulder.
I almost fainted with terror. Jane, 1 thought. Then a voice
said:
"Alice, what are you doing here?"
It was Mr. Bertram and heaven seemed to have dropped
down at my feet.
u Oh ! is it you ? I am so glad, so happy ! I was wondering
how I could find you. I wanted to look up your address in a
directory when I had time."
He looked strange when I mentioned the directory, but a
moment later asked anxiously, "What do you mean by time?"
"I haven't a moment now. Oh, please, for heaven's sake,
take me away somewhere, quickly, where no one will see us ;
I have so much to tell you." He glanced hurriedly around,
beckoned a cab, put me in, and I heard him say :
"Drive anywhere, only keep going."
He jumped in, slammed the door, pulled the curtains
partly down, then said: "In heaven's name what is the
matter?"
I began to laugh, then all in a moment everything seemed
to grow dark. I knew nothing for an instant it seemed, but
I realized soon that he was chafing my hands and begging
me to speak to him. I tried to sit up but was so faint that I
could not. He put his arms about me and drew my head on
his shoulder. Tears of happiness were in my eyes. I felt so
glad to see him again, to feel that I could tell him all where
I was going, and then he could find me, only he should
know, I thought. I felt the tears start down my cheeks, and
trying to raise my head he saw them and bending over me
kissed them away. Then he drew me to him, kissing me
again and again, just as he had the first time. I put my arms
around his neck and felt I had nothing to fear in all the wide
world.
"Are you strong enough to explain why you are here, all
alone?" he asked.
"I'm not alone. I ran away from Miss Hill, who is a
prying, deceitful person. I do not know why I feel so faint,
but I believe I forgot to eat any breakfast."
FROM THE WORLD 91
"Have you had no luncheon?"
"No, Jane was hurrying to get through, she said we
would have something soon, but I left her. I will tell you
all about it, but the carriage makes so much noise," and I
paused. .,
"Wait a moment," he said, and I heard him give some
order to the driver. Then he said: "You must not say
anything further at present."
Before long we were driving along a tree-lined road.
There was a park, I thought, and soon the cab stopped. I
was assisted out and was taken into a room. Almost imme
diately a cup of broth was given me and I felt refreshed at
once.
"Now, rest a few moments, then you may have something
more substantial. Be quiet until I return."
Soon a good dinner was served, and between the courses I
told him all, that I was to be sent to Europe with Jane,
whom I detested, for she had been very unkind to me.
"I will never go, I will die, away among strangers with
her." Then I told him my plan. 1 should hide until I was
eighteen, and that no one was to know where I was hidden
but himself.
"I could not endure life without you now," I said.
"Is it so serious as that?" and he smiled.
"You must know it is, now that I belong to you."
"And so you belong to me?" he said slowly.
"Ever since you kissed me out there in the woods, I have
thought of nothing else," I replied. "I have never
seemed to belong to anyone since I was left an
orphan, until I met you, and now I know that heaven has
sent you to me and that I am yours, body and soul, your
Alice, who will never kiss anyone but you," and I laughed
in sheer delight. Heaven was farther away from me than
I knew, for he caught me in his arms and held me in his
strong embrace.
"My little girl, my Alice," he murmured, "I love you,
darling, darling, my God I am forgetting all; everything
that a man should remember!"
"And so am I. It is sweet to forget ; I only want to remem
ber life since I met you," I cried in all innocence, as my lonely
92 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
life came up in all its blankness before me. "Why should
we not forget the whole world, only just think of our
selves, isn't that enough?" I said.
"If you think so, why not?" he answered. Then he
poured out some wine, which bubbled and frothed in the
glass. "Drink," he said, as he touched my glass with his,
"to the memory of the first kiss."
I drank the wine which went through my veins like liquid
sunbeams, warming, thrilling and exhilarating. My whole
being seemed re-vivified. There was music somewhere, I
heard the sound of a harp, and then all the sweetness of
earth's harmonies I had heard yesterday. Was it yesterday, or
a thousand years ago ? Somewhere in another sphere, in a
life forgotten, until now, 1 had re-lived moments like these.
The voice of many waters, the soft strains of music seemed
blended into an old new song. The chant of love and heaven
and space and time echoed back the melody, for heart had
called unto heart, and lips and eyes answered love's sweet
hymn. Reason fled, and love usurped her place.
"Dear child, my little love!" I seemed to hear him say.
"We have found the Philosopher's Stone; the unsolved ques
tion of life mine and yours dear one, has been answered.
It is love, love, the one enchantment of human life. We
will drink our fill from the fountain which can only purify
and justify. A mad love like yours and mine can never be set
aside for a cold and chilling idea of duty."
Then I remembered nothing, only a strange hallucination
possessed my brain. I seemed to see my mother. She was
in the arms of a man, and while his kisses rained on her face,
I felt them. He talked in a low voice that was trembling
with love. I knew and felt every kiss, heard every word.
It was the delirium of love that blotted out the whole world,
leaving passion to usurp the senses, then a blank, and it
was ages, eons of time before I awoke to begin life again.
The morning sun was shining when I awoke with a shiver
of dread and horror. Where was I? I had never seen this
room before, I was sure. I got up, but my head seemed to
whirl. I could not walk, but staggered to a chair. I tried to
think, but thoughts would not come connectedly. Idly I
glanced around. I saw a bell, which 1 finally reached, press-
FROM THE WORLD 93
ing it and falling back in a chair, almost senseless. A woman
answered the bell :
"What does madam wish?"
To whom was she speaking, I wondered. I was too ill to
look around, but I said, "Where am I?"
"You are in your own room. Your husband brought you
here. You were very ill, and I helped undress you and put
you to bed."
"My husband!" I gasped, and then the bliss of heaven
stole into my racked brain. Then we were married ! Why it
seemed as though I could recall something of it. He had
said something to a man who came into the room when I was
dizzy and everything seemed whirling around. I thought,
oh, how good of him to make me his wife !
Gradually it all came back to me, yesterday's flight, my
terror, the running away from Jane, and my joy in finding
him. Oh ! I forgot, my husband, 1 must say, even to
myself, I thought.
"But where is he?" I stammered.
"He left word that he was compelled to go away to attend
to an important matter. You were to have breakfast when
you desired, then rest afterwards until he came. Shall I order
for you now?"
She was very gracious and anxious to please me, so
different from those with whom I had been staying.
"I am not hungry. I do not know what I can eat."
"Then I will see to it myself," and she hurried away.
I sat lost in thought until she opened another door and
asked me to come in. A cozy little room with a cheerful
fire, a piano, books and easy chairs filled the room, and a tray
with breakfast was placed on a table near the fire. She was
very solicitous, urging me to eat, I looked so wretched,
had 1 been ill long? she talked in a continuous strain. I found
it was not necessary for me to say much. I simply said only
a fainting spell, that my head ached dreadfully and I hoped
to be better soon. I was nearly distracted. I wanted to get
her out of my sight, to have time to think was all I prayed for
just at that moment. When once alone, I laughed in a
hysterical way, I suppose, for she knocked at the door and
asked if I desired anything. I said, "No, only to be quiet."
94 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
Then I thought with delight of Jane's surprise and her fury
when 1 could not be found; of the news she would carry back.
Well, I would let them worry for a while. My husband and
I would go together, some day, then I would tell them
I was married, that I had thought a surprise of that kind
would be better than a year's travel.
So I mused, and wondering a little how strange it was that
a priest could be found so quickly, and we be married in such
haste. Then it occurred to me that in all probability there
was a fear in Mr. Bertram's heart that I would be found and
be taken away from him, and that was why he would not wait
until the next day. Oh, how dearly I loved him. mine now
and forever! The old life was gone, as was the old, desolate
feeling. Kneeling, I thanked heaven for my gift, the love
of a good man, who was so tender and loving to the helpless
orphan, and then I lay down on a couch and went to sleep.
When I awoke some one was bending over me. It was my
husband. I caught hold of his hand, pressed it to my lips,
then held it to my heart. He bent over me.
"My poor little Alice, do you forgive me?"
"Forgive, I have nothing to forgive. I only know that I
bless and love you, my darling, my own !"
"You do love me, sweet Alice ?" he said.
"Oh, I cannot tell you how much, all my life I will spend
in trying to tell you what my heart feels. I will live if only
to prove how I can and do worship you, my darling, my
king! I shall call you my king from now on, and you shall
make me your queen or your slave, I shall not care which,
only I shall stipulate that 1 am never to be parted from you,
or at least not long away from your gracious presence."
"But it will be necessary. I cannot be with you all the
time, there are certain duties, you know a man cannot ignore
them all."
"We will not discuss duties now," I said. "I want to thank
you for your thoughtfulness last night."
"Do you call it thoughtfulness?" he asked in a low voice.
"Certainly I do. You knew I did not want to return, so
you made it impossible. I do not understand it all now, but
that will come later. Let us be happy; but tell me, when
will you take me out for a walk?"
FROM THE WORLD 95
"Not until you are stronger," he said ; "then we will drive."
The afternoon was ended. We dined and I felt so well,
that I played and sang for him. He was pleased, and begged
for another and another song, praising me extravagantly,
calling me his nightingale and his dear little song-bird.
"Why, Alice, t did not dream you had such an exquisite
voice," he said.
"Well, we have a lot to learn about each other. But then
we have a whole lifetime in which to learn it, haven't we?"
"And you have no fears for the future?"
"None," I replied, so long as we both live," and 1 ran and
threw myself in his arms, kissing and caressing him to my
heart's content.
*********
A few days passed, days of unalloyed happiness. We
walked and drove, but usually late in the afternoon, through
that glorious park, watching the ocean from some high point,
or driving out in the moonlight along the beach. One night
he told me that he must be absent for a while on business, and
that it would be safer for me to be out of the city during the
time.
"Mrs. Andrews is giving up this house. She is not well
and needs a rest, she says. How would you like a little
journey to Alaska and return perhaps by Yellowstone Park?
You have never traveled, the world is new to you, my dear,
and it will serve to occupy your time while I am away. You
would be wretched here alone; besides there is danger of
someone finding your retreat, the Brownings would claim
you and send you away with Jane, where it would be impos
sible for me to see you."
"But how could they, now that I belong to you. You have
to the right to claim me anywhere?"
"Do you think so?" he said. "But if, when I am gone
and they fetched a policeman, you are not of age yet, you
know," and he smiled.
The thought of Jane and her acidulated countenance and
her veiled sneers, and the idea of being taken away, filled me
with terror. I was the merest babe in matters pertaining to
the law, so, though my heart was almost breaking with the
idea of going away, I consented. He cheered me up; told me
96 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
I must write down every item of travel that interested me
and read it to him when I returned.
"But am I not to write you at all while I'm away?" I asked.
"I shall be traveling constantly, but I can write to you at certain
places. You will have letters at Seattle ancVTacoma. I shall
address them in an outer envelope to Mrs*. Andrews so she
can get them from the postoffices. I cannot allow you to hunt
up those places, you might get lost, you know," he said
teasingly.
In a short time we were ready. Mrs. Andrews had kindly
taken me down-town early one morning after my arrival at
her house and I had replenished my wardrobe. I told her that
I had left home hurriedly.
"I know all about it. Mr. Bertram told me," and she
smiled. "You are not the first one who has not waited for a
trousseau."
"Well, I have been spared the trouble. I do not like the
bother of clothes," 1 replied.
"Some day you will change, perhaps. You will always
want to look well in the eyes of him you love," she answered.
"Do you think my husband cares? If so, I must buy
everything pretty. I had not thought about it. You will help
me, won't you, to get what is necessary. You will know best,
and I want to look as pretty as possible. After our return,
we will discuss the matter seriously. Now, we are to think
of our journey only."
* * * * I can write of my heartache and the terrible
homesick feeling I experienced in leaving. I had never known
the feeling before, for I had not loved anyone at the convent
and I never felt at home at the Browning's. I could not
speak of it to Mrs. Andrews, though she was kinder than
any other woman had ever been to me. I shall write it all
down, just as my "King" had asked me; but he can never
know, though. I may read this to him some day when I come
back to my own. How like death was that parting, but he
said I must be brave for his sake and not make it harder for
him. It was not to be so very long, the weeks would fly when
once I was interested.
I did not sleep much that first night on the cars, every
thing was new and strange and the night was hot and uncom-
FROM THE WORLD 97
fortable. At the first peep of day, the train stopped for a
moment and I heard the gurgle and dash of running waters.
Hurriedly I dressed and stepped out on the platform and
took deep breaths of the cool, sweet, pine-scented air.
I watched the limpid, sparkling waters of the Sacramento
river, which I knew had its birth farther up in the heart of the
Shasta mountains. It sparkled and danced with joy in all its
newness, fresh from the fountain source, fed by virgin snows.
So much I had read; but, ah, the thrill of excitement that
possessed me and kept me enthralled as we sped on through
the whole morning aglow with light and life. I thought if
my darling were only with me, earth could hold no greater
joy; but in the exhilaration of the atmosphere my spirits rose
and I was happier every hour, as we flashed around curves,
over bridges and through tunnels.
Someone said, "Look," pointing heavenward, and through
the trees and mountain ridges, glancing upward, something
pure and white glistened through the blue haze. Still follow
ing the outline I saw Shasta's unparalleled dome. I had never
seen snow before, and the grandeur and sublimity of that
wonderful peak with its glistening crown of wthite looking
down in majesty upon the lower hills, up which we were
creeping in sinuous curves, the train a great dull, creeping
thing, winding like a serpent up and up toward that peak,
"Lone as God," I had read somewhere seemed unearthly.
Never in all my life had I felt the awe, wonder and adoration
that I felt when looking on that marvel of the Creator! My
littleness, an atom drifting hither and thither upon the eddies
of life. I felt I had never known what strength or stability
meant.
The ocean was changing, restless, its waters ever pushing
up to the farthest mark, then pulling away as if in rage,
rising, falling, ever and ever. I had watched the sudden
glory of the rainbow in its glowing beauty, gleaming meteor-
like in the heavens, turn to cold gray nothingness in an
instant. The stars went down, the moon changed its full
round face and dwindled away to nothing, except a faint
curved bent gleam of silver. The flowers came and went,
but this I know was here when the "Morning stars sang
together and all the sons of God shouted aloud for joy."
98 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
I never before understood why the heathen worshipped
idols: a Parsee caressing the warm sunbeams, the devout
sun-worshipper turning a rapt face toward the East, humbling
himself before the God of day. Surely untutored savages
also in the cycles gone by must have wondered and knelt to
this great white, glistening Thing, fresh even now, as if just
from the Creator's hands.
That first day over those curves and grades, on past the
glorious peak, still on through the picturesque Siskiyou moun
tains, through what to me was unrivaled scenery, left unfad
ing pictures. * * * A whirl of emotion was mine as we
journeyed north, through a succession of mountains and val
leys, by rushing rivers and quiet villages, the days were too
short and the nights too long. Then we came to the end of
the journey by railroad, and as the sun sank westward in
unclouded splendor, still another glorious vision greeted my
eyes Mount Rainier, looming up in grandeur, proud of
its two feet nearer heaven than Mount Shasta, more symmet
rical, more snowy, its fairy-like peak, glowing warm and rosy
in the last rays of the setting sun, while the base and the sides,
half-way up, showed but dimly through a blue mist.
Mrs. Andrews hustled around, securing needful articles for
our journey; then I found myself aboard a steamer and was
assigned a room, and soon the day and the night were lost in
the nothingness of sleep.
"Take therefore no thought of tomorrow, for the morrow shall take
thought for the things of itself."
Crisp waters, fresh winds! A half-glad, half-fearful feel
ing came over me as I stood on the deck of the ship the next
morning, watching the prow cut the gleaming waters like a
knife; saw it roll away only to be churned into foam by the
wheels which sent us swiftly on and on, until our country was
left behind and Alaskan Territory and unknown regions lay
beyond.
How very soon I realized the futility of trying to write all
that I saw. Something must be written, but, oh, how
much I would have to tell in the days to come, when I could
nestle down with my head on my husband's lap. There would
be enough for years, I was sure, in the twelve hundred miles
FROM THE WORLD 99
of wonderland, of fairyland to me, the broad expanses of
the purest, clearest shimmering waters, then the narrow chan
nels and straits. There were abrupt declivities springing
from the water's edge thousands of feet high, and oh, the
inexpressible beauty of the dear little islands that dot the
waters everywhere !
It looks, in going through that inland passage, as if when
God had made this earth, He had a bit left on His hands
and had shaken it off broadcast upon the waters, just little
staccato-marks to accentuate the beauty, the harmony of the
whole, and, looking upon it, pronounced it good. And they
bloom and blossom, and green trees and velvety sward grow
down to the very brim, and, forever green and fair, please and
delight the few who wander up there.
The second morning out, 1 was astonished to find a note
by my plate at breakfast. The superscription read, "For
Alice." Tearing it open, I read:
"Good morning, darling! I kiss you from this cruel dis
tance; but this will reach you in time for you to vaguely
imagine it one of the sweet waking kisses that we two know,
the nectar that has inspired our lives. My darling, my own !
Mine own until death! Mine by all the laws of affinity!
Would that I could tell you of my love. It seems easier to
write it ; though I could never make you understand how you
crept into my heart, how I resisted temptation, leaving you
with that first kiss, the kiss of love and innocence from
your trembling lips. Ah, I knew without the telling, of your
fresh young love. I forgot all else but you for the moment,
my angel-eyed Alice. I went away, but your dear, tender
eyes following, entreating me from the distance, seemed
to come into my very soul, pleading for me to return.
"Then fate sent you to me. It seems like a dream, a dear
sweet dream that haunts me and fills me with dread because
of the unconquerable love that has sprung up in my heart for
you in the brief time we have known each other. Yet how
shall love be gauged? Not by time. And how measured?
Its heights, its depths, its immensity are unknown, unques
tioned. I want to reassure you, to make you understand, if
I, with a nature almost coarse, can feel when you are reading
this, the thrill of our dear love which will abide with me,
ioo UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
you, darling, with your tender sympathetic nature, will
respond, and the same sweet longings will fill your waking
hours and be reflected in your sleep. Kiss me in your dreams,
and I shall feel your soft cheek against mine and the inde
scribable magnetism of your sweet presence. My heart is
with you. YOUR KING/'
His first love letter! And I was reading it while speeding
on and on, amidst the most beautiful scenery in all the world,
I thought. Ah, how bright the day was, and happy me !
I ran to Mrs. Andrews, telling her of the miracle. She dis
claimed all knowledge, but was pleased over my joy. I was
happier than I had been since I kissed my "King" good-bye.
Over and over 1 read the letter, feasting my eyes on the
words, words his eyes had seen and his pen had traced while
his heart prompted the loving message. Then in a blissful
reverie I watched the panorama of wonders as we went on.
Metlakatla and its neat Indian village, where we purchased
curios, came next. Then Fort Wrangle, beyond which we
came to Seymour Straits, going on through miles of the most
interesting part of the voyage.
I learned that our steamer, drawing seventeen feet of
water, must strike the full tide in these narrows, else it would
be impossible to go through. A vessel drawing five or six
feet could not pass the dangerous sunken reefs at half-tide.
The buoys that indicate these rocks are so near each other
that the vessel barely has room to turn. I felt no fear what
ever, though there were some timid people on board, for it
seemed as if we could jump ashore if necessary, in places. I
was in the mood to wonder and admire, for the world was a
very bright and beautiful one to me.
Emerging from these narrows, I had my first view of a
glacier. Very white and beautiful in the distance it looked,
but that and the spouting of the whales soon ceased to be of
interest, as numerous white specks appeared in the distant
waters, "Icebergs!" and all the field-glasses were out.
Nearer and nearer, and we were among them ! Oh, the inde
scribable beauty as they went by! No sculptured images, no
paintings, no words can do them justice ! Some white as
snow, others clear as crystal, and in their depths all the won
drous colors of the sky, the green translucent depths of the
FROM THE WORLD
101
ocean, emerald hues, sapphires, a glint of flame, and the
glory of them grew and grew upon us until we anchored in
front of the Taku Glacier, with the waters one mass of
crushed ice and those huge bergs floating rainbow-hued
around us. One slipped by, I shall never forget it. On the
surface, looking up to the heavens, was a large sphynx-like
face. Time, the wondrous sculptor, had wrought a face
perfect in shape and symmetry. It seemed pitiful that it
WYNDAM GLACIER.
should drift away into space with the waters dashing over the
cold still face. There were fairy barges, animals, castles,
all sorts of strange things to be seen and imagined, as those
bergs slid away and out of sight.
Here, while the ship took in ice for the voyage, we watched
the Indians catching seals. Clothed in white garments, with
a square sail stretched in front of the prow of the boat, they
moved slowly from one floe of ice to another, scarcely to be
seen by us even when near. The seals fall easy victims and
are either shot or speared with but little trouble.
102 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
On reaching Juneau I found two letters in my stateroom.
1 could not understand the mystery. There were no rail
roads, we were on the fastest steamer, but the joy of
receiving letters drove away all thought of how they came.
I was in an enchanted world, all things were possible. I
was in such a state of rapture that it seemed useless to specu
late on the present or the future, so I locked my door and read
while happy tears fell from my eyes :
"Darling mine ! I know you will want the kiss I send with
this, know the need you feel for a little word of tenderness
away up in those lonely regions of ice and snow. I kiss and
love you with all the tenderness I have. God knows you
deserve more, for you have filled my waking dreams, my
own, my life, my sweet, my all ! Love has come so soon into
your young life that you cannot realize how vacant indeed
are the lives of those who have not learned to love. He is
indeed unfortunate who has not the happiness, the sweet
content, the delightful frenzy of love; and how doubly blessed
is he who possesses the perfect love of a girl like my own,
who adds the element of perfect content to my less tender
affections, yet lends by her charms a sweet delirium to his
passion. And now, a sweet good morrow, darling, my heart's
best love. Though we are separated by many miles, and
circumstances may combat our Love's peaceful realm until I
see you again, my dreams will be all that is sweet and dear
of what was and is to be. A kiss for Alice in Alaskaland.
"My little girl has been wondering what good fairy
has given her the messages, and as this is the last stop
ping place before you turn your dear face toward the south
land and me, I will confess. I know the captain and sent him
instructions by letter, requesting him to give you these letters.
I knew how lonely you would be, and thought a surprise
would please you, though I know you will fully appreciate
the wonderful scenery of the trip, and I want my sweetheart
to enjoy and appreciate all she will see.
"I am to be very busy, partly for others and partly for you,
dear, so shall try to be patient until I see you and when I do,
ah, when I do, mine own, remember, no expression will be too
FROM THE WORLD 103
affectionate, no caress too gentle, and no love too ecstatic to
bestow upon you. I cannot conquer my feelings; can you?
I tried, God knows, but now I am in the very depths, or
rather, lofty heights of love, in with that wild abandon,
that recognizes no rule of man or law, which even now grows
uneasy under simple policy.
"I write this that you may ponder over it. If you could
know how sincere have been my efforts to keep you out of
my mind long enough to formulate plans for our welfare, you
would pity me I know. In moments of your solitude you
possibly have thought me lacking in the warmth your deep
sympathetic nature craves. Yet my love is deep and sincere.
It was born in admiration and matured in that sweet quality
called affinity. I shall dream of you, of your face pillowed
on my arm, of your sweet lips pressed close to mine, and of
pulses quickened by mysterious sympathy, and of all that is
sanctified by love."
So the secret was out about the letters ! And I realized how
more than thoughtful he had been to write these, hurried as
I knew he must have been, and how dear were his messages of
love ! Surely no girl in the world was ever so blessed in the
love of a noble man as I Alice whom no one had cared
particularly for.
Then I thought perhaps the fault had been mine. I had
never cared to make friends, had lived within myself; my
books, my music, were all I cared for until I had met my
husband my master. Why, I knew now that I had loved
him from the moment when he first spoke to me and held my
hand in his warm clasp. If love begets love, why not try to
win others and to be more lovable myself. So I reasoned, yet
knowing in my heart I wanted no love, no friends, no com
panionship, save his, my liege lord, my all, for all time
and eternity. My thoughts were only happy thoughts, and
the scenery was enhanced by my mental condition. I was
eager to see Juneau, the metropolis of Alaska, though after a
brief survey I did not care very much for the place, though
it is prettily situated. We visited the Indian village for bas
kets and curios, but my woman's curiosity was not sufficient
io 4 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
to overcome the overpowering smells with which the houses
and inmates are cursed.
I preferred the fresh air, and a talk with a woman who had
spent many years here, whose husband was prospecting for
a mythical gold mine. Her life was hard, but hope cheered
her on. Ah ! I thought, what would life be without hope, and
I gave her a little parcel, telling her not to open it until after
I had gone. There was money enough to relieve her for a
time, while her heart fed on hope.
Crossing the two-mile stretch of water that lies between
some mines and Juneau we witnessed the finest sunset of the
whole journey. I saw the most beautifully colored clouds
in the sky and the shimmer of distant water, far distant peaks
and nearer ranges of hills, all bathed in a golden haze, to be
seen only, I thought, in lands far south of this. The peak
towering directly above Juneau, with its gleaming waterfalls
and gulches filled with snow-patches here and there almost
to water's edge; the verdure also faithfully reproduced in the
mirror-like waters, formed a strange contrast, all the
glory, the color, light and shimmer of the tropics in front,
while near and crowding up under our keel, the shadow phan
toms of a winter that rests forever on that three thousand
foot peak, towering up so grandly above us.
Though I read and reread my letters, I was inexpressibly
lonely that last evening in Juneau. Wrapping my steamer
robe about me, I sought a sheltered nook away from the rest
of the passengers. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts.
The stillness of the night lay upon the waters and the over
hanging cliffs, the hush of a June twilight that seemed
unlike any other I had ever known. An opaline light that had
the radiance of early dawn, mixed and intermingled with
the glow of a sunset that was kissing the sweet dawn of a
new-born day was around me, filling my soul with its beauty
and strange spell, as the boat steamed slowly away from the
wharf at midnight.
A low wailing sound that w*ent to the quick of my heart
came to me from the shore, burdened with the very soul of
misery and pain.
"Oh! What is it?" I asked as one of the mates
passed me.
FROM THE WORLD 105
"Only a Siwash Indian woman wailing for her dead hus
band," he answered.
How my heart ached for the poor desolate creature. Ah,
me ! How well I understood, love was the same every
where ! It is the same through all ages. Civilization has not
made or marred it. I had read of Cleopatra's stormy love,
and I knew what it meant, the bible story of Ruth and her
love !
Back to my mind like a flash came the unpleasant memory
of the Ruth 1 had known, which stirred me to bitter recollec
tions. I tried to forget, to shake off an uncanny feeling that
oppressed me. I went to my room and tried to forget my one
hatred; tried to stop my ears, to drive out the sound of that
mournful, agonizing wail that came from that desolate
widowed savage soul away up here in the wilds, amid the
mountains and waste of waters that seemed forgotten by God
and almost unknown to man.
Sleep scarcely touched my eyelids ere a bright and sparkling
day shone through my window. I arose and going out on
deck had my first glimpse of the Muir Glacier through a field-
glass, while still thirty-five miles distant.
I saw a misty, frozen, mighty river of ice as it stretched
from the water's edge miles and miles away, a luminous haze
arising from it, intensified by the dark peaks and gorges
guarding it. And ever, as the ship sped on, it grew and grew,
into wondrous beauty, culminating in a grand paean of
delight. As the ship slowly floated within a thousand feet,
perhaps, directly in front of that strange, weird wall, a sec
tion of hundreds of feet in length and breadth, slid down with
the roar of artillery into the water, dashing the spray far up
on the walls of ice and causing the breakers to roll on the
distant beach.
All the afternoon we were treated to such a display of
falling ice as is seldom seen even here. It seemed as if the
old glacier was anticipating and giving us our Fourth of July
in advance. We were landed on the moraine in small boats,
and went up and on over the strange treacherous wonder. We
climbed over a steep hill covered with pebbles, but digging
into it an inch or so, we found only ice underneath on
and on, with ever those sharp detonations, clear as the
106 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
ring of a rifle-shot, only a hundred-fold greater! A roar, a
rush of water, then a huge form shoots high in the air, and
we know another iceberg is born. The bergs are not so beau
tiful as at T'aku; more dirt, rock and debris being in the ice.
The utter desolation about this vast, solemn, moving thing,
the immensity of it, its treacherous crevasses and hidden
dangers were appalling to me. Unseen forces seemed reach
ing, pulling, drawing me toward those vast, blue crevasses;
beckoning, urging me toward them. I turned helplessly,
uncertain, afraid to move, when someone took my arm. A
man with a kind face whom I had seen, and the only passen
ger with whom I had cared to talk, led me away. I clung to
his arm, and I supposed I looked my gratitude, for he said :
"What is the matter? Why were you creeping slowly along
toward that crevasse? Did you not know it was dangerous?
You must, for you are white and trembling now. Stand still
a moment, close your eyes, take a deep breath or so and you
will feel better."
I did so.
"Now the color has come back to your face, and now
answer my question. What did you mean?" almost sternly.
"Not the idea of self-destruction and eternal misery?"
"Oh, no!" I cried; "that was what I feared. I was fas
cinated and tried to get away. I had asked Mrs. Andrews to
leave me alone for a few moments. She is there," I said,
pointing to where she sat, a short distance below us.
"I saw you alone, and could not understand how they could
have permitted it, so left the others and came to you, and,
perhaps " here a faint smile illumined his features -"I too
was impelled to come by a higher power than that which was
pulling you down into an icy unknown grave."
"Oh!" I cried, "do not speak of it. Do you think that it
means that death was beckoning me, was pulling me
down into that icy horror, and just now, when I have so much
to live for. Why, I couldn't die just now. I have only been
living two or three months!"
"I knew you were young, but it had not occurred to me that
it was a question of a month or two." Again he smiled, but
it was a kindly re-assuring smile.
FROM THE WORLD 107
"You do not understand," I said, "I am past seventeen,
but never knew what life meant, or cared for it very much
until recently. Now I have every desire to live, and live
a long life, for I am very happy."
"I trust you may be so all your life. Try to live so you
may have no cause for regrets. Now, here is your friend,
you had better go down to the boats at once," and he left me.
"Let us go down, Mrs. Andrews, quickly," I said; "I am
so tired."
"You do seem rather shaky. Who is the man you were
talking to? He looked like a minister."
"I do not know, he kindly helped me over some very rough
places." 1 could not tell her my strange experience, so we
went on in silence.
Back again to the steamer, with my eyes on the wonderful
wall, snow-white, save where the new ice shows fresh after
the falling bergs, and then the intense blue, the tints that
range through all the greens and blues of the painter's
palette! The glory of turret, dome and tower; the strange
sculptured forms, the vastness, the terror of it all, especially
on board the ship with that terrible wall of ice seemingly so
near! A single section, larger than usual, an uprising of ice
from those terrible depths, and utter destruction of all
would be the result.
And soon, with a last look, 1 turned my face away, looking
southward, while my heart was beating with joy as the boat
slowly turned and left that mighty wall of ice, breathing a
prayer of thankfulness that I had been permitted to gaze
upon this, one of the most inspiring sights of the world, and
more than glad to be safe from its terrible, strange mysterious
influences.
A night's rest restored my nerves, and at the Kootznahoo
fishing banks the next morning I had my first experience in
fishing, as interested in the sport as if there were no glaciers
in existence.
My excitement knew no bounds when I brought to the sur
face a halibut weighing sixty pounds, and later a red-snap
per by chance, the largest of the kind caught, which the
captain by special order had served at our table. It was so
large that after thirteen of us had eaten, it scarcely showed
loS UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
mutilation. I was so pleased and delighted over my success
that I scarcely felt the blisters on my hands.
Leaving there, we paused a short time at Kilisnoo, then
sailed directly to Sitka.
I was interested in the Indian Mission; the natives showed
the good work of the missionaries. They appeared neat and
clean under the influence of education. At the museum
there were some terrible instruments of torture. A branch
of a shrub covered with poisonous thorns was shown us. They
used to beat their witches to death with these. I afterwards
secured a small branch. It was more to me than Indian bas
kets or curios, for it told of horror and ignorance of unut
terable agony and torture, and always the face of some poor
old woman loomed up from the benighted past, and the piti
ful fear of it made me say, reverently, "Thank God for those
dear missionaries and their work!"
Sitka is called the Naples of America, and is so beautiful
that I felt I must, some day, see the other Naples, lying close
under the shadows of the treacherous Vesuvius. The chan
nels are filled with islands, large and small. Mount Edge-
comb, in the near distance, unlike the volcano, wafting its
hot breath over Pompeii, has its extinct crater filled with
snow.
The waters are wonderfully transparent, and far down in
their icy depths I saw starfish and sea-anemones. The great
charm of these waters is not the wonderful blue, but the
idea of a vast, almost unknown region, stretching westward.
Sitka has the charm of age and mystery. It is a clean and
neat little town. The walks in the vicinity are beautiful, and
the days were perfect; unusually so. One evening I stood
with an officer at the marine station, who signaled the lower
ing of the flag at ten o'clock, and the sound of the sunset gun
echoed back from the surrounding hills.
And then in the golden glory of another afternoon we
floated away through the most witching scenery of Pearl
Straits, on and on, in the glorious day following, and in the
soft twilight that came after the bright days.
There has been only twilights further north ; where we had
eaten midnight suppers when it was light enough to read, but
now each day gave way, little by little, to the nights, which
FROM THE WORLD 109
became more sombre and assertive, more conducive to dreams.
But it was as if in some dream, for it was fanciful and unreal
enough, that we steamed on amid the grandeur of moun
tains, of islands, and peaks snow-drifted that were seemingly
adrift on a sea of mist, which I appreciated, while longing
for land, and more than all else letters, the expected after
the unexpected.
Tacoma was reached, and I hurried Mrs. Andrews away
before she had time to ask for a room, for the longed-for
letters,
"Go quickly; I will wait here in the reception-room until
you return," I pleaded.
She humored me, and I waited so restlessly I could not sit
still. I went to the window, watching the hurrying throng
and wondered why I was so stupid that I did not go with her;
when instead of waiting I could have held them in my
hands, his letters. It would not have been half so bad as
this uncertainty. I would have known at once. Impatiently
I beat my fingers against the glass ; then I seemed to hear a
voice whispering:
"Waiting for letters?"
Startled, I turned quickly, and my darling, my love, my
life, stood before me. In an instant I was sobbing out my
great longings, and the hurt of absence in my husband's
arms.
"Here, girlie, straighten up; don't cry! Why don't you
laugh? We are in a public room, you know. I did not mean
to startle you so. I expected to come to you when you were
safe in your room, but I met Mrs. Andrews down the street.
She told me of your impatience and that you were here, and
I could not resist the temptation of coming at once."
"Oh ! How good you are to come. I did not dream of it,
and was so unhappy because I could not go directly to Cali
fornia and you. I think I would have gone. I meant to
persuade Mrs. Andrews to take me home at once. I have
been up there where it is so cold. I wanted the warm skies
at home, and you. It has been so long," I pleaded. "But I
have enjoyed it more than I thought possible, with you so
far away," I added, lest he should think I had not cared for
the trip.
no UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"I am sure you have enjoyed the long absence fully as much
as I have, though it is not so very long, hardly three weeks,"
he said.
"Yet a whole lifetime seems crowded into these three
weeks. But here comes the letter-carrier," as Mrs. Andrews
came in, smiling.
"All a cheat," she said, "depriving the Government of its
rightful postage. 1 have nothing, and there is your letter,"
pointing to my husband.
I laughed and said I would gladly pay the postage on so
precious a parcel.
So, jesting and laughing in my unexpected joy, we went to
our rooms, which were already provided for us, for the lug
gage was there and the wily Mrs. Andrews had arranged my
belongings. And then we were left alone.
XII
"Ah ! Sorrow is a potent enchantress and once she touches the heart,
life can never be the same again."
I, who knew them so well, remembered when Bert Wilder
met Ruth Carrington at the home of a mutual friend on a fair
summer day, and observed that from the first meeting there
was a mutual attraction and each seemed to have no thought
for others, if only they could be together. Their souls seemed
to go out to each other at the moment of their first meeting.
They were drawn together by that unseen, invisible influence
that is stronger, more lasting than most things tangible, for
it is as tenacious and enduring as life itself, and the mystic
something that will endure, some of us hope even beyond life
itself.
Bert Wilder's wooing was impetuous like himself. He was
not satisfied a moment away from her. When it was not
possible to see her he sent notes.
In her happiness and shy sweet love she sent extracts to me
and some of the letters were given me to keep later on. They
ran in this style :
I want you dear! My heart
has no room for another. My arms ache with emptiness
and are held your way. Come to me, that I may hold you
to my heart and feel the sweet June of your lips pressed to
mine, for you remind me of all the fair sweet things in nature.
You are my inspiration, my motive, my guiding star; my
omnipotence, my love ! The time is near when I shall come
and feast my hungry heart from your dear eyes; when my
caresses will soothe the bruises of my absence.
"With every faculty I want you, through the day time,
with the last consciousness of sleep, in dreams, with the first
bird twitter of early morn, my flesh and mind and soul are
craving your touch, your welcoming words, the illumination
of your love-lit eyes, the indescribable joy of your presence
and the absorbing rapture that my own Ruthie alone can
bring me."
ii2 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
u My darling girl: The mills of fate seem to grind for
me only the grist of disappointment, for I am called away
and must go without seeing you. God, how lonely it is with
out you ! I have been so busy this week, and also away where
there was no chance to write. But with my unavoidable and
almost brutal neglect, was unreasonable enough to expect
a word from you today, and the dreadful fear came to me
that 'maybe she is ceasing to care.'
"It took me an hour before I thought perhaps my darling
may be applying the same kind of logic to me. It is an awful
long way to you, sweet one, so far that sometimes I look out
from the hades of solitude, and almost imagine my own in an
unattainable heaven, happy with other angels, and perhaps a
rival or two.
"How bitterly I curse the delay, these days of unrest that
keep me from you. At least these conditions will envalue
the meetings to come and will teach me the blessedness of my
darling one. Will teach me I am right when I re-affirm my
love. Will teach me new reasons for the truth of the feeble
words of love that I have tried to fitly bestow upon her who
alone is entitled to them.
"My idol, my darling, my Ruth, my all! Take me into
your tender heart today and let me warm it with a love that is
undying."
"My Own: Yours of yesterday instructing me that you
were going somewhere w r ith somebody, for sometime unmen-
tioned, reached me today. You are a sweet and dutiful girl
to ask my consent, and my only wonder is that you did not
intensify your interest in my advice by going before you
asked it.
"There, sweetheart, quiet the little bit of rebellion that the
above has excited. I am only getting even with your little
pleasantry. How I would like to be there when you read
this, to kiss away the sweet pout that just now is showing as
your dear eyes read.
"Ah, my love ! Though I shall be very busy during your
absence, I will speculate upon its duration many will be the
times that my mind will wander from its subject to its object;
FROM THE WORLD 113
and in day dreams try, try hard to picture its idol's abiding
place, and how she is enjoying herself.
"Sometimes in fancy I shall see her wandering through
pine-scented woods, or resting beneath some grand, old
monarch of the forest, influenced, awed but soothed by the
magnificence of nature, and then, mayhap, I will dream we
are together and I, smoothing her beautiful hair with the
tenderest of touches until still in fancy I see her fall asleep
while I watch, drinking sweet draughts of love, until she
awakes; and I murmuring as I do in reality: God bless her!
God bless her!"
"So, my sanctuary of sweets, you purpose giving me a kiss
for every word in letters that I carry to the train ! Be care
ful with such rash promises. I'll be spending my days in
writing and running to catch trains and the rest of the time
computing the number of kisses I am to receive.
"You seem happy in the haven your heart has found.
Happy haven, happy heart ! Time shall not tear it away nor
vicissitudes alter its security, if it lies quiet in the calm of
placid love, or turbulent in the delight of active passion. Be
sure of rest and response, and always a sympathy to its every
beat.
"And now I shall say good night, thinking of the sweet
delirium of our united lips."
"How long would you love me a lifetime?
Ah ! that is too long let us say
A moment. Life's best's but a moment,
And life itself scarcely a day."
But dear, sweet little Ruth did not know these lines, or if
so, would not in her trusting heart have harbored for an
instant the idea that Bert's love, so sweet to her in its new
ness, and so strong in expression, from him whom her heart
adored in all the strength and purity of a first love, whose
heart had responded to no other soul until he, the ideal of her
young dreams came to claim his own, could change.
And one fair, sweet day they were married and he, tri
umphant, exulting, carried her away to Monterey, where in a
cozy retreat, overlooking the peaceful Pacific, they began
the new life of oneness as she fondly believed. So beneath
n 4 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
the whispering trees they breathed the air that stole the odors
from the unconscious flowers which seemed to bloom for
them.
The fulness of the late summer was about them, a soft,
blue haze hung over the wide stretch of ocean visible from
their retreat. The waters surged up lazily among the rocks,
and the kelp that grew in strength and thickness resisted the
fierce waves. So they came up languidly on the sloping beach
far below them in soothing murmurs.
"My life will be like that," said Ruth, one day.
"What do you mean?" said Bert.
"You are to me what that submarine forest is out there in
the waste of waters. The worry and troubles of life will be
warded off by your strength and firmness. I shall be safe
within the shelter of your arms, and I shall have no fear of
future storms."
Why, at the very height of love's glamor and the culmina
tion of realized hopes with her husband, all love, all tender
ness, should there arise in her mind, a thought of future
storms, when a strength beyond hers would be needed. It
was vague, uncertain, like\ the fleeting shadows of some
bird passing for the moment over her, forgotten in the instant,
as they two, with clasped hands, watched the rose-clouds in
the gleaming West fade into soft pearl tints.
Then they turned their faces eastward and through the
tall trees saw the reddish-yellow moon burnishing the woods.
A cool wind sprang up as the sun disappeared. A breath
of autumn was in the evening breeze and a few leaves tinged
with yellow fell as the rising wind rustled through the heavy
summer foliage. There was a shrill reiteration of the cicada
that sounded drearily above the tumult of sound. The voices
of the dying summer were in Ruth's ears. She caught her
breath.
"It will soon be over," she sighed. "The warm palpitat
ing summer here in the mountains. The beautiful flowers
and luxuriant growth will feel the chill of the winter. And
we, too, must leave with the summer, and I ? Well, at least
1 shall have something to remember. These heavenly days
up here away from all the world with no thought save for
each other. Surely my heart and my hands have touched
FROM THE WORLD 115
heaven on these high hills, and a little bit of the joy known
and felt here must be my inheritance. There can be no low
hanging boughs of life, however intricate, that may meet
above my head that cannot be brushed aside, or dim the joy
of these days."
Their home seemed an ideal one. Bert was handsome and
brilliant. He was a successful man, easy in his manners and
a thorough man of the world, and was popular with both
sexes.
Ruth was more than kind and gracious to all who came to
their home. There were no regrets, no doubts in her life;
only peace, contentment, and love. A love that was silent
and sweet with a perpetual incense that burned upon the altar
where she was wont to kneel and pray. But the image she
worshipped, the ikon of her admiration was Bert's picture
given her before their marriage.
Theirs was a hospitable home and visitors were charmed
by the warm, delightful welcome of the charming hostess and
the frank, genial Bert who was proud of his wife and his
home.
After a time, Ruth's face lost its freshness. She looked
Ifke a frail white lily, and she lost interest in theatres and
outside amusements. Bert was seen now and then at his
club and occasionally at some reception or opera without his
wife. To any inquiry he would say she was not equal to it
or had a headache and desired to be quiet.
Then one day her friends learned that the little babe which
she had so longed for was born, and the next day its little
form lay cold in death.
It was weeks before she had strength to receive anyone;
and it was before the little one died that a mutual friend had
written the news to Edith Hammond of Ruth's baby, and
she had not heard of its death. Ruth had not the courage to
write of her bereavement and even to her most intimate
friends she could not bring herself to discuss it. Her sorrow
was her own and too sacred for others.
She was pale and wan, only the shadow of her former self
and Bert, who loved life and gaiety, grew strangely restless.
He could not understand her regret and longing, her heart-
hunger for the dead child. He had only seen it for a moment
n6 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
before its little life went out, and could not in his strong
nature understand the mother's heart.
Often while he slept the sound sleep of exhaustion after
an evening spent at the opera or some social function, she
would sit far in the night, and watch the gleaming path of the
moon on the distant ocean, until the dawn glided over the
great waste of waters, her heart, her soul, filled with a sor
row she knew only too well, was not shared by him she loved
with all the strength of her being. For when the shaft of
woe struck her heart, she turned all the more to him, the
father of her dead child, the lover and husband.
The weeks went by, and as time healed her sorrow and
health returned, she began to wonder why her husband
never asked her to go out with him, not even for a walk or
drive. He seemed so engrossed in business which detained
him often of evenings. Sometimes there were trips to the
country, or a jaunt with "some fellows, you know," always
plausible excuses, but never once was she invited to go with
him. Her pride would not allow her to ask, so she bravely
waited with a sore heart until he should remember.
That his love had waned had never crossed her mind. But
that he was worried she knew, for he was restless and would
arise in the night and walk back and forth until it seemed
her tortured nerves could not endure the strain. And if she
timidly questioned or tried to caress him, hoping for a return
of the harmony and companionship, he would simply say:
"You do not understand and I cannot tell you now. Please
do not worry me."
And she would shrink away hurt and wondering, yet
patient, sweet and uncomplaining in all his moods.
It was long afterwards that I knew the whole story. Her
sorrow and grief would have driven many women mad or to
some terrible revenge.
I will endeavor to write down as I learned from her letters
or heard her pitiful stories from her trembling lips from
time to time long afterwards.
XIII
"Is there no demon that comes to your harsh night-dreams like a
taunting fiend whispering, 'Be satisfied; keep your heart from running
over, bridle those affections; there is nothing worth loving?"
EXTRACTS FROM FRED MARSHALL'S DIARY
Because I can dissemble and make Frank think I am
engrossed in our travels I am at war with myself because I
cannot forget. I try to forget, heaven knows. Talk and
while away the time as best I can with these dark-eyed seno-
ritas but ever and always I see her. I recall her fair face, the
beautiful, expressive eyes, that, looking into mine, sent the
blood chasing in riotous thrills through my veins, filling my
whole soul with a strange sweetness.
She was like the fresh blossoms on the slopes above the
sea where we sat on that last day, when the very air was intoxi
cating with the perfume of flowers, the music of birds that
came in ripples and cascades of song, and above us the sap
phire heavens and the blue gulfs of air with foamy, fleecy
clouds bounding them vast fleeting shadows chasing each
other over the ocean that stretched away to the horizon's rim,
smooth and beautiful as I thought our life would be.
That day is painted upon my memory in unfading colors.
The sunbeams made a broad way of blinding light upon the
waters. I seem to feel once more the fresh winds that came
in gusts tossing her beautiful yellow hair about her sweet face
in wanton glee. 1 hear again the faint sound of the breakers
that dashed upon the glittering sands so far below us, coming
up in an undertone of soothing restfulness. The perfume
from the lupins abides with me yet, as even now do I feel the
warmth of her kisses and hear her voice in soft whispers
repeating:
"I love you love you, dear, and shall forever!"
She was the enchantress that changed the drowsy old earth
for me and made it take on a new life, a life that glorified
117
n8 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
all things, that put new words in my mouth, and made all
my vainest dreams seem possible. She was my lark by day
and my nightingale at eventide, sweet, refreshing and
inspiring.
That last day was one I shall love to recall while I have
life and recollection.
And at the close, we drove homeward through the aro
matic groves of acacia and eucalyptus trees from the ocean
boulevard, over perfect roads and over the hills on that
December day which was delicious with the odors of flowers
and riotous vines that grow and blossom even down to the
water's edge homeward through that dream of a park
reaching out to the Golden Gate, which knows no winter in
all its blossoming beauty back in the gloaming to the city's
glare and noise. The farewell, the last clasp of her soft
hands filled me with a rapture so ecstatic that, in a measure,
it pained.
And now that the past is only a memory I want nothing
so much as the touch of a magic wand, a draught of oblivion
from Lethe that would steep my senses into forgetfulness of
her whom my soul loved, loves yet, even to my peril.
This Persephone who lured me, charmed me into worship
ping her with my whole soul, was like the freshness of the
dewdrops in the balmy mornings, sparkling and bright.
All the sweet, pure things in nature remind me of her.
The breath of the wild roses was sweet like her own, fair
self. The yellow tasseled corn was like her hair, the blue of
heaven shone in the depths of her eyes, and her cheeks were
like apple blossoms in their delicate tints.
What a flood of tenderness overwhelms me when I think
of you, who are my morning star, my heartsease, my blessing.
I cry "pazienza" and wonder if I can be reconciled to my
life without you; if ever again the old buoyant life can come
to me again the life I knew and loved when we talked and
laughed with the sheer bliss of being alive and together,
when all the world was sweet and there seemed no sin or
sorrow but a beautiful world of God's creation, wherein we
two lived, loved and enjoyed each day in the bliss of perfect
trust and sinless happiness.
FROM THE WORLD 119
And now in the bitterness of my heart I know that the
paradise lost for me was the veriest fool's paradise that ever
existed in a man's brain or heart that she, with only a
written word or two could say there was to be nothing more
in the future for us, save the fact that our little farce was
ended, and that we two, if we ever met would meet only as
friends. That it was utterly useless for me to attempt to see
her, for never with her own free will would she see me again.
And though I tried vainly to see her, calling often only to be
told she was not at home, and learning at last that she had
gone away with a party of friends and that Henry Hutton,
a man whom I knew for months had loved her but in vain,
as I in my blindness thought, was to be with her on the
journey.
It seems I shall go mad grieving over this great sorrow
that will not be cast aside, that is with me in all my waking
hours and oppresses me even in my dreams. The strange
ness of it all. Her inexplicable conduct. Surely it could be
nothing but treachery on her part. For I know there was
nothing in my life, no word or action of mine that could have
reached her even by malice that would have made her believe
me false or untrue to her for an instant.
And so my thoughts run on and on, try as I may, to evade
my sorrows. I find that I am only treading a circular path,
and there seems no prospect of oblivion. I can only hope
for time to ease my heart, to wear away even if ever so
little the hurt she has given me. To wait as best I may for
hope is not dead. It burns faintly within me; and I think
that love like mine will yet compel some return. If nothing
in nature is wasted, then surely my thoughts, my heartaches
and passionate longings cannot be for naught.
Yet unseeing, unknowing, I turn the leaves of my life with
eager impatient hands so slow seem the dull pages as I
read as I live them for my thoughts fly ahead of the hours,
the days, wherein I con my daily lesson, and I long to thrust
them aside and have this waiting ended.
This love that is at full tide in my heart and beating up
in an unbounded fulness, is so great, I know it cannot be
endured much longer. The very strength of it must com
mand some return or it shall yet master me.
120 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
But until I know know beyond all doubt that she loves
me no longer I shall wait. When she tells me with her own
lips that she scorns my love, then, indeed, I am ready for
the grass to grow over me.
XIV
"Arcadia is after all a lotus-eating paradise of blissful ignorance."
I have been prowling about the old city, Jack, while Fred
has been, or pretending to be, busy with his palette and paint
boxes. But true to my promise I will write you concerning
the thing I am most interested in. One little excursion to
one of the suburbs I must especially not forget.
Some distance from the city, out on the road to Tacubaya,
which in the Aztec days was called Tlacopan, and was the
residence of their kings in 1430, I entered an enclosure one
day, under an archway, on which was the American eagle.
It was holy ground, for it was a cemetery belonging to our
government. A high stone wall surrounds a bare acre or
two. No green grass or flowers were there. It looked piti
ful enough after visiting another cemetery which was beauti
fully kept. But, desolate as it looked, my countrymen lay in
soil belonging to no alien country, but in soil that is sacred
for our flag waves over them. It is well that it is so, and I
was glad to see it, for no other government, save ours, owns a
cemetery for its dead in Mexico.
But for this their bones might not rest in peace but be
subject to eviction, as is the rule for non-payment here. And
it is scarcely to be wondered at, when one thinks of the room
needed in cemeteries here.
In the past twenty-seven years the death rate in the City
of Mexico has amounted to two hundred and fifty thousand
nearly as much as the entire population in the city now.
Judging from the death rate the climate and other conditions
are not the most desirable in the world.
The plazas, churches and market places have occupied a
great deal of my spare time. There is always something of
interest that is strange and new in this sister republic. And
though the City of Mexico is only about as far away from
us in California as New York, it is, in many respects, so unlike
ours that it savors more of the Orient.
122 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
It is needless to tell you that I am thoroughly enjoying the
dolce far niente life while harking back to the days of the
Toltecs and Aztecs. 1 have found much that is interesting
in the Aztec relics.
In the museum near the Plaza Major, among the many
relics of an ancient people, are the Aztec Calendar Stone and
the horrible Sacrificial Stone with its circular basin in the
center and the groove that drained the blood of the victims,
whose bodies were gashed by flint knives, and whose hearts
were torn from the palpitating bodies that were stretched
upon this relic of revolting barbarism.
There were crude instruments and distorted idols of long
ago. There were mummies which history tells us were
walled up alive. I saw fragments of a rope which still clung
to the ankles of a female suggesting unfathomed horrors.
Relics of Hidalgo and the red damask standard of the con
querors, a portrait of Cortez, a shield of Montezuma, are
some of the interesting things I recall in the museum of
antiquities.
Among many paintings of; the old masters in the art gal
leries are some notable paintings of Mexican artists, among
which is one where a father and daughter are presenting a
Toltec prince with a new drink pulque which proves con
clusively to me that the prohibitionists have never flourished
in this land flowing with traditional milk but that pulque,
in reality, has irrigated the thirsty throats of the people from
the Toltec reign down to the present ruler, Diaz.
I leave the gallery and museum with the grim old gods
and strange, distorted idols, remnants of prehistoric ages
that would take pages to describe, glancing for a moment at
the massive and gaudy carriages of state, and the gold and
silver table service of Maximilian.
My thoughts fly back to Queretero, the lonely plain, and
the crosses on the silent hill. I think of the wonderful changes
in the life of the man who planned the Paseo, the magnificent
drive leading out to Chapultepec where the aristocrats drive
every evening from four until seven o'clock. Where wealth
is displayed in every possible way, in horses and equipages
of every description. Where beautiful women display their
jewels and exquisite creations from Paris. I think, also, that
FROM THE WORLD
123
CATHEDRAL AND ZOCALO, MEXICO CITY.
Maximilian, like many, planned, but others enjoy the
benefits.
We have idled
hours away in the Zo-
calo, the people's park,
in front of the old
Cathedral. On this
same plaza once stood
the temple of the Az
tecs. Here was the
Teocalli or place of
sacrifice, and here the
great Cathedral, em
blem of peace, now
stands.
The interior, whose
marvelous richness
was once a source of
wonder, has been
looted, as have most
of the churches in the Republic.
The exterior, however, is scarcely, if at all, outrivaled in
Italy. Its domes and minarets are replicas of what I have
seen in Moslem lands.
Spain sent her architects to Mexico, but it is not their
carving on facades; not theirs the oddly executed designs I
found in so many places that show in all the strange stone
work, prehistoric art. We sit here in the twilight and listen
to the music of the band while senoras and senoritas stroll by
in bright rebosos and coquettish veils.
We have visited the tree of the Noche Triste, under which
Cortez wept on the night of his memorable flight in 1520.
We went also to a bull fight, the details of which are too
revolting to give you on paper. Suffice it to say that there
were throngs of people yelling, throwing the banderillas into
the backs and flanks of the bulls; encouraging the matadors,
the picadors, frantic with delight as each maddened bull
gored some poor old blind-folded horse or when the bull
himself dropped dead from a skillful sword thrust.
i2 4 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
Five bulls, as many horses and one man, were sacrificed
that afternoon. It was the most brutal and debasing sight
I have ever witnessed.
Fred had left our box early in the afternoon and I found
him outside waiting impatiently for me.
"How could you endure it?" he said.
"I hated to flunk before all those bright-eyed senoritas,"
I replied. "I was looking more at them especially when
I saw a bull disembowel a horse in a terribly sickening man
ner. I looked at some beautiful women in a box next to ours
and saw them waving their handkerchiefs with delight. It is
a study, my dear fellow, and sets me to wondering. If civi
lization makes our women faint at the sight of blood or
cruelty, surely its roots have not struck very deeply in the
nerves of femininity as we have seen evidenced here today.
The influences of the Sacrificial Stone are still powerful, and
the old Aztec idea of sacrifice, whether for the soul's sake
or for a Mexican holiday, is still dominant."
I shall not soon forget a day, the last one, I spent at the
floating islands. I went down the Viga, the canal, which is
supplied with water from Lake Xochimilco, which is only
four feet higher than the city.
The water flows barely enough to keep it from stagnation
but the sluggish current suits the large flat-bottomed boats
that carry all kinds of stuff hay, wood, vegetables, fruit and
flowers to the markets. An Indian and a pole propel each
craft, and the slow-moving current does the rest.
Time is nothing here. The only "rush" orders known in
Mexico are for the pulque trains, bringing the national drink
to the city, which consumes one hundred thousand pints daily.
Pulque will stand only one "tomorrow," and the thirsty will
not wait.
Along the canal I saw the unkempt picturesque crowds
and filthy lazaroni whose senses were steeped in their favo
rite drink, pulque, and who were dripping with vermin. The
very sight made me feel rather creepy and very shy of being
too near them. But though degraded and ragged, there is
always a touch of color in the ensemble which makes them
picturesque even in their filth.
FROM THE WORLD 125
I look on them and wonder why it is that beggars seem to
increase and multiply in warm climates. There seems to
be a similarity between them and mosquitoes, both being
born of warmth and stagnation. Both being more in evi
dence in hot than in cold climates.
Among the crowds I saw the dandy, with trousers so tight,
it is a marvel how he ever pulls them on or off. The gayly
embroidered jacket and cherished sombrero added to the
picture.
But I was glad to turn to nature unadorned as the choco
late-colored children crowded around me, beautiful in their
nakedness, holding out eager hands while the soft voices
pleaded, "Centavo, centavo," and melting eyes looked shyly
at me from a tangled mass of hair. The few cents bestowed
called forth such radiant looks that I felt it was blessed to
give.
It seems to me that among the filthy poor in Rome and
Naples, I have never seen such dirt and abject poverty.
Hard as is their lot here I did not pity them as I did the
poor abused little burros. Scarcely larger than a good sized
dog, they are laden with double their weight and sizes, with
all kinds of merchandise. Slabs of stone are slung across
their backs. Tottering beneath their burdens they are only
a little worse off, however, than the women, who besides
carrying heavy weights upon their backs or heads, usually
have a baby wrapped in their rebosos, an added burden.
And quite often I saw little girls from eight to ten years
of age with infants strapped upon their backs, becoming
from earliest youth, beasts of burden also.
I saw the huts made of corn-stalks and mud, the tiny char
coal fires and absence of everything we call comfort in life.
And it is not hard to understand that the people in many parts
of the town, whose only hope if hope they have is star
vation or next to it, reason the uselessness of virtue, and
prefer vice, for they are pretty sure that even in prison, work
is not very severe, and that when death comes to them there
it will not be by starvation.
Fred had preceded me and 1 found him absorbed in his
work.
126 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"Why are you so busy with your brushes? One would
think you were an artist and depended on so many yards of
canvas for your bread and butter."
"I must do something, old fellow," he said. "You are
happy in idleness, while this may seem like work to you, it
is play diversion and keeps my thoughts occupied in a
way. Tell me what you think of this little sketch."
I looked and saw a scene that startled me. It was a pic
ture that was true in the coloring, and with a wealth of bloom
and verdure. A fair girl's face peeped out from some tall
grasses; a vibrant air was in the picture that seemed waver
ing amid the tremulous reeds. The girl's figure, even though
partially concealed by the grasses, stood out boldly from the
canvas. The drapery was perfect in its loose folds, much as
I have seen in Russian pictures bold, yet not severe, but so
true that I almost expected to see the wind move the loose
sleeve that fell back from an upraised arm that was reaching
up for some great clusters of crimson blossoms above her
head. One arm held a quantity of the vines that hung in
trailing beauty down to her feet. It was a picture remind
ing me of Corot, it was so sweet and fresh. A springtime air
was in the flowers and grasses and the springtime of youth
in the figure of the girl.
"Where did you find that?" I cried, pointing to the girl's
face.
"She was here yesterday, and I sketched her, and am finish
ing the accessories to the picture today."
"Jove, but she is a beauty as you have portrayed her."
"I could not do her justice. You should see her, hear her
voice."
"You did not speak to her?" I said.
"Oh, yes. I asked permission of her and her companion,
to paint her. If you could have heard her speak in her soft,
liquid voweled-haunted Spanish, you would be quite satis
fied to live more in the present and not be wasting time over
distorted gods and hideous idols. I am to call to see them;
I gave them my card and mentioned you. Do you care to
go?"
"Certainly. Do you think I have changed my nature
entirely because of a bull-fight or two, and the diversion of a
FROM THE WORLD 127
cock-fight now and then? I shall be delighted to meet your
fair senorita whenever you choose to go."
We loitered away the whole afternoon, Fred busy part of
the time with his work, and I was busy also in watching the
people drinking pulque, eating the omnipresent tortilla and
tamale, while listening to the twang of guitars and soft
voices of the girls coquetting with the boatmen on the canal.
The sun sank lower, the air was still, save a thrill of har
mony that reached us as we sat under a great tree watching
the changing lights on the sluggish stream. It came in soft,
wavering sounds like heavenly music from nowhere in par
ticular but there was an ineffable sweetness in the harmony
that soothed and hushed all disturbing thoughts.
"Oh, Fred, isn't that delicious music? From where does
it come?"
"From the old Cathedral in the city. I heard it last eve
ning. It is the bells ringing for vespers."
"Surely not, and we hear it so far away?"
"It is the altitude and the still atmosphere," he replied.
"See those peons now, how wrapt they are in their Ave
Marias. It is a sound from heaven to them."
"They may not appreciate the music as we do, for it is
exalting and gives me an exultant feeling," I said, "a con
sciousness of bliss. There is a brooding tenderness in the
strangely sweet melody, that seems a mixture of stringed
instruments \vhich soothes and drives away all harrowing
thoughts, in the vibrant thrills of harmony. But one can
readily see its influence on these wretchedly poor peons who
listen as if enthralled by the sounds."
The warm sunshine rested upon their bowed heads, the
dust-filled air was golden. They, the village and canal were
transfigured, and the great steady magnet of the earth seemed
to radiate peace and contentment.
Living so close to Nature's heart, they may, possibly, while
knowing no better life and still less of the joys and ambitions
of a brighter life, be spared the corresponding depths of
sorrow and despair. So if they have their daily tortilla and
a draught of pulque, the nepenthe that has the power of send
ing their cares to sleep, with, perhaps, the ineffable joy of a
128 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
bull-fight once in a lifetime, the earth for them could hold no
greater happiness.
"I know," I continued, "that music has a wonderful effect
on many people, and loving it passionately as I do and
knowing its effect on me I often wonder how far its influ
ence extends in the matter of good or ill in this world."
I believe it was Confucius who said: "If you would know
whether a country is well governed and of good morals, listen
to its music." If one judges by music, I could believe almost
anything that might be laid at China's door when I listen to
the music begging Mozart's pardon that I hear in China
town, if one could call it music. Confucius was a wise man
and gave his followers fundamental principles that if lived
up to are good enough for any nation. But I fear he knew
but little of music.
Do the wheezy, groaning bag-pipes of Scotland teach us
anything of their governments? Or does the music of Russia,
flung out over the snows and ice-bound Neva from the Win
ter Palace, help the poor who live within the shadows of the
great building, or raise the moral or mental condition of
those shut in the grim fortfesses of Peter and Paul?
The music is good. 1 have heard it. But the horrors of
the oppressed, the tortures of the condemned in the mines
of Siberia what are we to think of Russian music in con
nection with goodness and morality?
"We may not be able to understand the effect on different
nations," said Fred. "But when one thinks of the harp of
Ireland, the lilt of the Creole lute, and the one instrument we
can safely call our own, the banjo, each brings different sen
sations.
"Our music may be as meaningless to the Filipinos and
the Chinamen as theirs is to us. But one thing we must
admit, that among the uncultivated and uncivilized, whose
musical instruments, crude and grotesque as they often are,
there is in their music an undertone of misery, a plaintive
wail in the minor chords that goes straight to one's heart. At
least I have found it so. But how far these impressions
influence the uncivilized, we cannot judge."
Just then there came from a garden near-by sounds like the
shrill rasping of some great cicada from the depths of a
FROM THE WORLD 129
tangle of vines that died away, then the sounds of a harp
in soft, sweet, harmonious vibrations thrilled us. Then ten
der tones from voices came on the perfumed laden air. It
was as if some heavenly choir had rested a moment in the
dusk of the eve, and Israfil, the angel of song, had paused to
make us feel for a time the wondrous power of music.
And the influence was evident upon the peons who listened
with ecstatic attention. Their burdens seem to have left
them, joy and happiness shone in their dark eyes, and a bit
of heaven seemed to have dropped down in their hearts and
they forgot life's woes and sorrows.
It was a moment, a scene that burnt itself into my heart. I
felt the inexpressible beauty and solemnity of it and felt also
my blood was stirred to greater and better impulses. Fred's
face showed his emotions also.
"You are answered," he said. "Look at them," pointing
to the people, "and say if you can that music is not elevating
and beneficial."
"I am sure of it in some things, and even if momentary
only, it helps. It is elevating even if being the least intel
lectual of all the arts, it appeals to common humanity and is
said by some to extend all through nature. That animal and
plant life are affected by music; that buds, blossoms, and
especially the sensitive plant, shows the power of music by
unfolding its leaves as if it were drinking the sunshine; and
that discords will cause it to shiver and close its fronds. If
the fibres of a plant are affected, how then can we judge of
the effect on the human nerves?"
"It is rather idle to speculate upon the subject as was said
in the beginning," replied Fred, "for we know not how far
music extends for good or ill. Men march to death at the
stirring sounds of music, with eager steps that might lag
without the inspiring strains. War, battle, marriage and
death all are accompanied by music. It would be hard to
imagine a world without music, and heaven is a promised
land of harp and song. So these toiling, helpless, earth
atoms, try to bring a little of it into their lives as they journey
on through their allotted days, with song and the insidious
swing of stringed instruments that cheer, stimulate and are
also a narcotic, helping, perhaps, far more than we know."
XV %
"Love truly and love long, for it is a gentle thing and sweet in the
learning. When love goes out of fashion, heaven will also."
ALICE WROTE
I can tell it to my journal, if to no one else, a little bit of
the happiness that fell my way during the days that followed.
Mrs. Andrews had been sent home and we two journeyed
eastward. Alice in fairyland with her prince for an escort.
There was nothing real. It was like magic all the way,
and v surely none the less when we left the main line and
started on another road to Yellowstone Park.
We followed a clear, sparkling river flowing through
Paradise Valley. Paradise found, indeed ! I remember
smiling at a little child who w r as wild with delight even as I
was now, for like the little fellow the world seemed new and
fresh to me. He was looking at the bright, sparkling waters
of the river.
"Oh, look," he said to me. "The water of the river is
washed clean."
His mother explained that they had come from the East
and the child had seen the muddy waters of the Yellowstone
for several hundred miles. It was as he saw it "clean" and
pure; and life was like that to me as we went along that
limpid stream, its waters alive with trout and graylings, so
my prince explained as we watched it glide under the shadow
of rock-ridged peaks and ripple along over its gravel bed
between tree-fringed borders.
There was the panorama of the Snow Mountains making
a succession of the grandest pictures, and though I am not
wise in geological affairs, and not learned in cause and effect,
I knew that they were born of volcanic action; that streams
of lava had coursed down these peaks and that glaciers had
worn and corroded deep rifts and stranded granite and gneiss
far up the slopes. The play of wind and water is seen upon
130
FROM THE WORLD 131
the softer material and the strangest, most fantastic forms
of peak and pinnacle, mound and pillar, are everywhere dis
cernible.
There are somber gulches and slopes rich in color. Espe
cially was this very effective at the Devil's Slide, a fiery strip
of bright vermilion bordered with red-brown clay and bands
of yellow, a smooth and easy slide for his satanic majesty.
I remember the Gardiner River and the first boiling springs
flowing therein, where this being fairyland they told me
one could catch a fish in the cool part of the river, then cook
it in the hot water on the other side without unhooking the
fish. What a delightful land I thought, and what delicious
fish dinners we would have !
Then the scene changed. A storm came up suddenly; we
had outside seats and were unprepared for rain, but the
driver, an old Californian, learning I was an aborigine, or
native to the heath, pulled off his coat and gallantly insisted
on covering me with it; surely the good fairies were in evi
dence, for I was warm and cozy and never a drop of rain
touched me until we stopped at our destination. At dinner
the prince bending his head and speaking in a low voice, said :
"We are in fairyland now. Will Queen Alice have a glass
of wine?"
"Never, never again, whether in fairyland or real land
why should you ask?"
"I was only teasing you," he said, "I did not mean it."
"No, you surely do not want me to be ill, and, oh, that
headache ! Do you know I never had a headache until that
wine you gave me made me feel so strange. Even now I
cannot recall much about that night."
"Well, don't try; we'll not speak of it again until we
assume our mortal forms and appetites; but, as it is, the din
ner is rather good."
So we passed the time indulging in all the sweet and foolish
things of love, and no angel or demon was there in my para
dise to whisper, "Keep your heart from running over, bridle
your affections while you may." I only felt that love, like
my soul, was immortal that it would never know age or
death. I knew that my heart echoed the sentiment, "Love
it is stronger than prisons, stronger than sorrow, stronger
i 3 2 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
than shame; it is stronger even than death." I whispered I
this to the prince as we walked out once to see those wonder- 1
ful terrace-building springs.
"Do you mean it, my darling? Is your love so deep, so
enduring?" he asked, a strange light in his eyes. "Is it strong
enough to endure shame, and the world's scorn? Would you
still love me no matter if someone else wanted me or claimed
me? You would not turn me away from you or cease to
love me?"
"Nothing can separate us so long as we love each other.
My love is yours through time and eternity," I answered.
"But why do you ask? What is wrong?" for he had grown
pale while we were talking.
"Nothing, we are two silly people; let us be happy and
enjoy all things as they come to us. Look, dear, did you
ever see anything so beautiful?"
In a moment the springs looming up through clouds of
steam some two hundred feet above the plateau lay before
us. There are snow-white terraces, basins and limpid pools
with coatings on the sides, of every delicate tint, cream and
salmon colors deepen into brilliant shades, red, brown, green
and yellow, and here, too, we saw the most delicate frost
work, honeycomb patterns and exquisite designs in coral carv
ings. Some basins are clear as crystal and some a torquoise
blue. The water overflows the basins and rims of the springs
in gentle pulsings, noiselessly building up layer after layer j
of this lovely fretting which crumbles at the slightest touch.
The crust in many places is thin and there are ever issuing
clouds of steam.
There were the Liberty Cap, Giant's Thumb, Cupid's
Cave, and so many places to visit that our time was too short
to see all we wished.
I shall hurry on, dear journal, and give as clear an account
of the following days as possible. I may want to recall those
days when I am old. When we two, if we should live, are
old and nearly blind, I will take you out from where you
have lain for years, an old, dusty, faded book, yellowed with
age and time and read of our visit in fairyland, the prince
and the young fairy who had just been awakened after untold
cycles, by the love of her dear prince.
FROM THE WORLD 133
Early the following morning we started out in a carriage
with a driver for a tour of the park. The roads were fine
and we sped rapidly southward through a magnificent defile,
passing through the Golden Gate where there was barely
room for the roadway, built along the river and on one side
of the cliffs, until we entered an open valley. Following this
for some miles we came to the obsidian cliffs. The vertical
columns are like those of the Giant's Causeway of which I
have read, only these are of glass and glisten like jet.
At the Norris Geyser Basin, we paused for luncheon, then
proceeded on our way, coming in a short time to what seemed
wonderful to us our first glimpse of a geyser. We thought
the "Minute Man" grand indeed, and could have tarried in
the vicinity a whole day, for at every turn something new,
strange and fantastic met the glance. The water mutters,
gurgles, frying and sputtering beneath and on the surface,
and we trod with caution the treacherous ground.
We were hurried on, however, to something more wonder
ful all that afternoon. I can only write a sort of outline.
We saw the lovely falls of the Gibbon River, then crossed
Canon Creek, stopping at Firehole Valley. We rested here
comfortably enough after our first delightful day in the park.
Near the hotel was a clear, limpid pool, which we visited.
Just as I reached the brink, and stooped over to peer down
in its depths, a little frog tumbled in ; instantly I plunged my
hand in to scoop him out. I succeeded, but my hand was
badly scalded, and the frog was dead long before I touched
him.
We were up with the sun the next morning and off for the
Upper Geyser Basin, stopping first at the Fountain Geyser
and Paint Pot, a fine white mass of silicious clay, which boils
and bubbles like a huge pot of mush. This pot is forty by
sixty feet, surrounded by numerous smaller ones of various
tints and colors.
Leaving this we hurried on to the Excelsior, the grandest,
as we afterwards knew, of all geysers. We crossed the Fire-
hole River on a foot-bridge and went up at once to the edge
of the crater. The geyser has not been in action for several
years until the present time, and we were most fortunate in
witnessing an eruption of the most stupendous geyser
134 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
in the world. There was an immense volume of
steam as we looked down into the crumbling depths.
There were broken walls overhanging those unknown
depths, and hollow rumblings were heard and the
hot sulphurous smell was overpowering. A few moments
only had we thus stood, when a shout of, "Run, run quickly !"
from our guide, caused us to stand not on the order of going.
We barely had time to reach a safe distance when with an
awful noise, an incredible body of water shot up some three
hundred feet, carrying with it in its terrible pow y er a perfect
shower of stones, some weighing perhaps one hundred
pounds. This lasted several minutes. The falling stones,
the concussion of the water, the vibrating earth, make even
the bravest keep at a safe distance. Nothing more impressive
or v awe-inspiring have I ever beheld. The Firehole River
rises six inches during an eruption, which gave us an idea of
the vast amount of water that poured from this geyser, and
caused us to think the river aptly named. After the eruption
we had a better view of the aperture. It is about two hun
dred and fifty feet in diameter with walls thirty feet high on
one side. The other slopes toward the river and a large
volume of water runs over it, spreading over a broad surface,
leaving deposits of marvelous beauty, strikingly vivid in col
oring. Every shade is here, from the brightest scarlet to deli
cate rose tints, yellows, browns, vivid greens, wrought and
blended into wonderful beauty. There are frostlike materials
vibrating with every pulsing of the waters, as frail as beauti
ful, a touch destroying them. At all times the side of the
river next to the geyser is hot, the opposite side having pure
cold water. The Prismatic Spring near by is, perhaps, the
most beautiful known. The dimensions are about the same
as the geyser. In the center, the water is a pale blue, chang
ing to green at the edge. Near the rim are the varied tints
which 1 have described, only intensified. I do not know why
they call this Hell's Half Acre, for aside from the geyser,
anything more peaceful, more exquisitely lovely could not be
imagined.
Leaving this place with regret, we went on past many
places of lesser interest, and, on arriving at the hotel at the
Upper Basin, tarried only a brief time and then went only
FROM THE WORLD 135
a short distance to the Old Faithful Geyser. This, every
sixty minutes, sends up a stream of boiling hot water two hun
dred feet high. We were here also in time to see it shoot
its silvery spray far up in the air, falling, a veritable shower of
pearls, eastward, with the loveliest rainbows around it. We
were fortunate in having a clear day; for two weeks previous
it had rained every day. From here the entire band of
geysers, all within an area of half a mile, may be seen and
heard as they, singly or in unison, give grand concerts with
their steaming trumpets, rumbling and muttering, or in loud
est tones. We saw here during the day some of the most
noted geysers in action ; it would require volumes to describe
them all. We wandered from one to another too much
engrossed to think how time was flying, forgetting hunger
and fatigue till night was upon us and we were forced to leave.
Dante could imagine nothing more desolate and awe-
inspiring than is seen here in this basin, the clouds of steam
hanging over it, white wraiths of vapor, ghost-like, floating
between the treetops, and the deep mutterings as the earth
gurgles as if in throes of agony, the air heavy with sulphu
rous vapors, while ever shooting up, here and there, is water,
veiled in spray, or glittering in the sunlight. No artist could
ever paint, no Dore illustrate these marvelous fountains,
nature's grand and most gorgeous coloring in this strong
hold of the wonderful.
From the Lower Geyser Basin we went to the Grand
Canon and Falls of the Yellowstone. After a long drive we
arrived at the hotel, and, without waiting for luncheon, took
saddle-horses and rode over a steep bridle-path for several
miles along the canon. The Falls have a brightness and
beauty of their own, and, viewed from the dizzy heights
above, the Lower Falls are beautiful in the extreme. My
horse meant business from the first, and, if he was not of the
kind that belonged to Balaam, did all that was necessary
without speaking. He knew better than I every vantage-
point, and would deliberately walk up to the very verge of the
dizzy chasm, and turn himself around for me to wonder and
admire. I was in mortal terror at first, and had not much
breath left for speaking purposes, for often a single misstep
would have sent horse and rider down into those awful depths
136 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
where the rushing, foaming river dashed in agony and vain
endeavor in its narrow channel, so far below us that never
a sound reached us on the tops of these peaks.
After a time I trusted to Providence and let "Peter,"
have his own way, while I watched with a feeling of
envy, the eagles and fish-hawks sailing far below us, sure
of themselves, feeding their young in the nests down on those
beetling crags which were safe from all marauders.
If I find it impossible to describe the eruption of a geyser,
how shall I attempt to tell of this canon, of its vast pinnacles
and sculptured rocks, of the depths, the stillness and solemn
silence of this yawning chasm? We had dismounted and
clambered down a narrow trail, out on the uttermost verge
of a point of rocks hanging directly over the river. It needs
a sure foot, and many strong men cannot endure to stand
upon that dizzy height. Once in a good position and cling
ing to a portion of rock, I felt that it was worth risking a
life only to stand for a moment and take one glance. The
chasm in hues and coloring is as bright as the most brilliant
painting. There are all the tints of spring and the gorgeous
coloring of autumn. It is as though the most vivid coloring
of earth and sky had centered here, or as if the banners of the
most brilliant sunset had been caught and imprisoned on
those slopes; yet all combined and reproduced could not
exceed the loveliness of those downward steeps.
What builders and artists in the dim ages of this old world
labored here on tower and dome and Gothic arch ! What
builders grouped and fashioned in such wondrous beauty or
put the flames of colors here and there! And down below
all I see the green thread of the soundless river. Silence
seals up the past and hovers over the present, and we could
only wonder, marvel and adore. This, too, is another day
never to be forgotten. One is led on and on in this vast park,
being in some sort of a way prepared for these last two days,
to the great geysers and lastly to this grand, solemn, gorgeous
canon, from the tumult of yesterday to the air of gentle, all-
pervading peace hanging over those peaks, nature wooing
one to repose such as approaches one's idea of eternal rest.
The impressions left upon me can never be forgotten.
The days spent in this wonderland were like none other ever
FROM THE WORLD 137
known, perhaps ever will be known to me, breathing the
pure air of the mountains fresh and strong, "The wandering
winds of God," sweeping down from those lofty heights;
then again the smell from regions below where the earth's
heat raged, and sulphurous steam stifled and smothered me.
Falling, searing and blighting the earth were streams of scald
ing water, while others came fresh from the snow-fields
higher up, whose white, cold silence could not fret or mar us
warmed with the sacred fire of love, which seemed to grow
warmer and brighter, if possible, in the sweetness of com
panionship that was full of joy and peace.
Ah, life in your fair sweet blossoming, how dearer you
are growing to me every day ! The thought of God's good
ness, His tender love protecting us amid all dangers, caring
for us two out of the whole world of people, bringing us
together and implanting this divine love in our hearts love
for Him, the Creator, and this, His footstool ! 1 bow my
head in thankfulness and feel that these days will be like
days apart, sacred and dear. Fragrant memories and a
hidden sweetness will be mine of them for aye. Alice in
fairyland and her prince leading her hither and thither with
infinite tenderness and boundless love! Other thoughts,
other scenes may come and go, but these days of enchantment
will be folded away in my heart and will remain until it shall
find unfading remembrances in the "otherwhere" of God's
own realm.
XVI
"Friendship is as it were the face and also the raiment of love."
If only I might speak to you tonight, my dearest Aileen,
instead of writing, you who have been here and have enjoyed
all that I am enjoying enthralled as I know you were, for
Rome enthralls the world by its old religion, its classic mem
ories, its ruins that breathe of dead years, the air of mystery
that hovers over the old, enchanted places of which history
has told us. Yet since here I feel that history as we read and
as we see it seems very different indeed. What did I know of
the Porte del Popolo, the Gate of the People, by reading?
Now I know and love the scene, while looking down on it
from the Pincian Hill, where in. the Plaza stands the old
obelisk, speaking to me of the time of Rameses, of the Nile,
of Moses and the children of Israel old when the Gauls
came through the Gate from the Etruscan Mountains. I look
upon the strange old place as in a dream. 1 know Nero's
tomb was here. I know that pagan altars were doomed when
Constantine came through the old Gate and brought with
him a light that ages have not dimmed the light of
Christianity.
The once famous Corso is interesting to me, not for the
sake of historical association only, but simply as I see it now,
with the people of today thronging the long, narrow street.
I see the pifferari with their cloaks and pipes, priests and
brown monks, scarlet seminarists, nuns in black and white,
the bersaglieri with hats loaded with cock-plumes resting
jauntily on one ear, and the carbinier] in uniform of black,
with silver trimmings a bit more in evidence than our police
men, and possibly more necessary. The heavy carts, superb
oxen, and the peculiar peasant life interest me far more than
the parade of wealth on the Pincian, which is not unlike the
display of wealth in any large city here, unless it be the livery
of the king and queen and the usual curiosity to see their
majesties drive. The tattered coat and frowsy unkempt
138
FROM THE WORLD
hair, the wonderful eyes, the dirt and picturesqueness of the
contadina, the shepherds with goatskins over their shoulders,
and the horses, adorned with bright rosettes and feathers,
passing and repassing in endless confusion like a dream.
There are hours spent in the Borghese Gardens, and
beyond the Gate is the osteria on the side of the hill still
farther out, with its tables under the ilex trees and swaying
vines, where we go at times and eat spaghetti and drink the
PORTE DEL POPOLO AND CLEOPATRA S NEEDLE.
sour wine of the country, in order to see and know better
something of the life of the people.
Since I wrote the foregoing, I have been prowling along
the lanes and taking trips into the country. I have been to
Soracte, which watches over the Roman Campagna, lying
peacefully below with the filmy veil hovering over it, showing
dimly its bare and treeless undulating lines. I have loitered,
also, among old ruins that were beautiful under overhanging
1 40 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
trees and trailing vines which sheltered them with a fairylike
network, softening time's rough usage. Broken columns,
capitals, and statuary shattered and half-buried in the soil
where bloom sweet-scented flowers in the deathless dust of
the Campagna speak of life, sweet and pure, amid
desolation.
I sat for hours, or moments, I know not which, on an old
wall out on the Via Appia, lost in the beauty of the scene. I
looked along the old resurrected road which leads out to fair
Frascati. I saw the broken indented lines of crumbling walls
and aqueducts. Then my eyes rested upon the rounded
girth of the tomb of Cecilia Metelli, a woman's tomb ! The
fairest and best of all the scattered and broken heaps and
mounds which speak of the dead and forgotten men and
women of another age almost another world it seems to me.
The air was soft and sweet with the odor of newly-turned
earth which came with the fragrance of herbs crushed by the
feet of the gray oxen, plodding slowly along, pulling the
plows that turned the rich soil. Children were singing with
the birds in the fields. A thrilling, buoyant life was about
me, and I thought of the dead beneath the great, broken and
heaped-up masses of stone and mortar, who have in times
past enjoyed the same bright sunshine, the sights and sounds
that thrilled my heart, so theirs responded to the fair, enchant
ing days. Old shrines are here where they sang their Ave
Marias and vespers in the calm evenings. Love, despair,
joy and grief filled their hearts and all the unfathomed yearn
ings we feel were felt by them the all of life. They knew,
also, who called this place their home, and so must have loved
life and country far more than the stranger.
I know that at every turn there is something that appeals,
that fascinates and enthralls me. I feel toward Italy, espe
cially toward Rome, as a friend of mine, a man who occupies
an exalted position among the great men of earth, wrote me
of his love for Jerusalem : "I would rather walk her muddy
streets, kneel on Calvary, meditate on the Mount of Olives,
and sob in Gethsemane, aye, and starve in a cell there, than
occupy that vast palace, the Vatican, or be the Pope and live
and feast therein."
FROM THE WORLD 141
. His soul is attuned to higher things than worldly glories
or bodily comforts.
I enjoy a fair share of the world's best when it means food
and raiment, but I, too, can put aside creature comforts and
revel in soul-satisfying things, for I find Rome is a place that
is to me half reality and half dreamlife. At times I forget
that it is all but a dream, when in St. Peter's I hear men and
boys sing in the twilight the vesper psalms, or sitting in some
dim aisle I see the acolytes swinging the censers, and watch
the incense float up and up into the vast dome where the blue
wreaths engulf the figures of the white angels far above. The
glow of candles shines brightly on priestly groups, their
gold-embroidered and crimson and purple robes flame back
an answering glow, warm and bright through the incense-
weighted air. The music comes sweet and soft like the winds
through the trees, a soothing, living sound that carries me on
and on past all cares and perplexities until 1 seem to have
left earthly things for a time and have drifted into the realm
of paradise. I leave the church with a feeling that a bene
diction and a blessing from the statues of the popes high
above has been showered down upon me. Even marble gives
me certain impressions, I felt or sensed it in the grand old
church, so I felt it also when I stood before Canova's tomb,
and the unbidden tears came to my eyes as I gazed upon the
stricken ones mourning there, which moved me more
strangely than a number I have seen in real or simulated
grief. Only marble ! But you will not laugh, I know, when
I say I would rather kiss the lips of the statue of Antinous
than many I have seen that were less cold, perhaps, but the
lips of marble, cold, clean and tasteless, are preferable, to a
taste one doesn't like.
A last glance at the great central altar with its lights that
are ever bright around the shrine of the apostle, at the enorm
ous pillars, at the statues in mysterious niches, the mosaics and
silent aisles, leaves an impression, enchanting, soothing and
restful, and echo of the past a hope of something beyond this
earth-life which remains in my soul and stays with me, aye,
and will remain for all time I know.
Then half-dazed 1 find myself on the Ponto Angelo, the
bridge which spans the Tiber, and which leads to the old
142 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
Castle Angelo, the tomb of a pagan emperor. Under these
breezy statues of Bernini that make me feel as if there was a
strong wind blowing, I raised my face expecting to feel a
breath from the Pincio, but it is only an illusion a way those
old masters had. I have felt the galling chains of servitude
gazing on the sorrowful faces of the Dacian captives in
carved stone, lining the road leading up to the Pincio, and
have felt the agony of the Laocoon. The spirit of the Greek
slaves that decorated and beautified Rome is extant, and
though they wrought in bondage, the art that Romans were
never original in was borrowed or stolen from them. Yet,
nevertheless, it was art that has outlasted Roman cruelty.
I saw the wine-red of the after-glow that gleaming in the
west was reflected in the color-soaked waters of the Tiber;
while in the east the sky glowed like an opal's heart, and
under the pale light the towers gleamed, and the light flashed
on the dome of St. Peter's that was seemingly afloat like
some great gray balloon in the opaline mists hovering over
the city now silent on her seven hills.
Another day that burnt itself on memory's tablets was
when I stood upon the slopes of the Alban Hills and looked
over the Campagna towards Rome, on and beyond, toward
the west where the blue haze rose above the Mediterranean.
There were clustering ilex trees with deep green foliage, and
the grayish green of the olive groves, vineyards and plowed
fields, and it seems as though I have added something new,
acquired from the great world-heart that is the apotheosis
of rest, in wandering out and among these old historical
places that are quieting and restful. My din-distraught
ears have been blest by the silences of the calm, far-reaching
spaces, for they hold the essence and spirit of quietude. My
eyes feasted upon the windswept, waving fields of grain and
the opalescences of waters rimmed by wreaths in monotonic
gradations of color.
I found it necessary to leave the picture galleries, the Vati
can with its art treasures, the churches and countless places
with their inexhaustible stores of paintings, statuaries, and
bronzes that dominate, fascinate and haunt one's days and
FROM THE WORLD 143
follow even in dreams. I was weary of cold halls and of
antiquities, stifled by the musty air of crypts and catacombs
and the forgotten dust of the one-time men whose bones now
figure in that triumph of grotesque skill, the skeleton-deco
rated church of the Capucines. I shrunk from the gloom of
the Mamertime prison where Peter and Paul were imprisoned
and the black hole where Jugurtha was lowered and left to
starve, until my soul sickened of it all and my whole being
cried for a rest. Hence, I sought the peace of the mountains,
the calm of the woods, and found that which my senses
craved, and know that nature answered my appeal and healed
the ravages of weeks spent in the complexities of sight-seeing.
For 1 was refreshed and soothed by the magic of change, the
inertia of repose, as well as being charmed and interested by
the peasant life about me, picturesque looking shepherds,
children with wonderful eyes looking shyly at me from locks
all a-tangle from wanton winds, utterly unlike children seen
in our own country.
Women in bright colored garments were singing as they
ever are here, snatches of song, natural as wildbird notes,
while they gathered the fragole wood berries in the warm
spring day and I, idle, yet loving it, for it is an idleness
that absorbs the things panoramic about me and leaves its
influence whether I will or not; for I simply absorb the beauty
of the place, the strange people and their simple life about
me.
The days go too fast. On one such as I write, I feel how
grand it would be if only a modern Joshua could stay the all
too fleeting hours, and not let the glorious vision fade too
quickly. For on days like this, when I am away from Rome
and the ruins that exhaust while they interest and instruct,
outside her walls I live not so much in bygone days as
in the present. The charm of the now suffices for me. I
am a sort of shuttle weaving beautiful fabrics for memory's
halls, the woof of fancy and web of reality of the past and
present, busy and happy in my weaving.
O Aileen dear, this is living, not existing as I was before
I came here. Happy days! Of some I write you and today
especially 1 wish to describe to you, for I have felt the per
fumed winds of the young spring sweeter for me to breathe
i 4 4 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
than the air in cells and catacombs, which other nostrils
breathed long ago. While the churches are interesting, there
is a smell of decay within their walls; they do not take hold
of me or make me feel the nearness of heaven that possesses
me up here in the hills.
Among the groves one does not think of evil, or of the
satan-haunted pictures around the sacred altars. In the woods
one imbibes the gospel of the Christ of love, and here I feel,
know, and can understand the Creator far better than in
human erected temples. I listen to Him through the sweet
bird-notes that come rioting and rollicking in sweetness to
my thievish ears, which hoard the music while my soul rejoices
in the tender melody long after the vibrant air is silent. I
am absorbed in sweet reveries of the goodness of the Maker
of the universe, that passes into a momentary forgetfulness,
a delicious, dreamless "forgetery," a short, sweet eternity of
peace.
Then music, sweet, changing and elusive, as the perfumes
of the damp mosses and tiny woodland flowers, awoke me to
consciousness, a wordless music that came from the upper
world as if it might be the songs of seraphim and cherubim.
It was only the still, small voices of the woods, of insect life,
and of leaves whispering to each other, nature singing her
self to sleep in the dim evening hours, lulling me to semi-for-
getfulness, once again by the spirit of peace. Then a low,
ominous sound thrilled me like an electric shock. I arose
from the mossy seat and looking westward saw a shower in
the distance, showing luminant as the rays of the sun broke
through, and the long lances of rain shot fiercely down on the
dry earth. The clouds advanced and retreated, then piled
fiercely together like contending armies, while heaven's artil
lery boomed in active encounter; the deep-toned thunder
crashing, breaking and sundering the black clouds, while
flashes of lightning came with blinding fury, zigzaging across
the heavens, short, sharp, decisive, awe-inspiring, and grand
in its power and uncontrolled energy. Then the clouds
parted, the mutterings died away, and the heavens washed
clean were one great sapphire above me.
The majesty of nature, alluring, inspiring, commanding in
threatening messages from the clouds was soothing later in
FROM THE WORLD 145
the musical cadences of the rustling pine-tops far above me.
Strong in the strength of years, they tell of the days gone by
that helped them to bear the storms, and they seem to reach
out protecting arms to the weak mortal beneath them who
realizes in her weakness that the best that is within her has
been culled from nature, whose lessons have sunk deep into
her heart, and the wisdom learned in the haunts of the wild
have been more than all else. And then the herds with tink
ling bells descended the trails. Evening flung her mantle
over the Campagna ; laughter and song from the lower levels
reached me, mingled with the sweet-sounding bells of unseen
churches; Pan, it seemed, was playing upon his pipes in the
sweet wildness, but it was only the vesper hour "gratia
plena" until the shadows dropped and night closed about
the contadina, and my day, carissima, is done.
All these things have rested and made me ready to con
tinue my rambles in Rome. I visited some places for the last
time, have seen the crimson blossoms, the violets and honey
suckle, earth's dear, familiar flowers, growing in the Pope's
gardens, as they do by the humblest cottage, and my weary
feet once again wandered through those miles of halls and
rooms in the Vatican stored with treasures gathered from
all over the world. I loitered once more under the colonnades
and listened to the splash of the fountains, saw the green,
mossy circle made by their spray, and looked my last upon
the old obelisk and bronze gate. I watched the people surg
ing through the narrow streets, and peered into doors black
ened by time and smoke, cheerless and dreary within. The
cold stone floors looked damp and gloomy. It is no wonder
that people love the streets and the sunshine in Rome. I
watched the throngs go by from Monte Cavallo guarded by
the horsemen, and from the Via Sistina, down below the long
flight of steps where are the models, I saw the crowds around
the old marble boat in the Piazza di Spagna, where are great
heaps of flowers, anemones, narcissus, and other early spring
flowers, which glisten with the spray from the sparkling,
splashing up-gush of waters where the beggars shyly ask for
soldi. Fruit-sellers crying, "fragola, fragola," and the wood-
carriers with wisplike bundles of firewood calling out, "fas-
cinotti," come in the hushed twilight to me. All these will
i 4 6 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
come to my mental vision and hearing long after I have left
them behind me.
I have stood for the last time on the Palatine and Aven-
tine Hills, have mused on the crumbling seats of the
Colosseum, whose broken walls still house the old horrors
that have been enacted within their enclosed spaces, and
strangely enough while in the forum certain words uttered
by Caesar came to me. "After death there is nothing."
While it was his ultimatum, and because of his knowledge
of the crookedness in human nature, his wish, perhaps, was
father to the thought. Most of us believe and hope for
something different, and while we may have a theological
justification for every sin, we formulate excuses for most of
them and trust for an even balance for the few good deeds
performed. If there were nothing after death, how worse
than useless the blood of martyrs! There must be a reckon
ing in the unknown country toward which we are all journey
ing, those mysterious regions which are our ultimate destina
tion, the destination vague and uncertain as we go, yet
hoping and trusting that there will be something in the
undiscovered country toward which we hopefully and trust
fully travel. I think there will be something for those who
deserve it, an eternity of joy and happiness in traversing
celestial worlds, wherein there will be no troubled recollec
tions of pain, grief and sorrow. That will be paradise indeed,
where there will be no disillusions, but once beyond the por
tal, safe from all the ills of this world, its uncertainties and
woes, it will be heaven indeed.
EDITH.
XVII
"Like the stalks of wheat in the fields
So flourish and wave in the mind of man,
His thoughts.
But the delicate fancies of love
Are like gay little intermingled blossoms
Of red and blue flowers."
Jack, old fellow, your notes have been so confoundedly
brief lately that I am minded to follow suit instead of sending
such lengthy epistles; still, I know your devotion to business,
so am disposed to be lenient and humor you, especially when
you flatter me and say that you are seeing things through
my eyes, without the time or trouble of traveling. This
appeases me, as you knew it would.
I trust I may not have read and understood your letters
clearly, wherein you speak of Wilder and Ruth. Surely Bert
could not neglect that dear little wife of his so soon after
marriage. They seemed very happy. I thought theirs would
be the ideal marriage and their home one in every sense of the
word for themselves and their friends. I know he was always
selfish in regard to his own pleasures and amusements; that
he brooked restraint and never allowed anyone to interfere
with his plans for enjoyment; also, that he was at times
rather apt to be careless as to what the dear world might say,
but he is such a charming host and companion that he has
always been very popular.
He seemed madly in love with Ruth and I thought when
they were married he would make a model husband. Strange
the difference between pursuit and possession here is Fred
wasting hours, when he should be asleep thinking over his
life's tragedy, as he believes it, because he loves a girl who is
probably not losing any sleep over him. And Wilder, now
that the excitement of pursuit has settled down into the
monotony of possession, is restive, and is easing the knot of
the matrimonial halter. It makes me better satisfied with
my life when I see what effect a large dose of love seems to
147
i 4 8 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
have on some people. I think, however, Fred is getting
over the veal stage, and have hopes that he will not lose so ;
much sleep as he has.
We have met some charming people here. There is a girl
whose portrait he has painted, who is delightful if you could
see her and hear her soft voice in her own tongue, or her
efforts to master our harsher language, 1 think even you
the dear old busy drone, might say good-bye to business and
try the easy life I am living for a time; and you would find
life all the sweeter for doing nothing for a while.
And now I must tell you something further of our sojourn
here. The suburbs of the City of Mexico were more attrac
tive to me than the city, interesting as it is. Electric cars
running with the speed of railroad trains carry one to many j
a charming spot. I recall one afternoon at Guadalupe, where
is the one church in the republic that has not been despoiled
of its gold and jewels. It is built where there was a pagan
sanctuary over 1,000 years ago. The Spaniards destroyed
it, and a vision appeared to a faithful Indian. The result
beginning in the fifteenth century is shown now in this beauti
ful church. The Mother of Christ is now knelt to instead of
the heathen mother of gods.
David, the Minstrel King, never yearned for the water of
the Well of Bethlehem that is "by the gate" with greater
longing than do these poor devotees who come from remote
parts of the republic. A pilgrimage of one hundred miles
is made by many yearly to the shrine, to drink the water of
the magic well at the church of the Guadalupe. They climb
the hill,
"The world's great altar stairs
That slope through darkness up to God,"
and worship in the sanctuary, the earth-worn and weary, in
rags, by the thousands, even as the Russian and other pilgrims
go now to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. A long flight
of stone steps leads up to the summit of the hill. A chapel
and cemetery are now where the traditional Indian gathered
the miraculous flowers. I looked from this hill, the holiest
shrine in Mexico, and saw the great cathedral's towers and
the domes and minarets of countless monestaries, churches
and convents. There was Lake Tezcuco, a shimmering misty
FROM THE WORLD 149
blue, other lakes and villages, Chapultepec and the lava beds
in the distance, from whence came the sacrificial stones; an
entrancing view from every point one may look. Rimmed
by mountains, the Valley of Mexico is unsurpassed by any I
have seen.
Different thoughts were mine when I visited other suburbs
Churubusco, Tacubaya, Chapultepec, San Angel and
Coyoacan, in them is such a blending of the old and the
modern. What pictures and phantoms of the past crowded
my mind as I wandered along green lanes, under old gray
walls and arches that looked down upon Cortez when he
lived there and at Coyoacan, where he established the seat
of government in 1521. His dwelling is here and the church
where he worshipped whether before or after he murdered
his wife, I know not is here also, grand in its gray old age.
Its dome, tower, arch and columns gave me a moment in the
Orient and a breath from Moscow. Arched entrances show
ing the acanthus leaves sent me back to Greece. The Cor
inthian and Ionic were suggested, and stray bits of Byzantine
carvings elbow the modern steam and electric cars.
My mind slipped down the centuries from Cortez the
Conqueror, to a later time. I thought of Scott and his resist
less soldiers who saw these same scenes, the grim old walls
and lanes leading away into the country, that doubtless were
radiant then, as now in the wealth of vine and bloom. The
gray mosses on the sunless side of the stone walls speak of
age and gloom; the flowers, of the present only.
Scott was victorious at Churubusco and Chapultepec,
sweeping on into the City of Mexico. I could scarcely
imagine, however, that this sleepy old town, along whose
rough, stony streets I heard the patois and soft "ssh-ssh" of
the donkey boys, and the "pff-pff" of sandaled feet on the
rough, uneven streets, could ever have echoed the tread of
the intrepid soldiers under Scott, Lee and Grant, or that the
sound of drums and music, with flags our own were ever
heard and seen here in this perfumed atmosphere where the
cloistered nooks bespeak devotion and prayer. Yet I know
that in this region Grant and Lee fought side by side, endur-
150 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
ing all the hardships of war for one flag the stars and
stripes united in one common cause, yet destined to meet
not many years after under separate flags in a war whose
equal the world has seldom if ever known.
At Churubusco, where a battle was fought in 1847, once
stood the city of Huitzilopochtlih and a temple built by the
Aztecs. If there were evil spirits and demons as they imagined
in those days, they have departed to fitter howling places
long ago, for what was the city once is a lazy, quiet place now.
In this vicinity are raised most of the flowers that supply the
markets of the city. There are vegetable gardens also,
though there seemed but little attention paid to fruit trees,
a good apple being a novelty here, but the fields of the
maguey plants are in fine condition. There are various
fruits, including the cactus which I found rather insipid.
Melons and cucumbers grow on trees in Mexico, and it is a
pity they have not found a potato tree. The average Mexican
potatoes are about the size of a large marble and sell six for
a centavo ; green beans and tiny peppers also sell by the half
dozen. I noticed that peas were always shelled, so the cus
tomer knows what he is buying. There were in the market
great bunches of grass which the natives used for food; also
wild sweet potatoes, stringy and unpalatable, which were
freely offered for us to taste.
At San Angel, another pretty suburb visited, we were
invited to partake of the afternoon feast, tortillas, pulque and
tamales. There was in the air an odor of meat, cooked and
uncooked. I saw the heads and feet of animals and fowls
cooked, and saw people buying the entrails for food noth
ing is wasted here. No, we did not care for any burnt offer
ings that day, so politely declined the generosity of the suave
owner of the eating-place. San Angel, however, is very
pretty and the summer resort for the wealthy of the city.
Tacubaya vies with it in lovely gardens, parks, trees and
flowers wealth and poverty side by side. Nowhere can be
seen stronger contrasts wealth in its magnificence, and pov
erty in all its grimness; the walled-in streets, the overburdened
poor in the dust such a medley Palestine and Damascus,
the East without the fez ; for here, as there, no matter how
rough and thorny the way, gaunt poverty stalks along with
FROM THE WORLD 151
the sore and bleeding feet of these wretched peons. Some
one wrote that Christ was only possible in a barefoot coun-
HARVESTING THE CORN IN MEXICO.
try, and that the few who wore shoes murdered him. Will
one ever arise to aid and uplift the poor of Mexico?
And then from the terraces and bastions of Chapultepec
where the president lives in summer, I looked out over a
1 52 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
grandly beautiful country, and thought that all things are
possible. I know that the country has improved more in the
past decade than in one hundred years before. I know, too,
that American and English capital is revolutionizing the
country. Under such regime who shall stay the hand of
progress? Hopefully I dismissed the thoughts that were
repulsive and enjoyed the magnificent views. I loitered along
the terrace, and saw the modern work due to Maximilian
the beautiful marble and Pompeiian style. Fitting indeed is
this place for the president; and what memories cluster
around it, for it has been a royal retreat for the rulers for six
hundred years. Through the groves of cypress trees and
prowling through the grounds far below that jewel set in
porphyry, I saw the castle two hundred feet above the plain.
1 know that this was once an island in Lake Tezcuco, which
is now several miles distant. On the eastern side are traces
of Aztec carvings. High up on the summit there was a temple,
and on this hill is a cave which was a sanctuary of one of
their Gods the Spirit of the Murmuring Spring. How
those old pagans loved nature ! Their gods were many.
There were Gods of Air, Water, Fire, etc. All were wor
shiped and although their way was not ours, we, who love
nature, have something approaching reverence in our breasts
for those dear old heathens. On another side of this his
torical hill is a spring which supplies a portion of the water
for the City of Mexico. Along the paseo at the foot
of the slope, are the arches of the stone aqueducts.
I saw the cadets of this West Point of Mexico, and then
I paused at a place which the cadets and the nation honor,
and plucked a spray of myrtle that twines about the shaft
at the foot of the hill, erected in memory of the brave cadets
who fell in battle at the storming of Chapultepec. We rested
a while in the Plaza de Cartegena, where are trees and foun
tains and seats for the weary, and watched the throngs of
people. We heard the music throb in the dusky afternoon,
then went back to the city of fabulous wealth and dreamed
of its strange past.
Life is enjoyed by contrasts, and when weary with his
torical places and Aztec horrors, we found relief in the
modern and up-to-date shops. There are jewelry establish-
FROM THE WORLD 153
ments vicing with New York's best and the Celaya candy is
equal to Huyler's. Fairylike confections come from Paris.
The best of imported articles are here, for there is great
wealth in the city as well as great poverty.
No matter how hurried the tourist may be, he soon becomes
acquainted with the noon-hour habit and knows that for an
hour and a half the shops are closed. It is usually like
holiday during the noon siesta. An American who is in
business here said it was hard to become accustomed to the
idea of closing the shop and taking a noon nap, but that
after acquiring the habit he did not know how he could live
without it; that it was better for them all, and the rest was
made up in zeal and energy afterward. How well we might
emulate them in this respect in California.
The noon-hour I often enjoyed in the Plaza, musing on
the life about me. The thrifty venders of all sorts of wares
and fruits, nuts, narancas (oranges), cakes and sweets in
almost every namable form, plied their vocation. I watched
the crowd on the cars, which are arranged for different
classes a fine thing in this country though the tercera, or
third class, in the railroad trains is devoid of comfort.
The seats are placed lengthwise in the cars, and are mere
benches without backs. The carriages also have different
colored flags denoting the price per hour. Hence, there
is no haggling about prices nor any mistakes.
We haunted the shops for curios, photographs, etc., and
rarely ever tired of the markets, learning something from
their primitive ways, and more still of the products and the
unknown fruits and roots used by the natives. Often In
my saunterings I saw priests going the rounds of the markets
collecting money from the poor creatures who seemed to
have barely sufficient to keep life in their shrunken bodies.
I spoke to a girl who was so shriveled that she looked like a
nubbin among a lot of full-grown ears of corn. The frame
was there, but she had never filled out.
"Why do you give him money when you seem to need it
so badly?" I asked.
"We do not want to, but are forced to give it," was the
answer.
154 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
And the itching palm of the church takes from the poor,
who must give, though poor, that which is so badly needed
in this, for a promise of something better in the next world.
So in the name of the gentle Christ, whose thought was al
ways for the needy, these priests in high huts prance through
the markets and glean what they do not obtain in the churches.
Some of these people are, I think, from their mutterings and
evident discontent, learning to do without the middlemen to
some extent. They are married without their aid, and are
born in unofficial capacity; but, so far, as a rule, are afraid
to pass over to the unknown without aid of especially ap
pointed agents. Down here they need about all they can
get in this life to make it endurable, and if the Church would
levy taxes upon the rich and spare the poor, life would not
be complex, but simple. And instinct, true now and unerr
ing, as when one of earth's poor recognized the Divinity
and poured the precious ointment upon His head it was
the learned and respectable lawyer who reproved her, and
who was economical will lead them aright, and teachings
will be more effective if given freely without asking for
money. Surely, if those in authority can promise them a
free pass across the borderland, let them have the benefit
without money and without price. Was it not Heine who
wrote :
''The human spirit has its rights and will not be rocked to sleep by
the lullaby of church bells.
"Men will no longer be put off with promissory notes upon heaven."
Down here in the tropics all the sweetness, all the music
and lullabys, that "can be given to soothe existence, are
sorely needed.
FRANK.
XVIII
"I remember the bright spring garlands,
The gold that spangled the green
And the purple on fairy-far lands,
And the white and red blooms seen
From the spot where we last lay dreaming
Together, you and I,
The soft grass beneath us gleaming,
Above us the great grave sky."
As WRITTEN IN THE JOURNAL BY ALICE
And so we came from the enchanting region back to the
road bounded by two glittering threads of steel, on and
on rushing back to San Francisco, the city by the sea, which
for some unknown reason I dreaded. Those few days of
undivided companionship with the man I adored made
me dread the thought of returning home, where I knew
there must be hours of loneliness when business would
claim my husband, as it had in the short time I was with him
before going to Alaska.
Before reaching the city, my fears were realized, for he
drew me close to him in the privacy of our drawing-room
and said that we must plan for the future.
"Why must we plan? Is it not better to live each day
without plans?" I said, laughing and smoothing his face
as I nestled in his arms.
"Far better, if we only might, but, my sweetheart, it is
impossible. We have been the merest infants in wonder
land, now it is the hard old world we must face and snatch
what joy we can as the days go by. Mrs. Andrews will
meet us at the station in Oakland. I shall be compelled to
leave you and go directly on to San Francisco. You will
go with her to a cozy little home I have prepared for you,
which I hope you will like. I will not be able to see you for
a day or so, perhaps longer; but as soon as it is possible, dear,
I will come to you. Now cheer up, I cannot endure to see
your dear eyes dimmed with tears. I have at greater cost
155
156 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
than you can imagine stolen the time to have this little vaca
tion with you. It has been worth all the sacrifice, the worry
and trouble that has been greater than you could dream."
"You speak of cost if it is a matter of money" I be
gan, but he stopped me with a gesture. g
"It is not a question of money. There are more serious
considerations of which we will talk some other time. It
is enough for you to know now that I cannot be with you
when you get the first peep into your little home. You must
love it for my sake and be contented and happy as any little
birdie in its nest. I am sure you will make it a haven of
rest for me when I come to you, weary with my cares; for I
have them, my darling, greater I feel now since I love you so
than I ever had before."
There was such a look of anguish in his eyes that, though
my heart was breaking with thought of separation and the
sickening sense of going away from him, I resolved that I
would not pain him, but would assume a cheerfulness I did
not feel. So I began asking him questions about the house,
if there was a piano and books that I might keep employed
while waiting for him.
"I have tried to think of everything for your comfort,"
he said, "and I shall look forward to many a blissful hour
with my Alice. She will sing, play or read to me when
I come. And I want you to know that I will come as often
as it is possible. You must never doubt that will you,
my life, my joy?" he said.
Soothing, caressing me and bidding me be of good cheer,
he turned me over to the kind Mrs. Andrews and I was
hustled away * * It was a very charming nest, in
deed, that I found. Evidences of his care and love were
there to prove his desire to please, and I was delighted with
my house and surroundings. Away back from the city on a
knoll, peeping out from clustering vines and shade trees, the
cottage was secluded from the winds and the world at large,
hedged in by roses and a wilderness of bloom. It would
have been heavenly if only I were not alone, but I tried to
console myself with the comforting thought of how much
happier I was though alone than I was before I knew my
FROM THE WORLD 157
darling. The idea of Jane and of traveling with her made
me thank heaven I had been spared that horror.
A letter, dear journal, came this morning. 1 did not
think I could endure another day, though this is the second
day since I arrived.
"My angel, I know you wanted some token this morning.
You were wondering if I would not come. You were rest
less yesterday, and last night your pillow was wet with tears,
I know, I felt them. They fell into the quick of my heart-
how I wanted to kiss them away and though I cannot come
to you at least for two or three days yet, you will before
long be safe in my arms, my love, my soul! I will come
just as soon as I possibly can; I kiss and love you, sweet one,
be patient and live with me in the memory of the happy hours
passed, and think of those yet to come, dear one, until we
meet.''
1 carried that letter in my bosom, read it until every word
was imprinted on my heart, and then with the morning came
another message.
"Is my bird singing in her dear little nest this morning?
Is her heart made just a little easier by the written words of
love which I fain would whisper in her pretty ears, while
looking into her love-lit eyes. Only three days, sweetheart,
since we looked into each other's eyes, and felt our hearts
thrill with the great love that is implanted within them; yet
it seems so long, so long, dreary and desolate enough to have
been an age since I felt the tender touches of soft hands
thrilling me with that inexplicable something which phil
osophy cannot explain and which scoffs philosophy. The fond
kisses, pure as love can make them, burn upon my lips which
are hungry for more.
"Three days! Ah, my loved one, if every day we are
apart is as long to you as it has been to me, we are both to
be pitied. We might have been spared much pain and sor
row had we never met, but the fates decreed that we meet
i 5 8 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
and the fact is engraved on our hearts with a potency that
nor time nor circumstances nor conditions can change. Time
may alter our opportunities, circumstances may throw be
tween us an unspeakable chasm, conditions separate us, but
one or all cannot make our hearts forget. I shall live on, hope
on for the hour when I may come to you, who are a part of
me of my life, of all I ever hope to be. My dear one, kiss
me and come to me in my dreams and bless my lonely heart."
I am wondering, my silent confidant, what my love means
by "unspeakable chasm," and wondering also why he does
not tell me where his office is that I may write to him. I
shall ask him. We both forgot, I, to ask, he to tell me. We
are very stupid, dear journal, not to think. Why, I might
be very ill and could not send for him. The thought is
appalling. Mrs. Andrews must know. I shall ask her. Why
had I not thought of it? No, I will wait until he comes. She
might think it very odd as it would be for me to ask
her my husband's address, and now that I think seriously it
is odd and strange.
Why has he never spoken of his place of business? How
would I ever have found him except for that chance meet
ing, and why was he so desirous that I write my thoughts,
my experiences in traveling in my journal and not to him?
Stupid again ! it was because he was coming to meet me
and bring me home. Therefore, letters would not reach him,
and now why, he expects to come day by day and of course
sends his notes to keep me from being distracted, as I would
be otherwise. I will cease to speculate and go out in my rose
garden and watch the sun's pathway through the Golden
Gate as he bids good-bye to another day, which is just one
nearer the time when I shall see my darling. Shall I never
see him? Am I to live on and on with a message each day?
Tender, loving ones they are, but I want to hold the hand
that writes, I want to look in the dear eyes that have glanced
over the written words. The foolish tears would not be
stayed this morning when I read and knew he was not com
ing, instead he wrote:
FROM THE WORLD 159
"Heart of my heart, I fully expected to be with you last
night, but matters shaped themselves so that it was impossible.
My God, darling, I hope you, because of your own intense
loneliness, can appreciate mine. In the still hours of night,
in the visions of day, the fond recollections that none can
steal from us of a orief heaven come up before me. How
well I see and know the sweet face, the lovelit eyes, the beau
tiful mouth and the little dimple in the snowy chin; your
lovely, perfect form in the springtime of youth and beauty,
the idol of my heart whom I shall always love, fills me
with pride. Then the futility of my efforts to come to you
maddens me. God, how lonely I am without you ! The
hours are void of comfort, almost of rest, yet, my own,
not for worlds would I have it changed, unless conditions
were such that we be spared the pain of a day's separation.
"It is bitter, but there is a balm. Present circumstances
destroy peace, but not the hope of the soul; tear down pur
pose, yet do not destroy hope ; impede our meeting, but still
encourage everything that makes life worth living. These
are some of my rays of philosophy, but then I say, to de
struction with philosophy, I want my beauty, my comfort,
my star of hope, my Venus, more than anything else. Yet,
dear little one, I feel the quality of love is tested by absence.
It is no fleeting passion, no trifling fancy that awakes me from
sleep by the very intensity of its yearning for the absent.
"No casual attachment breathes the loved one's name
from the lips with the fervor of a prayer as regularly as night
time closes the eyes and daylight opens them. I want you to
feel that you are the sunlight of my life, my motive, my guide,
my ambition. To you I shall come for companionship when
I am sad and when I am happy. I shall turn from the world
to you, for you are my world, and nothing shall interfere
if human effort avails. I shall keep and hold you despite
conditions. Sometimes 1 wonder if you realize or attach to
our love the gravity that I do. I think you do, for I know
your impressionable, loving nature, know what my presence
and caresses mean to you, and knowing this feel that even as
it is we understand how more than fortunate we were in our
accidental meeting on that blessed, memorable day when I
160 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
first saw my little girl in the abandonment of a fancied
sorrow.
"Good night, my love, may your dreams be as tender as my
anticipations of the near future. I am coming, sweet. There
are invisible chords reaching out as rom infinity binding
my life to yours, drawing me irresistibly to you and home.
Heaven keep you until we meet !"
The call of the birds came faint as the memory of a sound
as I sat in the garden the following night. I had been rest
less all day, no letter or word of love or kindness had come.
I watched and waited through every minute of the long
hours that dragged along while my heart was sick with long
ings and dread. My eyes were blinded with tears and the
constant watching for him whom my soul loved. What
could it mean? Was our married life to be like this? If so,
I would far rather die than live on in uncertainty. I
could not endure the strain of the suspense of waiting. 1 was
so lonely, and then came a torrent of tears that would not
be stayed. My frame shook with a paroxysm of sobs, I wept
as I had never wept before and until I was ill, and Mrs.
Andrews coming out, finding me exhausted and shaken by
sobs, took me in her arms and comforted me as no woman
had ever done since I felt the shelter of my mother's arms.
"You must not grieve, my dear child. I think I under
stand, but you certainly know that you would not be left alone
all this while without good and sufficient reasons." Then she
talked in a soothing voice, cheering and consoling me, and
added that I must not grieve, I would spoil my eyes; besides
I was losing my color. What should she say ? She would be
sent away for not properly caring for me. This roused me
immediately.
"I will not have it," I cried; "if you go, I will go, too.
You are kinder to me than anyone has ever been except
somebody we both know" and she smiled cheerfully.
"Now, you must brighten up and I will fetch you some tea
out here. It will do you good."
After a while I heard her coming as I lay back with closed
eyes, trying to steady my shaken nerves; then a hand was
FROM THE WORLD 161
placed over my eyes and a voice whispered: "Are you dream
ing?" And then the dreams came true: u And the morning
and the evening was the first day."
Truly, it was the first day the day of days in my new
home, when every hour was a string of pearls, white and
beautiful, because we two wandered through the shaded
paths, where wild roses grew, and the faint odors came from
the wild grapevines among the hedges; gathering flowers,
singing snatches of song, for I was so glad and light-hearted
it seemed impossible that it was only yesterday I was so
wretched. We would sit and look out over the dun-colored
hills, now sun-kissed and brown, which extended for miles, girt
in by trees showing dimly through a haze looking
like old blue delft. Great round heaps of straw piled up
after the threshing machine had sifted the wheat from the
straw lay here and there with a circle ploughed around them
for safety from fires. Certain little mounds and innumerable
tiny lines crossing and running threadlike from the ditches
to these stacks showed that the industrious ground-squirrels
had improved the golden hours of the harvest time, and had
been storing up the plump grains of wheat for their winter
of content.
In the sultry heat of noon we rested, watching the herds
grazing on the yellow stubble, while the saucy magpies chat
tered and quarreled over our intrusion. The upward rush
of air, like the breath of an invisible presence, came in cool
refreshing gusts from the depths far below us, palpable,
changing odors came in little whiffs, different from the
balsam of the pines, it was the air from the ocean bearing
with its salty freshness the mingled odors of the land and
sea, penetrating the dim twilight of the forest, where the
pale green leaves of the eucalyptus shimmered and glittered
like jewels in the sun; the strong, pungent smell mixed with
the aromatic breath of the pines went to the head, and I,
drinking in the delicious nectar of love, was not troubling
about future thirst or possible dregs. It was the day, the
hour, the now of life, that sufficed for me then, and 1 simply
reveled in the voices of the woods, the mingling of sounds of
whirring insects and bird-notes with the soft, sweet under
tone of the music of winds among the trees. All these with
1 62 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
an enveloping atmosphere of love made paradise here on
earth seem not only a possible but a real thing. The demon
of fear had no place in my thoughts during those happy
hours. I was living one hour at a time. The untried future
was far away, why think of it? The past, the present, eter
nity why, I was living in all three as much as I ever should,
possessing what I had, and safe in the arms of him I adored.
There was nothing beyond, unless a new light might be added
to my mental vision as the years unfolded.
We watched from our rose-garden the light grow dim un
til the land became but a reminiscence and the edges of the
bay and the sky were welded in a cobalt vagueness. Above
us were the star-girt silence of the heavens and the beautiful
glittering embroidery of the myriads of stars in the "un
peopled spaces." How do we know they are unpeopled or
void? We revel in fancies and talk of our love and I say
that I am thinking of Merope, the lost Pleiad and I know
too well that amid all the glory of the heavens I, too, would
have cheerfully resigned that glittering field of beauty for the
love of my heart. And he folding me to him, kissing and
thanking me for the expression of my regard for him said:
"You would do all you say, resign heaven and earth for the
sake of my love?"
"I would do so and more if it were possible. Your love
is heaven itself to me. It may be that it is not wise to love
you as I do, but better unwisely than never to have known
what love means. You opened Pandora's box for me and
love and hope the purest and best gift of all the goddesses-
came into my heart, blessing it, enriching it, giving it a
domain, rich and fabulous, the kingdom of love, of sweet
ness, bathed in golden rays that gild the visionary hilltops
which surround the fair kingdom wherein love palpitates in
the air and whispers sweet suggestions to the amorous winds
and a smiling, flame-winged Eros hovers over the fair land,
a land which is mostly in silence, for the language of the
soul is silence, heart to heart, and lips to lips, dear one, we
are blessed indeed in our domain. We are more wise than
Solomon, and richer than barbarian kings; for we possess the
sacred fire that fills our hearts, love that completes unity, that
FROM THE WORLD 163
shall endure for all times, and I think shall burn brightly
when yonder evening star shall have ceased to shine."
"My fanciful darling, I will tell you that I believe with
you. I once thought I loved. It is the counterfeit that burns
brightest ; but a deep, true love is not for show ; its flame may
be dull, but its life is unchangeable. It burns like the lamps
before the Holy of Holies strong and steady, but never
wavers or falters. Our love has blossomed into beauty, and
its beauty will be lasting and eternal I trust. The time may
come when you will doubt, for the serpent entered Eden, you
know ; but remember this, whatever fancies I may have had,
whatever fetters may bind me, you are the one love of my life.
Nothing can change or alter the fact that you have drawn a
magic circle about me. I am lost in the maze of your witch
ing charms from which I shall not try to extricate myself,
because every fibre of my being responds to your tenderness
and love; for love is always tender and the soul of the storms
within me is quieted. I feel that though the whole world
were to upbraid and abuse me, I would say only this, love is
enough."
"Why do you speak so strangely ? The whole world pleads
for love, does it not?" I questioned. "Then how could it
abuse you if we only are content? Is it not enough? I am
indifferent; I care only for you. Let the world go by."
"Yes, but I love you so. I am proud of you. If I might,
I would like to have half the world bowing at the feet of
my queen. I would like it to adore you. I only wish I were
like the genius of Greece who fashioned the Venus of Milo,
that I might give to centuries unknown your perfect form,
your beautiful features; or if I had the skill of Raphael, of
Andrea del Sarto, then the whole world might realize some
thing of your glorious hair, your eyes, lips and rose-tinted
flesh, my Madonna, my angel," he said, as he looked at me,
binding my heart a little closer by the magnetism of his gaze,
until I lifted my lips to his, I was too happy to speak. Pres
ently he went on :
"I care not for the future, whatever changes may come,
whatever ills befall barriers shall be broken. You are
mine before heaven, and I will have and hold my own !"
1 64 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
He threw his head up, stood erect as if ready to combat
unseen forces and his eyes had a look of stern defiance that
made me shiver. I drew him down beside me and whispered
in his ear:
"I care nothing for the world, its praise or adoration. The
future is a blank and what matters it if I am never known to
the world. It is only you I love and care for, not the care
less eyes of the world. If I please you I am thankful, for,
womanlike, I take delight in your admiration, and surely in
this I may not be called vain. I want to appeal to all that is
best in your nature. I want a place so deep within your
heart that when time shall have stolen the rosetints from my
cheeks, faded the gold from my hair and shriveled the flesh,
you may still love me; may still care for the withered rose in
the autumn and winter of life should we two be spared to
test the rigors of age and the change which comes to all."
"Why should my love wane, dear?" he answered. "Will
I not change even as you, and perhaps far more ? I am many
years older, and besides men are rarely, if ever sweetened
by age. Women nearly always are, and if we are content to
let the world go by, satisfied with each other, not caring to
achieve much in life save this, to make each day a day of de
light for ourselves, surely it would be sufficient no chasing
chimeras or trying for unattainable things. It is all very
well to write, talk or preach of obstacles easily surmounted;
that there are no summits one may not attain, nothing one
may not achieve, which sounds well, but is for most mortals
meaningless. How easily one may waste life trying to reach
a far off Eiger or Matterhorn; but I think we two will send
ambitions to the fickle winds and frolic over our own foot
hills, which lie at our threshold, desiring nothing beyond the
scope of our vision our world the circle of each other's
arms."
The days have passed quickly and the blank pages are star
ing reprovingly at me. I have not been so confidential lately.
My life has been half in shade and half in sun. Nothing
but brightness when my darling was with me and gloomy
enough when he was not here. Very soon I became aware
that the hardest thing to learn was to be patient when I was
left alone. Try as I might I could not be patient or content.
FROM THE WORLD 165
But I soon realized that I must accept the inevitable with
whatever grace I possibly could, especially when I learned
that my love was worried, that something I knew not what
fretted him and made him anxious, and the business which
kept him away from me so much of the time grieved and
worried him, so that he often looked quite pale and worn.
I learned quickly to try to soothe and divert his mind rather
than to fathom his cares. He said to me once in answer to
a question:
"It is enough for me to endure the worry and fret of al
most unbearable conditions. You, my frail little girl, can
do nothing were I to tell you. I only ask you to love and
cheer me when here. Your very presence is a balm, and I
forget everything that is disturbing when you sing to me. I
look to you for love and love only in this haven of rest,
here where we will not allow any of the cares or burdens of
the busy old world beyond our hedges to enter into our peace
ful Eden."
What woman so deeply in love as I, would not have been
appeased and flattered. I was his love, his idol. Here he
found the comfort and peace denied him elsewhere, and with
a new blossoming joy in my heart I strove to be all he thought
me, and though puzzled and perplexed over something that
was inexplicable to me forbore to ask any questions.
I was not anxious to cross over to the great city beyond
the bay. My wants were easily supplied nearer home; still
1 wondered why my dear one seemed to prefer that I should
not come. Once he told me if I were to come he would have
no time to see me, that he had no office of his own.
"Is that the reason you have never told me or allowed me
to send you a tiny note?" I asked.
"Yes, I am the traveling member of a large firm; hence
my necessary absence. You could never see me except by ap
pointment, and when it is possible I will come to you, but you
must strive to be content as possible. I am planning and
some day we two will sail away to a distant fairyland on
another journey and perhaps we will never return, never be
separated all the rest of our days. Would that suit you?"
he said. "Ah, you need not answer, your eyes have told me.
1 66 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
Do you know what wonderful tell-tales your eyes are ? You
could not keep a secret from me I am sure."
I laughed, I was so happy! "We will find out. You keep
your secrets, perhaps I can mine also," I said teasingly.
"What do you mean?" he said almost fiercely.
"I'll tell you, tell you, some sweet day," I sang, and then
I ran away and began to gather some roses, reaching up and
endeavoring to catch a spray of passion-vine that had climbed
to the top of one of the taller trees and was flaunting its gor
geous crimson blossoms far above the modest honeysuckle
that twined itself about the arbor seat. I grew faint and
dizzy, and feeling that I was falling, clutched at the swaying
vine, which, tearing loose let me down easily but for a mo
ment only, when I was snatched up and I felt my sweetheart's
kisses upon my lips, while he chided me for being so care
less.
"What is the matter, did you hurt yourself? Why, you
are white, my darling," he said, as he carried me into the
house and summoned Mrs. Andrews at once, doing all sorts
of foolish impossible things.
"It is nothing," I said in answer to a look from Mrs.
Andrews; "I was reaching for a blossom, that is all, and I
fell. Don't scold me. I will be very good."
"1 think you need it, but if you will promise to behave
better in the future we may let you off this time."
There were no more questions about secrets, perhaps he
wished to avoid the subject and the matter dropped. The
days went by in endless procession it seemed. I simply lived
my life without looking forward or backward. I loved and
was beloved, and life seemed a pathway of roses, for I lived
among them, and out beyond and over the hills and far
away, my willing, eager feet went in quest of the blue lupins
and larkspur and wild immortelles that were still beautiful in
the lower levels and moist places. The poppies were thick
?mong the grasses, wide-eyed and bright they opened their
hearts of gold when the sun's yellow disk appeared with glit
tering rays warm and bright, blessing every longing little
sun-worshipper, veritable pagans, every one of them adoring
the sun god with unabashed faces, though their little root-
FROM THE WORLD 167
fingers cling tenaciously and dig deep in the warm, moist
soil of the dear earth mother.
The sweet summer days have been, taken all together, the
dearest and sweetest I have ever known. Every day was so
like the others that there has not been much to say to my
journal. Love is enough, though summer is waning. Sweet
resinous smells greet me now in my walks from the fields
where grow the wild sunflowers, the golden rod and perish
able blue flowers of the wild chiccory show that autumn is
here. Overhead the trees stir in the breeze and the yel
low leaves, the first harbingers of autumn's reaping, fall upon
the table where we sit, in the dusky hour before the evening
and the night kiss hands good bye, and the star sentinels
come out one by one.
The breath of the vineyards, musky and odorous came to
me from the over-burdened vines where-on grew the great
bunches of purple and flame-colored grapes. A belated black
bird strutted proudly about the lawn regarding the arbor,
the table and occupants sitting there with disdain. He looked
like a minister with his hands under his coat-tails, looking at
us with his supercilious yellow eyes, and showing his indiffer
ence to us and his audience of sparrows who are regular little
bull-dogs in their battles. They were very shy of him. He
knew his bill was sharper, he was bigger and blacker than the
others and that accounted for much apparently in the seeming
value he had of himself. A whirr of wings and the whistle
of a night-hawk overhead made an instantaneous change
pride was in the dust and he was gone, a black streak like
a fleeting shadow, and the hedge only knew his safe retreat.
On that one evening even the small details were engraven on
memory's tablets never to be forgotten.
My darling and I sat under the trees long after the
twilight deepened and the harvest moon, a great yellow globe,
arose and showered the earth with a mellowing, softening
radiance, driving away the dark shadows, burnishing the
placid waters of the distant bay, and touching with a faint
radiance the hills spread out before us. A soft, caressing
breeze, freighted with a ripe, fruity fragrance, and the
pungent smell of tarweed fanned our faces, bringing a peace
that sank deep into our hearts and the day was ended
1 68 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
nature's balm in the winds and nature's benediction in the
filmy meshes of moonbeams filtering through the vines, and
one last gleam caught from the smoldering fires in the western
skies.
I remember some snatches of conversation as we sat there
on that never-to-be-forgotten night. Once my sweetheart
said:
"You cannot imagine the infinite rest and peace I find
here with you in this dear little retreat of ours. I forget for
a time the seething mass of humanity that is always over
there," pointing to the lights of the distant city. "Even with
the little of joy, there are hearts that are burdened, hearts
that are never at peace, and then the sins that follow like
sleuth-hounds through lives yearning perhaps for something
different, yet bound by gyves unbreakable they go trammeled
to the grave with unpardoned sins. They are bowed by teem
ing burdens of misery here, and go with no assurance of any
thing better beyond, knowing only the one indisputable fact
that life is not worth the effort and that there is only death
for recompense."
He seemed to be in a strange mood, as though he scarcely
knew that he was speaking. I spoke to him and told him that
he talked strangely.
"I do not know what you mean by sins and sleuth-hounds.
You almost frighten me," and I crept closer to his side.
"Heaven grant you may never know, my dear one," he
said. "Forget my wandering, spoken thoughts. The even
ing has cast a strange spell upon me. Our summer is gone.
I know not what it has been to you, but there is enough of it
left in my soul to eclipse the glory of all other summers known
in my life, for there are memories which make it dearer,
sweeter, fairer than any life has yet given me."
"If the months past have been dear to you in your busy
life, how more than dear they have been to me. I could not
tell you of the depths, the intensity of my love. I thought
while you were speaking of the stars above us, and know that
there are stars in the heavens bright as those we see tonight
that are obscured by the dazzling rays of the sun which hide
them from our vision, never to be seen except during an
eclipse. So with my love. It burns brightly for you now,
FROM THE WORLD 169
and some day trouble and sorrow may darken your life,
friends may desert you, the whole world fail you, then
through the darkness you may understand what my love is,
what it means for you and for me."
"Heart of my heart, I believe you and trust you utterly.
If the test comes sooner or later you will not fail me, you will
stay with me though all the world oppose."
"Safe in your love, the world is nothing to me," I replied.
And when we went indoors, a cricket upon the rug near
the smoldering fire was singing his evening hymn, some tiny
flames gleaming and flickering sent a rosy light over the
hearth and tinged the walls. There was silence in the room
except the shrilling noise from the senseless insect, and in the
moment of my last waking thought, something seemed to
whisper in my ear these words: "Love sacrifices all things to
bless the thing it loves."
XIX
"Who cares for nothing, a king is he,
Sit down good fellow and drink with me.''
I repeated the above lines to Fred and he replied:
"The sentiment is all right, but excuse me from complying
with your request if it means pulque. I have never in-
PIGSKINS FILLED WITH PULQUE.
dulged in swill, and think from the one taste I had of pulque
it is a twin brother to bad buttermilk or whey. 1 have never
been in favor of the whey habit. I can only solve the prob
lem of the inordinate fondness for pulque by these people,
that some of the beasts possessing the evil spirits which ran
down into the sea were not all drowned and their appetites
for the swill of old has been transmitted through several
periods of re-incarnation."
"Don't be sarcastic. Take some tequila and cool your
heated tongue," I said to him.
170
FROM THE WORLD 171
"Oh, no, I am having a lucid interval for the time being
at least. Ask some of the chili-pod eaters to join you. They
drink tequila and seem to relish it as I would a glass of iced
milk if I could get it," he replied with a sigh. Then added:
"I am rather considerate of my stomach and my conscience,
both are so nearly alike that if one suffers the other feels
the effect both rebel after a thing is done, not before.
Hence, I try to use judgment and save each one all I can,
and my slumbers are always sweeter for the ounce of pre
vention."
"It is a good idea, Fred. But I was going to ask you to
join me in a toast to your fair friend whom you painted. She
looked beautiful enough last night for one to take some
chances, so here's
'To a heavenly face in sweet repose,
To the lily's snow and the blood of the rose ! '
"Do you not think her slumberous eyes that have the splen
dor of the tropics in their depths, rather thrilling? "
"They certainly are beautiful," he replied.
"Her large eyes wild with the fire of the south,
And the dewy wine of her ripe warm mouth,"
I said teasingly.
Possibly you may think that Fred is getting somewhat
interested from the foregoing, Jack, which 1 am writing along
with the uneven thread of my discourse. And I am hoping
that he as well as myself may return in a better condition
mentally and physically. I have found our new friends
charming and Fred has seemed quite interested in the beauti
ful girl who is rather inclined to make him think of her eyes,
if I gather the meaning of her coquettish glances.
In all the diversity of life here I do not forget you, my
patient friend. I love to think of you, and seem to hear you
sigh when you receive one of my rambling messages. But
I am pleased to think the sigh means that you wish you were
with me. And I will do my best to let you see without other
effort than reading a few of the things I am enjoying, while
you are busy with schemes on hand to cinch the other fellow.
We have been on a short excursion out of the old city.
1 72 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
I was tired of the noisy streets. It was too much like home
and I wanted to rest from the distorted idols in the museum,
else I might in my desperation have become an image-breaker.
My condition calls for one thing only and I spell it "idle,"
and so I found sweet solace in my sojourn.
It was a charming trip to Cuernavaca, about seventy-five
miles from the City of Mexico. The road winds for some
fifty miles up the mountains by a corkscrew grade until an
altitude of ten thousand feet is reached. It was winter in
the tropics, but the fruit trees were in bloom and fruits and
flowers were for sale that grew on the hillsides. The scenery
was grand, beggaring description. Unlike the Lady of
Shalott I needed no magic mirror. My mirror was the car-
window as we crept slowly along, and it needed no witchery,
for there was magic in every bit of landscape and in every
phase of life in this old New World.
One of the charms of Mexico is the absence of clothes and
conventionalities, upon the heights where the natives live
in cornstalk and grass-thatched mudhuts, shivering in the
cold or sweltering in the heat. Their experiences of life,
however hard or degrading, are matched by an indifference
to it all, brought on by the germ-disease laziness, that is as
old as their Aztec calendar stone. Their days are passed
in blissful unconsciousness of their condition, knowing ab
solutely nothing except the life of their fathers, from the
Western Noah, who built the Pyramids, down to the present
life on the bleak, wind-swept mountain- ranges between
Mexico City and the beautiful Cuernavaca plateau. Pos
sessing a matchless vitality, they unconsciously cling to their
customs, and eat their tortillas unleavened by ambition or
discontent. Bless their tatters, they are indeed "glad rags,"
for they show through rents and wind-tossed shreds the
polished mahogany and chocolate-colored limbs of the mucha-
chos that would drive a sculptor wild.
Imagination is not racked and nourished in a sort of hot
house atmosphere. It needs no incentive. The life I saw
was so real, so human that after all, it was in one sense un
real. They seem so replete with unwearied vitality, fresh
and untrammeled as when the earth was young. They appear
to enjoy their drama of life and I think they understand
FROM THE WORLD 173
the art of living, if there be not much of splendor in the
setting, for there are no contrasts up there so near heaven,
as down in the far-off city on the plain, of which they know
nothing. Life is about the same for one and all, and here,
surely ignorance is bliss, and so they live their brief hour,
making the best of it in their dull, stoical way, which, after
all, is the very best wisdom attained by mortals.
We slid down from the summit over a grade that for pic-
turesqueness and beauty I have scarcely if ever, in all my
wanderings, seen equaled. Through a blue mist I saw won
derful table-lands rimmed in by mountains. There were
rivers and emerald lakes under a pure hyacinth sky, clear
and bright except in the distance where great foamy masses
of vapor were tossed and shattered against the far away
peaks.
There were wonderful pictures in the mirage-haunted dis
tances, exalting in their grandeur. A fellow-passenger who
had seemed oblivious to his surroundings until we had left
the summit and started for the down grade, came out upon
the platform and stood beside me.
"Santa Maria, but it is glorious !" he exclaimed. He
looked at me and pointed to the city of Cuernavaca, where
it drowsed, half smothered in tropical vegetation.
"That is my home, life will be worth living now," he said.
He had been away from his loved home, and now that he
was in sight of it once more he seemed transfigured. His
homesickness fell away from him, all the pain and heartaches
that had been evident in his expressive eyes were gone, and
he might have been standing on some new Mount of Trans
figuration, so marvelous was the change in him. His hungry
eyes looked down on the plain where his heart was, and
stranger that I was, I did not wonder that he loved his home.
From the weird cacti and the black lava beds, we went
down into tropical verdure. There were great trees covered
with bright blooming orchids, and others whereon were other
gorgeous blossoms. I saw hibiscus trees that were more than
a foot in diameter, immense poinsettias, and flowering
bougainvilleas, besides many beautiful flowers unknown to
me. Still lower and we were among the groves of bananas
and the coffee plantations, and here I had my first real taste
UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
of the tropics. There were white walls, red tiled roofs, vine-
wreathed arches and crevices; trees with golden fruits, chiri-
moyas ("the fruit of the angels"), mangoes, guavas and
bananas grew in abundance. I saw the usual throng of native
Indians carrying water from the fountains in their pottery
jars.
As I went through
the streets I observed
the projecting balcon
ies from which flut
tered bright-colored
curtains. One involun
tarily weaves romances
and stories of soft
music in the swooning
balmy nights, of caba-
llero and senorita, of
moonlight and love.
Old Castilian heroes
and heroines haunt my
dreams, as I sleep in a
quaint room in the
quaint old hotel with
its arched portals and
patios, where fragrant
flowers bloom and the musical splashing of falling water
from the vine-shrouded fountain lend a charm to my half-
waking, half-dreaming hours. The whole plain about Cuer-
navaca is full of interest, and none the less so because it is
hidden away from the beaten path of tourists, the major
ity of whom think the City of Mexico comprises about all
of the republic worth seeing. Everywhere are Aztec ruins,
and history is forced upon one at every turn.
Near here, a mile above sea-level, is a hill or pyramid built
by human hands, nearly four hundred feet high and three
miles in circumference. This was the Zochicalo, or House
of Flowers, that was built in terraces like the pyramids of
Sahara in Egypt. Some old Pagan rulers built, shaped and
smoothed these terraces. Here, too, as elsewhere, are images
WATER-CARRIER, CUERNAVACA.
FROM THE WORLD 175
of birds, beasts and reptiles, carved by unknown hands with
unknown implements. Here imagination cast off its fetters
and reveled in the vague and unknown, in perhaps useless
speculation over evidences of a race long gone. Here, as in
so many parts of Southern Mexico, are remains of a past
civilization that is a sealed book to us. We know that they
lived and built their temples and vast pyramids, whose vast-
ness rivals Egypt's famed wonders.
I thought of all the strange things in this new Old World,
of the relics and ruins of a race blotted from the face of the
earth, and accepted what I saw, for I do not care for theories
and a searching for facts to suit them. These ruins are silent,
and the mystery that enshrouds them made them all the more
fascinating, possibly, to me. Still, one does not care for his
tory for a continuous diet. It is good to live in the present
a part of the time while traveling in the land of the Monte-
zumas, and it was especially good to step across the street
from the old hotel to a modern dining-room kept by a sup
posed American (a Mormon), who had very nearly what he
advertised "American cooking." Some fastidious travelers
refused to go because it was said he had more than one Indian
wife.
"If he had as many as Solomon and hasn't found out the
futility of it, that is the place to go," I said, "for being the
mixture he is, he will make them work."
And here I was wise, for the cooking was about the very
best I found in all my travels. And in this country of snap
shot marriages it was small concern of mine whether or not
there were marriage certificates pinned to the doors of the
apartments of the various girls who served us well and kindly
at our meals.
I think often of my first experience in a large restaurant
after my arrival in the sister republic. There was a clapping
of hands, such as one hears at a political meeting when self-
interested people applaud the speakers. I wondered why the
guests were applauding the waiters, and wondered also if I
should do the same. I did not think my waiter had done any
thing of extraordinary nature unless it was that he forgot,
and only brought me two or three things out of half a dozen
ordered. By dint of close observation I learned that when a
176 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
waiter was needed or when he had forgotten something, as
Mexican waiters always do, the over-wearied and half-starved
guest clapped his hands until the tomorrow-boy came.
Gray matter does not work in Mexico; on this side of the
Rio Grande, it is simply a question of heels; brains are not
racked here. I enjoyed watching the waiters run around like
ants and about as aimlessly. It was a study their waste of
time and useless maneuvering. Dinner la comida was a
comedy in three or four acts and a lottery also, for I drew a
blank often, and a capital prize when 1 had my dinner served
on the same day it was ordered.
The automatic system I once saw in Copenhagen would be
of great benefit in Mexico, and in our own country for that
matter, and would be especially suitable for our five-minute
business men, yourself included, Jack, who cannot spare the
time for a course dinner or a take-your-time-restaurant at noon.
For the convenience and comfort of travelers, the Copen
hagen automatic restaurants are perfect. One simply pulls
a handle, drops a io-6re coin, which is two and a half cents
in our money, and gets a plate and a sandwich. There are
walls of transparent glass with nickel pulls, one can see the
various eatables, drinks and prices marked for each. The
meal is easily selected. A little money and a strong pull are
all that one needs. A table stands ready for the food. There
are no delays, the food is good and hot, and there are no
waiters to fee. This digression will prove to you that I am
not traveling simply to eat, but after all I enjoy a good dinner
as well as anyone whose stomach has not as yet been given
over to hot water theories, and other fads.
I thoroughly enjoyed the old town with its palace where
Cortez lived, and the splendid Borda Gardens that cost over
a million dollars, which are perfect gems with their labyrinths
of walks, terraces, slopes, lakes, statues and wealth of tropical
vegetation reminding me somewhat of the Borghese gardens
in Rome, only here the vines and trees are far more luxuriant
and tropical than Italy ever knew. It was like wandering in
fairyland, and in the vicinity also, among the coffee groves
with the branches heavily laden with the vivid red berries,
looking so bright amid the polished green leaves.
FROM THE WORLD
177
We visited the famous Barranca or gulch, a deep cleft filled
with immense trees, ferns and other trees on the brink over
which vines trail and hang like great ropes down the vertical
walls. A beautiful cataract leaps by cascades down its mossy
path. Here Cortez fought one of his battles. A passage
was formed by the aid of trees and vines meeting over the
chasm. The Indians were far more prosperous here than
any we have so far seen. They raise corn, coffee and bananas,
make pottery and seem to have sufficient for their needs.
FOUNTAIN UNDER THE MANGO TREES, CUERNAVACA, MEXICO.
There is more of coffee and less of pulque, less begging, for
they are not tourist-spoiled yet, but are dignified and pleasant
to deal with.
How vividly I remember one evening spent in the palace
gardens in the dusk under the tropical skies. Looking sky
ward, strange constellations loomed up, burning brightly and
intensely in the southern skies. A tender strain of music came
to me, filling the odorous air about me, hovering over the
deeply-worn streets and garden, a-tangle with mosses and
riotous vines. Was it an echo of bygone years the wail of
some old Aztec crying out in the dim twilight, with tremulous,
178 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
sobbing moans filled with pathos and pain? A remembrance
of something lost seemed to be in the notes that thrilled and
died away in the hushed twilight. The sound was strangely
real and human, but it was only a mocking-bird singing out
its heart-broken notes amid the orchid-laden trees.
Later on with the witchery of the night about us we paused
for a moment before the old gray palace, then went on with
the bird notes still throbbing in my ears. We passed a house
through whose heavily-barred windows came the sound of
music. It was "La Golondriana" the "Home, Sweet Home"
of the Mexicans, that touches, stirs, and melts them, whether
heard in the casa grande, the adobe, or mud-hut thatched
with palm leaves, or thrummed on guitars or improvised
harps, out in the twilight air. The melody wherever heard
touches the soul of these music-loving people.
Glancing in as we passed the window I saw a girlish figure
clothed in white, with great masses of dark hair rolled back
from her face, with one single flower, a bright red hibiscus,
placed low down among the coils of her hair. Looking more
closely, 1 saw standing beside her the homesick traveler whose
face was radiant with love and happiness. Mixed and inter
woven with the singer's voice came again the bird notes,
rippling and thrilling with tenderness and sweetness from
among the mango trees. So I last heard them, so they will
sing for aye, amid the bloom and fragrance of restful, peace
ful nights. Here, as elsewhere in the world, love holds sway,
and "Home Sweet Home" in any country is home indeed if
only love be there.
Glancing at Fred I saw he was very pale, and a pang for
him smote my heart. I thought he had given his love "for a
beautiful bright and delusive lie," and my sympathy goes
out to him far more than I could tell him. That last evening
I dream of even now. I hear again the music, the splash of
fountains; the fragrance from the hearts of flowers, more
gorgeous than California has ever known comes with the
dreams, and I feel that no recollections of Mexico can ever be
as sweet to me as were the few blessed days and entrancing
nights in Cuernavaca. FRANK.
XX
"And fidelity, however wide the severance, makes in God's sight, a
marriage-tie holier, holier than any man can forge, and one which no
human laws can sever."
ALICE WRITES
I must try to think, my dear journal, try to tell you that it
is another person who must continue writing, because I have
no one else to talk to as I can to you. The tears fall and you
do not care if the white pages are blotted and stained with
tears. So has my life, my soul, been dimmed with tears that
fell, as unavailing prayers went up while my throat choked
with the thought that seared my soul, that I have laughed
and sung through all the bright summer in the very exube
rance of living and loving and now I feel that "Life is a lie
and love is a cheat"; and I sit cowering in fear, groping and
wondering why God lets me suffer; why, I seem to be lost
amid a whole world of people who are stronger than I, who
would know what to do.
I have no one to tell me, no one in all the world of women,
to whom I can go for one comforting word, one little word of
love. And I know too well that I cannot cheat myself with the
comforting thought that love can be forgotten. Whoever
said "Loving is not living," never loved, never knew the
depths, the fever that burns, or the cold that pierces the heart
and abides there. Yet I must wait a little while, and tell
it right if I can.
If I remember, it was the next morning, one I had looked
forward to with so much joy, for we two were to have one
whole blissful day wandering over the hills. How my heart
throbbed for joy. 1 was out of doors in the early morning,
which was fair enough to tempt the world of people who live
in doors. We were waiting for breakfast to be prepared
when a thought came to my mind. I had intended asking my
sweetheart before, but was rather shy, now I felt I could wait
no longer, and the morning seemed as if my wish might be
made possible.
i 79
i8o UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"Darling, I have wanted you to do something for me for
quite a long time, but you have been so very busy all the
summer, and now we might do it very soon, even today,"
and I looked up at him as if the wish was already granted.
"What is it, my angel? Surely nothing very hard for me
to do with your help."
"Well, you know that I am eighteen and over, do you
not?"
"Certainly, I haven't forgotten your birthday, and our
tender love on that memorable day made a little more sacred
than before because of renewed assurances of our undying
love for each other."
"Well, being of age, I want you to take me to see Mr. and
Mrs. Browning. Wait," I said, as he started up as if he was
going to leave, "hear me; you must take me. It is only
right that we should go once."
"Go once. But why, in God's name, why?" he repeated.
"Because I wish it. They know we are married. I wrote
them and I only want to go just once. It is right, I think.
They are old, and I would like them to see us, to know how
happy we are, and I want to say something to Mrs. Brown
ing. Then I really will not ask to go again, if you do not
wish it," I hurried on without glancing up until then, and the
look on his face struck terror to my heart. "Oh, what is it,
what have I said?" I cried, for he looked like death.
"You wrote to them?" he said, slowly as if it was almost
impossible for him to speak. "When did you write?"
"Before I left for Alaska. 1 thought it right to do so,
and I told them I was married to a good man, and safe within
the arms of my husband; that I was sorry I could not go with
Jane as they had planned, and though I knew nothing of the
world, I had married you and was very, very happy; that I
desired they would not interfere, but that I hoped to come
some day and let them see I had made no mistake, and be
forgiven."
"But they knew," he began.
"Oh, how kind of you ; why did you not tell me before that
you had written them?" I cried, but he interrupted me with
a gesture.
FROM THE WORLD 181
"Alice, how dared you write," he said, so sternly that 1
trembled so I could not stand. I sank down on the seat shiv
ering with dread of something, I knew not what.
"I wrote because I thought if they knew I was married they
would probably not care so much where I was, and I told them
I was safe." I was choking with sobs and tears, but he did
not take me in his arms as he had done before.
"And what name did you sign to that one or other letters?"
he said in a strange tone.
"I have only written the one, and signed my own name,
Alice Bertram, the first and last time I have had the
pleasure," and again I choked.
He turned and walked down the path, and it seemed as if
I heard him groan. What had I done? Oh! what was the
mystery? Why should we be so miserable when I was so
proud of my home and our own dear love?
After a moment he returned and seating himself beside
me, took me in his arms, soothed and quieted me, then said :
"Alice, I want you to be a brave little woman. I want to talk
to you ; there are some things that you seemingly do not under
stand. I know you are ignorant of the ways of the world, a
mere child in ignorance, because of your isolation. I have
studied over the matter deeply and wondered if you thought
all this while that we were really married."
"Really married! Why, it could not be anything else,
could it?" I smiled now, and settled back in his arms again.
Then he continued:
"Of course I am yours, and you belong to me by the divine
right of love; for I love you so deeply, so desperately that I
have defied the world, the laws, and all the rights civiliza
tion imposes upon mortals. But, dear one, we are not hus
band and wife legally. You certainly know that we could not
have been legally married on that first night in San Fran
cisco."
"Not married?" the whole world seemed to be growing
dark and strange. "I do not understand, of course the excite
ment and the wine you gave me dazed me, made me forget
everything almost until the next morning when I awoke in a
strange room, sick and dizzy, then Mrs. Andrews came in
and called me 'madam,' and said my husband would return
1 82 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
soon. Why did she say that, and why did you tell her I was
your wife if it was a lie?" Something was pulling at my
heart, and my head seemed bursting.
u Oh, do not torment me, I could not live if I thought it
were true, the shame, the horror of it; a lie, living a lie all
these months, and I looked upon you, trusted you as I do
my Creator. Do not be cruel, I I cannot endure much
more. See how weak 1 am, how my hands tremble."
"Alice, my darling, won't you try to be brave for my sake,
and listen? My beloved, my own, God help me, I thought
you knew, but were sweet and kind enough to carry out the
pretty farce when you called me husband, and let me tell you
that I am, before God, who knows our hearts. I could not
do other than I did at the time and avoid scandal, and later
I felt that it was best to send you away; that by so doing, I
might break the spell for both of us. But I could not remain
away the overwhelming desire for your presence was so
great I was powerless to resist. It is worth a lifetime of sor
row and despair, this past summer, but I cannot and will not
give you up. Still, I cannot be more to you than I am now,
for another woman bears my name, and it is not the name you
know me by."
I groped my way blindly from those arms that had been so
dear that heaven itself was not needed.
"Merciful God!" 1 moaned, "I know now what it means.
The truth has been forced upon me." I threw out my hands
trying to reach something real and tangible, and then the
blackness of death struck me, and I knew no more.
It was not until I was convalescent that I learned that I had
lain for weeks raving in delirium, and it was still longer
before I recovered. In my delirium it seemed that one figure
was ever present, and I knew that it was my mother. At
times she seemed in some peculiar way to be enduring the
same agony I felt. I in some way realized that she, too, knew
all the horror and desolation that racked my soul, that she
felt and understood, for I could see her writhe as if in pain,
and hear her moan; but ever as I strove to comfort and con
sole her, some invisible power pulled me back, back into a
FROM THE WORLD 183
region where unnamable shadowy forms taunted, jeered and
beckoned me with uncanny hands until I would cry and cower
with dread.
And then there would be a sudden change again, and a
strange peace would fill my soul, for I would see my mother
bending over me as she did when I was a child. I could feel
her soft hand soothing in its touch as she stroked my hair,
and spoke softly and tenderly as of old, when 1 used to waken
in the darkness from some horrid dream, crying aloud for
her, my only comforter.
After an eternity of agony and dread, another form took
her place. I knew in a vague, uncertain way that my hus
band's hand was upon my brow. I heard, as if in dreams,
his dear voice thrilling me as he entreated me to listen to him,
to love, to forgive; but when I awoke to consciousness, no
one but a nurse and the doctor came near me, and in the long
days when reason was trying to gain ascendency over the
vagaries of the brain I could only gather up the threads one
by one.
At last one day I was allowed to read a message. How my
heart throbbed when I saw the well-known writing !
"My own! My whole desire ! My treasure ! Listen to me,
my heart's best and only love : While you have been ill, and I
on the verge of madness, I remembered the words Pilate gave
to the Pharisees, 'Go guard it as you know,' and I shall guard
it as I know, as only I of all the world know, and can guard
you, my treasure-trove, my own; for I shall watch over you,
shall keep you safe from the world. In my heart you have an
abiding place; none shall ever hurt or displace you, but safe
within my arms you shall rest, until the time comes when as of
old, an angel shall come and break the seal and we two shall
know no more of earth, of night, of sorrow, but a heaven of
eternal love together.
"I am so lonely without you, my star that brightens the
darkness of my night of sorrows. My every breath all these
weeks when you were ill has been a voiceless prayer for you
first, and for strength to help me in this time of need. I was
with you during your hours of unconsciousness, and I felt
1 84 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
humbled to the dust. I know in my inmost heart the brute
that I am, and yet so far as I am concerned, I cannot bring
myself to regret it. I have given my life for a great love; it
is yours, and will be always. I have known the heights and
the depths, too, of love and despair. No, not despair, for
while I have your love, and surely the wand of pity will
strike your heart, if it has not already, and you will pity
rather than condemn. He who loves much will forgive much,
and surely you will forgive, for if 1 have wronged you I have
loved you. I have loved you, heaven knows how deeply and
fondly. 'The sinless are those who never saw the face of temp
tation,' and in my deception wherein lies my sin against you,
remember it was because of my love that was stronger than
I, who was powerless to resist. Oh, child of my heart ! you
wound yourself about the very fibres of my being, there you
will abide until I have reached that vast sea of God's eternal
rest.
"I have been in the depths ; I know what Gethsemane means.
I have struggled beneath my olives, and know what the, hem
lock in my life means. In the greatness of your love ponder
over these words, but do not cast me from you. I cannot,
will not, live shut out from the blessing of your presence. I
shall send you a message each day until I am allowed to see
you. May it be soon, dear. Let me hear through the phy
sician when 1 may come."
"Only the tempted know what temptation is," and though
I had thought I would never see him again, though my whole
nature cried out against the deception practiced, yet my love
was stronger than I, and again the words came to me now
with a new and subtle meaning, "Love sacrifices all for the
thing it loves."
How could I forget, or live without him, and yet, another
woman perhaps loved him, too. Yet he loves me and will not
give me up; I think I would not care so much if he did not
love me. I think I should hate him if I thought he loved
another. But loving me why should I care for anything else
in the world. 1 only yearn, ah, I knew it, deep down in my
soul, for sweet forgetfulness in his arms. I wanted no remem-
FROM THE WORLD 185
brances of the dead days and drear nights that had sapped my
strength, almost my life, during these weeks of illness. I
only wanted them folded up and put away like a book once
read and forgotten.
I only wanted one word that was written in glittering let
ters upon my heart to remain, the word "LOVE !" For it
was love I knew too well that bound our hearts in indissoluble
union. Then I would reason until my brain reeled, trying
to plan or think of the future without my love was as yet
impossible in my dazed and weak condition. Suffering had
not made me wiser or stronger. I could only sit and drift
back to the days before my illness and try to cheat myself that
it was only one of the vagaries of my brain, that it was only
another dreadful dream.
When I was able to sit up, another letter was given me.
I said to myself, I will not read it, yet knowing all the while
I could not resist the pleadings of love. I hungered with all
the intensity of a starved being for food to sustain life. 1 was
not strong enough to refuse and I knew I was holding out my
hands as I used to do to my mother; that I must feel his arms
about me once more before death claimed me.
"My little darling," the letter began, for I could not long
resist the message, his eyes seemed to look at me and entreat
me to read his thoughts, "now that I learn my poor tender
love is improving a little, may I not plead for an hour or even
a few moments that my eyes may see you once more, for my
whole heart goes out to you, and I would give my life, yes,
over again could I have spared you the suffering you have
undergone. I should never have remained away a moment,
no matter what the consequences, but I was assured that the
only hope for you was absolute quiet with nothing to remind
you of the cause of your illness. May I not try to soften your
heart?" (Ah, he did not know how soft and weak a heart
I had.) "I want to try to excuse myself to make you more
lenient if possible before you say the word 'come,' for you will
and soon, my darling, my only hope.
"You came into my life at a moment when I was least
capable of resisting the temptation of amusing myself with
your pretty, girlish ways that were new to me. Your utter
ignorance of the world and your beauty fascinated me, for
1 86 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
you were unlike anyone I had ever known, and again your
very loneliness appealed to all that was best in me. I felt that
I must try to divert your mind. I wanted you to feel there
was some one interested in you, who cared for you, and I
thought, God help me, that I could give you some new ideas,
some hope of a change with kind friends to cheer you, for even
from the first meeting I seemed to read your heart. I could
see the yearning for love and companionship in your dear
eyes.
"The idea of your going away as you threatened, and I
believed you ignorant and wilful enough, was not to be |
thought of for a moment. You knew nothing of the world
and its cruelty, for you were only a child who had never
come in contact with the world at large and knew less than
many a girl of ten years allowed the freedom of the streets
and public schools. Realizing fully your peril, I felt it my
duty to try to save you from folly and regret.
"Then we were thrown together, and in trying to formu
late a plan whereby you might be reconciled to remain at
home, I saw you every day, talked with you, learned more and
more how innocent of the ways and wiles of men you were.
First you interested and amused me, and each day I found
I was eager to meet you. I loved to see your eyes light up
with pleasure when I came, your telltale blushes told me more
than you were aware of. Your naive way of expressing your
thoughts, your perfect frankness in manner and speech, and
your too evident happiness in my society flattered me man
of the world as I am for men are far more susceptible to
flattery than most people suppose, and I am no exception.
"Unconsciously you drew me to you. You were lonely and
craved companionship, and I could not withstand your tears.
You wound yourself about my heart before I knew or realized
it, and when I found that I was powerless to resist the mad
infatuation that possessed me, and that I was desperately and
hopelessly in love with you, I flung reason to the winds and
abandoned myself to the madness of the hour. But I did
not dream of anything serious so far as you were concerned,
and not for one moment did I harbor an evil thought or think
of any undesirable consequences, until caught in the storm
center of passion, I allowed myself and you to be whirled on
FROM THE WORLD 187
in its narrowing circles of sweetness and power until reason,
sense and judgment fled, and the circle narrowed until the
world and its obligations were forgotten.
"There were only we two, the elemental male and female,
adrift on a sea of passion, powerless yet willing voyagers,
forgetting all save each other, and not caring whither we were
carried. Strange how soon reason and regret, unwelcome
visitors, return when the storm of passion is passed. Why
does not conscience assert herself before a deed is committed?
It is like a sluggish snake, peaceful and quiet until something
happens to arouse it, then there is danger. So with conscience
when it is too late ; it begins to uncoil and strikes with relent
less fury, and oh, the pangs of its hurt. A little activity on its
part before the deed is accomplished might save a world of
agony and pain, but, alas, it is always a little too late, and sel
dom makes itself known until the thing for which it accuses
one, is accomplished, and then what is the good?
"But conscience can never control love, for there is nothing
stronger in the world than love, and nothing weaker, it seems;
for in my love for you I am weak and helpless, an arrant
coward, and though I fought and struggled at first, I am now
the most willing of captives. I shall serve you whether you
will or not all my life, and all of it shall be devoted to you
and shall be spent in the endeavor to make up for my decep
tion, for, my darling, I was selfish and felt that you must be
mine at any cost.
"There was nothing else for you or for me in the world, I
firmly believed. For 1 knew you loved me with that first
kiss, but even then I had not forgotten my duty to the woman
who bore my name, and I had no thought of casting a shadow
on your young life. I did not realize or think of the subtle
influence of your presence or of the danger point where temp
tation and desire sets in until it was too late. The drifting
with the tide is so easy when one's wishes go in the same direc
tion. So I found it, and so was caught in the current all unex
pectedly that day I came across you, and you in your fear of
your traveling Nemesis begged me to save you from her.
"O child, child, with the passionate soul of a woman,
looking at me with your eager, pleading eyes, I could not
tear myself away from their magnetic influence. The rapture
1 88 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
of having you with me, of saving you perhaps from a life of
which you knew nothing, where amid the vapors of sin and
shame you would suffer and be smothered in an atmosphere
laden with the sighs and moans of lost souls, predominated.
A protecting tenderness was my first emotion for you, and
with the love which grew stronger and which overpowered
me I felt I must save you from yourself, you, in all your
fresh young beauty adrift in the cold, cruel world ! I did not
forget my duty to my wife, but, reason as I would, it did not
seem that I was called upon to sacrifice my life and yours, to
put aside our dear love with all its warmth and delight for an
abstract or senseless idea of duty. I might have put you and
the heaven of my life from me, but what would I have left
for her whom I once thought I loved. Without you all the
dreams, the hopes and desires that make the poetry of life
and living here on earth desirable would be shut away from
my soul. It would not be in accord with nature's plans, for
it would seem useless and unnatural, when deep in my soul I
knew there could never be anything left for Ruth, my wife,
save a cold and chilling sense of duty; when with you every
want of my nature was satisfied and has been from the first,
when I found I was in the depths of an overpowering and
absorbing love from which I know now there can be no
escape.
"Love, such as is in our hearts, means but one thing, and
that is union marriage just as incompatibility means sep
aration or divorce, and scarcely was I married, according to
the law, before I knew too well that we were as widely
separated so far as concerned our bodies and souls which did
not respond to the alchemy of love wherein lies real marriage.
Dear one, shall we refuse the cup of nectar that will be ours,
always full and running over, that fate holds in readiness for
us, because of the man-made laws of the world wherein we
happen to live? In other localities our love, our union would
not only be justified but deemed a religious duty. There are
other lands, other cities of which you have read, and doubtless
dreamed, where we can go and create a home for ourselves,
where we can live in peace all our lives.
"1 have not told you, but I am wealthy, and we can go
wherever we wish, and no one can hinder or control our
FROM THE WORLD 189
actions. We will plan everything to your liking when you
are well enough. All I ask now, is that you will let me come
to you, my joy, my comfort. Let me know that you still love
me. You are sweet and charitable, and I will come to you a
supplicant, poorer than charity itself.
"Hoping, praying, that out of the greatness of the love you
had for me, you will not deny me a pittance of that, I hope,
which must still lie within the depths of your soul. My angel,
be pitiful, be merciful, give me the heaven of your love, the
only heaven I crave."
XXI
"And ye are fleeting, all vainly I strive
Beauties like thine to portray ;
Forth from my pencil the bright picture starts
And ye have faded away."
I am leaving the old city again for a visit southward, friend
Jack, and am going to prowl among pyramids and old ruins
alone. Fred does not seem interested in these things, but will
go East to Jalapa and Vera Cruz with me when I return. He
has met some charming people. The fair senorita of whom
I wrote, seems to claim a good portion of his time and there
are several families, American and English also, we have met
who are hospitable and altogether charming.
We have had some delightful drives on the paseo and on
to Chapultepec, the fashionable drive, and at the proper hour,
from four to seven o'clock in the afternoon. We have seen
something of the private life of the exclusive wealthy people
here, and it has been pleasant, but you know, my dear fellow,
I am not searching for life of that kind, in fact, I am rather
anxious to avoid it. So now I shall send you an account of
my last excursion.
Early one morning I found my way to the ticket office
despachio de boletas at San Lazare station, and in a smoke-
filled eating room made an attempt at breakfast. The coffee
was thick and black, the bread hard and sour. The eggs had
been laid by a triste hen, or perhaps she had been raised near
the Viga Canal. But I am not living to eat in Mexico, and
to do the country justice, will say that eggs as a rule are about
the best staple found down below the Tropic of Cancer, and
one can generally rely upon them.
I soon forgot about the breakfast when we left the City of
Mexico and started for Puebla, as our train moved along the
ancient causeway that once was a road between the capital
of the Montezumas and the great city of the Tuxucans. On
either side of the track are trees which shade the avenue, their
boughs meeting overhead. This beautiful road skirts the
190
FROM THE WORLD
191
Viga for some miles, from which extends the recently finished
and successful drainage canal that runs some thirty miles
through the valley, through a tunnel seven miles long, drain
ing the valley of Mexico into the ravine of Teginzgniac.
Lake Tezcuco, a blue shimmering sheet of water, lies on
the left, and in the marshes of Chalco are thousands of wild
ducks which seem immune from the hunter. Farther on we
came to fertile plains. Picturesque churches, villages and
haciendas dot the landscape. There are aqueducts and Aztec
MAGUEY PLANT AND SAP-GATHERER.
ruins, and in the distance are the Pyramids of the Sun and the
Moon, older than Cheops, perhaps.
We entered the great pulque regions at Irola. The country
for the most part is used principally for the cultivation of the
maguey plant, from which is made the pulque, the curse of the
country, and other intoxicating drinks. The maguey, or, as
we know it, the century plant, starts to bloom in about four
or five years after planting, in some parts of Mexico. The
stem is cut out before it grows very high, and in the reservoir
thus formed at the base of the great leaves the sap is col
lected. A good plant will often yield one hundred and fifty
gallons before it dies. Even then the plant does duty, for
1 92 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
ropes are made from the fibre of the leaves, huts are thatched
with them, the heart or root is roasted and eaten. It burns
readily, green or dry. Mescal and the fiery tequila are made
by distillation, agua miel (honey-water) they call the sap
when first drawn from the plant by the sap-gatherers.
They take long gourds, pierce each end, and putting one
end in the reservoir they suck the air from the gourd, which
then fills with the juice. This is emptied into pig-skins or
other receptacles and in twenty-four hours ferments. It is
then the dearly beloved pulque, which will not keep, and is
the one thing that is an exempt from the rule of delay. There
are no mananas for pulque. Give us this day our daily pulque,
is about all the average Indian asks. And when I realize that
one hundred thousand pints of the soured juice is consumed
daily in the City of Mexico, it must be a question of ask and
you shall receive. One wonders how changed conditions
might be if the vast acreage, the miles and miles of maguey
fields were used for growing cotton, corn and beans; but in
this country pulque is a necessity, and the necessities of life
they must have, the luxuries they can do without.
I did not need a dream, like Fra Julian Garces, to know
that the location of Puebla was beautiful, and I looked upon
it not with dreaming or rested vision, but tired, worn with
travel in the uncomfortable cars, stifled with tobacco smoke
that filled the car, for everybody smoked. There are only
two places in Mexico, it is said, where smoking is not allowed
the churches and Pullman cars. I know not if there are
any perambulating churches for the convenience of the trav
eler, but do know that there are but few Pullman cars off the
main lines, so traveling is simply a matter of endurance. I
was hungry and weary, but appreciative, when I saw the
beautiful plain between the slopes of the great volcanos, with
its wealth of trees, green fields and sparkling waters, dom
inated and guarded by Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl, while
in the near distance Orizaba nodded approval with his hoary
head. The scene would be fair enough were there no city, but
is enhanced by the domes and towers of the churches, stand
ing in groups and in pairs and alone, towering in gay colors
yellow, red, blue and brown a shadowy resemblance of
Moscow, with the star and crescent lacking.
FROM THE WORLD 193
It was not Puebla, particularly, that I cared for. The
Pyramids of Cholula, eight miles distant, were of far more
interest to me. Their origin is unknown. When the Aztecs
came in the eleventh century, the great pyramid was here, and
a legend that had come down to the dwellers of the region
was told them of its builders that they were giants, who had
descended from a Western Noah, the whereabouts of whose
ark was unknown. The legend runs, that having displeased
their gods, they left their pyramids unfinished, which is of
PYRAMID OF CHOLULA.
small concern to me. But the great pyramid and smaller ones
are here now, and covered, except in some places, with soil,
the accumulation of the dust of centuries. Immense trees
grow thereon, and send down roots among the masonry, dis
integrating the slabs of sun-baked brick and mortar.
The great temple of Quetzalcohuatl, the mystic "God of
the Air," is gone. There is no trace of the magnificent ebon
image, jewel-bedecked, and resplendent with gold and
emblematic shields, the symbol of his power over the winds.
Cholula was to the ancients what Jerusalem is and was to
the pilgrims the Mecca for the tribes even as the Moham
medans of today make their yearly pilgrimages. They came
i 9 4 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
ages ago from the four quarters of the land, hundreds of
miles, to bow down and worship his ebon highness.
I went up the roughly paved road of the large pyramid,
which is only one hundred and seventy feet high, yet its base
lines are twice as long as those of Cheops, in Egypt, and it
covers twenty acres of the plain. The roadway leads by easy
gradations to the summit. Beautiful trees and a tangle of
undergrowth covers the whole surface, which looks more like
a mound than a pyramid. I entered an arched entrance and
saw the church, Nuestra Senora de los Remedios, built where
the pagan temple once stood. I looked over the beautiful val
ley and saw the river Atoyac and the Puente de Dios (Bridge
of God), the fair city of Puebla in the distance, and the his
torical hill of the Guadalupe, where the French were repulsed
in 1862, and also in the later battle in 1867, where, by the
capture of the French army, Maximilian's doom was sealed.
What memories cluster about this region. I thought of
the pomp and ceremony of the rites of worship of the old
pagans upon this summit; of their sanguinary worship and
strange customs. They tore the hearts from living, palpitat
ing bodies, which they offered in sacrifice. Cortez the Con
queror, massacred the Cholulans, and afterwards to show
what manner of men he and his followers were, cut off the
hands of captives. Of the methods of pagan and Christian I
have nothing to say. I only know that now the dust is silent
beneath my feet that once stirred with life; that the race long
passed away once built and fashioned this mound. A dis
ciplined and populous people heaped, with long toil, this great
pile of earth and stones for the abode of their god, while in
Athens the Greek "was hewing the Pentelican to forms of
symmetry, and rearing on its rock the glittering Parthenon."
The sound of battle died long ages ago. The shield of tor
toise shell, gold-mounted, is gone, so are the flint-pointed
clubs and the slings. The sound of the war drums and the
blast of sea-shells and royal horn that used to echo from these
pagan teocallis are heard no more, as are gone the dread
echoes of later wars.
I saw below me the Cholula of today, the city which
showed at the invasion greater wealth and higher attainments
in architectural skill than any other place that Cortez and his
FROM THE WORLD 195
army had seen. It now has a population of five thousand
poverty-stricken people, dirty and filthy, yet rich in the matter
of churches, for I counted twenty-eight in the village that
lies around the base of the pyramid. From the crumbling
sides of a smaller pyramid we dug strange bits of carving and
odd pieces of stone figures, animals and reptiles, of crude
pottery and some arrow-heads of obsidian.
Puebla ! Popocatepetl ! Ixtaccihuatl ! with the golden
glow behind them; Malintzi in the foreground, while far
through the immensities of air eastward a bent and crooked
STREET SCENE IN CHOLULA.
moon cast a faint light on the eternal snows of Orizaba.
Through the haze I see three distinct shades, emerald, purple,
and white, emblematic of the three ages of man; the green
meaning hope and youth ; purple, the richness of manhood,
and white, cold and dreary, age and the end. Well, I am not
in too great a hurry to reach the last stage; in fact, 1 have
scarcely yet begun to enjoy the purple and gold of manhood,
and I hope to wrap the royal colors about me and retain them
for many years to come.
And so I mused, looking from the foot of the great pyra
mid, basking in an atmosphere fraught with the fragrance of
196 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
semi-tropical plants and flowers, while the light faded and the
ridges gleamed ghost-like through the deepening shades, and
far above in the luminous haze of pink-tinged masses of vapor
huddled against a stationary wedge was old Popocatepetl,
shining white and stern in silent majesty, with the lesser peaks,
guarding Cholula and her pyramids. Looking on these same
pyramids, I wondered gravely upon the strangeness of the
various forms of worship that we know have existed in bygone
ages. The Mexicans worshipped Quetzalcohuatl, born of a
virgin ages before America was thought of. They had their
legends of the flood of Noah and the Ark, as is evidenced in
the ruins at Cuernavaca; their belief in a Savior antedates
ours, as was the belief of the Egyptians in Horus, their
Savior, born six thousand years ago. Buddha, born of a
virgin, came to redeem the world five centuries before the
wise men followed the star and found a babe at Bethlehem.
The Hindoos worshipped their virgin-born redeemer,
Krishna. His miracles were told and he was called the Life,
the Good Shepherd, etc., the same legends, the same belief
pointing to a common origin to a universal foundation the
worship of some supreme being or creative power, as is shown
by their worship elsewhere, and especially here in Mexico in
the worship of the God of Air, God of Water, and God of
Fire. In all their grotesque idols, and their lust for blood,
there was an evidence of doing something to appease and
propitiate their gods. So, my dear friend Jack, it seems that
morality and religion are purely relative terms after all is
summed up. That which is highly improper at one time, may
be both proper and religious at another. The virtue of yes
terday is the sin of today, as is patent to us, for sex-worship
or phallicism, the proper and religious spirit in times gone
by, would be called a sin and would horrify, if one discussed
the rites in a civilized community today. I will leave these
matters for abler heads, and will not bore you in your pro
saic office with what will probably seem absurd ideas to you.
But if you were here I think the strange mysticism of the place
would leave its impressions upon your sordid soul, for with
the rush and roar of a very material world about you, I know
that within the inner man there is a spirit which would respond
FROM THE WORLD 197
to the unknown history and mystery of a people who were
here before Calvary echoed the words, "It is finished."
Night came before I was ready to leave, and as I looked
up to the church towers, so far above the gloom and dust of
the street, a rose-red sky tinged the church that now stands
where the temple once stood, upon the summit of the mound,
which once flashed its light from never-dying fires over the
city below. A single light struck my vision from the heights
above. It was easy in that glow to imagine the sumptuous
pagan temple, with its fires forever bright on that great pile
above me, with its terraces and truncated surfaces. Cortez
and his successors ravished and devastated the public edifices
and splendid structures here and elsewhere, even as the Copts
hacked and mutilated all of the best in Egypt's temples, and
one cannot forgive the fanatical zeal of the conquerors who
destroyed invaluable records of the history and nationality
of the conquered, but these pyramids,
"They stand between the mountains and the sea
Awful memories ; but of whom we know not."
Night closed in about us before the last mule car from
Puebla came to take us back, eight miles and dinner at the
other end of the line from us. We were a weary and hungry
party. The air was foul on the inside of the cars from smoke
and odors not of Araby, the blest, but from the crowd of
unwashed natives. Outside the winds were cold and chilly.
It was pneumonia-invoking weather, so I could not stay on
the platform. "Suffer and be strong," some sentimental weak
ling who had not an idea of what it meant, wrote once upon
a time. I was suffering and not growing any stronger, unless
it was in the desire to use stronger language than was per
missible. I spoke to a gentleman of the party and said, "Why
don't you say things? You look them."
"I know nothing that will express my feelings in words,"
was the reply.
Just then the car stopped, for no reason we could under
stand, and the minutes dragged wearily. The gentleman
tried in his best newly-acquired Spanish to find out why we
were delayed. Again language failed, for these people who
move in a mysterious way, their journeys to perform, were
i 9 8 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
not communicative to the Gringo. We thought of bandits,
and all sorts of horrible things out there in the black night,
but at last a shrill sound from a horn all drivers carry one
announced the fact that we were to move on. On we w r ent,
and at last reached Puebla.
We rushed out and saw only one carriage, which several
natives tried in vain to enter, but they were thrust aside by a
muffled figure at the door. He saw my traveling companion
and me and pointed to the carriage. This struck me as rather
strange, and I remarked, "He is shrewd and knows he will
get more money from us than from the natives." He jumped
up and sat by the muffled driver, and we were driven rapidly
through unknown streets. I thought of sudden disappear
ances, stilletos and detective stories came to my mind. There
was something mysterious in our being whisked off in this
manner. Suddenly we turned into a well-lighted street and
drew up in front of a hotel I had not seen. A form glided
out from the doorway and talked in a low tone to the men on
the seat. One finally got down and handed me a letter. I
was doubly astonished to read my name. "The plot thickens,"
I said. "We will be locked up for unearthing a few bits of
useless pottery." Then I read: "Senor there are two Gran
Hotels in Puebla. This one is where you are at. Your bag
gage is here and here you did ate."
I was still mystified, for to my certain knowledge I was
not at any hotel just then, and still more certain that I was
not going to stop at this unknown "Gran" Hotel. There
was nothing for us to do it seemed, for after giving me the
letter we were ignored. But there were more curious gesticu
lations for a time, then away we went again, through more
dark streets. Not long were we in suspense, however, for
with a flourish the carriage drew up in front of the hotel I
had left at noon, and the mystery was solved. When we
failed to return at the appointed time, our landlord became
uneasy. He sent to the other hotel and finding I was not
there, left a note, and then sent a carriage for us with instruc
tions to gather up the Gringos. Just why the driver and his
bodyguard felt the necessity of going to the other hotel to
obtain the note, before taking us directly to our destination,
is one of the unsolved questions.
FROM THE WORLD 199
The question of vital interest to us was something to eat.
I had had enough for one day of what had been or the
"Grand Perhaps," as Browning has it. Too much wisdom
of guess-work is not good. I wanted the crisp, vital air of the
now, which meant dinner wherein was no suggestion of
ideals nor idle moments until hunger was appeased. Then I
climbed the stone steps leading from the court to the cham
bers above, and looking up saw the stars in the blue vault.
They were familiar and comforting, and soon the blessed
Nirvana of sleep obliterated the last thought of pyramid,
pagan temple, or aught of earth, and rest was sweet that
dreamless night. Your idle FRANK.
XXII
"Love's eyes are blind, but in their blindness there is more light than
in all other earthly things."
ALICE WRITES
Inexperienced in the ways of the world, and with my whole
heart answering to every word of love, to his every plea, yet
I could not help but see the fallacy of his argument. And too
well I knew the serpent of doubt had entered my Eden never
to be driven away or destroyed. How could I know that he
would love me always, were I to go away with him. I might
be left desolate and alone like the other woman he was now so
willing to desert. Oh, the doubt, the torturing questions that
seemed to be driving me to insanity; but it was the greatness,
the overpowering sense of my sorrow that in some way made
me feel that I must fight and try to overcome it. A lesser
grief might kill, but this, while it seemed to shut out every
thing that had made life a paradise in the few months I had
lived in the arms of my husband, as I thought him, left me
without a plan for the future as yet.
I loved him, though I knew he had ruined the pure senti
ment within me, the ideal love, that was without sin or shame
before I knew, and now, what was I to do with my life ? What
could I do ? something definite, soon and very soon. The
thought roused all the dormant qualities that had, unknown
to myself, existed in my nature, and which must have come
from the rugged determination of some of my ancestors. Life,
the mysterious gift, was thrust upon me without my consent
or knowledge, and, being possessed of the doubtful dower,
I must make the best of it.
I think of his letter, and of going away from the place I
had called home to a fairyland of make believe, where all
would be as we wished it, and not the hard reality these few
thinking days past had forced upon me. I find myself wish
ing we were living where religion sanctioned more than one
FROM THE WORLD 201
wife. Oh, surely, if it were right in one place, why not in
another? If only it might be, and then a thought struck me
he had said the wife's name was "Ruth." What if it were
the girl I hated. Why, I could laugh at her now, for if it
were she, how I would rejoice in the thought that I had pos
session of her husband, body and soul.
Then a thought, midnight in blackness, struck me as I
recalled her words, "Unclean and spotted from the world."
God, I now knew in all its intensity the meaning of the
chance words. No, I reasoned, I will not have it so. Before
God I am innocent ! 1 will not endure the shame, the wrong.
We will go where I may be made his wife and the laws shall
be respected; if another must be sacrificed, so be it. He shall
be mine and mine only.
I had read many books in the library at Brownings, some
1 scarcely understood, but now I know the meaning, and recall
certain strange, religious rites.
I remember that away back in the phallic or sex-worship
ping days woman gave herself to the divinity first. Well, the
man I love, despite everything, was my church, my religion,
my all. And I gave myself to him with as pure a heart and
stainless life as any vestal virgin of old. If in the early ages
women dedicated themselves to the temples for a religious
purpose, surely if not wrong then it might not be wrong now
for a woman to lay her heart, her whole being on the altar of
love.
I was innocent then, for I believed myself consecrated by
marriage. 1 did not know that another had a prior right, or
that the hours of bliss I enjoyed would of necessity give hours
of sorrow to another. If she loved him, with only a shadow
of the love I felt for him, the thought of losing him would be
like the cold hand of death pressing down on her heart. I
knew that I was taking the wine of life from her, and she
was left the dregs or refuse of a love which she at least had
thought to be hers.
Heaven help me to do what is right ! I am so weak and I
love him. That is the worst of it, despite everything. The
wrong, the burden he has cast upon my life; I love him to
my sorrow. "God sends the little ones." Why, oh why did
202 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
he send me, if he loved me, into this world where my inherit
ance seems to be only misery and wretchedness?
With him whom I love I can have happiness at any cost
and guiltless misery away from him. To endure, to over
come, may count in one's mental and spiritual growth. But
can I overcome? Ah y me, in whatever direction 1 turn I see
only a blank wall; no way of escape from myself.
I have no one in whom I can confide; I must bear it alone,
only Heaven can help me ! And I look up at the stars, and in
their glittering rays find not one beam of comfort.
Why should I expect anything? God has toi gotten me
else He would not have permitted me to suffer, to be lost. He
knew, He who said to Mary Magdalene, "Go thou, and sin
no more." Could He not, out of the countless throngs of
angels, have allowed one to come to me that I might have
had one whispered word of caution, one glimpse into the
future which in all its horror was to open my eyes so soon.
So I think and try to reason, but I gain no peace, no rest
from the thoughts that come thick and fast until I am almost
crazed, yet no definite plan comes to me.
Then I remembered a sentence I had read somewhere,
"Everlasting life will be yours if you deserve it; your present
belief or disbelief does not effect the issue."
A light seemed to shine through my mental darkness. If
I "deserved it!" 1 might then enjoy as much in the life to
come as any other soul; if so, why should 1 worry or fret over
unsolved questions? Here was something tangible if ever
lasting life would be mine, if I deserved it why might not
my life on earth be worth while for myself at least, if I proved
myself worthy? And then certain other words came up be
fore my mental vision. "All life is a prayer, strong natures
pray most and every sincere earnest prayer is answered."
Then henceforth in my weak way, my life should be a prayer
and surely the way would be shown me.
I went to sleep that night in a more quiet frame of mind
feeling somehow, that I was strengthened and sustained by
unknown forces. In my dreams I wandered through a wil
derness, bewildered by a maze of paths crossing and re-cross
ing in interminable confusion, extending on and on into thick
shadows.
FROM THE WORLD 203
For ages, it seemed I wandered, endeavoring to find a way
out of the labyrinth that encompassed me like spider-webs.
Ages of fruitless endeavor in hopeless search for something
better and more satisfying were spent. Still I was searching
for something I knew not what, when suddenly a straight
path, extending from the intricate and confused lines lay be
fore me, and at the beginning was a sign with only one word,
"Alone."
And then as my eyes followed the path, in the dim misty
distance I saw a vague shadowy form with arms extended
towards me, and the face oh, how it thrilled me with joy !
it was the face that used to bend over me when I awakened,
and the same arms that lifted me to the untold happiness of a
tender love were now entreating me to come of my own
accord.
I was awakened by a succession of rollicking notes, and
realized that a linnet had perched upon a rosebush twined
across my window, I watched him as he sang in all the
abandon of joy as he poured forth his untaught notes from
his little red throat a vivified atom happy because he was
free. Ah, I thought that is the idea, he is free to do exactly
as he pleases; there are no laws to govern him. He is only
a little bird, but how delightful it must be to wander un-
trammeled hither and thither through all his short life, care
free and happy; because he has no oppressive thoughts of
right or wrong.
And then I wondered why God ordained that we should
suffer, when every created thing in the world except poor
humanity is free from the burden of thought.
1 tried to reason 'with my conscience, that there was no
human being worth the sacrifice of my happiness or my
life. Why not live my life according to my wishes and
desires? What was that other woman to me, when I pos
sessed the love of him she had the right only by law to call
her husband.
Ah, there was the sting. He was hers according to the
law, and if he loved me as he said, why had he not accord
ing to the law put her away before he had cheated me into be
lieving I was his wife. The whole force of his deception and
treachery seemed to strike me as it had not done before.
204 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
My mind was growing clearer and stronger now. No ! By
the memory of last night's dream I would end it all today,
so I wrote :
"I think I could forgive everything but deceit. You have
lived and made me live a lie for a whole year, in peace, in
happiness and tranquility. How can you atone for the de
ception? How can you expect forgiveness? The world was
beautiful, it was a sweet, pure world for me, for I have been
innocent of wrong. But can I expect peace now? Even were
you always with me, it would be the peace of purgatory
I fear, gloss it over as we might.
"I see the birds I have loved and envied winging their way
high in the sunshine up toward the fleecy clouds in the blue
skies, and singing as they wing their way towards the sea,
or high above me swinging on the highest boughs in the
sheer delight of living, as I too have sung for a happy year
past. But now the thought that I have been happy because
I was like the birds brings a sting of bitterness that eats like
an acid into my heart.
"The happy wife is not a wife at all! Oh, the hurt of it,
the agony the knowledge has cost me. Looking back I know
and feel the beautiful trust is gone, and ahead of me I see
only ceaseless doubt and uncertainty, a life of loneliness
and dread of what is to come, but which must be borne.
"My fate was to meet you, to love you, and my love was
based on nothing stable. It was built on crumbling sands.
Do you consider it a triumph to have filled my life with a
joy that nothing on earth could ever equal, only to defile
my life that was pure and white, with a love scarcely grown
cold on the altar of your home?
"My soul cries out against the injustice. Why did you seek
me, an innocent girl? Why did you not find some one. a
woman of your world who knew the ways of men? If I
could only know that you might be made to suffer a tithe
of what I feel. If 1 knew you never could be happy again
in other loves, I might feel different. But the strength of
my love seems to change into a wild bitterness against you.
"I want you to forget the life we have lived, to keep away
from me, and let me forget if I can the wrong you have
done me. If I live in the years to come I may forgive,
FROM THE WORLD 205
because I have loved so much; until then I will not see you if
I can avoid it.
"You have crucified me upon your miserable Calvary, built
up of excuses, and a hot-house love that would wither as
quickly perhaps as it bloomed, when satiety and a new fancy
struck you. There are girls as innocent, as young, as help
less, and far more beautiful than 1, easily found by a "man
of the world" who has wealth and the desire for new sensa
tions.
"What do you care about 'innocence and purity that you
speak of? You had the opportunity to aid and befriend me.
You had a home to which you could have taken me, and
given shelter to the adopted daughter of your friends. The
life of sin and shame you depict need not of necessity have
been mine. I am not penniless, it was not necessary for me
to walk the streets searching for sin or employment.
"My thought was to hide away somewhere in the South
until I was of age; in some retreat near my mother's grave,
until I could do as I wished. So much I had planned. And
when I met you I thought in my ignorance that you, the
friend who had promised so much would aid me. And lov
ing and trusting you with my whole soul, as you know
I believed in you as in my Savior.
"I can see clearly now much that was not plain and which
puzzled me, but because I was so unutterably happy and
with no idea of wr^ng, I thought that everything you planned
or did must be right, because 1 thought you were my hus
band and it was my pleasure and delight to obey you in all
things.
"And now you write, asking me to fly with you to the ends
of the earth to a paradise of our own creation. It is a little
late for a paradise for us two now. Had you taken me
before I knew the truth, then I might have lived and died
with an unshaken faith in the goodness of God, and man
made in His image.
"But now, now what shall I say to you, who have killed
the best that is in me only this : I shall pray God to for
give you. I have not enough of Christ in my soul to say
that I forgive you, for you knew what you were doing.
Until then I too shall strive to forget, to roll up the days
2o6 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
that have gone, and seal them with the seal of forgetfulness,
as I fold up this, the first and last letter I shall ever write
to you, and give you for remembrance this thought : Judas
was a man and he betrayed with a kiss!"
I finished the letter, gave it to Mrs. Andrews with instruc
tions to give it to the doctor when he came. 1 feared to keep
it lest my courage fail. It must go. I would send it, though
deep in my heart I knew it was a lie.
Hate him! When every fibre of my body, every instinct
of my soul longed for him, longed with a fervor that fright
ened me. If he had wronged me in the eyes of the world,
he had also loved me. Ah ! I knew that only too well. But
the physician was coming and I must not falter. I knew
that in order to save myself from one sin I must commit an
other. The Ten Commandments were explicit. I must
break one commandment in order that I keep another. For
the sin of covetousness was mine, for my whole heart was
hungering, pleading for a forbidden love; even while I was
false to myself in pretending to hate.
There were no explicit directions so far as I knew, as to
which one of the commandments it was preferable to observe,
and failing in one, why not in all? For I could not deny
that I worshipped with my whole soul the man more than
the Creator.
Yet even while I faltered, trying to find excuses, beneath
them all lay a purpose, inexorable, unyielding, and I knew
that though I fell fainting by the way that I must go. I saw
the road like a white band of ribbon, gleaming amid the
darker lines and the one word "Alone" staring at me where
the white line began, and ever and beyond in the pale gray
mist hovering over ridges whereon were mysterious tints,
stood that one figure with open arms. I must cleave to one
and forsake the other. My mother had not forsaken me.
"He shall give his angels charge concerning thee," flashed
across my mind. God has not forgotten me and I of my
own free will no matter what the cost, will tread the path
alone !
Yet another letter was given me after the physician had
gone away with mine. The last I should receive, I knew
and I felt I must read this last message. It began :
FROM THE WORLD 207
"If the magnetic needle of the compasses used on ships at
sea may be deflected by some mysterious magnetic influences,
of masses of basaltic rock at a distance of a great number
of miles, may not the human system be equally affected by
the magnetic influences of another being, to a far greater ex
tent than we know? And though it result in shipwreck at
sea, it can only be beneficial when the influence draws, even
compels, as it does me, toward the soothing restful influence
of your warm loving heart.
"I have never felt your magnetism, your wonderful influ
ence as I have during the hours since I last wrote you.
While drawing me toward you across the short distance of
waters that separate us, you in some way seem farther aw r ay.
Fanciful, am I dear? Yet I do not harbor the thought of
losing you, for it would mean the shipwreck of all in life
I hope for. But loving you as I do, I cannot help the fear
that I might lose you, especially as there must of necessity
be some change in your affairs, unless you have offended the
Brownings by your sudden disappearance.
"Mr. Browning died two days ago and I learn the widow
is not expected to live. It may be there will be a search for
you if you should inherit any of the property. I am anxious
for your sake and mine. It would ruin both of us were you
to be traced. Then our secret would be made public.
"Therefore I feel I must see you soon as possible and write
today that you may expect me tomorrow. We must plan for
the future without delay. You will find it best perhaps to go
away for a short time until we know if you will be wanted.
If so, it will be easy to establish your claims if you have any,
and all the more easily if you will act according to my plans.
"1 am only making suggestions in order to prepare you
somewhat for anything which may happen. But I want
particularly to impress this fact upon your mind, and it is
that we must submit to certain formulas of the law if neces
sary, but in any event 1 shall not submit to a separation from
you my darling.
"I want to be near you, to watch over you and to do every
thing possible to make your life easy, and you must allow
me to arrange all necessary details. I want to spare you the
pain of any insinuation or suspicion in any form.
208 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"Nothing but your illness would have kept me from you or
prevented my coming, for our affection mine perhaps I
should say has reached that condition when I am prepared
to sacrifice everything for its exercise.
"The short time I have been away from you has seemed
years, and my only dreams, sleeping or waking, are of the
time when I can again take my dear girl's face in my hands
and from her true eyes drink sweet draughts of love ineffable.
"Ah, darling, you and I must forget the world and its opin
ions, in so far as it conflicts with our love, which burns
brighter as the weeks go by. And as it is now, so it will be
for all time to come. My guiding star, my hope! You
my darling, you my love, you my all ! Your tender presence,
your sympathetic soul, your refined nature, represent to me
the definition and confines of love.
"I write but a little of what is in my heart. Tomorrow,
dear one, how tenderly I shall whisper over and over the old
sweet words : I love you and you alone !"
The last letter and the last word, "alone," is engraven
on my heart. I am saying good bye to you my confidant
for a time ; and the dear little cottage, the only home I ever
knew ! I am taking a last look through a blurred vision. I
have told Mrs. Andrews that my husband has sent for me,
that I am going on a journey south for my health, as he has
advised. That she is to remain here until further orders.
She seems very much distressed; thinks I am not able to go
alone, but I assure her the distance to the city being short,
will not tire me.
XXIII
"A land of promise flowing with the milk and honey of delicious
memories."
Oaxaca, dear Jack, lies two hundred miles south of Puebla
and was my next place of interest after Cholula. So, in the
cold and gloom of a day that was to be, I found myself at
the station and looked in vain for an eating room. There
was no vestige of anything edible or drinkable, and a jour
ney of thirteen hours was ahead of me.
The high stools at a counter, with the familiar plate of
life-preservers and unbreakable coffee cups at home would
have been welcome. I wasn't drowning or catching at any
stray straws, but doughnuts and restaurant coffee would have
tasted like "mother's best" in comparison to the coffee and
bread I finally received through the aid of a fellow traveler,
who pointed out the eating place to me.
It was on the outside of the station. A couple of women
hovered over a tiny charcoal fire, sheltering it from the bleak
winds and the coffee pot also, that tried to boil in the frosty
atmosphere. But the coffee was warm as the bread was
hard and cold. It was a sort of cold storage proposition,
but better than the aching void that clamored for something
besides scenery.
Starvation pangs averted, I found a seat in the cars, and
we left Puebla, the city the angels are supposed to guard,
but which at least is a city of churches, whose domes and
towers of polished tiles looked fanciful and unique in the
gray dawn. Puebla is celebrated for its manufactories and
the effect of the colored tiled roofs is pleasing.
The fields were glittering with white frost that seemed
strangely out of place so far south. Yet an altitude of seven
thousand feet counts even in the tropics. Half-clad, ghost
like, figures showed dimly in the fields as we sped along. And
though well wrapped up and in the cars, I, too, was shivering
with cold, and looked with pity upon the unshod laborers.
209
2IO
UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
Fires in the cars are not to be thought of here unless it be
the exception.
The only car off the main lines where I traveled that had
the proud distinction of a stove, took fire shortly after we had
started, and the affair was more laughable than otherwise.
I thought I smelled smoke on that particular occasion other
than the usual tobacco smoke, when a gentleman seated in
front of me turned and said:
"Do you know that the car is on fire?"
"I do not feel any warmer; where is the fire?" I replied.
"Look at the top of the car and then watch the natives
when they discover it," he said.
By that time the roof
was burning pretty
lively, and then the
conductor discovered
it. So did the women,
and there was a hustl
ing and gathering of
bundles, some in their
excitement throwing
them out of the win
dows. A menagerie of
monkeys wouldn't com
pare with them. At
last the train stopped,
and the amusing part
of it was that our car
was landed directly
over another cross
road ! The fire was
finally extinguished and we proceeded on our way, escaping
fire and a wreck only by good luck.
This digression is only to prove that it is better for the
traveler in Mexico not to expect too much, but be content
with whatever is provided for the discomforts of the wan
derer, and thankful at times for what he does not receive.
We passed through rich agricultural districts, on and on,
until the country became more desolate and broken. But,
however, straggling the villages were, it was surprising to
CARRYING THE OLLAS WATER-COOLERS.
FROM THE WORLD 211
see the number of churches, whose domes glistened, and
brightened the landscape in every direction. They bear wit
ness to the zeal and energy of the Padres, who built and
worked to eradicate pagan rites, and the peaceful, simple re
ligion that now exists, and these churches are enduring
monuments of their endeavors.
From the mesas we passed into a picturesque country.
There were ranges of mountains and isolated buttes, with
vivid coloring and Pompeiian reds, turrets and shapes thai-
looked like old abandoned castles. Bits from the Old World
seemed to have dropped down here in a region of fantastic
groupings of peaks and hills. Yet, it was all nature's own
carving.
We slipped down and down until we were only about
seventeen hundred feet above sea level. Everywhere were
to be seen the vivid green patches of sugar cane, and we
were in a region of perpetual summer. Corn flourished in
all stages, from the young tiny leaves just showing above the
ground, up to the ripened ears, and the bright lance-like
leaves waving in the warm winds.
All manner of fruits grow in this region. Luscious oranges
and tiny bananas the most delicious I have ever tasted,
were offered for sale at every station. And at an eating
station where the food was abundant and good, we had
delicious lemonade served, which was far more acceptable to
me than the tea or coffee offered, for we were getting a taste
of the tropical heat.
Along the road I saw great trees with cucumbers growing
thickly upon the branches, looking like those we have in
California, but they are eaten by the natives only.
The yellow lovevine, which grows on weeds and shrubs
with us, is ambitious down here and climbs to the tops of
large trees, a golden glory flaunting in the breeze.
I rode on the engine of our train through a canon scarcely
equaled by any on our continent. The road runs through a
dangerous canon, or rather a successions of canons. The pas
sage is never attempted at night, and even by daylight the ut
most caution is necessary. Most especially is this needed in the
summer months when the rains which are almost daily, loosen
212 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
the soil from the precipitous walls that often hang directly
overhead.
1 heard many thrilling stories from the engineer, an
American they do not trust the natives here in matters
requiring a steady nerve and quick brain. I also learned
much that was new to me of the habits of the country. Down
here in the southland, if an engineer runs over a man and
kills him, there is no fuss or trouble about it, but if an ox
cart, donkey or anything of the kind is thrown from the track
by the engine, animals killed, cart broken or smashed in the
usual way, the owner or driver, if he escapes, is arrested by
the engineer and he is put in jail for obstructing the road.
The engineer told me he had probably killed fifty men,
but had never been reprimanded. A little too much of their
favorite pulque and they have no fear, but will step in front
of an engine and try to stop it. He told me his greatest
trouble was in forcing the native firemen to wear clothing,
and that he objected to the meat and their manner of cook
ing it, which was their especial delight. I said I thought
they could not afford the luxury of meat. Then he explained
that there are great worms to be found on the maguey plant,
and added:
"When we stop for a moment near any of these plants, the
firemen run and cut off the sharp needle-pointed ends of the
leaves, impale the worms and bring them and cook them
on the boiler."
"You surely ought to give them some pleasure," I said.
"You insist that the native wear a shirt, he insists on his
meat, which evens things a bit."
Then he told me of the intense heat in the canon during
the summer months; that life was almost unbearable, and
extras, like the worm-diet, were almost too much for him.
I listened to him, but was more impressed by the scenery
than the dress or the lack of it, and the diet of the natives.
I watched the tortuous road and the foaming rushing river
that in many places has been diverted from its original chan
nel and forced into new ones to accommodate the railroad.
The great cliffs tower so high above the road that in places
they shut out the light. Yet they are picturesquely beautiful,
covered with a red soil in varying shades.
FROM THE WORLD 213
The beauty of the steep declivities is enhanced by the
strangely odd growth of gray-green organ cactus that grows
even to the very summit of the peaks. An invincible army in
solid phalanx, they harbor no aliens, and except a few varie
ties of trees, seem to have complete possession of the Canon
de los Cues. Tall, straight as the pipes of an organ, they
grow to the height of from thirty to forty feet. Bristling
with thorns, they seem at war with everything foreign. They
are the vegetable sun-worshipers and love the stifling hot air
of the hills and of these furnace-like canons, the
sun-baked earth and arid deserts. If in the shade
of some rock or tree, they pine for the sun's hot
rays and wither away. I know of nothing more impres
sive than these gaunt spectre-like shafts, in groups or sentinel-
like on the verge of some dizzy height, pointing like great
fingers toward the skies.
The day was full of strange contrasts first the high table
lands, then the tierra caliente, with its luxuriant vegetation,
then on the up-grade through the canon, where the water
flows toward the north until the summit of the range was
gained, and we rolled down by an easy grade to Oaxaca into
the semi-tropical valley, the pretty city that is five thousand
feet above sea level.
The day was ended and so was the railroad, for Oaxaca is
the southernmost point in Mexico reached by rail. Some day
the railroad will be extended and the "backbone railway,"
mythical for years will be a reality and North and South
America will be united by steel threads and iron ties. Such
ties are a necessity here, unless they learn to petrify the omni
present cacti.
Oaxaca, where 1 found cordial greetings thanks to the
telegraph wires and kind hearts boasts of being the birth
place of President Diaz, and in the vicinity another famous
President Juarez the "Lincoln of Mexico," was born.
In this small queer old town of thirty thousand inhabitants
is the Church of Santa Dominga, that cost thirteen millions
of dollars, and other churches less costly, but grand in archi
tectural beauty. There are legends connected with historical
truths, bizarre decorations, secret underground passages that
214
UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
speak of troublous times in ages past. It astonishes the
traveler to see these magnificent edifices in this small place.
The city is where a prosperous Indian settlement existed
in 1486. Conditions have not changed greatly in the rural
life, I fancy for centuries past. The natives till the soil in
the old way, use the same cumbrous two-wheeled carts, tie
the heavy wooden bars to the horns of the oxen. The whole
of the burden must be pulled by the horns instead of the yoke
as we know it.
I know of nothing more barbarous, more brutal than this
method employed by the natives. The sufferings of the poor
A CORN CART IN MEXICO AND ORGAN CACTUS.
beasts are evidenced by the fact that the brain is soon affected
by the weight and constant jarring, jerking motion of the
clumsy carts. They would not tolerate anything other than
that they have known and has been in use since the deluge.
That which was good enough hundreds of years ago is suffi
cient for the present.
Progression and a betterment of conditions do not worry
them. Their thoughts do not seem in advance of the day.
The oxen may become locoed by work and needless cruelty,
FROM THE WORLD 215
but an Indian would never use his brain in trying to devise
or invent anything different for himself or his beast.
And so the soil is tilled with the same kind of implements
used ages ago by the tribes. They raise everything imagin
able with little trouble. Wild cotton grows on trees; so do
cucumbers and other vegetables and wild fruits. And the
markets were filled with every variety of cultivated fruits
and vegetables, and were the best I had seen. They spin and
weave cloth for their clothing, make their blankets, hats and
scrapes, and are a primitive race.
They have not as yet learned the wiles of those further
north. They ask a fair price for their commodities and do
not seem troubled if the would-be purchaser objects. You
are free to take it or leave it. They are not very insistent
sellers.
I attended a dance given by the Indians in the market
place on New Year's Eve. The men wore their scrapes and
sombreros, and most of them wore shoes or sandals, but
nearly all of the reboso draped women danced barefooted,
and one and all appeared to be supremely happy. The Gov
ernor was present and the Mayor, or Jefe also. Wine was
passed freely among the crowd. The carriers were preceded
by one who bore a transparency announcing that the "Hom-
bres" were not to touch the wine, it being the gift of the
Governor was only for the senoras and senoritas.
It was amusing to me to watch the women, bashful and
shy, yet eager to taste the wine of the Governor. That there
were lips which were unused to such indulgence was evident
by their wry faces, gurgles and sputterings following an effort
to swallow the red, red wine.
Politics and an effort to be popular with the masses were
evident in the city, for the new Jefe allowed the natives to
take complete possession of one of the plazas for one week;
and the astonishing number and variety of gambling games
that occupied every available foot of ground showed how
thoroughly they enjoyed and appreciated the favor.
There was no set machinery, or "your-weight-age-and-
fortune" prevaricating boxes, but simple games and many
that seemed about an even thing, and so primitive that it was
216 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
fascinating to watch the crowd chance their few centavos,
apparently unmoved either by loss or gain.
The natives in this section of the country are much cleaner
and more prosperous than the Indians farther north. They
are not migratory, but cultivate their own little patches among
the hills, a few being thrifty enough to possess an acre or so.
They speak their own language, knowing or caring but little
about anything beyond their border lines.
1 enjoyed the quaint old town, and the plazas where grow
immense trees. The wild fig trees especially were enormous.
They give a grateful shelter through the day, and provide a
safe roosting place for the buzzards at night.
I saw these uncanny birds come wearily home in the dusk
of an evening as I sat in one of the plazas and breathed the
fragrance of unknown and unseen flowers. I watched the
strange medley that thronged the paths and the streets, lis
tened to the soft twitterings of birds and the lilt of the
Mexican patois, and heard the softening cadence or rhythm of
sounds, soothing and sweet, that arose from the city, the
thousands of voices, the music that came from stringed
instruments, subtly interwoven sonorous waves of music from
the church bells blending sweetly, yet throbbing an exultant
over the lesser sounds.
The spell of the country fell upon me. The hurry and
uselessness of our energetic life passed away for the moment*
The hunger of travel or need of excitement was gone. I
drifted out of the twentieth century. I was free from remem
brances, speculations or desires, and for a few trance-like
moments it was as though experiencing some other stage of
existence. Then the old sensations came back with full swing,
and I hardly knew why, but I found myself repeating the
lines :
"We muse and brood
And ebb into a former life, or seem
To lapse far back in some confused dream
To states of mystical similitude."
At least I know what it is to live for a few rr>o~rients ^n-
leashed and untrammeled by the world's environments. And
I wonder now if I had for a space drifted into the atmos
phere of the past, or rather if a revelation of a life that had
FROM THE WORLD 217
been, was given me or an understanding of the existing cir
cumstances of the primitive people here, who know no other
world than that within their narrow border lines was mine
for the moment. If so, theirs is not an existence to despise.
FRANK.
J
XXIV
"Do you believe that you would be any more rtiy wife, if a form of
words had been spoken between us? Are the man and woman forsooth
who are made for each other and who would cleave to each other through
time and death and eternity to be considered less married in God's eyes
than the wretches who are bound together by the fetters of expediency,
fraud and love of gold?"
As TOLD IN THE JOURNAL.
How often we shape our plans and build hopes without
counting upon unforeseen things which may in a moment in
terfere with the structures we have carefully erected the
house beautiful, which promised so much.
I planned and the house was not beautiful. It was built
of loneliness and desperation; but out of a determination to
do what I thought was best for me, and what seemed right
for me.
So I went out once again in the garden for a last look.
Overhead the wanton roses were reaching out not content
with their limitations, but flinging out long pliant branches,
odorous and sweet with bloom, into the arms of the trees,
which in turn seemed to reach down tenderly for the twin
ing, clinging sweetness that climbed up to their strong arms
which promised security nearer the sky and the warm sun
shine.
Involuntarily I reached up my arms. "Oh, I need the
strength, the security of something more stable than myself.
I am weak and faint. What shall I do? I cannot go away.
I am so miserable, so wretched. O Heaven, help me !" I
cried, sinking down on my knees, striving to overcome my
failing strength, and the loneliness that oppressed me.
I heard a step and striving to rise hurriedly caught my
foot and would have fallen only I grasped the arm of the
garden seat for a moment. Then I felt my hand removed
and I was clasped close to the heart of the one I loved better
than life itself; though I was even then ready to fly from
him.
218
FROM; THE WORLD 219
A moment's bliss in his arms, all the sweets of life were
mine, love filled every part of my existence. The music of
birds sang in my soul, flowers bloomed now, where only a
cold, desolate barren life had lain before me in the days of
my illness and sorrow.
I knew now I vvas crowned with the halo of love, which
is woman's existence ; that deep in my heart, were I denied
the love which I knew was mine that I should not be content.
But I would be satisfied, if like Lazarus of old, I might only
have a crumb now and then from the table of his love.
And all the while he was raining kisses upon my face, my
hair, holding me in his arms, speaking in whispers of his
love, his great sorrow for me, my illness and the grief he
had caused me. I struggled to get away from him, but he
would not allow it.
"Rest here, sweetheart and hear me; I have so much to
say before I allow you to talk," he murmured. "First of all
I want to impress upon your mind that it is impossible for
us to live apart. I have realized this while you have been
ill, and I know too well that it is grief and not sickness that
has brought you almost to death's door."
Ah, heaven and I know it only too well I thought.
"I want to say," he went on soothingly, "that marriage
simply means obeying the laws of our land, but love is heaven
sent and heaven born. Look into my eyes, dear, and tell
me if the laws of men shall weigh heavier in the balance than
love, the higher and truer. Would you allow the lower to
crowd out the higher gift, the sweeter law of God ? Think of
this moment of happiness. Is it not worth a whole lifetime,
lying before us bleak and dreary without love, warm and
glowing, and rich with it. Our hearts, our souls can never
be divided. We have entered into love's realm; and the
complete realization of love, such as most human beings
long for, fills our hearts, our lives, which can never more be
separated. My sweet, it was the guiding hand of heaven that
brought you into my life, my innocent little flower, the
fairest and dearest in all the world, to help me, to diffuse
your sweetness into my life. With you I shall be a better
man, for you are an incentive, you bring forth the best im
pulses of my nature."
220 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"Oh, how can you say these things?" I cried. "The best
impulses of your nature when for me you have forgotten your
vows to your lawful wife."
"Yes, lawful in the sense of the law only, but by every
divine law I am yours, and you have saved me from tempta
tion of which you know nothing. I was 'plunging headlong
into vice when you came like a star and saved me from my
self. I can see the question in your eyes, and will say that
even had I not found you and your dear satisfying love, that
I should soon have arranged for a separation from my wife;
1 hoped it would have been accomplished by this time, but
have not been able to do so yet."
"All that you say may be true, but does not change the
fact that you have practiced an unpardonable deception on
me," I cried. "And now you come to me when I am least
able to withstand your love, your entreaties. Why did you
come today? Did you not receive my letter?"
"No, I could not wait to see the physician. I wanted to
see you, for it seemed to me that you needed me today, and
I think I came at the right moment. Mrs. Andrews told me
you were going to come to me. I was astonished, but merely
said I had come for you. Now tell me what it means? The
idea of you going away from here when you are so weak
that you can scarcely stand."
"I am sorry that you did not receive my letter, for it
would have spared us both some bitter moments; for I am
going away. It was an excuse to get away from here. I had
no intention of going to you or ever seeing you again."
He turned more fully toward me, and his face grew
ghastly, the pallor deepening until I thought he would faint.
"Leave me? Never see me again? Oh, you could not be
so cruel!" Then with a half sob he caught hold of my
hands.
"Do you not know that this earth is not large enough for
you to go beyond the reach of these arms; that my love would
take me unerringly to you wherever you might hide? Ask
your own heart if it be not so. You must not think of doing
this dreadful thing. You would be far more guilty going
away than you think, for you would have murder on your
soul."
FROM THE WORLD 221
"Murder, what do you mean?"
"That I shall not live without you," he replied. "I mean
it, I do not want to frighten you, but I want you to know
beyond all doubt that you are all and more than life to me.
And denied your presence, it will be an easy matter to end
this suffering and a useless life."
I was horrified at the earnestness of purpose which was
evident, and all the while there was something in my heart
that was pleading for him and myself.
Why should we both be sacrificed? I thought. If he could
not love the one who bore his name, if in time he could
arrange that we two might face the world and declare our
love as the one thing right in marriage according to the
world's ruling; surely we might have the one little remaining
joy left, the chance of seeing one another, of living while
we waited.
Ah, he knew I hesitated. And with all the strength of his
love he pleaded; breaking down one by one my resolutions.
And when I pitifully told him of my dream and my convic
tion, that it was sent to me as a warning that I should go
away alone, he reasoned with me and said :
The w r hite road meant Love's road, and "Alone" meant
it was the only way to tread, for by love we would be puri
fied and saved. "Love ye one another" is Holy writ and
we will observe and obey, loving one another now, and for
all time to come."
Carried away by the intensity of his passion I seemed to
have no will of my own. All doubts and fears were driven
away by the magnetism of his presence. Love was enough !
I could not fight against it any longer.
Then he told me he had made plans for the future, and
that I must aid him in his efforts to do what was best for us
both.
"I understand your secret, Alice. I did not some months
ago, and my first care is for you only. That is why I came
to see you. You cannot be left here alone any longer. The
physician has so instructed me. I have arranged matters that
will be satisfactory to all. You are to be known as Mrs.
Bertram, and you are to come to my home as my cousin."
222 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"Your cousin," I cried in amazement. "Oh, I cannot do
it ! How could I live under the roof with with the
woman who bears your name." I choked here, for I could not
say "wife."
"I know, my darling, and this plan hurt'i me more than you
think, but it is necessary for our happiness, and for your
sake far more than you know now. Knowledge may be
yours in time, but not if I can ward it off, or save you a mo
ment's pain. Ruth knows nothing of my family, and if it
should be known that you are an adopted child of the Brown
ings, it would cause no comment. Your parents are dead,
you have been in a convent since you were a child until
recently. I think I can arrange matters so you will not be
called upon to tell much of your past life. Ruth is not in
clined to gossip and is refined and considerate." He paused
a moment, then added: "She has had a great sorrow in her
life, not very long ago and will be sure to sympathize with
you."
"Sympathy ! Do you think I want her sympathy?" I cried.
"I love you better than my life, but it seems to me that I am
not strong enough to do what you ask."
"Strength will come to you when you feel you are doing
this for my sake, and because I ask and beg you to be
guided by me. It is for the three of us that I ask you to do
as I have planned. It will save needless suffering and pub
licity."
"I do not know what you mean," I said.
"There are complications which you cannot understand
now. But when I tell you, with my thorough knowledge of
the situation that I have been studying for weeks and months,
finally deciding that this is the only feasible plan, I ask you
to do as I wish. And I know before very long all will
be arranged so the world will not trouble us or our affairs."
He talked and reasoned with me until I had no will of my
own, and I finally said:
"1 will do this for your sake, though I would not for any
thing else in the world. But to save you a pang or an hour's
trouble I would do all that I have done over for you and
your love. I could die without a murmur, but I cannot live
without you. I know it have known it all the while, no
FROM THE WORLD 223
matter what I have said or written. Take me. I am all
yours, I shall live only for you. I shall drink deeper and
deeper draughts from the fountain of your dear love until
mine shall be the bliss of a draught of Nepenthe the magic
cup that puts sorrow and care away. So I shall forget all
all but you, who are my king, my prince, as when we wan
dered in fairyland. I will do as you ask because you ask
it. Nothing else could induce me to go through the ordeal,
but I would do and dare everything for you and your
love, my darling the wondrous beautiful love which fills
my heart, my soul, for I feel no suffering, no heartache will be
too hard to endure, if in the end I have the recompense of
your arms about me to sustain me. I shall need all of your
heart, all your sympathy and tenderness to help me in doing
what you tell me I must do. But once again I beg of you to
try to devise some other way. Is there nothing left but
this alternative? Could you not in time learn to forget me
and be happy with the one you once loved?"
"Do not speak of it ever again," he said almost roughly.
"I once thought before I met you, my Alice before your
face with its wonderful star-lit eyes drew my heart, my soul
to yours in indissoluble union that I loved Ruth Carrington.
But though I married her, I soon learned we were not con
genial to each other. She had a sweet disposition I knew,
but did not know that she was too rigid in her views of life
as I understand and appreciate it. The touch of Bohemian-
ism in my nature, good times with a jolly crowd, I soon found
were not to her liking. She ought to have married a minister.
She wanted a quiet home life and whatever social affairs we
had, was simply because I desired them. We could not agree
on matters of social life, and she chose to isolate herself more
and more shortly after we were married, until finally I went
alone everywhere."
All the while he was speaking, my mind was in a whirl.
"Ruth Carrington." Ah, I remembered the name too well.
So she was my old enemy! She, the girl I had disliked since
I was a child she, the one I had always desired to meet,
and my prayers had been that I might be more beautiful
than she. Surely I was for I had gained the love of the
man whose name she bore. Like lightning the thoughts
224 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
flashed through my brain. Indecision, scruples and doubts
were all swept aside. I would go. I would triumph over
my enemy, and furthermore I would possess her husband.
For he was mine mine by the divine law of love which was
higher than any earthly law I thought. T3 Ln once more the-
words were mine: "Love sacrifices all things to bless the
thing it loves, not destroy," and I would dare all for the
sake of him whom my soul loved.
But of this sudden change in my feelings I said nothing.
The triumph would be mine. She who had scorned me and
hurt my childish heart should now in turn feel that "mills
of the gods grind slowly." But vengeance was mine, and I
was glad that I now had the opportunity to triumph. I
would be the crowned queen she the dethroned one in her
own domain.
"Forgive me dear," I said meekly. "I was a bit jealous
you do not know how cruel I could be if I thought you
would cease to care for me. You are mine, I tell you now,
nothing shall separate us. I have cast every scruple aside
I care for nothing. I pledge you." And I picked up the
glass of wine from which he had been drinking as we sat at
luncheon, which had been brought us while we talked.
"I am free from all that is past
" 'Free as the soul of the fragrant wine,
I will drink to the thought of a better time.' "
I stood up and drained the glass the second time in my
life I had tasted wine, and continued
" 'For I heed not custom, creed, or law' "
I shall care only for you, shall think only of you. I want
no remembrance of life before I knew you. I do not want
to look forward. Love that heaven itself with you is all I
ask. If this is folly what divine folly it is! So let us be the
veriest fools in love's realm and now behold your captive,"
and I reached out my hands to him.
"Take all of me, I am thine own, heart, soul,
Brain, body all that I am or dream
Is thine forever."
XXV
"One day the sands will loose their seal, and they will speak."
From Oaxaca, Jack, I went to Mitla, which lies on the
border of Tehuantepec. We drove over a road, one of the
oldest in Mexico. It looked as though it had not been re
paired for three hundred years. Six mules were required to
take me and the driver to Mitla. It was one of the hardest
HUT AND CACTUS FENCE, MITLA.
trips I have ever taken. A drive of one hundred and seven
teen miles over a mountainous road in Norway, once with one
horse, was like riding in a trolley car compared to this drive
of thirty-six miles. I ceased to wonder that so few travelers
have the courage to make the trip. Unfortunately for me I
had read glowing accounts of the Mitla road, written, I am
sure, by people who had never seen the place or the road
the "up hill and down dale," broad highway," etc.
225
226 UNCTEAN AND SPOTTED
The distance in California with our horses more than
two would not be thought of would be only a. trivial affair;
but with the mules attached to the carnage it was different.
Had the number been doubled and the lash spared the poor
creatures I might have been more indifferent to the road.
On leaving Oaxaca, the railroad terminus, I entered into a
more primitive country than I had ever visited. There were
no telegraph or telephone wires with sentinel posts guarding
this ancient highway, but there was the usual medley of ox
carts, donkeys, men and women.
The oxen here as elsewhere pull the massive carts and
heavy loads by the heavy piece of wood attached to the horns.
All the products of the country for most of the distance from
Mitla, and perhaps from that vicinity, must be carried by the
beasts or the natives to the city. Now and then we passed
small villages where the natives live in huts fenced in by the
ever present organ cactus, which constitutes about the only
style of fence here.
For once it was refreshing, however, to travel through a
country unmarred by hieroglyphics representing the patent
remedies that with the customers are sold by all druggists.
There are no startling announcements of ready pain producers
and hair eradicators. The King of Soaps had not sent any
telegrams announcing his coming to a country of the great
unwashed. Liver exterminators nerves extracted without
pain had not passed the pulque stands. Health foods on
paper or boards are not necessary where corn is king, in
deed, and fruits and vegetables are accessories to the fact.
The cactus fences are free from the word painter and
poster artist. So are the people. Bacilli and bacteria haunt
them not. If they know nothing of the richness of possession
why should one try to disillusion them? Happily they
trudge through life, and if their shoulders are bowed by
burdens they have been real rather than imaginary or mental,
I fancy.
We turned aside at the village of Tule, which, besides its
famous "big tree," has more children and dogs to the square
inch than any other village in Mexico.
The tree I visited it was also honored by a visit from
Humboldt in 1804 the tablet commemorating his visit is
FROM THE WORLD
227
almost a part of the tree, the bark having grown over it and
partly covered it. It is an ahuehuete or swamp cypress and
CHILDREN AT GATEWAY OF ORGAN HEDGE.
looks as if two or three trees had formed a partnership affair.
They have grown into one tree, which is about one hundred
and fifty-four feet in circumference several feet from the
ground.
228 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
Passing en route another unimportant village, Tlacolula,
we had a glimpse of a plaza, market place and an old church
three things that help to make up even the smallest of
villages.
A plaza is absolutely indispensable in a Mexican town
a luxury everywhere but a necessity here, where the houses
run flush with the streets, with seldom, if ever, a garden in
front, and the small box-like houses without windows give
small opportunities for fresh air or sunshine.
We went through miles of country, the tedium of travel
lessened in part because of the legends and historical facts
attached to this region. The dust blew in thick yellow clouds
over the deeply-worn road. The landscape was quivering in
a blaze of light that had a somnolent silence, broken often by
the crack of the driver's whip as it lashed the poor beasts, who
were quivering with fatigue and weakness. But there were
bright flowers by the wayside, birds sang, and everywhere
there were bunches of red on twigs and dry cornstalks. They
were tiny birds, whose bright wings flashed in the sunlight j
as we passed them. Then the mountains narrowed, the
landscape became more desolate and cheerless, the mountain ;
slopes were barren and boulder strewn, as were the fields.
I had a glimpse of a few Indian huts. A low, square !
house, forbidding in exterior, greeted me and dust-covered !
and weary we stopped at an old hacienda, or inn, feeling
almost a part and parcel of the ruins around me.
Don Felix, the proprietor, made me welcome, and I was
soon refreshed and sallied out to visit the wonderful ruins of
Mitla. They stand today as when the Spaniards came.
Valencia visited them in 1533, and found them as they are
now vast temples of stone, beautiful mosaics, halls and
corridors. Huge monoliths support immense slabs, for the
builders had no arches over their square cut doorways.
I can only give a passing description of these ruins, lying
in a more desolate region than any I have ever visited.
Egypt's ruined temples Denderah, Thebes, Karnak,
Assouan and her pyramids and tombs, lying along the Nile
for hundreds of miles, had the fertile country and the Nile's
inundations back of them. even before the first corner stone
FROM THE WORLD
229
was placed a rich and prolific country furnished an abun
dance of the needful things of life. But in this desolate strip
of country, guarded by equally desolate mountains, it seems
that nothing in an agricultural way could have been sufficient
to support a race who planned and built these temples.
There are no evidences of quarries in the vicinity where
the stones used in the buildings might have been obtained,
and, if taken from near Oaxaca, there was .no convenient
river, no Nile where these slabs and monoliths might have
been transported to build these temples, of one of which, an
M^
FRONT OF PALACE, MITLA RUINS.
architect, a Frenchman, wrote: "The monuments of Greece
and Rome in their best time can alone compare with the
splendor of this great edifice," meaning the principal ruin
known as the Palace, which is one hundred and twenty feet
in length.
The blocks of stone forming the square doorways are so
immense that I thought of those vast slabs in the ruins at
Baalbac. Yet these ruins are not to be compared in height
to those of the former, being flat roofed, with low walls.
The ornamentation is geometrical and the mosaic work beau
tiful in its perfect symmetry. It would strike even a care-
2 3 o UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
less observer that the builders were faultless and perfect mas
ters of their art. The Palace rests upon a pyramid recently
discovered. The accumulated soil of centuries has filled in
around it and covered the pyramid so the Palace seems to rest
upon the ground.
New things are being found in the ruins in the old world.
Will anything ever be found that will explain the ruins of
Mitla? Mitla Lio-baa, "the place of the tombs," mystery
of mysteries, unless light may at some future time be thrown
upon the enigma. It is the most vexing problem that
has confronted archaeologists and students of American
history.
The vast extent of these ruins, as I wandered from one
group to another there are, I believe, five of them aston
ished me, with all previous knowledge gained from reading.
Their obvious antiquity carries one to a remote era.
They might have been contemporaries with Solomon. Per
chance they were built when the Ptolomies were erecting the
Temple of Isis at Philae. But the veil of mystery and
oblivion hangs over the place. If there were parchments
they have long ago faded, and if there were hieroglyphics
they have worn away and left no trace.
The absence of rain in Egypt and the dry climate have left
her ruins for centuries practically intact. But though the
rains have pelted these ruins for unnumbered centuries they
look equal to other centuries yet to come and bear evidence of
a past civilization that is as yet a sealed book to us. We only
know that here at Mitla and at other ruins in southern Mex
ico, are temples, pyramids and sepulchers whose builders are
blotted from the earth, and the mystery makes them, perhaps,
all the more fascinating.
Hours were spent in wandering from one apartment to
another. There were open courts, long narrow rooms, panels
in mosaic, small cut stones in diversfied arrangements, exquis
itely done and fastened together with a rose-tinted material,
woven in the most intricate patterns.
There were no representations of still life, no shapes of
human beings, bird, beast or reptile, on any of the main
FROM THE WORLD 231
buildings. But on some old walls attached to stables near by
were some paintings nearly obliterated by time and the moist
ure on the crumbling stucco, which were Egyptian in character,
and a few outlined figures, seemingly out of place and prob
ably the work of some late amateurs.
Science and research are solving the mysteries of buried
temples and tombs in Egypt, in Asia and other countries, but
so far nothing has been accomplished towards solving the
mystery that enshrouds these ruins, the most priceless remains
of all ruins, and of an ancient civilization, yet found upon our
continent so archaeologists consider them; and fully im
pressed with what men of science have told us, and doubly
impressed with what I saw and felt, the toil and worry of
travel fell away from me as I stood upon the wide stone plat
form in front of the Hall of Monoliths, and gazed upon the
broken stones and piles of rubbish heaped here and there.
A Christian church and a cemetery were above me, and
below was the Indian village. I turned and glanced into the
sanctuary behind me, and felt for a moment as if the robed
priests might return and finish their prayers. Then I went
through the barren halls once more, and then the church bell
rang out and I knew that the earth was purged from its old
idolatries; that no more the priests came to their long forgot
ten altars. They left these enduring monuments, but nothing
is left to tell of their incantations, their sacrifices or manner
of worship. Where are they, the tribes of other days?
"Did the dust of these fair solitudes once
stir with life
And burn with passion?"
I felt the ineffable pathos of the Mitlan ruins, over which
hangs a tender, brooding silence and sadness that is too hope
less for consolation. In the twilight the subtle mystery ot
the place weighed upon me. A pale moon hung over the
lonely field of ruins, barren, except where a few trees grew
along the brink of a shallow, sandy stream, wherein were a
2 3 2
UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
RUINS, MITLA.
few pools, and with
barely enough water to
ripple silently and
stealthily about the
stepping stones. A few
palms and bananas
waved in the warm
night air. The deso
late plain rolled back
t o equally desolate-
looking hills. What
space, what mystery,
what memories !
The ruins massive
and calm were a fitting
picture for the pale
moon-tinted back
ground, a picture of
unsolved solemn things. Lio-baa "the place of the tombs"
was well named in the long ago, and the Mitla of toda)>
means a place of sadness, a resting place for the dead. For
me it was a place that enthralled me, that took possession of
my imagination, and speculation was rife.
One cannot help but wonder, and think of what has been;
of the race of men who built these temples for what pur
pose we know not all that might give light upon them is
gone. Only these stones remain that do not cry out, are
silent and tell not, of them who once lived, who have per
ished and are as naught, "neither have they any more, a
portion of anything that is under the sun."
In an ineffable repose the fields from which the corn had
been gathered lay gleaming, a brownish yellow in the moon
light, and the rays of the moon shone on the fallen broken
walls, and lay on the white dusty road that led me from
them to the hotel, to the crisp vital air of the present.
After I had slept a few moments, it seemed to me, the
glory of a new morning trailed across the mountains and
down into the tawny valley, that lay cradled between the
mountain ranges. I was getting accustomed to sunrises in
Mexico. Almost before it was light, my breakfast was
FROM THE WORLD 233
served in a room facing the court, as were all the rooms,
which open on the one great court filled with trees and flowers.
The stables were on one side, the poultry anywhere, and
cats everywhere. Six hungry cats watched me, while the
barefooted Indian garcon, in an abbreviated shirt and
shrunken cotton knee pants, brought my breakfast which con
sisted of bread, coffee, and eggs. There was plenty of salt,
but butter "the fruit of the full-blown cow" is unknown
in Mitla, as in many other places in Mexico.
But I did not complain. There was an open well in the
court near me. It was deep and dark, and I was there alone
in a place where not one word of our language, and only an
imitation of French was understood. So what was the use
of complaining? I simply ate what I wanted, gave the rest
to the cats, left the well where it was, and started out on a
still hunt for kodak pictures of the Indians.
There is a race of Indians in Mitla unlike any others in
Mexico. Their customs and language are different from
the others further north, though to my surprise I found they
understood a few words of French. They live in houses
made principally of mud, straw and cornstalks. Their corn
was gathered and piled in the huts, which have but one room.
How they live and eat and sleep is a mystery, in such limited
quarters.
I saw one man who was ill, stretched out on the bare floor,
close to the corn, leaving just enough space for his wife to
walk to the heap and help herself to her daily bread. His
pillow w r as of stone. If he had a blanket or serape I did not
see one.
They sleep inside or outside the huts on earthen floors,
and make their clothing, spinning the wool or cotton by
twirling a small wooden stick, much as one spins a top. Their
blankets and rebosos or mantles they weave on queer, hand
made looms, one end being fastened to a tree or post, the
other tied about the waist of the weaver.
The women's dress consists of a short skirt, and a chemise,
the yoke and sleeves of the latter being invariably made of
knitted or crocheted lace, and were to me wonderfully white,
when I consider that the pools in the so-called river were the
only washing places. The mahogany-colored arms and necks
234
UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
against the white garments, perfect as to contour and color,
were artistic and picturesque, and from the young maiden to
the wrinkled old hag, there were always to be seen a string
of coral beads around the neck. I felt that Fred had made
the mistake of his life in not accompanying me to Mitla.
Theirs is a life of monotony and toil. The mills of the
gods that "grind exceedingly small" to use the phrase to
fit the occasion have not even in the palmy days of a super
abundance of made-to-order gods found an abiding place in
Mitla.
Ceres, however, has many representatives. Though these
dusky goddesses are not worshipped, they should be, for they
are the mills, and grind exceedingly small the corn into
paste for the daily fare. They also gather the tiny brush
wood fagots for the fire and carry the water from the river.
A life of hardship and toil is theirs and has been from time
immemorial, but there is a saving grace in the fact, that
beyond their own borders they know nothing; of what goes
on in the great world they have not the slightest knowledge.
And verily here, "where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be
wise.
CHOCOLATE DROPS.
The huts are en
closed by the cactus
hedges, and the yards
are filled with chickens,
dogs and children. The
children were shy as
quail, and I found it
rather difficult getting
kodak pictures; but I
have a number of pic
tures representing the
people and their sur
roundings; also some
of the unclothed cher
ubs who forgot shyness
when the coveted cen-
tavos were offered
them. They will re
mind me of Mitla
FROM THE WORLD 235
when the strange babel of tongues, the ways and customs of
these untaught children of nature will be memories, just as
the memories of those massive ruins lying on the dreary
plain left from bygone centuries will be mine.
Silent they are. No voice from the past tells their secrets.
No tools are left or means to show how they were formed
or placed. There are no heartbeats from the world clicking
over telegraph wires. No trolley-cars whirl by to disturb
the old town of half a dozen houses. The ruins lie in utter
isolation, and the sun beats down mockingly upon their
carved and sculptured temples.
I gathered my few belongings and was rather thankful
when I left the cell-like room whose heavily-barred doors
and windows made it seem more like a prison than any place
I had ever occupied. Felicity gleamed in the eyes of the
old Don when I paid for my prison rates. Not many go to
that out-of-the-way place, where life is purposeless and slow,
and is not for the average tourist.
But the mocking-birds and parrots shrilled their sharp
notes as I departed, and a brilliant flower given me with a
shy, sweet grace by one of the Indian maidens, sweet as the
flower from the cactus that points toward the glowing sky,
spoke of life and hope amid utter desolation. Buenos noches.
FRANK.
XXVI
"But just tonight, my darling,
I would give the world that we
Might be singing old songs together,
With your head upon my knee."
Aileen, dear, I have not written to Edith of my troubles.
She thinks I am happy. Let her enjoy her wanderings with
out the knowledge of my misery to oppress her. When she
returns, and I hope it will be years hence when I am happier
or dead, will be time enough for her to know. I shall tell her
of the little mound under the daisies. I can write now that
the first hurt is over, and I can say to you, my guide, my
counselor, that I cannot grieve for her, my dead baby, any
longer. I could not bear to think of her growing to woman
hood and perhaps suffering as I have. In all my grief and
loneliness I think of what might have been her fate. Her
father's blood was in her veins, and she might have grown
like him. "Sheltered in my home," Edith wrote.
Well, I learned before many months after my child was
gone that the grief I endured, the storm of emotions were
only as the mildest zephyrs compared to those within the
place I knew as home, which I endured from the man I called
my husband, that left me racked and broken on memory's
wheel fate's plaything and helpless toy. I could not come
to you and look in your dear, sympathizing eyes, while I told
you a little of my life. I shall write an outline that you may
know, and knowing am sure of your love and sympathy. I
have given you an idea from time to time of my happiness,
my sorrow and later of my fears and distress regarding
Bert's actions and indifference. That anything so dreadful
as the reality could have occurred, was further from my mind
than any inconceivable thing imagined, or felt, in the wildest,
most horrid of dreams. Bert came in late one evening in evi
dent distress. He was pale and suffering beyond all doubt,-
yet 1 forbore questioning him while yearning for his confi-
236
FROM THE WORLD 237
dence. I could not force it by asking, and with the thought
of repulse also. Finally he seated himself by my side, took
my hand and said:
"Ruth, I know you have thought me a brute lately, and I
have not treated you as I should, poor little woman!"
The ready tears filled my eyes; it seemed as though my
heart would burst. I felt in the moment that I had wronged
him, that 1 had not understood, and oh the thrill of happi
ness that swept over me at the mere thought of a return of
old conditions, of loving and the idea of being loved, petted
and caressed as I had been for some blissful months after
we were married.
Then he went on in detail to say that though he hated to
pain me, he felt he must seek comfort and advice, and find
solace in my affections, which he had never for a moment
doubted. He said that he had a cousin, a beautiful young
lady, whose father and mother had died when she was quite
young. She had passed her life in a distant city in a convent
until the past year, and she was now in the city. He asked
me if I would receive her.
"Why do you seem so troubled? Do you think I would
not do anything within the bounds of reason for you or
yours?" I said.
"Ah, that is the question," he answered. "You may not
think it within the bounds of reason when 1 tell you that I
have been worried lately to a greater degree than you can
imagine. The poor child, while under the influence of wine
which was given her at a dinner, was led to believe she had
been married to a man. She had never taken wine before,
and was easily overcome by it. In time she learned of the
deception practiced, and loving the man with her whole soul,
even though she felt that he had forfeited every right to her
love and respect, the shock was so great that for weeks she has
been ill, almost at the point of death. She is somewhat bet
ter now, but hopeless. I have spent a great deal of time
doing what I could do to alleviate her distress. But while
hoping that when she grew better, she would forget her
sorrowful experience and perhaps her love, it seems she can
do neither one nor the other. I have feared that her mind
2 3 8 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
would succumb to the terrible strain or that she might commit
suicide, and at last I decided to come to you and ask your
counsel."
A wave of sorrow and pity for my poor boy seemed to
shut out the troubles of the girl for the time being, then I
said:
"Where is the man? Why do you not find him and
demand that he make restitution?"
A peculiar look showed in his eyes for an instant which
startled me.
"That is why I wanted to talk to you on the subject," he
replied. "If you will consent to receive her and she needs
a woman's kindness we will take her and go to our seaside
home. When she is with us I shall have no fear but restitu
tion shall be hers. 1 will make it the object of my life to
see to it. All I desire now is your co-operation, and I have
tried to think and plan for the best, but while I disliked ask
ing or to trouble you about me or my relatives, I know not
which way to turn except to you. It hurts me to think of her
in her sorrow, with no one to care or sympathize with her."
"Why, Bert, darling, did you think me so heartless that
you have hesitated? If you only had told me, I would have
been spared a great deal of pain, and we could have
arranged for your cousin. I will do all in my power to assist
you in any possible way."
"I thought you would do so, and now my plan is this : We
will go to our house at Monterey there are only Japanese
servants there, you know. She will come with us and re
main there until the child is born."
"And then what will be done?" said I.
"We will have ample time to make plans. But now we
must do the only possible thing to save her reputation. I
have worried over this affair until I have been driven to'
desperation, and I have only one hope, and that is in your
wisdom and counsel. I have thought of a thousand ways
and have been met by a blank wall except when I thought of
you. I know your goodness, your purity know how youf
sensitive nature will revolt at the thought of having to
endure what is before you, but, oh, Ruthie ! for God's sake,
FROM THE WORLD 239
for the sake of your little one be merciful, help me to
straighten out the tangle without publicity, for the sake of
my name and reputation."
"Your name and reputation? How need it affect you?"
"How could I endure that a relative of mine should be
left helpless and homeless, with the possibility of the public
becoming aware of the relationship? I have been driven al
most insane lately as to what was to be done; I know, how
ever, you, who have been a mother, will understand."
A wave of sorrow for my poor Bert seemed to shut out
the other revelation for the time, and my one thought was
to comfort him. I shall hurry on to tell you that we talked
far on in the night, making arrangements for our departure.
My health was to be the excuse for our going, and also the
isolation of ourselves from our friends for a time. I pre
ceded him a day or two, had the house put in order, and
then he came, bringing Alice Mrs. Bertram as she was to
be called.
She was beautiful beyond my power to express to you. A
wealth of auburn hair waved in fluffy masses away from a
dimpled, babyish face. Her eyes were large and of a violet
blue that had such a wistful, appealing look that my heart
went out to her in her helpless beauty. I cannot endure the
thought of giving you in detail all that followed; it is like
a knife in my heart, even now as I write.
The days passed. Bert was very kind to me, yet entirely
unlike the husband I had known, when we were newly wed.
Much of his time was spent with Alice she was very timid
and helpless, and he was solicitous as to her health and also
to keep her from grieving, he said, too much over the ab
sence of the man she adored. He would come to me often
with words of praise and appreciation for my help for him
and his.
"I think no other woman in the whole world would be so
sweet, so self-sacrificing as you are, Ruthie, dear," he once
said. "Bear up bravely, dear; it won't be a great while
longer now !"
And my foolish heart was throbbing with happiness at
his words of praise. I felt that ere long, when satisfactory
2 4 o UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
arrangements had been made, that we two would be all the
happier in our love for helping an unfortunate soul in her
loneliness and grief.
Time passed, and one evening I had announced my inten
tion of going to the house of a poor neighbor to see about
some sewing that was being done, saying I should be away an
hour or more, probably. I had not gone far before I
thought of some work Alice had spoken of sending, so I
returned hastily and was about to enter her room, when I
heard Bert's voice. I stood near the portieres, the door was
open, and the room I was in being rather dark, I was not
observed. Then I heard Alice say:
"I cannot live this life much longer, loving you with my
whole soul. I cannot endure the presence of that other
woman who is your wife in the eyes of the world. Something
must be done and soon, or I shall not answer for the conse
quences. Why did you bring me here to torture me?"
"I thought it best in fact the only way until 1 can arrange
for the future. At present it is safer for both of us here."
"I know you are doing what you think is best, and you
know too well that I love you so much that I cannot dream
of life without you."
And she threw herself in his arms, and he, bending over,
held his mouth against hers in a desperate kiss. Then he
pushed her head back and kissed her white throat that
gleamed like marble in the dusk of the room, with a passion
ate intensity I knew only too well even in that moment of
agony he had never bestowed upon me, and the thought
struck me to the quick. Then he held her close to his heart.
"My love, my life!" he murmured, as he caressed her.
"Wait a little longer, and all will be well when you are
stronger, and the child is older."
In some unaccountable way, in that dreadful moment, 1
thought of Lot's wife, who, while fleeing, had turned, her
woman's heart pleading for one last look toward her loved
home, stricken in the instant, because of her love, as I had
always explained to myself, so I, the dupe, was stricken,
helpless, rigid, unable to move, holding on to the portieres.
FROM THE WORLD 241
How long I stood there moments, minutes, or hours, I
know not, for a lifetime seemed to pass before me. I have
heard that the events of a lifetime flash with lightning rapid
ity before the mental vision of a drowning person. So in the
brief space of a moment as I fancy it was incidents of
my life, of the moment especially when I first looked in
Bert's face and loved him; of his wooing, his tenderness and
love; our marriage and the heaven filled days that followed,
came to me and then a sharp pang like a knife struck me as
the thought of my dead babe his child, too ! wrung my
heart.
The horrible truth in all its hideousness dawned upon my
dazed senses. The fraud practiced upon me struck home
with all its sickening reality, and I fell senseless through the
portieres and into the room where they sat in fancied security.
Later in the evening I awoke in my own room with my
maid bathing my brow, and with the thought that something
terrible had happened.
"What is the matter? What are you crying about?" I
asked.
"1 thought you were dead or dying," she sobbed, "and I
have been so frightened."
"But why?" I said, impatiently. "Can't you explain?"
"Your husband was in the front chamber with Mrs.
Bertram when you fell through the door as if you were dead.
The master carried you into your own room and called me.
He seemed terribly distressed and frightened. So was Mrs.
Bertram. She cried and wrung her hands and said she was
sure you knew all. I do not know what she meant. But you
are not going to die. I will take good care of you and you
will soon be well."
While she talked memory asserted itself, and I recalled
every word I had heard. It was as though they had been
burnt upon my heart, and I moaned in the depths and
intensity of an agony I had not thought it possible to endure.
I told her to go into my sitting-room and lie down a while
and let me sleep. After a while she left me, and I was alone
with a grief that was appalling.
I was on the borderland between reason and madness.
Reason told me to go away, to fly to some far-off region and
242 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
save myself while it was yet time to do so. Then a very
whirlwind of passion and hate swept reason from its throne,
and once I found myself with a revolver that Bert had left
in the room, in my hand, and I was stealing out in the hall
with murder in my heart. There was fire in my veins and
fire in my heart; my blood surged and clamored for revenge.
I had passed from the passive state to one of vivid energy. I
was demoniacal. Mind and body seemed to burn with but
one thought, one desire that was to take the life of the
woman who had stolen my husband away from me.
A life for a life was right and just, I believed. Why not
have the satisfaction of revenge for my wrecked life? As
in a vision I saw Judith with the head of Holofernes, and
then a figure in white with a ghastly face stared at me from
the opposite side of the wall; the staring eyes and dishevelled
hair struck terror to my heart. I retreated from the vision.
Then all at once I realized that it was myself I saw in a
mirror. I returned to my own room, locked the door, and
looked at myself earnestly. Could this woman be myself?
The drawn, pallid face; the eyes with such a terrible expres
sion.
Was I mad? Was I a murderess? Had I already com
mitted a crime that would send me from the man I loved
and bar the gates of heaven from me? Ah, no, I had not
committed a crime. I could not do it. I must wait. Per
haps my husband would come back and love me as he once
had. He surely had not forgotten every tie so soon. And
then again the thought of how I had been duped roused me
to a realization of the insult brought upon me and in my
home to shield the guilty.
Again it was forced upon me that it would be only just
that she should suffer. Then a soft whisper seemed to sound
in my ears. "Thou shalt not kill" flashed through my
numbed brain, and I bowed before the mandate and strug
gled for hours on my knees, praying, pleading, asking for
help, for strength to do what was right. "God, oh God," I
prayed, "let not this burden be greater than I can bear.
Help me stay my hand lest the sin of murder stain my soul
and leave me more wretched if possible than now."
FROM THE WORLD 243
My dear, my dear ! Heaven grant that you may never for
one moment feel the hurt, the terror, the overwhelming tide
of sorrow, that drove me wild and made murder seem pos
sible and almost right at times during that dreadful night.
I looked back at my life that had been so happy the sor
row 1 had when my child was taken from me seemed so
slight that it did not strike me as grief. All the while I
seemed to be whispering to myself, "Thank God, she is at
rest."
If she had lived she would have known and grieved over
her mother's sorrows and would have scorned her father.
I could not have endured to see her shamed and humiliated,
so I struggled against the irresistible impulse, that time and
time again made me long to take the loaded weapon and go
out and kill her, the serpent that had entered my home, who
made life for me a thing not worth living.
I was adrift on an ocean of misery tossed high upon
grief's full tide, not caring where I might drift, and inca
pable at the time for action. The night wore on, a light
wind fanned the curtains of my window, cool, sweet and re
freshing. I arose from my knees. Weak and weary I
reached the window and, sinking down on the seat, I looked
out on the sand dunes lying white under the pale light. The
waning stars burned faintly against a gray sky. The waters
of the bay lay gleaming beyond the undulating shore and a
faint murmer came like muffled drums. The waves beating
up in sullen monotony, ever and ever, yes, and forever, I
thought, the tide will ebb and flow and the days ahead of
me ! Why, I am young yet, and life can be so long when one
is wretched and does not care for it.
Then 1 looked toward the East and saw a vague but cer
tain promise of the dawn. I heard the far-off baying of a
dog, ending in a long, wailing sound that seemed a cry of
pain. Two figures stole noiselessly through a fringe of trees
lining the road that led toward the station. A low, empty
laugh startled me; it sounded like a taunt, and the thought
struck me, "why, are you here? Perhaps she is laughing at
you even now."
244 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
I stood up for a moment, dazed and uncertain. The
whole of the black night seemed like an evil dream. I saw
my untouched bed; noiselessly I stole to the outer chamber
and saw my maid quietly sleeping. I looked out into the
hall; the house was quiet; Bert's room was dark, and further
on was her closed door.
Memory plays strange tricks at times, and why at that
particular moment a scene of my early childhood should
come before me, I know not. I shivered as though looking
into an open grave. I saw myself and another little girl
playing. I knew that I was displeased about something and
that I said to her:
"Go and keep yourself unclean and spotted from the
world."
1 had not seen or heard of the little playmate for years,
and though memory was indistinct about her, I remembered
her name was Alice. That was the only name I recalled.
But my mother's gentle reproof and her tender words had
left a deep impression on my mind, when I was teasing my
kitten and singing lustily, " Don't talk about suffering here
below."
Some psychic influence was about me. My mother, dead
for long years, seemed to lay her hand on my head, and a
whispered message seemed to strike me with a gentle force.
"Ere the day dawns, go, abide not here!" And in that mo
ment it was plain to me that I must indeed, if I would retain
my self-respect.
"Go." Hastily but silently I placed a few things in a bag,
and stole out of the house in the gray dawn and hurried to
the station. I knew there was a train that would take me
away, and I hastened, terror-stricken, fearing that I might
be missed, or that Bert would awaken early, and come with
some explanation to me, and would find I was not in my
room.
I scarcely arrived before the train came and I found myself
in a seat, breathless with dread for a moment; then the sound
of the bell ringing and the puffing of the engine told me that
I was safe for the present at least. I felt relieved for a
moment.
FROM THE WORLD 245
Then the thought came to me, "you are needlessly
alarmed, perhaps. How do you know that Bert wants you?"
Why should he, indeed? I was nothing to him, I knew, and
I said to myself, "You have been used as a shield and are only
a wife in name another woman has your husband's heart;
you have no longer the right to be there," and neither have
I the desire, I also thought.
So, like a guilty, hunted creature, I went back to town and
drove home in a closed carriage. I met the inquiry of the
startled servants with the simple statement that I was ill and
in need of my family physician. "And the master?" "Ht
would also return soon," I said. Why I made the remark,
I know not, only in my confused state of mind I scarcely
knew what to say.
I can recall but little that happened during the next few
days; only dim recollections of the kind old doctor, and the
gentle care of a nurse, until one evening when I saw Bert
sitting by my bed. He was pale and looked worried. For
a moment I did not realize what had happened or why there
was such a heavy weight on my heart that seemed to be
smothering me. I must have looked strange to him, for he
cried :
"Don't look at me so strangely, Ruthie dear. It is Bert."
"Oh !" I gasped, "is it you ? And why you of all men in the
world? Why should you be here in my room, where you
have no right after what has happened? Are you more
brute than man that you should dare to come to me with the
kisses of that woman fresh on your lips, with the slime of a
disgusting, deceitful liason clinging to you? I could never
have believed it possible, that the man I loved could have
fallen so low could have become so debased or put me in
the position to be insulted and wronged beyond the power of
telling."
"Do not say the man you loved; hear me, listen to me
until I tell you all. By your love you shall judge me. Love
like yours cannot die in a moment. I followed you here as
soon as I learned at the station that you had left on that
morning after" he paused and went on: "I would not see
or talk to you until you were better, and now if you will only
246 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
hear me, surely you will forgive. I am weak and have sinned
against you, but it was not intentional. When you did not
care to go out before your child was born now be quiet.
Do not sob so bitterly," he said. For at the mention of the
dead baby he had, I noticed, said "your child," not ours.
"Now, hear me patiently as possible. I used to go out
alone as you know, and one day met Alice at the house of
a friend. She was just out of school and very unhappy in
the home of her adopted parents. She had no friends and
the old people were very stern. I will not weary you. She
rode or walked every day. Their home was across the bay
near the foot of Mount Tamalpais if you remember 1 was
there for a few days. They were to send her to Europe and
one day in San Francisco I saw her. She had escaped the
vigilance of her companion, a woman she detested. I will
not harrow your feelings, but I was tempted and fell. And
when the truth as you know it became evident, and she, wild
and terrified as to the future, pleaded with me to assist her
in keeping the secret of her life from the public, I was as
terrified as she. I went to you you know the rest. I was
obliged to keep up the farce and pretended to love her until
I could get her away. You overheard me, I suppose, but I
come to you asking you to forgive me and love me a little.
It was her idea to tell you of the supposed relationship, and
that the child should be born in our home, so that 1 could
eventually adopt it. And now, while she is heartbroken at
the idea of leaving, she will go away. This she had been
talking of you probably did not hear all, and that was a
farewell that you witnessed. I promised anything to pacify
her. She will go where you will never see her if you will
agree to adopt the boy."
"And she is heartless enough to give up the child and
you?"
"Yes," he said, "we have so agreed if you will come back
with me. Perhaps in time you may forgive me and forget
all except the child is mine and learn to love him."
For hours he talked and pleaded with me; all the old time
love seemed mine once more. He was so penitent, tender
and loving. He said that when I was well enough if I would
FROM THE WORLD 247
only return with him for he would not go back without me
we would dismiss the servants and go away for a time by
ourselves, and Alice would sail for the Orient.
I cannot tell you all that followed, only that he conquered
me completely. For, try as I would, struggle as I did,
against my better judgment I agreed to his wishes, for I loved
him, God help me ! knowing all, yet forgiving all.
We had a few quiet days, happy days when it seemed to
me that life might be worth while, when the past could be
lived down, if not forgotten. And my heart went out con
stantly to the poor child whose mother was so willing to leave
it. I longed to hold it in my arms and see the child that
would soon be motherless. So one day Bert asked me if I was
strong enough to travel. When I hesitated he said, "You
need not see her, but go with me ; then the arrangements can
be quickly and satisfactorily made."
So, between hope and fear the journey was made. We
arrived late in the evening and went at once to our rooms.
He kissed me and said, "Rest well tonight, and all will be
arranged for us tomorrow."
1 was restless and could not sleep, but would not open
Bert's door to disturb him. The thought of the horrors of
that last night spent here was tugging at my throat, choking
me, and my heart was beating so wildly that it made me
afraid.
Once in the night I heard the dismal yelp of a coyote
and a faint, feeble wail nearer, came from the nursery. The
little boy his boy ! was crying. My heart warmed at the
thought of the little helpless being, and I thought very soon
I would console and soothe it with tenderest care.
Toward dawn I fell asleep and wakening with a start I
dressed hurriedly. The breakfast bell rang before I left my
room. Hastening down I went into the dining-room and
was almost paralyzed to see Alice sitting in my place pouring
out the coffee for my husband.
"I thought the air was not good for your health, and that
you had gone back to San Francisco for a more even climate.
It is pleasant to know you have changed your mind and are
back again," she said, in her soft, insinuating voice.
24 8 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
I turned to Bert. "Sit there," he said, pointing to a seat
at the side of the table. "Alice will keep the seat she has in
the future."
"And so it was for this to doubly insult me that you
brought me here?" I said.
"It was to straighten out some complications which we
will discuss after breakfast," he replied. "So be kind enough
to eat and do not make a scene before the servants."
I turned and went out, so blinded by pain and misery that
I did not know what to do or where to go. Only one idea
was in my mind, and that for some reason I had been
inveigled into coming back. I felt I must have time to think.
Solitude was my wish. I must get away. I went on until
I found myself upon a crag overhanging the bay. Tortured
by fears and with the thought of that woman sitting in my
place, with the query that insulted my womanhood, my right
to be in my own home, for it was mine and not my husband's;
yet he evidently sanctioned the insult; lost in my own miser
able thoughts, I was brought to myself by Bert's voice.
"I have come to find you and have a full and complete
understanding, Ruth."
"It is time, I think," I said.
"Yes, it is time, and the time is now. I will speak freely
to you. I thought I loved you, Ruth, when I married you.
I had never cared for another until I met you, and so was
happy with you until I met Alice. Then indeed I knew what
love was! I know now it is my very life. I love her as no
man ever loved woman before, and, loving her as 1 do, noth
ing in heaven or on earth can separate us but death."
"You forget to mention one place," I said. "Hell would
be more in your line and hers also, I fancy. And let me
say to you, as sure as there is a just God in heaven, and I
know there is one who looks with pitying love upon the
helpless and the wronged just so sure as you live and she
lives, there will be more of hell than heaven on earth for you
two. All that you have made me suffer will return to you in
some way."
"We will not discuss that now. What I want to say is
this. You received me in the city you lived with me as your
FROM THE WORLD 249
lawful husband. You condoned my offense therefore you
are in no position to dictate. I will tell you what you are
to do. Nearly all your property is mine by marriage. You
cannot get a divorce for you have condoned my offense. Alice
wants to go away and will not take the child. If you will
keep it and care for it, I shall make ample allowance for you
and the boy. You can go where you like, and do what you
please. Only you are not to trouble me. As to my future
life, I shall take care that you will not have an opportunity
to trouble me further. Alice and I leave on different trains
today. You can stay here as long as you like or go where
you choose this house is at your disposal, and there will be
money at the bank for you."
"You are kind," 1 said, "to offer money of my own to
me, but I have money, thank heaven, you know nothing
about. I will make a gift to you you can live on the money
you obtained when you married me I will accept nothing
from you."
"As you choose," he said. "But we waste time. I am
going to see Alice off by the first train and will see you
again."
So he left me there with the great gray waste of waters
stretching on and on to infinity. I tried to imagine what
life would be without him. If he were dead, then 1 might
mourn for him, might hope for a reunion beyond this li
But to live on in the same world, knowing that another
woman had his heart, the one with the fair baby face, but
cruel as the grave. And though he loved her, somehow, I
could not believe he had her heart. There was something
my woman's intuition discovered. Beneath the fair exterior
was a false and unstable nature. Else why could she leave
the helpless child whose father adored her.
The future was not to be thought of now. The present
in all its dreadful reality must be faced. I could not throw
myself into the seething waters below me and end it all, for
I could not be sure that it would end all for me.
What if it were as some teach that nothing can die or
cease to exist that new forms and new life spring cease
lessly from the decay which we with our earthly senses per-
250 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
ceive, that all humanity, in fact everything, lives again
and yet again in some shape or other. If so, why not try
to endure it here, and make the best of the poor broken life
possible. If our thoughts and actions do not end on the earth
plane, but in that otherwhere to which we must go, we will
find ineffaceable records, it surely were worth while to try to
do what is right according to one's understanding. If by
being true to myself and my early teachings I could raise
myself in the scale and not lower myself as I would if I had
as 1 thought to do in my frenzy that terrible night and com
mitted murder and shut the gates of heaven from me for
ever.
Again the words "Thou shalt not kill" seemed to be ring
ing in my brain then it must mean neither myself or another.
I must bear my sorrows as best I could, bereft of life's best
gift hope. For I knew in all its intensity and fervor that
I who had been a wife and mother had lost all the hopes,
the dreams of life, of youth, of love, that make earth seem
so like heaven.
So my thoughts ran on and on until I knew no more, and it
was weeks before I became conscious of what was going on
around me. Gradually as I became better I learned that
Bert had left on the afternoon when they found me later,
unconscious on the beach. No word had come from him
since that day.
But the baby had grown wonderfully in the few weeks,
and one day they brought him to me. His father's boy, in
deed ! Surely there was never so great a resemblance between
a man and a tiny mite of humanity as I saw in him.
I took him in my arms, saw his face dimple with laughter
while his tiny hands grasped my hair which hung loosely
about my face. My heart seemed to expand in sudden joy.
I kissed and cried over him, so like the Bert 1 knew, and in
that moment I knew also, God help me ! that I not only
loved his child, but that with all the misery he had heaped
upon me, the humiliation, treachery, deceit, and indifference,
that in my soul I still loved him ! RUTH.
XXVII
"With me in my untraversed wilds and caves,
My kingdom unexplored, you will read the book
Of Nature that unclasp'd lies, while the winds
Mesmeric as the fingers of your love
Will turn the living leaves as you read on."
It has been said that Mexico is superior to Italy in land
scape effects, which is certainly true, Jack. This country
is so large and so diversified that it can scarcely be compared
to Italy. The immensity of it, the deserts and mesas, the
high mountains that, even in the tropics, are covered with
perpetual snow, the plateaus and tierra caliente or hot lands
give inexhaustible subjects for the writer or artist.
I could fill pages in describing the country from the Mitla
region back to Puebla and on to Jalapa. Its products, mode
of tilling the
soil, the scenery
that charms Ifi^MB * *' ^1
with its kalei
doscopic effects,
from the tierra
caliente to the
higher table-
lands, are var
ied and won
derfully inter
esting. There
are landscapes
as lovely and
beautiful as are
to be found
anywhere 1 n A GROUP OF NATIVES OF MITLA.
the world and
the small but picturesque towns are pleasing, for something
more than a saloon and a cigar stand is needed to constitute
251
252 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
a town in Mexico. No matter how small the place, one
sees a church and a plaza. A man remarked to me: "We
are never out of sight of a church in Mexico." He seemed
rather disgusted with the number of churches seen.
"And you are never out of reach of a saloon at home," I
replied. He seemed more used to the latter than the former
I thought.
And then the man turned away with a withering have-
the-last-word look and we both quietly heard the "wheels
go 'round" as we sped along.
From Puebla we journeyed to Jalapa. And by the way,
Jack, if you know the medicine called jalap and with no
pleasing or tender memories, and call the town Halapa,
which is correct, it will probably seem different and more
enjoyable.
We passed on the way a fine agricultural country, and I
saw for the first time some American cultivators used on the
extensive farms, the magnitude of which would astonish
some of our large land owners, unless they are aware of the
fact that lands are not taxed in Mexico. In our sister Re
public a man may have vast possessions and be at no expense,
if he does not cultivate his acres. But if he is unfortunate
enough to work for a salary, the Government insists on its
right to a portion of it.
This was the best agricultural country I had seen, except
in the Guadalajara division. There were vast wheat fields
and the harvest of corn was abundant. Men in squads of
eight or more, with great baskets on their backs, picked the
ears and tossed them deftly over their heads into the baskets.
An overseer on horseback was always in attendance, watching
them work. It reminded me of stories of the old days of
slavery.
Labor-saving machines are not much in evidence, and I
wondered how a combined harvester and threshing machine
would strike these people. The hardest and most laborious
way seems the most favored. The same impression applies
to a good many things throughout the country. I have
found traveling in Mexico harder than in any country 1 have
ever visited. The venders of enchiladas, tortillas, tamales
FROM THE WORLD 253
and the inevitable jugs of pulque are found at every station.
All these are bought and eaten in the cars. That one slips
on sticky tamale husks, banana and orange peelings is of
small concern to the feeders, who seem to be always eating
while traveling and is only a trifle of what one encounters
in the way of odors while traveling.
Still I did not allow these things to disturb or distract my
attention from the broad mesas or the grandly picturesque
beauty of the mountains. I believe in adapting myself to
circumstances. I was traveling in a land if not "God's
own country" some portions of which are so near the
threshold of Eden that minor affairs were nothing.
The natives ate when they could get anything to eat. And
a green leaf held the tempting enchilada as well as a costly
Sevres plate, and was always within reach of the dealer.
They seemed to enjoy the delicacies, though I often went
hungry. Enchiladas were not to be thought of, and the
fruits were not always to my liking.
Some wretch suggested Welsh rarebit. Good cheese and
real butter, with a few necessary concomitants thrown in
would be acceptable I thought. I was not materially inter
ested in the nationality of the sauce or rarebit, but wished
for one that would taste as if I had made it myself pure
and simple, without sex, politics, or genealogical tree well,
there was something to live for, and look forward to, beyond
the Tropic of Cancer and the Rio Grande.
We skimmed along over the cultivated lands, and entered
a mountainous region. A torn and rugged old world greeted
me. There were rocky steeps, black lava beds, and wind
swept trees.
We passed a forlorn old castle that was a fortress for the
Spaniards, and a place of rest after the long toilsome climb
up these mountains, over the road from Puebla to Vera
Cruz. In this section the bandits once held sway and terror
ized the country.
Then we entered a region where the fog holds everything
in its moist embrace and found it was equal to some of Mount
Tamalpais' show days. As we passed the fog belt, a cold
wind drove the mist in foamy masses through the trees,
254 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
festooned with long gray mosses, waving ghost-like, as we
sped through narrow cuts and curved around projecting
stone abutments. A tossed and tumbled sea of mist filled
the canons and it seemed as though the train was shooting
straight out over those filmy depths that hid the world
below. But the road was as substantial as the scenery was
unreal.
Soon we left the fogs and the sun came out clear and bright
as we neared Jalapa, showing in the clear light wonderful
vistas of plain and mountains. Glimpses of mirage-haunted
distances were had through the tangled growth of wood.
Far below was an undulating country with the shimmering
green fields of sugar-cane. Rivers and lakes gleamed through
a whitish mist. Great red flowers flashed a bright welcome
amid the wealth of verdure, for we were once more in the
heart of the tropics.
Vines with wine-tinted flowers fluttered in the winds like
vivid butterflies. A bit of an old tumbled-down, broken wall,
a ruined temple high above some trees, completed a picture
that memory will ever hold dear. And then I found myself
in quaint Jalapa.
A street car, which runs semi-annually, or semi-daily, was
not in evidence when I left the train, but a peon took my
small belongings and we started for the hotel, which was
nearly a mile away. There were no conveyances of any
kind for the traveler, so Jalapa is no place for gouty or
rheumatic people. Being by nature rather averse to carrying
my own, or the burdens of other people, I gladly shifted the
responsibility of mine and let the brown man attend to the
transportation. Thus we went through the tortuous streets,
whose paving seemed to have been left in an unrestored con
dition since the invasion.
it is, however, worth all the aches and pains one endures
in walking the rough streets, for in many places, sidewalks
are unknown, as I found later on in wandering through the
old town.
Once out of sight of the street car line one seems to belong
to centuries past. The twentieth century is forgotten, and
one is transported to the sixteenth century. The iron-barred
FROM THE WORLD 255
windows, old gray walls that shut in many a charming home,
red-tiled roofs with queer water spouts projecting over the
narrow walk gave me a glimpse of other days and other
ways than ours.
One might wander far over the world and not find a
fairer place than Jalapa, with its architectural traces of the
Castilian, the quaintly odd projecting balconies, attractive
with bright draperies, and doubly so when one catches a
glimpse now and then of some beautiful senorita peering
through the curtains.
Pictures of old Castilian days haunted my mind. Away
from the "Limited," with none of the stop-over privileges
of our country, imagination, however, has privileges in this
tropical region, where cloistered nooks and still nights drug
the senses into a forgetfulness of the seething, jostling world,
where lives are thrown away in the restless tumult and flying
spume of an existence, that is lived so rapidly that few men
get acquainted with themselves.
Not so do the people live down here in the tropics. They
live lives vibrant with human passion, if not the hurried and
vigorous life of the colder regions. The days are not so
filled with toil that the nights do not play an important part
in the lives of the men here. The bandits of other days are
gone, but the barred windows are staunch and firm and here
in the entrancing, fragrant evenings, the lover stands outside
and pleads his cause in soft, low music, or patiently waits for
a glance at the fair one behind the curtains, for the women
of the better class are given but little freedom, and so the
lover serenely paces back and forth under the senorita's
balcony, content with a word or a glance.
There are no hours spent with the adored one, wandering
along lanes and amid scenes of tropical bloom and fragrance,
where the very atmosphere breathes of love and its sweetness.
Amid this mystery of color and ravishing beauty, one feels
that a bit of Paradise, of bloom, tranquility and radiance has
escaped, and found a resting place upon the eastern slope of
Meniltepec.
The mists that usually hover over the place were dispelled
by the warm sunlight, which overspread the whole scene like
256
UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
a sea of blessing. I absorbed it, and with an inertia of peace
I was soothed and rested. The senses were filled with rap
ture. A great inflorescence of beauty that was purifying and
uplifting was mine, for here where nature has been more
than bountiful, her blessings must if they sink into the appre
ciative soul be a prayer and a benediction.
The natives seem a docile people, living close to nature,
and appear to live unquestioning amid their poverty. Cling
ing to the warm, kindly earth, they eat of her gifts and live
GROUP OF WOMEN WASHING.
without much wear and tear of brains or a knowledge of the
"strenuous life" the phrase so dearly liked in our tele
phonic, telegraphic existence.
Here where climatic conditions produce perennial fruits
and flowers, they have but little heed of the morrow. If the
peon has his daily tortillas and the fruits he may have for
the labor of gathering in so many places in the country, he
will not quarrel with fate nor have nervous prostration in
trying to keep pace with some other fellow who may wear a
better sombrero or scrape. He does not lie awake nights
FROM THE WORLD 257
thinking how he can earn another peso to buy a new dress
or the latest in hats for his females.
They live close to nature and also where nature shows
her best and loveliest, yet I do not know that instinct finds
the loftiest expression among these people. The beauty that
exists in the soul of things, as some people have it, may be
appreciated. They perhaps have a subtle sense of the beau
tiful; but knowing nothing beyond their environments, they
cannot know or enjoy by contrast and are not thankful for
the climate, which if it were negotiable, would be one of the
unfailing resources of their land.
Aside from the unparalleled views one has from the beau
tiful plaza in Jalapa, the old town was full of interest to me.
It was old before the conquests, and much of the mediaeval
style still clings to it, though the schools and colleges are of
the best, and English is taught in the colleges, showing their
appreciation of the value of the language, commercially if
not otherwise.
I fully appreciated the uses and abuses that might befall
one where ignorance is not bliss, for I escaped more by good
luck than sense. The Bible says, "Let him that stole, steal"
and all unwittingly I stole, and after the transaction finished
the sentence "no more." It was my first offense, ignorantly
or otherwise, and I resolved that I would be more careful
and that no more blunders were to be made in Mexico.
I entered a ticket office one day to inquire in my limited
patois about a trip to a certain place, and while endeavoring
to obtain information, found I was in the wrong place. It
was the freight department I knew later. Not being able to
get what I went for, I gathered up some sheets of brown
paper, wrapped them around a small parcel, bowed to the
"agente," and walked out. Just before the train started, I
glanced idly at my parcel, and was horrified to find I had
taken some of the way bills. "Ferrocarril de Jalapa a Cor
doba," then "recibo," and "conseguatario" that was all
plain enough to me, beside a lot of unintelligible stuff. Then
"estacion, kilogramos," etc., were easily deciphered, and I
knew that I had taken the way bills by mistake. I did not
want them but knew not what to do. It was impossible
258 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
for me to explain. My knowledge of the language was lim
ited. I did not know it well enough to confess. Besides, a
vision of some of the prisons I had seen made me think they
were not the most desirable places for rest and repose.
Only that morning I had seen a lot of prisoners escorted
to their daily toil by the armed rurales. One poor fellow
had but one leg, and went along with a piece of wood tied
to the other knee, beating an accompaniment to the "ssh-ssh"
of the sandals and bare feet of the others. If he were not
exempt, how r could I, in reasonable health and looking it,
hope to escape were it known that I had stolen and of
course they would have so decided it the way bills? The
wandering Californian felt just then a yearning to be a hom
ing pigeon, but, not being able to fly, the longing for home
brought the desire to get out of the scrape. So I decided
to keep quiet and say nothing, especially as I could not well
do otherwise. But being guilty, I must needs return to the
vicinity of the freight office.
I strolled leisurely back, and looking into the office, saw
three men searching with nervous energy for something. A
cold wave of fear enveloped me as the "agente" looked me
square in the eyes. I returned the glance with greater inter
est than he knew, smiled or grinned I know not which
bowed politely, and turning saw a policeman, who looked
about ten feet high, standing by my side. The welcome
word "Vamonos" was shrilled in my ears by the conductor
and I, in plain English, found myself "all aboard," in the
cars and speeding away from the place, happy because I had
escaped a padlocked cell, yet miserable in possessing some
thing I did not want, yet dared not return, for I was afraid
of the consequences.
I met a gentleman while in the City of Mexico who was
kept in prison four months through the influence of a certain
official, who had this man imprisoned simply because the
aforesaid official wanted a mine that had been in possession
of the prisoner's family for eighty years.
The gentleman had been victorious, but it made me shud
der when I knew that for no particular reason he had been
deprived of his liberty for months. So considering that the
FROM THE WORLD 259
motive is the sin, I looked with an unbiased opinion upon the
matter, judging myself not guilty, and am ready to return
the souvenir way bills at a moment's notice when extradition
papers are sent.
I must speak of the incomparable beauty of a trip to
Coatepec and Teoceli, on a branch road that runs from
Jalapa through superb scenery in the heart of tropical Mex
ico. Coatepec lies at the base of Orizaba, embowered in a
wealth of beautiful verdure, while reaching far above in the
blue sky is the peak forever white with glistening snow.
The place is beautiful and the luxuriance of the coffee,
sugar, banana and pineapple plantations sent me into rap
tures. The quivering and shimmering heat waves over the
vast illimitable stretches of field and hill, extending on and
on until the imagination expanded and reveled in the infinite
that was lost to the vision beyond the horizon's rim.
An adequate description is impossible of a scene that pos
sessed a charm not easily explained in the magnificent land
scape effects that lay around me. And over all, as Words
worth saw and wrote of a picture was "The light that never
was on sea or land."
From Teoceli I drove to a barranca where were some
magnificent waterfalls that were utilized for an electric plant
which supplied three cities (Jalapa one of them) with light.
Great tree ferns and vines made the place beautiful. 1 went
down a series of ladders or wooden steps four hundred in
number, to the plant, which was operated by an American
and owned by Americans. It will not be many years before
the United States will be in evidence nearly everywhere in
Mexico. The opportunities are great, and capital is not slow
in realizing the fact.
Jalapa, though small, is a well-lighted city. And think
ing of the well-lighted streets, my mind reverted to Puebla
and Oaxaca, whose streets are as black as tunnels. A tiny
point of light set in the middle of the streets, one for every
block, gives all the illumination the streets have, and the
initiated know that each light represents a lantern and a
policeman in the vicinity. If a policeman deserts his post or
is caught napping by someone, his lantern is stolen and he
260
UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
is dismissed without further evidence. There is one com
fort, however, in the system; the scarcity of light is made
up by the one cheering fact that you know just where a
policeman is when you want one.
A day was spent in visiting the barranca where the water
of the falls leaps from a great height down into the depths
below. The flumes which diverted the water to a useful
purpose in no wise destroyed the beauty of the falls. The
spell which the place cast upon me made it hard for me to
leave. The machinery of that electric plant lying deep in
the ravine seemed wholly out of place in this old land of
BARRANCA AT TEOCELI, NEAR JALAPA.
the Montezumas, where broken temples give evidence of
ages gone by, of altars that smoked with sacrificial offerings,
perchance at the time when Solomon was planning the
foundation of the temple at Jerusalem.
Here the tribes saw the sacred fires, even as the children
of Israel, when led by Moses the Meek, saw and followed
the pillar of fire. Those who built Egypt's towering pyra
mids and fashioned the sad-eyed Sphinx which faces the
desert wastes, might not have made eyes so filled with un
utterable sadness could the builders and makers have looked
FROM THE WORLD 261
upon this beautiful land, a land that is bright and more
beautiful than the long-sought-for Canaan.
The sound of falling waters, the tropical growth, unsur
passed by any I have ever seen, is here, and never-ending
vistas show like enchanted land through aisles of trees whose
branches are wreathed and entwined with festoons of vines.
A sense of humility overpowered me as I gazed upon the
great sweep of landscape that reared and stretched giant
peaks skyward, while above all in majesty and towering
strength, was Orizaba, seeming to support the vaulted dome
of the Empyrean.
Tropical trees, plains checkered by plantations of sugar
cane, shine in the gorgeous mantle of tropical hues impossi
ble to describe. Moss sways from limbs of the trees and
thousands of bright orchids gleam amid the tangle of vines,
and tropical luxuriance. A new world of trees and flowers
to me, even with all our wealth of vegetation and bloom at
home. Mingled light and shadows print mosaics beneath
the boughs of the coffee groves and strange odorous woods.
There are trees and blossoms of unimaginable fragrance that
come to me with the summer odors, gorgeous in tropical lux
uriance that revels through endless days and nights of eternal
summer. The tropic of my dreams, dear friend, has opened
its gates which have swung back on noiseless hinges, and
the reality is more satisfying, more enchanting than dreams
could picture. And now I am strolling through groves and
over very real paths, amid the splendors of a tropical foliage
and bloom I have never seen elsewhere in all my wanderings.
The mystic light that wavered and brooded in that great
ravine built and fashioned by Nature at Orizaba's base cast
its thrall upon me. I felt as I have when looking through
the incense-laden air of some grand old cathedral. Only
the latter means men's fashioning and place of worship.
Down in the barranca one's whole being is awed and humil
iated. The senses are overwhelmed, for Nature holds sway
and this is God's place of worship. Adios.
FRANK.
XXVIII
"How could she know that in a man's busy existence an out-lived,
burned-out love can become of no more consequence than the ashes
of his pipe?"
The pathetic story of Ruth's heroic struggles to live and
endure a sorrow that would have driven many women to
desperation was not all told in one letter, Edith dear, but in
many. From them I have pieced out a fairly clear idea of
her humiliation and grief, which I have written you from
time to time.
She is desolate and my impulses are to help her all I can.
I have w r ritten her to send the child to me and I will see
that it is well cared for. You know the house is large with
only auntie and myself besides the servants. My old nurse
will take good care of it; and I shall see that the truth is not
known. I will say that I have adopted the child in order
to avoid useless questions.
I will send a copy of a letter I have written her advising
her to go as far away as possible from here. San Francisco
is too closely connected with her sorrow for her to remain.
She fortunately has money of her own which Bert was not
aware of. It is in Government bonds and she can do as she
wishes. She had kept it as a surprise for him some day. I
hope you may see her if she crosses the Atlantic. You would
be very good to her, for I know your kind heart better than
anyone else.
I could not have dreamed that so much of the coarser
element the savage that brooks no opposition lay in the
nature of the civilized man. Bert Wilder, handsome, agree
able to his friends, a man whom the world which judges
from a business standpoint calls "good," honorable so far
as his dealings with his fellow men, yet in a matter of his
passion and desires allowed nothing to swerve him from his
purpose.
Knowing Ruth's terrible experiences and thinking of the
twofold nature of the man, I recall a conversation we once
FROM THE WORLD 263
had regarding one's duties in life toward our fellow beings.
He said in reply to an assertion made by me that insincerity
was the bane of civilization, that he thought I was right.
"Hypocrisy is the canker, the gangrene of the soul. I
abhor it. Do as near right toward people as you can. But
it is better to be wise and take all the good you can out of
life. 'Better never than late' is a good motto, so I try to
grasp the best that comes my way while 1 am able to appre
ciate and enjoy."
This is the man who hated hypocrisy. He took no chances
on uncertainty it was the reality, the certainty, not the pos
sibilities of life he sought. And as the result proved has
made a wreck of one woman's life. Not for a noble object
or purpose, but for one that sooner or later must of neces
sity not redound to his credit. And all for his own innate
selfishness and vanity.
Ruth hearing nothing from her husband has asked me to
see him and learn something of the woman who stole her
husband from her. Ruth is now trying to gain strength in
seclusion, but she cannot give up hope.
"I know he always liked you, dear Aileen, and perhaps
you can influence him to give her up. He may yet get over
his mad passion. If I knew it were for his good, if
she could make a better man of him, I might better endure
my life knowing he was happy."
Thus I wrote in reply: "Friendship costs more than any
thing else in this world, for sometimes it is necessary to sac*
rifice so much of the heart's desires upon the altar of friend
ship, upon whose lintel posts are the words in unmistakable
characters, " Greater love than this hath no man than he lay
down his life for a friend." And yet I say to you, my poor
Ruth, greater love than this hath no woman, than she who
perils her reputation for a friend. This I am willing to do
for you. I will try if possible to win your husband away
from his mad infatuation since you desire it. Yet though
I feel the futility of it, I am none the less willing to make
the effort. Should you gain your heart's best hope, I am
wondering if you will be satisfied.
Could the old love be the same? Would not the serpent
of distrust be ever in your soul? And for myself I wonder
264 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
how there can possibly be anything in your heart but con
tempt. I know there would be no particle of love left in
my heart were I you. My nature commands a full and com
plete equivalent in return for what 1 give. But I know that
we are not all alike, and knowing the poor wronged girl
that you are, I will not falter nor count the cost, but would
try with better courage if only I knew for certain that
"If you loved only what were worth your love
Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you."
I miss you dear and can appreciate your loneliness, but
we are all lonely you among the hills, I here by the ocean's
brink. Yet out of the loneliness and isolation of which you
speak, good may come to the betterment of yourself. You
can dwarf your soul, starve and stunt it as you could a flower
or a shrub. But isolation does not necessarily mean starva
tion. At times it means rest, and I trust you are resting now r
mentally and physically, even while you are craving com
panionship and love. While it may not be according to your
desires that you are forced to rely upon yourself, you have
time to ponder, to think and get somewhat acquainted with
your own nature, your real self, and you will, I think, realize
that there is one victory worth the effort, one great battle to
be won, the victory over self.
In your lonely moments you can concentrate your thoughts
upon yourself. Cease to think of your loss, your sorrows.
At least try to think, and hold fast to the belief, that your
life is not to be utterly wrecked by the wickedness and injus
tice of another.
"Fret not thyself in any wise" all depressing thoughts
are injurious, all healthy thoughts are sweet. Therefore you
must strive to accept your fate, contentedly as you can, for
when you are contented you are nourished.
I know you want to do right and that is the only road
to happiness. I think the best good one can do to others is
to help them do their duty. Your first duty, however, is to
yourself.
Each well-born soul must win what it deserves.
You can overcome you can forget in time, remember
that.
FROM THE WORLD 265
There is no chance, no destiny not fate can circumvent
or hinder or control
"The firm resolve of a determined soul."
Your one great thought and aim must be only this to
your own self be true. After a time you will conquer for
yours is the better way. For you have been true and womanly
in the midst of temptation most grievous and kept yourself
from doing wrong. And now by conquering self, you can
put aside the old and usher in the new life, wherein may be
happiness and a wonderful power for good; for before this
great grief came upon you you lived for one only.
Dear Ruth, cannot you try to hunt up your blessings, look
upon the bright places, hunt for the warm sunny nooks.
When you take your solitary walks, do not seek the damp,
gloomy spots; there will be less of sighs in the warm, joyous
sunshine. Life is short at best, even though the days are
interminable to you. Shake off the gloom go forth in the
strength of your young life. Why not go to Italy and join
Edith? I wish you could decide to go and while you are
away 1 will do all in my power to right your wrongs.
I wish you would try the diversion of travel. Sometimes
the greatest curse that can befall us is to be given our heart's
desires. In times to come you may realize that which you
deem the curse of your life may carry a blessing in its arms.
I would ask you to see and walk where some of earth's
sorrowing ones have trod, where the great and good have
left lasting testimonials also. I would ask you to pause for
a time in that marvel the Cathedral of Milan. Its forest
of columns, its delicate frost-like tracery, its countless statues,
and intricate patterns, of fruits, flowers and figures, will take
you out of yourself, will draw your very soul away from the
littleness of earthly things.
Above the triple doorways are some inscriptions. Over
one of the entrances is a sculptured cross and there you will
read: "All that which troubles is but for a moment."
And over another is the legend: "All that which pleases
is only for a moment."
And over the great central entrance, you can also see the
inscription: "That only is, which is eternal."
266 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
Let these things sink deep into your heart, dear friend.
Cultivate the upward look, not downward, and your life
will be richer and sweeter by self-renunciation. The thought
of forgetting momentary troubles may not seem possible to
you, but in the presence of past history, of peoples and
nations, you will have scant time for thoughts of self.
In Rome you may pause a moment at Tasso's tomb and
think of his life. Humiliated; slighted; of his woes and
wrongs; and you will think I know also of how much richer
is the world for his having lived. You may go along the
shining road that leads to Ostia some quiet afternoon, and,
as the sun sinks in the west, you will muse on the vicissitudes
of time; you will think that over this road passed Saul of
Tarsus; or loiter along the Via Sacre where Cicero and
Horace have walked.
You may stand on the Palatine Hill, where Caesar fell,
and look down upon the Colosseum, and visions of unnum
bered martyrs will rise before you who perished because of
their faith. You will see ruins, ruins everywhere that tell
of love, of ambition, of death. Go to Greece and
linger thoughtfully with blind old Homer. And before your
mental vision, you will see Helen and her distaff filled with
wool of violet blue. Sappho's words of love will ring in
your ears.
From the Acropolis you can look across to a hillside not
far away, and think of Socrates in his prison. In the dis
tance a glimpse of Marathon, Salamis, and Attica will give
you sensations that will be worth more to you than a lifetime
spent in reading Byron, or any other who may have at
tempted descriptions. The marvels of sculpture, that grew
into beauty under the hands of Phidias; the Parthenon, mag
nificent even in ruins, will excite your admiration and you
will be lost in wonder looking at the work of those old Greek
artificers who labored and finished the Parthenon under
Pericles.
The dreamy mystery of those giants in intellect, the heroes,
gods and goddesses, will enthrall you, and you will, because
you cannot help but be effected by the memory of noble
actions and deeds, be lifted out of the thought of self and
FROM THE WORLD 267
will feel that your life is enriched by the spell of that long
ago of men and things, of art, of melody. The glories of
a by-gone past, the promise of the present and the future
will cause you to feel the littleness of self; the insignificance
of your own affairs, in the history of mankind and of the
world.
Self-pity tends to one's undoing. Forget self and your
own desires. Give your mind new thoughts to feed upon;
and your strained nerves a rest; for you have concentrated
every nerve of your body in your longings to be once more
the same woman to your husband that you were before the
other came.
You are weakened by mental fatigue; if not you would
clearly understand how utterly impossible it would be for the
old relations ever to be resumed especially under the same
conditions. Would not the face of the other woman, the
mother of his son, be ever before your mental vision, even if
you were once again installed as the, mistress of his home?
Could you be certain of your place in his heart? And, now,
my dear, go forth in the strength of your purpose with your
pilot, Will, at the helm; forget all that is unworthy seek
the good think deeply on subjects foreign to yourself; and
think also of the doctrine of the Stoics that we should be free
from passion, unmoved by joy or grief, and should submit
without complaining to the unavoidable.
Now, dear Edith, this letter, which concerns Ruth more
than myself, will be long enough for you to read this time.
In another soon to follow I will tell you of what concerns
your friend Aileen.
XKIX
"But the spirit's food is love, and hearts that
starve may die in agony
And no physician mark the cause of death."
It was the mountains that were consecrated by the presence
of God. It was upon their heights He revealed himself to
Moses. There are many Sinais in this world, lives are con
secrated upon slopes so much nearer heaven than down by the;
sea level. They purify and uplift one's thoughts upon their
altars. It was upon Calvary that Christ was crucified, and
upon the Mount of Olives the ascension took place. And I,
upon the mountains looking toward the stars, feel comforted,
and feel also I am gaining strength to endure my wrongs,
dear Aileen, even though I feel, in my loneliness and solitude,
about as useless as those dead stars that are in the rayless
ether. For I know too well he who vowed to love, cherish
and protect, killed all that was best in me all the bright
ness went out of my life, leaving a future for me that holds
nothing alluring. The fountain of hope and joy went dry
when the knowledge of Bert's treachery burnt and seared
my heart. I can look forward to nothing that will be of
comfort to me unless I may be able to help others who are in
need of sympathy. * * * Your letter asking me to go
abroad has occupied a great deal of my waking, thinking
moments. You are wiser than I, and I feel that I should
heed your admonition in this respect, as well as in other mat
ters. Yet I must abide here a little while longer. At present
I have not the courage, nor the strength to travel. I am
learning my lesson; with more than mere mortal patience
I await strengthened by some unknown force that compels
me to endure my life when ofttimes the utter uselessness of
it appalls me.
I look at the glittering stars in the calm heavens and pon
der over the years that stretch ahead of me, for I am young
in years if old in suffering, and I wonder if there are not
fields bright with flowers, joyous with the music of birds,
268
FROM THE WORLD 269
and all that is bright and beautiful in that other world above.
Surely among the myriads of stars there will be fairer worlds
than this. So why do people who are unhappy dread to go
hence? Why should I not desire to go? I have buried the
best of me and think sometimes that my sorrow is beyond
human endurance.
I can tell this to you, dear, and to none other. 1 do not
want the sympathy of others which is very often veiled under
a sneer. Nature is a tender nurse. It is true and enters into
one's moods. The trees bending low over me as I sit alone
by a rippling stream shiver in a gust of wind, and send
showers of dewdrops into the needless waters, and I, too,
find my needless tears flowing, hot and burning, for a lost
love a dead love, one I fear even while buoyed up by a
faint hope will never be mine again.
You ask me to forget. God knows I try to overcome the
heartaches, try to grow strong and well, for I do not want
to grow old before I have lived years enough to warrant it.
I awaken in the night and find myself sobbing and crying for
Bert to come, and the silence is terrifying, for in dreams I
hear the ringing sweetness of his voice that filled my soul,
steeped my senses in the old sweet delirium of love that
was ecstatic for a moment. Then my sobs bring the old hurt
with the awakening, and the sickening terror of my loss, for
it is the dread that grows deeper day by day that he does not
care, that he has forgotten yet even with the knowledge
scorching my heart, it does not alter the fact that I love him
even as I did when I thought he loved me.
I may not share his thoughts, his life, but God help me,
I can love and that is better than to forget. But I try to
suppress my fears, to forget my loneliness as much as I can,
dear, and often throw myself down on the earth and listen
ing 1 seem to hear the sympathetic heart beating beneath the
pine-needles, strong, magnetic, powerful, soothing and com
forting. So I am helped and feel that if there is a balm for
my grief, it is here now. Later on I may put a good portion
of this world between my lost love and myself. When the
time comes, and you tell me it will come, then I shall feel
different. But now pray that I may be able to endure the
270 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
present and not be too eager to lift the curtain that hides the
future.
My life at best now is like a long and gloomy tunnel with
out a gleam of light; even the one faint beacon star of hope
is dimmed. There are no joyful dreams to cheer me, only
bitterness and unconquerable longings. I try to be rational,
to look at my life as I would at a picture. 1 do not see it in an
enviable light. It is not even "skyed." If so there might be
a gleam from some stray sunbeam or wandering star to light
it up for the moment, but it is on a dull colorless level that has
nothing but a cold gray atmosphere that is both frame and
perspective.
It has been said that no true love is in vain. Yet, I ask
you, what has it profited me to give my whole soul, my heart's
best and only love and all that was sweet and worth while
in the world for me? What have I gained? nothing that
the most wretched on earth would covet. A ruined life con
fronts me, and can I hope to build anew?
But you cheer me and give me hope, even though it be
only a faint spark left amid the dull gray ashes. You say
that it is life's best gift to hope its worst is to know. God
grant that I may keep my reason and that I shall not know,
if it be the worst. RUTH.
XXX
"As Indian mothers see babes die for food,
She watched dry-eyed beside her starving heart."
There may be something in mental telegraphy, Edith, but
I do not know if it will apply to written messages. Still,
when the postman rang the bell a day or so ago, I seemed to
know fully as well that I would have your letter, as I did a
moment later, when my maid brought it to me. You are a
dear girl to write me so promptly and I am as delighted to
read your letters as if I were a young girl receiving a love
letter. For you speak of things, of places I love, and which
1 fain would see again. If we only had a system of wireless
telegraphy, then I might say to you much that it is not
possible to write. There would be heart to heart talks we
would both enjoy, but which might seem foolish if written.
In my last I told you fully of Ruth's sorrows, and that she
has given me the almost hopeless task of trying to bring
Bert to his senses. The idea is revolting, for in my heart I
despise the man, yet for her sake I must use flattery and
stoop to duplicity and deceit. Yet I would do all this cheer
fully if I thought it were worth while. However, the effort
must be made for her sake. Just now she is simply existing,
and were it not for the faint hope in his ultimate return to
her, I fear she would not be able to endure her life.
Barred from the one human heart she loved and trusted,
the whole world is empty now for her. Just when she
thought her haven of rest and peace was found, she was
driven out by wickedness and cruelty without the shadow of
an excuse; by the fiendishness, the brutality and selfishness of
a man, who listened only to his wicked partner in crime; and
cared more for his own selfish pleasures than the heart
broken woman, who failed to interest or amuse him before
the birth of her child, and who was of still less concern when
ill and grieving over her little babe.
272 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
My dear, remember a woman should save her heart if it
were possible from going out in a hopeless love. It is best
always to subordinate the feelings and give sense and reason
a show. If so, there would be less wrecked lives, which are
sacrificed to romantic and senseless fancies, and which often
scorch the heart with the very madness of a love that banishes
contentment and peace.
Poor Ruth's cup of joy was so full for a few brief months,
that it brimmed over and intoxicated her, for her love was a
mad idolatrous passion, that thrilled her with the ecstasy
of possession, of feeling that her hero, her idol was hers
alone; the handsome, fascinating, clever husband, her love
and trust in him was supreme.
He was so different to other men a sort of divinity to her.
She never thought of the sufferings he would heap upon her,
or his brutality which cropped out when the reality of
married life palled upon him. But the temptress came and
you know the result. I think I can appreciate such a love as
hers, though I am sure I am incapable of it myself. A love
that patiently endures unkindness and indifference and in
sult is doubtless grand; and perchance is nobler than pride.
Such a love ought to convert Bert and bless him by its purity
and steadfastness, but l 'Whatsoever a man soweth that shall
he also reap," and being arrayed on the weaker side I pray
fervently that he may spend the rest of his life binding the
sheaves of regret." Of one thing I am pretty sure, Edith
dear, that I shall never allow my affections to go beyond my
control. If I ever indulge in the grand passion, I shall
love as long and deeply as does the one whom I shall honor
with my affections. I know that I shall not love one moment
longer than my lover shall love me. Any change in love's
temperature will at once touch the mercury in my nature and
cause a corresponding rise or fall as the case may be. I have
felt this deeply in my friendship. Then how much greater
will I feel the slightest change in love's atmosphere.
I know that men are selfish. They like constancy, truth
and purity in woman. While they exact these things in the
woman they honor with their regard, it is a rare one, my
friend, who feels that he must give in return that which he
FROM THE WORLD 273
receives. Nature has endowed me with certain character
istics, which demand an exact return for what I give. I
despise base and mean things, yet do not want to pose as a
very good woman. Those very good women I have known
a few are usually quite uninteresting and generally find a
man for a husband who is willing to have them preside over
the home, bear his name and children, and he gives the good
woman a sort of oatmeal and skimmed milk kind of affection,
which passes for love. And that, mind you, is all she ever
gets, for it is the other woman with a little spice in her
nature that attracts and often gains the man's passionate
love beside which the love given his wife is as whipped
cream is to whey.
I said this recently to a friend, and added that I was not
fond of whey or curds. She said the skimmed-milk propo
sition might be better in the long run, that too much cream
was not good for us physically or mentally, and that she had
noticed mad passions often ended in disgust or indifference.
I was afraid she had reference to Bert and Ruth, though so
far their separation is unknown. She is supposed to be away
from home on account of her health.
But to return to myself, I told you that I was going to do all
I could to help Ruth, and I am bracing myself for the battle.
I do not claim to have any unnecessary vices, but I have
enough to show by contrast the virtues I possess. If there
was not the sense of power within me, if I did not feel capable
of conquest, or at least feel that it were worth while trying,
think you that I would venture? It may be a battle royal,
but I am predestined and foreordained to go into this
encounter upheld by the righteousness of my aim.
A weaker and a better woman, would counsel Ruth to
leave her cause to an all-wise Providence. But here is where
I am not very good, for I feel deep in my heart the desire
to see him writhe and suffer if such thing were possible, even
as he has made Ruth suffer. Only the tempted know what
temptation means, and I am not trying to resist the idea that
comes to me again and again. I feel as if it were the un
expected that was going to happen, as it always is happening
to people somewhere or other. Yet I am not faltering.
274 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
I know that women in love will very often face the world,
daring and even challenging publicity it would seem, knowing
all the while that a grain of publicity would ruin them in the
eyes of the dear social world which asks only, if you must
live in glass houses, do not turn on the electric lights; yet
they risk it, and the smirch, for the sake of a love which must
be strong enough to cast self aside, while if they only
possessed a grain of selfishness which the men have how
different many lives would be. Well, my dear, I am not in
love, and realize that I am taking chances, all for the wish
to help a friend. "Greater love than this" you know the
rest.
I realize that I am only an ordinary mortal. Only a Patti
might take the reins of fate in her own hands, and bowl along
over smooth roads while the world applauded. Only a
Bernhardt could have an accident or two before marriage,
and yet have all the world at her feet. It is left lesser mortals
to buffet and feel the scorn of the world that is as hard as the
nether mill-stone, and as unforgiving and insatiable in its
persecutions upon one who accidentally, and more often than
otherwise if innocent of the wiles of men, is unknowingly
placed beyond the pale of social life before she is aware of
the crime.
I do not know do any of us? that we are warped
mentally. I am rather certain that I am all right physically,
and I try to look at myself honestly at times; but fear that
I am somewhat prejudiced. We grow to look kindly upon
our belongings and find old things are dear, and we fail to
see age or crookedness in many things we have. Yet I am
rather sure of myself for they can command who believe
they can. So strong in my belief I go forth to conquer or
fail. Only fate can answer which it shall be.
AILEEN.
XXXI
"Whatever is taught or told,
However men moan or sigh,
Love never shall grow cold
And life shall never die."
These words of Bayard Taylor have been running
through my mind today, since reading your last letter, Aileen,
and I am wondering if his experiences were not rather
limited. You and I are not old as the years go; but we have
had time a-plenty to learn that love, as warmed on the altar
fires of some hearts, grows cold indeed from lack of interest,
probably, in keeping the fires replenished.
That life can never die may be a comfort to most of earth's
wanderers, who strive to do as near right as understanding
will allow them to do. But when one finds a man like Bert
Wilder, fashioned in the image of his Maker, so far as the
exterior is concerned, but fitted up internally by satanic
influences, the question arises, If life shall never die, what
sort of life will his be in the hereafter? Will he be exempt
from all the wrongs he has done here, and revel in a beautiful
heaven with poor Ruth and some of the rest of us, who have
tried to wrong no one, even when sorely tempted at times ?
I am not cat-like by nature, but feel my fingers tingle at the
thought of him and his poor deserted wife. But I am
human enough and revengeful enough, to wish you all
possible success in your efforts to win him away from his
present infatuation. For I am rather sure it is only tem
porary. These affairs are seldom otherwise. If you could
only make him suffer a little bit of what Ruth has endured,
it would be retaliation, and might give him a better chance
to redeem himself here on earth, and there will be more
here and less of purgatory hereafter for him. Am I
revengeful? Perhaps; at any rate I wish you all success,
you are to enter a campaign in a righteous cause, the strong
aiding the weak. Nature has amply endowed you mentally
275
276 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
and physically for the undertaking and I shall expect only
good reports.
I do not understand in this enlightened age that there need
be one law for men and another for women. We have out
grown some theories and traditions, and Bert had scarcely
the right to treat Ruth as he has.
In the days of ancient Rome, it was the custom for men to
put away their wives, whenever they chose, unquestioned.
Later it became necessary to record the fact before a pro
curator; gradually it became the custom, if the woman was
blameless, the man was forced to provide for her. This was
the first gleam of light in the recognition that a woman had
any right to expect anything like justice from the hands of
man, when he chose to be brutal. Not until Marcus Aure-
lius reigned, came the wonder of the world at that time a
woman under Roman rule dared to appear before the
tribunal with a woman friend as attorney and take heed, my
friend the woman succeeded!
It was afterwards under the ruling of Constantine, who
brought Christianity with him into Rome, displacing Pagan
ism and a few other objectionable things that the rights of
women were practically cancelled, and not until one thou
sand years later was there much if any change in her con
dition.
However, we, with all the pride we have in our own free
country, have not overmuch to be proud of. It is not so very
long ago that a man in our glorious nation's capital thrashed
his wife for wearing bloomers on the street and was ap
plauded by a learned judge for the act ! I am very sure
that Ruth, like the one of old, is most fortunate in having
you for a friend and attorney. For she is so devoted to
her church that I fear she will not avail herself of the rational
solution of the difficulty and get a divorce.
I know how her nature shrinks from publicity, yet she
certainly has the sanction of the Scriptures, which gives un
faithfulness as the only excuse for divorce. So she might
easily have the sanction of the church if she can only get her
heart to acquiesce. I should not care, I fancy, if his imper
fections were laid bare to the world. I would prefer that
FROM THE WORLD 277
to hiding away like a guilty thing as she is now doing, and
leaving the world to misjudge her, possibly.
Whereas, if the public knew the truth of his cruelty to her,
his warmed over affections might quickly cool under the
world's cold criticism; for the world's good opinion is dearer
to him, I fancy, than the love of any woman, other than
his wife, if I understand the man's nature. And had she
insisted upon her rights even up to the divorce courts, I think
she would have found him a different sort of man to deal
with. My idea of Ruth is, that though she has been brought
up under the pure light of Christianity, she has gone back
to Paganism, and unconsciously, perhaps, is making a god of
a very human man, and is worshipping an idol of common
clay.
But enough of my moralizing. I will tell you that since
my last letter to you I have been traveling through different
portions of Italy. 1 am only mentioning some places, just
to give you an idea that I am not wasting my time. We
will have enough to talk about some day when we can com
pare notes. I have walked the white sands in the hush of
the morning, under a sky of primrose color that borders the
turquoise colored crescent of water framed in by ilex trees,
under whose shade Shelley wrote the "Cenci."
I have sailed in boats on Como which floated over the dark
blue waters with sails like the breasts of swans. Have
watched the star-sprinkled waters of Lake Maggiore, and
listened to the songs of the peasants in the gloaming, while
they worked or idled the hours away among the fire-flies or
let their boats drift idly, resting their oars as the notes of
the Angelus came trembling, some near, some far, from
unseen churches, brooding over small villages, hidden in the
mountains.
I have listened to the nightingales in the Tuscan Vales.
I have seen the moonlight on Fiesole and on San Miniato
you know the dear old Etruscan town high up on the slopes
beyond Florence. I need the dull blues, and green grays,
and the yellows of the old masters to paint the scene as I
beheld it one day. Words, 1 fear, can give you but an idea
only. I saw the grayish green of the olive trees banked up
278 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
against hills, which show the yellow soil amid duller shades
of green, which seemed to enhance the beauty of the groves;
they mean nothing in particular to you or me, who are accus
tomed to olive orchards at home. Ours fresh and young,
in their infancy almost, are the merest babes beside these
gnarled and twisted giants of centuries old, that are keeping
watch here as they are at Tivoli, beyond Rome and the
Campagna.
The blue sky here is no bluer than California skies, as you
well know, and it seems commonplace in the telling. Yet the
picture as I saw it, is extremely Italian. It had an atmos
phere of its own that is not imagined. It is the atmosphere
of time, of age that one reverences and is unlike our
newness.
Out on the road to Fiesole I loitered one blessed after
noon; resting on an old gray wall, I breathed the fragrant
air, body and soul steeped in the calm beauty of the place.
An old mottled convent wall crimsoned here and there with
splashes of damask roses, and a tree white with orange blos
soms with a yellow globe now and then showing last year's
fruit, was near me, reminding me of our own fruit and blos
soms at home. And my thoughts were with you on the rim
of the Western World, breathing the same perfumes and
sending, I believed, a thought now and then to me.
Wandering on, I saw fragments and bits of sculpture that
existed in unbroken beauty under a civilization finer than any
thing in our progressive days. 1 looked far across to the
misty Vallambrosan hills, an amethystine haze hovered over
fair Florence and westward to the peaks of the Carrara
Mountains. Below me the peasants were singing as they
always are, in this country, tender love songs and snatches
of operatic airs. No matter how poor they are, there is
always a song bubbling up from the heart, singing like birds,
spontaneous, yet full of melody and passion. The sounds
came soft and tender, with a breath from the rose-scented
terraces; and added to the fragrance and the songs, was the
richness of tones of color the violet and deep amethyst of
the sky.
The Apenines gleamed through a blue mist that, chang
ing into softer hues formed a fitting background for a picture
FROM THE WORLD 279
of the Lucca hills. Over there lies the Via Crucis, and the
river flashing as it winds its way by village and hamlet
through the fair plains of Tuscany, westward to the sea. I
saw roads lined with chestnut trees, and long lines of stone
walls, gray and broken, but over whose scars and rents vines
creep up and twine lovingly, falling in avalanches of green
and blossoming abandonment. Well kept villas, old tumbled
down houses and older palaces gave me pictures to recall and
showed scenes ineffaceable. I looked upon all the freshness
of nature about me and then at the ruins of walls, palaces
and churches which are a petrifaction of thoughts of hope,
realized or otherwise, of the builders and makers of the for
gotten dead.
I thought of the old masters who loved the fair old city
of Florence, of the harmony of color which they loved and
painted or endeavored to do, so long ago, of their work
there in the Pitti, and Uffizi galleries, of the unrivaled col
lection of paintings and statuary, and of the poor artists 1
saw there copying the pictures, gaunt and poverty stricken
as many undoubtedly are, working at starvation prices, while
all this wealth of color, form and beauty, is inviting them
to copy from nature, to insist on themselves rather than spend
a lifetime of imitation. They should study and
"Read what is still unread
In the manuscripts of God,"
and so gain wisdom, peace and recompense, a sure reward
from nature. I feel that I am doubly blessed in coming here.
It seems one could achieve almost anything, amid such sur
roundings. Nature grants no diplomas. One does not desire
them, or anything save the love, the satisfaction that fills the
heart to overflowing, that strengthens, satisfies, and fills the
soul with happiness, when studying and learning something
new. It seems possible for one to be one of the seers, one of
earth's blessed ones like Michael Angelo, and see with
eyes of faith, even if the hands be unable to carve, the beau
tiful angels in the cold shapeless stone. * * * In
Florence is the church Carmine where are some wonderful
frescoes from which the old masters drew their inspiration.
Now, in other halls, other artists draw from the old masters.
2 8o UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
Rather strange, is it not, this persistency in copying?
Surely there is something lacking, energy or lack of apprecia
tion. Nature never tires the lover, for it always enriches,
it comforts, but it does not corrupt. Hoard up its treasures,
its riches as we may, we cannot exhaust or impoverish her, for
there are boundless blessings for one and all to search. There
is peace, harmony and healing in the wandering winds, soul-
satisfying harmonies of quivering leaves and rustling grasses,
the songs of birds and faint murmurings of waters, the hum
of insects, the fleecy clouds piled high, changing, disappear
ing, reappearing in fantastic forms, but always attractive in
ephemeral loveliness. In whatever form or aspect viewed,
the earth and the heavens never pall or cloy the artist, the
rich or the poor; all find an inexhaustible supply and the
appetite of the appreciative is never sated.
I wonder at the artists and the demand of the public for
the same copies as the years go by; battered angels, footless
madonnas, a torso, a noseless face, all are sketched, and the
hundreds of madonnas painted with the brassy aureole hang
ing miraculously above their all-unconscious heads. The
bloated bow-legged Christ child in evidence everywhere
before which adoring people bow, is neither human or divine
according to> my idea of form, except in a few cases and
they are easily picked out of the hundred and more in the
two galleries.
Just to show you I am appreciative I will ease your mind
by saying I like the "Annunciation," by Andrea del Sarto,
and the "Madonna in Affliction" and "Cumean Sybil," by
Sassoferrato. Titian's "Flora" and "La Madeline," Guido
Reni's "Cleopatra" and "Triumph of David" by Rubens,
all appeal to me, as do hosts of others. But in these days
of ready-made clothing and in the made-to-order-while-you-
wait age, I wonder if machine-made paintings will not soon
be in vogue and the ambitious artist will be simply a machin
ist. If so, there might be some compensation. There will
be fewer copies, less of the nightmare representations of
Beatrice Cenci and newer subjects. * * * Don't
think I have fallen from grace or that I am losing my appre
ciation of art. It is not so and I have been scribbling some
FROM THE WORLD 281
of my thoughts to you while feasting my eyes at intervals
upon scenes described. I will paint a picture of a certain
spot that will interest you; and I will bring it that you may
refresh your memory. And, now from Fiesole 1 am going
back to Firenze,^is the natives love to call Florence, down
that dream of a road built not by taxation, but by issuing
patents of nobility to Americans and Englishmen who were
willing to pay for a false title in the days of Tuscany's grand
dukes, that admission might be obtained within the charmed
circle. Regretfully I shall say good-bye to the quaint old
town of Fiesole, that was old when Rome was in its infancy;
its dirty but picturesque beggars, who make a pretense of
braiding straw into fancy baskets and fans for the souvenir
hunter. I will take a last glance at the Vale d'Arno from
the plateau in front of the Franciscan Church and drink in
the ineffable beauty of the scene.
The dear old earth is so beautiful, it is not strange, dear,
that we forget at times to look heavenward. The eye of faith
is hardly strong enough to see beyond this earth, God's glori
ous footstool; and how glad, how more than thankful am I,
that it has been permitted me to see a little of this dear world.
And I know it has made a better woman of me. I am trying
to improve myself as best I can by observation and study.
Some things interest me fully as much as my description
of places written you. In Italy and in Florence particularly
I am interested in the people of today, while thinking of the
depravity that existed and that reached its height under
Lorenzo de Medici, the need of Savonarola's presence, his
teachings and I think of the eight years' work how his
voice rang through the turbulent city that wanted him at that
particular time. I have lingered in the Duomo and the square
that once echoed back the voice of Savonarola, pleading,
asking these impressionable people to turn to something bet
ter. How well he succeeded for a time, and the strong
tide of reform that drew people irresistibly by its strength
into an atmosphere of fasting and prayer, of self-renuncia
tion of the vanities of life you perhaps remember to have
read.
I have gazed upon the statue and fountain where the man
who worked for the good of his people was burned and have
282
UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
mused upon the reaction and think how unreal, unstable are
the emotions that sway humanity. A people who fasted and
prayed, who not only renounced the vanities of life, but sacri
ficed in their foolish frenzy pictures, statues and rare books
things that could not be to them necessities were brought
untold treasures and heaped together and consigned to the
flames, even as he, the author and instigator of the reform,
was sacrificed later on.
MONUMENT IN FLORENCE WHERE SAVONAROLA WAS BURNED.
I look down upon the city beautiful in its environments. I
think of it in the fifteenth century in the height of its splen
dor, one of the most cultured as well as one of the most
beautiful of Italian cities, the center of intellectual and
artistic life, a model of all that was elegant, and wonder at
the inconsistency of human nature. Her people are quiet
now; there is not the pomp of other centuries. Yet her
charm is felt by all who come within her gates. There are
art treasures that enthrall one in her galleries, her churches
FROM THE WORLD 283
and museums. The old Duomo, the Baptistry, with the won
derful bronze gates, the Campanile, and her historic streets,
the Arno and fair environs touch the heart. History and
mystery cling to the palaces and walls and cling to one's
heart, leaving ineflaceable impressions.
Florence has fallen from her exalted state. Mutations of
time give food for thought, my dear, until one's mind flags
and begs for rest and lighter themes. I get tired of too much
history. So much of the old, that dates back to the dim old
Etruscan times and days of Dante, Michael Angelo, Boc-
cacio, and Galileo, all figure in Florence, the Medici-haunted
city, and swing back and forth through my mental vision like
the pendulum in Galileo's dreams. And I, tired, turn away
from it all, even as the sun turned away from the earth in
Galileo's dream, and seek a well earned and needed rest.
EDITH.
XXXII
"Shall we meet no more, my love, at the binding
of the sheaves,
In the happy harvest fields as the sun sinks
low,
When the orchard paths are dim with the drift
of fallen leaves,
As the reapers sing together in the misty eves?"
The cluster of houses called a town is rimmed by white
alkali earth and stunted grasses, which stretching away in
endless desolation is spotted like a leper. The desert lies hot
and glittering in the heat waves, a desolate thing cursed
by God and man. In its terrorizing alkaline sterility, water-
forgotten and God-forsaken, this sun-cursed land that has
been pierced by the sun's red shafts since the earth was
young, and even before the hand of Cain was lifted and the
greedy earth drank his brother's blood, seems crying for ven
geance in its desolation.
It is ever at war with life, and makes the bravest aware
of its personality; in its cruel heat which dries and shrivels,
in its lying, phantom-like semblance of lakes and rivers, which
are alluring and enticing a demon in its blasts of whirling,
blinding, circling sand devils, which choke and blind those
who dare its desolate wind-swept places, appalling in its
tragedies and yet compelling admiration in its inexorable
calm, its steady undefeated purposes.
The pulse of life, the soft but persistent heart-beats which
one seems to hear or feel running in mystical regularity
among growing, active things, where the sap pulses through
plant life and makes itself known, where one can watch things
grow, cannot be imagined here.
The tiny brook stealing its way timidly among the ferns
and mosses contains the embryo force of murmuring rivers,
and eternal, living activity. Indifferent to all, it is only
achieving its purpose, doing its part in the great plan of the
universe.
284
FROM THE WORLD 285
So does the desert. In some inexplicable way its sterile
soil, shriveled and warped by the sun, dumb in its stillness
and silence, the dreadful silence that lies on the land where
the quivering heat waves sting and burn the face of the
intruder; the hot Breath coming in its furnace-like heat, seems
to whisper "Keep away if you would not share the eternal
silence and desolation of my realm."
I am strengthened in a way, Aileen, as I abide here. The
vastness of the rolling leagues of emptiness, a visionary pano
rama glowing with heat and a grayish whiteness, pathless
wastes of sand, depth, space, mystery and calm, a calm that
seems to appeal to me, that is companionable, for it exerts
a powerful influence upon me, though I have been only a
short time within its confines the withered earth, the rigid
mystery of crumbling sand banks, showing dry waterless
streams reaching to dimly seen mountains, which show like
condensed shadows, darkly blue in places, shading to lighter
tints in others, on the one side; on the other, the desert lies
without boundary lines like my life, it seems. Yet toward
the mountains there is an uplifting of heights above the level,
though promising nothing, they caused a tremor in my nearly
hopeless heart, as if there might be something beyond the
desolation spread out before me.
I have had my hours of desolation, of agony and soul
torture, and the hardest of all is the thought that I have not
deserved it. Like the One, my enemies have triumphed for
the time at least, through treachery and deceit. I am almost
hopeless, pride is lowered to the very dust, and life is a thing
only to be endured. The dull cold hand of despair has
gripped my heart. All the warmth and brightness that was
once mine are drowned by the tears that fall inward. There
are wounds made by words that are deeper, more lasting
than any blows which might have fallen from hands.
There is no music in my heart now, only a sobbing wail
that cries out against the injustice of others. So my burden
seems indeed greater than I can bear. * * * I
came here and found the desert appealed to my mood. There
is something in the gigantic spaces and unknown leagues of
emptiness that, while giving the impression of unutterable
286 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
freedom, there lurks in the thought that there also lies deso
lation and death. There is a tragic air in every aspect pre
sented by this region of green-gray shrubbery and glistening
alkali semblance of earth, where in its mystery of mirage, one
sees the representation of other sections q>f earth blessed by
beautiful green things that a well-watered and fertile soil
brings forth to gladden all animate beings.
Here, about all that the withered and wrinkled earth can
do is to give an imitation in her mirage of things the observer
has seen elsewhere. I have found this arid Arizona even
more desolate than 1 had imagined it to be. Sterile nature is
here, in the white, powdered alkali wastes where the
sun pours down its unrelenting rays, beating hotly and
mercilessly upon the mysterious desert with its illusions of
sparkling rivers, of forests, its wealth of color. I see the
blended tints of amethyst, mauve and violet change into dull
slate, and the rich ripe apricot yellows, topaz, and chromes,
die into a pale gray. And then black night draws its veil
of mystery over the illusions of the flaming, changing, allur
ing but dreadful desert stretching on and on to the terra
incognita the Mexican border that has drawn so many
within its death-loving embrace.
Amid these scenes of desolation that possess a strange fas
cination for me I think of you, Aileen, breathing the pure
incense laden atmosphere of the Sierras; nature's best and
most invigorating medicine, which comes sweeping along a
range that is beautiful to you and to me, veiled in the haze
of dreamland, for it is as though I pictured you in dreams.
I can see with you the web-like intricate tracery of boughs
etched against the sapphire skies. I hear the wind-sprites
playing soft illusive airs, music that saddens to the verge of
tears, yet with a sweetness that touches the soul.
You are feeling, dear Aileen, in your heart what the winds
are whispering to you, and they are telling you that I am
thinking of you, my friend of friends. The sounds come to
you like the "horns of elf land," and they tell you of my
pain and desolation, and the thought that you understand
and sympathize is much to me indeed.
While you are enjoying the breezes that come pure and
clean from an atmosphere of untrodden snow that invigor-
FROM THE WORLD 287
ates like draughts of wine, I feel the hot, scorching winds
that shrivel and kill while they caress.
I look upon the boughs of the yucca trees that are bent
and twisted as if in pain, bitter and terrible in their gaunt
and distorted seenblance of other trees. They stand
in gray stubbornness, resisting the blasting heat, the sand
storms and siroccos that swoop down, bearing fine particles
of sand caught in hot haste; which also beat and force me
back from their domain, the deathlike region of waterless
wastes. They catch me in their whirling winds and send
fierce gusts stinging and scorching against my face, forcing
the hot breath of the desert down my throat. Then they
clutch and pull me on and on as I ride over the ghastly
region, calling, compelling in their mysterious strength to
their haunts of oblivion, where remembrance cannot hurt in
the nothingness of desolation beyond.
But the horrible Something of the desert that seemed so
sure of me created within me a spirit that was aroused to
combat with unseen forces. I had thought of myself as dead
in life, but I found here an irresistible influence had taken
possession of me. I became aware that deep within me were
voices unintelligible at first, but clamoring for recognition,
and at last I understood. They were the voices of the poor,
distorted imitation of trees, of shrubs, gray, almost lifeless,
fighting the pitiless elements, bravely clinging to life, that
was apparently useless. They were fulfilling nature's plans
and obeying her laws.
The desert has taught me a lesson I had not expected to
learn. Life here is sustained by unseen forces and it seems
as if they were doing penance or expiation terrible and bitter
for some sin against nature. While other fortunate trees
grow in sweet oases, in the hills, and valleys, by sea-swept
edges and murmuring rivers; these born of the dust of the
savage fecundity of the desert exist for some purpose amid
the wastes that sear and crackle under the sun's fierce heat.
These seem to have awakened a kindred feeling in my
breast. There may be some purpose in this sorrow, this
grief I do not know. I look upward to the distant moun
tains and see a gleam of brightness, and I think though my
288 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
life is one of gloom and monotony, that though it is one of sad
ness, yet some little lightening of the burden may yet be mine,
when if I can reach the heights up the steep path that fate
has placed in my way, I may even yet attain a well earned
and welcome rest. ^
Yet only a little while longer will I remain here upon the
cactus-haunted mesa, and look upon the great gray stretches
of desert that in the uncomplaining silence is teaching me and
helping in a way. My weary soul and tortured heart find
a strange companionship in this lifeless desert. For do I not
know the resemblance? My horizon was bounded by the
great love that filled the limited world for me limited, for
in all its width and breadth, there was only the man whose
love made my known world fair and sweet, only to leave
it desolate and seared like those white spots amid the gray
sage brush that seems to draw back from them, though almost
as white and lifeless as the barren soil. Yet they struggle
to live, and surely if life is preferable to the poor stunted
grasses to dust and oblivion, it may hold in it yet something
for me.
And in the purple distances in the hidden regions where
the desert and sky meet, there seems to be peace, and its
influences are soothing, for there is something that appeals
to me and my puny self. My longing seems so insignificant,
that I feel more than ever in my life my littleness and I
feel also that the desert has taught me a lesson, for it too
is doing its part in the great plan. 1 can only be patient as
I may hoping that all will be for the best that all this
is for some purpose, for some good.
The yucca's pure white obelisk rears its head on the low
hillsides which rise above the hot desert sands. They stand
singly or in groups like monuments in a graveyard. I know
not how they draw the moisture from those dry, arid hill
sides and the hot sands lower down. In the scorching hot
air, the yucca and the bayonet plant thrive, and the soft white
fragrant flower bells wave in the faint breeze pure and sweet
above the parched earth from whence they spring. They
make me feel more cheerful. Out of the Sahara of my life
may I not hope for something green and tender, something
FROM THE WORLD 289
helpful, hopeful and loving that will yet be mine if I can
only wait God's own time and trust in his abiding love and
tenderness.
These lance-like shafts pointing heavenward are nature's
fair, sweet monuments, teaching that above the grave of my
buried hopes and happiness possibly my life may yet be filled
with fragrance and joy.
Now and then I see a grave here and there by the way
side that tells mutely of some earthworn and weary creatures
who were not content with their limitations, or like myself
forced to wander far, following where hope, illusive but
sweet, cheered them on through days, and in the night's shad
ows brooded softly and tenderly over the tired senses until
sleep even the last sleep shut out the whole universe and
gave them heaven's sweetest boon rest.
So I think, as we speed along, dear Aileen, for now I am
going on toward Mexico, that they have found their limita
tions indeed, and that the pitiful length and scant breadth are
roomy enough now for the earth-tossed and tired beings, who
loved freedom and change, who had their joys and sorrows,
who hoped, feared and suffered, laughed and wept. Now
the few miserable feet of earth claims for all its cycles those
who died here the unknown and unsatisfied, who met
defeat calmly or otherwise, but defeat certainly, else their
bones might be in some spot where human feet would pause
and some hand drop a flower now and then.
I think of many things as the train speeds along, for I am
following your wishes and trying to find out if change will
help me to forget. Dear God! If only I may forget and
endure with more fortitude ! I cannot, according to St.
James, "Rejoice when I fall into many trials." I do not
rejoice; I simply endure them with what little strength I have.
If it be in the loneliness of my secret thoughts and hurts,
my blighted hopes and ambitions, that I am tried and proven,
then perhaps it may be worth while. Yet I cannot under
stand why the storms of life are necessary to mortals, any
more than they are to the flowers and plants God has created.
I think of the beauty and perfection of hot-house plants
that are kept away from the blight of the storms, of scorch-
290 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
ing winds and winter's cold. Then I think of how the flowers
look in the fields out in the storm and tempest. Suffering has
not strengthened me. Does the shaken tree grow firmer at
the root? Yes, until an extra blast sends it shivering and
broken to the earth and its life is done.
1 think of myself as one of those wind-swept flowers that
I have often seen after a pitiless storm has passed over the
fields. I think, too, of my girlhood, surrounded by an atmos
phere of purity and heavenly sweetness, of the tenderness that
hedged me in, and the thought comes to me like a barbed
arrow. But the thoughts and the loneliness do not kill. I
would they could and so end it only to die and forget for-
getfulness and a dreamless sleep, is all I ask.
Do you wonder? You who know how my life is spoiled;
how I am driven a wanderer from home. I have tried to
cultivate a patient and meek spirit, have wearied heaven
with my prayers and tears that seem useless and unavailing.
Yet at times I rebel and wonder why I am denied my birth
right, my inheritance, as a being created by a God of love,
to go through the world starving for affection, while a man
lives who cares nothing for me and my helplessness. Would
I might find some heaven-sent teacher who could sweeten
my misfortune and make my life happy by reason or
philosophy.
I have no sage to teach me wisdom, and I cannot live and
comply cheerfully with my wrecked hopes and broken heart.
I shall have one consolation that this agony of unrest cannot
last long, and I will not fear oblivion which will free me
from all life's miseries. I fondly hope that in another exist
ence I may be happier than in this one. If not, I pray God
that there be no awakening for me.
But if death should mean an intermission of a life that
will return again, what have I to hope for beyond the grave?
I want no broken remembrances of this world; I want only
rest and oblivion of all that has wrought me woe and agony.
My whole being pleads and yearns for the faith my mother
had, the faith she tried so hard to instill in my mind. I
should like to feel what heaven is after so much hell on earth.
I should like to feel that I shall know her and my little baby
that I scarcely remember. I want to think that it would be
FROM THE WORLD . 291
heaven indeed to hold her in my arms, and that some time,
in God's own time and way, that among all the angels and
tiosts of heaven I may find my own dear love, who will
lave seen his error and come up the shining way cleansed
and made pure from the wrongs he has done, purified from
the dross of the world, repentant and forgiven.
But I have not the faith now, dear Aileen. The mystery
of life, the unsolved mystery of death of the hereafter, if
I only knew if only I could have something definite, except
blind faith, which is only a belief, or as we hypnotize our
selves into the idea, that the hereafter shall be as we hope,
or desire. But for me there is no rent in the gray veil that
separates the hereafter from this life, whereby I might have
a glimpse, one ray of hope, of comfort, or a certainty of
what heaven might be for me.
As it is, heaven that seemed so near to me in my childhood,
that I thought I could reach it from the top of those poor
little hills, is even beyond the reach of my feeble prayers, for
they seem rather to fall back and my heart echoes the cry
useless, useless ! I turn from the unattainable and vague to
your human sympathy, which is dearer to me than you can
ever know. My heart yearns for your love.
My hands are held your way, and I seem to feel your
strong warm clasp, and something sweet and consoling comes
back to me, for I feel that you know, that you will help, and
aid me, if you can.
Since writing the above, Aileen, I feel that I have been
selfish far more than I knew, probably, in burdening you with
my sorrows. I shall try to keep self more out of my letters.
You ask me to write of what I see and enjoy. I have not
your appreciation, but will do the best I can to portray nature
and her wonders, her moods as I see them; shall try to occupy
myself as much as possible and give you an idea how I am
progressing. I am going because you asked me to go, and
am going to try to be as much of my old self as possible.
I must store my mind, grow mentally and physically strong
for the time when you will send for me see how hopeful
I grow as I write telling me that I shall be welcome that
the past will be only as an evil dream and that my love shall
be my own again. RUTH.
XXXIII
-
"Some say that when all the plants in the garden of Eden were
pulled up by the roots, one bush the angel had planted was left growing
and it spread its seed over the whole earth, and its name is Love."
I am burning joss-sticks and incense to your memory, Edith
dear, in El Nido , my nest, where I am spending some very
quiet, happy days, perched on a jutting crag above the ocean
the dear old Pacific we both love, where the waves break
upon the solid rocks far below me. I shall not tell you just
where I have built my nest that is to be a surprise to you
when you return birds do not herald the fact to other birds
the whereabouts of their quiet nests. But some sweet day I
hope to bring you here.
There are untold nooks in our hundreds of miles of Cali
fornia coast line places known and unknown; and suffice
it for the present that you only know that my particular nest
lies between the sea and the sky. Yet nearer the sea than
the heavens, though the clouds hang so low they trail
through the feathery tops of the tall pines, which stand like
grim, immovable sentinels, guarding me on the landward side.
I feel the salt spray on my face and the tang in my nostrils.
My eyes never tire of the kaleidoscopic effect of the waters
the swirl of the currents about the sunken reefs, the sun-
glints on the waves and the wind-tossed clouds scurrying
across the blue skies which are scarcely equaled by the Italian
skies you are enjoying.
The cloud shadows chase each other over the dimpling v
sparkling waters. Bits of vapor from the fog-land lying in
the dim distance are blown in now and then, while away off
to my left a great white, sinuous, living thing, is creeping
up the canon, expanding, growing, changing into foaming,
rolling masses of greyish-white that smooth out the sharp
outline of crag and peak in the deep ravines, leaving a wisp
here and there on the pines. Flaunting streamers wave tri
umphantly, then disappear, while the great mass pushes
292
FROM THE WORLD 293
steadily and rapidly upwards, a stream that goes up hill,
that in its soft intangibleness is uncanny in its weirdness, yet
resistless as time itself. Nothing can stay its progress. The
waves of the ocean can only go so far, moan and thunder
in rage as they do, but this great fog-stream of nothingness
is all powerful, and is like death in its coldness; yet though
it covers like a pall the beautiful hills and sparkling waters
at times and shuts the sun from me, I know that it cannot
endure except for a time, that the earth and the heavens
are unchangeable that they are not lost, only for the mo
ment, and that the fog, symbolical of death, leaves no terrors
to those who understand.
What dreams come to me, dear, when nestled in the
warmth of my nest, sheltered from winds and fogs. Mem
ory brings up other days, other scenes, which are varied as
the changing tints on the shifting uncertain waters. There
are, notes of half-forgotten songs I have sung with you
and friends we both love. Both you and they are now beyond
my hand clasp, but never in this world, or the next if God
wills beyond the reach of my love, the tenderness of which
is with you now wherever you are. * * Do you not
know and feel how my thoughts and my love are with you,
when you are weary with the toil of seeing and thinking
of dead ages, of people and ruins, that have passed away
like the fog-wraiths at noontide ? When you muse upon the
complexities of life and are wearied to the verge of human
endurance, you will feel that I am with you in spirit; that
I am asking, entreating you to come, to drift back from the
Old World to the New World of ours and find rest with me.
We would walk along the beach and climb the rugged
rocks. We would ride or drive along the unparalleled coast,
where the hills dabble their feet in the water of the glorious
green-blue ocean, which has cut the solid rocks in serrated
ridges and charming caves. We would look out upon the
world of surging waters that were before Nero's Golden
House was dreamed of on the Palatine, before Rome, or
your Etruscan relics were, before the pyramids; even back
to the dim beginning of things, these waters had their cease
less ebb and flow, coming in full and strong, rising up to
294 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
their limitations; then back and back, drawing away from
the line in sullen fury, yet certain and sure of its daily
rise and fall, sure of its own vast realm as it sweeps in angry
roars or uncontrolled fury, or shining in its peaceful moods
like a great, glittering, sparkling gem under the glowing sun.
I love the ocean in its peaceful moods, as I do when the
storms gather, and the winds lash the limitless sweep of
waters into a terrible frenzy, when the waves thunder and
beat against the walls that sustain me, crashing into hollow
nooks and sea-worn caves, bellowing in fury and unbounded
strength. It seems then that I love it in its fury more than
in its calmer moods.
Again we would rest among those gnarled sombre cypress
trees that stand guard on that point of land jutting out into
the sea Cypress Point. You remember the weird magnifi
cence of those trees, for there are none others like them.
They are of themselves a part, like the cedars of Lebanon,
grand and majestic in their isolation; well might the trees
in Eden, "that were in the garden of God" of which Ezekiel
wrote envy them ; only all the trees here are in God's coun
try and there is no envy. All are blest because of location.
We would gather mosses and frail sweet flowers and our
own State flower, the bright yellow poppy, or eschscholtzia.
Do you know that the Indians call them the Great Spirit
Flower, believing that the golden petals dropping year after
year into the earth, sank and gradually formed the bright
metal for which the strangers were ever searching.
And while recounting legends to you, we would watch
the changing tints that charm me as if it were always the
first time, and while feasting our eyes on the scenery, we
would go down to that old, old Carmel Mission, where the
very flesh of history is under the quaint tiled roof, and in the
solemn silence we could hear its heart-beats echoing up against
the arches.
Or, as I have sat and mused, wondering at times as the
sounds of waters came to my ears, beating, moaning, calling
in vain endeavor to be understood by the material soul in
me which cannot understand the mystery of the soul of the
waters, that have come in ceaseless ebb and flow during the
FROM THE WORLD 295
cycles dating back to the time when the waters were divided,
and were "gathered together unto one place."
1 revel in the struggle. There is something that appeals
to another phase in my nature. There seems to be something
in the depths of my being that has slept until the storms
experienced here awoke the warring instinct within me. And
I feel that I could do, and dare anything, that I could go
forth armed for any conflict, my spirit ready for any encoun
ter, and like the sea, knowing its limitations, yet sure in its
strength to conquer in the end.
So with the mood strong upon me I will go hence in a
little time, prepared to do and dare all that is possible for
a woman and a friend to do.
After the storm, calmness and peace ! The hills dim and
gray are wreathed in foamy white clouds, a purple haze at
noontide reaching half way up their sloping sides, and as
the day wears away a rose tint at eventide, capped by a nebu
lous vapor, ghost-like in its strange configurations, lies back
of El Nido, making a strange fascinating picture. And
whichever way I turn, either looking on land or sea, I see
pictures it were well worth your while to come and paint.
Here is the wide world of waters with their unfathomed
secrets now dimpling with delight under the glittering sun
beams. The breath of flowers and pungent odors of the pine
forests are mixed and mingled with the salty sea air. The
palms wave in the breeze and great live oaks drowse farther
down there on the plains, making great splashes of shade
where the cattle rest, or stand and eat the tall lush grasses.
I hear the faint sound of tinkling bells from the distant
herds landward, while far below me comes up to my willing
ears the music of the sea, soft, tender, and strangely sad,
in its moaning sounds, which move me and stir my soul, and
which cause me to listen, to hearken for a voice from the
depths that will tell me the cause of its grief.
Then, when the spirits of the wind with deft fingers draw
the filmy veil of vapor across the sinking sun, blotting out
the fair scene, I light the lamps of my nest, draw the cur
tains, and forget the world of mystery and its moans outside
296
UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
in the commonplace but very reasonable and desirable affairs
of life and a good dinner.
"Where the hooded clouds, like friars tell their beads in
drops of rain." Indescribably thrilling was the dawn in all
the newness of a day washed clean, as the dripping clouds
rolled away and the morning came fresh and bright as the
first one, when God said "Let there be light," when the
dawn took the pale, sombre dying night in her fair arms,
CALIFORNIA LIVE OAK.
flung her gleaming mantle abroad, and darkness, the dawn's
twin sister, rested in the warmth and glory, the brightness and
peace of the newborn day.
I felt new and young myself as I stood with windswept
garments reveling in the splendor of the day's awakening.
Sails flashed here and there like birds on the quiet waters.
There are dim blues and greens enough to satisfy you; and
you could certainly draw your inspirations from pictures seen
here but never equaled, as portrayed on canvas. A witch-
like light, evanescent as one's pleasures, shows brightly here
and there, chasing shadowy forms fleeting as they are
beautiful.
FROM THE WORLD 297
I find I have a greater reverence for this world of ours,
as I have the time to study her moods, and understand more
fully the wonderful harmony that exists, that soothes inhar
monious thoughts and irritating counter currents of human
influence. I imbibe the atmosphere of this place and feel
strengthened by the forces of nature about me. Soothed,
calmed, and quieted by the peacefulness, as well as stirred
by nature's fury, each mood leaves its impressions that are
to be remembered, that will come to me again and again,
like an echo of music, long after the strings are silent. Just
as the murmuring sounds from the pine trees heard in my
dream-haunted slumbers last night will abide with me, the
soft, tender cadence mixed with the visions seen here will
never quite die away, I think, until the great and last silence
overtakes me.
My mind has gathered serenity and quiet in the wide
spaces, aye, wisdom which according to Socrates "is for the
silent places, not for the mobs." And 1 am learning to agree
with the things that are. The philosophy of contentment I
am wrestling with now.
I remember having read some time that happiness is inci
dental, not an aim. If so, are we not all seeking the inciden
tals? The accessories help make the picture and what would
life be without incidentals and accessories. I have wanted
but one thing in this world. I think therein lies my happi
ness. I may yet learn that it is not necessary and that I am
selfish in my desires * * * *
I thought when I wrote the foregoing that by this time
you would be reading the finished letter. I gave you an
idea of my mornings and my evenings at El Nido. After I
had written the last page, I went through the beautiful forest
for a stroll. Unconsciously I wandered farther than usual,
down toward the valley, lost in meditation and scarcely
observing where I wandered, until I found myself upon the
highway. A sound of horses feet came to my ears and almost
instantly a man on horseback came around a bend in the
road. Can you not understand that my heart almost stopped
beating when I recognized the rider was Bert Wilder? He
298 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
pulled on the reins, slowed down and was passing by when
a flash of recognition came into his eyes.
"Surely this is Miss Livingston?"
"Yes, Mr. Wilder wherever did you come from?"
"1 am away from the city on my vacation with some
friends. We are in tents over yonder," pointing to another
range of hills crowned with giant redwood trees. "We hunt,
fish and are energetic or lazy as we choose. I did not care
to fish, thought I would enjoy a ride this lovely morning.
But tell me what are you doing so far away from the city
and alone in the forest?"
"Like yourself I am enjoying an outing. Am also lazy
or energetic as I choose. My home for the present is up
there on that crag overhanging the sea. No, you cannot
see the house but it is there with a cook, my maid, and my
aunt for a chaperon."
"And do you not feel lonely?"
I felt 1 must begin acting; the staging was good. It might
do very well for a scene in Robin Hood, so I answered, that
I had begun to feel restless and a bit lonely, but that I must
try to be content as I had planned for a stay of a month
or more.
"Why, we had thought of staying here three or four
weeks also," he said. Then, after a pause, asked, "Might
I not call? I would love to see you and your home on the
cliff."
"I shall be delighted, Mr. Wilder, to have you come
it is a long time since we met; we must renew our acquaint
ance. You know do you not that I have been away from
San Francisco for two or three years and have lost track of
many of my old friends."
I saw a puzzled look come into his eyes he was wondering
1 think if I knew anything of his marriage; he was not
married when I saw him last, as you perhaps know. And
I fancy Ruth, in her first flush of joy and subsequent unhappi-
ness, had perhaps never mentioned my name to him as I was
away at the time. If so all the better. I would w r ait and
allow him to explain if he so desired.
FROM THE WORLD 299
"If it will not interfere with the morning ride, lead your
horse and come up with me, as I am farther away than I am
accustomed to go when alone."
We loitered on the way talking of old acquaintances, of
my travels, until we reached the little house on the hill.
He was very generous in his praises as we sat looking out
over the waters.
"This is simply heavenly," he said. "I think I could live
here forever if only " he paused.
"I know," I replied, "how you feel. If only the heart
were satisfied and had its desire."
"You understand and appreciate?" he said.
"I have thought so when I sat here in the glorious moon
light nights and watched the shining silvery path leading
across the waters. And in the forests also, one needs a com
panion who appreciates and sympathizes, you know."
"I wonder why you are alone your aunt is too old to
accompany you, or to be a companion suitable for your
young life."
"I know of no one here. I wanted two or three they
are somewhere in the world who would be with me if in
California. But I am not easily suited. Solitude is far
better for me than the company of people who cannot enter
into my moods, or appreciate the things I love."
I thought of you, Edith, and of poor Ruth also, and a
sob almost escaped my lips. My eyes must have been rather
moist he gave a quick glance of sympathy.
"I think I know," he said softly, then arising continued
"1 have made rather a lengthy call and must not encroach
on your time."
It was near the luncheon hour, so I begged him to remain
for auntie's sake, if not for mine. I told him she was anxious
to hear from the city. She did not know Mr. Wilder or his
history she has been living East for several years, but knows
a lot of people in San Francisco. Needless to say, he stayed
and it was well on in the afternoon before he left.
"May I come again?" he asked with the pleading look
in his eyes Bert knows so well how to use.
300
UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"I should think I had been remiss as hostess and an old
friend if you failed to come, and soon," I replied in my
most persuasive tones.
Well, dear, he has come and gone several times, staying
until auntie has ideas in her head. She does not know he is
a married man, and thinks it would be proper for him to
fall in love with me, as it is her heart's best wish to see me
married. I have assured her that his people are of the best,
which is true, and that he has money enough, which 1 do not
particularly need, as you know. So she is satisfied and not
as anxious about the matter in reality as I am. I hate my part,
yet I must not falter for Ruth's sake.
I am off for a ride with Bert now. We are going down
to the meadows *
Listen and you will hear, with me, the lark with the earth
tinge upon his back and its hidden gold upon his breast
our California lark you know and love its notes which is
an embodiment of song, gladness and contentment. Aloha.
Love for the day and hope for the morrow.
AILEEN.
XXXIV
"That man is wise among us, and hath understanding of things
divine, who hath nobly agreed with necessity."
I have had a surprise, old boy, one that has stirred me
mentally more than anything that has happened for ages. I
wired Fred to meet me in Jalapa, as I had no desire to go
back to the City of Mexico. He was a little late in coming,
for I had about finished viewing the charming old city and
the suburbs a portion of which I wrote you. When return
ing one evening from a jaunt in the country, I found Fred
at the hotel. He looked well, but seemed nervous. After
chatting a while I said: "You do not seem in a very tranquil
frame of mind. Is it because of the fair senoritas? "
"Don't be a donkey because you have been traveling with
them lately," he said rather testily. After a pause he con
tinued: "It is not a senorita that disturbs the uneven tenor
of my way but a senora."
"Oh, Fred," I broke in, "you of all men and a married
woman, too."
"Yes, and you of all men will be interested also about a
married woman when I tell you that I have traveled from
the City of Mexico with not only one but two senoras and
one I shall turn over to your tender mercies very shortly
the younger I'll be generous," and he smiled.
"Don't be mysterious. I have had a steady diet of
mysteries for weeks give me something not disguised with
mayonnaise dressing."
"Well, brace yourself, my friend Frank, for the surprise
of the tropics. By the merest chance, in the City of Mexico,
I came across two of our countrywomen and one was Ruth
Wilder your old friend!"
Well, Jack, if a few hundred volts of stray electricity had
struck me 1 don't think the shock would have been greater.
"Whatever is Ruth doing down here?" I asked. "Is it
a case of more mystery?"
301
302 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"Not of mystery but of devilishness, from the little I can
glean from a heart-broken woman. Ruth has said but little
or nothing, I might say, but her maid, who is a widow, is
not so secretive and as she is rather a shrewd person, she
understands the case pretty well I think. She has told me
all she knows. There was a cousin of Wilder who was at
their home in Monterey. Her child was born there and
there is some mystery the maid cannot fathom. At any rate
Wilder has cast Ruth adrift. He left her, and she, heart
broken and humiliated, is traveling. None of her old friends
except Aileen Livingston knows where she is, at present.
She was delighted to see me and asked eagerly about you.
When I told her I was to meet you here, she said she would
come, too, if I did not mind that one place was as good as
another to her if only she could keep traveling. She is sweet
and gentle and does not intrude on one's time or patience, so
I could not refuse. I hope you won't care."
"I would if it were anyone else, but it would be brutal
not to exert ourselves for the sake of that poor little woman.
1 could never have believed that Wilder was such a beast."
"We will not discuss him. Get ready for dinner and we
will meet her without further comment at present," replied
Fred.
Jack, my old pal, I have never seen a woman change more
in two years than Ruth Wilder. It makes my fingers crook
with longings to choke the man who could mistreat a woman
like Ruth. I have never seen such a look of unutterable sad
ness and woe in anyone's eyes before. She tries to bear up
bravely and when she attempted to say something about not
being well and traveling for her health, I simply said: "Do
not talk of it now I know all that is necessary and what I
do know does not redound to the credit of Bert Wilder."
"Let us not talk about what he has done. I want to for
get if possible," she said, and the tears sprang to her eyes.
She turned quickly that I might not see them, but I know
too well that she still loves the man who has forgotten his
vows to her. You have told me little in your notes; if you
know more write me. If not, forget that I have seen her,
or know that she is here.
FROM THE WORLD 303
And now I will write you of our journey to Vera Cruz.
On leaving Jalapa for Vera Cruz I was delighted to see
a Pullman car attached to the train. I hurriedly stepped
upon the platform, with pleasant anticipations of a comfort
able seat in the car, free from dust, smoke and other ills.
A colored porter met me at the door.
"Can we have a seat in this car to Vera Cruz?" I asked.
"No sir. This car, she do stay right here," he replied.
"Well, if 'she do,' far be it from me to interfere," I said, so
meekly and patiently we all went into the next car, which
was even before starting comfortably filled with people and
smoke. Ruth entered into the spirit of the thing with very
good grace. When I tried to explain that there are no cars
exempt from smoke except the Pullmans, she said she did
not mind, it was a new experience; and added in a pleasant
vein of humor:
"I have learned a good deal in the short time I have been
traveling in Mexico and I never thought I would like to be
a man until I traveled in this country. But to be a man and
to smoke cigars and cigarettes, and have nice, yellow-tinted
fingers, to wear a sombrero and a look of felicity that cannot
be imitated well, the idea of reincarnation has its charms,
and beatissimi hora when the time comes I may then
understand and enjoy."
The train sped on through a region clothed in a gorgeous
mantle of tropical hues. The road clung to the mountain
sides and at times we seemed to be floating along on the
tree-tops. Then we had glimpses of the plains checkered
by plantations of sugar-cane and the fields of coffee, where
the bananas tossed their broad leaves in the winds and cast
a cooling shade on the tender young coffee trees.
We flew through forests where the trees were laden with
great hanging baskets of moss, orchids and vines, and the
bright red lance-like leaves of the ambitious Castilian corn
which, scorning the earth, takes root in some broken bit of
bark or crevice in the mossy old trees, helped with their
vivid coloring to make a picture which even nature in her
happiest moods could not improve.
There were multitudes of horseshoe curves and a won
derful track where we could look a thousand feet below and
3 o 4 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
see loops and curves of the road showing through the green
mists of the trees.
Then I saw the Sugar Loaf Mt. Cerro Gordo where
was fought one of the hardest battles of the Mexican war.
There, too, were views reminding me of the Palisades of the
Hudson. Lower down I saw the thatched huts of the natives,
shaded by palms and cocoanut trees. We went over a vast
tract of land of three hundred thousand acres belonging to
one family.
It was a sort of shock to me to leave these scenes of unpar
alleled beauty and rush out of the witchery of waving palms
and dense foliage to some yellow sand-dunes, where the
fences are only sand fences such as we have on the Pacific
coast line, that keep the sands from shifting down and bury
ing the track.
A sudden turn and I saw the placid Gulf of Mexico
stretching toward the east, while westward ninety miles
away, Orizaba, seemingly only a few miles distant, loomed
up grandly in the soft light of the setting sun. And we were
in Vera Cruz.
My stay was short in this yellow-fever-haunted district
which possesses few attractions for the average traveler.
There is a charming plaza and luxuriant Alameda, where
under the shadows of the cocoanut trees we watched the
throngs of people and saw the zopilotes, or vultures, those
uncanny birds which are the street scavengers, circle and
light on the rounded dome of a church so close to the plaza
that the stench arising from their roosting place, even though
so high above us, permeated the atmosphere of the street.
We visited the water-front and saw the great ships and
the lighthouse, once the tower of a church, which sheds its
light over the waters to those who go out to sea. A library
in a convent below sheds another kind of light on life's
voyagers, both serving their purposes. I saw the old fortress
of San Juan de Ulua, which is so constructed that in case
of trouble or mutiny among the prisoners, it can be flooded
in a few minutes.
The Alameda, the curio stores and the mosquito bites I
remembered. The thick netting over the beds, heavier than
FROM THE WORLD 305
cheese cloth, was endurable for a time, but I wondered what
it would be to sleep there in July. I cared not to tarry long
in this city, founded by Cortez in 1519, which was about
thirty-two years after Americus Vespucius landed at Tampico,
further up the coast, whose name the New World bears.
The dread of mosquito bites, and the longing for pure,
clear water filled me with a desire to leave the city, where
pure air is unknown and everything drinkable comes in
bottles. The array of bottles standing so thickly on the
f / "o an/at /i at Ate me da. Ven-firo*. .4V/:
FOUNTAIN" AT ALAMEDA, VERA CRUZ, MEXICO.
table in the dining-room of the hotel was startling when
we were ushered in. At first glance it seemed more like a
bowling alley than a dining-room, but I learned later that
the local water is considered unfit for use. So I folded up
my conscience, labeled it good intentions, and ate and drank
that which was given me, unquestioned, as a grim spectre
in yellow haunted me, for yellow fever stalks abroad ever on
the alert for victims.
Out under the pitying stars, later on, I looked up and saw
the Milky Way, and sighed for a pint of celestial cream.
It would have been worth all the bottled liquids in Vera
Cruz, but, being so near sea level, and the stars so far away,
306 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
I stifled my yearnings and, retiring, pulled the drapery of
the shrouded three-quarter bed closer about me and forgot
all things for a minute.
At least it seemed only a minute to me, when I was awak
ened in the middle of the night by a bare-footed barbarian,
who laid his hand flat-heeled as he banged upon the door
with it. My decadent city intellect could not reason why it
was always necessary to start from every place to go any
where or nowhere in Mexico, in the night time, or at the
traditional hour which is darkest just before dawn. Breakfast
is unknown at the caravansaries in the early hours, so one
must take chances, and it is usually an even toss up of "heads
you win and tails I lose."
A wise boy carried my grip to the station two blocks away,
but he took me twice around one block and charged a dollar.
However, he was kind enough to show me a restaurant. It
was so crowded that after waiting half an hour and getting
nothing, he informed me I must not wait longer if I desired
a seat in the cars, and so hurried me away.
I barely succeeded in securing a seat before the train pulled
out, with me a most willing passenger, though fully conscious
of the aching void that was eased a trifle later on, for there
are always fruits of some kind sold at the larger stations.
My last remembrance of Vera Cruz as we sped away in
the dim light, is of the zopilotes fighting with a driver of a
meat wagon for a portion of his load. These street cleaners
or scavengers do not belong to any union. They are at work
through all the hours of the day, and also those of the night
when they can see. There is no every-other-day sweep-up for
them. Their lives are valued at five dollars each, or until
recently a fine of that amount was imposed upon anyone
killing a bird. Faithful in their work, their bills are small,
even if the scents are numberless.
Back toward the City of Mexico I passed over a different
road and one that was a marvel of skill after the first forty
miles of plain with nothing attractive but the view of Orizaba.
Then we entered a picturesque country.
Here, as in the region of Jalapa, one revels in tropical
vegetation, fields of sugar-cane and coffee groves. The chat-
FROM THE WORLD 307
tering monkeys and screaming parrots that once infested this
region are rarely seen now, the shrieking engines and roar
of the trains being too much for them to endure. We crossed
massive bridges and whizzed through canons luxuriant in
tropical splendor.
At Cordoba, sixty miles from the Gulf, the finest fruits
in Mexico were offered for sale at the station. There were
guavas, pineapples, bananas, oranges, pomegranates and chiri-
moyas the fruit of the angels that was not quite to my
material taste, but the oranges I found delicious, as were
also the bananas. Cordoba meaning the tropics, or the
border of the Tierra Caliente is too near Vera Cruz for a
health resort, but Orizaba has a fine climate, is charmingly
situated and being above the hot lands is a resort for the
sick and well from Vera Cruz.
After Cordoba we climbed upward through the wonderful
Metlac Canon, where are some thrilling curves, breath-taking
chasms and curved iron bridges, until we stopped at Orizaba,
a favorite resort at any season of the year. The name
signifies "Joy in the Water," and the streams and cascades
show it is appropriate as well as poetical. I too, found joy
in the water when I had bathed and had drunk, for the water
was good, and that was another cause for rejoicing.
1 found here one of the best hotels in the Republic with
delicious French cooking, and the "habitaciones comodas y
ventiladas," otherwise good rooms and well ventilated, were
comfortable indeed in comparison to some of the cell-like
rooms I had found elsewhere, with bare tiled floors and mat
tresses and pillows only a trifle softer than the floors.
I could well understand this city being a favorite resort
for the enervated people coming up from Vera Cruz. The
situation is fine and the clear running streams, and clean
pretty little city are worth a visit be one sick or well. History
tells us that it existed before Cortez came. Clinging now
as then on a terrace above the "hot lands," amid ferns and
flowers, it rests peacefully among the sheltering trees and
gives of its best to the world-weary and the worn.
The mind of most of us partakes of the witchery of the
surroundings and here I felt it keenly. The moonlight, the
3 o8 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
stars, the fragrance, the harmony that came from a strange
language interwoven with music and stringed instruments,
filled the air with a sense of rest and a charm unknown and
unfelt in our colder climate. Here the balmy airs are always
blowing cool and sweet above that sheet of placid water so
far below, flashing in the summer sun. The feathery palms
wave, the brooks splash merrily in their rocky beds, the sky
is bright with changing hues, beautiful in the mystery of
blended colors, and cloud shapes that take form and float
away, sailing over the glistening snow fields of those mighty
peaks, away from a troubled world of care and sorrow.
The cares of life and its environments slipped away from
me as I dreamed away a few blissful hours amid the tropical
splendors. I imbibed the true spirit of the country and was
content to be idle and the place will haunt me for many moons
yet to come.
When I journeyed from the beautiful city a succession of
exquisite pictures lay spread out before me. There were val
leys and mountains that from Orizaba's eternal snows ranged
down in fairy-like undulations in the dim distance; from the .
cold death-like stillness of that white crest, lower and lower
in mystical waves, these billows of earth and stone receded
until they reached the warmth of the Tropics, lower still
until in the far east dying in a fairy-like mist that seemed to
weld together the earth and sky, I knew lay the Gulf of
Mexico.
Fair as was the vision I turned my face westward toward
the dear old Pacific. We were speeding on toward the City
of Mexico, through the exquisite La Joya Valley, where were
vast chasms and precipices, and narrow shelves where the train
crept, along the Barranca del Infernillo, where the waters
formed their self-hewn channel hundreds of feet below the
railroad. I looked upon aerial hills and vales and illimitable
waters, and on to the utmost verge where earth and sky were
wedded and up to the mountains miles in height, and from
a dazzling snowy ice field I saw a detached bit of ice glint
in the sun which fell like a flashing star into the mists below.
There were long detours, sharp grades, curves and breath
taking chasms until I feared we would plunge into some of
FROM THE WORLD 309
those fearful depths, and the thought came over me of dying
in a foreign land, especially where one's remains are subject
to eviction for non-payment. It is a good country to travel
in, but I felt I would rather die in my own, and the lines
came to me :
"Better when work is passed
Back into dust dissolved, and help a seed
Climb upwards,"
than to be as naught elsewhere, especially as naught here. I
did not want my dust mixed with the chocolate colored ashes
of these natives, nor did I want to help sprout tobacco or
pulque plants, and thereby encourage evils I fain would exter
minate. I would far rather when I return to dust enrich my
own acacia trees than be only a weed to end in smoke.
But I was soon shunted from the Tropics and the little
towns, sleeping in the Tierra Caliente, that seem centuries
away from the world we know. Still on and from the higher
hills we passed into the temperate zone of the Mexican
plateau, and I found myself soothed and in a more congenial
frame of mind, as the train rushed into the City of Mexico,
perfectly satisfied with my visit to the south lands, and felt
that I was ready for the homeward journey.
As the birds turn northward in springtime, or the weary
horse awakens to renewed energy the moment his head is
turned toward home, so I, now that my migratory instincts
are satisfied, gladly turn my face to my own country.
A perfect jangle of emotions were mine as I left the old
city. There has been so much that was strange and awe-
inspiring so much that was soul-wearying, and also much
that was unpleasant. Hardships and fatigue have been mine,
but all were worth it a thousand times over.
This land that is full of marvel and of mystery, has left
unforgettable impressions that are pleasant, instructive, satis
fying, and the exquisite pictures of the Tropics, the mesas
and mountains, the life of a people so different from ours,
are to be remembered with pleasure and delight.
I shall recall the sanctuaries of science and sacredness as
well as the old shrines aureoled with mystical associations and
remember the rose-red teocallis that lie in the earth, which are
3 io UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
now the foundation for the Cross of Christianity the Cross
that was put up for those dear old pagans, who could not
at first understand do their descendants now, I wonder?
the symbol of peace that was raised by the cruel soldiers oi
the Conquistadors. Be that as it may, the same Cross oi
Christ that was created over fallen temples and sacrificia'
altars existed centuries before Cortez planted it upon the salt-
sown foundation soil of the Teocalli. And before the Aztecs
ceased the practice of human sacrifice, the Cross was carvec
upon temples at Palenque. Among the ruins of Nachan, a
city existing two thousand years ago which was explorec
in 1787, in a temple the Cross was found.
There were temples and sanctuaries for their gods, and the
mingling of pagan rites with the emblem of Christianity gives
food for thought. Out of the darkness of past ages into
the peaceful present, where each one is allowed to worship
according to his understanding, one cannot help but rejoice
that the abattoirs of the gods who conquered and sacrificec
at will, through their agents, whose worship was gore, who
delighted in the cutting and slashing of victims, whose heart
were torn from the quivering bodies are things that belong
to a past that is gone forever.
The temples and images of these old pagans impress tli
traveler who cares to delve into the buried past, and sorm
things will live in memory. My mind will often hark back
to places that impressed me most Cholula, Mitla and
some detached evidences of a strange people, and a strange
religion that worshipped distorted idols, beasts and reptiles.
I will not soon forget a ravine where, amid a tangled
growth of wood, the coffee trees and mangoes inter
locked their boughs, the dense foliage shutting out the sun
shine, I was shown a large boulder whereon was carved a
reptile. It lay sprawled over the immense stone, and was
carved so faithfully that the scales upon the body seemed
real, and the claws on the feet, the wide open mouth, were
horribly realistic. Some mystic signs were engraven there
also. The sun-glints played upon the polished green leaves
and made the red coffee berries seem brighter. It was a
beautiful bright world above, but below this radiance were
FROM THE WORLD 311
the green and mold of the damp earth, spread upon the
boulder, and the reptile in the darkness, representing the
shadows and gloom that speak of an age and a people who
worshipped there. These are impressions that haunt me, and
make me all the more thankful that I am living in the
twentieth century.
The remnants of past ages make Mexico interesting, but
do not interfere with or stay the hand of progression. Con
ditions that are for the betterment of all, especially the poor,
are in evidence. And looking hopefully toward the pure
sapphire skies and out over the boundless mesas, I see in
fancy the stern fingers of the cactus pointing in grim silence
heavenward, seeming to say : Look and hope. And a gaunt
figure with bare brown legs like some great bird, stands out
in bold relief with a red scrape about his shoulders. He
takes the straps from his forehead, throws down his heavy
burden, and raises his face to the skies, in unconscious
entreaty, waiting for something he knows not what. Heaven
grant that the present century may bring relief and
lighten his load of toil and ignorance. * * My patient
Jack, I am sending this, my last letter, as I am speeding
homeward toward you. I had letters in Vera Cruz which
caused me to change my plans. I will not go to the Orient
as I expected. Fred has decided to go on from Vera Cruz
via Cuba or whatever route pleases him and Ruth. I may
go later. It is not business that is bringing me back, so you
need not smile. There are matters wherein other people are
interested which demand my immediate attention. Fred and
Ruth seem to be very companionable and I fancy they will
enjoy being together, both having felt the pangs of unrequited
love, and so will find a comfort in each other's society.
As for me, I shall see you very soon, and I may tell you
more than you now know, but 1 may not find you in the
mood to listen. We shall see. But at least you and I can
talk sometimes, while we smoke our pipes, of my
visit here. I know I shall want to tell you of places visited
in the land of the Toltecs and Aztecs, places and pictures that
have a charm of their own of which I have not written of
peaceful skies, of shining lagoons and wide illimitable plains;
3 i2 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
of tropical verdure, of twilights and the glamor of music,
and the fragrant balmy airs; of nights that were radiant with
glittering stars glimmering in the quiet waters which gave
back the star-glints that shone in the deep blue vault above our
dear old world, for in the halls of retrospection memory will
revel in scenes that are unfading, that will hold me in silken
meshes, for without remembrance, as the shadows longer
grow, and life lengthens, travel were useless, unprofitable and
in vain.
FRANK.
XXXV
"Lead me, O Zeus, and thou, Destiny, whithersoever ye have
appointed me to go and may I follow fearlessly."
The plot thickens. "On, ye brave." Edith, I am riding
on the crest of a wave of excitement, and feel sometimes as
I have, when riding my horse at his best speed, along the
beautiful roads with the wind blowing strong against me,
while I reveled in the bracing air, matching my strength
against the strong blast.
I have been back in dear old San Francisco for some time
and have seen Bert Wilder quite often. He is indefatigable
in his efforts to see me. I cannot allow him to come to the
house too often. He has confided in me and finds me more
than kind and sympathetic. You understand? The same
worn-out platitudes, that have served from Rameses down
and deserve to be embalmed or cremated, and retired to an
obscure niche in some remote Columbarium, have been given
me. He has told me that Ruth became jealous without cause
because he was kind to a widowed cousin of his and left him;
that she has refused to have any communication with him
and that in order to permit her to have her desire granted he
will get a divorce on the ground of desertion; that he could
not bring his mind to do it even for her sake until recently,
for he hated publicity of the kind.
Oh, Ananias, reincarnated! That I should listen and be
almost persuaded! Edith, this man is a marvel. He will
sit and tell me things 1 know without doubt to be absolutely
false. Yet so strong is his personality, his hypnotic power
over those he comes in contact with, that everything seems
plausible. In fact, I believe he hypnotizes himself, and
actually thinks that he is the injured person. Did I not know
Ruth know the whole story I would be inclined to doubt
her.
But as it is, I am more interested in this affair than any
thing heretofore in my short but eventful life. So I am a
313
3 14 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
docile pupil I am learning something new all the time. The
study of a unique character is new and I am trying a little
of the magnetic, hypnotic business myself. I am going on
the homeopathic principle that like cures like. But of the
night-blooming cereus blossom of his love which is his for
the moment I have no particle of sympathy or patience. I
think of Ruth and wonder how she can care, but will not
discuss the mystery of mysteries a woman's heart which
only a woman and God can understand.
In order to facilitate matters I have cut the Gordian knot
and arranged a trip to the Grand Canon of the Colorado
with some friends and have asked Bert Wilder to accompany
me. I told him I needed a delightful companion like him
self to make the excursion all I had imagined it could be.
He took the bait like a hungry trout.
It was rather early in the spring for visitors, but the time
suited me better all things considered than later on. So we
went on, a merry party, changing cars from the main line
to the branch road that took us to the Canon. As we sped
on toward our goal a magnificent sunset colored the sky, that
put to shame all the pitiful efforts of artists who try to put
upon canvas the splendid colors that nature blends into won
drous beauty. Then the sun sank and night cold and dreary
set in, as we journeyed on over a slightly rolling mesa with
no suspicion of the Canon we were eager to see.
In the darkness we stopped and, descending from the cars,
were piloted some distance by a boy with a lantern. There
was snow in patches on the ground and the wind was biting
cold, for we were seven thousand feet above the sea. A door
was opened and we found ourselves ushered into a quaint log
cabin inn with wide-open fireplaces and great blazing pine
logs, with comfort radiating from them and a warm welcome
from the bright flames. We found our rooms well warmed
from the chilly night air, and a genial host and clerk who
seemed to anticipate our wants when they announced that
the evening meal was ready.
Later on I was asking the clerk questions concerning the
Canon, when he said:
FROM THE WORLD 315
"Here is a man who can tell you better than anyone else
what you desire to know." He spoke to a hardy old man
in picturesque attire, mentioned his name and I said :
"I know who you are, and my trip would have been incom
plete had I missed you."
I found him peculiar and imaginative beyond the bounds
of reason concerning himself and his adventurous life in the
Canon, where he has lived for over nineteen years. He told
me of his love for it; that it was his home and had been
when it was practically unexplored. The snows that were
heaped up in patches on the ground were no whiter than
the beard that covered the old pioneer's face. But the fires
of an unquenchable youth shone in his eyes. It was worth
while to come, if only to hear this man talk of the Canon,
of its grandeur, and its fascinations that have taken posses
sion of him or held him enthralled for nearly twenty years.
It has so filled his life that he cares for but little else.
He told me stories of the cliff-dwellers, of their houses,
barnacled like swallows' nests in inaccessible places, of his
own cabin on the rim, of the incomparable views that, in all
the years he had lived there, were always a glorious mystery
and each day fresh with the charm of a new discovery.
It was not what he said or the manner of description, but
he gave me the impression of being almost a part of this
incontestable marvel of God's footstool. I was so carried
away by his description of the Canon that I agreed to go
down into the chasm on the morrow. The old guide's enthu
siasm made it seem but a trifle as we all sat chatting cozily in
front of some great blazing pine knots in the open fireplace.
Later on, when sleep stole over my weary senses, a sort of
dread seemed to possess me at intervals when half conscious,
and I wished that I had looked down upon the trail before
arranging for the journey.
A cry of "Fire !" awoke me to something real and more
dreadful than imaginary things. It was as dark as the tra
ditional Egypt, and freezingly cold, but the thought of fire
at the hotel, where every drop of water is hauled from Wil
liams, sixty-five miles away, was terrifying. I sprang out of
bed, unlocked the door, and was unceremoniously thrust back
316 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
by a stoical Japanese boy who said, in a lower tone, "Fire,"
and at once proceeded to build a brisk fire in the small stove,
while another boy going through the halls crying "Bre'fus,"
gave me a clear understanding of the situation. I nestled
back in bed, and waited for the second call for breakfast, and
for daylight.
In all the attempted descriptions of the Grand Canon, no
one, I fancy, Edith, has ever written, no matter how vividly
or enthusiastically, even a portion of what was in his soul.
I know 1 felt there, as I have elsewhere, the futility of an
attempted faithful description.
I have seen the best and all of the most wonderful scenery
of our own country, and have also seen the wonders of the
Old World. I have stood upon the top of Cheops, Egypt's
grandest pyramid; have looked down from the dizzy heights
of the Jungfrau and Mt. Blanc, in Switzerland, and have
trodden the snow fields far above the picturesque fiords that
nestle among Norway's mountains. I have wandered among
the ruins of Thebes and Baalbek and viewed from the summit
of the Acropolis at Athens, Parnassus' snowy heights,
Hymettus and Marathon in the distance. 1 have also stood
upon the verge of Glacier Point in Yosemite and Inspiration
Point in the Yellowstone Canon; have mused upon Calvary,
Gethsemane and the Mount of Olives ; yet, nothing I have ever
seen impressed me in the way this Canon did. It is so unlike
anything else I had ever beheld. How, then, would it be
possible for me to give you more than an idea of this, the
most wonderful in its way of anything the world possesses?
Here may be seen or fancied all the beautiful, grand or
appalling things of the whole world. All the best in sculpture,
painting or in architecture cannot compare with what God
the Great Creator, Architect, and Builder, put in this
wonderful chasm. Here color reigns supreme, and holds
sway as it does in Yellowstone Park, only in this Canon the
distances are so great that color, however intense, is softened
or lost in the purple immensities of air.
In the early morning I stood in front of the hotel on the
rim of the chasm that dropped beneath my feet down and
down for four thousand three hundred feet, and from the
FROM THE WORLD 317
fascinating, yet terrifying depths, 1 looked far across to the
mystic chrome-tinted brink, thirteen miles opposite from
where I stood. Shafts of light pastelled the sky, and below
those paths of light were masses of vapor, soft and beautiful.
Farther down the shadows, deepening into dark and dreadful
depths, gave me some shivering, uncertain moments.
But we had made arrangements the night before to go
GRAND CANON.
down. Bert was especially solicitous and saw the guide about
the best horses and the smaller details. Had I waited until
morning I might not have had the courage to go down into
those awful depths; but am rather certain the result would
have been the same. 1 usually have the courage of my con
victions and have never been called cowardly or addicted to
nerves.
A hurried breakfast and I soon found myself attired in a
divided skirt and anchored on the back of a mule, following
3 i8 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
the guide with Bert close beside me down into the Canon.
The trail was worse than any I had ever experienced. The
trail up to the Mer de Glace, in Switzerland, and the trails
in Yosemite were not so dangerous, for here the trail was
icy and covered with snow a part of the way down. A single
false step or slip, and I knew too well what the consequences
would be. It took the whole day to make the trip. The trail
winds by tortuous and devious ways and turns for five miles
into the perilous depths.
Tortured by aches and pains, fears and misgivings, and
then in moments of rapture forgetting all save the sublime,
the solemn and grand scenes that met my eyes at every turn,
raised me to such heights of enthusiasm that life seemed of
but small concern. There is such a bewildering confusion
of strange, unique, and appalling wonders in those depths,
where the spirit of cosmic tragedy holds sway and an atmos
phere of awe, and one of woe also, sends a thrill of pain
through one's being. It was a day that will be remembered
while reason holds sway, and I shall be thankful all my life
that 1 had the courage to make the trip down into the chasm.
I stood on a shelf hanging over the Colorado River after
we had lunched and rested from the ride, and looked into
the abysses half veiled in a thin blue haze that extended on
and on, deepening away until lost in the distance. Then I
glanced up to those vast walls where were terraces and pin
nacles, wave upon wave of solidified color, reaching out into
boundless space a mighty ocean caught in its turbulent fury
and stayed by invisible forces.
All the exquisite colors of the rainbow were reflected in
its depths. The beauty of the tropical skies, and the changing
effects of the glow of the Aurora Borealis were caught and
imprisoned in the ebb and flow of this petrified, storm-beaten,
mystical semblance of waters, whose profound stillness filled
me with terror mingled with rapture, that only those who
appreciate and love nature can understand.
I know I was hypnotized by the Canon's vastness, and by
the magic of the pale blue mists, half veiling the temples,
cathedrals, walls and bastions that show along endless shelves
where the armies of the whole world might find lodgment.
FROM THE WORLD 319
I was helpless and overpowered by its beauty and its mystery,
as it stretched away in erratic windings for miles and miles
beyond the uttermost power of vision. The ineffable beauty
of this prodigious furrow ploughed by the Colorado River
moved and stirred my whole being. It made my eyes sting
with unbidden tears, and evoked an involuntary sob that
startled me into a realization of the emotions that chained
me a willing captive, to the witchery of its magic spell.
At last we reached the brink, worn and weary physically
and mentally. I was thankful I had escaped from the perils
of the trail unhurt and more than thankful for my day in
the Canon, which holds within its abysses a weird, tangled,
bewildering vortex of supernal and undreamed-of impossible
scenes, of a real and unreal lower world scenes that haunted
me through all the hours that came with the night when
fatigue and sleep stole my weary senses after the dreadful
ascent from those fearful abysses, from the sepulcher wrought
and fashioned by the agony of ages.
All that night my spirit hovered over that wonderful
chasm, over those marvelous terraced steeps. At times I was
once again down in those vast silences. Then I stood on
some pinnacle discovering fresh colors gold and glis
tening blues intermingled with vivid reds, chromes and
greens. All the colorings of the earth and sky which are cen
tered there, with the mystical tints of the ocean in the distance
that had so impressed me during the day, were still with me
in my dreams.
The Canon's beauty, its awful solitudes, were still vivid
in my mind when I stole out in the gray dawn, watching it
turn to gold, when the sun sprang over the rim and stabbed
the gloomy depths with shafts of light, melting away the
vapors, lighting up the deep red sandstone and tinted marbles
that flashed and scintillated in the bright rays. That morn
ing's beauty, the glamor of it, the majesty of the scene spread
out before me a panorama of color, light and shade, mingled
with celestial beauty, will never be forgotten.
Bert and I had many walks and rides during our stay
at the Canon. Often we would wander away to some point
of interest, and every place in the vicinity of the hotel seemed
320 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
worth while. We would loiter along, discovering something
new or unexpected, or seating ourselves on the rim on the
very edge of the world it seemed to me we would talk or
muse in silence, away from the crowd and tongues that vexed
the soul, while we looked out across the Canon. Far as the
eye could reach it stretched in sinuous curves away and away
into infinity. Across from where we sat on a certain cliff,
I saw the blue line of forests on the opposite brink showing
dimly above the strata of pale yellow stone, with a tumbled
world, sloping down, down from the far-off ancient banks
of a river now nearly a mile beneath.
There were strange, grotesque, fanciful upheavals and
phantasmal forms. I watched the play of light and shade;
saw the sun strike deep into the torn and ragged scars that
were cut in the face of the cliffs, brightening the pink and
red of the limestone into deeper shades, and showing the
waterways that might have been fashioned by zigzag streaks
of lightning, as in confused wanderings they wound around
pinnacles and buttes down into a labyrinth of chasms and im
penetrable shadowy depths, to where the river lies a river
that I know is foaming down there below all this tangled web
of limestone, sandstone, gneiss and quartz that lie in indis
criminate confusion, yet are so harmonious, so sublime that I
often closed my eyes, which ached in looking at the wonderful
mirages that showed kaleidoscopic effects in shifting scenes
and colors.
From every point of vantage visited I found it was the
same, a series of surprises, a wonder, an apocalypse of gran
deur and glory, before which my brain reeled in the mere
effort of contemplating the inexhaustible forms of Nature's
architectural carvings that filled this crinkled, curled old
chasm, winding in zigzag sinuosities, a length of seventy-five
miles before me and melting away beyond the power of vision.
It is impossible to measure distances or give an adequate
idea, or to guess the size of certain objects pointed out. A
tiny bit of the flashing river four thousand feet below me,
seemingly only a few hundred feet in length, was in reality
six miles long. I had, however, no wish for details. I pre
ferred to feast my eyes upon the phantasmal forms of rock
and meditate, for it is a place for thought and silence.
FROM THE WORLD 321
The Canon so deeply worn and scarred by the conflict of
cycles stretching back beyond one's imagining was old,
perhaps, when Noah sat and whittled and planned the ark,
or Adam learned the art of subterfuge. The sun shone on
these mesas encantadas even before the pueblos of the cliff-
dwellers, like determined reminiscences of the past, clung in
inaccessible places, from which the dwellers crept like ants
from their aerial retreats, or before the ancestral ape stood
erect.
The place was full of brooding memories, and the silence
awful in its intensity, lay in the vast sunken world beneath me.
I have stood upon the top of the trembling crater of Vesuvius,
and breathed the air of the wind-swept deserts of the Nile;
have seen the river Jordan and the Dead Sea; have heard
the thunder of falling icebergs from the Muir Glacier,
and watched the icebergs there and at Taku Inlet drift away
in the waste of waters spectral as dreams, and I have seen
the confusion of spouting geysers and wraiths of vapor from
the chaotic underworld in the Yellowstone Park, that sends
the boiling, foaming jets skyward, with clock-like regularity.
But all that I have seen seemed to be but a sort of preparation
for me, that I might more fully enjoy this, the greatest of
all of God's grand labyrinths of wonders.
Someone has written about our people "doddering abroad"
to see scenery incomparably inferior to our own. Granted
that this is so in its way, yet I think those who have traveled,
who have seen, are those best fitted to comprehend. So I felt
as I saw something of the thousand miles of harmonious
colorings and carvings in this deep cleft that stretched away
to the horizon's uttermost rim, and nearer me saw mountains
floating in the blue voids, showing peak, turret and cone,
with no visible anchorage, in vivid coloring of marvelous
brilliancy, which softened in the distance into a soothing har
mony of colors, through atmospheric influences and refraction.
It is a world unlike any I have ever known a world of
changing, evanescent lights, elusive and beautiful as memory,
and of colors that run riot from the depths, up and up to
the uttermost verge. It is so vast, so glorious in its distances,
wherein are such wonderful mirage effects, that one imagines
322 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
great cities and armies are passing and repassing. Seemingly
ships were sailing on smooth waters, with their shadows
plainly seen in the blue depths.
A charming marvelous pageant lay over against the
opposite bank from me, and lower down were vast stretches
of plain in death-like silence and isolation. Then there were
other bright groupings, showing a very miracle of climatic
glory, that gave me an unparalleled scene and filled me with
ecstasies like the sound of some exquisite melody, soul-filling,
and satisfying. It was a requiem, a hallelujah a des
olate ruined world here, and a radiant glowing world of
beauty there; each in turn speaking to my heart as no
words could do "Sermons in stone" indeed, with strange,
soft, weird music stealing up from those strangely disquieting
depths. It is the voice of the winds among those crags that
sobs and moans and then changes into symphonies sweet and
solemn, dying away into silent benedictions, until one's heart
is filled with a pain of the music and the solemnity of silence.
The beauty and grandeur of this silent yet shifting
animated glory, swathed in soft ethereal vapors, is over
powering in its impressiveness, and is homage-impelling;
sternly real, yet spectral as a dream. It is the soul of all
the architects, of all the painters and sculptors ever known,
for in its depths are all that can delight the eye or stir the
imagination or emotions. It is a geological apocalypse that
touches and holds one in thrall; half mystery, half revelation,
where language fails and description is commonplace.
With me it will be a matchless spectacle, whose pictures
will always be a part of myself, whose awful grandeur, while
inexpressible, leaves its impressions on the soul. Its echoless
silence, symbolical of the eternal silence coming to us all; its
world of shadowy forms, stretching like turbulent waves in
masses of color rioting against the rim of the world an
enduring and deathless memory, filled with divine pathos
filled me with nameless longings that were indefinable, as I
sat in the presence of this Canon, where Nature has done
her uttermost, with her unerring brush, blending the sensu
ous, brilliant, ravishing, harmonious revelation beneath me
into a grand, joyful overture, and allegro, through which
runs a vague uncertain minor chord of sadness and pain.
FROM THE WORLD 323
Such were my impressions. What the Canon is to others
I know not; there are people, doubtless, too prosaic, too hope
lessly sane, to understand, to feel, to know; but for me it
will always be a luxuriant lotus-dream of matchless beauty,
and lovely as the hope of a life everlasting.
We encountered some wrecks and washouts on our return
and had some thrilling escapes wherein my solicitous friend
showed the utmost concern as to my mental and physical
condition. I was very timid for the time, you understand
and he seemed to revel in his strength and courage. Provi
dence and Bert watching over me, I had nothing to fear. We
came back over the gray billowy desert where grow the
interminable cacti and gaunt yucca trees, which stand in weird
distorted shapes; coming on and on over the gray sea of
tar-brush, greasewood and smaller varieties of shrubs. At
Needles we left the Colorado River, where, after its wild
and thrilling rush, it struggled out on the desert wastes of
sand. At Yuma and the Needles after a touch of civilization
it turns wearily away from the haunts of the whites, and,
finding its way through a vast region of arid lands, it slowly
and sadly drowses along until it loses itself in the Gulf of
California.
I felt something like the river after the exhaustive glories
of the Canon. I rested in placid content, feeling a complete
satisfaction after seeing this one of the world's wonders, and
knowing in my heart that I had done something toward
avenging Ruth, for if Bert has no love in his heart for his
wife, I am rather sure he has not very much left in his
heart for the one who charmed him away from her. I
find this letter so long and I have been so impressed with
the Canon that I could not tell you of the comedy while in
the presence of such awe-inspiring scenes; it does not seem
right to allow anything trivial to intrude. Expect another
letter soon less instructive but a diversion.
In the rush of events, after my return, I did not send you
the above letter soon as I expected, but will add the following
as a sort of postscript:
''When the roses of the summer burn to ashes in the sun,
When the feast of love is finished and the heart is overrun."
3 2 4 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
When the feast of love is finished. Aye, there's the rub,
Edith. What will the harvest be? At least if I understand
myself there will be no sheaves of regret for me to bind. I
am Delilah in one sense. Sampson may keep his locks but
perchance he will not be so strong in his vanity and conceit.
Studying the man's character, he is puzzling to me who has
made a study of mankind. This man has so much of the
nature of a chameleon in his make-up I can better describe
his mental status and temperature by sending you copies of
some notes written to me since my return. I will give extracts;
of one letter written me since, after I had attended a recep
tion. "* * * It made me wildly jealous to see you
with others, and the strangest feelings took possession of me.
It was not only jealousy but a sense of utter loneliness. It
would seem that we misunderstood each other and I am glad
to have the opportunity to tell you how unhappy you
made me.
"I am very impetuous, dear, and I may have declared
the secret of my heart to you at an improper time; but you
will forgive me, won't you, when you know it is all for you ?
Oh, darling, if I could only be with you tonight, and take
you in my arms and caress and love you as I wish, I should
be willing to die.
"Think of my impudence! I, a poor, lonely, miserable
man, and you a lovely, beautiful woman, surrounded by all
that makes life happy and the world bright why should I
ever hope to be aught to you but a friend? I should not
dream of bliss. Yet, dearest, the word friend sounds so hol
low to me. You will forgive me for loving you so passionately ?
"I do not wish to be forgetful of the past nor unmindful
of the future. I have been so utterly lost to all the world
for so many months that my heart seems ready to burst its
bonds and fly to you of all the world for comfort, solace
and love. If it is too hasty do not chide me. If you can
not reciprocate my feelings, forgive me; and know that you
are the only one except one to whom my heart and being has
ever been wholly tendered.
"Your letters are conservative but I shall endeavor to see
you soon. I want to talk to you alone where I can open
FROM THE WORLD 325
my whole heart to you and then if you still think me unworthy
I shall humbly submit. Until then, know that each day my
thoughts are with you and you alone are my only comfort."
You see, Edith, he acknowledges having loved. "Except
one," he says. Which one of the two you and I know of?
Am I conservative? One must be skillful, you know.
Another note will tell its story:
"Your sweetest of letters came to me an hour since and
dinner over finds me in my back office, doors locked, lights
full blast, and my whole being thinking, dreaming of you.
Ah, my dearest one, little you know what a pleasure your
letter is to me. In all the wide world you alone can make
me happy. I had thought of going away for a year, but you
are the magnet that keeps me here. I cannot think now of
leaving you. I cannot leave my only, my best friend to 'try
to forget if possible' how worse than useless for you to ask
it. I may be able to make you understand some time."
Another note entitled AN IDYL:
TO ONE WHO KNOWS.
Beneath the moss-fringed oak, one summer noon
I lay, reclining on the fragrant turf
With buttercups and daises pied bedecked.
The meadow-lark with amorous passion filled
Broke the soft air with joyous songs of love
All else was still. The thrilling sunshine streamed
Through the gnarled branches overhead, and lay
Warmth-giving on my heart. Soothed by the scene,
Sleep stole upon my senses, and visions fair
Born of my wealth of love dawned on my soul.
Methought the sunshine fair, caressing me,
Changed to a lovely tree. Magnolia blooms,
Deep-bosomed, ivory-white, sprang from each branch,
The fragrance filled the air, and as I dreamed
The luscious sweetness stole into my soul,
And the fair tree bent low its stately head,
And through my parted lips breathed to my heart,
The deep, sweet promise of its own fair life.
The touch awoke me and my opening eyes
Found the soft eyes of her whom all the world
Can never from my heart unclasp.
Shivering with joy I drew her to my heart
And her sweet self fulfilled the glorious dream.
Is it not nice to be called "Sunshine," Edith, Rather
better than to be the "rain crow" and represent a drizzle or
326 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
downpour. I had a fancied engagement, hence the above
letter.
Were I not convinced that Bert is above the vice I would
think he had acquired the opium habit and was seeing things
in his dreams. Edith, it is enough to make one sick of the
whole world of men. How poor Ruth and doubtless the
other dupe if she were would have hung on the honeyed
sweetness of these notes. They had their quota, I presume,
from his prolific pen. But I am not a busy bee and am not
storing up this kind of honey. Hear ye him: "Your letter
was very sweet and kind, dear, but at the same time there is
the lack of that delicate expression of warm passionate love
which alone will make me perfectly happy. I do not, how
ever, expect you to love me now, but I trust and pray that I
can some day feel that all your precious heart is as wholly
mine as I now know mine is truly yours. I do not love another,
sweet. I know you mentioned another name to me, but I do
not love her I love you and you alone.
"I shall not take it that you believe me in many things,
for your letter indicates that you do not. At the same time
I cannot believe you will be so unjust to me as to place me
and my protestations upon the common level with other men.
I regret to admit that my sex are as a rule too prone to
deception and duplicity in their intercourse with the opposite
sex. But I try to be different from the majority of men.
I assure you, my dearest girl, that when I tell you I love you
better than any other woman on earth, I mean every word I
utter, and to be doubted is one of the most cruel blows
which can be inflicted upon a faithful heart. For as sure as
I live, as sure as I write these lines, just so sure is my heart
wholly yours and the acme of my life will only be when I
can feel and know that you are all mine and mine alone.
"I doubt very much that I shall ever attain that sublime
degree of happiness but I am going to try, nevertheless, as
long as life remains, for, sweet one, you are the only woman
in all this world I yearn for. I can't blame you for doubting
me when I know how untrue men are as a rule, but time
will prove to you that I am just as devoted, just as truly
yours as it is possible for one being to belong to another.
FROM THE WORLD 327
And when you will allow me to see and talk to you, 1 am
sure you will believe me, no matter what the doubts may be."
Edith, what manner of man is this? Does he hypnotize
himself into the belief that he is in love with me? Is love
so changeable, so evanescent that it can be changed like a
coat or a collar? Is it because he isn't sure and is determined
to win? Conquest is his desire and I wonder how long his
fever-heat passion would last were he once certain I had
succumbed to his magnetic love. AILEEN.
XXXVI
"How sweet to think of one who knows you for what you are, for
eood and evil, yet loves and ever loves you for the better part!"
I have been traveling so constantly, Aileen, since I wrote
you from Florence, I have had no time for writing until now,
but will begin with my impressions of Constantinople. My
pulses quicken yet when 1 recall my first glimpse of a minaret
and an old turbaned Turk, as we sped on in the Orient
Express over plains so often dyed with blood. Then came a
stretch of water with low edges. The Sea of Marmora!
Is it possible?
Next the Seven Towers once used as a state prison, but
now transformed into a more useful, though incongruous
railroad station, desecrating, if one might say, the last remain
ing vestiges of the Greek emperors. But the chaotic mass has
succumbed to the infirmities of an evil and misspent life and
is doing good, though sullenly, because of the invasion of
the Giaour in the shape of the train.
I get a glimpse of the Seraglio for an instant stretching
out into the Bosphorus. The old Seraglio of which I have
read, a place which tells of love, murder, ambition and torture
through so many ages ! Dark trees and walls, gilded kiosks,
green lawns and sombre, gloomy courts ! What scenes have
been enacted there ! I recall with a shudder the dark tunnel,
which it is said, opened from under some gorgeous chambers
and led to a postern out at sea, where troublesome officials
and fickle beauties were disposed of. The Bosphorus is silent
as the hideous mutes who attended to the disposal of the
victims. Silent all; only we know that death walked with life
in this charming abode, where all of life's best and its worst,
love, despair, hope and agony, endured for a moment. The
tragedies of Eastern life were short and cruel. I give a sigh
of relief, for the Seraglio exists no more, save as a monument
of the past. The Sultans are now, in a measure, amenable
to the force of l">w.
328
FROM THE WORLD
329
Out in the struggling scarecrow crowd of yelling Greek,
Italian, Turkish, French, and amid a scene of squalor, I am
extricated by my dragoman and I find myself in a carnage,
jolting along over the most execrable road I ever was shaken
on in my life.
I pass a real mosque, where are stone water troughs as if
for cattle, but I see the faithful Moslems, performing their
ablutions. They wash the hands and feet, and let prayer
atone for the rest. I see a walled up arch and Corinthian
MOSQUE OF SANTA SOPHIA.
columns of greenish marble, some sculptured Roman eagles
in the cornice, and other things impossible to remember.
Then on and I know this is the Golden Gate, Aurea Porta;
I pinch myself to see if I am awake. The Golden Gate!
Am I dreaming? Yes, for a moment of you and our incom
parable Golden Gate, and I wonder at my indifference. I do
not feel the spasm of delight experienced when Rome's ruins
and historical walls first greeted my vision.
When I landed here, it was March, cold and dreary, with
biting winds. East, the Orient !
330 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
It seemed to me, born and brought up under our sunny
skies, that I had found the long-sought-for North Pole. I
had seen no more vestige of winter in Italy than at home; a
trifle colder, possibly, yet charming. But here it seemed
more real, for it snowed one whole day. Think of it, Aileen,
a real snow storm! No make-believe storm of cut paper
showered down upon the stage while the wind screeched back
of the scenes, equally an imitation wind. But this was a fierce,
biting wind and great snowflakes fell so thickly that it was a
semi-twilight all the afternoon.
After the storm I saw in turn, the Golden Horn, Pera,
Galata, the drawbridge that binds Europe with Asia, civiliza
tion with barbarism, seraglios, mosques, palaces, domes,
forests of minarets in bewildering array, St. Sophia, wherein
some of the greatest and most solemn, as well as the most
horrible scenes have been enacted from the Byzantine emper
ors down until the empire ended. I was not impressed bv
this church. It is hard, grating in fact, in some respects.
There is no poetry, no illusions, no dim perspective. The
arches are simply arches. They did not strike me as the
mysterious esthetic beauty of the splendid interior of St.
Peter's. It is possibly because the light which comes in strong
from innumerable windows, offends by its disillusioning
harshness.
Thoughts of the memorable massacre make me shudder;
and the filthy, repulsive Moslems lying about in silence or
calling upon Allah as they recite the Koran are not condu
cive to peace .and meditation. A little of the poison Medea
spread seems to linger yet in the atmosphere of this church,
one of the Seven Wonders of the World, erected by Con-
stantine and dedicated to Wisdom, but used for feuds,
murders and glorious pageants, and now void and empty.
Once before this altar, now cold and bare, every emperor
had knelt either to be crowned, married, or to ratify solemn
treaties. Spiritual and earthly potentates, scenes innumerable
and indescribable have been enacted here. No nation in the
world ever admitted political and ecclesiastical conflicts into
a church as did the Greeks.
Now the service of Allah fills the church with Turks in
numbers. There are imaums, mollahs and muezzins to call to
FROM THE WORLD 331
prayers from the minarets, readers of the Koran, and a multi
tude of semi-officials. The place is sacred to the Moslems
who look not very kindly at us while they lie about, or do
acrobatic feats, falling prone on the floor while calling upon
Allah. They are of Mahomet's flock, and go unquestioned,
though my clean shoes must be covered with dirty old slippers
before I am allowed to enter. The red fezed rabble are kept
ENTRANCE TO BLACK SEA.
away by my dragoman. Without him I would not be safe
for a moment. Therefore I gladly passed out to view more
pleasant places.
We went by boat on the Bosphorus up to the Euxine or
Black Sea. It was a novelty to me to see the veiled women
huddled like a flock of sheep on the front part of the boat.
All classes were together; shrouded by curtains. No man is
allowed behind the curtains, except venders of sweets and
drinks, or the official who takes the tickets. These were of
great interest to me, and the absurdity of the system, allow-
332 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
ing one or two men behind the scenes, struck me as ridiculous.
The picturesque Asiatic shore claimed my attention, with
its chain of palaces, villas and towns, whose walls are literally
bathed in the waves of the Bosphorus.
The most interesting of all was the Dolmabaktche palace,
joined to a mosque with its white marble steps laved by the
shining waters. We went through the palace; it was gorgeous
in rich marbles, wood carvings, paintings, and priceless rugs
and carpets from the Sultan's own looms. Great marble
baths and plunges were in evidence, yet lacking in other things
such as we are accustomed to have in the most ordinary
houses. Further on were other palaces and the eccentric
windings of machicolated ramparts and round towers. Still
further up, where the stream narrows, Xerxes placed his
Bridge of Boats, and here the Crusaders passed. And high
on a hill I saw the American college ! And I thanked the
dear Allah for the sight. Here the Cross, peace, science, and
the languages. There the Crescent and the shattered remains
of the blood-stained fortress of Mohammed II.
Painted wooden villas, or kiosks, one-half with perforated
outer shutters for the harem, are on the Asiatic side. I thought
if Bert Wilder were here he certainly would be on the Asiatic
and not the European side, and if so how easily matters
might be adjusted. If only we were educated to the harem
idea ! But to us the idea is horrid and repellant. Emotions
and the play of feelings, the result of our civilized life, are
unknown here. It is an indication of mental culture with us.
The Turks do not possess or understand as we do. They
have not progressed. We have gone forward, not they.
Then the shores narrowed to the gates of the Black Sea,
the sea which it is said is never quiet, it being the home of
the winds that circle and surge and come as I felt them, biting
and stinging, from the frozen fields and Russian steppes.
The gates, however, shut off the winds to some extent, for
here it is but a stone's throw between Europe and Asia. The
shores of Buyukedere, Therapia, and ambassadorial palaces
meet my gaze; while mentally I see the Argonauts, Jason
and his Argives sailing out to Colchis in quest of the Golden
Fleece. The Euxine Sea and its black waters! Armenia,
FROM THE WORLD 333
Georgia beyond, Circassia, Odessa, the Sea of Azoff, and the
inland ocean, the Caspian ! Localities and bygone names and
scenes pass and re-pass and surge up to my memory; real
and traditional. Here is Therapia, and the glittering crowd
of diplomats, secretaries, embassadresses in carriages, Arab
horses, veiled women, and dainty Greek ladies with large dark
eyes. Launches full of people go by, and larger boats plough
their way through smooth waters. Therapia will linger in
memory as sweet and clean, dry and beautiful.
From there I went to the Sweet Waters of Asia with my
dragoman, who secured a good boat or caique, and a man
to pull the bow oar. The waters were thick with the caiques;
they looked like insects skipping about. There were boat
loads of veiled women with never a man, save the rowers, not
even a eunuch in their company. I saw only one eunuch while
there. He was a beastly looking fellow and was with some
of the Sultan's family.
A brother cannot go with a sister, a son with a mother,
a husband with his wife, in fact, any male cannot accompany
the women, except servants or eunuchs, the division of sexes
is complete. The scenery, however, was very attractive. The
women in the ferejah, or cloaks, pink, blue, purple and red,
some heavily veiled, some in thin white veils with rouged
cheeks and kohl-darkened eyes, and the men with the red fez
and long dark surtout, were everywhere ; others with turbans
were dressed in white, some in red; Greeks in full white
drawers and embroidered vests, with weapons thrust into the
scarfed waist. Christian and Moslem pass and repass like
scenes in dreamland.
I am living over it as I go through the Dardanelles. You
know the low hills that run down to the narrow stream which
seems to close in and shut one off from further progress. At
least that was my feeling as we steamed along. The mist
clearing away, however, showed higher snowy ranges lying
further back, gave more pleasing pictures, growing more
beautiful as we went through the ^Egean Sea, and among the
fairy like islands of the Grecian Archipelago, and then we
are at Piraeus. I breathed a prayer of relief, for the boat was
crowded, and the odors of stale humanity from people who,
334 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
though well dressed, told plainly of stuffy sleeping rooms
where dirt, foul air and perspiration were permanent tenants.
Good-bye to Greek boats forever ! I mentally take oath never
to be tempted again, and now for Athens.
I am drinking wind as drinking wine and feel a strange
exhilaration from the warm fragrant breeze that comes from
the ^Egean Sea, which sends little clouds of dust along the
white road that leads to the bay of Eleusis, where the pro
cessions used to wind their way, where children carried
flowers, and the priestesses led the sacrificial bulls to the
temples.
My sketching materials and paper for writing are always
a part of me in my wanderings. Hence I pen my thoughts
to you when the mood is upon me. From the top of a hill
I have feasted my eyes upon a fair scene, a long green stretch
of valley, where the herds browse and the bees stagger with
their weight of honey, gathered on the slopes of Hymettus.
Groves of olive and myrtle, show in spots on the hills, and
the young buds and blossoms send their fragrance up to me,
for it is early spring in Greece. I shall only mention my visit,
you have been here, and know what it means to me.
The Acropolis, the Parthenon, the Theatre of Dionysus,
and the Odeon, Herodes Atticus, the Temple of Theseus,
and the magnificent ruins, the marvels of sculpture. A few
only have escaped the despoiler's hand. While here I have
visited Eleusis and the ruins of the great Propylae, where
priests once offered sacrifices in honor of the goddess Demeter
or Ceres. Pluto, Proserpine, the rhythm of the sea laving the
tombs of Themistocles what thoughts come to me !
Persians and Goths and their destruction of the beautiful
temples. The din of wars and high revel seems to come to
me as I stand once again on the summit of the Acropolis
for a last look. In fancy I hear the eloquent words of
Demosthenes, thundering across Mars Hill, and the softer,
sweeter tones of Paul, telling the Athenians the story of
the one true God. Sophocles, Plato, CEdipus, the blind king
of Thebes; Xerxes with his archers, the legendary camp of
the Amazons, Aristides, Leonidas and Pericles, are far more
entrancing to my mental vision than the every day life about
FROM THE WORLD
335
GREEK SOLDIER.
me. The degenerate
Greeks, especially the sol
diers, airy sort of war
riors in short full skirt,
braided jacket, white
hose, and betassled slip
pers, are a faint imita
tion of ballet dancers.
They revel in short skirts
while women break rock
on the roads, plough and
follow in the footsteps of
those who once wor
shipped the goddess Ceres, who once guided the plow and
taught the arts of agriculture.
Sappho and her songs, the Isle of Milo, Mount Ida, Cor
inth, fair Olympus, all are memories now, Aileen. The
Syrian coast, the Gulf of Smyrna, "The Crown of Ionia,"
Rhodes, the old town of the Crusaders, and Samos, the island
that knew Pythagoras what delightful recollections of them
and the terraced hills, valleys and snow-capped mountains;
of apple, almond and orange blossoms, the odors coming
direct as if from my own home. The dear familiar sweets
were wafted from strange unknown shores of the ^Egean
Sea and the bays along the indented coast line of Asia.
And now I am finishing this with the old town of Jaffa
or Joppa in sight. I will send this on with the boat, and
will follow this letter with another from the Holy City.
EDITH.
XXXVII
"Too deep, too deep, of the waters of love,
The beautiful woman had drunk in the wood;
The dangerous, wonderful waters that fill
The soul with wine that subdues the will."
My auntie avers that my way is not her way, Edith, dear,
and that I will drive her to an untimely death by my wilful
neglect of my home. You know she has full sway and
manages the house as if it were her own. But she would
like me to remain at home more than I do for her sake,
more than the house. Still she is a bit afflicted with the
old moth-eaten theory that woman is out of her sphere, if
she concerns herself with aught but domestic affairs. I tell
her that in this age of inventions, electricity, compressed air,
prepared foods, and ready made clothing, only addle-pated
women need concern themselves about household affairs all
the time or devote too much time to needless things. It
savors too much of the primitive man and the wickiups, when
women were expected to do all the hard work. 1 think my
house is a model of neatness.
Brain work counts in the management, you know. And
why should I spend any unnecessary hours within doors,
when, like yourself, I can frolic out doors to so much better
advantage to myself, mentally and physically.
Since visiting the Canon I concluded to try the Sierras.
An altitude of seven thousand feet suits me, and I am up
here for a short time. I am not searching for the lotus
blossoms of the Nile in the mountains, nor do I look for
edelweiss on the plains. Yet in my own dooryard at home
the papyrus tosses its long gray hair in the warm sweet winds,
as happy, green and luxuriant as it did in the old days on
the Nile. And the red spikes of the snow plant up here
standing like so many red-coated sentinels guarding patches
of snow, and lording it over the pale sweet mats of Cassiopea
and other star-like blossoms are worth more to me than all
336
FROM THE WORLD 337
the frosted furry gray bits of edelweiss in existence ! So
there is a fling at the bit of edelweiss you sent me.
You must understand that I think our mountains are
unequalled. Here I am seven thousand feet above my home
in the dear old city by the sea, with the great forest of sugar
pines hundreds of feet in height above my head, and climbing
the peaks still higher up, disputing the eternal snows crowning
their crests.
In Norway, the timber line is four thousand feet; but
here Nature seems to abhor rules, and is careless about lines
or boundaries. Small wonder that people are children of
Nature out here on the sunset's rim.
One day I slipped away from my friends and wandered
alone, through the vast solemn woods, listening to the sound
of wind-vexed boughs of the pines, tossing helplessly far-
above, while all was peaceful and quiet where I rested, on a
great flat boulder at the gnarled roots of a giant pine.
The god of contrariety possessed me that day. I would
not join a party in a picnic on Lake Tahoe. I wanted diver
sion of another kind, the diversion of being in pleasant
company my own for the vexed spirit of some old pagan
ancestor is crying out, striving to make itself understood
the spirit, I am sure, of some one bound by an inexorable
law, deprived of the bliss of wandering, as I do, free amid
matchless vistas of forests, and scenes of ineffable beauty.
Under the patriarchal trees where the sounds of rippling
water come in pleasing varying tones to the ears, while the
heavy odors of the woods rejoice the senses, I found myself
building mounds of stone the pagan in me at work com
memorating something or marking a place for worship; and
surely it was worth while. Here, where no sound of the
outside world pulses up to my retreat, I look from my
"Mizpah" up to the Cathedral Peaks, cut like cameos in the
ultramarine of the sky, Nature's magnificent carvings,
showing in the domes and graceful spires, sentinel Titans
above the lesser mountains which lie beneath them, like
tossed and tumbled frozen waves, left by the troubled throes
of a world, when chaos reigned, and think it small wonder
that human beings adoring the work of the Creator should
338 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
find themselves at times building monuments and heaps of
stone, puny imitations of the mountains, consecrated by His
presence.
I can have my heap of stone for my altar. So can every
one. There are no reserved pews here, no sectarian trees
saying this is the only way, but each and every shaft pointing
heavenward in silence and in peace. There is no wrangling,
no discords of varying opinions among them. I can think,
meditate, pray and give thanks to the All Powerful and
All Wise, without the disease of unbelief assailing me, and
thus am at peace with myself and the world. I find myselt
gathering branches of the wild cherry, inhaling the fragrance
of the pure white blossoms, and imagine myself back in the
old days of the Druids, when the white robed priests cut
the mistletoe branches and gave a piece to each household
that evil might be warded from each decorated door.
The mistletoe grows far below me in the valleys and
foothills, but these starry blossoms are better, sweeter and
more to my liking so I shall weave a garland for myself,
and fear not.
Splash, splash, ta-ral-ap, ta-ral-ap, the sounds from a small
stream that ripples along its shining moss-lined way, born
in some hidden spring further up the side of the cliff, reached
my ears, soothing and restful. There are great clusters of
azaleas, showing bits of pink flame in their blossoming
beauty, lining the stream; and the sun filtered through the
heavy foliage of the giants of the forest, and glistened on
the glossy leaves of the lower shrubs. The warm atmosphere
is heavy with a delightful harmless narcotic that is quieting
and lulls me to deeper, sweeter rest, than the world elsewhere
can give.
The sound of the winds among the "eld druid trees" comes
drifting downward, like the sound of the surf on a world
distant beach. It gave me a thrilling, the-world-is-mine sort
of feeling, caused by the supreme sense of isolation, away
from all of life and strife in the world below me.
I gather some clusters of azaleas and maiden-hair fern,
and clasp the cool five fingered ferns and lay them upon the
altar of friendship which I have built for you, Edith, and
FROM THE WORLD 339
[for one other ! The dear, sweet, perishable ferns, which
[bathed their tiny root fingers in the waters of the stream that
sings its way through the scented ways of bloom, send some of
their fragrance blessing the waters in return for the life it
[gives to them.
Ah, dearest, amid these tranquil retreats, I seem to be met
with a friendly spirit. I may never know the secrets Nature
holds sacred to herself, yet in the movements of the leaves,
in the multitudinous whisperings and strange workings of
unseen forces, I know peace and love are being sent out to
me in some strange, inexplicable way I feel but cannot
fathom. There is nothing hostile, only a welcome, and a
promise of peace within these mountain quietudes.
Far up in the air above a tiny lake that gleams like a gem
amid its emerald setting, a sea pigeon poises on motionless
wings and seems to be in harmony with my idle existence.
The bird is waiting for something its breakfast of trout,
doubtless down below in the shining depths. And somehow
I seem in an expectant mood, waiting for something to come
into my life, that with all I have had to bless me, has seemed
so far to be rather useless.
Yet how do we know that death will be any better? Will
it make those we care for love us more, when we do not need
it? Will it make our enemies hate us less when we do not
care? What does it all matter? Why should I care about
the time when my eyes are closed and the long dark tunnel
to which we all are hastening shall shut out the light for
evermore? It is while I know, and can appreciate the
flowers, and the kind words, that I want them. After death
I will not need or know.
I am roused by a soft footfall. 1 turn my head and see
two great liquid eyes gazing at me through a tangled under
growth of chaparral. A shy, spotted fawn is gazing curiously,
but does not seem afraid. Then I hear the drumming of the
grouse calling each other. I catch a glimpse of a humming
bird as with a whirr of wings it flashes from one bright
flower to another. The chipmunks chatter and scurry over
the fallen trees or race along in quest of food.
340 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
I love to watch the denizens of the forest, and the aimless
ants racing in mad endeavor to go nowhere, it seems, and
to hear the jay birds quarreling and see the woodpeckers
busy searching for the succulent grub under the rough bark
of the sugar pines. All interest me at times like this, when I
have found that my days have been insufficient and unsatisfy
ing while turbulent longings fill my heart. When there are
missing notes in Life's symphony, then I want to be alone and
go out in the woods or the fields, where people think; we
have nerves, in the cities, you know, Edith.
I find peace and harmony among things that cannot talk.
It was talk, principally, which sent me out here alone today.
There is a man, one of the party who came up with us.
How he attached himself to the party, I know not. I
believe he is one of those barnacles one finds in society, as
well as in salt water. He has a tongue, and two pale,
bleached, contiguous eyes that look like a picture I once saw
of the Siamese twins they are so closely connected. He
revels in the sound of his voice, and that he subserves sense
to sound never ruffles his placid content. He is one of those
pests who always have a good deal to say, and in order to
verify his statements, enters into the minutest details as to
the day of the week, the month, the year, and the name of the
person who said or did so and so. An exact diagram or map
of the country goes along with the story, which always floun
ders in a whirlpool of nothings that leaves his hearers, or
me, at least, in a mood for anything that is movable, or
throwable. But he, I understand, belongs to the nouveau
riche and is tolerated.
But this self-satisfied person wished to remain with "Miss
Aileen; she is so appreciative, you know." If only you could
have seen him when I thanked him and said I was not strong
enough to endure any company but my dull self, and I
preferred to be alone.
He stared at me in amazement; he could not comprehend
that anyone would refuse his company. He looked like
some lone, stray maverick that had been lassoed and brought
to a strange corral. He was positively bewildered at the idea
that his presence was not considered a tonic and a necessity.
FROM THE WORLD 341
He is a loose-jointed, nervous runt, his words coming in a
sort of weird chant, with an undertone or minor strain that
is burdened with a sort of wail, which is as soothing to me
as the sound of the fog horn at Point Bonita, and his phil
osophy of life is summed up in so many words winnowed from
a mass of verbiage.
"I am living my life as best suits me. I may be wicked,
but I enjoy my life, and spend my money which was left me.
I am not able or willing to work. I have one consolation
when my money is gone, if it must go, there is the county
hospital and a quiet time ahead where there will be nothing
to do but eat and sleep."
Do you wonder I fled to the wilderness and have spent the
day in solitude? I would not mention the incident, only I
will tell you that he is to marry soon an up-to-date widow I
have met, who believes in progressive matrimony as fully as
she does in euchre. Having slipped the matrimonial noose
twice, though yet young, a third term will not cause much
of a disturbance in her mental make-up. Her politics and
inclination permit her to believe in the third term.
I follow a trail still further up the slope; the air is heavy
with the scent of sun-steeped herbs, and farther up, almost
to the snow line, I hear the ting, ting-a-ling of bells and know
that a band of sheep is grazing on the tender growth of
shrubs, which are so dense I cannot see the herd. I resist the
temptation of following it further up, for the shadows
lengthen and the asters and tall, spotted lilies, growing
thickly, beckon me to their soggy vales of pleasantness.
I am enjoying and breathing the atmosphere of an air
stratum so high above the lower levels that I feel a sort of
exultation. There is a newness here, a something that strikes
me with a strange feeling, in the curious, breathless whisper
ings which come with the sway of the pine needles and
hushed rustle of decayed bark on the trees.
A sudden stab of the silence by the thud of a falling pine
cone accentuates the stillness; and in the solemnity of the
heights, I seem to sense the soul of the forest undefinable,
incontestable, mysterious which plays on my emotions and
enthralls with its compelling forces. When the wind sighs
342 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
softly around the great gray boulders and moans up among
the boughs, calling and whispering something, I fain would
know, but cannot solve. Lost and found again in echoes of
its own sighing, it comes to me like unspoken thoughts, that
in some way we know come to us from others.
All through the day there has been a feeling of expectancy
within me. The wordless music of the upper world seemed
to be portentous of something coming, coming, which my
material spirit cannot fathom. Nature crooning herself to
sleep, as the dim evening hours come. Then a sound more
definite comes to me something different, sweet, elusive,
faint, soft and dreamlike a melody that was full of the
most witching sweetness and touches the very depths of my
soul with its pathos. Then there were notes, triumphant,
clear, uplifting me into a new world one of song. Then
soft, solemn, heavenly music swept through the forest aisles,
trembling with sorrowful reverberations, which set my heart
and nerves trembling with the passion of it.
It sounded like the moaning banshee winds, around the old
ruined tower at Glendalough, which I heard once, and was
assured by an Irish guide, meant death. I shivered as the
strange melody thrilled and wrung my heart. There was so
much of sadness; it was full of minor chords, and cadences,
with tears and heartaches in it, that touched my heart to the
quick.
I hastened on in the direction of the sound. Gaining the
crest of a hill after a depression, I saw a young girl sitting
on a boulder, a short distance below me. A shaft of light
from the setting sun pierced the thick foliage, and cast a
warm light upon her hair, which shone a golden glory about
a face, so beautiful that it startled me. "Good-bye forever,"
she sang softly.
She looked as if the springtime of love, the songs of birds,
the fragrance of loquats and magnolia blooms had been with
her all her life. She was like one of the fair sweet flowers
herself in her young beauty. The gold of her hair might
have been stolen from the acacias, the blue in her eyes was
the blue of the forget-me-nots and heartsease. Her face
was marble-like in its whiteness, except the soft wild rose
FROM THE WORLD 343
blush of her cheeks, and her beautiful mouth, with the lips
curving deliciously in a true cupid's bow.
I stood for a moment waiting, as the last note died away,
tremulously, leaving me filled with its melody. She arose
and, looking upwards, I saw tears stealing down her cheeks.
I felt as though I was an intruder, and thought to turn and
go back unnoticed. But a movement sent a small pebble
rolling down the path. She started as if in terror. I said:
u Do not be frightened; I have been up here all day; there is
nothing to fear."
"You have been out here all day?" she asked.
"Yes, I enjoy being alone up here. I do not feel lonely;
in fact I am never less alone than when alone, as we term it,
when among such scenes as you see here."
While I was talking, she turned and brushed the tears
away, striving to control herself. Her voice was sweet and
tremulous, and in her eyes, with long lashes that veiled them
when she looked at me, there was a depth of woe, a dumb
pathos that thrilled me somehow with pity, though her
young beauty would rather inspire admiration than pity.
What sorrow had struck its shaft of pain in the heart
of this glorious creature? Some impulse made me feel such
an infinite pity that I longed to take her, stranger though she
was, in my arms and comfort her. She seemed scarcely more
than a child; one who needed to be soothed and loved.
"You are a lover of Nature, else you would not be out
among the hills all day; I know, and I understand," she said
softly.
"If so, then you know how good it is to have an hour or
two away from the heartbeats of a tumultuous world, and
forget if possible the passions that make or unmake those
who wander amid the ceaseless turmoil in the great stream of
human life that started with the beginning of our race and
flows unceasingly from the past to an eternity in an indefinite
future, to which we go joyously, or plod like beasts for a
few moons. Then we vanish like bubbles to give place to
others as frail, as hopeful as ourselves."
"You have learned something up here; you have time to
think," she said wistfully. "Do you not think there has
been something left out of the great plan of the universe?"
344 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"What do you mean?" I said, strangely interested.
"Do you not think if God cared about women at least
he might have arranged it in such a manner that we could
profit by our mistakes? That if there is anything after
death, save oblivion, it would have been so easy for those
who" she paused a moment, gave a little cough to suppress
a sob that involuntarily escaped her "who have solved the
mystery and would, out of the love which could not die, no
matter how happy, in a possible heaven leave it all if God
so willed, and come back for a little moment to warn, to tell
us, if sin or wrong threatened?"
I was so astonished for the moment that I knew not what
to say. In the instant her face changed; she smiled and said:
"I beg your pardon; this is not a place for theological dis
cussions, but somehow you drew me on without thinking. I
only arrived today, and came up the trail for a quiet hour."
"For which I thank you, and your songs you cannot know
how they impressed me ; yours is a voice which you should be
thankful for it is a gift few possess."
"Thank you; I was scarcely conscious I was singing, and
I thought I was alone on the hills."
"And I, too, thought I walked the path alone," I replied.
"The path alone!" she almost gasped, and her face grew
deathlike in its pallor.
"Yes; is there anything so remarkable about it? There
are no wild beasts, I think, in the vicinity; there are bears
farther up, but not here."
The color came back into her face, and she smiled
piteously.
"I think I am tired. Pardon me; 1 am not very strong
and will return to the hotel and rest. Thank you, I am all
right now; do not hurry on my account."
And she went hurriedly down the path. I thought she
wished to return alone, so loitered on my way. I shall close
this letter, now that the day is ended, but will say among a
number of letters received there are two notes from Bert.
Will give you extracts as usual that you may know how runs
the comedy:
FROM THE WORLD 345
"My sunshine; I am so glad that I have coined a name
that even thus faintly explains the light you have brought
into my heart and into my life. I love you, I worship you,
my sunshine, my magnolia, my love, my dear heart ! Know
there is one man 7^hose devotion to you is intense a part of
whose existence it is to worship you ; do not condemn him to
despair."
"Your very short note came. I read and reread it. It
was sweet to have a line from you, especially as it has seemed
such ages since I looked upon your dear face and into those
inspiring eyes. I do not understand the mysterious influ
ence that welds our souls. I only know that it exists; I only
know the moments of rapture I spend in your presence. I
only know how slowly passes the time when away from you.
I only know how I long to see you, and how I anticipate the
time when I can be with you always, and feel that nothing
can ever separate us. Life has not so many bright sides that
I can afford to neglect this, the brightest of them all. Not
always are we content if given the things we wish for; but
sometimes we are, I know. It is our nature to aspire to the
unattainable. When gained, it ceases to be the unattainable,
it is true; yet the soul is never satisfied; its hunger is never
satiated; its thirst is never quenched, and I think it well that
it is so. Yet this cannot be true of congenial companion
ship. It brings content while ever yearning for more. It is
satisfied, yet only so when the measure of its hope is filled.
Keep the cup brimming and running over, and the human
heart has found its earthly paradise !"
The unattainable earthly paradise, Edith dear; what mad
star was in conjunction with Venus at his birth? He had the
opportunity for an earthly paradise, and lo ! the result.
"When gained it ceases to be the unattainable." Yes, and the
desirable, also, my ardent Eros.
A later note says: "I had my grip packed to come to you
when fate intervened; but it shall not be for long, if it be
within the power of human effort. The delay is great, and
the time since I last saw you seems like a thousand years.
Will the absence make your sweet self any sweeter when I
meet you ?
346 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"No, I did not flatter you at all. I have often seen you
look well, but never so beautiful as that last evening. You
looked like a queen in your beauty. Your face was like
marble white without the horrid powder that disfigures so
many. Yet it was not a colorless white. Your toilet was in
perfect taste, that altogether 1 stood astounded! Did you
not read it in my eyes? When I passed on to others they
looked so tame and artificial and unattractive, that your
vision in my memory grew brighter. Whenever I shall think
of you, I shall remember you as you stood, beautiful and
peerless, that night. Unless, indeed, on some future occa
sion, you shall surpass yourself and present a yet more
fascinating picture. Yet I do not see how that could well be.
"My life pursues the same dull and uneventful routine.
My time I spend chiefly with my books. I often wish for a
companion, for it is dull reading or thinking by one's self,
and wish that you were with me. How long must it be ere
I can see you when I will, be with you always, have the same
sweet joys, and follow the same delightful pursuits? Not
long, I hope. And in anticipation of that happy day, I live,
endeavoring to content myself with prophetic pleasures.
"And now one more sweet, but tiresome, perhaps, to you,
reiteration of my love, my devotion to you. Why heap coals
of fire upon my head by your constant doubts? Why will
you continue to say such unkind things to me? Either I do
not comprehend your language, or else your letter has some
of the most cruel thrusts conscionable. I cannot and will not
think you mean it all, and am determined that you shall
believe and know, for I shall convince you of my devotion.
The enforced absence has driven me to desperation. 1 will
prove to you how true my poor heart has been to you. I
know myself better than the world knows me. And if there
is one trait of character stamped more indelibly upon my
nature than another, it is constancy to those I love. When
ever you can believe thoroughly in me, you will have no such
fears as you now entertain regarding my love."
My dear Edith, this has reached the limit of endurance;
I must end this farce. Not for Ruth's sake can I endure to
keep up a correspondence or a semblance of friendship. I
FROM THE WORLD 347
would hate myself had I indulged in a flirtation or been proud
of my poor conquest, if it is one, as many would delight in.
What I have done has been for friendship's sake and to try
to teach a lesson to the man who could so cruelly desert his
wife. Had he be^n a man who could love deeply or lastingly,
I would scorn myself for the slight encouragement I have
given him, as his letters prove, though he has the assurance,
I think, to believe that I have been waiting for renewed
expressions of his devotions.
1 have been careful to send you copies of all letters of any
importance, and equally careful about receiving him in my
home. Have had auntie or someone else always present
when he called. I have thought of possible contingencies,
and except a horseback ride and some walks at the Canon, we
have never been alone. This has seemed to exasperate him,
but there has been some trivial excuse always. I must write
to Ruth soon, and I do not know what to say. She must not
know of his make-believe passion for me. It would hurt her.
I think he has no love for her in his heart. If he has seen or
spent any time with the one she fears, I have not been able to
ascertain. Do I hear you give a sigh and say, "Glad the
letter is finished?" AlLEEN.
"*****! laid my plan
And childlike chose the weaker side;
And ever have, and ever will,
While might is wrong, and wrongs remain."
My Dear Edith: I must send another letter at once. I
feel like one of the moving figures in a bioscope. There has
been such a rush of events in my life since I wrote you that I
feel in my mental state a yearning for the quieting influence
of your dear self. If only you were here ! Aren't you a bit
weary of wandering? Wouldn't you love to be here in my
own cozy room, where you well know the world at large,
even the angel of the household, auntie, does not intrude
without special invitation?
We would rest on the divans and cushions, wrap the warm
Japanese kimonos about our forms, while breathing incense,
and the aroma of coffee I learned to brew while among the
Turks. We would sip the coffee and Orient ourselves while
348 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
we told each other tales that would be of unbounded interest
to a great many of our friends, if they could only hear.
I mean my Turkish room, modeled after one I saw in
Damascus. I gaze now and then at a fine narghileh on a
stand and wish that I could smoke ! Wouldn't your mother
be horrified at the thought? Auntie wondered why I had
such a "thing" put in my room. I told her it might be useful
some time, if 1 ever married a man who smoked. It would
be appropriate and ready. She sniffed imaginary smoke and
said:
"You expect to marry and bring your husband here?"
"Certainly," I said, "I shall never give up my home for
any man why should I? It is mine, and if I must lose my
name, why should I lose all that is dear? If the man I love
takes me, he must take the house, too. I am that kind of a
snail, auntie; I carry my house upon my back."
At any rate, I am now looking out of my window and feel
1 have a right to love and hold fast to that which is good. I
look down from the crest of the hill, which you know is one
of the highest in San Francisco. I see the waters of the bay
crisp and sparkling; and the great ships coming and going
out through the Golden Gate. The gray ocean shows mistily
beyond, and the beautiful hills rising in waves up from the
farther side of the bay to Mount Tamalpais, fairylike, in the
yellow gauze veiling the summit. And then I fall on my
knees, Edith, and sobs choke me for a while.
Now I am quiet enough to write you after the storm ! I
told you that I felt there must be an end to the correspondence
and the seeming friendship I had for Bert Wilder, and that
not even for Ruth's sake could I longer endure his letters,
which caused me so much disgust. He the husband of my
friend; the father of a babe, and so heartless that he has
made no inquiry about the child. He doubtless thinks Ruth
is somewhere in the State taking care of it, if not at Monte
rey; I do not know. At any rate he is not aware of the
intimacy of Ruth and myself.
I have not been at home to him since my return, but have
been deluged with notes, and have sent word that I would
see him.
FROM THE WORLD 349
I am something like a thermometer am writing and get
ting up to the climax by degrees. * * * I wrote you
the foregoing two days ago. Last night I arranged for
Wilder to come, and had the stage set. He came, looking
handsome enoug}^ to capture any susceptible woman.
"I am so delighted to see you back it has been ages since
I have seen you; you have been away so long," he said.
I will not dwell upon the phrases, but as soon as possible I
asked him to allow me to tell him a story.
I told him I had known a part of it for some time; that a
portion of it I would tell him, as it concerned some friends
of mine. Then I told him the story of Ruth and himself.
He seemed quite interested, interlarding sentences that were
not complimentary to the man. At last I told him that I hatf
adopted the child and would like him to see my adopted boy.
"I will be delighted," he said.
1 touched the bell and the nurse brought in the child. He
is a beautiful baby, and I could see a wonderful resemblance;
I wondered if he could. Bert was complimentary, and said
I ought to be proud of my adopted child.
"But," he asked, "how could the father or mother give up
such a lovely child? You did not tell me they were dead."
I signalled the nurse to withdraw, then said :
"That is why I have sent for you tonight. I want to
know the how, or why, of several things. "How," I asked,
in sudden fury, "could you treat Ruth Wilder, your wife, as
you have? And I would like to know who is the mother of
this boy you have just seen, which is your own child, and
born at your home in Monterey."
He grew deathly white for the moment, then recovered
himself and said:
"So Ruth has made a confident of you and you have
adopted the child which was left with her? It is kind of
you, like your great, generous heart to do so. But out of
your generosity, have you no kindness for me ? I felt I had
no love for Ruth, and in order to save her the shame of pub
licity, 1 acted as I did. We are all swayed by emotions at
times. I was carried away for the time, and when the truth
was forced upon me I knew not what to do, except the course
3so UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
pursued. I did not want the girl to suffer needlessly, and
felt I must make all amends possible."
"Yes," I broke in; "an honorable course to take your
mistakes in your own home and heap sorrows upon the head
of your devoted wife. That was honorable indeed!"
"The world's scorn would have been harder for her, I
thought, and I promised the girl I would do all I could to
right the wrong."
"What have you done in that direction? Have you tried
to get a divorce and marry her, and give your boy a legitimate
name and home?"
"I thought I might at the time, but I took a package to her,
one sent in my care by her adopted mother, the night I re
turned to Monterey with Ruth. I did not think to give it to
her until I put her on the train. I followed later on in the
day, and though I went repeatedly to the place where we
had lived and where she was to stay in retirement until I
could get a divorce and marry her, I have never been able to
find her."
"What was her name before she assumed the one Ruth
knew, Mrs. Bertram?" I asked.
"I would tell no one else in the world but you," he said.
Then, after a pause, continued: "You have her child and
mine. I know you would never divulge the secret. I did not
tell Ruth, but it might be as well for you to know, if you
have adopted the child. Her name is Alice Heaton. Where
she is, I know not."
"Alice Heaton!" I stared at him in amazement.
"Yes ; why ? Do you know her ? " I could not speak for a
moment.
"Know her? How could I know a girl like like the one
I am led to believe she must be? My acquaintances and
friends are not I stopped for a moment for the right
word.
"I beg your pardon," he said; "I understand, but she is
not quite what you think at least was not when I saw her
last."
"Does the child look like its mother?" I asked.
FROM THE WORLD 351
"I do not think so. She has blue eyes and golden hair,
and is very beautiful; in fact the most beautiful woman I ever
knew, except you," he said in his softest tones.
"Never mind about me," I said. I was bewildered. That
young girl the mother of the child in my nursery. This the
father, and Ruth, my friend, wandering somewhere in the
world what a labyrinth of misery and the heartless cause
of it all sitting in my presence with all the assurance of one
who thought what he did was right, no matter the result.
"But I do mind," he said. "I would have tried harder to
find Alice and perhaps would have married her had I not met
you. I do not know; I will be frank with you. It is not
possible for me to love Ruth, or to live with her longer, and
my infatuation for Alice seemed to die as soon as she disap
peared. I know that I have never truly loved J3ut you."
I started up, so choked with indignation and disgust that
I was unable to speak for a moment.
"Hear me, Aileen; you must and shall. I have waited so
long for this hour. I acknowledge that I have not treated
Ruth as I should; but am no worse than other men. I know
not a few who keep up more than one establishment ; and the
wife is fully aware of it, but would rather live and enjoy the
distinction of her husband's name than be known as a divorced
wife. I felt I could not have the public know of my indis
cretion or have Ruth endure the thought of my divided
attention. It was best to end it at once, and I was candid
enough to tell her."
"Yes, so I understand," I managed to say.
"1 thought you would, and that is why I am telling you all;
I want you to think and know that I am keeping nothing
from you. I love you so dearly that I want to bare my
inmost thoughts to you, and I tell you again that you are my
life, my hope, my all ! That I cannot live without you. With
you and your love, I may be able to retrieve my mistakes.
Ruth does not care, her affections are not deep, and the
mother of the boy does not. At first she thought she could
not give up the child; but I told her she must for the time
being, that after we were married we could adopt the boy
352 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
and no one would be wiser. But she evidently has forgotten
father and son.
"Dear Aileen, out of the greatness of your heart, you who
have taken the child into your home, can you not take me
into your heart also? Let me be safe in.|'our love, darling;
safe with my sunshine, my star, my guardian angel! Tell
me you love me a little. I have lived on the thought, and
the hope, though your letters and your modesty have pre
vented any expression that has been satisfying to my heart.
I feel that the decisive moment has come. 1 am pleading for
forgiveness of my errors and indiscretions. Help me to
retrieve the past, and to be all I desire to be in your eyes. I
can and will be, with your love, my star of hope, my heart's
best and only love."
The decisive moment had come and the sacred vial of my
wrath frothed up like a well shaken bottle of champagne. 1
cannot tell you all that I said. It has been the regret of my
life that I did not have a phonograph prepared that you
might hear it some time. But I told him why I had taken
the child. It was not for his sake, but because of my friend
ship for Ruth, my friend, whom I loved nearly as much as I
detested him.
"You," I cried, "ask my love? You who are unworthy to
speak the word that means the opposite of anything your
deceitful, treacherous nature can understand. I despise you,
who are a thing too low and mean, too contemptible for any
woman to honor with any kind of respect or regard. I
undertook the task at poor Ruth's request of trying to
ascertain if you still loved your wife and the mother of your
dead child. And with the vain hope that you would recover
from your infatuation. Though I advised her as to the
futility of it told her even before I knew you so well that
you were unworthy of her regard, but with her experience
before me, I could not believe you were the debased wretch
I have found you. How I have laughed over your protesta
tions, your glittering bubbles of a semblance of love which
look well on paper. 'Sunshine,' indeed ! Well, I do not
want the poisonous, night-shade affection you offer, despicable
semblance of manhood that you are ! I have done what I
FROM THE WORLD 353
have done for a weak, defenseless woman. But now, 1 want
you to understand, that I am not to be contaminated by your
presence any longer. Never again are you to come here or
speak to me. I shall endeavor to make your wife know
what you are, if it is possible, and disillusion her. I think
I can when I show her your letters, but perhaps they were
copies of letters you wrote to her and the other one whom I
met in the mountains and learned her name, Alice Heaton,
who, if appearances count, is suffering for her folly."
I paused, out of breath, I was so exasperated! Really,
Edith, I had not thought the wretch would tell me all of his
vileness, and then in the same breath ask me to help him share
it. He had shrunken down in a chair while 1 was talking and
pouring out my indignation in more words than I can write
you. When I stopped he arose he was trembling, whether
with shame or anger I knew not. He turned his eyes upon
me and there was such a baleful light that, strong as I am
physically, and not a coward at heart, either, I felt a chill
strike me like an icy breath.
"So, you have been amusing yourself with me all these
months?" he said.
"If you so term it," I answered. "The farce of make-
believe love is not a copyright for you alone, is it?" my
courage coming back with full swing.
"I have had one thought, one hope, while enduring your
presence and fumigating your malodorous expressions of
undying love on paper for I have had, besides enjoying
the absurdity of it, the thought that if you cared for me in the
least, that I was having a little bit of revenge for what you
have made Ruth suffer, and I hoped for revenge also on the
heartless woman whom I thought could desert her child. She
has redeemed herself in my eyes, and no matter what her life
may be, however deeply she may drink the dregs of sin or
shame, where you have sent her, she can never sink so low as
she would had she accepted you, the debased man you are, as
a husband."
"Oh, Aileen! I cannot believe you," he said. The fierce
look had died away in his eyes. "You are indignant; you
look upon things differently from many women. You are
354 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
brave to undertake what you have. I honor and respect you
for what you have done; and I love you, no matter what you
say or think. You command my respect and my admiration.
You are the first woman I have ever had to beg for kindness
and love. Pardon me if I say that which has been tendered
me has come too easily. There is nothing I would not do to
gain your love, your respect. Put me to the test. I will
promise anything that is within the power of man if in the
end you will give me a kind word, and let me live in the
exquisite happiness of your presence."
"Would you be willing to take Ruth to your heart again,
if I could forget and forgive?" I asked, smothering my
contempt.
u Yes," he replied eagerly, "I will do so at the earliest
possible moment if only I may come to you now and then,
and have the only consolation left in life for me; the conso
lation of looking into your dear eyes, of clasping your hand,
or the ineffable bliss of holding you in my arms once in a
while as my recompense for a duty, hard as it will be. But a
duty that shall be faithfully kept because you ask it and
because of my love for you, whom I worship. My queen,
my strength, my hope ! Say the word and quickly."
Edith, dear, I do not know that I was ever really angry in
my life before. Such a transport of rage took possession of
me that I positively forgot that I was not Goliath. I only
remember that I sprang forward and took hold of his collar
and forced him down in the chair beside which he was stand
ing, with a strength I did not think I possessed.
"Do not stir!" I panted. "I think I will kill you if you
do! You offer to take your wife back, if you can carry on
clandestine meetings with me, you scoundrel! You want to
lower me to your loathsome level. My God ! If I were only
a man that I might choke the life out of your worthless body !
If I only had a brother or some one who could chastise you as
you deserve, and brand you for the coward and poltroon
that you are."
"Your words ought to be sufficient," he sneered, as 1
stepped back, and he arose and started toward the door. I
saw it was open, though the curtains were partly drawn.
FROM THE WORLD 355
It rather startled me, for 1 thought the nurse closed it
when she went out, and I wondered if anyone could have
overheard us.
"Now, hear me," he said. "You have had your innings
and my time has come. You have been kind enough to
receive me, you have taken my child into your home. A few
words to the club fellows will make it appear as your own.
In fact I was so proud of your letters that I spoke to some of
them about your friendship and our correspondence. Also
your invitation to accompany you to the Grand Canon. I
believe you were away when the child was born. No one
knows who the mother is. The rest will be very easy. It
would be a good thing indeed if you were a man. The
world forgives everything in a man but has little or no for
giveness for a woman, especially a woman who is so well
known and envied as you have been. It will be a sweet morsel
for some people we both know."
The devilishness of the man struck me with full force. He
went out with a smile on his face that was positively sickening
in its diabolical meaning, and I being only a woman after
all fell back almost senseless.
Almost my first thought on recovering myself it was not
long, for I am not hysterical, and fortunately no one came
in was something I had written either to you or Ruth, I do
not remember which. It was this: "Greater love than this
hath no woman than she who perils her reputation for a
friend." All this have I done, whether wisely or not I cannot
say. Certainly not if the coward does what he threatens, and
I think he is the man who will revenge himself in that way
if he can gain anything by it. But not for the sake of the
dear world, its smiles or its frown, will I ever see or talk to
him again.
If there are men and women who believe him I must bear
it as best I can. I shall not falter or let Ruth know, and I
will keep the child until she returns. It will be doubly hard
to have it, though it is innocent and unconscious of its
heritage. But with my whole soul abhorring its father, my
burden is not light, my dear. Were I selfish I would say,
come back, I need you ! I am woman enough to want to lay
356 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
my head on your heart and tell it all over again. And child
enough yet to want to kick and howl if only I might if I
could, be sent to bed supperless and forget it all next day
just as we used to do. It would be worth while, wouldn't
it, dear? AILEEN.
XXXVIII
"Sing a song of sunshine, sing it from the heart,
Life is filled with sweetness when love forms a part;
Sighs and tears forever such a song will drown;
Brighten up the pathway, drive away the frown;
All the world will greet you as you pass along,
If there's smiles and sunshine ever in your song."
It is springtime in Palestine spring that comes in March
as it does in California, and the quaint old town of Jaffa is
redolent with the fragrance of orange blossoms, which are
everywhere about the dear old town. The trees are almost
smothered with the golden globes of fruit, and the masses of
white blossoms. It is very pleasant after the snow and cold
bleak winds of Constantinople.
I was told that it was too early for Palestine, but my first
experience after landing at Jaffa was that the south winds had
come and spring was here fragrant and sweet. The Med
iterranean was quite smooth when I landed at Jaffa which
was fortunate, for it often happens that it is so rough
here that landing is impossible. There are no break water
or piers. The steamers land in the stream and small boats
transport passengers and cargo to the quay through some
ugly looking rocks encircling a small bay which guards the
city. There are only one or two openings through which
the small boats enter into Jonah's Bay, and debarkation is
hazardous at all times.
One's life and luggage seem to be of little consequence
in the mad effort of the boatmen to secure the passengers and
their belongings. The noise and confusion among the rival
companies was amusing as well as distracting, but we wen.
carried or hurled through the jagged reef by the surf and the
excellent rowers, into the bay where the water was smooth
enough to allow me to breathe and look up at the ancient
city of Jaffa.
357
358 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
It was Joppa when it was a colony in the land of the Phi
listines, and the name meant beautiful. Whether the old
name or the new the situation means it, though the town has
scarcely lived up to it. In the days of Solomon this was a
port, as now, for Jerusalem. As far back as the building of
the temple, the King of Tyre sent timber from Lebanon.
The old myths cling about the walled city and the bay.
Andromeda, the sea monster, and Perseus still live in
history and painting. A point of rocks was shown me by
my dragoman as being the identical place where Andromeda
was chained. Here also Jonah had his little tussle with the
whale which lasted for three days.
There is much that is mythical about the old place that
was destroyed and rebuilt time and again. The Romany
Cestius, Vespasian, the Crusaders, a brother of Saladin,
Richard Coeur de Lion, were all interested in various ways.
Now it is a prosperous town for the exports are large, and
it is here the thousands of Pilgrims land yearly on their way
to Jerusalem, besides the army of travelers who help to make
the place lively.
Jaffa is high above the sea and the fair plain of Sharon,
rich and fertile, stretches from it to Caesare, Carmel, and
the wavy, undulating lines of the Judean hills show in the
distance. There is the road to Gaza and another to Jerusa
lem. In this quaint old town is where Dorcas lived and Simon
the tanner plied his vocation.
There is one daily train between Jaffa and Jerusalem,
which makes a bit faster time than could a pair of good
horses. It has its advantages, however, for one has as good
a view of the country as from a carriage or on horseback.
The views were exquisite as we went on slowly over the
lovely plain of Sharon; now green with fields of grain and
clover, where the shepherds guard their flocks and play
plaintive melodies on reed instruments to the wandering
sheep and lambs frisking in the warm sunshine.
The warm, sweet winds, laden with odors of almond, peach
and orange blossoms, fanned my face and filled the car with
delicious fragrance. There were splashes of color every
where amid the waving grain, and by the wandering streams
FROM THE WORLD
359
SHEPHERDS AND FLOCKS ON THE ROAD
TO JERUSALEM.
the great crimson blots
showing where grew
the blood-red rose of
Sharon or anemones.
Enchanting scenes
were on every hand;
valleys far more fertile
than I had expected to
find; rough, rugged
hills, and the blue sea
in the distance.
I remember, among
other villages, Ram-
leh, a walled city once
larger than Jerusalem,
but its glory has de
parted. There were
fine orchards and palm
trees growing in the
vicinity. The soil is
exceedingly fertile. I
look and think of the songs of Solomon, for indeed the sun
had looked upon them.
Winter had broken, the cold winds were not felt and the
rose of Sharon gladdened the eyes. Walled in were the
gardens of Judea, covering the sunny slopes, and the wan
dering winds carried the breath of flowers and the songs of
birds to the sleeping sea below.
The road leaves the plains and enters the arid, stony hills,
and high on a rocky cliff I was shown a cave where Samson
lost his hair. We paused at Bittir, or Bethor of the Bible,
where was the siege which lasted three years, and the thou
sands slain were so great that it was said the blood of the
Jews reached to the nostrils of the horses and flowed down
to the sea. The hills looked bare and desolate; no shrubbery,
and but little grass is seen. A few gnarled olive trees grow
in the ravines. Then we came to the plain of Rephaim,
where the boundary between Judea and Benjamin ran; but
more memorable for the rout of the Philistines by David.
360 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
Walls, towers, rounded domes, flash before my eyes, and
we are in Jerusalem ! Only a glimpse and my dragoman has
taken me out of the strange, seething crowd and the babel of
unknown tongues, to a carriage, and 1 am driven over a
smooth road and into the city through the famous Jaffa Gate.
How different it seems to the city of my imaginings ! The
arrival by train was prosy and commonplace, but comfortable
in its way. I found the hotel where I stopped modern and
good, so the necessities of life were easily obtained in the old,
old city.
With what conflicting ideas and confused impressions I
wandered through the city of my dreams. A city that since
my Sunday school days had not been to me like any other
earthly city. But, while I was, during my stay, disillusioned
in many respects, the interest never wavered. And there was
little disappointment in all the various places I visited. The
Church of the Holy Sepulchre is of absorbing interest; but it
is galling to see the Moslem custodians at the entrance drink,
smoke and jest at the Pilgrims who, footsore and weary,
prostrate themselves, kiss and weep over the Stone of Anoint
ment, where the body of Christ was laid. It is sad, too, that
to these scoffers are entrusted the keys of the church. To no
one sect of Christians worshipping under the roof can the
keys be given, so bitter is their hatred of each other.
Feuds have been engendered among the different religious
sects for possession of the various relics within these walls.
Above the shrines burn the lamps of Greeks, Copts, and
Latins, and peace perforce rests here.
In the center of the rotunda is the Holy Sepulchre. Here
the holy fire issues on Easter Eve. Oriental Christians remove
their shoes before entering. But we were not expected to
do so. We entered a small chapel and descended into a
cavern, where are places in the hewn rock. There is one
lined with marble, said to be the actual sepulchre. A piece
of the cross and the stone the angel rolled away was found
here. Much must be taken with the faith that questions not.
So we go from one sacred spot to another, on and on until
one is too tired to think or dispute.
FROM THE WORLD 361
This church is supposed to cover the ground where Joseph
of Arimathea's Gardens were. The fable of the exact center
of the earth where Adam was created is told to me, and the
spot is marked by a ball, my dragoman insisting it is Adam's
skull ! Not mine the right to question only to look and
wonder. I saw the footprints of Christ, the stocks where
his feet were placed, the prison where he was bound, where
he was scourged, and the place where Mary received the body
of her Son.
A network of suppositions, of traditions, hangs about the
place. Adam was buried here, and the blood of Christ flow
ing through a cleft rock touched and restored him to life.
Of the resurrected Adam tradition tells us not. The place
where stood the three crosses, the rod of Moses, and the
innumerable things are wearying.
I go out into the streets, filled with a moving, pulsing life
that is not mythical, but following along the line that reaches
back into the dim ages, it is very little changed. Through
the narrow, stony, stair-like streets I see the donkeys climbing
as I have seen them in pictures, even as they climbed through
the similar streets when the Infant went with His mother
away from the land of Herod.
And then I go out through the imposing Damascus Gate,
with its towers and gray battlements, where are throngs of
people. Bedouin tents, and kneeling camels rest there or take
their burdens over the roads with noiseless steps, but growling
and complaining often with a wondering look in the soft,
liquid eyes, a look, too, that seems longing to be free from
the wearying crowds and the heavy loads. A lifting of the
muzzle, a start as if the deserts, the palms and quiet beyond
the hurry, and rough grind of the world, might be reached;
and then they are driven on and the camel's dream is over.
The poor beasts kneel before their often brutal keepers, more
ill used than any beast, save the donkey, in the world, I
think.
Beyond the gate is the valley of Kidron, where the
Moslems bury their dead on one side, and the Jewish ceme
tery is on the other. On the road leading past the Golden
Gate is Absalom's Tomb, which is piled about with stones.
362
UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
No Jew passes the spot without throwing a stone. They
remember Absalom's disobedience. Back of this is the Tomb
of Jehoshaphat, the pool of Siloam, the Valley of Hinnom,
where children were sacrificed to Moloch, and there is the
Grotto where Jeremiah wrote his Lamentations.
Above this place is a lonely hill called Gordons Calvary,
the place where He suffered, was buried, and rose again, must
ever be of supreme interest to all believers. It seems to me
DAMASCUS GATE, PORTE DE DAMASCUS.
the only possible place for the tragedy enacted here. The
church built over the supposed place in the heart of the
crowded city, a city larger then than now, could not have been
outside the walls at that time.
On this lonely Calvary, one might well imagine the throngs
who watched the crucifixion. Through the gates came those
who loved Him, following the form bearing the cross along
the Via Dolorosa, to Golgotha. One has visions of the bril
liant concourse of high officials and high priests, of Agrippa
almost persuaded, of the rabble and the patient face of Him
FROM THE WORLD 363
who was crucified, and the poor and needy whom this stranger
looked after.
It seems to me there has not been much change in their
condition since the crucifixion. The poor are in the city's
streets, persistent and insistent as of old, which are filled with
a life that is not mythical, but follows in the line of tradition.
Along the streets or outside of the walls, places are shown
me that somehow seem strangely familiar. So I feel as I sit
on the slopes of the Mount of Olives and below me see the
road, up which creep the lepers to sit by the highway and cry
with piteous pleadings for help. The solitude is perfect on
Olivet, golden shadows waver over the Judean Hills. Far ii?
the distance I see the misty outlines of the Moab Mountain^
and like a great gleaming gem the Dead Sea flashes and burns
in the clear light. The valley of the Jordan is of emerald
hue, and a tiny thread glints now and then, showing the old
river hastening to lose itself in that sea wherein no thing of
life is known.
The faint twitter of birds comes from the olive trees, and
far above in the blue ether are vultures sailing or poising on
wings that seem never to move or quiver. No breath of wind
touches the sleeping palms and the noise of the city is not here.
The magical effect of silence, of nature, is enthralling. The
people, the churches, and the bazaars are all wearying.
Sacred as is the dear old city, her walls and rough, stony
streets and the suppositious places are not solacing. Here on
the hill things seem as though they might be but little
changed; these trees, hoary and old, stood, perhaps, and saw
the scene on Calvary over and beyond. They witnessed the
Transfiguration, perhaps. Farther away is Nazareth, and
there is the white, gleaming road over which I traveled to
Bethany and Jericho.
I remember the beautiful day when 1 drove with an
especial escort provided by the Government a sheik with
grave, immovable face, which seemed unchangeable until I
praised his beautiful Arab horse, then a tenderness stole in
his eyes that were until then fierce and gleaming.
Jordan, the Dead Sea! The Wilderness! Mount of
Temptation ! The exhausting journey over the alkaline
364 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
plains leading to the Dead Sea I well remember. Tents,
from which peered swarthy, Bedouin faces, and from which
little brown children, with no more clothing than the angels
wear, ran to meet us.
Pilgrims from the far steppes of Russia toiled along the
road to rest on the longed-for Jordan. Weary, yet hopeful,
they had walked from Jaffa and Jerusalem. The faith that
was as a grain of mustard seed, the faith of those who were
guided by the Star of Bethlehem, was with these people.
Christ certainly was as real as possible to these Pilgrims as to
those of old. They go to the Jordan, and in Jerusalem they
kneel on Calvary, kiss the dust His feet once trod, and
grieve by Golgotha, even as the Jews who meet and wail be
side that vast, torn, gray old wall, where their tears seem to
give life and moisture to the frail mosses and tender green
vines growing out of the rifts.
All these memories come to me and I am loath to leave the
hill and go back to the crowds and the dusty city, where
water is so precious that when the streets are sprinkled it is
done by pouring a tiny stream from pigskins carried about
by men. Once more I look toward Jericho and see the won
drous flush of rose and apricot on the hills. And then 1 go
down among the masses.
Armenians, Greeks, Syrians, the whole world of men clad
in strange costumes; the veiled women, and the beggars, per
sistent as gadflies, and the strange mixture of races greet
me. There are quaint scenes and a strange gravity of the
masses, for one hears but little of song or laughter. There
are no places of amusement, no newspapers. It is unlike any
other city. There are no street cars with ringing bells, yet
therein lies the charm.
One would scarcely wish to see the things here one meets
in modern cities. The Ecce-Homo Arch, the Tomb of David,
the Room on Zion, where was eaten the Last Supper, the
place where Judas lived and made it a crime, seemingly, for
men to greet each other with a kiss; where Peter lived and
proved how inconstant a man can be.
Every nook and corner, every street and wall, is associated
with the past that is sacred, that will endure. For the Holy
FROM THE WORLD
36S
City is connected with the past, the most sacred in the history
of the world.
One of the most quiet, as well as the most beautiful, of
all places in Jerusalem, is the magnificent Mosque of Omar.
Cairo, Constantinople, Moscow, have nothing that exceeds
ECCE HOMO ARCH, JERUSALEM.
this in beauty, in magnitude or decorations. The immense
dome, the arches and pillars are unequaled. A special guard
escorted us into the place where the faithful pray, facing
Mecca. This covers the sight of Solomon's Temple. Here
the sacrificial stone where Abraham's faith was tested
is
and Isaac escaped.
366 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
When Mohammed went to heaven, this stone, which would
cover half a block, rose to follow him. The angel Gabriel
pushed it back to earth. David, Solomon, Abraham, and
others prayed in niches underneath this stone. An imprint
of Mohammed's head is shown, proving him to be taller than
the others, the stone kindly receding in one place for him.
It cost quite a sum of money to go through this Moslem
wonder, but it is worth it. Aside from the legends, the chaste
beauty of the carvings in wood, the effect of coloring, is mar
velous in richness, the light falling from the exquisite windows
high up in the dome, down upon the wonderfully beautiful
and priceless rugs covering the floors. Legends and traditions
in bewildering confusion greet me at every turn. Mohammed
declared one prayer better here than a thousand elsewhere.
He prayed beside the rock and from hence he went heaven
ward on his steed El-Burak. The Mosque El Aksa, where he
received his revelation, the walls, columns, porches, beggar
description.
I leave the place where is the rock whereon was written
"Shem," the great and unspeakable name of God, and wander
through the streets, where are the money changers, and the
bazaars, where the owners wait in placid content the pleasure
of the buyers. We ride on donkeys through and around the
city, that is never without interest.
On a certain day I drove through the Jaffa Gate, where are
always seen the throngs of people passing in and out of the
walled city, over the road where went the three Wise Men;
the road which is always lined with people, with donkeys and
camels heavily burdened. Flocks of sheep and goats walk
peacefully along the way. There are terraces and a perfect
network of stone fences lacing and interlacing the hill slopes
where grow the vines and fruit trees. Peach and apricot trees
grow here, and the almond, in all the glory of white and pink
bloom, shower the blossoms upon the ground as we pass.
All the tender herbage of spring gladdens the eyes and hearts
of these people, who know what winter means, for it is colder
than with us on the Pacific's rim, Jerusalem and Bethlehem
being over two thousand feet above the sea level. On the
road we passed by Rachael's Tomb, the well of the Magi, and
FROM THE WORLD
a lone tree is shown me where Judas hanged himself. Then
we are in Bethlehem. The o)d town is interesting. One
thinks of the beautiful, idyllic story of Ruth, and my heart
goes out to the Ruth we know.
1 will pause here a moment, Aileen, to say that I feel
wicked when I think of the Ruth we know. I used to be so
angry when mama held her up to me as an example for me
to follow. I thought once she cared more for praise and
for effect than to be her natural self. I think I misjudged
her, and cry "me a
culpa." I think of her
sorrows, and hope to
make amends some
time.
I look on the places
where shepherds
watched their flocks by
night, and the story is
retold again. And in
some caves under the
sloping hills I saw the
same scenes re-enacted
in the gathering of the
flocks at eventide, the
shepherds with sandals
laced with leathern
thongs, clothed in gar
ni en ts of sheepskin,
guard their flocks by
day and night as has
been done since Christ said, "Feed my sheep." How easy
it is to understand certain things in the Bible when one visits
the Holy Land. The herbage now, almost at its best, is
scanty and sparse, and the food for the herds is a thing of
care and anxiety at all times.
In a crypt of the church I saw the manger where the
Infant foretold was born. The story of the manger, the
stable, the babe, the star, the men who followed it who has
not cherished mental pictures of them from early childhood?
THE WELL AND ROAD WHERE WENT THE THREE
WISE MEN.
368 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
It was disappointing to me to find the manger of today lined
with white marble, with a toy doll and rich brocades for
hangings.
Out of the churches and away from the cities, in the
country, one can imagine there has been but little change. I
saw David's well and his cisterns, which have lasted probably
all these thousands of years. They mean much here, as in
Jerusalem, where there are no aqueducts or water, except the
COLONNADE OF THE MOSQUE OF OMAR, JERUSALEM, PALESTINE.
rain that falls upon the roofs and is collected in the cisterns.
Water has ever been the crying need of Jerusalem.
Back again in the Holy City, and from the battlements I
look on Bethany, Olivet, Gethsemane and its old gnarled
olive trees, and other historical places. I see the mountains
rimming the Jerusalem of today. The sun sinks behind the
hills, and the notes of the Angelus come soft and tremulous
from the sweet sounding bells, mingled with the muezzin's
cry, calling the faithful to prayer, "No God but God." They
call through the calm of early dawns, and subdued stillness of
dim evenings. Whether from Christian church or Moslem
FROM THE WORLD 369
tower, the cry is ever the same, as are the desires of the heart.
And mankind here as elsewhere goes on through life, hoping,
trusting alike, for peace and happiness beyond the grave.
I am not given to postscripts, Aileen, but you must have
one with this letter. I cannot wait a moment to tell you that
Ruth Wilder and Fred Marshall are here in Jerusalem, and
that I came face to face with them in the lobby of the hotel
this evening. I literally fell upon Ruth's neck, and in imag
ination treated Fred to a similar embrace. Next to you and
mama, I could not have asked a greater joy. They have
just arrived with a party of friends, and tell me that I am to
join them. They will not hear of anything else, and it can
be easily arranged.
I positively feel rejuvenated, even in this city, where it is
proper to be steady when one starts to grow. I really did a
deux temps in the hotel lobby, I was so happy. Ruth is look
ing fully as well as I expected to see her, from your reports.
Fred is well, he was always a handsome man, you know,
better looking I think than Frank, who, by the way, returned
very hurriedly to California without telling Fred just why he
deserted him. Not another word. YOUR EDITH.
XXXIX
"Prince, be you wise in your golden prime;
Live you and love while pulses flame,
Till careless you pass sans prose, sans rhyme
Back to the night from whence you came."
I am dipping my pen in dreams, and am wandering in
dreamland, Edith, a land from which I pray God I may
never awaken. I revel in the sweetness and the delirium of
my dream life. Death is what I fear now, for then there will
be no fancies, no dear possible or impossible things but just
forgetfulness of all, of every one I know, of those I can call
my own, my very own. But then I have faith that all will
be made right and that God will not let us be lost from our
loved ones through all eternity.
But life is so sweet to me now that I do not want to dream
or think of anything except life and its treasures. I have
come out unscathed, I trust, from my recent nightmare of
which I wrote you. Perhaps it is worth while, after all, to be
faithful to our friends for friendship's sake, which some
times costs more than anything else in the world.
I had time to think it over for several days after I wrote
you and I dreaded more than I can tell you the effect of
what that Mephistopheles might do. 1 have, as you know,
been rather proud of my name and position, and while I knew
that I had done no wrong, one cannot always tell where a
falsehood, well sown and watered by cups of tea and other
liquids may spread its noxious roots. And more than ever I
feared the spread of the canker when Frank Lindsay sent up
his card. I knew he and Bert Wilder belonged to the same
club, but I did not know that Frank had returned from
Mexico. He had written rather often and I thought he
intended going to Egypt, at least his letters intimated as
much.
I was glad to see him, and longed to tell him all my
troubles. You know we have known each other since we
370
FROM THE WORLD 371
were very little tots, and I have gone to him with many a
little sorrow in tenderer years. Well, dear, after we had
chatted a while, he spoke of Ruth and told me how they had
traveled together for a time and spoke of her sorrow and
grief; and said something also about our friendship.
"I always thought you were one of Ruth's best friends,
Aileen," he said, in a rather peculiar tone.
"And what weighty argument has caused you to say you
thought so why not say you think or you know I am her
friend?"
u One can't always be certain we may think things, until
proofs come to drive fixed beliefs to the winds."
It flashed across my mind in an instant that Bert Wilder
had put his threat into execution, and the thought of my
lifelong friend whom I trusted even as I do your honest
heart, Edith, seared my soul.
"What do you mean?" I asked, while I felt the blood
leave my face despite every effort.
"I have heard that Wilder visited you at your country
home; that he was with you on a trip to the Grand Canon."
"Well, and what else?" 1 asked. My heart seemed ready
to burst.
" Is it not so ? " and he smiled. It stung me to the quick.
"Yes, it is true," I replied.
"Then you confess, Aileen, you, the pure, honest girl I
have known, since you were a dear loving little sweetheart
of mine, that you have been following in the footsteps of
the many in the common rut, I might say," he said slowly.
"You encouraging a married man the husband of your best
friend, one who trusts you, and believes in you as in herself.
What am I to believe?"
' 'I thought I should die, Edith, to have Frank doubt me.
It was too much to endure. I had never thought it possible
that he could come to me like this, even had Wilder carried
out his threats. I cared more for Frank's good opinion in
the moment I knew it ! It burst upon me like a flash of light
ning than the whole world besides. And with the knowl
edge came the grief and anger that he should doubt.
372 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"Believe what your friend and close companion Bert
Wilder says. All and more! You haven't been told the
half of it!" Righteous indignation flamed in my face, for
I felt it was burning. Again he smiled.
"So you confess?"
"All and more when you have donned your robes of
priesthood!" I flashed back at him.
"I cannot wait," he added. "I want to hear from you
and you only, and now. I have had such unbounded faith
in you, your noble womanhood, your pure life, for I have
watched you closer than you know, perhaps. I have placed
my faith in womankind in your keeping."
"Well, you can find cold storage elsewhere. I am not going
to be a receptacle or an example any longer. Find someone
else who is worth the effort; even though we have been
friends, I want to tell you that you are like the rest of your
sex. It is the Adam in you ever ready to blame the woman."
I paused, my whole frame trembling, though I kept my
fingers clutched upon the arms of the chair that it might not
be observed.
"Was he not here two or three days ago? Did you not
receive him here alone, and for a long time? How long
do> you remember? "
"Yes, he was here, and I sent for him ! And the time
well, what does it matter to you?"
"A great deal, especially when the door was ajar, and
anyone who happened in the outer room could see and hear."
"You did not you would not dare to
"To listen? Well, I did, and am rather glad that I hap
pened here at the particular moment I did, though I thought
it best not to declare my presence at that time."
The thought that he had heard and knew the truth was
the traditional feather, at least the truth moulted one at that
moment which brushed away something like a film from my
eyes and I seemed to see Frank's eyes smiling into mine with
a mischievous light; and another light also new to me.
"Aileen, let us end this farce. Don't you know, sweetheart,
I have always loved you, though I have been afraid you did
not care. But looking into your troubled, angry eyes, some-
FROM THE WORLD 373
thing tells me you do care a little and I think you need me
now, don't you ? Come "
He opened his arms and I knew I needed his care his
love, and that I had waited for it as the one needful thing
all my life, and that heaven had indeed been kinder than
I deserved.
I know now that love, the flower and fruit of the best and
highest in life, is mine. It is but the fulfilling of the law,
even as of old. It will transform not only myself, but the
whole world for me. Of it I feel I am truly born again,
and I know too well that all of my life worth living is and
will be fostered, nourished and kept pure and true by my
great love for Frank.
Our little secrets are too sacred to speak of Edith, but
we are to be married at once and go to El Nido. No waiting
for a needless trousseau, Frank says, and his vacation is not
yet ended. He has confessed that he came home because
Ruth confided in him that she asked me to help her. And
he, knowing Wilder so well, realized the danger I was in
and hastened home.
He has told me since that he saw Bert at the club and
invited a number of friends to dine with him. After the
dinner was over and the waiters withdrew, he locked the door
and then told the whole story to them. Bert, the coward that
he is, tried to bluster, and once mentioned my name. Frank
said :
"If you mention the name of my future wife, if I can
gain her consent, 1 will shoot you cowardly cur that
you are."
Then he told the gentlemen present how he had come to
call upon me and was ushered into the reception room and
hearing Wilder mention his wife's name, he paused a moment,
uncertain whether to withdraw or intrude. Then he heard
Wilder say that "his wife did not care."
" 'I concluded to wait, as I had left the heart-broken
woman so recently,' I said to them, Aileen."
Then he told them the story of Wilder's wife, the birth
and death of their little babe, of Bert's neglect and indiffer
ence, how he seduced a young girl; and then to> cap his infamy
374 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
took her to his home in Monterey. Then with a made up
story about a cousin gained the sympathy of his wife. Frank
told them of Wilder's brutal conduct to her and his desertion
also, and his heartless conduct toward the girl later on. And
told them also how I had taken the child for Ruth's sake,
trying to keep the separation a secret, and hoping that Wilder
would return to his wife in time ; and imperiling my reputation
for Wilder's wife, who was my friend, whom we had both
known and loved since we were children; also of his dastardly
offer to me.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I have loved Miss Livingston since
we played together as children. I have heretofore hesitated
about declaring my love, because she was very much wealthier
than I, so a foolish pride, perhaps, held me back. Now my
fortune is equal to hers, I think, but if it were not so, I would
not wait longer.
"I was never so proud and happy in my life as when I
stood a day or two ago unnoticed and saw her, the woman
I love, in her outraged womanhood take this cur by the col
lar, force him into a seat, and tell him that the regret of
her life was, that she was not a man and could choke the
life out of him. You can imagine how I felt, how hard
it was to restrain myself, but a thought of his lying tongue
made me hesitate for her sake. I followed him out of the
house, neither he nor Miss Livingston the wiser for the
knowledge I had gained. Now, gentlemen, do you wish to
know this man any longer as a friend and club member?"
u No, a thousand times no !" they yelled. And a lawyer
present stood up and said:
"Not only will we strike him off the list of our friends,
but I will say to you, friend Frank, and for your champion
ship of the deserted wife, that he is amenable to the law for
seduction, and I will see that he gets the full benefit unless
he leaves the State at once. He can have two days in which
to say good-bye to any chance acquaintance he may meet."
"You ought to have heard the yells, Aileen," he said, "as
I unlocked the door and opened it. He went out, his head
bowed with shame, his frame trembling like a man stricken
FROM THE WORLD 375
with palsy. I think he will trouble you no more, my brave,
impetuous girl."
Then he told me that Alice Heaton's adopted parents were
close friends of Jack Gordon, and he found out that Bert
Wilder had seduced the girl and taken her away before she
w r as eighteen. She had written to the Brownings that she
was married and her name was Alice Bertram. A short time
before Browning died, it was ascertained they were living in
a secluded cottage on the heights back of Oakland and Mrs.
Browning had sent a package to Wilder before she died, but
whether the girl received it, Jack did not know. After
Wilder's return to the city, and his wife disappeared, Jack
could not ascertain if Bert ever saw the girl though he had
put detectives on Wilder's track. Mr. Browning had asked
Jack to try to find the girl, who was not legally adopted,
though she thought she was, and that her name was Alice
Heaton.
I thought again of the girl with the depths of sorrow
in her eyes, but could not talk about her just then to Frank.
I thought of my lucky escape and I said to Frank: "What
would I have done had you not happened to overhear us?
My poor word would have availed but little against his false
hoods. I did not think or realize the evil construction that
might be placed upon our seeming intimacy. The world at
large does not know of the separation, and as his wife's friend
I thought it was not a serious thing to be with him in company
of others. His letters containing the protestations of his
love I have kept, and also have sent copies to Edith, and I
want you to read them sometime. I think they will exonerate
me from any reciprocal feelings."
"Your word is enough for me, Aileen. 1 trust you utterly.
There will be no secrets between us, dear. We kmnv each
other too well."
Edith, dear, Wilder has disappeared. Just where, no one
knows. But one who knew him saw him purchase a ticket
and found that he had taken passage to New York. I pray
heaven we may never see or hear of him again. And should
you see Ruth before I can reach her by letter, say only this,
that he has disappeared, we know not where. I would not
376 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
wound her further by telling her of his conduct or that he
was forced to leave.
I can see in the not very distant future the smoke incense,
1 should say arising from the narghileh. I must get another
one for dear old friend Jack Gordon, who has given me
Frank's letters, which I will read while they talk, or busy
myself with other things, for I shall concern myself more
about household affairs in the future. In times of peace
prepare for smoke ! AILEEN.
XL
"When grief is great enough, it cuts down until it finds the very
soul, and this is agony. And he who has it does not seek to share it
with another, for he knows that no other human being can comprehend
it. It belongs to him alone and he is dumb."
Alice and her journal. To you I have told my thoughts.
You have known of my hours of happiness and sorrows. To
you only can I tell of the misery that fate has heaped upon
me. Dear, silent pages, I must write more of my life. Some
thing impels me. Your pages are blotted with the blistering
tears that fall, staining the pure white leaves even as my life
was stained by one who drew my soul from its haven of
purity, by a pretense of love. I wonder what he will have
to answer for who breathed vows of constancy and truth and
I believed.
In the beginning I was innocent after 1 knew it was too
late. In my helpless condition I knew not what to do,
though I had planed to go away and try to do what I
thought was best for me. But the old, old story was
re-enacted he came and I was tempted to remain. His
reasoning seemed right and plausible. He said his wife did
not care for him and that she would be glad of an excuse
for a separation. And if I went to their home it would be
all right. I thought in my foolish heart if she did not care
for him that it did not matter, and I loved him so much I
was willing to brave everything for the sake of his love. And
the childish desire to be revenged for her taunting words to
me when 1 was a child and which had never faded from
my mind, seemed to make it right to do what he told me was
the only possible way for us to be happy, and for him, to
be able to claim me before the world.
I went and the agony I endured I cannot write of, though
buoyed up by his constant reiterations of his love and the
hope held out that very soon he would tell his wife the truth
and she would gladly give him the divorce he only waited for.
377
378 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
And then one evening Ruth returned and overheard our
conversation. She saw him kissing me and fell senseless into
the room. For the first time a suspicion that she still cared
for her husband crossed my mind. Though when I said as
much to him he answered "No"; that she was subject to
fainting spells and for me not to cry or worry. He would
see that all would be well.
The next day she disappeared, and Bert, as I now
called him, said he had learned that she had gone to San
Francisco, that he was sure she had gone to see about a
divorce and he would not recognize her any longer as his wife.
I begged to go away. I wanted to leave, for it seemed
to me that there was something back of all his excuses. Some
how I felt that she still loved him, though he had solemnly
assured me that she did not care for him, and that her pride
only had kept her from a separation. He made me promise
to remain until he should return, saying that he would have
all arranged for our future happiness when he came back.
It was several days before he returned, and then Ruth came
with him. I saw him only for a moment. He said she was
not well, but insisted on coming back with him; and he would
tell me all the next day.
When I went in the breakfast room the following morning
he told me to take her seat, that she was not to sit there any
more, and I could pour his coffee. She came in. I said some
thing to her about her health and the climate not agreeing
with her. She made no reply, but spoke to Bert and said :
"Was it for this you brought me back to doubly insult me ?"
I stared at him in astonishment. He told her not to make
a scene, and that I was to keep the seat in the future. I was
frightened at her look and his stern manner as she went out.
And I started to go, too.
"Sit down, Alice," he said to me, in a voice unlike I had
ever heard before, and trembling I obeyed.
"I want to say," he went on in a low voice, "that I followed
Ruth to our home in the city; that I have told her the whole
truth, and she forgave me. And the result is that she cannot
make our secret public for she cannot sue me for a divorce."
FROM THE WORLD 379
"I do not understand. I thought that was what you wished,
what you went back for. You said it was for our happiness ;
that she did not care and would be glad of a separation."
"I know but in this I have deceived you. She does care.
In fact she loves me so much she forgave all. That was why
she came back with me. I do not love her. I have told you
the truth in this respect. I will not live with her. You and I
will go back to the city today. You must pack up at once, and
go on the first train. I will see you off in safety.
"You will go to the city and go at once to Mrs. Andrews
and the cottage. I will follow you later and we will be happy
yet. Ruth will live here and the child will be well cared for,
and the world none the wiser. And we two happy in our
little home as we were before " he paused "before this
unpleasant episode forced us to change our little Eden for a
time."
1 was so stunned by the revelation that I was numb and
helpless.
"Then all this has been a subterfuge, my coming here
the falsehoods told to Ruth and me. You do not intend
getting a divorce; do not mean to marry me," I cried.
"Not at present, dear. Do not be exacting. It may come
in time, but could not be done now. In the meantime, we
can be happy together. Alice, my love, why do you care?
You said you cared for nothing creed or law, and I believed
you. We can be happy and the dear world none the wiser."
"1 know, but that was when I thought your wife did not
love you. I have changed and things I cheated myself into
believing right, do not look the same to me since" I could
say no more. I felt myself growing faint and weak.
He saw it and said :
"Now, brace up. Cheat yourself again into the same old
bright sweetheart I knew over on the hills. Run away and
get ready. I will send the maid to help you. But you must
go away; Ruth may not be as she has been."
He opened the door, called the maid, and told her she was
to help me get ready for the first train ; that I was compelled
to go away on important business. Then he handed me a
package, saying:
380 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"This was sent you in my care. I forgot to give it to you
last night read it on the train, you will barely have time
to get ready."
Bewildered by the sudden change in Bert's manner and
the thought that Ruth loved him even as I did, was almost
more than I could endure; but I forced myself to appear
calm and worked hurriedly with the maid until all was
finished, and then 1 started for the nursery. Bert inter
cepted me.
"No, you cannot go in. You will break down. The nurse
must not suspect anything is wrong. Be brave for your sake
and mine. You must, I tell you," as I still hesitated. "You
do not know or understand as well as I do."
"No, I do not. Would to God I had understood, then I
would never have come here," I cried, white and trembling.
1 'But you did, and it is to save you from the world's scorn
and myself that I am trying to do what is best for both of us.
Won't you believe it? Won't you trust me? Hard as it is
for you, you must do as I tell you, for the sake of our dear
love. Alice, do not desert me or forsake me now. If you
do not follow out the plans as I have arranged, you will
drive me to insanity. Come with me at once."
And 1 was compelled to go without further words.
Once on the train my mind seemed to gather its reasoning
powers. I knew almost at once that I was not going to
the cottage. Slowly it dawned upon me that I would not
see him again. I had done wrong in coming here his wife
loved him. Ah, I knew it now knew it when I saw her
face this morning, and if she loved him and was willing to
forgive all, I had no right in the cottage and less right ever
to see him again. My soul seemed to shrivel up at the
thought. It had expanded in the warm sensuous atmosphere
of a love that was to blight and sear it. I was not learned
in the ways of the world; I knew nothing about the eternal
and immutable laws of justice, of compensation that was to
come. But slowly it was unfolded before my mental vision.
I was young and life was not an easy thing to dispose of.
One could not die easily unless one could have the courage
to brave death and end it instantly. So my thoughts ran on.
FROM THE WORLD 381
Opening my traveling bag, I saw the package he had given
me addressed "Miss Alice Heaton, care of Mr. Bert Wilder."
I was astonished to see the name. From whom could it be?
I had been called Mrs. Bertram so long, I had forgotten that
anyone knew my real name. Turning it over I saw Bert's
writing on a note.
"I do not know, Alice," he wrote, "what this letter con
tains, but am very sure it is from Mrs. Browning. She sent
me a note saying she knew where you were. How I wonder?
But you will tell me soon. I wish to say that you must forget
all that is unpleasant and only remember that love shall hold
all that is sweet, and make the bitter less hard if it must come
to us in the years for you and me. There will be no tomor
rows of loneliness for us so long as we two live and love
in a oneness of thought, of purpose, and good-fellowship.
"Free from the taint of selfishness and hallowed by the
sanctity of a great and omnipresent love, life shall be hence
forth an existence unbroken by the worries of the world
the envious world that shall never intrude into our harmonious
life. I have realized that it is best for us to live as we have
been living. Neither you nor I care for creed or law. We
will be sufficient unto ourselves.
"But we will live as we have heretofore, keeping our own
secrets. Ruth will never make it public, and we, secure, will
live on until that last deep sleep shall come. Until then, we
will take all of the best this life can give us and trustfully go
on until the end beyond which we know nothing. Trust me,
and love me until we meet, and all will be well."
Slowly the truth forced its way into my heart. He did
not intend to marry me ! Never had, I began to think. Yet
I loved him so well I could not believe it. Surely he could
not have been acting a lie, and making me believe it all the
while ! But I could not do it. I would not go back, nor
ever see him again, though I loved him with my whole soul,
though it should kill me, yet I must not do further wrong.
God help me ! I cried I have done enough help and give
me strength ! Forcing myself to be calm, for I thought I
was attracting attention, I did not open the other letter, i
felt I could endure no more.
3 82 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
1 closed my eyes, trying to think, and heard some people
talking behind me. One mentioned a hotel. They were
evidently some theatrical people from their conversation, and
mentioned a hotel I had not heard of or knew. Instantly I
realized that I must go somewhere, and I turned and asked
them about the place, saying I was a stranger and knew
nothing about the best hotels in the city. One of the men
answered civilly that the hotel spoken of was good, but a
quiet place frequented by theatrical people.
"Do you belong to the profession?" an elderly man asked.
"No, but I have always thought I should like to. It must
be a little better than anything else the change, the excite
ment and keeping constantly occupied, one has to be busy,
I suppose?"
"Rather," he answered. "You do not know much about
the life, I think?"
"1 have read something about theatrical people. I have
never been in a theatre, so I do not know."
I saw him glance at his companion.
"And in what saintly enclosure have you lived your not
so very many years, I judge ? " and he hesitated.
"I have not been out of the convent very long," I replied.
"And you have aspirations for the stage already. In what
particular line do your fancies lead you?"
"I have been told that I could sing, but sometimes people
are prejudiced do not mind; I am foolish to speak of so
silly a thing. Pardon me, I only meant to ask about the
hotel."
I was ashamed to have spoken, but a wild thought had
come into my mind. If only I could have something to do,
if I could get away and forget ! I had been told my voice
was good, and Bert had praised me. And then I felt the
tears sting my eyes. I closed my lids firmly to keep them
back, while struggling to compose myself; I heard them talk
ing about needing a singer.
"The appearance is right," one said, in a low tone. "If
the voice is equal nothing better could be asked."
After a pause, the older man said to me:
FROM THE WORLD 383
"If you think you would like the excitement and change
of a theatrical life, I would like to hear your voice this
evening at the hotel, if you are not too tired. You look as
thought you are not very strong. Have you been ill?"
"Yes," I replied, "ill and worried because I have had
troubles, but I will try and perhaps 1 can please you."
"We will take you to the hotel if you wish, as you are
a stranger" he paused as if uncertain.
"I shall be very grateful." The thought flashed across
my mind that if I went with them, it would appear as if I
belonged to them if inquiry should be made. My desire now
was to lose my identity that I might not be traced for the
present at least.
The ordeal, dear journal, is over, and though I was fright
ened when the time came for me to sing, it was only to be a
preliminary test, the manager, as he proved to be, said. He
sent for me at the appointed hour, and I was taken to his
apartments, where I found him and the other man who had
spoken to me on the train. They asked me to sing without
further comment. I tried. At first, it was a poor effort, but
I was encouraged to go on, until I forgot myself and my
fears, and sang as 1 had not done for months and since
I was happy in the cottage, a loved and happy wife, as I
thought.
Now, what was I? An outcast; fate's plaything. The
thought sent a tremor in my voice that caused me to end in
a wail, it seemed to me. I started up, feeling that I had
ruined my hope. I looked at the manager he seemed
astonished. He knows how silly I have been how useless
to think I could sing, was my thought.
"Where did you learn to sing? Who taught you?" he
asked.
I named the convent and my teacher.
"I do not know, but I am sure your teacher has had experi
ences not learned inside cloistered walls. Your voice has
been trained as if for the express purpose you now say you
desire. If you care, you may consider yourself engaged. We
will test your voice in the theatre tomorrow, and settle business
matters. You had better rest tonight. You seem to be
384 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
trembling," and he smiled kindly. "Tell me your name?"
I did so. "But I do not want my name known," I said
hurriedly.
"What dreadful thing has the little one done that she is
so desirous of suppressing it?"
I was alarmed and replied that my people would not
permit me to go on the stage if they knew. "But it is my
desire," I said, "and there is no reason only that."
"Then we will find a name to suit the singer. Have you
registered under your own name here ?"
"They did not ask me. I did not know if I must."
"Never mind, they waited for me, I suppose, because I told
them to show you a room. I will arrange it. Good night, be
satisfied with your gift, my child, and make the best of it."
He was unlike anyone I had met before. 1 felt as though
I could trust him with my life, my secret, and I seemed to
know that he would be worthy of the trust.
It was not until the next morning that I remembered the
unread letter. I was so worn out with my experiences, my
fears, and hopes of a new and unexpected life. I opened it
and read: "Alice, I have known for a long time that
you are not married, though you wrote me a falsehood!
Jane found it out. She has a friend living near the cottage
where you and your 'husband' as you called him, Mr. Bertram,
or Mr. Bert Wilder, as we knew him, lived. Jane had seen
you with him several times before you ran away. And while
we suspected and feared that it might be so, I did not dream
you could be so shameless as to live so near us and a large
city with another woman's husband.
"Neither could I have been made to believe by anything
but convincing evidence that Mr. Wilder, our professed
friend, could have come to our own home and seduced our
grandchild ! At last you have the truth under our own roof,
or at least within the confines of our home."
"Grandchild!" the paper fell from my hand; 1 sank
down, helpless and faint.
Oh, what was the mystery? Now I remembered Mrs.
Browning would not allow me to say anything about my
FROM THE WORLD 385
parents and they claimed to have adopted me ! Struggling
to master my emotions, I picked up the letter and read on :
"Jane knew of the letter you wrote and that you signed it
Alice Bertram. She learned also that Mr. and Mrs. Bertram
lived near her friend. And one evening she saw Mr. Wilder
get off the cars and start toward the cottage. She was curious
and followed, and saw him enter the hedge and through it
saw you both, with you in his arms. The rest was easy to
ascertain. My husband was ill I will not call him your
grandfather will not allow him to be twice dishonored!
Time passed. I commanded Jane to keep quiet, and she did
so. My husband died without having the burden of your
shame added to the woe he had endured for years. The grief
that had shortened his life, and that will mine, I know your
mother's disgrace."
My mother's disgrace ! Oh, the horror of the words. My
beautiful mother, whose memory I loved and whom I wor
shipped ! What had she done ? A sickening, deathlike
feeling gripped my heart. Everything seemed black I was
suffocating something seemed to snap within my heart, and
I knew no more. * * I do not know how long 1
remained unconscious, but at last I awakened with a horrible
dread. Something terrible had happened! Then I saw the
letter, and remembered. I must read on to the end. I must
know the rest.
I read: "Now that I know all and my husband dead, the
property which was all left to me, with instructions to dispose
of as I chose, I will say, 1 have made my will and have left
nothing to you save a small allowance which I have added
to the amount you have in the bank. I shall bestow the bulk
of it in charities. Some I shall give to a maternity hospital-
it will meet your approval, I am sure being in the line of
your aspirations.
"Of what we hoped for you, I will say nothing but this.
My desire to send you away at the time was because I thought
it better, and later because Jane knew of your clandestine
meetings with Wilder, and knew he was married, though she
did not know what I now tell you that he is the husband
of your half sister ! Ruth Carrington's father betrayed your
3 86 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
mother when Ruth was scarcely more than a baby. He gained
her affections and by some subterfuge led her to believe they
were married. When she learned the truth, she went south
and lived under an assumed name. We found out her shame
when we returned from a trip abroad. And her father
disowned her.
"We did not know until after her death that she had
thought herself a wife. She was named Alice Heaton Brown
ing, and assumed a portion of her name. In letters sent to
us to be opened after she was dead she told us what we knew,
that Carrington had been killed suddenly this was when
you were about five years old and that his wife, Ruth's
mother, went to Santa Barbara for her health. She lived
near-by and you two children played together; but it was
several weeks before your mother knew that the Ruth you
spoke of was Ruth Carrington, and that her father was dead
and her mother there for her health. The shock brought on
a fainting spell from which she rallied.
"She wrote the full account of her life. We did not know
where she was living until she wrote telling us that she could
not live very long and begged us to look after you and adopt
you if we could forgive her. But you were not to be known
by any name but the name she had lived under Alice
Heaton. She did not want to further disgrace us, and asked
that you might be brought up in a convent.
"You were put in school as she desired. We did not adopt
you, but thought if you proved worthy we would leave the
portion which should have been your mother's to you.
"How you have blighted our hopes 1 leave it for you
to judge. You were so like your mother that it wrung our
hearts to have you with us. Still we hoped that all would
be well and though we longed to tell you the truth, dared not.
We did not want you to know of the sorrow your mother
had given us, or the shame you inherited. But now I feel
you deserve to know all. I have left a letter which will
publish your shame and your mother's to the whole world,
should you try to break the will.
"I hardly think you will care for the world to know who
and what your mother was and that you have been living
FROM THE WORLD 387
with the husband of your half sister, whose father betrayed
your mother. However, it is possible Mr. Wilder may want
the money fully as much as he wanted you, whom he knew
he could not marry.
"You chose your own way, and must lead your own life.
But I pray you if you loved your mother, destroy this letter
and let her rest in peace. I think you owe this much to her
that you keep our name from the public. I shall not live
long, and I pray God I may never see or hear anything more
of you while I live. Mary Browning."
Dear Journal, my hand shakes as I write. 1 know what it
is to receive the death sentence. I have had the first stroke
and I know too well that I cannot endure life much longer.
My mother ! Oh ! the thought of her. That is what touches
my heart. There are little sharp pains. Something is stab
bing, striking, hurting me! * * * And Ruth, whom I
hated ours the same father!
"Unclean and spotted from the world."
I writhe and moan in agony!
"The sins of the father shall be visited upon the children."
How the thought scorches ! Will my child be accursed also
for the sin of its father and mother?"
* 'Not mine, surely not !" I cry, "for I did not know." Then
I thought, why was I not told, and 1 started up In rage.
Why did not those stony-hearted people tell me and warn
me? Then I might have been spared. That prying, deceitful
Jane ! She knew all the time, and so did that hard-hearted
old woman. Why did not they talk to me and tell me that
Bert was a married man?
And all the while the old woman she knew that the man
was the husband of my half-sister. Yet because of her pride's
sake would not tell me or give me a chance to know what I
was doing.
Heaven knows I have done wrong, but not willingly. I
was but a child, and surely have been more sinned against
than sinning.
Almost crazed with grief, I went out and wandered for
how long I know not. I finally found myself at the edge of
the bay. The waters dimpled and sparkled. They looked
388 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
inviting. I will end it all now, I thought to myself. If death
is but a forgetting of all things, why not end it? God has
forgotten, else He would have sent me a word of warning
before it was too late. There can be nothing beyond death
worse than this life, I know.
I have not solved the simple question of life. Why think
of the complexities of the hereafter?
"What do you mean to do? " asked a stern voice in my ear.
The wind was blowing and I had not heard a step.
"Nothing that will interest you; but suppose I had thought
of solving the unsolved mystery; and finding a relief in the
nothingness of death, it is possible it may mean less or more."
I knew he was there and that I would be obliged to go away
for the time at least.
His face struck me as strangely familiar. All at once I
remembered that I had seen him on the Muir Glacier. He
thought, then, that I was attempting suicide when 1 was so
happy! Well, there was reason enough now.
"Are you not afraid of death? Why soil your soul with
sin?" he said earnestly. "You should strive for something
better if life has not been what you desire try to be sinless as
when you came into the world. There must be wrong else
you would not wish to end your life."
"Sinless!" The thought of my life flashed before my
mental vision.
"Sinless, as I came into the world? Do you know that
I was born in sin? That to me the inheritance of sin came
with my first breath, weaving its meshes about me. Is it my
fault that I was born into an evil world to suffer the pangs
of hell because of the sins of others? I was betrayed and led
into sin before I knew what it meant. Afterwards I yielded
to a wrong because of my love. Now what is there left
for me?"
"Turn away from it all and rely on Him, the great sufferer,
and be sure you will find that rest which you have not sought
up to the moment. Then you will be reconciled with suffering.
You will be given better days, and you will feel at once the
happiness for which you have been craving in vain. You
will begin to see beyond the grave the beautiful horizon
FROM THE WORLD 389
shown by faith, and you will understand the problem of life.
Go back," he said to me, "in your despair, ask humbly for
help and relief."
I returned and found it was too late for my appointment
at the theatre. Worn and weary, I threw myself upon the
bed and slept.
It was night when I awoke; I tried to arise, but was too
weak, and I realized that I had eaten nothing all day. I
managed to reach the bell, and when it was answered asked
for something to eat. Shortly afterwards my dinner was
brought, and while trying to eat, a card was brought to me
and the manager followed the boy in.
"I heard you were ill. Is that the reason you did not
come to the theatre as you agreed? What is the trouble?"
"I have had some bad news; in fact brought the letter
containing it with me but did not read it until this morning.
I do not know what to do. I am too weak to sing now. I
must rest a while if 1 care to live at all," I answered.
"I will tell you what to do. Some of my people are going
to the mountains for a short time. Why not go with them?
It will be a change, and the best thing for you. When you
return in a few days, we will begin work, and you will feel
like a new person very soon. Think it over and start tomor
row night."
I went with the people, and found them more than kind,
but I could not recover my strength. I tried to be agreeable
and hide my grief from them as much as possible. One day
I wandered away where I could be alone. I was soothed by
the mountains, the winds came as a blessing, and unconsciously
I found myself singing out there to the great trees; alone in
the woods, as I thought. Suddenly 1 saw a woman, beautiful
and queenly looking, in the path above me. She came down
and spoke to me about my voice, and she seemed so womanly,
strong and sympathetic, with such a world of kindliness in
her eyes I longed to go to her and throw myself into her
arms and sob out my grief on her heart. I knew she loved
the hills when .she told me she had been out all day, and
was sure she understood my longing also. She spoke about
the path and being alone.
390 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
Suddenly my dream and my mother's form with extended
arms came back to me. Was she beckoning and entreating
me to come? I turned sick and dizzy, and fearing I would
break down, I went hurriedly as I could down the trail to the
hotel. She left the next day, and I learned her name was
Aileen Livingston, and that her home was in San Francisco.
We returned, but I did not seem to grow stronger. There
was something the matter with my heart. It pained me and
1 could scarcely sleep. All through the night I would prop
myself up on the pillows; I seemed to be smothering. At
times my heart would stop beating, and then the blood would
surge up into my head, and my throat, and would choke me.
All the while I was fighting my battles alone, striving for
victory over myself and my longings. I tried to hate the man
who had crucified me, but I could not. At times I raged and
fought against the desire to go back to him, to creep into
his arms and rest; if only for a little while. I knew it would
not be long ! Why not end the struggle and drift with the
tide that was carrying me swiftly on to the untried and
unknown ?
I was so lonely ! And I was afraid in the long dark nights,
when I lay staring and dreading the cold hand of death that
took shape and form in the pale light that shone through
the windows and beckoned me. The horrible shape that 1
could not hide from my eyes, though 1 closed them it was
ever before my mental vision.
I would lie for hours and wonder why I should suffer so,
when there seemed to be so many happy people in the world.
Sounds of music and laughter and happy snatches of song
came from the streets and the halls of the hotel but for me
there were only tears in my heart.
Then the old desires and thoughts, the longings would
triumph for a time. Love watered by tears with him, was
better than the scorching grief that would sting and hurt my
eyes for all time, even as it did now.
While I wrestled with my misery, I could look ahead and
feel that the uncertainty of life, even without marriage, was
better than this dread and horror, for I felt that he did not
intend to do as he had promised, but I would find life more
FROM THE WORLD 391
endurable, I would have at least the kindness and care of
Mrs. Andrews. Now I had no one except a hurried visit
now and then from some of my new acquaintances.
Several times I found myself trying to gather up my things
to go, then the weakness and the thought of Ruth and of my
mother held me back. I would try to overcome for their
sake and thus I fought, inch by inch, growing weaker physi
cally, but stronger each time in the endeavor to do what was
right. In vain I strove to overcome my weakness. I tried
to go to the theatre as I promised, but could not. I grew
faint with the very effort to dress myself.
I knew it was impossible to sing, and I longed for some
one, for a woman to come to me and pity me in my weakness.
I thought there could be no one in all the world so lonely as
I, so desolate and heartbroken. I would sob myself into a
troubled sleep now and then, and once in my sleep I seemed
to see the beautiful woman who had appeared like a vision
to me on the mountain trail. There seemed to be infinite
pity and love in her sweet eyes, as she bent over me and said
something I could not remember what, though I strove to
hear. Oh! If only she might come and sit by me, for a
little time, only an hour! Would she stay with me if she
knew all? I wanted to tell her I felt if she knew, she
would not be cruel. One day I managed to dress and
go out. Weak and trembling, I made my way to a
church only a short distance away. I went in and sank
down, trying to still the wild throbbings of my heart. The
votive candles burned low, back in the gloom of a richly
sculptured chapel. In the nave of the church the evening
sun shone warm and bright through the incense misted air.
A beam struck the crown surmounting the head of a picture
of the Virgin Mary.
There was music from the choir loft. Someone was playing.
There were tones harmonious, soft and sweet, and evanescent
as the flood of light coming in through the richly decorated
windows. Strange, vague and touching a suggestion of the
supernal came to me with a sense of awe and fear. Yet there
was a promise in the cadences and a blessing coming to me
through the darkness a thrilling recurring note heaven-sent,
392 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
surely, with its comforting message, at times full and clear,
then receding into faint mysterious sounds, seemingly so far
away that it was almost lost, then creeping slowly, softly
toward me, ending in one triumphant burst of harmony, flood
ing my soul, my whole being with an almost unbearable
ecstasy.
I arose feeling strong in the exaltation of the moment.
Some people had come from the choir as the music died
away. When I reached the outer door, everything grew dark
and I steadied myself to keep from falling. Someone paused
besides me and asked: "Are you ill?"
After a moment the dizziness passed and I saw the woman
of the mountains the woman of my dreams with pity in
her face standing beside me.
"I thought I was strong enough to come here, but I am
weaker than I imagined."
"Where do you live?" she asked.
"Near here," I said, and mentioned the hotel.
"I will see you there in safety if you wish; can you walk?"
She took me by the arm.
"Yes, if ' I panted for breath "if you do not mind
coming, I would love to have you come with me."
"Certainly; it is no trouble; I will gladly assist you. You
look very frail, but did I not see you in the mountains? I am
sure of it now, when I see your eyes in the light."
I saw her face change, some wave of thought seemed to
strike her, for I felt her hand tremble as she held my arm,
but her eyes looked pityingly into mine. What was it? Did
she know anything? Then I remembered I had registered
my own name at the hotel in the mountains. 1 had not
thought about it at the time.
As we went out she talked kindly of the mountains and
their beauty, asking if I had been ill since my return and
saying she would like to hear me sing again, and when we
reached the hotel she said :
"I will see you to your room if I may," and went up in
the elevator with me.
"Have you no one with you?" she asked. "You seem to
need a nurse."
FROM THE WORLD 393
"I have no one in the world," I said, "not even a friend.
I am all alone."
"If you would like, I will come again."
"Will you?" I said so eagerly that I was mortified. Then
1 added, "I dreamed once that you came, but this is not a
dream, is it?" and I tried to laugh.
"No, it is a very real person with you, and I will come
soon; but now I must go, and you need rest."
She went away leaving me cheered by the thought that I
would see her again. I was no longer desolate, nor alone
a woman's pitying eyes had looked into mine. I could love
her if I dared. I might in secret! She would come again.
I was no longer alone !
XLI
Love, the birds of the air sing it, the theme is love. All nature
teaches it. And who shall deny it is the key-note of life. I would
rather be miserable in my love than never to have known its sweetness.
Aileen, I have some news in return for yours. Ruth has
confided in me that the girl Fred thought he loved came with
them from Italy. She is married, but could not resist the
opportunity of trying her fascinations again on Fred. He
told Ruth that he had been the veriest fool in the world and
was disgusted with himself to think he had ever imagined
he could care for such a woman. She married Henry Hutton
in New York before starting to Europe. She told Ruth that
she had been his affianced wife for a long time; but she had
amused herself with Fred, and that he had fallen desperately
in love with her, and wondered if she could not have a little
diversion now, that Henry would not mind, for she had told
him all about it.
Ruth was so indignant at her heartlessness that she told
it all to Fred, and now he is retaliating, whenever we chance
to meet they belong to another party by being very
devoted to me. I am seeing the same things over again and
somehow they look different. One's friends make us see
through their eyes now and then. And Fred is an artist to
the core. I am delighted to find our ideas are similar. I shall
enjoy traveling so much more now, though I thought it could
scarcely be improved.
If Ruth is still grieving, she is brave and bears up well.
She has said but little to me. I have not told her that you
have written the whole of the pitiful tale to me. I shall keep
her spirits up and help her all I can. I have time only for a
short note. Fred is waiting for me. The dear fellow seems
to wish me to go everywhere with him. Ruth does not care
to go with us so constantly, for she is not very strong.
Fred said something to me yesterday that made my heart
beat strangely.
394
FROM THE WORLD 395
U I think I have made a serious mistake in my life, Edith.
I never knew you at home as I do now. If I had I should
have followed you over here before now. But it is not too
late for us to know each other better. May I follow or stay
with you now, until we can return home together?"
"I can ask for no better friend or companion," 1 answered.
Oh ! Aileen. But he is calling I must say good-bye.
EDITH.
RUTH TO AILEEN.
My friend, I will only send you a word of greeting with
Edith's. She tells me she is sending a note. I am very glad
to be here with her she is so vivacious and full of life that
she cheers and helps me more than I had thought possible;
for somehow I used to think she did not care for me. Perhaps
I was selfish, and thought too much of myself and of my
own affairs. Now she is more than kind. She seems so
happy in Fred's company, and they are congenial and suited
to each other. I believe she has been in love with him all
the time. Perhaps that is why she gave up society. You
told me about it after I was married, if you remember. Fred
and she were always good friends, she says. But he became
infatuated with a girl who was unworthy of the love of so
good a man as he is, and she saw but very little of him before
she started to travel. He has found out the heartlessness of
the woman he once loved, and is disgusted. 1 think Edith
has caught his heart in the rebound. And I will be glad, for
they ought to be very happy together.
I am hoping to hear something from you that will ease
my heart, for I cannot forget cannot help but love Bert,
no matter what he has done. I walk along the Via Crucis.
I have been on Calvary and in Gethsemane Garden of Sor
rows. The places remind me of the One who suffered. I
feel that here where Christ was crucified my sorrow seems
small. I am helped and feel that for the first time I can
reconcile myself to my life. The Holy City, the Mount of
Olives have given me a new faith. So I accept my fate and
turn my thoughts more toward heaven, while trying to think
less of earthly yearnings. Hopefully I wait.
XL1I
"And He said, 'She has sinned; let the blameless
Come forward and cast the first stone;'
But they, they fled shamed and yet shameless;
And she, she stood white and alone."
AILEEN'S MESSAGE
Strange indeed and devious are our meetings and partings
in the world, Edith. And the most pitiful and strange to me
was m finding Alice Heaton in a church recently. I had gone
with some friends one an organist to a certain church.
After practicing a while she struck off into something that
caught me, and held me by its spell. The very soul of the
music responded to a hidden soul within me, round, full lus
cious notes that told of heart throbbings, and sorrows in minor
tones, ending in little sobbing sounds that went to the depths
of my heart. The soft mellow tones like the moaning of the
winds among the trees remained when the vivid sparks ot
the staccato, clear and ripe as they were in fullness and purity,
were forgotten.
The music died away in the dusky light of the vast church.
As I went out, I saw a woman waver and clutch at a door;
a slim, girlish figure that attracted me before I saw her face.
I thought she was ill. I saw her tremble, and went hurriedly
to her assistance. Soon as she spoke, I knew it was the girl
1 had seen in the mountains. And knew too, that I was
looking into the eyes of Alice Heaton, but so changed, worn
and pallid. The pitiful look in her eyes, the unutterable woe
that had appealed to me before I knew who she was, was
still there, but intensified by the deathlike pallor of her face.
My heart was filled with pity for her, and with rage for her
destroyer.
This frail trembling child I was sure could never have done
wrong, unless led on by a master's hand at deceit and treach
ery. I took her to her hotel, and her eyes told me more than
396
FROM THE WORLD 397
her words, her longings to have someone with her. She had
no friends, she said. I promised to come again, and hurried
away. I wanted to have an hour by myself.
Ruth's rival! The woman who had taken her husband
from her ! The mother of the little babe in my house ! It
was all very strange. In some way my life seemed mixed up
with horror and tragedy. Yet I had called it a comedy ! My
part acted with the arch fiend 'the man who had wrought
all the misery of those two heartbroken women. I could not
have believed him capable of such dastardly conduct had not
the knowledge been forced upon me.
And then my heart sang a very paean of delight when I
thought of Frank, of his love and trust, and my escape from
the network and the meshes of doubt and suspicion that
might never have been brushed away but for him. 1 felt I
could not be too thankful for his love and protection. I
would not, however, be false to Ruth, if I should see this
poor, helpless, grief-stricken girl and I would go, whatever
the cost!
I have been time and again. Her days are few. She has
not been able to tell me very much, but the hunted look seems
to leave her eyes when I sit with her.
I told auntie about the sick girl and that her name was
Alice Heaton. She seemed lost in a reverie for a moment
"Alice Heaton," she mused. "I had an experience once in
Santa Barbara with a little girl who said her name was Alice
Heaton. I remember well, for I wrote the name down at
the time. I paid for some flowers and had then planted on
her mother's grave. I have wondered about the child and
thought if I ever went there again I would try to find out
if she was in the vicinity. She was a beautiful child with
blue eyes and hair like yellow silk floss."
"The picture intensified would suit her today," I answered.
"But how did you happen to be there and to remember so
trivial an incident?"
"It was shortly after your uncle died, and I had gone there
for a little time. One day I wandered out to the cemetery.
The child's mother had been buried a day or so previous. The
grave was bare, and the child had stolen some flowers to put
398 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
on her mother's grave. I paid for them. I would not allow
her to be disturbed, she was so small and her grief was deep.
She said God had not been fair to her mother because there
were no flowers on her grave. I did not want her young heart
to doubt it is hard enough to lose faith when one is older."
I kissed the dear old lips you know how sweet and tender
an aunt I have.
"You always were the kindest and best of women," I said.
"It must be a hard-hearted person who would not be kind
to a child in distress. And that reminds me, you have never
told me why you took the little babe in your home. You are
inclined to be generous and kind yourself, in fact, sometimes
I fear your generous impulses may bring trouble upon you."
"If so, they will come in a good cause. I will probably
tell you the story some time. It is pitiful, and enough for
me to know now; but it is to help others I am doing this,
and not for myself."
"I was sure of it," she replied.
There were times when I saw Alice she could scarcely
speak; and at others her mind would seem to wander. Like
a flash memory would dip into the past a past that seemed to
scorch her heart with its long hidden remembrances. She wa&
on a tideless sea, a wreck drifting drifting through a gray
mist that had no ray of light to guide or cheer her on.
"I once thought love was enough," she murmured; "that
its warmth and light would be with me always, but now I see
no gleam of light to guide me from the solitary spaces of the
dark sea on which I am tossed. He taught me how bright,
how beautiful and sweet life was with love as the beacon
star, and gave me a glimpse of paradise, and then sent me
adrift on the dark waters."
Once she said: "If death is but a forgetting of all things,
is it not better? Do you believe in reincarnation?"
"I have not thought very much about it," I replied. "I
have faith in the goodness of God. He who knows our needs,
knows what is best for us here and hereafter. I believe that
all will be well and am not afraid; I try to do what is right
according to my understanding and am willing to abide the
consequences. I think when we do the best we can for our-
FROM THE WORLD 399
selves and those about us, the law is fulfilled, and it is about
all poor human nature can do."
"But if one falls, or is tempted beyond endurance?"
"Then the great Sufferer will know and understand the
needs of the tempted," I answered.
"Perhaps," she said, wearily. "But do you know that it
seems as if I am not myself at times, as though I were
another being. I am searching for something I have forgotten.
A memory haunts me, elusive as a dream something sweet
and fragrant that, strive as I will, I cannot grasp. It may
be that there was another existence that I knew. I loved
someone there, and the other one felt the same sweet thrills
and is now searching for me in the wide, wide world. I seem
to feel the presence, but am not strong or magnetic enough
to make the other conscious of it. This mistake, this
woe and agony would not have been mine, had 1 only found
that other one who comes to me often, now that I am weak.
1 feel that I have lived an unsatisfied life because I could not
reach the presence that is yearning for something I 'cannot
define. It is a dim, perplexed feeling that will not be van
quished." She rested her eyes upon the far-off purple edge
where sea and sky met, and watched the great yellow sun
slip away in the water, as if dipping into another and stranger
world she knew not of. Little bits of rosy foam clouds
blown up from the sea, it seemed flew up and over the high
blue sky. A solemn light struck her wistful face, and seemed
to rest like a blessing on her beautiful hair.
She roused as if from a stupor and said:
"I have a journal wherein I have written much of my life.
I want you to take it. I would like to tell you all and ask
you to judge me kindly. I believe you will be just. I have
not wanted to do wrong, but if you have ever loved!" she
choked, and the great drops welled from her eyes.
"I love and am loved and do not condemn you," I
answered.
"You are happy 1 knew it ! In your great heart, you can
find room for pity for " she waited a moment "not for
me, I shall not need it now, but there is a little baby I was
not allowed to take or see it."
400 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED
"I know. Do not distress yourself. I have had it in my
home nearly ever since you left Monterey."
"You ; you have it ! You know !" she gasped and fell back.
After a time I told her all I thought best.
"And you knew this all the time? " she whispered.
"Ever since my return from the mountains."
"And you, being Ruth's friend, have come to me with pity
and kindness?"
"Yes, and I will say to you that I know the man far better
than you. I know that you are not to blame; and I shall see
that Ruth does not wrong your memory, and will promise
that she or I will look after the little one and he shall not
suffer for the sins of his father if we can help it."
"If you and she can forgive, then surely I may hope for
divine compassion, but I do not know; it is all dark and
uncertain." Wearily she tossed back the coverings.
"I am so tired so sleepy," she murmured. Dozing a
while then awakening with a shiver "I am cold. Tuck me
in, mama, closely, and kiss me good night."
The poor earth-worn, earth-soiled and misguided woman
forgot, forgot the years and the months of pain and sorrow
that had come to her after the ignis fatuus love, that promised
her the world's best and fullest, but which was ashes almost
before the fires were lit.
Her lost childhood came back with full swing that stretched
back for the last time. And she felt her mother's hand soothe
her brow and a kiss, forgiving and sweet, as the sleep of death
enfolded her and she swung out, over the earth's limit and
beyond our uttermost knowledge.
And God, the All of love, of tenderness, knew that as a
child she came across the line and death's key closed all that
was right and all that was wrong.
"Unclean and spotted from the world."
Yes, but the world and all of its evil was left behind, and
the soul went in quest of its Creator, with whom all things
are possible.
THE END.
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Unclean and spotted
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