Saradakosh

New York and Chicago (Nov 1899)

Total Records Found: 47

It was in Dr: Guernsey’s apartment on the afternoon of Wednesday, November 8, 1899, very possibly a short time after Swami Abhedananda had left, that Swamiji suffered an emotional shock at the unexpected sight of one who, lamentably, had closed his heart. In a published letter to Miss MacLeod (which in the Complete Works has been wrongly dated "June, 1895") he tells of the incident: "Dr. Guernsey, after examining other things, was feeling my pulse, when suddenly Landsberg (whom they had forbidden the house) got in and retreated immediately after seeing me. Dr. Guernsey burst out laughing and declared he would have paid that man for coming just then, for he was then sure of his diagnosis of my case. The pulse before was so regular, but just at the sight of Landsberg it almost stopped from emotion.

In a published letter to Miss MacLeod (which in the Complete Works has been wrongly dated "June, 1895") he tells of the incident. Same letter has been reproduced here:_x000d_ 21 W. 34th St._x000d_ New York_x000d_ June, 1895_x000d_ Dear Joe {Josephine MacLeod},_x000d_ Experiences are gathering a bit thick round you. I am sure they will lift many a veil more._x000d_ Mr. Leggett told me of your phonograph. I told him to get a few cylinders--I talk in them through somebody's phonograph and send them to Joe--to which he replied that he could buy one, because "I always do what Joe asks me to do." I am glad there is so much of hidden poetry in his nature._x000d_ I am going today to live with the Guernseys as the doctor wants to watch me and cure me. . . . Doctor Guernsey, after examining other things, was feeling my pulse, when suddenly Landsberg (whom they had forbidden the house) got in and retreated immediately after seeing me. Dr. Guernsey burst out laughing and declared he would have paid that man for coming just then, for he was then sure of his diagnosis of my case. The pulse before was so regular, but just at the sight of Landsberg it almost stopped from emotion. It is sure only a case of nervousness. He also advises me strongly to go on with Doctor Helmer's treatment. He thinks Helmer will do me a world of good, and that is what I need now. Is not he broad?_x000d_ I expect to see "the sacred cow" today in town. I will be in New York a few days more. Helmer wants me to take three treatments a week for four weeks, then two a week for four more, and I will be all right. In case I go to Boston, he recommends me to a very good ostad (expert) there whom he would advise on the matter._x000d_ I said a few kind words to Landsberg and went upstairs to Mother Guernsey to save poor Landsberg from embarrassment._x000d_ Ever yours in the Lord,_x000d_ Vivekananda

Things were flourishing in the New York Vedanta Society. During his two years of work Swami Abhedananda (sent to America by Mr. Sturdy in the summer of I897, as the reader will remember) had been eminently successful. "In New York, the most difficult city in the United States in which to reach the spiritual nature of people, Swami Abhedananda has made a profound impression," a September 1899 letter to the Brahmavadin stated. "Two years of patient, persistent, loving service has established Vedanta in a consecrated body of earnest students who are devoted to the continuance of the work.

Nor was the progress of the Vedanta movement in New York remarked upon only by students of Vedanta. In its October 1899 issue, the Arena, an important and widely read American monthly, published an article by an Anna J. Ingersoll entitled "The Swamis in America." Miss Ingetsoll spoke knowledgeably of the good work being done by the New York Vedanta Society, "since 1894, sustaining a teacher and giving a course of eighty lectures during the winter months [and] now recognized as a growingly important factor in the thought-movement of the day. (This same issue of the Arena also carried a long article entitled "An Interpretation of the Vedanta," by Horatio W. Dresser of Boston. The interpreta¬tion was informed, thoughtful, and, though not without Western prejudice, highly respectful of Vedanta as a noble and needed philosophy.)

The Vedanta Society that Swami Vivekananda had founded in New York in November of 1894 had been steadily growing and was now flourishing under the able leadership of Swami Abhedananda, who had taken charge in August of 1897. Through his many lectures both within the Society and on far-flung lecture tours, Swami Abhedananda was exerting a strong influence; indeed the movement Swami Vivekananda had begun in America was taking firm root. "Two years of patient, persistent, loving service has established Vedanta in a consecrated body of earnest students who are devoted to the continuance of the work," wrote a New York student in the Brahmavadin of September 1899. Nor was the impact of the Vedanta movement noticed only by its own followers. The general public recognized it as "a growingly important factor in the thought-movement of the day", and the Vedanta philosophy had become a topic for earnest discussion in intellectual and religious circles — particularly, among serious religions groups that were exploring new avenues of spiritual search.. The Swami was, of course, delighted to see the progress that had been made in his absence.

Swamiji had last seen his disciple Leon Landsberg in March of 1896. Since that time (and before that time) Landsberg had not fared well; his story was, indeed, a dismal one. Although its details belong to an earlier period of Swamiji’s mission, it can be briefly reviewed here.* He had met Swami Vivekananda in New York in the early part of 1894. when he was around forty years old, a member of the Theosophical Society, and a journalist with a job on the New York Tribune. A Russian Jew by birth, Landsberg was a lonely, hungry sort of man, without roots, without attachments, and without worldly ambition. "Nothing to love," he wrote of his condition in one of his revealing letters to Mrs. Bull, "nothing to strive for, nothing to brighten the heart with happy dreams!"10 His meeting with Swamiji had, in a sense, supplied a happy dream; but it had also been a galvanic awakening, or, as he more vividly put it: "When I met the Swami and realized the greatness of his soul, all the love of which my heart was capable, and which was only waiting for an opportunity to escape its prison built up by prejudice and bad experience, blazed forth with all its intensity like a flame that at last had found its way through the thick cover of ashes to the open air, and focused in his person._x000d_ _x000d_ * Some details of Swami Kripananda’s life with Swami Vivekananda are related in World Teacher-1 and World Teacher-2.

Many of Landsberg’s good qualities flared up in that em¬pyreal moment-qualities for which Swamiji would always love him. Without question, he had genuine devotion to God; he had true compassion for, and generosity towards, the poor and the oppressed; quite literally he would give the shirt off his back to anyone in greater need than himself; he had an intensity of purpose that shone in his eyes with a light called by some "fanatical"; he was intelligent, highly educated, hard-working; he did not spare himself, and he could feel deeply. But Leon Landsberg also had a number of faults: hypersensitive, self centered to an extreme degree, he was subject to fits of black depression and violent temper, open to torments of jealousy, inclined to self pity and delusions of persecution; he could be at times a torture to himself and a source of much trouble to others. Indeed, despite his virtues, which were genuine, despite his blessings, which were immeasurable, he contained within, himself the ripe seeds of disaster.

In the first part of 1895, when Swamiji had taken rooms in New York on Thirty-third Street and had started holding classes, Leon Landsberg had been his living-companion and sole assistant. At first all had been harmonious. Soon, however, Swamiji’s classes had grown, other students had gathered round him, many had claimed and received a share of his affection and attention. Resenting the presence of these others and their attempts to help Swamiji’s work, Landsberg made enemies right and left. In addition, he quarreled with Swamiji, sulked, complained, criticized. Around the middle of April, Swamiji left New York for a few days’ rest at Ridgely Manor -his first visit there. Finding himself alone, Landsberg took his opportunity to fly. "I have now determined to break once for all my relations to him," he wrote on April 16 to Mrs. Bull. "Not that I bear any grudge to him, but in the interest of the peace of our souls, in the interest of the cause it is necessary that I keep away from him. Though loving him, I shall flee his presence as if he were my greatest enemy.

He moved to another rooming house in New York and there began to "preach and teach the Lord," holding classes on karma yoga, which, he assured Mrs. Bull, would not interfere with Swamiji’s classes, for they would be held on a different evening of the week.

"May the Lord bless Landsberg wherever he goes," Swamiji wrote to a friend on his return to New York and to empty rooms. "He is one of the few sincere souls I had the privilege in this life to come across. Landsberg never returned to Thirty-third Street to help his guru, but before the spring of 1895 came to a close, Mrs. Bull, through many letters, persuaded him to return at least in spirit. This he did, and Swamiji accepted him. We next find Landsberg at Thousand Island Park receiving sannyasa, the final monastic vows, from Swamiji, who then sent him forth to teach.

For a time all went well. Although Landsberg (now Swami Kripananda) was not particularly successful, he made a few disciples during the fall of 1895 in Buffalo, Detroit, and New York. It was not until December, when Swamiji took up quarters in the same house into which Landsberg had moved in April and where he was again living, that the old trouble flared up, this time with greater virulence. Swamiji’s work was now on a larger scale than it had been the previous season, and his need for efficient and devoted workers more pressing. Mr. Josiah J. Goodwin providentially appeared upon the scene and at once took over as secretary and right-hand man; Sarah Ellen Waldo, coming daily from Brooklyn, did the cooking, ran the house, attended to various tasks, took dictation; Mr. Walter Goodyear kept accounts; other workers, whom Kripananda referred to as "that committee of petticoats, were-or so it seemed to him-omnipresent. He took to a small room in the attic and--stealing in and out for his meals, for he refused to eat with Swamiji and Miss Waldo-there wrote letters to the Brahmavadin, did various typing work, and brooded.

There was nothing anyone could do. Swamiji once climbed the many stairs to his disciple’s room to assure him of his continuing love, and for a few days Kripananda’s spirits rose. "I could not help yielding to the tenderness he showed me," he wrote to Mrs. Bull. But within a week he had sunk back into gloom. As time went on, Kripananda, his mind raw with jealousy, made a number of serious blunders in connection with Swamiji’s work. Further, he fatally lost his temper with his guru; as fatally, he reviled Mrs. Bull, who had been an untiring friend, in long, railing letters.

In short, he sank deeper and deeper into a state of resent¬ment and bitterness. In August, Swamiji, who was then in Switzerland, received news of his poor disciple. "I read from different letters a lot about Kripananda," he wrote to Goodwin. "I am sorry for him. There must be something wrong in his head. Let him alone. None of you need bother about him. As for hurting me, that is not in the power of gods or devils. So be at rest. It is unswerving love and perfect unselfishness that conquer everything. We Vedantists in every difficulty ought to ask the subjective question, `Why do I see that?’ `Why can I not conquer this with love?"‘ Swamiji’s own love was all-enveloping and inexhaustible. At the close of this same letter he wrote: "A few days ago, I felt a sudden irresistible desire to write to Kripananda. Perhaps he was unhappy and thinking of me. So I wrote him a warm letter. Today from the American news, I see why it was so. I sent him flowers gathered near the glaciers. Ask Miss Waldo to send him some money and plenty of love. Love never dies. The love of the father never dies, whatever the children may do or be. He is my child. He has the same or more share in my love and help, now that he is in misery.

Almost a year later Swamiji was still thinking of the welfare of his disciple. On learning of Mrs. Bull’s and Miss MacLeod’s wish to come to India, he wrote to the latter, "If Mrs. Bull brings old Landsberg with her, that will be saving that fool’s life as it were. But by this time the once warm relationship between Mrs. Bull `and •Kripananda had frozen beyond all thawing. Whether or not she invited him to India is at present not known, but if she did, he did not accept.

We now lose all track of Kripananda until Sunday, March 27, 1898. On that day there appeared in the, New York Herald a full page illustrated article. The illustrations (here reproduced) consisted of a central drawing of an apparently bona fide yogi and, grouped around it, several cartoons of men and women in nightdress, engaged in practicing various yoga postures. A large banner headline and prominent subheadings read:

IF YOU WANT TO BE A YOGI AND HAVE _x000d_ HEAVENLY DREAMS, STUDY THESE POSTURES_x000d_ _x000d_ There are 84,000,000 of Them Altogether in the Hindoo Philosophy, but the Ones Here Shown Are Those Chiefly Practiced in the Privacy of Their Rooms by American Disciples of the Occult Religion. These Sketches Were Drawn from Postures Assumed by the Swami Kripananda for the Benefit of Herald Readers, and Illustrate an Occult Fad That Has Many Secret Disciples in New York City.

BALM OF THE ORIENT _x000d_ -IS¬-_x000d_ BLISS-INSPIRING YOGA._x000d_ ________x000d_ _x000d_ -What a Swami Says of It.-_x000d_ _________x000d_ _x000d_ New York’s Fashionables Now Attain _x000d_ Perfect Happiness by Becoming_x000d_ Amateur Contortionists.

BUT THAT IS ONLY A PART OF IT._x000d_ _x000d_ Yes, that was only a part of it. The Swami Kripananda not only assumed various postures for the benefit of Herald readers, but wrote at great length on the subject of yoga. A reporter’s fairly long introduction to his article read in part:_x000d_ _x000d_ I know it to be a fact that there are scores of men and women, perhaps hundreds, well known in New York’s fashionable circles who have taken up Yoga in their ceaseless efforts to do something different. You would be astonished could you get a glimpse into some of the Fifth avenue boudoirs where the Swami Vivekananda’s teachings have taken root. . . ._x000d_ Surprising as this condition of affairs is, you would be still more surprised could I disclose to you the identities of some of the prominent New York men and women who are practicing Yoga. But that is not to be considered. Vivekananda has also many converts in Boston and not a few in practical Chicago._x000d_ In Cambridge, Mrs. Ole Bull has donated a large sum of money to Harvard for the purpose of establishing the study of occult philosophy, and so deeply imbued is she with the spirit of Yoga that she has gone to India, there to delve into its mysteries amid more harmonious surroundings.

[After this came the following:]_x000d_ _x000d_ JUST WHAT YOGA IS._x000d_ ____________x000d_ _x000d_ PRACTICE, RATIONALE AND RESULTS OF _x000d_ THE ORIENTAL PHILOSOPHY._x000d_ _x000d_ By the Swami Kripananda._x000d_ _x000d_ . . . At the Convention of the Religious Congress at Chicago [the Swami Kripananda wrote in part] was an orange gowned, erudite, wise man of the East, a Sanyasin of great learning, refinement and culture, who visited these shores for the purpose of spreading the Hindoo philosophies and incidentally to introduce the practice of Yoga, which translated means to the ordinary mind the art of developing supernatural psychic powers. He was a success from the start. Handsome, eloquent, charming in manner and convincing in his sophistries, this tawny beggar Prince soon had scores of our intelligent, practical, nineteenth century men and women sitting cross-legged in the privacy of their bedrooms, gazing for hours at the tips of their noses, or, if not too plump, staring at their navels, and breathing by set rule with patient gravity and a decorous sense of their growing spirituality._x000d_ What was the object of this uncomfortable self inspection, this undignified contortion act, this strabismus producing, paresis encouraging foolery? Well, it was Yoga, and Yoga is a good thing. It is an ancient art from India, and that is enough to give it prestige and standing in our sensation seeking social centres, especially when intro¬duced by so delightful a colored brother as that choc¬olate tinted sage, the Swami Vivekananda._x000d_ A man who can talk in Sanskrit, English and seven kinds of Hindustanee, or charm a bird off a tree, would have no trouble in introducing any sort of bosh ("bosh" is Oriental, you know) into this country. He has only to declare it occult, and hundreds are eager to stand on their heads and let their ears lop down at his word of command. But Yoga has an inherited charm in being really an art and having been practiced since the days of Krishna and Rama. . . .

Kripananda went on and on to give a five column, derisive resume of the "Practice, Rationale and Results" of Yoga. I shall not burden the reader with the remainder of this long article, which one finds today excruciatingly tiresome. In its own day, however, it would have bored few of its readers; on the contrary, it would have convulsed with laughter many an enemy of Swamiji’s and outraged many a friend. Indeed with this ill advised bit of malice Kripananda effectively cut himself off for good from Swamiji’s supporters and disciples. He also brought down upon his head the immediate wrath of Swami Abhedananda, who (as the latter’s diary records) chanced to meet him at the Leggetts’ house the day the article appeared. "I scolded him," the Swami noted with what was, one imagines, quite an understatement._x000d_ In India, Swamiji of course duly heard of Kripananda’s performance, and he did so as well in London, where Sister Christine and Mrs. Funke filled him in with details, which could not have been welcome. Although he would have cared not at all about the Herald article as such, there can be no question that this deliberate betrayal by one whom he loved and over whose unhappiness and mistakes he suffered as a father, cut deep indeed. But, if anything, he only loved him more. Of his unexpected, pulse-stopping meeting with his disciple at Dr. Guernsey’s in November of 1899, he wrote at the end of his letter to Miss MacLeod, "I said a few kind words to Landsberg and went upstairs to Mother Guernsey to save poor Landsberg from embarrassment _x000d_ As far as is known, that was the last meeting between Swamiji and Kripananda. We lose all track of the latter after that, and at the date of this writing, it is not known what became of him.

Another account of what was presumably the same incident comes down to us in a roundabout way-through Mme Paul Verdier, who learned of it from Miss MacLeod, who had it from Alberta, who must have heard it from someone else, for she was in Chicago during this entire period.* According to this version, after Swamiji had told why he had stopped speaking so suddenly, his concerned questioner exclaimed, "But your audience will think you forgot what to say!" Characteristically he replied, "What does it matter what they think?"_x000d_ * It is true that Alberta Sturges was in New York on November 7, 1899. But she, Olea, and Nivedita took the train to Chicago that afternoon and could not have attended the Vedanta Society meeting at which Swamiji spoke. (See Letters of Sister Nivedita, volume one.)

Disappointed and puzzled as the students may have been that evening, they saw and heard Swamiji on many other occasions during the two weeks he spent in New York. He often came to the Society’s headquarters; he held question ¬and-answer classes at the regular weekly meetings (Tuesday and Thursday evenings, and Saturday mornings) ; he came also at other times to talk informally to the enthralled students (among whom would have been the poetess Ella Wheeler Wilcox, who at one gathering or another during his stay read to him a poem of hers that had been inspired by his teachings).** Answering questions was no doubt the quickest, most direct way for Swamiji to uncover and solve any spiritual problems or philosophical difficulties the students might have. One of these difficulties-one that often cropped up in the West-was the cavalier attitude Vedanta seemed to take toward the matter of sin._x000d_ ** As Gurudasa would observe in later life (when he was Swami Atulananda), "[Ella Wheeler Wilcox] used to compose rhymes rather than poetry" (Atman Alone Abides, ed. Swami Vidyatmananda [Madras: Sri Ramakrishna Math, 1973], p. 94. But her rhymes, colored by her New Thought persuasions, were ex¬ceedingly popular. Of the poem that she read in 1900 to Swamiji and that Gurudasa remembered with astounding accuracy sixty years later, she wrote in her autobiographical work The Worlds and I (New York, 1918), pp• 111-12:_x000d_ _x000d_ One night, after coming from a lecture [of Vivek¬ananda’s], . . . I prepared for retiring, and then sat down to my moments of concentration. Suddenly I felt that I must go to my desk. I had no idea what I was to do; I had finished my day’s work before I went to the lecture; and I had no least thought of writing anything more that day. Yet so strong was the urge that I arose, went to my desk, and took up my pen and began to write. I was perfectly conscious, yet my mortal brain certainly had nothing to do with what my pen wrote down. It was as if some one thought for me. I watched my hand form the words with interest, as I would have watched a friend write. This is the poem which came under those peculiar conditions:_x000d_ _x000d_ _x000d_ _x000d_ ILLUSION_x000d_ God and I in space alone _x000d_ And nobody else in view._x000d_ "And where are the people, O Lord," I said, _x000d_ "The earth below, and the sky o’er head _x000d_ And the dead whom once I knew?"_x000d_ _x000d_ "That was a dream," God smiled and said, _x000d_ "A dream that seemed to be true._x000d_ There were no people, living or dead, _x000d_ There was no earth, and no sky o’er head _x000d_ There was only myself-in you."_x000d_ _x000d_ "Why do I feel no fear," I asked, _x000d_ "Meeting you here this way, _x000d_ For I have sinned I know full well, _x000d_ And is there heaven, and is there hell,_x000d_ And is this the judgment day?"_x000d_ _x000d_ "Nay, those were but dreams," the Great God said, _x000d_ "Dreams, that have ceased to be._x000d_ There are no such things as fear or sin, _x000d_ There is no you-you never have been-_x000d_ ¬There is nothing at all but ME."

But while the Swami's power was indeed immeasurable and awe-inspiring, he had no wish to use it to influence others; on the contrary, he avoided doing so. It was at one of his class talks during this period in New York that, becoming aware of his power over his listeners, he instantly stopped and left the room. There was no more lecturing that night, and everyone went away greatly disappointed. When a friend later asked him why he had broken off his lecture just when his audience was becoming absorbed in it, he replied, lie had felt that the minds of his listeners were becoming like soft clay in his hands; he had the power to give them any shape he wished. To do so, however, was against his philosophy; he wanted everyone to grow according to his or her own natural bent. So he had stopped.

Though the students were disappointed and puzzled that evening, they had opportunities of seeing and hearing the Swami on many other occasions during his two weeks' stay in New York. He often came to the Society's headquarters; he held question-and-answer classes at the weekly meetings (regularly held on Tuesday and Thursday evenings and Saturday mornings); he came also at other times to talk in formally to them. To answer their questions was one of his quickest and most effective methods of handling their spiritual or philosophical difficulties. But his answers, though always illuminating, were often unexpected, and sometimes unsettling to the questioners.

My dear Christina-Your last letter made me sorry. It seems there is a gloom over your mind. Never mind nothing is to last forever. Anyhow life is not eternal. I am so so thankful for it. Suffering is the lot of the world’s best and bravest, yet-for eons yet, till things are righted if possible here-at best it’s a discipline which breaks the dream. In my sane moments I rejoice for my sufferings. Some one must suffer here-I am glad it is I¬ amongst other of nature’s sacrifices.*_x000d_ . .. I see you have not had such a good rest. I don’t care to go to the Sanitarium [at Battle Creek]. You can get all the information about the food for me and directions & the cost. Then take leave of absence for a month or two and be quiet and take rest. Either in Detroit or New York or any other place that suits you. I will join you if you like-you give me German lessons-won’t you? Leave the money part of making up of your salary and the expenses of rest from work on me. I can easily do that much I am sure-without putting myself to straights [sic]. You were on your vacation last time (in England], not leave, was it not? Do think on this and try your luck to get rest. I am very strong and healthy now, and feel strong like a lion, ready to take up any work again._x000d_ Don’t disturb your mind about the money part in it¬the least, for I am ready with it already. Else I would not write it. I intend to do some writing too. If you think you will get better rest at home take leave & rest there. I will come gladly if you can give me a hole even, for we Hindus don’t require luxuries. I intend doing some writing & German. Write sharp._x000d_ _x000d_ * Most of this paragraph has been published in the Complete Works (6:419) as having been addressed to Nivedita, who at the time was not in the least gloomy.

Before Swamiji had mailed this letter, offering to spend weeks if not months with Christine’s family in a crowded house, Mrs. Bull, always ready to extend the hospitality of her spacious home to a needy disciple of Swamiji, invited Christine (whom she had not met) to Cambridge._x000d_ _x000d_ You will have a room there [Swamiji wrote in a post¬script] and all liberty to do whatever you like. I will have to go to Washington for a few days* After that I will be free to come. But you can come tomorrow if you like. I will join you in a few days. Mrs. Bull is really a mother to me & will do anything I ask her to do. You need not be the least shy but take leave & come. Mrs. Bull is herself sending you an invitation. It is the best for you to come to her I am sure. Take leave &. come, do._x000d_ [And a few days later:] Do come. And mind you-I must learn German. I am determined to be a French & German scholar. French I think I can manage with the help of a dictionary. If I can do that much German in a month I will be so glad._x000d_ _x000d_ * In his letters of these days Swamiji mentions more than once that he was planning to go to Washington, D.C., for a short visit. As far as I know at present, there is no evidence that he actually went to Washington in 1899.

As often and as seriously as Swamiji spoke of retiring, his work was by no means done, nor had his concern for it lessened in the slightest. His hope that in some new place he could earn money for the Math and also, perhaps, interest people in contributing financially to his educational projects in India was as strong as ever, and it would not be wrong to say that this hope constituted the third, and not least, important motive for his trip to the West Coast. In this last respect one finds a certain parallelism between his first visit to the West and his visit now to California. His quest for funds with which to spread education among the Indian masses had been the dominant motive behind his first voyage. The same quest had been prominent among the motives bringing him to America the second time and, ultimately, taking him to the Pacific Coast. "My going over to the West again is uncertain," he had written in April of 1897 from Darjeeling. "If I go, know that too will be for India. Where is the strength of men in this country? Where the strength of money? . . . our well-being is impossible without men and money coming from the West.

In 1899 the Math funds consisted of 30,000 rupees, from an original fund of 35,000 rupees donated by Mrs. Bull. (Swamiji had borrowed 5,000 rupees for a house for his mother -of which, as we have seen from his letter of August 6 from Wimbledon, he had been defrauded.)44 This sum, approximately 9,700 dollars, was invested in his name in Government Bonds, an investment which, though safe and sound, brought but a small income.Swamiji hoped to earn at least 5,000 rupees (1,615 dollars) in order to restore the fund to its original figure; and he hoped also to collect eventually, perhaps in India, some 15,000 rupees (4,800 dollars), thus bringing the fund up to 50,000 and placing things, as he wrote, "on a better footing. But in addition to the overall financial needs of his Indian work, which were pressing enough, the Belur Math, the headquarters of the Ramakrishna Order, was, as we have seen, facing a crisis. The legal battle that Swamiji was determined to wage against the municipality’s persecutive assessment required extra money, as well as courage, and there can be little doubt that the matter was a source of worry to him. "Spare no pains or money for the ‘law suit, he had written from Ridgely Manor to his brother monks in an unpublished letter, dated October 13, 1899. And to Mrs. Bull he was to write from Los Angeles on Decem¬ber 12: "Well, the municipality is trying to tax us out-good; that is my fault as I did not make the Math public property by a deed of trust. . . . The present looks very gloomy indeed.

These, then, were the circumstances that took Swamiji to California: his poor health, his need for seclusion, and his hope to earn money for his Indian work. These factors, or motives, formed the wave, so to speak, upon which his mission to the Western world (begun in 1893) was now to be carried forward, completed, and made secure.

"In the morning," Swami Abhedananda noted the following day, "I called on Mr. Leggett and saw S.V. . . . Afterwards I went with S.V. to Dr. Guerandzy [Guernsey] and lunched with him. Came home at 2 : 30. During his first visit to America, Swamiji had often stayed with Dr. and Mrs. Egbert Guernsey in their New York house and, in 1894, had also visited their summer place at Fishkill Landing (now Beacon) on the Hudson. The Guernseys looked upon him as a son, and he was ever welcome in their home. Dr. Guernsey, whom we have met in earlier volumes of this series, was a prominent New York physician, well known and honored for his many charities. He was also, among other things, a founder and member of the prestigious Union League Club and a founder and editor-in-chief of the important .New York Medical Times. From I882 until sometime in the late nineties, the Guernseys had lived in a four-story house at 528 Fifth Avenue (between Forty-third and Forty-fourth streets). But as commerce crept inexorably up the Avenue, the doctor, like many others, sold his house. The family moved farther uptown into a fashionable apartment building, called "The Madrid," at 180 West Fifty-ninth Street, overlooking Central Park and part of mammoth block of coordinated apartment buildings, all of a grandiose architecture presumably Moorish. (Here also lived the Albert Spalding family, whom Swamiji knew.)

The Dictionary of American Biography describes Dr. Egbert Guernsey as "a man of huge bulk . . . [whose] character and personality are said to have been memorialized in Bret Harte’s tale The Man Whose yoke Was Not Easy." In this story one finds a physician characterized as "a man of broad culture and broader experience; a man who had devoted the greater part of his active life to the alleviation of sorrow and suffering; . . . a man who had acquired a universal tenderness and breadth of kindly philosophy; a man who, day and night, was at the beck and call of Anguish; . . . in brief, a man who so nearly lived up to the example of the Great Master that it seems strange I am writing of him as a doctor of medicine and not of divinity."8 That was the man who was Swamiji’s friend and who had opened his heart to him.

On the evening of Friday, November Io, the New York Vedanta Society held a reception for Swamiji._x000d_ The New york Tribune, briefly gave this information to its readers, together with various bits of misinformation as to dates and names. Far more interesting and quotable is the reminiscence of one of Swami Abhedananda’s students, a young brahmacharin by the name of Gurudasa (later Swami Atulananda). In his memoirs entitled With the Swamis in America he wrote of his impressions of Swamiji when, at the reception, he saw him for the first time:_x000d_ During the short period Swamiji stayed in New York, there was great rejoicing at the Vedanta Home. Swamiji did not give any public lectures but he attended the classes and meetings at the Vedanta Home and there he gave short talks and answered questions. A public reception was given to him at the Home and his former friends and students gathered in large numbers to meet their beloved teacher again. It was a very happy gathering. Others were also present who had long desired to meet the great Swami of whom they had heard so much._x000d_ Though public, the reception was informal. The Swami had a smile, a joke or a kind word for every one of his old friends. Part of the time he was seated on the floor, in the Indian fashion, some of the friends following his example. There was much talking and laughing and the Swami showed by a gesture or a remark that he had nowise forgotten his old students. . . ._x000d_ Swamiji was so simple in his behaviour, so like one of the crowd that he did not impress me so much when I first saw him. There was nothing about his ways that would mark him as the lion of New York society as so often he had been. Simple in dress and behaviour he was just like one of us. He did not put himself aside on a pedestal as is so often the case with lionised personages. , He walked about the room, sat on the floor, laughed, joked, chatted-nothing formal. Of course I had noticed his magnificent, brilliant eyes, his beautiful features and majestic bearing, for these were parts of him that no circumstances could hide. But when I saw him for a few minutes standing on a platform surrounded by others, it flashed into my mind: "What a giant, what strength, what manliness, what a personality! Every one near him looks so insignificant compared with him." It came to me almost as a shock, it seemed to startle me. What was it that gave Swamiji this distinction? Was it his height? No, there were gentlemen there taller than he was. Was it his build? No, there were near him some very fine specimens of American manhood. It seemed to be more in the expression of the face than anything. else. Was it his purity? What was it? I could not analyse it. I remembered what had been said of Lord Buddha; "a lion amongst men." I felt that Swamiji had unlimited power, that he could move heaven and earth if he willed it. This was my strongest and lasting impression of him.

On the 10th of November he was given a public reception in the Library of the Society, and, needless to say, many of his old friends and disciples came to meet their beloved teacher, overjoyed to have him among them once again, if only for a brief time. Also present were a large number' of men and women who had been attracted by his name or his books, first published in 1896, and who wished to meet him personally. An address of welcome was presented to him by some of his old friends, in reply to which he made it clear that his heart was overflowing with love and goodwill towards them._x000d_ One of Swami Abhedananda's students, Brahmachari Gurudas, afterwards known as Swami Atulananda, was present at this reception. In his memoirs, entitled With the Swamis in America, he recorded his impressions of the evening: _x000d_ During the short period Swamiji stayed in New York, there was great rejoicing at the Vedanta Home. Swamiji did not give any public lectures, but he attended the classes and meetings at the Vedanta Home, and there he gave short talks and answered questions. _x000d_ A public reception was given to him at the Home, and his former friends and students gathered in large numbers to meet their beloved teacher again. It was a very happy gathering. Others were also present who had long desired to meet the great Swami of whom they had heard so much. _x000d_ Though public, the reception was informal. The Swami had a smile, a joke, or kind word for every one of his old friends. Part of the time he was seated on the floor, in the Indian fashion, some of his friends following his example. There was much talking and laughing, and the Swami showed by a gesture or a remark that he had nowise forgotten his old students…. _x000d_ Swamiji was so simple in his behaviour, so like one of the, crowd that he did not impress so much when I first saw him. There was nothing about his ways that would mark him as the lion of New York society as so often he had been. Simple in dress and behaviour, he was just like one of us. He did not put himself aside on a pedestal as is so often the case with lionized personages. He walked about the room, sat on the floor, laughed, joked, chatted — nothing formal. Of course, I had noticed his magnificent, brilliant eyes, his beautiful features and majestic bearing, for these were parts of him that no circumstance could hide. But when I saw him for a few minutes standing on a platform surrounded by others, it flashed into my mind: "What a giant, what strength, what manliness, what a personality! Every one near him looks so insignificant compared with him." It came to me almost as a shock; it seemed to startle me. What was it that gave Swamiji this distinction? Was it his height? No, there were gentlemen there taller than he was. Was it his build? No, there were near him some very fine specimens of American manhood. It seemed to be more in the expression of the face than anything else. Was it his purity? What was it? I could not analyse it. I remembered what had been said of Lord Buddha, — "a lion amongst men". I felt that Swamiji had unlimited power, that he could move heaven and earth if he willed it. This was my strongest and lasting impression of him.

C/o E. Guernsey, M.D._x000d_ The Madrid, 180 W. 59_x000d_ 15th November, 1899_x000d_ My Dear Mrs. Bull,_x000d_ After all I decide to come to Cambridge just now. I must finish the stories I began. The first one I don't think was given back to me by Margo._x000d_ My clothes will be ready the day after tomorrow, and then I shall be ready to start; only my fear is, it will be for the whole winter a place for becoming nervous and not for quieting of nerves, with constant parties and lectures. Well, perhaps you can give me a room somewhere, where I can hide myself from all the goings on in the place. Again I am so nervous of going to a place where indirectly the Indian Math will be. The very name of these Math people is enough to frighten me. And they are determined to kill with these letters etc._x000d_ Anyhow, I come as soon as I have my clothes--this week. You need not come to New York for my sake. If you have business of your own, that is another matter. I had a very kind invitation from Mrs. Wheeler of Montclair. Before I start for Boston, I will have a turn-in in Montclair for a few hours at least._x000d_ I am much better and am all right; nothing the matter with me except my worry, and now I am sure to throw that all overboard._x000d_ Only one thing I want--and I am afraid I cannot get it of you--there should be no communication about me in your letters to India even indirect. I want to hide for a time or for all time. How I curse the day that brought me celebrity!_x000d_ With all love,_x000d_ Vivekananda

Christine’s decision to go to Cambridge may have influenced Swamiji’s own. In any event, he wrote to Mrs. Bull on the same day as he wrote the above:_x000d_ _x000d_ After all, I decide to come to Cambridge just now. . . _x000d_ Only my fear is it will be for the whole winter a place for becoming nervous and not for quieting of nerves, with constant parties and lectures. Well, perhaps you can give me a room somewhere, where I can hide myself from all the goings on in the place. Again I am so nervous of going to a place where indirectly the Indian Math will be. [Her correspondence with Swami Saradananda kept Mrs. Bull in constant touch with Belur Math.] The very name of these Math people is enough to frighten me. And they are determined to kill with these letters etc. . . . I am much better and am all right; nothing the matter with me except my worry, and now I am sure to throw that all overboard. Only one thing I want-and I am afraid I cannot get it of you-there should be no com¬munication about me in your letters to India even indirect. I want to hide for a time or for all time.

According to Sister Nivedita’s diary, Mary Hale gave a party for Swamiji on the afternoon following his arrival. Nivedita did not note how large the party was or who the guests were, but no doubt a number of his friends were invited to greet him. He knew, of course, many people in Chicago --certainly a great many more than we know of, for only a few names have come down to us. There were Mrs. Milward (Florence) Adams, who, as we have seen, had paid a visit to Ridgely Manor; Miss Josephine Locke, Director of Art in the city’s public schools; a Mrs. Peake, a teacher of metaphysics; Mr. and Mrs. John B. Lyon, with whom he had stayed during the Parliament of Religions in 1893, and their daughter Mrs. Conger. There were a Miss Howe, a Cora Stockham, a Mrs. Mills. From one of Sister Nivedita’s letters to Yum one learns also of "the Barberts," on whom Swamiji called, "saying on the doorstep-`I’m the gentleman from Georgia."_x000d_ Undoubtedly, some of Swamiji’s friends entertained him, inviting him to dinner, lunch, or tea; but he also spent quiet times at the Hales’, Mary Hale guarding his privacy. Nivedita sometimes called. "I am down for another talk [at Hull House] . . . On Indian Arts and Crafts of which I know nothing -as I told them," she wrote on Saturday, November 25, to "Aunt Mary." "So I am going to ask if I may come to you on Sunday evening and ask Swami some questions on the subject.. .. I am sure Swami will be ready to help me-if you ask him, and he knows a great deal really. Presumably, Nivedita was allowed to come and ask her questions of Swamiji, for her lecture at Hull House, it turned out, was a success._x000d_ It is possible that during this week Swamiji made some recordings at the McKindleys’ Schiller Street flat, as he very likely had done in April of 1896 at the Walton Place flat, talking into the horn of one of Edison’s early phonograph machines. Indeed, we find that a little earlier in New York Mr. Leggett had been ready to buy him some cylinders to be played in Los Angeles on "Jo’s machine.53 But whether or not Swamiji lectured into a horn during this particular visit to Chicago, we know that on Monday afternoon, November 27, he lectured at the Hales’ to a live audience. Unfortunately, we have no information at present of what he said, of what his subject was, of how long he spoke, of how many people attended. One does know, however, that this was an invita¬tional parlor talk, for one finds Sister Nivedita pleading with "Aunt Mary" for a certain Miss Starr, who evidently was in disrepute. "Once more I am going to beg to be allowed to bring Miss Starr on Monday," she wrote. "You heard her little speech the other night-yet already she is beginning to be one of us, and is hungry to come. Do let me bring her! We can sit in a corner out of sight. . . . I love her so much ¬she is full of the true something, and a new face is often as stimulating to Swami as to others." ("The fun of it is in Miss Starr’s case," Nivedita continued in an interesting passage, "that Swami really hurt her in her own house, and that all I said in excuse or explanation was that I knew he never made mistakes-and that that was best for her when it happened and greater of him than suavity-for it showed his entire indifference to the opinion of the world. It was on this strong doctrine that she got over her little hurt! On this, and the doctrine that in dealing with him we have to forget that we are anything but a soul asking for truth. Miss Starr was Ellen Gates Starr, co-founder (with Jane Addams) of Hull House,* where Nivedita was staying. Whether or not she was permitted to hear Swamiji, even from a corner, is not on record._x000d_ Among the people Swamiji was happy to see was Mme Emma Calve, the famous singer, whom he may have met in Chicago several years earlier and who was again in town with the Metropolitan Opera Company. On the afternoon of November 28 she came to call. "She is a great woman " Swamiji wrote to Mrs. Leggett, who knew her. "I wish I saw more of her. It is a grand sight to see a giant pine struggling against a cyclone. Is it not? (This was evidently one of the more stormy periods in Mme Calve’s life. Swamiji’s wish incidentally, came true; he was to see a good deal more of Emma Calvé before his visit to the Western world was over.)_x000d_ * Hull House, the first social settlement of its kind in America, was established in 1889 by Jane Addams and Ellen Starr in the dilapidated Hull mansion, which they had bought for the purpose. By 1899 Hull House was well known as a successful humanitarian venture.

Sister Nivedita was also in Chicago at this time, having come there directly from Ridgely early in November in her effort to raise money for her proposed Home and School for Widows and Girls in Calcutta.