Dearest St. Sara._x000d_ The two McKiadley girls came yesterday. Since which time Swamiji has been bubbling over with boyishness-_x000d_ ¬Dr. Helmer came at 6-&. by 7 we knew that Swamiji’s trouble is curable-a spreading of the spine causes the kidney trouble-& though his heart & kidney ace affected, Dr says there is no reason he should not be as strong as he -smoking is gradually to be reduced to nothingness (Nirvana!) _x000d_ I still think you better come via Albany-and I think if Olea is here Dr. will come up next Saturday¬__x000d_ He is to stay till Monday & is now shooting blue clay pigeons with Hol-who has a new gun._x000d_ The McKindleys we drive to Kingston today._x000d_ This is only a line to tell you Swamiji speaks of you & Olea daily & would go over to you if we would let him._x000d_ Dr Helmer seems to be happy-& I love him. _x000d_ Margot is winning all hearts._x000d_ I will send Berta [Alberta Sturges] over to bring Olea -if you will allow. She wants to go-& seems to think she is not "au complet" without Olea¬-_x000d_ Hearts love_x000d_ Jojo

[A fragmentary poem composed at Ridgely Manor, in 1899]_x000d_ One circle more the spiral path of life ascends_x000d_ And time's restless shuttle__running back and fro_x000d_ Through maze of warp and woof_x000d_ of shining_x000d_ threads of life__spins out a stronger piece. _x000d_ _x000d_ Hand in hand they stand__and try to_x000d_ fathom depths whence _x000d_ springs eternal love, each in other's eyes;_x000d_ _x000d_ And find_x000d_ No hold o'er that age but brings the youth anew___x000d_ And time__the good, the pure, the true.

He was "tired and ill-looking," Miss Stumm wrote later of Swamiji’s arrival. "He was carrying most carefully a big bottle wrapped in papers that were torn and ragged; this precious bottle, which he refused to relinquish before reaching Binnewater, contained a wonderFul kind of sauce like curry; brought thus by hand from India. `For Jo!’ he said._x000d_ Miss Stumm mentions that "the party from Ridgely" (presumably Miss MacLeod and the Leggetts) did not arrive until ten o’clock that morning, "and so disappointed!" "We all went back (to Ridgely Manor] together," she wrote, but whether "all" included Sister Christine and Mrs. Funke, one does not know. It is certain, however, that Swamiji spent almost no time in the hot, humid city, but after a stop at the Leggetts’ town house was whisked away with all speed._x000d_ The train trip from New York to Ridgely Manor, or, more precisely, from Weehawken, New Jersey, to Kingston in Ulster County, New York, eighty miles or so up the Hudson, was a lovely ride. On the right lay the broad, deep river, straight almost as a canal, with its traffic of ships and ferries and its lighthouses in midstream, like Victorian dwellings set adrift; on one’s left rose the tall Hudson Highlands pressing close at first to the water’s edge, later on flattening out into the wide river valley with its farms and pastures, its orchards, its green, sun-splashed woods, its little towns, its steepled churches and its distant mountains. At Kingston one boarded another train for Binnewater, a tiny station some seven miles west. Here the party was no doubt met by a surrey and spanking pair and driven the four miles to Ridgely Manor along a gently rolling country road, past apple orchards, corn and pumpkin fields, wooded hills, and occasional farm buildings. Most of these last were of the nineteenth century-neat red barns and white houses scalloped along the eaves with wooden rickrack called Hudson River Bracketed; but here and there a small weathered stone house, dating back to pre-Revolutionary days, stood half hidden among protective elms and chestnuts. Half a mile beyond Stone Ridge, the small village through which the road passed, the horses turned into the avenue of Ridgely and trotted up to the Manor-a graceful and welcoming house said to have been designed by a pupil of the famous architect Stanford White and as dignified, substantial, and unassuming as its owner, Francis Leggett._x000d_ The property that Mr. Leggett had acquired in Ulster County some eight years earlier, three years before he dreamed he would be bringing Besse MacLeod Sturges there as his bride, had consisted of several small farms, so that the estate, when it became all of a piece, included within its fifty acres a number of buildings. These were the "Big Cottage," also known as "Clematis Hall"-a name more becoming to its size and dignity; the "Little Cottage," itself something more than a cottage; and the "Inn," which had been a select boarding house run by two maiden ladies. In a position more or less . central to these three houses, Francis Leggett had built the Manor, an imposing mansion of clapboard siding, tall-columned porticos and loggia, hip and saddle roofs, and massive chimneys, its architecture reminiscent, on the whole, of the gracious mansions of the old South. In addition, Mr. Leggett had built several small farm buildings, a stable and carriage house, and, for the entertainment of his guests, a large playhouse known as the "Casino." This last was equipped even to bowling alleys, and was adjoined by a tennis court. Between the various and widely scattered houses lay some ten acres of sweeping lawns, cool to the eye but in 1899 largely unshaded, for the trees planted by Francis Leggett were still small. Only two old chestnuts, huge and spreading, and an enormous maple (which still stands) gave relief in the hot summer afternoons. Around the house were shrubs of all sorts, but these, too, had been selected by Mr. Leggett and were not yet luxuriant. Indeed the house and grounds still had the bare look of new¬ness, but by the same token one had an unobstructed view of fields and wooded hills and, beyond to the west and north, some twelve to twenty miles distant, of the blue Catskills and, to the south, much closer and clearer, of the Shawangunks. The height of neither of these ranges (Mohonk, the tallest peak of the Shawangunks, rose 1542 feet above sea level) would have impressed Swamiji, for both-particularly the latter-were geologically ancient, honed down and buffed by millennia of rain and snow into mountains barely higher than foothills of Himalayan foothills. But they were lovely nonetheless, with their soft, many-folded contours that seemed to move with the passing day, changing color and form.

"He was tired and ill-looking," Miss Maud Stumm, a guest at Ridgely and one of those who had come to meet his ship, was to write later on. But clearly he was in good spirits, for she added: "He Was carrying most carefully a big bottle wrapped in papers that were torn and ragged; this precious bottle, which he refused to relinquish before reaching Binnewater, contained a kind of sauce like curry, brought thus by hand from India. 'For Jo!' he said." "Jo" was, of course, Miss Josephine MacLeod, who was a member of the Ridgely household. _x000d_ In the serene atmosphere of this large, wide-lawned country estate, five miles from the Hudson and some twelve to twenty miles from the beautiful Catskill Mountains, the Swami waited, as Sister Nivedita was to write, "for the leading that he confidently expected, to show him where his next effort was to lie." Together with Swami Turiyananda and, a little later, Swami Abhedananda, he was assigned a large guest cottage, a short walk from the commodious and hospitable "Manor". At the latter, there was always the congenial companionship of their hosts and fellow guests; while, whenever they wanted it, the Swamis had the privacy and silence of the .cottage, known thereafter as "Swamiji's Cottage", by virtue of its most honoured occupant.

He had been here twice before: once in April of 1895, when he had taken a short vacation from his New York classes, and again in the Christmas season of the same year, at which time he had been the guest not of Frank Leggett alone but of both Betty and Frank, they having been married in Paris that September. In 1899, the "heavenly pair," as Swamiji called them, were still just that, rhapsodically in love, regretting the days when Frank Leggett’s business in New York took him from Ridgely to the city, still cherishing their long weekends together. It was all harmony and joy at Ridgely that summer of 1899 - "the great summer," as it came to be called. And a great summer it was (though strictly speaking, it was autumn too), for the group of people that centered around a saint and prophet of the highest magnitude formed a house party such as the world had probably never known before and very likely will not know soon again. Indeed those ten weeks were rare even for Swamiji, for seldom (never before in the West) had he spent so long a time vacationing in one place.

He and Swami Turiyananda were given the "Little Cottage," which stood about a five-minute stroll from the main house ¬across the generous and open lawns in a northwesterly direction. This "Little Cottage" (afterward always called "Swamiji’s Cottage" by Miss MacLeod) contained five small bedrooms on the second floor, all with pitched ceilings. On the ground floor were two small sitting rooms with fireplaces, a sizable dining room, a large kitchen, a small laundry, and a wide front porch. Almost certainly, Swamiji occupied one of the two front bedrooms and Swami Turiyananda the other. The three back bedrooms were not so comfortable and ran, more¬over, one into the other, the far two having no alternate means of access. In connection with the Swamis’ sleeping quarters a charming story was told in later years by Miss MacLeod to Swami Nikhilananda, who passed it on to me. Mrs. Leggett, coming to inspect the accommodations in the cottage, found Swami Turi ananda’s mattress and bedding on the floor of his room. "What is the matter, Swami? She exclaimed. Is something wrong with the bed?" "No, no," he assured her; "the bed is fine. But, you see, I cannot bring myself to sleep on the same level with Swamiji-so I have put the mattress on the floor." One might add here that so great was the love and reverence that Swami Turiyananda always showed for Swamiji that Mrs. Leggett thought (at first, at least) that he was Swamiji’s disciple. Writing to Mrs. Bull on September 2, she commented, "This rest is peace to [Swamiji]. He loves being away with his disciple-who watches every gesture and is interesting in his devotion to his Master.

The "Big Cottage," which stood farther from the Manor than the "Little Cottage," though in the same direction, was a commodious house with ten bedrooms and a curving drive¬way of its own. It was to be assigned to Mrs. Bull and Olea and very probably Mrs. Marian Briggs, a close friend of Mrs. Bull’s, with a pair of servants to take care of them. But big as the "Big Cottage" may have been, it was dwarfed-in impres¬siveness, at least-by the Manor, which encompassed several spacious first-floor living rooms, seven second-story bedrooms, and, on its top floor under the roof, quarters for a staff of servants. The Manor accommodated the family-Mr. and Mrs. Francis Leggett; Josephine MacLeod; Alberta Sturges, Mrs. Leggett’s twenty-two-year-old daughter by a former marriage; the baby, not yet three-year-old Frances Leggett, and her nurse, Miss Looker-and at one time or another during that summer and autumn various transient house guests, such as Mrs. Coulston, whom we have already met; Sarah Ellen Waldo from Brooklyn, who was invited for a day in early October; Mrs. Florence (Milward) Adams, an old friend from Chicago and well-known lecturer on dramatic arts, physical culture, and metaphysics; Miss Florence Guernsey, the daughter of Swamiji’s good friend Dr. Egbert Guernsey of New York; Emma Thursby and her sister Ina; and a Dr. Helmer, a practitioner of osteopathy, which science, then coming into vogue, was Miss MacLeod’s most recent enthusiasm.* Other guests were more or less permanent-Sister Nivedita, for instance, and a professor Marchand, who had been brought by the Leggetts from France to help the family polish up its French in preparation for the following summer, when everyone, including Swamiji, was to go to Prais for the International Exposition. (An old man, Professor Marchand fell ill during his stay at Ridgely and there died. During his illness, as Mrs. Frances Leggett tells in Late and Soon, Miss MacLeod had visited the old man in his room, and he had embraced her and said to her, "This is the house of God! And one cannot but think that Ridgely Manor was indeed that summer a veritable Benares in which to die.)_x000d_ Over the stables in an apartment of some four or five bed¬rooms lived Hollister Sturges, Alberta’s brother (younger than she by two years), and a number of their friends and cousins -all bursting with high spirits. Francis Leggett’s nephew, Theodore Whitmarsh, whom he looked upon as a son, his wife, and their three young children occupied the "Inn" until early September. Housed in the village of Stone Ridge were Maud Stumm, a Miss de Kubel, and a Mr. Goodby, all three of whom came daily, as Miss MacLeod was to write to Mrs. Bull, "to drink deep."_x000d_ * One learns from Nivedita’s letters to Miss MacLeod that "a Mrs. Hale" was staying for a time at Ridgely during Swamiji’s visit. Whoever this Mrs.: Hale may have been, she was not the Mrs. Hale of Chicago, Swamiji’s "Mother Church."

The household was a large one. In addition to Mr. and Mrs. Leggett and Miss MacLeod, there were Alberta and Hollister Sturges, the grown-up children of Mrs. Leggett by a former marriage; there was the Whitmarsh family, the head of which Mr. Theodore Whitmarsh, was a nephew of Mr. Leggett; there were Maud Stumm and other more or less permanent guests, and many temporary guests who visited Ridgely for varying periods during the Swami's ten-weeks' stay there. Sister Nivedita arrived from London on September 20 and stayed on until the Swami himself left in early November. Mrs. Ole Bull and her daughter Olea came on October 7, also to stay until November. Then, for shorter visits, there came the two McKindley sisters, Isabelle and Harriet, from Chicago, whom the Swami delighted to see again; there was Miss Ellen Waldo, his disciple from New York; Mrs. Florence Milward Adams from Chicago, and Miss Florence Guernsey, the daughter of the Swami's close friend Dr. Egbert Guernsey of New York. And to hasten the natural improvement of his health, a Dr. Helmer, a famous New York osteopath, Was brought to Ridgely by Mr. and Mrs. Leggett to diagnose his illness and to treat him. Others came and went, some staying a day, some a week or more.

The Swami's occupations at Ridgely were light and varied. "I am writing a book on 'India and her people'," he wrote to Mary Hale in early September, " — a short chatty simple something. Again I am going to learn French." Sometimes he tried his hand at golf, walked in the countryside, or learned to draw under the tutelage of Maud Stumm, "toiling over his crayons", she wrote, "with as single a mind and heart as if that were his vocation." Or, again, he obligingly sat for his portrait by this same artist-teacher. But of greatest delight to those around him were the long summer-evening hours of "easy home-talks" when he spoke to his friends of "his great message of truth", while. they listened spellbound. Thus cared for by loving friends, he rested in this country retreat, his presence a constant joy and inspiration to his hosts, their family, and their other guests. By November I he could write to Christine, "I am very strong and healthy now and feel strong like a lion, ready to take up any work again." And less than a week later, on November 7, he left for New York, his days of rest over.

as attested by his diary, portions of which have very kindly been made available to us by the Ramakrishna Vedanta Math in Calcutta. The Swami’s entry for September 8 reads:_x000d_ Arrived at Kingston at 7:30p.m. drove to Ridgely and arrived there at 9:30 p.m. Saw Swamis V. and T. and lived with them._x000d_ The three Swamis lived, of course, in "Swamiji’s Cottage." _x000d_ In Vivekananda, a Biography in Pictures, one finds a photograph (here reproduced) of the Swamis, together with Mrs. Leggett, Miss MacLeod, Alberta, and a friend of Alberta’s, whose name is not known. In another photograph of the same people, taken on the same day, at the same place (the circular portico at the back of the main house) one sees Swamiji standing and looking unwell and Alberta with her face in her hands, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun.

Hold yet a while, Strong Heart,_x000d_ Not part a lifelong yoke_x000d_ Though blighted looks the present, future gloom._x000d_ _x000d_ And age it seems since you and I began our_x000d_ March up hill or down. Sailing smooth o'er_x000d_ Seas that are so rare--_x000d_ Thou nearer unto me, than oft-times I myself--_x000d_ Proclaiming mental moves before they were!_x000d_ _x000d_ Reflector true--Thy pulse so timed to mine,_x000d_ Thou perfect note of thoughts, however fine--_x000d_ Shall we now part, Recorder, say?_x000d_ _x000d_ In thee is friendship, faith,_x000d_ For thou didst warn when evil thoughts were brewing--_x000d_ And though, alas, thy warning thrown away,_x000d_ Went on the same as ever--good and true.

Even Miss MacLeod’s own long-dreamed-of plan to meet Swamiji’s ship, to see him walking with his wonderfully majestic stride down the gang¬plank, his face breaking into radiance at the sight of his old friends, was not fulfilled, for the Numidian steamed into the New York harbor two or three hours earlier than scheduled. Fortunately, three people were at the dock to meet Swamiji and Swami Turiyananda-Maud Stumm, who had come down from Ridgely Manor, Mrs. Coulston, acting treasurer of the New York Vedanta Society (Swami Abhedananda was out of town), and a Mr. Sydney Clarke, to whom Miss Stumm had telegraphed, asking him to be on hand to take care of the Swamis’ baggage.

On the morning of Monday, August 28, 1899, the S.S. Numidian docked at New York, and once again, after an absence of almost three and a half years, Swami Vivekananda set foot on American soil. In New York, as in London, it was the off-season; thus that very afternoon, after visiting the town house of his old friends Mr. and Mrs. Francis Leggett, the Swami and his brother-disciple Swami Turiyananda went with them by train to Ridgely, their beautiful country home in the Hudson River Valley some ninety miles from New York.

To Miss Isabelle McKindley_x000d_ Ridgely Manor_x000d_ Stone Ridge, N.Y._x000d_ 31st August '99_x000d_ M dear Isabel___x000d_ Many thanks for your kind note. I will be so, so glad to see you. Miss M'cLeod [MacLeod] is going to write you to stop a day and a night here on your way to the West. My love to the holy family in Chicago, and hope surely to be able to come West and have great fun._x000d_ So you are in Greenacre at last. Is this the first year you have been there? How do you like the place? [You have] seen Miss Farmer, of course. Kindly convey her my kindest regards and to all the rest of my friends there._x000d_ Ever yours affectionately,_x000d_ Vivekananda_x000d_ CXLV_x000d_ To Sister Christine_x000d_ Ridgely Manor,_x000d_ 20th September 1899._x000d_ Dear Christina,_x000d_ I am much better, thank you. Hitherto, excepting three days, there has not been any wet weather to speak of here. Miss [Margaret] Noble came yesterday, and we are having a jolly good time. I am very, very sorry to say I am growing fat again. That is bad. I will eat less and grow thin once more._x000d_ You are again at work__so do I find__only with a little variation of the old occupation. Better rest than mere idling. Do you like my new poem? Miss Noble thinks it is nice. But that is her way with everything I do. So you also say. I will now send my writings to missionary papers to get a fierce criticism._x000d_ With all love to you and Mrs. Funkey [Funke],_x000d_ Ever yours affectionately,_x000d_ Vvekananda.

August 31, 1899_x000d_ My dear Miss McKinley¬_x000d_ Your letter this morning was a great pleasure to our household.-We should be so pleased if you and your sister will stop over with us a day and night on your way home-If you will let me know the date, I will arrange to have a free place for you and to meet you at the Station Binnewater four miles off. You can take a train at Boston for kingston--changing at Albany-and at Kingston take a train to Binnewater-I think the best train leaving Boston is at 11 p.m. Of course if you are in or near New York-we are very accessible, being 3 hours by train from there._x000d_ If you have never taken the [boat] trip on the Hudson River, it is well worth the day given to it-leaving New York at 9-to Kingston-arriving at Binnewater at 4:30_x000d_ Swamiji is delighted at the thought of seeing you and your sister.

Ridgely Manor_x000d_ September 1899_x000d_ My Dear Mary {Hale},_x000d_ Yes, I have arrived. I had a letter from Isabelle from Greenacre. I hope to see her soon and Harriet. Harriet Woolley has been uniformly silent. Never mind, I will bide my time, and as soon as Mr. Woolley becomes a millionaire, demand my money. You did not write any particulars about Mother Church and Father Pope, only the news of something about me in some newspapers. I have long ceased to take any interest in papers; only they keep me before the public and get a sale of my books "anyway" as you say. Do you know what I am trying to do now? Writing a book on India and her people--a short chatty simple something. Again I am going to learn French. If I fail to do it this year, I cannot "do" the Paris Exposition next year properly. Well, I expect to learn much French here where even the servants talk it. _x000d_ You never saw Mrs. Leggett, did you? She is simply grand. I am going to Paris next year as their guest, as I did the first time._x000d_ I have now got a monastery on the Ganga for the teaching of philosophy and comparative religion and a centre of work._x000d_ What have you been doing all this time? Reading? Writing? You did not do anything. You could have written lots by this time. Even if you had taught me French, I would be quite a Froggy now, and you did not , only made me talk nonsense. You never went to Greenacre. I hope it is getting strength every year._x000d_ Say, you 24 feet and 600 lbs. of Christian Science, you could not pull me up with your treatments. I am losing much faith in your healing powers. Where is Sam? "Bewaring" all this time as he could; bless his heart, such a noble boy!_x000d_ I was growing grey fast, but somehow it got checked. I am sorry, only a few grey hairs now; a research will unearth many though. I like it and am going to cultivate a long white goaty. Mother Church and Father Pope were having a fine time on the continent. I saw a bit on my way home. And you have been Cinderella-ing in Chicago--good for you. Persuade the old folks to go to Paris next year and take you along. There must be wonderful sights to see; the French are making a last great struggle, they say, before closing business._x000d_ Well, you did not write me long, long. You do not deserve this letter, but--I am so good you know, especially as death is drawing near--I do not want to quarrel with anyone. I am dying to see Isabelle and Harriet. I hope they have got a great supply of healing power at Greenacre Inn and will help me out of my present fall. In my days the Inn was well stored with spiritual food, and less of material stuff. Do you know anything of osteopathy? Here is one in New York working wonders really. _x000d_ I am going to have my bones searched by him in a week. Where is Miss Howe? She is such a noble soul, such a friend. By the by, Mary, it is curious your family, Mother Church and her clergy, both monastic and secular, have made more impression on me than any family I know of. Lord bless you ever and ever._x000d_ I am taking rest now, and the Leggetts are so kind. I feel perfectly at home. I intend to go to New York to see the Dewy procession. I have not seen my friends there._x000d_ Write me all about yourselves. I so long to hear. You know Joe Joe of course. I marred their visit to India with my constant break-downs, and they were so good, so forgiving. For years Mrs. Bull and she have been my guardian angels. Mrs. Bull is expected here next week._x000d_ She would have been here before this, but her daughter (Olea) had a spell of illness. She suffered much, but is now out of danger. Mrs. Bull has taken one of Leggett's cottages here, and if the cold weather does not set in faster than usual, we are going to have a delightful month here even now. The place is so beautiful--well wooded and perfect lawns._x000d_ I tried to play golf the other day; I do not think it difficult at all--only it requires good practice. You never went to Philadelphia to visit your golfing friends? What are your plans? What do you intend to do the rest of your life? Have you thought out any work? Write me a long letter, will you? I saw a lady in the streets of Naples as I was passing, going along with three others, must be Americans, so like you that I was almost going to speak to her; when I came near I saw my mistake. Good-bye for the present. Write sharp. . . . _x000d_ Ever your affectionate brother,_x000d_ Vivekananda

By mid September the Swami's health was noticeably improving. "An American Brahmacharini" wrote about him at this time: _x000d_ It is already three weeks since Swami Vivekananda and Swami Turiyananda reached America from England. Swami Vivekananda is rapidly recovering from all indisposition, and for the gain made in health during the voyage from India to England, is daily adding renewed vigour. The few chosen ones, who have heard the Swami in easy home-talks since his arrival, are deeply impressed with the great message of truth he bears — a larger and fuller prophecy and vision than any he has yet given to the East or West....

Never one to beat about the bush, Miss MacLeod did not approach him cautiously, nor did she wait for him to drop hints; she simply showed him the correspondence between Nivedita and Sturdy. She then forwarded Nivedita’s letter to Mrs. Bull, to whom it was also addressed and whose arrival at Ridgely Manor had been delayed. "Read Margot’s letter to no one," she wrote, "-nor refer to Sturdy-nor write him. I’ll tell you much.

Swamiji’s hosts and fellow guests at Ridgely well understood his need for rest, for privacy, and for freedom, as well as for congenial, lighthearted company, and they gave him whatever his mood called for. "It was that attitude in our family towards Swamiji that kept him with and near us ", Josephine MacLeod wrote years later to her niece. "Days without speaking, days and nights continuous speaking. We followed his moods and kept ourselves busy in our own lives and happy when he wasn’t about, so that there was no sort of weight put upon him."I feel perfectly at home," he wrote in early September to Mary Hale. And indeed, no sooner had he set foot in Ridgely Manor than his thoughts were flowing out freely (if "intermittently") to the friends who surrounded him. He told of new ideas, of his new message -a message ready for the mission that lay still uncharted and uncertain in the future.

"An American Brahmacharini" (possibly Miss Waldo) wrote also of Swamiji’s new message, having heard of it perhaps from Mrs. Coulston or, again, from Miss MacLeod when the latter was in town to meet Nivedita. "The few chosen ones who have heard the Swami in easy home-talks since his arrival," she recounted, "are deeply impressed with the great message of truth he bears; a larger and fuller prophecy and vision than any he has yet given to the East or West.

But the full development and pronouncement of Swamiji’s new message had to wait its season. In the meanwhile he consciously, purposefully relaxed, keeping his mind from his many concerns, hoping to gain in physical strength. "Do you know what I am trying to do now?" he asked Mary Hale in his September letter, and answered, "writing a book on India and her people-a short chatty simple something. Again I am going to learn French." He also tried his hand at golf on the three or four holes which were laid out on Ridgely’s extensive lawns.* "I do not think it difficult at all," he wrote, "-only it requires good practice._x000d_ _x000d_ * In the first edition of volume three of New Discoveries it was said that in the spring of 1895 Swamiji, while visiting Ridgely,went for a walk on " Mr. Leggett's private and well-kept nine hole golf course" and swinging a golf club for the first time,hit a hole in one.This was not altogether correct.According to FrancisLeggett's grandson, the present Lord Margession, there was never a "well-kept nine-hole golf course" on the grounds of Ridgley. There are however, and no doubtwere in Swamiji's time, severl holes of golf informally, but challengingly, laid out on the lawns, and it is very likely into one of those holes that Swamiji plunked his ball with one sure swing. Recently it has been suggested that his miraculous stroke took place at a par-four, 226 yard hole at the Mohonok House Golf Course (See Asim Chidhuri, "The Blessed Games of Golf." Global Vedanta, March 1997). While this is not impossible, it is far more probablethat Swamiji shot his hole-in-oneon Ridgeley's lawnsrather than than at the distant Monk Mountain House Golf Course.It was very likely also on the lawns of Ridgely that in 1899 he "tried to play golf' and found it is not at all difficult.

There would have been rich hours of talk, or of reading, in the loggia-a wide, open porch on the left side of the house as one faced it from the back lawn--or of undisturbed naps in the quiet afternoons, Swamiji "lying at full length on the green couch in the Hall (Maud Stumm wrote], sound asleep like a tired child: There were solitary early morning walks around the expansive grounds of Ridgely, generally along a path that led from the "Little Cottage," passed the Casino, and met a road that led across an open field. At the end of this road was a huge spreading oak, and there Swamiji would meditate-so regularly that the tree came to be known as "Swami’s Oak." He would then take a path to the right and come to the "Inn " stopping (in the early days of September before the Whit¬marshes left) to play with the three children, who ranged in age from barely two to six; and to give them pennies, as Katharine Whitmarsh, the youngest of the brood, learned from her mother. Then back full circle to the "Little Cottage." Again, there would have been games of croquet, or, perhaps, of gentle tennis, carriage drives through the lovely countryside or up Mount Mohonk, a favorite jaunt, and in the cool, luminous air of sundown there would have been strolls on the wide lawns, Swamiji making a picture that the enraptured Miss Stumm long remembered: "With his flame-colored robes draped about him, what a figure he was as he strode the lawns of Ridgely! His stride came nearer to the poet’s description of a `step that spurned the earth’ than anything I ever expect to see again; and there was a compelling majesty in his presence and carriage that could not be imitated or described.

Dinner, served in the dining room-a room not large, but elegant with black marble mantelpiece, rich wallpaper, and stately, carved sideboards - was generally more or less informal. Swamiji, sitting always on Mrs. Leggett’s right, was perfectly at liberty to excuse himself for a smoke or a walk. There was, however, a way to hold him. "A very quick word from Lady Betty [how many times! Miss Stumm recalled] that she believed there was to be ice cream would turn him back instantly, and he would sink into his place with a smile of expectancy and pure delight seldom seen on the face of anybody over sixteen. He just loved it, and he had all he wanted, too." "He particularly liked chocolate ice cream," Miss MacLeod related in her memoirs, "because, `I too am chocolate and I like it,’ he would say.But at least once (special guests perhaps having come) "a very large and elaborate dinner was given at Ridgely." "The flowers and lights on the table were wonderful," Maud Stumm wrote, "and the ladies [were] all in their loveliest gowns and jewels. " (She had been half entranced by all this brilliance and gaiety, and she remembered that Swamiji, noticing her bemusement, had shattered it with a quiet word through "all the noise of other talk." "Don’t let it fool you, Baby," he had said.)

And then there would be long gaslit evenings in the great hall-the wide central hall that ran through the house from front to back, making a cheerful room with its broad staircase, white columns, big fireplace, sofas, and upholstered chairs. It was a room more lived in than the formal sitting room that adjoined it. Generally, the front and back doors would be open, and the pulsating sounds of the summer night would accompany Swamiji’s mellow yet authoritative tones as he talked on, sometimes for hours at a time.

In the evening . . . he would talk, and once, after he came out with some of his thoughts, a lady said, "Swami, I don’t agree with you there." "No? Then it is not for you," he answered. Someone else said, "Oh, but that is where I find you true." "Ah, then it was for you," he said showing that utter respect for the other man’s views. One evening he was so eloquent, about a dozen people listening, his voice becoming so soft and seemingly far away; when the evening was over, we all separated without even saying good-night to each other. Such a holy quality pervaded. My sister, Mrs. Leggett, had occasion to go to one of the rooms afterward. There she found one of the guests, an agnostic, weeping. "What do you mean!" my sister asked, and the lady said, "That man has given me eternal life. I never wish to hear him again._x000d_ (This curious reaction reminds one of Harriet Monroe, the poet, who, after hearing Swamiji at the Parliament of Reli¬gions in September of 1893, wrote, "One cannot repeat a perfect moment-the futility of trying to has been almost a superstition with me. Thus I made no effort to hear Vivek¬ananda speak again, during that autumn and winter when he was making converts by the score:’)

Among Swamiji’s occupations at Ridgely Manor was a pursuit of the art of drawing, which he undertook with all the eagerness and concentration of an aspiring young student, "toiling over his crayons," as his teacher wrote, "with as single a mind and heart as if that were his vocation. And he did wonderfully well. Maud Stumm’s marveling account of his drawing lessons is included in her memoirs of Swamiji, from which I have been quoting now and then. These invaluable reminiscences were written at Josephine MacLeod’s request and were first published in Vedanta and the West (November-December 1953), having been made available by Mrs. Frances Leggett.

One day [Miss Stumm recalled] he told me that he wanted to undertake some sort of work that would keep his hands busy and prevent him from thinking of things that fretted him at that time-and would I give him drawing lessons? So materials were produced, and at an appointed hour he came, promptly, bringing to me, with a curious little air of submission, a huge red apple, which he laid in my hands, bowing gravely. I asked him the significance of this gift, and he said, "in token that the lessons may be fruitful"-and such a pupil as he proved to be! Once only did I have to tell him anything; his memory and concentration were marvellous, and his drawings strangely perfect and intelligent for a beginner. By the time he had taken his fourth lesson, he felt quite equal to a portrait; so . . . Turiyananda posed, like any bronze image, and was drawn capitally-all in the study of Mr. Leggett, with its divan for our seat, and its fine light to aid us. . .

On a hot summer day Miss Stumm and others asked Swamiji to show how he wound his turban-a demonstration he had given perhaps countless times in the West for fascinated children and grownups alike. Now at Ridgely Manor he wound and unwound the length of silk, disclosing the mysteries not only of his own turban but of other kinds as well. "When he arranged it as the desert people do, to keep the neck from the great heat," Miss Stumm recounted, "I asked him to pose, and he did, talking all the time. That was the day he talked to us of purity and truth.

I am able to reproduce here a photograph of Maud Stumm’s drawing of Swamiji au Bedouin, which has, at least, historical value. ("The lines of the mouth were so simple and lovely and yet so very difficult!" Miss Stumm wrote of her attempts to draw him.) Unfortunately, Swamiji’s own drawings of Swami Turiyananda, Nivedita, and others no longer exist, or are at present lost to us. He himself, one imagines, would not have destroyed them, for he took immense pride in his new-found talent.

Thus the days slipped by, all of them beautiful, each marked by some special, unforgettable conversation or incident-a long, spellbinding talk on a balmy evening, or so small a thing as the sight of a flaming robe flashing in and out of the shade of the old chestnut trees or of a dark head bent over a sketch book, its owner lost to the world.

In his letter to Mary Hale, Swamiji mentioned that he intended to go to New York to see "the Dewey procession. His reference was to the public welcome to be held on Friday, September 29, for Admiral George Dewey, who almost a year and a half earlier had won a naval victory in Manila Bay. He was still an idolized national hero, and the reception accorded him in New York, with its wildly ecstatic crowds, fireworks, and parades, and "Welcome, Dewey" spelled out in electric lights on Brooklyn Bridge, would have been worth the trip to see. But whether or not Swamiji went to see it is not at present known. In any event, the excursion would barely have interrupted the flow of summer days at Ridgely Manor-days that glided gently, almost imperceptibly into autumn.

Behold, it comes in might, _x000d_ The power that is not power, _x000d_ The light that is in darkness, _x000d_ The shade in dazzling light._x000d_ _x000d_ It is joy that never spoke, _x000d_ And grief unfelt, profound, _x000d_ Immortal life unlived, _x000d_ Eternal death unmourned._x000d_ _x000d_ It is not joy nor sorrow, _x000d_ But that which is between, _x000d_ It is not night nor morrow, _x000d_ But that which joins them in._x000d_ _x000d_ It is sweet rest in music; _x000d_ And pause in sacred art; _x000d_ The silence between speaking; _x000d_ Between two fits of passion--_x000d_ lt is the calm of heart._x000d_ _x000d_ It is beauty never seen,_x000d_ And love that stands alone, _x000d_ It is song that lives un-sung, _x000d_ And knowledge never known._x000d_ _x000d_ It is death between two lives,_x000d_ And lull between two storms, _x000d_ The void whence rose creation, _x000d_ And that where it returns._x000d_ _x000d_ To it the tear-drop goes,_x000d_ To spread the smiling form_x000d_ It is the Goal of Life,_x000d_ And Peace--its only home!

Ridgely,_x000d_ 2nd September, 1899_x000d_ Dear--,_x000d_ . . . Life is a series of fights and disillusionments. . . . The secret of life is not enjoyment, but education through experience. But, alas, we are called off the moment we begin really to learn. That seems to be a potent argument for a future existence. . . . Everywhere it is better to have a whirlwind come over the work. That clears the atmosphere and gives us a true insight into the nature of things. It is begun anew, but on adamantine foundations. . . ._x000d_ Yours with best wishes,_x000d_ Vivekananda

On the same day Swamiji wrote to Sister Christine, who was now back home in Detroit (in full) : _x000d_  _x000d_ My dear Christina:_x000d_ I hope by this time you are much better. I am getting physically better every day, though mentally not much. _x000d_ The London work seems to fall to pieces. The friends over there are all shaky even Sturdy. Anyway in Mrs. Bull & Miss McLeod I have very strong friends. They stand by me here, through thick and thin._x000d_ Life is a series of fights and disillusionments is it not? _x000d_ Well I am seeking some quiet if I can, before I plunge into work again. One has to work to gain a livelihood even. Good that it is so, it keeps us straight._x000d_ How is Mrs. Funkey? Where are you both now? I am glad though that in this life I have got a number of staunch friends that will stand by me, whether I am in good or bad circumstances, whether I am ill or well, & you are two of them._x000d_ I am rather happy these few days. It is so quiet here and everybody is good. Days are passing anyway, and I am learning to be contented._x000d_ The secret of life is not enjoyment but education through experience. But we are killed off the moment we begin really to learn. That seems to many a potent argument for a future existence. . . ._x000d_ I hope soon to be able to come to Detroit. Everywhere it is better to have a whirlwind come over the work. That clears the atmosphere & gives us a true insight into the nature of things. We begin, anew but on adamantine foundations._x000d_ I am strong very strong now-I always am when left to stand alone. May you be strong very strong always. _x000d_ _x000d_ Ever yours with love and blessings_x000d_ Vivekananda

As early as September 2 the Swami himself wrote to Christine: "I had the family doctor of the Leggetts to come and see me. He is also of opinion that there is nothing [wrong] with my heart, except a little nervous tremor, and that will pass away with proper dieting. I am almost a vegetarian now, except I cat a bit of fish now and then, as the doctor says. No meat whatsoever, and I am doing splendid."

We are having such privileges as only Swamiji can confer. His talks are intermittent-his health improving, his nights restful & he sleeps wonderfully. He is dieting, eating well-& no doubt as you and Joe have said for long-his great work is to come. . . ._x000d_ These days are priceless. Do come straight on if possible.

"Swamiji is blessed," Miss MacLeod wrote to Mrs. Bull on September 3, "and has his new message ready-that all there is in life is character, that Buddhas & Christs do more harm than good-for mankind is trying to imitate them-instead of developing its own character! Oh it is grand & thrills one-¬that `in one’s greatest hour of need one stands alone.” . . . He is indeed a Prophet with a new message! Here was the theme that was to sound forth so often and so emphatically throughout his second visit to America. Once again we hear its announcement at Ridgely Manor in a recollection of Maud Stumm’s: "Nearly every day," she wrote, "Swami was wonderful in a new way; and now it would be music that he dwelt upon, now art, and once he burst into the morning room, declaring for `Liberty.’ `What do I care if Mahomet was a good man, or Buddha! Does that alter my own goodness or evil ? Let us be good for our own sake on our own responsibility! Not because somebody way back there was good!"

Ridgely_x000d_ 4th Sept,. 1899_x000d_ Dear Mrs. Bull,_x000d_ . . . Mother knows best, that is all about me. . . . _x000d_ Yours etc.,_x000d_ Vivekananda

Ridgely Manor_x000d_ 4th September, 1899_x000d_ My Dear Mother {Mrs. Bull},_x000d_ It is an awful spell of the bad turn of fortune with me last six months. Misfortune follows me ever wherever I go. In England, Sturdy seems to have got disgusted with the work; he does not see any asceticism in us from India. Here no sooner I reach than Olea gets a bad attack._x000d_ Shall I run up to you? I know I cannot be of much help, but I will try my best in being useful._x000d_ I hope everything will soon come right with you, and Olea will be restored to perfect health even before this reaches you. Mother knows best; that is all about me._x000d_ Ever yours affectionately,_x000d_ Vivekananda

But the full correspondence between Swamiji and Sturdy during this fall of 1899 has not been published. Somehow, typed copies of most of the letters found their way in later years to the Ramakrishna Monastery in Bangalore, South India, from where they were made available to me through the kindness of the late Swami Yatiswarananda, who at the time was vice-president of the Ramakrishna Math and the Ramakrishna Mission. Thus I am able to add here some more details of this episode, which has been only half known and the important part of which-how much Swamiji forgave his disciple-has not been heretofore known at all. The correspondence will take us into November of 1899, months beyond the point we have come to in our story; but since it had little connection with the events that were taking place during its course but pertained, rather, to Swamiji’s life and work in England, let us plunge here into the whole incredible exchange.

Other guests no doubt came and went, or, in some cases, stayed on for a week or more. Their names, for the most part, are lost to us; but among those whose visits gave Swamiji particular pleasure were the two McKindley sisters, Isabelle and Harriet, cousins of Mary and Harriet Hale and an inseparable part of that family whom Swamiji loved above all others. ("By the by, Mary," he was to write in September from Ridgely Manor, "it is curious your family, Mother Church [Mrs. George Hale] and her clergy, both monastic and secular, have made more impression on me than any family I know of. Lord bless you ever and ever. Very probably it was through Swami Abhedananda, who was lectur¬ing at the Greenacre School of Comparative Religions in Maine and to whom Swamiji had sent a telegram, that the McKindley girls, attending the school, learned of his arrival in America and of his presence at Ridgely Manor. Isabelle, the older sister, wrote to him at the end of August.

One of the guests the Swami must have been especially happy to see was his brother-disciple Swami Abhedananda, whom he had left in London in December of 1896. Swami Abhedananda had come to America in August of 1897, and had there been conducting the work of the Vedanta Society of New York with great success.

He had been lecturing at the Greenacre School of Comparative Religions in Maine when Swami Vivekananda had arrived in New York, and thus had been unable to greet his beloved brother. until September 8, when, at the Swami's call, he came to Ridgely. There he stayed about ten days, and it was with much satisfaction that the Swami learned from him about the progress of the American work and the New York Vedanta Society's recent move to its first permanent quarters at 146 East Fifty-fifth Street. On October 15 these "Vedanta Society Rooms" were formally opened by Swami Abhedananda, and from the twenty-second of that month he held regular classes there.

Ridgely Manor_x000d_ 14th September, 1899_x000d_ My Dear Sturdy,_x000d_ I have simply been taking rest at the Leggetts' and doing nothing. Abhedananda is here. He has been working hard._x000d_ He goes in a day or two to resume his work in different places for a month. After that he comes to New York to work. _x000d_ I am trying to do something in the line you suggested, but don't know how far an account of the Hindus will be appreciated by the Western public when it comes from a Hindu. . . . _x000d_ Mrs. Johnson is of opinion that no spiritual person ought to be ill. It also seems to her now that my smoking is sinful etc., etc. That was Miss Muller's reason for leaving me, my illness. They may be perfectly right, for aught I know--and you too--but I am what I am. In India, the same defects plus eating with Europeans have been taken exception to by many. I was driven out of a private temple by the owners for eating with Europeans. I wish I were malleable enough to be moulded into whatever one desired, but unfortunately I never saw a man who could satisfy everyone. Nor can anyone who has to go to different places possibly satisfy all._x000d_ When I first came to America, they ill-treated me if I had not trousers on. Next I was forced to wear cuffs and collars, else they would not touch me etc., etc. They thought me awfully funny if I did not eat what they offered etc., etc. . . . _x000d_ In India the moment I landed they made me shave my head and wear "Kaupin" (loin cloth), with the result that I got diabetes etc. Saradananda never gave up his underwear--this saved his life, with just a touch of rheumatism and much comment from our people._x000d_ Of course, it is my Karma, and I am glad that it is so. For, though it smarts for the time, it is another great experience of life, which will be useful, either in this or in the next. . . . _x000d_ As for me, I am always in the midst of ebbs and flows. I knew it always and preached always that every bit of pleasure will bring its quota of pain, if not with compound interest. I have a good deal of love given to me by the world; I deserve a good deal of hatred therefore. I am glad it is so--as it proves my theory of "every wave having its corresponding dip" on my own person._x000d_ As for me, I stick to my nature and principle--once a friend, always a friend--also the true Indian principle of looking subjectively for the cause of the objective._x000d_ I am sure that the fault is mine, and mine only, for every wave of dislike and hatred that I get. It could not be otherwise. Thanking you and Mrs. Johnson for thus calling me once more to the internal,_x000d_ I remain as ever with love and blessings,_x000d_ Vivekananda

In addition to the causes for Miss Muller's leaving the Swami that Swami Saradananda mentioned, the Swami himself knew that there was the reason of his illness, which was the main reason. On September 14, 1899 the Swami would be writing to Mr. Sturdy from Ridgely Manor: "Mrs. Jonson is of opinion that no spiritual person ought to be ill.... That was Miss Muller’s reason for leaving me, my illness. They may be perfectly right, for aught I know — and you too—but I am what I am."

I have been simply taking rest at the Leggetts’ and doing nothing. Abhedananda is here-he has been working hard. . . ._x000d_ Well, I was given some correspondence between you and Miss Noble to read the other day-I am sorry we could not come up to your ideal. But my experience of life is we so rarely find a person who comes up to that. Then again it is almost impossible for anyone to keep steady on the plane we assign to him in the ideal. We are so human, and liable to change for good or worse. At the same time like the earth’s rotating we are always leaving the changes in us out of calculation, and attribute it all to the external ideals._x000d_ Mrs. Johnson [Mrs. Ashton Jonson]-is of opinion, no spiritual person ought to be ill-it also seems to her now that my smoking is sinful &,c. &c._x000d_ That was Miss Muller’s reason for leaving me, my ill¬ness. They may be perfectly right, for aught I know, and you too, but I am what I am. In India the same defects, plus eating with Europeans have been taken exception to by many. I was driven out of a private temple by the owner for eating with Europeans. I wish I was malleable enough to be moulded into whatever one desired but un¬fortunately I never saw a man who could satisfy everyone. Nor can anyone who has to go to different places¬possibly satisfy all. . . . I hear also that there has been some talk about the money you gave me., I got £500 = 7500 Rs.+ £500 = 7500 Rs. from Miss Soutter [Souter], Miss Muller gave through Goodwin 30,000 Rs. total 45,000 Rs. Miss Muller got us to buy a piece of land which cost 40,000 Rs: and about 4,000 to level it and fill up the huge gaps in it, as it was a dockyard. I have a building on it-not large-and a chapel and library &c. That has been paid for by the Indian friends-and Mrs. Bull of America. The land alone with the improvements will cover more than the sum I got from my English friends. An inquiry in the Registrar’s records of the Howrah Dist. Bengal will show the truth of what I state nor have I even spent a penny of the money given to me by anyone in any country for my work on myself. For my own private expenses I in America used to get money by lecturing or writing in the papers. In India Mrs. Sevier and the Rajah of Khetri used to give me little sums to cover it. Whenever you think it necessary the accounts of every penny the Eng. People gave me is ready. Miss Noble’s school was started with funds I got in India from the Maharajah of Kashmir and my Madras pub¬lications and her own money largely. Mrs. Johnson thinks the attitude of Miss Noble towards me is very un¬satisfactory-and I am responsible for that. I do not know how I can be responsible for ideas another person has of me of which I am not even cognisant of!!! How could I know your or Mrs. Johnson’s present mental attitude towards me if you did not through the American friends let me know of it? I am told there has been some discussion about some funds between you and Miss Noble-am I to be responsible for that too? Did I write to you to give me any money? I don’t remember myself asking for pecuniary help from anybody anywhere. If they helped me of their own accord I took it, when they gave it to me personally ¬I spent it; mostly on others; when for the work-it has been spent on the work. I can understand well how differences of opinion tastes and ideals should naturally arise in the course of years-but how so much hatred and dislike may slowly and without any warning expression, gather round little trifling personal peculiarities I cannot under¬stand._x000d_ I so long thought it was only the fault of enslaved races like mine; but that manlier races like yours should also have it, and suddenly bring it to light without any previous warning, makes me sad._x000d_ Of course it is my Karma-and I am glad that it is so ¬for, though it smarts for the time, it is another great ex¬perience of life, which will be useful either in this or in the next._x000d_ If you or Miss Muller or Miss Soutter repent of the help you gave to my work-only give me time, I will try my best to pay it back. . . ._x000d_ As for me I stick to my nature and principle-once a friend always a friend, also the true Indian principle of looking subjectively for the cause of the objective._x000d_ I am sure that the fault is mine and mine only for every wave of dislike or hatred that I get-it could not be otherwise and thanking you and Mrs. Johnson for this calling me once more to the internal,_x000d_ I remain as ever with love and blessings,_x000d_ Vivekananda

where (before going on to Massachusetts) he met Sister Nivedita, who arrived from England on September 19, her voyage paid for with money from Joe. As Mrs. Ashton Jonson had predicted, Nivedita had not fared well in England as far as raising support for or interest in her girls’ school was concerned. Nor, it would seem, had she been able to reawaken enthusiasm for Swamiji’s work. "One thing I am sure of," she had written to Miss MacLeod on September 1: "however little the drones think they worship success, they soon drop off from a cause that fails. One must show life and growth, if one is to keep even the hearts that are won. In her small 1899 diary (the first 253 days of which are missing) the sole entry (September : Io) for this brief English interlude reads, "No use," from which one might gather a certain despond.

19 Sept. _x000d_ Dear Saint Sara, _x000d_ The other sanyazin comes today no doubt as Joe went to fetch her Sunday evening. We are all in waiting-and the week promises a look at you all-including Dr Helmer. Let naught prevent an early arrival. _x000d_ I hope Olea is mending rapidly & when she can hold together let her come and be upon the couch in the great hall-or the loggia & listen! How I regret it all-and wish we had sent for her to come when we learned of Swami’s departure from England as we were sorely tempted to do. . . . We expect Mrs [Florence] Adams the 22nd. Swami needs Dr Helmer badly-he needs to be told the end is not yet. There are many hours when he thinks It is near, as symptoms are graver, in his mind, by heredity._x000d_ Joe arrives today. The big cottage awaits you-and is ready._x000d_ Swami & Turiananda are in yours-to be more cozy. Swamiji is writing a book on Modern Hindoos-to make some independent means-and to keep busy. He is grand in type as ever.

But it was perhaps also meant for Nivedita and Sister Christine, as well, for he handed it to the former on her return from a drive around the countryside and mailed it to the latter on September 21 with a note that read in part:_x000d_ Do you like my new poem? Miss Noble thinks it is nice. But that is her way with everything I do. Do you also say? I will now send my writings to missionary papers to get a fairer criticism._x000d_ The reader will perhaps be familiar with Swamiji’s poem, for it has long since been published in the Complete Works; but here, in any case, are a few stanzas:_x000d_ _x000d_ Behold, it comes in might,_x000d_ The power that is not power, _x000d_ The light that is in darkness,_x000d_ The shade in dazzling light._x000d_ _x000d_ It is beauty never seen,_x000d_ And love that stands alone, _x000d_ It is song that lives un-sung,_x000d_ And knowledge never known._x000d_ _x000d_ It is death between two lives, _x000d_ And lull between two storms,_x000d_ The void whence rose creation, _x000d_ And that where it returns.

Dearest S.S._x000d_ Margo & I arrived at 3 p.m. yesterday after a joyous 24 hours together:_x000d_ I am beginning to feel that I am almost as glad to know her as Swamiji._x000d_ Today we decked her in our finery-then came down to Swamiji for criticism-which never came._x000d_ He put the decision entirely into Margot’s care and she said "If I may do as I choose, I shall wear my brahma¬charini gerrua always-while on the platform-black otherwise," &. So it is decided-and tomorrow we will go to Kingston to see what can be bought in the way of tough material._x000d_ She never was greater, & Betty approves in each detail of her attitude to Swami. Not one thing wld she have Margot change-& her verdict is final in social matters as Margot’s is in spiritual._x000d_ Your telegram was a blow-last night-Io days longer away-but "Mother knows best"_x000d_ I have no servants for you yet._x000d_ Dr. Helmer will decide what Swamiji is to do and in this his verdict will be final._x000d_ Hearts love to my child [Olea] & her mother._x000d_ [Nivedita added a line:] My sweet Grannie-no idea had I that post time had come. It was the desire of my heart to write to you this morning. Here I am-Plans are grow¬ing like flowers. I long to see you & begged Y.Y. to let me come & try to carry off Mrs Vaughan & you! But of course I saw that that was a wrong suggestion-anyway, you will be here directly. Lovingly your Child,20 Margot._x000d_ (It is probable that Nivedita’s "Grannie" as applied to Mrs. Bull had a different origin than Swami Saradananda’s "Granny." The relationship in Nivedita’s case was no doubt through Swamiji, her spiritual father, who looked upon Mrs. Bull as "mother.")_x000d_ A day or two earlier Swamiji had written one of his most beautiful poems, entitled "Peace," and had dedicated it to Mrs. Bull "with eternal love."21 But it was perhaps also meant for Nivedita and Sister Christine, as well, for he handed it to the former on her return from a drive around the countryside and mailed it to the latter on September 21 with a note that read in part:_x000d_ Do you like my new poem? Miss Noble thinks it is nice. But that is her way with everything I do. Do you also say? I will now send my writings to missionary papers to get a fairer criticism.

To Sister Christine_x000d_ Ridgely Manor,_x000d_ 20th September 1899._x000d_ Dear Christina,_x000d_ I am much better, thank you. Hitherto, excepting three days, there has not been any wet weather to speak of here. Miss [Margaret] Noble came yesterday, and we are having a jolly good time. I am very, very sorry to say I am growing fat again. That is bad. I will eat less and grow thin once more._x000d_ You are again at work__so do I find__only with a little variation of the old occupation. Better rest than mere idling. Do you like my new poem? Miss Noble thinks it is nice. But that is her way with everything I do. So you also say. I will now send my writings to missionary papers to get a fierce criticism._x000d_ With all love to you and Mrs. Funkey [Funke],_x000d_ Ever yours affectionately,_x000d_ Vvekananda

C/o F. Leggett Esq.,_x000d_ Ridgely Manor_x000d_ Ulster County, N.Y._x000d_ My Dear Sturdy,_x000d_ Your last letter reached me after knocking about a little through insufficient address._x000d_ It is quite probable that very much of your criticism is just and correct. It is also possible that some day you may find that all this springs from your dislike of certain persons, and I was the scapegoat._x000d_ There need be no bitterness, however, on that account, as I don't think I ever posed for anything but what I am. Nor is it ever possible for me to do so, as an hour's contact is enough to make everybody see through my smoking, bad temper, etc. "Every meeting must have a separation"--this is the nature of things. I carry no feeling of disappointment even. I hope you will have no bitterness. It is Karma that brings us together, and Karma separates._x000d_ I know how shy you are, and how loath to wound others' feelings. I perfectly understand months of torture in your mind when you have been struggling to work with people who were so different from your ideal. I could not guess it before at all, else I could have saved you a good deal of unnecessary mental trouble. It is Karma again. _x000d_ The accounts were not submitted before, as the work is not yet finished; and I thought of submitting to my donor a complete account when the whole thing was finished. The work was begun only last year, as we had to wait for funds a long time, and my method is never to ask but wait for voluntary help._x000d_ I follow the same idea in all my work, as I am so conscious of my nature being positively displeasing to many, and wait till somebody wants me. I hold myself ready also to depart at a moment's notice. In the matter of departure thus, I never feel bad about it or think much of it, as, in the constant roving life I lead, I am constantly doing it. Only so sorry, I trouble others without wishing it. Will you kindly send over if there is any mail for me at your address?_x000d_ May all blessings attend you and yours for ever and ever will be the constant prayer of_x000d_ Vivekananda

Meanwhile, Swami Turiyananda had left Ridgely around the end of October for Montclair, a town in New Jersey. twenty miles from New York city. Here, work opened for him in the form of classes for children in the home of Mrs. F. Wheeler, an ardent student of Vedanta, where Swami Saradananda had earlier stayed and preached. In addition, the newly arrived Swami visited New York once a week to hold another class for children, teaching them by means of stories and readings from the Hitopadesha and other books of. Indian wisdom. He also talked to and meditated with the New York students, and was later to participate fully in the New York work of Swami Abhedananda, holding classes and giving the regular lectures of the Society in the latter's absence from the city.

And there was the time Swamiji startled Mrs. Leggett and Olea with his denunciation of the rigid laws and conventions of society by means of which the strong oppress the weak and with his admiration of individuals strong and courageous enough to break through those laws. He did not hesitate to uphold the dark side of individual sovereignty, facing and embracing the Terrible, seeing even the criminal as an essen-tial, indeed glorious, part of humanity’s great surging drive toward Freedom.

Or he might spend an hour or so writing a poem. One of these, only recently made known to us, might well have been written for his hosts, who were finding happiness and renewed youth in their life together:_x000d_ One circle more the spiral path of life ascends,_x000d_ And Time’s restless shuttle-running back and fro _x000d_ Through maze of warp and woof¬__x000d_ Spins out a stronger piece.*_x000d_ Hand in hand they stand-and try_x000d_ To fathom depths whence springs eternal love, _x000d_ Each in other’s eyes, _x000d_ And find no power holds o’er that age _x000d_ But brings the youth anew to them,_x000d_ And time-the good, the pure, the true._x000d_ * Swamiji wrote the poem "One Circle More" on Ridgely Manor stationery. The original was sent to Swami Prabhavananda by Frances H. Leggett in 1962 and was made available in 1973 for reproduction in this book by Swami Chetanananda, then head of the Vedanta Society of Southern California. It would appear that the three lines Swamiji wrote on the left-hand side of the sheet, which was actually the back of the folded letter paper (see the facsimile in this book), constituted his final version of the first verse. This is the version I have quoted in the present edition, rather than that based on what would seem to have been Swamiji’s first draft, which was apparently not satisfactory to him.

At times Swamiji was in a "great mood of devotion," at other times he would extol the path of the jnani, "he who likes nothing and witnesses all." Again, "he spoke of Kali, and grew full of worship. Or he spoke prophetically of social problems, of "the mixture of races, and of `the great tumults, the terrible tumults’ through which the next state of things must be reached. He pointed out the hidden meanings of ancient Hindu myths and epics, of their bearing on modern life, of the ideals they depicted, the lessons they taught. And he told charming Indian stories, two of which have come down to us through Maud Stumm and are given in the Appendix. Indeed, Swamiji talked, it would seem, of everything under the sun, and upon everything he cast the clear, brilliant light of another sun, the sun of Brahmavidya, infinitely more lustrous, more revealing.

Very often after Miss MacLeod had left Ridgely, Nivedita and Mrs. Bull’s friend Marian Briggs had Swamiji to themselves for hours at a time, the rest of the household being occupied elsewhere or kept away by a tactful hostess as "he just went on and on-and on. Those hours were heaven for the two who sat in his company-Nivedita absorbed, self forgetful, Mrs. Briggs listening "exquisitely, without a word or a look. But whether Swamiji spoke to one person, or to two or to the whole group, nothing he said was not laced with riches. Even the most airy of conversations could call forth from him some jewel to savor and pass on to Yum.

At other times he could be hilariously funny. "He described the effect of Boston beans and other Boston food one day," Nivedita told Miss MacLeod: " `You look at a face and if it is not quite flat you cannot tell anyway whether it is coming toward you or going from you.’ Did not ever hear anything so funny? And he solemnly declared that if you live on baked beans and other things common in that city you will presently find yourself with the Boston face!!!

But even while Swamiji was full of fun, of poetry, and of sheer radiance of being during those summer and autumn days at Ridgely, the dark period (if one may call it so) of his life was not yet over. One cannot even imagine the quality of his suffering, no more than one can imagine the quality and magnitude of his joy. One only knows what he once or twice revealed to those close to him. Telling Yum of those heart-wrenching revelations, Nivedita wrote:_x000d_ On Thursday evening [November 2] Swami came down for a cigar or something, and found Mrs. Bull and myself in earnest talk. So he sat down too-of course. One could see that he was troubled and for the first time he talked of the two years foretold to him, of defection and disease and treachery-and of how it was growing thicker today than ever: Laughingly, he said he supposed the last month would be the worst. [Nivedita had long since determined on astrological grounds that the coming December 6, now a month or so away, would mark a decided upswing in Swamiji’s fortunes.] He spoke of E.T.S. [Edward T. Sturdy] and of the Indian troubles ¬and he said he found himself still the Sannyasi-he minded no loss-but he could be hurt through personal love. Treachery cut deep. S. Sara [Saint Sara, Mrs. Bull] had almost tears in her eyes when she came into my room after, and sat talking of it for an hour. She prays that we may be able, during this last month, to surround him with Peace . . ..

He had said something to S. Sara, and indeed again in that night-talk, of the fact that he is guided and protected in his work, but all that is personal is turned to ashes.

Then he followed me [she wrote] and stood at the door a minute and revealed still more of the awful suffering. . . He was talking in the old way about escaping from the world-he has been reciting the hatred of Fame and Wealth all his life, but he is only now beginning to understand what it really means. It is becoming unbearable. "Where am I now!" he said, turning to me suddenly with such an awful look of lostness on his face. And then he began to repeat something-"And so to Thou¬Ramakrishna-(with a pause) I betake myself. For in Thy Feet alone is the refuge of man." . . ._x000d_ "This body is going anyway. It shall go with hard tapasya-I will say 10,000 OMs a day-and with fasting. Alone, alone by the Ganges-in the Himalayas-saying Hara Hara, the Freed One, the Freed One. I will change my name once more, and this time none shall know. I will take the initiation of sannyasa over again-and it shall be for this-and I will never never come back to anyone again."_x000d_ And then again that lost look, and the awful thought that he had lost his power of meditation. "I have lost all-lost all for you Mlechhas!" And with that a smile ¬and a sigh-and the turning to go away._x000d_ _x000d_ Only this (though this is enough) and the lines of a poem entitled "To My Own Soul" give glimpses into Swamiji’s continuing sense of suffering during this period. "Hold yet a while, Strong Heart," he wrote, "Not part a life long yoke/ Though blighted looks the present, future gloom. And to be sure, his heart held strong, his courage never deserted him._x000d_ What Swamiji meant by saying (if he said) that he may have "lost his power of meditation" who can tell? From what depths, or heights, of spiritual consciousness was he speaking? To what unimaginable levels of samadhi was he referring? One remembers that on his return to India after his first visit to the West he felt that his power to grant the highest realiza¬tion had become exhausted by giving lectures in America and England. "If I put on the loin cloth and become absorbed in spiritual practice, . . . then perhaps the power to grant Nrivikalpa Samadhi may come," he had said.* To be "alone by the Ganges in the Himalayas,” to become absorbed in the Absolute was still his longing. To the extent that he molded and channeled his power and love into a form that the world could comprehend, to the extent that he lived and worked as a human being among human beings, to that extent, to that very great extent, he suffered. His effort, moreover, to awaken humanity to its own spiritual reality was in the very nature of things bound to meet with resistance and betrayal. Yet his sacrifice, one must suppose, consisted not so much, if at all, in the suffering of body and mind as in the assumption of any limitation at all, and the heights of consciousness on which such limitation was felt as pain, as longing, are, again, un¬imaginable; .for on such heights that thin veil of limitation was also felt as unutterable joy. Swamiji suffered; and yet he did not suffer; he could turn with "an awful look of lostness on his face"; and yet he was ever an ocean of bliss. Through all his talks at Ridgely Manor on any subject, in any mood, came "flashes of the inner divinity (Nivedita wrote to Yum), and if one looked at him steadily as he spoke (as his disciple could never help but do), one seemed, she wrote, "to be gazing through open portals straight into the Infinite." "Is this because he is so little conscious of himself? she asked. Or, what may amount to the same question, was it because neither the joys nor the pains of life could cloud or clutter those portals? The Infinite stood open to full view, ever accessible to him and through him to others. In two letters written from Ridgely to Mrs. George W. Hale Swamiji spoke of the predominant evil of life, of the untouched sovereignty of the soul, and of renunciation as the means-the only means -to freedom._x000d_ _x000d_ * See World Teacher- 2, chapter sixteen, section five

These were perhaps thoughts that were going through his mind at Ridgely, the detachment he recommended to "Mother Church" only different in degree from that total Aloneness that he himself desired.

Whatever suffering Swamiji may have known, whatever its nature or quality, his compassion and concern for others never lessened in the slightest; indeed, it was to serve their spiritual needs that he remained on earth. To those who needed his help he would talk sometimes for hours. There was, for instance, Olea, Mrs. Bull’s "fretful" and generally ailing daughter, who was divorced from her husband in those days when divorce was looked upon askance and whose child had died the previous year. "On Sunday during lunch (Swamiji) came [to the "Inn"?) and spent three hours alone with Olea and left her a different woman," Nivedita wrote to Yum on October 18 and continued, "On Monday about 1o he came again and spent the morning. He brought the Vedas and Upanishads with him and gave her what was really a class on Gnan-all to herself-though many of us were present. Wasn’t that fine? In Nivedita’s diary one finds another indication of Swamiji’s concern for Olea. On Friday, October 27, there is the entry: "[Swamiji] to Olea-`nightmares always begin pleasantly-only at the worst point [the] dream is broken-so death breaks [the] dream of life. Love death.’_x000d_ (It may have been because of Olea’s unhappy marriage, among others, that Alberta asked Swamiji, "Is there no happi¬ness in marriage?" He replied, "Yes, Alberta, if marriage is entered into as a great austerity-and everything is given up¬-even principle! He did not minimize the difficulty of the householder’s lot. "I don’t want to be a monk," Hollister once protested, "I want to marry and have children." "All right, my boy," Swamiji answered. "Remember only that you choose the harder path.")

He had a word or a blessing for everyone, even for the baby, Frances. One morning, as Alberta told it in later years to her sister, the child came in from the garden, some flowers in her hand. She gave them to Swamiji, who said gravely, "In India we give flowers to our teachers." And he pronounced over her some Sanskrit words.

Seeing anyone depressed or worried, for whatever reason, he would go out of his way to dispel that person’s particular nightmare-at least for the time being: "I had a worriment that bothered me a good deal," Miss Stumm wrote in her notes, "and though I said nothing of it to anyone, it was con-stantly in my thoughts." She went on to tell how Swamiji had asked her to go for a walk with him to watch a threshing machine in a nearby field, and how, as they walked, he told her of the wonderful party that had been held the night before at the Manor: "Wonderful affair," he exclaimed, "stringed instruments and such a supper! Pheasants!" Where had she been? Everybody was there and "they danced and danced," everything moved out of the house. "Wonderful pasty! This gala affair, to which Maud Stumm had not been invited and which had somehow been kept secret from her until now, was, of course, all Swamiji’s fairy tale, conjured up to divert her mind. And divert her mind it did, like shock therapy dealt with a magic wand.

Miss Stumm’s "worriment" may have been connected with a breaking heart, for she was suffering at this time, and later, from an unrequited love of long standing. Yet even so, Mrs. Frances Leggett remembered, she was tremendous fun, always highly entertaining and amusing.

Sometimes Swamiji would join those who escorted her home in the evenings to the little village of Stone Ridge. We learn of one such walk in Nivedita’s diary-entry for Sunday, October 15, in which, after noting Swamiji’s talk with Olea, she continued: "Afternoon, Swami drew me while I wrote. Read Sch[open¬hauer]. Walk home with Miss Stumm by moonlight." And of this same evening (which was Maud Stumm’s last at Ridgely) Nivedita wrote to Yum:

As we left her, I whispered to Swami that I couldn’t bear even the sound of our feet in the dead hours at night. It was wonderful moonlight, and we walked on up the avenue in silence-a sound would have been desecration. Then he said, "When a tiger in India is on the trail of prey at night, if its paw or tail makes the least sound in passing, it bites it till the blood comes." And then he talked of the need we Western women had to absorb beauty quietly, and turn it over in the mind at another time.

Two days later (on Tuesday, October 17) Nivedita went _x000d_ # _x000d_ into retreat, intending to remain secluded for fifteen days, or until November 1. "You see," she wrote to "Yum," "I have to finish [Kali the Mother, a small book, which as early as October 2 she had been "deep in writing on," as Miss Mac¬Leod had reported], and there are other things I have to do-and I have always longed to try a retreat anyway, and my great obstacle was the Master. Nivedita’s retreat for, which she had finally obtained Swamiji’s permission, does not seem to have lasted long. On Friday, October 20, she wrote in her diary "went down to supper," and from subsequent entries it would appear that thereupon the retreat had come to an end.

25, Holland Villas Rd. W_x000d_ Oct. Ist, 1899._x000d_ My dear Swamiji_x000d_ I have duly received your letter of Sep. 14th, and thank you for it._x000d_ Before I make any further remark, I would like to say that there is no combination of people, with grievances against you here. Miss Soutter [sic], as you know, has had no communication with me for a very long time._x000d_ Mrs. Ashton Jonson, she knows but slightly, and never meets, Miss Muller neither these two ladies nor I have anything to do with whatever._x000d_ Between Mrs. Ashton Jonson, and myself, there has been some small correspondence during the last 2 1/2 months I have been absent, not about you at all, but what Mrs. A. J., thought of Miss Noble. Now you must understand that I have no comment to make on Miss N’s attitude to you. It is a personal thing, between you two, and there it ends. That is my idea of the freedom of the individual, both for you two, and for me._x000d_ But Miss. N. was writing to me assuming all the time, that I held the same attitude of worship, saw you in the same mind-formed shape, that she sees you in. It was necessary therefor, that I should write her, and not act the part of a hypocrite. I also told her to show the letters to you, which she at first declined to do._x000d_ Now I have nothing to take back from those letters. Miss Noble was writing of Sannyasins and Sannyasa. I wrote you [her?] just what I have continued to think, for a long time, from very shortly, after the Caversham days, that I have heard, a great deal of Sannyasa, in this country, and seen very little of it from those who professed it. I do not want to enlarge on this subject, and thus embitter the question, but to justify what I have said, I will remark that there has always been grumbling at food and accommoda¬tion, and that the expense of supporting the so-called Sannyasins, has been very much more than would have supported many a hardworking curate, or young University man, or even doctor in our great poverty¬ stricken centres, who make no pretentions to Sannyasa. But who fulfil their ideals of it without talk, as to other points, your anger about trivial things, a certain amount of boasting and exaggeration, etc. let them pass. I only want to say that I do not profess, or pretend to see per¬fection, but let us have done with humbug, and sham, and call you, and know you, as you are, that is, like ourselves, with failings equivalent to our own, with more genius, and more insight, doubtless, but not a God walking the earth-at least not for me, whatever some certain devoted _x000d_ ladies may see. If you want to know whether Miss Soutter, or Miss Muller, repent of their gifts to you, you must write them, I know nothing of them, I will answer for myself, I am glad to hear, now, from you, for the first time, that it has been wisely expended. I do not regret one anna of the gift, I hope every brick it may have helped to raise, or Sannyasi, to help may be surrounded with blessing. I do not know that any suggestion has been made by anybody, that their gift was regretted. You talk of hatred, that is an ex¬aggeration or worse. Nobody here that I have anything to do with, comes anywhere in the direction of hatred, or even dislike, honest expression of difference of ideal or opinion, is not hatred. I see no truth in your remarks about enslaved, and manlier races, there is no cabal here, no conspiracy; I have no bloodthirsty confederates. Nobody is hiding any hatred, that I know. I can certainly speak for Mrs. Jonson on that score. She has strong Xtrian science [Christian Science] beliefs, and so is perhaps rather hard on you just there. I know how weak all round we become in illness. I am no judge of how far you or anybody else is ill, by the action of the mind as it were considered apart from disorganized body. I know what you have taught about body, I know also that the, "do as I say, not as I do", of our parsons or of anybody else, has little result. Is mostly a waste of time, stimulates people greatly like champagne for a little and leaves them more depressed, because less believing than before, when they discover the difference, between impassioned oratory, and practice. Think of all the parsons, of all the sects, talking every week, and think of one man, acting instead, What influence, do all the former really have? It all comes to this, Here I am, pre¬pared for work, of any kind, that leads to the worthy setting forth, of the Indian Ideals, and the living up to them. But I am particular and perhaps overnice, as to whom I enter into unconditional co-operation with if they teach in one direction, and their lives do not follow it. If after encouraging Sannyasins, to come here, they have no Sannyasa, neither contentment, equanimity, simplicity of surroundings, or anything else, if they want food, from the other side of the world to live on, shilling cigars to smoke, and the best of fruits, clothes, or what not, what are they? What is it, they are teaching! I don’t understand it. I can only say they are not the ideals of Sannyasa, I have formed in my mind, by reading the Gita, the Upani¬shads, the Mahabharata, and other books, dealing with a glorious, manly noble Indian past, when there was grit, energy, fire, and great austerity, and command, accom¬panied by love and gentleness, all in one._x000d_ Perhaps they always lived with the wealthy of their period, and had a good time all round, but I don’t think so. They more likely helped the poor and the struggling, and outfaced their poverty by needing less than they. I have to live with wife, children, household, and all the complication of the civilisation, into which I am born, I did not take the opportunity that I had when it offered, some years ago, and towards which I had been struggling, for years before, Well, that is over. When I was acting then, I might teach what I was acting, I cannot teach poverty, simplicity, the non-holding on to possessions, when I have to possess for wife and children, and provide a household. But I can help others, who live it to teach it, without hypocrisy. But the question is, can I find anybody? Is any¬body in such a world, prepared to act or only to talk, along with the rest of the babbling crew? I want no travesties._x000d_ I will rather remain silent for ever, and wait for the ages to roll back. I can with difficulty bring myself, to utter any sentiment, or ideal, that I am not embodying, in my character. I do not want to criticise anybody else, for whatever they may do, up to rape or murder, but I want the speech to be the man in myself, and if I work with others, in them too. I am not satisfied with twoness in myself, I cannot preach to people, things that I am not, expressing in my life, or I would start tomorrow. My life expresses what I am, and that is my preaching. You and your brethren are Sanayasins, you say, Well, be so, What you teach let us all see carried out. I may not be able to express very clearly what I would but I have nothing to hide, or to keep back, and if you think there is anything further to say or to clear up, let us have it. I should like all at Ridgely, including Mr. Leggett, to see this letter, or else to keep it entirely to yourself, as I have here._x000d_ Yours as before, _x000d_ E.T.S.

* Around this same time Mrs. Ashton Jonson wrote to Mix Bull-whom she had met earlier in the year and with whom she had been in correspondence- making her position clear on all counts. Her letter, begun on October 21, 1899, and finished and mailed on November 2, read in full: _x000d_ My dear Friend _x000d_ Your long letter in reply to mine was very kind but all letters are unsatisfactory are they not. I have felt since receiving it as if I had better not write again on the subject of Miss Noble & Swami. But since returning to town I have seen Mr. Sturdy who has told me of letters which have passed between him & Swami in which my name has been mentioned. I therefore want to remove if I can an impression that has been caused quite unwittingly by myself. It is that I as a "Christian Scientist condemn Swami for his ill health"-Now in the first place I am not, most emphatically not – a “Christian Scientist” – I do believe absolutely in the ultimate power of Spirit to transmute lower forms of matter into higher forms. I have demonstrated & firmly believe in the power of manifesting the God-consciousness to a greater degree than is generally thought possible as regards disease, I do not myself employ doctors nor have I any need to use drugs or other remedies. But as to "condemning" or even criticising Swami for his ill-health! It is not true. Miss Noble made me angry at Wimbledon by saying to me before Swami "Well Mrs. Jonson are you going to be very angry with Swami for being ill" _I say she made me angry-that was not really what I felt. I was only surprised & vexed that my attitude should be so misrepresented for I have no right to judge or criticise anyone in respect of their health. Naturally I was & am sorry that Swami should have fallen under the negative dominion of a fatal disease & when he & I were alone I endeavoured to ask him how it had come about. He seemed to recognize that my thought, my affection & my sympathy had helped him all along & with that the matter ended as I thought & I fully believed I had entirely removed from his mind the impression that I was in any sense sitting in judgment on him, It seems however that my simple regret at his condition was misconstrued into an attitude of condemnation & I shall be grateful if you could put this right as far as you can-explaining to him that I no more condemn or criticise him than I do a child who falls down and hurts itself: If I am asked to recognize that Swami is manifesting the highest Divine consciousness in this, disease I refuse, for although growth is painful & certain diseases are evidence of the sloughing off of old conditions pre- paratory to the putting on of new & better ones, I do not feel that the highest consciousness can ever demand a diseased body in which to manifest. Of course I do not pretend to worship at Swami’s feet as Miss Noble does. Her attitude I consider so deplorable as to be quite unspeakable from an English woman’s point of view; but I know that my friendship for the man & my gratitude to the teacher remains unchanged. That I do not feel he has anything more to teach me now is a matter for myself alone. Were he to come to England I would be the first to say "welcome"-& yet I can & do regret that it has not been possible for him to continue his work as a Sanyasi amongst his own people. Also I cannot but fear that a life of extreme ease & inaction amongst Western friends & attended as he is always by one adoring slave, must act detrimentally upon him. He is but human & I wish he would realize this more fully. [Mrs. Jonson crossed out the last sentence and explained:] (what I have here written is liable to be misunderstood for it is capable of more than one interpretation. Therefore, as my passionate desire is not to be misunderstood, I have crossed it. I ask you not to try to decipher it.) [Mrs. Bull may have respected Mrs. Jonson’s wish; the present writer obviously has not.] It is not the Sanyasi life & when one lives below one’s profession it is a pity. No one recognizes the Swami’s great qualities & grand capacities more than Mr. Sturdy & I do & it is from our very love for the man & our adherence to what he himself inculcated that we would like to see him at his fullest height of power & work. About Miss Noble it is best to say no more but I feel bound to give you this hint on her account. I fear she will get but little support for her so-called "work" in England until she gives direct evidence that it is based on zeal for a cause & not on the worship of a personality. Of course to my Scotch pride the whole ideal of the Sanyasi life for an English-bred woman is repugnant, but if it is consistent with Miss Noble’s ideals, that is her own affair & is nothing to me. But I know she will, find it difficult to raise money from her English friends until she can show that she means work, & this work must stand on its own educational merits & be entirely dissociated from any per- sonality however exalted. Believe me I am not unfriendly. I am saying all this in Miss Noble’s best interests & I look to your wise friendship & counsel to guide her into saner paths--to lead her to recognize the western ideal of self respecting honest work, If I have spoken fearlessly it is because I trust you & because I know that at heart our Ideal is one. _x000d_ Yours always in Love & Truth _x000d_ Ethel Jonson

Ridgely Manor_x000d_ 3rd October, 1899_x000d_ My Dear Mary {Hale},_x000d_ Thanks for your very kind words. I am much better now and growing so every day. Mrs. Bull and her daughter are expected today or tomorrow. We hope thus to have another spell of good time--you are having yours all the time, of course. I am glad you are going to Philadelphia, but not so much now as then--when the millionaire was on the horizon. With all love,_x000d_ Ever your affectionate brother,_x000d_ Vivekananda

To Mrs. G. W. Hale_x000d_ Ridgely Manor_x000d_ 5 October 1899_x000d_ My dear Mother Church,_x000d_ Many, many thanks for your kind words. _x000d_ I am so glad you are working on as ever. I am glad because the wave of optimism has not caught you yet. It is all very well to say everything is right, but that is apt to degenerate into a sort of laissez faire. I believe with you that the world is evil ___x000d_ made more hideous with a few dashes of good._x000d_ All our works have only this value, that they awaken some to the reality of this horror__and [those] flee for refuge to some place beyond, which is called God, or Christ, or Brahma, or Buddha, etc. Names do not make much difference._x000d_ Again, we must always remember ours is only to work___x000d_ we never attain results. How can we? Good can never be done without doing evil. We cannot breathe a breath without killing thousands of poor little animals. National prosperity is another name for death and degradation to millions of other races. So is individual prosperity the beggaring of many. The world is evil_x000d_ __and will ever remain so. It is its nature, and cannot be changed__"Which one of you by taking thought . . ." etc. _x000d_ Such is truth. The wisdom is therefore in renunciation, that is, to make the Lord our all in all. Be a true Christian, Mother__like Christ, renounce everything and let the heart and soul and body belong to Him and Him alone. All this nonsense which people have built round Christ's name is not His teach¬ing. He taught to renounce. He never says the earth is an enjoy¬able place. And your time has come to get rid of all vanities_x000d_ __even the love of children and husband__and think of the Lord and Him alone._x000d_ Ever your Son,_x000d_ Vivekananda

Two days later "the great summer" came, for her, to an unexpected end. On Monday, October 9 (a date noted in Sister Nivedita’s small diary), a letter came to Ridgely from a Mrs. S. K. Blodgett, a widow, who was then unknown to Joe and Betty, saying that their elder brother, Taylor MacLeod, lay seriously ill, perhaps dying, in her home in Los Angeles, where she was nursing him.

"Within two hours I was packed," Miss MacLeod wrote in her memoirs, "the horses were at the door . . . and as I went out Swami put up his hand and said some Sanskrit blessing and then he called out, `Get up some classes and I will come.’

She could not have left Ridgely without a painful wrench at her heart; yet she drove off with a characteristic resilience and valiance, an acceptance of everything that came her way, which was indeed one of the traits for which Swamiji loved her. Some two weeks later he was to pay her a tribute during the course of a conversation: She was the only one among the group at Ridgely who had attained freedom, he said, and in this he included himself. She could leave everything and everybody and go out to do her work without ever looking back-a quality won only through thousands of lifetimes. And indeed Miss MacLeod had the buoyancy and wide-heartedness that comes from an innate and true detachment. "Jojo is the same as usual," she wrote of herself that summer, at Ridgely. "I am radiant and happy & don’t want anything on earth but a few more people to love.

In Swamiji’s parting call to Miss MacLeod-"Get up some classes and I will come" one finds the first indication that he felt once again the desire to carry his message to far, and perhaps fertile, fields. Yet only in retrospect does one see that call as the announcement of a new and great mission; there were no flourishes, no rolling of drums; indeed Swamiji’s call seemed at the time to have been only a passing thought, rising like a token bubble from some depths where the future was being formed, glinting for a moment, and then floating off.

With Miss MacLeod gone to California--or Kali-fornia, as she liked to spell it-and most of the young people gone back to school, to college, or to work, their vacations over, October was a relatively quiet month at Ridgely. Yet it was not a dull one; for where Swamiji was, there dullness was totally precluded. We learn now of his days and his words from Nivedita’s long, detailed, and faithful letters to "Yum-Yum," which come almost on the heels of the latter’s chatty but sketchy letters to Mrs. Bull and which have been published in the Letters of Sister Nivedita, edited by Sankari Prasad Basu, a rich and absorbing collection in which we find invaluable glimpses of Swamiji through Nivedita’s eyes and catch echoes of his voice.* Here we see him at Ridgely Manor "pacing up and down for an hour and a half like a caged lion," warning her "against politeness-against this `lovely’ and `beautiful’¬against this continual feeling of the external," admonishing her "to get rid of all these petty relations of society and home, to hold the soul firm against the perpetual appeals of sense, to realize that the rapture of autumn trees is as truly sense¬enjoyment as a comfortable bed or a table dainty, to hate the silly praise and blame of people._x000d_ * Edited portions of Nivedita’s letters from Ridgely were earlier published in Reminiscences of Swami Vivekananda (1962), pages 278-87.

Or one hears him talking of Shiva: "Even meditation would be a bondage to the free soul, but Siva goes on and on for the good of the world, the Eternal Incarnation. . . . For meditation is the greatest service-the most direct-that can be rendered: ‘ He talked of Sri Ramakrishna-"full of gaiety and merriment"-and of his own days of discipleship at Dakshin¬eswar, the temple on the Ganga, where in "perfect silence, broken only by the cries of the jackals, in the darkness under the great tree, (we sat night after night] the whole night through, and He talked to me, when I was a boy.

"I never heard the Prophet talk so much of Sri Ramakrishna," Nivedita wrote to Miss MacLeod in a letter of which only an undated, heretofore unpublished fragment exists and which could have been written from India in early 1899; but the time, one thinks, could as well have been the fall of that year and the place, Ridgely Manor. "He told us what I had heard before of [his Master’s] infallible judgement of men," she continued, finding good and greatness in the least apparent, and judging at once of the bad weight of karma that so and so had yet to work through before he could come to anything. "And so," Swami said, "you see my devotion is the dog’s devotion. I have been wrong so often and He has always been right and now I trust His judgement blindly" -and then he told us how He would hypnotise anyone who came to him and in 2 minutes know all about him & Swami said that from this he had learnt to count our consciousness as a very small thing.

They believe on grounds of this sort in the Math that Swami is Arjnna-and that there in the Garden at Dakshineshwar they have once more seen Krishna talking with His Disciple, giving him, as it were, a new Gita.

Mrs. Bull turned [Nivedita wrote on October 18] and pointed out how his poetry had been the weak point on which he had been beguiled to the loss of honour. And she said her husband was never sensitive about criticism of his music-that he expected, he knew it was not perfect. But on road-engineering he felt deeply, and could be flattered! Then, in our amusement, we all teased Swami for his carelessness about his religious teacherhood, and vanity about his portrait-painting (he had produced three or four portraits of me which others say are a libel even on me, but which just delights himself-sweet King!) -and he suddenly woke up and said, "You see there is one thing called love and there is another thing called Union. And Union is greater than Love._x000d_ "I do not love Religion. I have become identified with it. It is my life. So no man loves that thing in which his life has been spent, in which he really has accomplished something. That which we lone is not yet ourself. Your husband did not love music for which he had always stood. He Loved engineering in which as yet he knew comparatively little. This is the difference between Bhakti and Gnan (Jnana]. And this is why Gnan is greater than Bhakti.

To Mrs. G. W. Hale_x000d_ [Ridgely Manor], New York, N.Y._x000d_ 23 October 1899_x000d_ My dear Mother,_x000d_ I was taking a few days' complete rest and so am late in replying to your very kind note. Accept my congratulations on the anniversary of your marriage. I pray many, many such returns may come to you._x000d_ I am sure my previous letter was coloured by the state of my body, as indeed is the whole of existence to us. Yet, Mother, there is more pain than pleasure in life. If not, why do I remember you and your children almost every day of my life, and not many others? Happiness is liked so much because it is so rare, is it not? Fifty percent of our life is mere lethargy, ennui; of the rest, forty percent is pain, only ten happiness___x000d_ and this for the exceptionally fortunate. We are oft times mixing up this state of ennui with pleasure. It is rather a negative state, whilst both pleasure and pain are nearer positive, though not positive._x000d_ Pleasure and pain are both feeling, not willing. They are only processes which convey to the mind excitements or motives of action. The real positive action is the willing, or impulse to work, of the mind__begun when the sensation has been taken in (pleasure and pain); thus the real is neither pleasure nor pain. It has no connection with either. Quite different from either. The barking of the dog awakens his master to guard against a thief or receive his dearest friend. It does not follow, therefore, that the dog and his master are of the same nature or have any degree of kinship. The feelings of pleasure or pain similarly awaken the soul to activity, without any kinship at all._x000d_ The soul is beyond pain, beyond pleasure, sufficient in its own nature. And no hell can punish it, nor any heaven can bless it. So far philosophy._x000d_ I am coming soon to Chicago, and hope to say "Lord bless you" to you and your children. All love as usual to my Christian relatives, scientific or quacks._x000d_ Vivekananda

To Sister Christine_x000d_ C/o F. H. Leggett, Esq.,_x000d_ Ridgely Manor,_x000d_ Stone Ridge, Ulster Co., N.Y._x000d_ 25th October 1899._x000d_ Dear Christina,_x000d_ What is the matter with you? Write me a line to tell me how you are and what you are doing now._x000d_ I am tired of this place, and will come down to New York for a few days soon. I start thence for Chicago and, if you like, will stop at Detroit on my way to How do you do. I am much better, indeed quite a different man, though not completely cured__for that, time is necessary._x000d_ Yours,_x000d_ Vivekananda.

Ridgely Manor_x000d_ 30th October, 1899_x000d_ My Dear Optimist {Mary Hale},_x000d_ I received your letter and am thankful that something has come to force optimistic laissez faire into action. Your questions have tapped the very source of pessimism, however. British rule in modern India has only one redeeming feature, though unconscious; it has brought India out once more on the stage of the world; it has forced upon it the contact of the outside world. If it had been done with an eye to the good of the people concerned, as circumstances favoured Japan with, the results could have been more wonderful for India. No good can be done when the main idea is blood-sucking. On the whole the old regime was better for the people, as it did not take away everything they had, and there was some justice, some liberty._x000d_ A few hundred, modernised, half-educated, and denationalised men are all the show of modern English India--nothing else. The Hindus were 600 million in number according to Ferishta, the Mohammedan historian, in the 12th century--now less than 200 million._x000d_ In spite of the centuries of anarchy that reigned during the struggles of the English to conquer, the terrible massacre the English perpetrated in 1857 and 1858, and the still more terrible famines that have become the inevitable consequence of British rule (there never is a famine in a native state) and that take off millions, there has been a good increase of population, but not yet what it was when the country was entirely independent--that is, before the Mohammedan rule. Indian labour and produce can support five times as many people as there are now in India with comfort, if the whole thing is not taken off from them._x000d_ This is the state of things--even education will no more be permitted to spread; freedom of the press stopped already, (of course we have been disarmed long ago), the bit of self-government granted to them for some years is being quickly taken off. We are watching what next! For writing a few words of innocent criticism, men are being hurried to transportation for life, others imprisoned without any trial ; and nobody knows when his head will be off._x000d_ There has been a reign of terror in India for some years. English soldiers are killing our men and outraging our women--only to be sent home with passage and pension at our expense. We are in a terrible gloom--where is the Lord? Mary, you can afford to be optimistic, can I? Suppose you simply publish this letter--the law just passed in India will allow the English Government in India to drag me from here to India and kill me without trial. And I know all your Christian governments will only rejoice, because we are heathens. Shall I also go to sleep and become optimistic? Nero was the greatest optimistic person! They don't think it worth while to write these terrible things as news items even! If necessary, the news agent of Reuter gives the exactly opposite news fabricated to order! Heathen-murdering is only a legitimate pastime for the Christians! Your missionaries go to preach God and dare not speak a word of truth for fear of the English, who will kick them out the next day._x000d_ All property and lands granted by the previous governments for supporting education have been swallowed up, and the present Government spends even less than Russia in education. And what education?_x000d_ The least show of originality is throttled. Mary, it is hopeless with us, unless there really is a God who is the father of all, who is not afraid of the strong to protect the weak, and who is not bribed by wealth. Is there such a God? Time will show._x000d_ Well, I think I am coming to Chicago in a few weeks and talk of things fully! Don't quote your authority._x000d_ With all love, ever your brother,_x000d_ Vivekananda_x000d_ PS. As for religious sects--the Brahmo Samaj, the Arya Samaj, and other sects have been useless mixtures; they were only voices of apology to our English masters to allow us to live! We have started a new India--a growth --waiting to see what comes. We believe in new ideas only when the nation wants them, and what will be true for us. The test of truth for this Brahmo Samaj is "what our masters approve"; with us, what the Indian reasoning and experience approves. The struggle has begun--not between the Brahmo Samaj and us, for they are gone already, but a harder, deeper, and more terrible one._x000d_ V.

To Sister Christine_x000d_ Rdgely Manor,_x000d_ 30th October 1899._x000d_ My dear Christina,_x000d_ Did you not get my last letter? I am very anxious to know how you are. Write a line to tell me you are in very good health._x000d_ I am afraid the previous one was misdirected, so I send this c/o Mrs. Funkey [Funke]._x000d_ Do write soon. I am thinking of Battle Creek food. Baby insists on that. Do you think it will do me any good? Write soon._x000d_ Ever yours in the Lord,_x000d_ Vivekananda._x000d_ _x000d_ PS__Where is this Battle Creek? Is it near Detroit? I am seriously thinking of giving it a trial. I am not bad, but unfit for any exertion, even for a walk. This sort of life is no good to live. I [will] try Battle Creek, and if that fails, get out quick._x000d_ V._x000d_ Write me about Battle Creek._x000d_ V.

C/o F. H. Leggett_x000d_ 21 West Thirty-fourth Street_x000d_ New York_x000d_ Nov., 1899_x000d_ My Dear Sturdy,_x000d_ This is not to defend my conduct. Words cannot wipe off the evils I have done, nor any censor stop from working the good deeds, if any._x000d_ For the last few months I have been hearing so much of the luxuries I was given to enjoy by the people of the West--luxuries which the hypocrite myself has been enjoying, although preaching renunciation all the while: luxuries, the enjoyment of which has been the great stumbling-block in my way, in England at least. I nearly hypnotised myself into the belief that there has at least been a little oasis in the dreary desert of my life, a little spot of light in one whole life of misery and gloom; one moment of relaxation in a life of hard work and harder curses--even that oasis, that spot, that moment was only one of sense-enjoyment!!_x000d_ I was glad, I blessed a hundred times a day those that had helped me to get it, when, lo, your last letter comes like a thunderclap, and the dream is vanished. I begin to disbelieve your criticisms--have little faith left in all this talk of luxuries and enjoyments and other visions memory calls up. These I state. Hope you will send it round to friends, if you think fit, and correct me where I am wrong._x000d_ I remember your place at Reading, where I was fed with boiled cabbage and potatoes and boiled rice and boiled lentils, three times a day, with your wife's curses for sauce all the time. I do not remember your giving me any cigar to smoke--shilling or penny ones. Nor do I remember myself as complaining of either the food or your wife's incessant curses, though I lived as a thief , shaking through fear all the time, and working every day for you._x000d_ The next memory is of the house on St. George's Road--you and Miss Muller at the head. My poor brother was ill there and Miss Muller drove him away. There too I don't remember to have had any luxuries as to food or drink or bed or even the room given to me ._x000d_ The next was Miss Muller's place. Though she has been very kind to me, I was living on nuts and fruits. The next memory is that of the black hole of London where I had to work almost day and night and cook the meals oft-times for five or six, and most nights with a bite of bread and butter._x000d_ I remember Mrs. Sturdy giving me a dinner and a night's lodging in her place, and then the next day criticising the black savage--so dirty and smoking all over the house._x000d_ With the exception of Capt. And Mrs. Sevier, I do not remember even one piece of rag as big as a handkerchief I got from England. On the other hand, the incessant demand on my body and mind in England is the cause of my breakdown in health. This was all you English people gave me, whilst working me to death; and now I am cursed for the luxuries I lived in!! Whosoever of you have given me a coat? Whosoever a cigar? Whosoever a bit of fish or flesh? Whosoever of you dare say I asked food or drink or smoke or dress or money from you? Ask, Sturdy, ask for God's sake, ask your friends, and first ask your own "God within who never sleeps." _x000d_ You have given me money for my work. Every penny of it is there. Before your eyes I sent my brother away, perhaps to his death; and I would not give him a farthing of the money which was not my private property._x000d_ On the other hand, I remember in England Capt. And Mrs. Sevier, who have clad me when I was cold, nursed me better than my own mother would have, borne with me in my weakness, my trials; and they have nothing but blessings for me. And that Mrs. Sevier, because she did not care for honours, has the worship of thousands today; and when she is dead millions will remember her as one of the great benefactresses of the poor Indians. And they never cursed me for my luxuries, though they are ready to give me luxuries, if I need or wish._x000d_ I need not tell you of Mrs. Bull, Miss MacLeod, Mr. and Mrs. Leggett. You know their love and kindness for me; and Mrs. Bull and Miss MacLeod have been to our country, moved and lived with us as no foreigner ever did, roughing it all, and they do not ever curse me and my luxuries either; they will be only too glad to have me eat well and smoke dollar cigars if I wish. And there Leggetts and Bulls were the people whose bread whose money bought my smokes and several times paid my rent, whilst I was killing myself for your people, when you were taking my pound of flesh for the dirty hole and starvation and reserving all this accusation of luxury._x000d_ "The clouds of autumn make great noise but send no rain;_x000d_ The clouds of the rainy season without a word flood the earth."_x000d_ See Sturdy, those that have helped or are still helping have no criticism, no curses: it is only those who do nothing, who only come to grind their own axes, that curse, that criticise. That such worthless, heartless, selfish, rubbish criticise, is the greatest blessing that can come to me. I want nothing so much in life as to be miles off from these extremely selfish axe-grinders._x000d_ Talking of luxuries! Take these critics up one after the other--It is all flesh, all flesh and no spirit anywhere. Thank God, they come out sooner or later in their true colours. And you advise me to regulate my conduct, my work, according to the desires of such heartless, selfish persons, and are at your wit's end because I do not!_x000d_ As to my Gurubhais (brother-disciples), they do nothing but what I insist on their doing. If they have shown any selfishness anywhere, that is because of my ordering them, not what they would do themselves._x000d_ Would you like your children put into that dark hole you got for me in London, made to work to death, and almost starved all the time? Would Mrs. Sturdy like that? They are Sannyasins, and that means, no Sannyasin should unnecessarily throw away his life or undertake unnecessary hardship ._x000d_ In undergoing all this hardship in the West we have been only breaking the rules of Sannyasa. They are my brothers, my children. I do not want them to die in holes for my sake. I don't, by all that is good and true I don't, want them starved and worked and cursed for all their pains._x000d_ A word more. I shall be very glad if you can point out to me where I have preached torturing the flesh. As for the Shastras (scriptures), I shall be only too glad if a Shastri (Pundit) dares oppose us with the rules of life laid down for Sannyasins and Paramahamsas._x000d_ Well, Sturdy, my heart aches. I understand it all. I know what you are in--you are in the clutches of people who want to use you. I don't mean your wife. She is too simple to be dangerous. But, my poor boy, you have got the flesh-smell--a little money--and vultures are around. Such is life._x000d_ You said a lot about ancient India. That India still lives, Sturdy, is not dead, and that living India dares even today to deliver her message without fear or favour of the rich, without fear of anybody's opinion, either in the land where her feet are in chains or in the very face of those who hold the end of the chain, her rulers. That India still lives, Sturdy, India of undying love, of everlasting faithfulness, the unchangeable, not only in manners and customs, but also in love, in faith, in friendship. And I, the least of that India's children, love you, Sturdy, with Indian love, and would any day give up a thousand bodies to help you out of this delusion._x000d_ Ever yours,_x000d_ Vivekananda

It would appear that even this did not silence Mr. Sturdy. His retort, as far as I know, is not extant, but that it was written in the same pompous and abusive vein as his previous letters can be gathered from the fact that Swamiji did not reply to it at all. Over a year later, after he had returned to India, he wrote to Sturdy in regard to a business matter. "I learn from Saradananda," he said in part, "that you have sent over Rs.1,529-5-5 to the Math, being the money that was in hand for work in England. I am sure it will be rightly used. . . . I wrote you a letter from Paris. I am afraid you did not get it. So sorry to learn the passing away of Mrs. Sturdy. She has been a very good wife and good mother, and it is not ordinarily one meets with such in this life. (Lucie Sturdy had died bearing a stillborn child in the late autumn of 1900. Swamiji’s letter from Paris had no doubt been one of condolence.] . . . It is not because of your free expression of opinion in your last letter to me that I stopped writing," he concluded. "I only let the wave pass, as is my wont. Letters would only have made a wave of a little bubble.

Whether or not Sturdy had the grace to reply to this is not on record; but one way or the other, Swamiji would have 1oved him still. His heart could never be host to the slightest rancor, rejecting it even as the body rejects a foreign substance. In January of 1901 he would write to Mrs. Bull, "Kindly convey my undying love to Miss Muller the next time you see her, so to Sturdy.

Curiously, for Swamiji had most probably shown them Sturdy’s letters, Mrs. Bull and Miss MacLeod had remained friendly with that self deceived man, as their subsequent correspondence with him testifies. Sister Nivedita had not been so forgiving. Although in her book The Master as I Saw Him she does not even hint at the shameful treatment Swamiji was accorded: by some of her countrymen, her reticence did not spring from a desire to spare them; on the country, even to mention their names in connection with her great Master would have been, it seemed to her, to honor them too well. In 1906, while her book was in progress, she wrote in a letter to Miss MacLeod:

I am trusting, trusting, trusting that He will guide my hand line by line, that I might write down more aspects of Him that are eternal, and be able to discard remorse¬lessly all the rest. But you do not know how much I learn, in doing this. All the people who hurt Him-in a kind of way I find that I have to forgive them. I find that to pillory them as they so richly deserve, and as I now have the means of doing, would be perhaps only to flaw His beauty and to immortalise them, by placing them at His side. And so I have to throw away many and many a stone that I’ve kept in my pocket this many a year!!

Surely Sister Nivedita was right in presenting Swamiji’s greatness in its pure essence, right not to clutter her beautiful book with ugly detail. Yet a time comes when all the details, both shining and shadow-ridden, of the drama of Swami Vivekananda’s life should be known, for without such knowledge the greatness of that drama cannot be fully grasped. Swamiji’s beauty and magnificence did not lie in his teachings alone; they lay of course also in his character, and they shone through the small incidents of his life as well as through the dazzling and important events. He was a human being, a man who loved deeply and who could be as deeply hurt, but he was a man who could forgive without reservation the most painful of blows. Though he had the divine power a thousand times over to blast to fragments those who ill-used him, he had the divine compassion never to do so, but to bless them instead. The Sturdy episode was but one example of his forbearance. There were many other such incidents. He seldom, if ever, mentioned them; his acts of forgiveness, his blessings, were always simple, as natural, as unstudied as a smile or a wave of the hand. Only as old letters come to light do we learn of the faithless, sometimes treacherous, disciples and friends who be¬strewed his path and of the onrushing of his love that swept over them as over pebbles, carrying them along to the sea.

But however that may be, the weeks sped by. November came, bringing chilly days, and with it came the season of activity and work. One morning after breakfast Swamiji turned suddenly and fiercely to Nivedita and demanded how much longer she was going to hang on. "He was quite abusive," she told "Yum," "-and then he uttered a relenting word¬-you know how. . . . Then he waxed glorious. If he had my health and strength he would conquer the world. I was a Kshattriya. Did I know that I belonged to his family? I was not a Brahmin. Austerity was the path. . . . It was tremendous -and he ended with a blessing in which the Guru was lost and it became all Father-as he told me to go out into the world and fight for him-the only thing that he wanted ¬before he could pass away from the world into peace or death. "Oh! Yum!" Nivedita exclaimed, for tremendous indeed was the mandate she felt she had received. It was decided then and there that she would leave for Chicago with Olea and Alberta on November 7. On the same date Mrs. Bull would leave for Cambridge, Swamiji for New York. (Swami Turiyananda had already left Ridgely at the end of October and had gone on to Montclair, New Jersey.)

In her diary for Sunday, November 5, I899, one finds only the quiet entry: "Swamiji gave the Sanyasi cloth and charge of work under S.R.K. and the Mother. As for Swamiji’s bestowal upon her and Nivedita of his powers-or, at least, it would seem, of the power to carry out certain aspects of his mission-he did so in all solemnity. Many months earlier, at the close of 1898, as Mrs. Bull was leaving India, Swamiji had written to her, "Ere this I had only love for you, but recent developments prove that you are appointed by the Mother to watch over my life, hence, faith has been added to love! As regards me and my work I hold henceforth that you are inspired and will gladly shake off all responsibilities from my shoulder and abide by what the Mother ordains through you. During the months that were to follow the ceremony, he was often to remind Mrs. Bull of her role in his work and of his implicit faith in her judgment. But what actual and practical effect his bestowal of power upon these two disciples had in the implementation of his mission, what effect it had on Mrs. Bull’s life, in what sense it constituted "the great turning point" for her and Nivedita, what "release" it actually gave to Swamiji-these are questions which would, I think, be hard to answer.

Ridgely_x000d_ 1st Nov., 1899_x000d_ Dear Margot {Nivedita},_x000d_ . . . It seems there is a gloom over your mind. Never mind, nothing is to last for ever. 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 aeons yet--till things are righted, if possible, here--at least it is 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 others of nature's sacrifices._x000d_ Yours etc.,_x000d_ Vivekananda

My dear Swamiji:_x000d_ I can only protest that no dislike to any person or persons exists in my mind whatever and I have been puzzled to think who you could have had in your mind when you suggested you had been made a scapegoat for them._x000d_ I have not the slightest bitterness; you have absolute freedom to carry on your message to the western world in your own way. There is also perfect freedom for everybody else and they will work or refrain according to the impres¬sions they gain. But it is to be presumed that you wish to appear in a consistent light and not to test the intuitions of those who listen to you to such an extent that having to judge by what they see they desire to hear you no more._x000d_ I have constantly had to defend you against the criti¬cisms of even good friends of your cause on account of the things I have written previously and have had to stretch my own convictions and do a considerable amount of "special pleading" for you. Poor Goodwin knew this well and his opinion coincided with mine._x000d_ [Injustice to Mr. Goodwin, it should be noted here that in October of 1896, just before returning to London to be with Swamiji, he wrote in a letter to Miss MacLeod: "Shall I shock you very much if I tell you that the Swami takes the place of Christ to me? I think not, for you will understand what I mean."]_x000d_ Nobody knows better than I [Mr. Sturdy went on how your prospects here, whatever may be the case elsewhere, have suffered through your own acts. Rather than believe this you prefer to think that my individual prejudice is at the base of it all. You seem never to have perceived that with Western people, altho’ they may seek "great display and luxury" for themselves that they have high regard for simplicity and natural austerity and denial in others, especially in those who teach it and that whilst they are pressing hospitality and luxury upon you they are inwardly regretting the absence of indifference to it._x000d_ I shall write no more on this subject. Independence is a fine thing and so is consistency between speech and act. If you want people to look at a grand painting you do not point at it with one hand and throw lime in their eyes with the other. If you desire to make a gift you do not creep up like a thief and so risk blows instead of thanks. If you come as a sannyasi to teach people absence of attachment to the world and at the same time maintain the appearance of having a jolly good time in luxury and comfort even if you were free of these things, what good are you likely to do?_x000d_ _x000d_ Yours as ever _x000d_ E. T. Sturdy

To Sister Christine_x000d_ Ridgely Manor,_x000d_ 4th November 1899._x000d_ My dear Christina,_x000d_ The letter was all right in reaching. It was only my ner¬vousness. I am sure you will understand and excuse this. I eagerly expect to see you in Cambridge. I am going to New York next week. Thence I go for a few days to Washington and then to Cambridge. Do come. And mind you, I must learn Ger¬man. I am determined to be a French and 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_ It naturally takes time for a letter to reach from here. We have one delivery and one posting a day._x000d_ With all love,_x000d_ Ever yours in the Lord,_x000d_ Vivekananda._x000d_ My eternal love and blessings to Mrs. Funkey [Funke].

I quote here Nivedita’s account of the incident in a letter to Miss MacLeod, dated November 11, I899, a facsimile of which is given in Sankari P, Basu’s book Lokamata Nivedita. The day of which the letter tells was the previous Sunday, November 5. (The place, to judge from a memo, here reproduced, that Nivedita scribbled on the back of a photograph, was the "Inn.")*_x000d_ * In October there appears to have been a general redistribution of guests among the various houses at Ridgely. As far as I know, there is no clear indication who was staying where, but inasmuch as there was a good deal of coming and going between the cottages and the Manor, it perhaps does not greatly matter where anyone actually had his or her room.

On Sunday afternoon Swami insisted on my coming and packing with him, & as I worked he took out a couple of silk turbans to give the girls. Then two pieces of cotton cloth-gerrua colour-for Mrs. Bull. He called me to my room, where Mrs. Bull sat writing, to give these, & left the turbans on one side.

First he shut the door-then he arranged the cloth as a skirt & chudder round her waist-then he called her a sannyasini & putting one hand on her head & one on mine he said: "I give you all that Ramakrishna P[arama¬hamsa] gave to me. What came to us from a woman [the Divine Mother] I give to you two women. Do what you can with it. I cannot trust myself. I do not know what I might do tomorrow & ruin the work. Women’s hands will be the best anyway to hold what came from a woman -from Mother. Who & what She is, I do not know, I have never seen Her, but Ramakr[ishna] P, saw Her & touched Her, like this (touching my sleeve). She may be a great disembodied spirit for all I know. Anyway I cast the load on you. I am going away to be at peace. I felt nearly mad this morning, & I was thinking and thinking what I could do, when I went to my room to sleep before lunch. And then I thought of this & I was so glad. It is like a release. I have borne it all this time, & now I have given it up. . . ."

(We both thought of you at that moment Darling-& I for one was glad that you were away-for your life is his personally-& you are still to be the Good Star which could not be if you were entangled in all that has been so hard on him.)

And so, Yum, happened "the event of my life"-the great turning-point-and the dear St. Sara’s.

In her diary, Sister Nivedita wrote of this unforgettable day more briefly, making the entry on November 5: "Our wonderful Sunday. Swami’s release." Her letter to Miss MacLeod continued:

Next morning he came over to Ridgely, and Mrs. I.eggett managed to throw Mrs. R. Smith with him, knowing that she was hungry for a word. It seems that she asked him what his message was. And he answered "I have no message. I used to think I had, but now I know that I have nothing for the world-only for myself. I must break this dream." It sounds so limp and forceless, when I repeat it! And it was so great and stern as he told us of it.