RIDGELY MANOR: THE GREAT SUMMER Part II ver the stables in an apartment of some four or five bedrooms 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 Kobel, and a Mr. Goodby, all three of whom came daily, as Miss MacLeod was to write to Mrs. Bull, "to drink deep." 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 lecturing 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. Swamiji's reply, not heretofore published, was immediate: 31st August, '99 My dear Isabel- Many thanks for your kind note I will be so so glad to see you. Miss Macleod is going to write you to stop a day and night here on your way to the west. My love to the holy family in Chicago and hope soon to be able to come west and have great fun. So you are in Greenacre at last. Is this the first year you have been in? How do you like the place? If you see Miss Farmer [Miss Sarah Farmer, the founder of Greenacre] of course kindly convey her my kindest regards and to all the rest of my friends there Ever yours affly Vivekananda Miss MacLeod sent off an invitation to the two girls on the same day. Her letter, interesting, I believe, for its directions and time tables, read: August 31, 1899 My dear Miss McKinley-- 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. 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. Swamiji is delighted at the thought of seeing you and your sister. He was indeed. "I am dying to see Isabel and Harriet," he wrote to Mary Hale. But for one reason or another, the two girls were long in coming. Swami Abhedananda arrived at Swamiji's call two weeks before them, as attested by his diary. His entry for September 8 reads: Arrived at Kingston at 7:30 P.M.--drove to Ridgely and arrived there at 9:30 P.M. Saw Swamis V. and T. and lived with them. The three Swamis lived, of course, in "Swamiji's Cottage." In Vivekananda, a Biography in Pictures, one finds a photograph 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. Swami Abhedananda stayed at Ridgely for about ten days, leaving on September 17 or 18 for New York, 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 10) for this brief English interlude reads, "No use," from which one might gather a certain despond. Josephine MacLeod went down to New York on September 17 to meet Nivedita's ship--so one learns, among other things, from the following letter written by Betty Leggett to Mrs. Bull: 19 Sept. Dear Saint Sara, The other sanyasin 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. I hope 01ea 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. Joe arrives today. The big cottage awaits you--and is ready. 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. It was not until the following day, Wednesday, September 20, that Joe and Nivedita arrived from New York. The day after that they wrote jointly to Mrs. Bull, whose ill luck at being detained for so many weeks is, one cannot help but note, our good luck, for we learn considerably more about events and people through the letters written to her from Ridgely Manor than we would otherwise have known. The letter of September 21 read: Dearest S.S. Margo & I arrived at 3 P.M. yesterday after a joyous 24hours together.--I am beginning to feel that I am almost as glad to know her as Swamiji. Today we decked her in our finery--then came down to Swamiji for criticism--which never came. He put the decision entirely into Margot's care and she said "If I may do as I choose, I shall wear my brahmacharini 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. 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. Your telegram was a blow--last night--10 days longer away-but "Mother knows best" I have no servants for you yet. Dr. Helmer will decide what Swamiji is to do and in this his verdict will be final. Hearts love to my child [Olea] & her mother [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 growing 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, Margot. (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.") 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." 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: 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. The reader will perhaps be familiar with Swamiji's poem, for it has long since been published in his Complete Works; but here, in any case, are a few stanzas: Behold, it comes in might, The power that is not power, The light that is in darkness, The shade in dazzling light. It is beauty never seen, And love that stands alone, It is song that lives unsung, And knowledge never known. It is death between two lives, And lull between two storms, The void whence rose creation, And that where it returns. That same week the McKindley sisters at last arrived, much to Swamiji's joy. Of this event, as well as of the arrival and verdict of Dr. Helmer, Miss MacLeod wrote to Mrs. Bull: Dearest St Sara. The two McKindley girls came yesterday. Since which time Swamiji has been bubbling over with boyishness-- 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 are affected, Dr says there is no reason he should not be as strong as he --smoking is gradually to be reduced to nothingness (Nirvana!) I still think you better come via Albany-and I think if Olea is here Dr. will come up next Saturday-- He is to stay till Monday & is now shooting blue clay pigeons with Hol--who has a new gun. The McKindleys we drive to Kingston today. This is only a line to tell you Swamiji speaks of you & Olea daily & would go over to you if we would let him. Dr Helmer seems to be happy--& I love him. Margot is winning all hearts. 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-- Hearts love JoJo Dr. Helmer's diagnosis of Swamiji's illness, it should be noted here, was later to be rejected by Miss MacLeod's next miracle-worker, of whom more in a later chapter. But whatever the cause and nature of his poor health, the cheerful, well-regulated, but informal life at Ridgely was a balm to him from the start. As early as September Betty Leggett had written to the absent Mrs. Bull: 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.... These days are priceless. Do come straight on if possible. On the same day Swamiji wrote to Sister Christine, who was now back home in Detroit: My dear Christina: I hope by this time you are much better. I am getting physically better every day, though mentally not much. The London work seems to fall to pieces. The friends over there are all shaky even Sturdy. Anyway in Mrs. Bull & Miss Macleod I have very strong friends. They stand by me here, through thick and thin. Life is a series of fights and disillusionments is it not? 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. 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. 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. 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.... 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. I am strong very strong now--I always am when left to stand alone. May you be strong very strong always. Ever yours with love and blessings Vivekananda 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. "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!'" In a "New York Letter" dated September, 1899, to the Brahmavadin, "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 almost certainly laid out on Ridgely's extensive lawns.* "I do not think it difficult at all," he wrote, "--only it requires good practice." 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 RidgeIy, 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 Whitmarshes 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. Of those evening talks (held on chilly nights around a fire) Miss MacLeod wrote in her memoirs: 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 occassion 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." (This curious reaction reminds one of Harriet Monroe, the poet, who, after hearing Swamiji at the Parliament of Religions 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 Vivekananda speak again, during that autumn and winter when he was making converts by the score.")

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