Mother's Chronicles - Book Three

8

The First Visit

July 14, 1906.

It was the early hours of the morning. A distinguished-looking gentleman stood on the station platform, waiting for the train from Oran to come in. He was dressed in a white robe because of the day's coming heat. His long, wavy auburn hair framed the aristocratic face and fell to the shoulders. A soft breeze played hide and seek in his long beard. A lean figure, and although actually of medium height, he nonetheless gave an impression of being tall.

A cloud of smoke in the distance signalled the train's arrival. It came nearer and nearer, and the engine chuffed more and more loudly. The train ran alongside the platform, slowed down and stopped. Doors swung open. A vision of beauty, momentarily glimpsed framed in a window, stepped out. Our

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waiting gentleman came forward to meet his guest. Theon greeted Mirra.

Yes, it was Mirra. She had mastered the theoretical and had now come to learn the practical. One exciting event follows another when she comes to spend a few months with the Théons. There isn't one uneventful day from the time of her arrival.

Mother asked Satprem, "Do you know how he received me when I arrived there? That was the first time in my life I had travelled alone, and the first time I had crossed the sea. Then there was a fairly long train ride between Oran and Tlemcen. In short, I managed rather well —I got there."

In those days there were two maritine companies operating the sea route France-Algeria and back. Each ran a weekly service. The port of departure was Marseilles. The ship weighed anchor between twelve noon and four in the afternoon. It went straight to Oran — Algeria was then a French colony —without calling at any other port. The passengers had ample time to rest and sleep and enjoy themselves on that cruise, since the steamboat covered the distance of 525 nautical miles (or 972 kilometres) in about forty hours.

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We imagine that on this, her first voyage across the Mediterranean, Mirra, leaning on the ship's rail, had gazed at the dazzling sea. It looked strewn with myriads of splinters of glass that reflected the sunlight, shifted, changed the pattern of light. Did she, with her trained eyes, see myriads of sea-nymphs playing joyously among the waves?

After a cruise of two nights and a day, the ship docked at Oran in the early hours of the morning — between 4 and 6 a.m. Then there was a full day's wait in the town. The train for Tlemcen left at night. The railroad was 166 kilometres long and the train took about six and a half hours to reach its destination. From Oran it had rolled for a long time in the plains of Cheliff, as on a multi-coloured carpet, before chugging up the mountain. Set incongruously in an Arab dream, Tlemcen's little station must have jarred on a sensitive traveller like Mirra, seeming as it did like a blunder transported from some Parisian suburb. But the town itself presented another picture. Situated at an altitude of 800 metres or so, in the foothills of pink cliffs rising sheer and forming its enchanting backdrop, Tlemcen was like an Arab song. Its bracing air,

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its one minaret standing among white or pink houses, its large-eyed men who moved about proudly, and its women in burnoos- white shadows walking with real feet adorned with silver anklets were all like the diverse voices forming an enchanting chorus.

"He met me at the station. We set off by car for his place, as it was a little far away." The distance was about one kilometre.

The country road was bordered with sunny fields. The car slowly climbed up the slopes of the Atlas mountain. "Finally we reached his estate- a marvel! It spread across the hillside, dominating the entire valley of Tlemcen." Through Mother's eyes the scene tame alive for us. The immense estate which began from the plains sloped up almost to the top of the hill.

Zarif, the abode of the Théons, was a beautiful terraced garden.

"We arrived from below and had to climb up some wide pathways to get up there. 1 said nothing-from a material point of view it was truly an experience."

The path got narrower between big, sprawling fig-trees. The car stopped a little further on. The visitor got down and walked up some steps to reach the

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front courtyard, situated above a square basin which was always filled with water from a perennial spring.

"When we came in sight of the house, he stopped. 'That's my house.'

"It was red! Painted red!" Mother's eyes widened at the recollection.

"And he added, 'When Barlet came here, he asked me, Why did you paint your house red?'"

Mother broke off to explain, "Barlet was a French occultist who had put Theon in touch with France, and was his first disciple. This Barlet was Edouard Schuré's contemporary, a bit older. I met Schuré, by the way, he was rather hollow."

After this short explanation, she went on, "There was a gleam of mischief in Théon's eyes, coupled with a somewhat sardonic smile. 'I told Barlet, Because red goes well with green!'"

Mother smiled, "At once I began to understand the gentleman."

Their path lay through a garden. "We continued on our way uphill, when suddenly, without any warning, he wheeled around, planted himself in front of me and said, 'Now you are at my mercy. Are you not afraid?'

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"Just like that. So I looked at him, smiled and told him, 'I am never afraid. I have the Divine here in my heart.' Well, he really went white."

Even in 1972, some sixty-five years later, the imprint remained clear on the retina of her mind's eye. "It struck me, I never forgot it," said Mother. "I was absolutely conscious and calm. I remember we were walking in his huge estate; we were going up towards the house on foot, and I told him," she raised her index finger, " 'My psychic being governs me —I am afraid of nothing.' Well ..." Mother made a gesture which showed Theon starting as if he had been burned.

"I acquired that psychic consciousness just before leaving for Tlemcen. And it grew stronger there."

Theon turned on his heels and silently led Mirra to the house. As the visitor entered, she was met by a small woman dressed in a red, flowing dalmatic. It was Madame Theon, waiting to receive Mirra. The older woman's blue eyes lit up at the sight of the younger one, for what she saw was beyond compare.

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Zarif, where Mirra was to stay for three months — from 14 July to 15 October to be exact- was Théon's property on the road to the Cascades. The building was set against a green sloping hillside. It looked down on the road and the far-off town. Painted coral red, resembling somewhat a Moorish manor, the house rose in tiers of small courtyards and terraces, covered or open, from where the eye could see clear to the distant horizon. From the house and from the garden equally, the view to the west stretched to where Tlemcen stood out, then beyond to the valleys and the plains that extended away to the faraway sea- which, it was said, could be glimpsed on a clear day. To the east also the eye could see a good ways off to where the Atlas mountain's crisscrossing peaks lay. But behind, the mountain formed a high background, like a barrier standing almost perpendicular and ending down at the road to the caves, the springs and the vast lawns of Zarif which were shaded by centuries-old olive trees behind the house. From there, as the house was built on a hillside, the top floor could be reached through the large doors of the sitting-room which opened on to the lawns. But the windows of the guest-

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room overlooked the yard in front. Laid in mosaic, the courtyard was surrounded by high walls set with ogival doors decorated with huge amphores. The waters in the square basin sang ceaselessly below the yard. The spring was reputed to be miraculous. The Arabs, who came and went freely on certain paths, stopped to bathe their feet in its water.

A little beyond the top left of the park was the shrine of an ancient marabout, Sidi Boumedine. He had lived there a long, long time ago. Over seven hundred years back a mosque was built over the site, and it has some fine mosaic works. The pilgrims came every day by the top road to burn special incense on the Mohammedan hermit's tomb; that scent mingled with those of the roses.

The rose garden of Zarif! It was a masterpiece by Aia Aziz. He took care of the whole estate, but the rose garden engaged his special attention. The best varieties of roses were planted by him, selected and grafted, made to bloom —the rarest of roses vied with each other in exuberant profusion and charm.

Under his expert care, fruit-bearing trees — cherry and apple and pomegranate, to name a few —

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flourished. And, of course, the sizable vegetable garden was a treat. As he worked with Nature he studied her and she became a fecund book yielding up to him her rich secrets. He was wont to say that "everything depends on the plane one has attained and the width of one's horizon; for the worm in the radish, the radish is its whole cosmos —most people live like the worm in the radish."

The dexterity of his hands was not limited to gardening alone. He was a skilled workman, proficient as a mason, as a house painter, a locksmith or a carpenter, as the need arose. He was fond of repeating that all the sages in ancient times knew and practised a manual craft; it reposes the mind, and also it forces one to some degree of precision. He would add: One must come into direct contact with matter, which can be had only through work. "You know the story of the Initiate, who refused to impart knowledge to the young aspirant who would not cultivate his garden? There is a profound teaching in the story."

With the long, fine fingers his hands played the piano. He sang songs and practised other arts. His sensitive hands made him a talented sculptor. But he

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was most clever with his hand in fashioning his cigarettes , which he did with disconcerting rapidity. Theon was a man of many moods: whimsical , gay or depressed , brilliant or forceful. In contrast , Madame Theon was full of a serene dignity, unruffled and equable. "Madame Theon was an extraordinary occultist, " said 'Mother. ' "That woman had incredible faculties , incredible. " Theon, for his part , always admitted that effectively it was owing to these amazing faculties his wife possessed that they could reach the lost or the as-yet-unexplored regions of knowledge. And Mother, on her side , whenever she referred to Madame Theon -e-it was always 'Madame' Theon spoke with a note of admiration , of regard, of respect. But let Mother herself tell about her memories of Tlemcen.

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