After inviting the Swami, Miss Dutcher, added a new wing to the cottage for his
accommodation. This wing, three storeys high, stood on a steep slope of rock, like a
great lantern-tower with windows on three sides. The room at the top was set apart
exclusively for the Swami's use; the lowest room was occupied by a student; the room
between, with large windows, and several doors opening on the main part of the house,
was used as the Swami's classroom. Miss Dutcher thoughtfully added an outside
stairway to the Swami's room so that he might go in and out without being noticed by
the others.
On the roofed-in porch upstairs, extending along the west side of the cottage, the
students met the Swami for his evening talks. There, at one end, close to the door of his
room, he would take his seat and commune with his pupils both in silence and through
the spoken word. In the evening the cottage was bathed in perfect stillness except for
the murmur of insects and the whisper of the wind through the leaves. The house being
situated, as it were, among the tree-tops, a breeze always relieved the summer heat.
The centre of the village was only a five minutes' walk from the cottage, and yet, on
account of the woods around it, not a single house could be seen. Many of the islands
that dotted the river were visible in the distance and, especially in the evening,
appeared like a picture. The glow of the sunset on the St. Lawrence was breathtaking in
its beauty, and the moon at night was mirrored in the shining waters beneath.
In this ideal retreat, 'the world forgetting, by the world forgot,' the devoted students
spent seven weeks with their beloved teacher, listening to his words of wisdom and
receiving his silent benediction. Immediately after the evening meal they would
assemble on the upstairs porch. Soon the Swami would come from his room and take
his seat. Two hours and often much longer would be spent together. One night, when
the moon was almost full, he talked to them until it set below the western horizon, both
the teacher and the students being unaware of the passage of time. During these seven
weeks the Swami's whole heart was in his work and he taught like one inspired.
Miss Dutcher, his hostess, was a conscientious little woman and a staunch Methodist.
When the Swami arrived at the house, he saw on the walls of his living quarters scrolls
bearing the words 'Welcome to Vivekananda' painted in bold letters. But as the
teaching began, Miss Dutcher often felt distressed by the Swami's revolutionary ideas.
All her ideals, her values of life, her concepts of religion, were, it seemed to her, being
destroyed. Sometimes she did not appear for two or three days. 'Don't you see?' the
Swami said. 'This is not an ordinary illness. It is the reaction of the body against the
chaos that is going on in her mind. She cannot bear it.'
The most violent attack came one day after a timid protest on her part against
something he had told them in the class. 'The idea of duty is the midday sun of misery,
scorching the very soul,' he had said. 'Is it not our duty — ' she had begun, but got no
farther. For once the great free soul broke all bounds in his rebellion against the idea
that anyone should dare bind with fetters the soul of man. Miss Dutcher was not seen
for some days.