Ruth Middleton - Alexandra David-Neel: Portait of an Adventurer

ABOUT THE BOOK

This unique biography explores the inner journey of a woman whose outer life was a thrilling story of passion and adventure. Alexandra David-Nel (18681969), born in Paris to a socially prominent family, once boasted, I learned to run before I could walk! In the course of a lifetime of more than one hundred years, she was an acclaimed operatic soprano, a political anarchist, a religious reformer, an intrepid explorer who traveled in Tibet for fourteen years, a scholar of Buddhism, and the author of more than forty books. But perhaps the most intriguing of all her adventures was the spiritual search that led her from a youthful interest in socialism and Freemasonry to the teachings of the great sages of India and culminated in her initiation into the secret tantric practices of Tibetan Buddhism. This book reveals the penetrating insight and courage of a woman who surmounted physical, intellectual, and social barriers to pursue her spiritual quest.

RUTH MIDDLETON is a sculptor and writer who divides her time between France and the United States. This biography is based on her study of the private, unpublished correspondence, documents, manuscripts, and photographs preserved in the Archives of the Alexandra David-Nel Foundation in Digne, France.

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Alexandra David-Nel

Portrait of an Adventurer

RUTH MIDDLETON

SHAMBHALA

Boston & London

2013

SHAMBHALA PUBLICATIONS, INC.

Horticultural Hall

300 Massachusetts Avenue

Boston, Massachusetts 02115

www.shambhala.com

1989 by Ruth Middleton

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Middleton, Ruth.

Alexandra David-Nel: portrait of an adventurer/Ruth Middleton.

p. cm. Bibliography: p. Includes index.

eISBN 978-0-8348-2925-1

ISBN 0-87773-413-5

1. David-Nel, Alexandra, 18681969. 2. Scholars, BuddhistFranceBiography. I. Title.

BQ950.A837M53 1989 88-34337

294.30924dc19 [B] CIP

BVG 01

To Palmer, Cindy, and Veronica

I arrived as the potatoes were burning. The kitchen window was flung open, and a strange voice demanded the reason for my presence at this inconvenient hour. In France one arrives at noon only if invited. When I replied that I had an appointment with Mile. Peyronnet, the voice was joined by a smiling face. You must be her American friend. Do come in. Even after seven years in France, my accent is still a dead giveaway. From the trunk of my small Peugeot, I removed the flowers and fruit I had brought as my offering to the household of Alexandra David-Nel, and mounted the steep incline leading to the entrance of the home she had christened Samten Dzong, which in Tibetan means Fortress of Meditation.

It was the secretary, Frank, who opened the door, and I sensed a deep fatigue behind the warmth of his smile. Inside all was confusion. The Fortress of Meditation had been invaded by a group of well-meaning but overly persistent women who were determined to purchase the dining-room table out from under the very luncheon they were delaying. Marie-Ma Peyronnet was doing her best to persuade them that this was impossible. Frank led me to the kitchen, where I was formally introduced to an American friend, Helene Carter, who had greeted me from the window. We began to fuss with the obstreperous pressure-cooker, while Frank took charge of the flowers. The noise in the dining room seemed to subside as the problem of the table resolved itself, only to be succeeded by the sound of a beautiful Tibetan bell, with which Marie-Ma signaled to the resident Tibetan geshe, Ngawang Khenrab-lags, that he should descend to the dining room. When he arrived she told him that she had bartered for it and was thrilled with her acquisition, which had a lovely silver tone. Would it be (she hoped) an acceptable addition to the altar in the salle de meditation? The geshe smiled. It was very nice, but perhaps not the bargain she had imagined. At this point, Franks French appetite overcame his Buddhist restraint. It was half past the hour. We are here to eat, not to discuss commercial ventures. A table! Laughing, we arranged ourselves around the rescued table. The geshe at the head, wearing the traditional garnet robe, presided over this bizarre collection of people of diverse ages and origins. The youthful (and hungry) Frank is secretary to Marie-Ma, who served as Alexandras secretary during the last ten years of her life, and who has maintained Samten Dzong as a museum and cultural center since the death of Alexandra in 1969. Algerian by birth, she is connected to some secret source of energy that never fails to impress me. Her explosive vitality is matched only by her sincerity and warmth. To my left, Helene, French by birth, American by marriage, provided the necessary glue that kept the conversation from flying apart. Finally, there was myself, an American painter living in France. But of course there was also Alexandra, whose presence still dominates Samten Dzong, though her ashes joined the current of the Ganges over fifteen years ago. It was she, in truth, who had brought us together over this luncheon.

Our conversation centered on the recent visit of His Holiness, the Dalai Lama, who had just departed after five days in the city of Digne. He had come, not as a ruler in exile, but as a simple Buddhist monk. His mission was to share with an enormous gathering of Europeans and exiled compatriots, now living in Switzerland and France, the doctrine that has been emerging from Communist-occupied Tibet and Dharamsala, India. Each successive day that he had appeared in the Palais des Congrs, seated on his traditional throne and surrounded by an entourage of lamas, the audience had increased. Wherever he circulated, whether on foot or by automobile, a growing number of people gathered, magnetized by his presence, hoping to receive the comfort of his blessing, or to be rewarded by even a brief glimpse of his radiant smile. The resonance of his hearty laughter echoed still among us.

A rich mixture of impressions assaulted my senses in this small room where past and present were being fused. Incense and burned potatoes, ringing bells and ringing laughter, the blending of varied accents in animated conversation, punctuated by Marie-Mas Servez-vous, servez-vous. More potatoes, even if they are scorched! filled Alexandras fortress.

When it first was that I heard of her, I cannot truthfully say. My own interest in Buddhism goes back to my awakening enthusiasm for the art of the Far East in the early 1940s. I recall quite vividly a sensation of deep regret (possibly as I read her obituary) that this woman for whom I felt such a strong affinity had disappeared without my having had the opportunity to meet her. Little did I anticipate the future! Two years after I had installed myself in a small village in Provence, I discovered how close I was to her former home. It was the publicity announcing the first visit of His Holiness in 1982 that brought it to my attention, and resulted in my undertaking the first of many promenades across the undulating landscape that lies between my home and Digne. During this period my command of French, forced by my constructing a house in a region where no one spoke English, had developed to a level where Mme. Nels books, many of which have never been translated into English, were at last accessible to me. As I pored over the pages, I became aware that my coming to France was in truth a migration of greater consequence than I had imagined. On winter nights I closed my shutters against the starlit chill of Provence, and entered the world of Alexandra. Through the long hours, wrapped in shawls against the cold as my unattended fire was reduced to embers, I became increasingly fascinated and involved. I joined her pilgrimages through India, China, Japan, Mongolia, and Tibet. I allowed her to guide me through the mazes of mystery and magic that lured her incessantly into unexplored regions. I witnessed her awakening to the wisdom of Buddhist teaching, laughed over the asides inspired by British colonial protocol, and marveled at the determination with which she availed herself of her minuscule bathtub, undaunted by the rigors of the Himalayan winter. By day, on canvas, I explored the landscape of southern France. By night I climbed the Himalayan peaks and traversed the Chinese deserts. Inevitably my two words began to merge, the inner and outer landscapes to harmonize.