_LIFE AT FELTHAM CONVENT._
Ten years were passed by me at Feltham. Father Ignatius did not have very
much to do with us there. The Mother, I think, used to let him know that
she did not consider it a man’s place to govern a number of women so
entirely as he wished to do. Besides, he sometimes gave orders which she
thought very indiscreet, from which great scandal might arise; and, being
somewhat older than Father Ignatius, she took the liberty of representing
to him, rather strongly, her views about his orders and doings. At times
he would suddenly give orders from the so-called “altar,” where of
course no one could well remonstrate, and which would put the household
arrangements out for the whole day, though he seemed to be in a great
state of consternation when matters did not go forward smoothly in
consequence of his orders. Sometimes, before breakfast, he would order
that no one, not even the reverend Mother, should speak for a whole day,
thus causing the utmost confusion, especially amongst the servants in the
kitchen, who were included in the eccentric command. And yet if his own
dinner was not properly cooked and served in time, he would show great
displeasure. Another time I recollect how he ordered a young and delicate
sister, who was very ill and consumptive, to walk bare-footed in the snow
up and down the garden. On another occasion he ordered her to carry a
number of stones till she had made a great heap, and then, when she had
done this, he ordered her to carry them all back again! I remember also
that once he ordered a young monk, who had come to Feltham with him, to
put on a high hat, and then to hop up and down the centre path in the
convent garden, so that all the nuns might see him. He did this to test
the young monk’s humility and obedience, and to see if he was willing
to become a fool for Christ’s sake. The nuns did see this extraordinary
sight, and exclaimed:
“Dear Mother, do look at Brother ⸺. Is he not a perfect fool?”
Nothing was too idiotic to impose in the name of holy obedience. I have
seen, for instance, a brother, instead of kneeling to receive Holy
Communion, standing afar off, holding up a black kettle, and at grace, in
the refectory, with the muddy street door mat on his head. I have seen a
sister with a handkerchief tied over her eyes, as if she was just ready
for a game of blind man’s buff. Remember, these follies were ordered to
be done as penances, and penances were said to be special gifts of love
from the Lord Jesus Christ! What profanity!
I am sure the reverend Mother had the greatest trial in Father Ignatius’
freaks, or whatever they may be called; and she soon began to get sick of
them, and would dread the ten days he would sometimes spend at Feltham;
for she never knew what he was going to do or order next. Once he
intended to bring a young monk, ill from his monastery, to be nursed by a
young novice nun, and she was to devote the whole of her time to looking
after him. This might have been well enough if we had been sisters of
charity; but we were enclosed nuns, and were not allowed to see the face
of a man, except, of course, our Superior. The Mother would not hear of
such a thing, or allow the sick monk to come to the house, as she was
sure it would prove an occasion of scandal. She thus set up her will and
judgment to oppose Father Ignatius, and she did this on more than one
occasion. But at last Father Ignatius boldly asserted that he was quite
determined to have nothing but _unconditional obedience_. The Mother, and
the majority of nuns in the Feltham convent, refused to accept such an
unconditional obedience, and the result was that a split took place. The
Mother would not sign a paper of unconditional and personal obedience,
and so Father Ignatius said to those who refused: “You no longer belong
to the order of the Monk Ignatius of Llanthony in the nineteenth
century.” However, he took with him three nuns who were ready to render
the obedience he required. I was one of the three. Another of the number
was the nun who took novice vows when I did. She had, however, meanwhile
broken her vows, and had gone into the world for some six years, and
had been a wife and mother. Her husband and child having died, she had
returned to Feltham a few months before this split had taken place.
It is astonishing to contemplate how absolutely Father Ignatius required
us to yield our wills to his will. Whatsoever he demanded was, he said,
distinctly God’s will for us, and whatsoever we did for him was God’s
will. To use his own oft-repeated words:
“It must be so sweet for you to wait upon your Superior, because in so
doing you are really waiting upon God; in fact, in waiting upon your
Superior, like Martha of old, you are waiting upon the Lord Himself.”
I can assure my readers that we poor deluded nuns believed in all this;
and, so far as obedience would permit, we literally vied with each other
in waiting upon our Superior and preparing for him the very best we
could, for we felt that nothing could be too well prepared in waiting,
as we thought, upon the Lord. There was no greater penance to us than
to be debarred from waiting upon his will. If any one was in disgrace
for breaking rule, he would neither speak nor even look at her, nor even
allow her to kiss the hem of his sacred dress!
After we had left Feltham a few weeks, Father Ignatius, and the widowed
nun who had accompanied him, wrote several letters, in which the rebel
nuns of Feltham were exhorted to return to their Father, by submitting
to unconditional obedience. He allowed them, I think, three weeks to
consider the matter; and if, at the close of that time, they remained
obstinate, he would, he declared, excommunicate them, and then the awful
curse of broken vows would rest upon them. The threatened curse was at
length pronounced. The altar was draped in black, and an excommunication
service was read through. I was greatly terrified at this most strange
yet solemn act. I remember well the words that were uttered at this
service:
Unless they repent of this their sin, may they be blotted out
of the book of life. Amen, Amen.
Here the bell tolled. I was well nigh petrified with fear, and thought
to myself, “Can all the Feltham nuns really be under this awful curse?”
At the first opportunity I asked Father Ignatius if the bell was really
tolled for the Feltham Mother and nuns? He said, “Certainly it was.” I
exclaimed, “How awful!” He replied, “True, my child, but it had to be
done.” I remember how he often prophesied that the community at Feltham
would only flourish like a green bay-tree for a time, and that ere long
it would pass out of existence; and I must honestly confess that he did
his very utmost to bring it to nought, by efforts to draw away friends
and support from it. It has ever been a peculiarity of Father Ignatius
to curse and excommunicate people; but those who are thus cursed only
flourish all the more.