"I am afraid, dear Mother, her progress towards recovery is slow."
"I don't agree with you. A great nervous breakdown! That journey to
Rome, only to see her father die before her eyes, was a great shock--
such a one as it would take anybody a long time to recover from.
Evelyn is very highly-strung, there can be no doubt of that. I wonder
how it is that you don't understand?"
"But I do understand, dear Mother, only I find it hard to believe
that the time has come for her to take the white veil."
"Or that it will ever come?"
"The other day she said in the novitiate she was sure she would go to
hell, and that she wouldn't be able to bear the uncertainty much
longer...."
"What ever did she mean? You must have misunderstood her, Mother
Hilda." And the Prioress determined to talk to Evelyn "on the first
occasion"--the first occasion with the Prioress meant the very next
minute. So she went in search of her, and finding her by the
fishpond, quite unaware that any one was watching her, the thought
crossed the Prioress's mind that Hilda might be right after all:
Evelyn might be sitting there thinking how, after a short struggle,
the water would end the misery that was consuming her.
"Evelyn, dear, of what are you thinking?"
"Only of the fish, dear Mother. You know they are quite deaf; fish
haven't ears. There is a legend, however, of a boy playing the flute
and the fish leaping to listen."
"If her health doesn't improve," the Prioress said to herself, "we
shall not be able to keep her.
"Evelyn, dear, you are not looking very well; I am afraid you haven't
been sleeping lately."
"Last night I hardly closed my eyes, dear Mother, and to-day there is
no reality anywhere. One begins to hate everything--the shapes of the
trees, the colour of the sky."
"It is just what I suspected," the Prioress said to herself, "she was
thinking of suicide. Suicide in a convent--such a thing has never
happened. Yet why shouldn't such a thing happen? Everything happens
in this world."
But, notwithstanding some alarming relapses, Evelyn's health
continued to improve, slowly, but it continued to improve; and after
a long day's work in the garden she would talk quite cheerfully,
saying that that night for sure she would get some hours of sleep.
The Prioress listened, saying to herself, "There is no doubt that
manual work is the real remedy, the only remedy." Sister Mary John
was of the same opinion, and the Prioress relied on Sister Mary John
to keep Evelyn hoeing and digging when it was fine, and making nets
in the work-shop when it was wet. She was encouraged to look after
the different pets; and there were a good many to look after; her
three cats occupied a good deal of her time, for the cats were always
anxious to kill her tame birds. One cat had killed several, so the
question had arisen whether he should be drowned in the fishpond or
trained to respect caged birds. The way to do this, Evelyn had been
told, was to put a caged bird on the ground in front of the cat, and,
standing over him with a cane, strike swiftly and severely the moment
the cat crouched to spring. A cat above all other animals hates to be
beaten, for a cat is probably one of the most sagacious animals, more
even than a dog, though he does not care to show it. The beating of
the cat was repellent to Evelyn, but Sister Mary John had no such
scruples, and the beatings proved so efficient that the cat would run
away the moment he was shown a bird in a cage. In turn each of the
cats received its lesson, and henceforth Evelyn's last presents--
blackbirds, thrushes, linnets, and bull-finches--lived in safety.
The feeding of these birds and the cleaning of the aviary occupied
two hours a day during the winter. She had also her greenhouse to
attend to; herself and Sister Mary John, with some help from the
outside, had built one, and hot-water pipes had been put in; and her
love of flowers was so great that she would run down the garden even
when the ground was covered with snow to stoke up the fire, if she
thought she had forgotten to do so, saying that they would have no
tulips, or lily of the valley, or azaleas for the altar, if the
temperature were allowed to drop. Her talk was all about her garden,
and when the spring returned she was working there constantly with
Sister Mary John in the morning till the Angelus rang at twelve; then
they went into dinner, and as soon as dinner was over Evelyn returned
with Sister Mary John to the garden and worked till it was time to go
into church for Benediction. Or sometimes they left the garden when
the other nuns went there for recreation, having music to try over,
for now, since she had recovered her health, Evelyn sang every day at
Benediction.
"There is no reason why she should remain any longer with us," the
Prioress often said, "unless there is some hope of her staying
altogether. You will admit, Hilda, that her health is much improved,
and that she is capable now of arriving at some decision."
"There is no doubt her health is improving."
"And her piety--have you noticed it? She almost sets us an example."
Mother Hilda did not answer, and the Prioress understood her silence
to mean that she would hardly look upon Evelyn as an example for the
convent to follow.
"Well, something will have to be decided." And one evening the
Prioress asked Mother Philippa and Mother Hilda to her room after
evening prayers.
"We were talking of Evelyn the other day in the garden, Hilda, and
you admitted that she was in a state now to decide whether she should
go or stay."
"You mean, dear Mother, that Evelyn must either leave us or join the
community?"
"Or show some signs that she wishes to join it. Her postulancy has
been unduly prolonged; it is nearly a year since she returned from
Rome, and she was a postulant for six months before that."
"You think that if she hadn't a vocation she would have left us
before? But are you not forgetting that she was suffering from a
nervous breakdown, and came here with the intention of seeking rest
rather than becoming one of us?"
"Her health has been mending this long while. Really, Hilda--"
"I am sorry, Mother, if I seem stubborn."
"Not stubborn, but I should like to hear you explain your reasons for
thinking Evelyn has not a vocation. And Mother Philippa is most
anxious to hear them, too."
Mother Philippa listened, thinking of her bed, wondering why Mother
Mary Hilda kept them up by refusing to agree with the Prioress.
"I am afraid I shall not be able to say anything that will convince
you. I have had some experience--"
"We know that you are very experienced, otherwise you would not be
the Mistress of the Novices. You don't believe in Evelyn's vocation?"
"I'm afraid I don't, and--"
"And what, Mother Hilda? We are here for the purpose of listening to
you. We shall be influenced by everything you say, so pray speak your
mind fully."
"About Evelyn? But that is just my point; there is nothing for me to
say about her. I hardly know her; she has hardly been in the
novitiate since she returned from Rome." "You think before taking the
veil she should receive more religious instruction from you?"
"She certainly should. I grant you Evelyn is a naturally pious woman,
and that counts for a great deal; but what I attach importance to is
that she is still alien to the convent, knowing hardly anything of
our rule, of our observances. A novice spends six months in the
novitiate with me learning obedience, how to forget herself, how she
is merely an instrument, and how the greatest purpose of her life is
to obey."
"It is impossible to overestimate the value of obedience, but there
are some--I will not say who can dispense with obedience, of course
not, but who cannot put off their individualities, who cannot become
the merely typical novice--that one who would tell you, if she were
asked to describe the first six months of her life in the convent,
that all she remembered was a great deal of running up and down
stairs. There are some who may not be moulded, but who mould
themselves; and they are not the worst, sometimes they are the best
nuns. For instance, Sister Mary John--who will doubt her vocation?
And yet there is not a more headstrong nun in our community. I don't
wish to say one word against Sister Mary John, who is an example to
us all; it is only to answer your objection that I mentioned her."
"Sister Mary John is quite different," Mother Hilda answered. And,
after waiting some moments for Mother Hilda to continue, the Prioress
said:
"You would wish her, then, to spend some time longer with you in the
novitiate?"
"I am not sure it would be of any use. There is another matter about
which I hardly like to speak; still, I must remind you that the
convent has never been the same since she came here. She has not been
herself since she came back from Rome, but now she is regaining
herself, and you cannot have failed to notice that both Sister Mary
John and Veronica are drawn towards her. I am sure they are not aware
of it, and would resent my criticism as unjust. Not only Sister Mary
John and Veronica, but all of us; it seems to me that we all talk too
much about her... I am sometimes almost glad that she is so little in
the novitiate. Her influence on such simple-minded young women as
Sister Jerome and Sister Barbara must be harmful--how could it be
otherwise, coming out of another world? and her voice, too--you don't
agree with me?" And Mother Hilda turned to Mother Philippa. Mother
Philippa shook her head, and confessed she had not the slightest
notion of what Mother Hilda meant.
"But you have, dear Mother?"
"Yes, I know very well what you mean, only I don't agree with you.
Her singing, of course, gives her an exceptional position in the
convent, but I don't think she avails herself of it; indeed, her
humility has often seemed to me most striking."
"In that I agree with you," Mother Hilda answered; "so I feel that
perhaps, after all, I may be misjudging her."
At this concession the Prioress's manner softened at once towards the
Mistress of the Novices.
"Well, Hilda, come, tell me, have you said everything you have to
say? Have you given us your full reasons for not wishing Evelyn to
take the veil if she should decide to do so? I see you hesitate. I
asked you here to-night so that you might speak your mind. Let
everything be said. There is no use telling me afterwards that you
didn't say things because you thought I wouldn't like to hear them.
Say everything."
Pressed by the Prioress, Mother Hilda admitted that she was concerned
regarding the motive which actuated the Prioress and Mother Philippa.
"I include her."
Mother Philippa looked up suddenly. The Prioress smiled.
"My motive!" said Mother Philippa.
"Nothing is farther from my thought than to attribute a wrong motive
to anybody, but I am not quite sure, dear Mother, that you would be
as anxious for Evelyn to join our community if she had no money...
and no voice."
"Situated as we are, we cannot accept penniless women as choir
sisters. You know that well enough--am I not right, Mother Philippa?"
And Mother Philippa agreed that no one could be admitted into the
convent as a choir sister unless she brought some money with her.
"But you hold a different opinion, Hilda?"
"I understand that we cannot admit as a choir sister a woman who has
no money; but that is quite different from admitting an opera singer
because she has money and can sing for us. It seems to me that nuns
devoted to Perpetual Adoration should not yield themselves to money
considerations."
"Yield to money considerations--no; but as long as we live upon
earth, we shall live dependent upon money in some form or another.
Our pecuniary embarrassments--you know all about them. I need not
refer to the mortgagee, who, at any moment, may foreclose. Think of
what it would be if this house were to be put up for sale, and we had
all to return to our relations. How many are there who have relations
who would take them in? And the lay sisters--what would become of
them and our duties towards them--they who have worked for us all
these years? Sister Lawrence--would you like to see her on the
roadside, or carried to the workhouse? Spiritual considerations come
first, of course, but we must have a house to live in and a chapel to
pray in. Do you never think of these things, Hilda?"
"Yes, and I appreciate the anxiety our pecuniary difficulties cause
you, dear Mother. I am not indifferent, I assure you, but I cannot
help feeling that anything were better than we should stop, instead
of going forward, towards the high ideal--"
"Well, Hilda, are you prepared to risk it? We have a chance of
redeeming the convent from debt--will you accept the responsibility?"
"Of what, dear Mother?"
"Of refusing to agree that Evelyn shall be allowed to take the white
veil, if she wishes to take it."
"But taking the white veil will not enable us to get hold of her
money. We shall have to wait till she is professed."
"But if she is given the white veil," the Prioress answered sternly,
"she will be induced to remain. The fact of her taking the white veil
is a great inducement, and a year hence who knows--"
"Well, dear Mother, you will act, I am sure, for the best. Perhaps it
would have been better if you had not consulted me; but, having
consulted me, I had to tell you what I think. I am aware that in
practical matters I am but a very poor judge. Remember, I passed,
like Veronica, from the schoolroom to the convent. But you know the
world."
"It is very kind of you to admit so much; but it seems to me, Hilda,
you are only admitting that much so as to give a point to your
contention, or what I suppose is your contention--that those who
never knew the world may attain to a more intense spirituality than
poor women such as myself and Mother Philippa here, who did not enter
the convent as early in life as you did... but who renounced the
world."
The sharp tone of the Prioress's voice, when she mentioned Mother
Philippa's name, awoke the nun, who had been dozing.
"Well, Mother Philippa, what is your opinion?"
"It seems to me," the nun answered, now wide awake, "that it is a
matter for Evelyn to decide. You think I was asleep, but I wasn't; I
heard everything you said. You were discussing your own scruples of
conscience, which seem to me quite beside the question. Our
conscience has nothing to do with the matter; it is all a question
for Evelyn to decide herself... as soon as she is well, of course."
"And she is now quite well. I will see her to-morrow on the subject."
On this the Prioress rose to her feet, and the other two nuns
understood that the interview was at an end.
"Dear Mother, I know how great your difficulties are," said Mother
Hilda, "and I am loth to oppose your wishes in anything. I know how
wise you are, how much wiser than we--but however foolishly I may
appear to be acting, you will understand that I cannot act
differently, feeling as I do."
"I understand that, Hilda; we all must act according to our lights.
And now we must go to bed, we are breaking all the rules of the
house."