Collected Works of E M Delafield

by E M Delafield

  Ever your loving child, Zella.

  Two months later.

  VlLLETSWOOD, Dearest Little One, June 2

  I am glad you are so happy. My thoughts were altogether with you all yesterday, but I understood your desire not to have your attention distracted by any home presence. Your vivid description of the ceremony of your reception into the Church almost made me feel as though I had seen it.

  You must write to your Aunt Marianne yourself, my Zella dear. I am afraid she will be distressed; and if she writes to me, as she probably will, I will try to convince her that you took this step of your own free will, and not under threats of being walled up alive in a convent cell.

  You will have heard from both Grand’mere and Tante Stephanie, who are very happy that you should have become a Catholic.

  I am looking forward to having you for the holidays, my darling.

  Ever your loving father, L. De K.

  BOSCOMBE, Tuesday, My Dearest Zella, Your letter came as a very great shock both to Uncle Henry and myself, although I have always expected something of the kind to happen ever since I first knew that poor papa had decided to send his little daughter to a Roman Catholic convent school.

  One cannot help feeling, dear, that it is all very sad, that you should change the religion into which you were born, although I cannot say that I think you are old enough to know in the very least what you are doing.

  Of course I know very well that nowadays chopping and changing is the fashion, and young people are supposed to know their own minds, instead of being guided by those older and wiser. But if your dear mother had been here, this would probably never have happened. This saddens Aunt Marianne very much, my poor little Zella! but you must not feel that she loves you any the less. When you get tired of the Sisters who seem to have gained such a hold upon you, remember that there is always a welcome waiting for you here, and comfort and advice should you wish for it.

  In any case, God bless you, my poor child!

  Your affectionate Aunt Marianne.

  BOSCOMBE, My Dear Louis, Tuesday I have just been writing to poor little Zella, and now feel that I should not be doing my duty if I did not tell you quite frankly all that is in my mind. Poor little Zella’s letter (which was obviously written at the suggestion, if not the actual dictation, of the Sisters) came to me as a great shock, though hardly as a surprise. One had felt that something of the kind was almost bound to happen, sad though it all is.

  You must not think that I underrate the fascination of the Roman Catholic Church. They are all very clever and artful, as one knows perfectly well, and it is very natural that a child of Zella’s age, without a mother, should let herself be taken in by the glamour of it all. But what I cannot understand is how you should have given your consent, which she assures me you did, to her leaving the Church and the faith in which dear Esmee was born, and in which she lived and died — as I need not remind you, Louis — in order to become a Roman Catholic at the bidding of these ignorant and terribly mistaken women.

  One cannot help feeling that, if poor little Zella had not been the only child of a rich man, the Sisters would never have taken all this trouble to get hold of her, though no doubt she is far too innocent and inexperienced to have any suspicions of this. But, after all, as I always say, what is experience given us for, if not to guide and help others, especially the young people in our care?

  Now, what I would suggest is this: Take poor little Zella away from this convent at once. You may think that this is shutting the stable door after the steed has been stolen, but better late than never is what I always say; and she can come straight to us for a few months, and then go with Muriel (of course under Miss Vincent’s care) to finish her education by a year in Munich. Otherwise, Louis, mark my words, the next step will be that the Sisters will persuade Zella into becoming a nun. Girls are very impressionable and easily influenced, and the nuns will certainly stick at nothing where an heiress is concerned. One has heard of frightful cases where girls no older than poor little Zella have been trapped into taking vows that have ruined their whole lives. Of course one is broad-minded enough to know that some nuns do real good in the world, nursing or looking after the poor, but I cannot feel that it is what God really meant for any of us. After all, marriage is a woman’s natural sphere, and, depend upon it, if each of these poor Sisters had found a good man to look after her, they would never have thought of shutting themselves up in such a morbid and unnatural life.

  One does not want to depress you, Louis, since I know that you are probably feeling sad already at the thought of poor little Zella’s folly; though I cannot deny that it seems both to me and to Henry that a very little firmness on your part might have prevented the whole thing. But it is too late to cry over spilt milk. I do not know how far this mad step that she has taken is irretrievable, but one cannot help hoping that when she is a little older and wiser Zella may see the beauty of her own true Church, and get over this infatuation for mere ritual and flowers and incense.

  Well, dear Louis, this is a long letter indeed, but I felt that you would need comfort, as I do myself. Let me know if and when you will send Zella to us. She shall not hear one word of reproach, but I can’t help thinking that when she is in the wholesome atmosphere of English home life again all this nonsense will be forgotten. After all, she is not even quite seventeen, and, as I always say, while there is life there is hope.

  Ever your affectionate Marianne Lloyd-evans.

  VILLETSWOOD, My Dear Marianne, July 7

  Your suggestion of having Zella with you for the present is an extremely kind one, and I trust that you will see no lack of gratitude in my refusal of the invitation on her behalf. Her holidays begin in a fortnight’s time, and she will spend them at Villetswood with me, as I am anxious to judge for myself how this new experience of hers is affecting her.

  I agree with you that it is not improbable that Zella’s imagination will turn, for a time at any rate, in the direction of convent life. But I am quite sure that she is not of the stuff of which nuns are made, and I think she is quite clever enough to discover that for herself without even getting so far as to make a trial of it.

  Believe me, Marianne, that I regret the pain which I know this act of Zella’s has caused you, but I have a strong conviction that the question of creed is an individual one, and I should hardly have felt it right to withhold her from a step which she so greatly desired to take.

  She seems very happy, and I am assured by the convent authorities that she has made some real and practical efforts in the direction of self-conquest since the Catholic religion has become so great a reality to her.

  I hope that we shall see you and Henry some time this summer at Villetswood.

  Believe me, your affectionate LOUIS DE KERVOYOU.

  Villetswood, August 15 (Feast of the Assumption).

  Dearest Reverend Mother, Here at last is the long letter which I have been longing to write you ever since the holidays began. I really didn’t have time for more than notes before.

  Well, my holidays are being very nice, and though, of course, I miss the convent very, very much, especially the dear little chapel,. I can honestly say that I am very happy. My father and I had a long talk about religion the other evening, and I was able to tell him all the extraordinary graces I have been given, and how I really feel that God has led me to the Catholic Church in the most wonderful manner, and he was most kind and understanding. Of course, the Catholic religion doesn’t really convey much to him, but I do almost think it might be as you said, dear Reverend Mother, and his love for me lead him to think about it more than ever before. Of course, I am praying most frightfully hard that he may become a Catholic too some day, and I should be doubly happy if God allowed me to be the means of bringing him into the Church. I do hope that that thought isn’t a temptation to self-love?

  I am not forgetting all my promises to you. I make my meditation every morning, and find the books very helpful indeed; though I really prefer just
meditating on a chapter of the New Testament, and I never seem to grow tired, or to have distractions, over that. Of course, I say the rosary every day, and always have a most special intention for you, dear Reverend Mother. My father is very good about driving me over to Mass every Sunday, and also about the Friday abstinence. The other day I actually forgot all about it, and ate bacon at breakfast. I remembered afterwards, and felt very miserable, and wished that I could have been at the convent so as to ask you about it at once; but I felt sure that, as it really was an accident, it could not be a sin, and I remembered your saying that I had a tendency to scruples, so I just made a good act of contrition and then left it. I told the priest about it when I went to confession on Saturday, and he said it was quite all right.

  I do hope that you are not forgetting to pray for me, dear Reverend Mother. My very best love to everyone at the convent. I am looking forward to coming back again in September, and only wish that it wasn’t my last year.

  Always your most grateful and loving child, Zella.

  P.S. — I do wish I had always been called by my real name, Gisele, which is a Saint’s name.

  XVII

  When Zella returned to spend her last year at the convent, she found, as she had half hoped, that existence there had ceased to be monotonous. Spiritual experiences added interest and variety to life, and the progress of relations between her soul and its Creator admitted of endless meditations and of frequent consultations with Reverend Mother.

  The effect of Zella’s conversion upon the other girls was perhaps less startling than she had hoped, and certainly wore off long before she had ceased to feel all the self-consciousness of novelty every time that she took her place in the kneeling row of girls outside the confessional on Saturday afternoons. The nuns, with one or two exceptions that included the imperturbable Mother Veronica, continued to meet her gaze with an expression of softened and unusual interest, and Zella was complacently aware of being looked upon as a special testimonial to the mercy of Providence, but her secret desire for popularity among her schoolmates came no nearer fulfilment.

  Kathleen Mallet had left the school at midsummer, and Zella was glad that she need no longer be reminded of an episode the humiliation of which she still remembered with exaggerated shame and misery.

  But even the pretence at friendship which had enlivened her intercourse with Kathleen never found its way into her relationship with any of the other girls.

  Zella began to wonder despairingly what was lacking in her that she could neither attract nor be attracted by any one of her compeers. She grew to look upon it as a strange stigma, something that set her apart from the other girls, and speedily exaggerated her point of view into a species of monstrous secret sorrow.

  She felt lowered in her own estimation. Indeed, the whole heart of her trouble lay in the fact that the good-natured indifference which was all that her companions conceded to her, violently disturbed Zella’s own conception of herself as the slender central figure on whom all eyes should inevitably be fixed on every possible occasion.

  She had not been a Catholic for more than three months, when a sudden inspiration provided her with the solution to this distressing problem.

  Human love had been denied her. Might not this have been ordained with a distinct view to the exclusive nature of Divine love?

  Zella felt a throb of intense gratification, which she mistook for blinding illumination, as this view of the case presented itself to her. Called by God to belong to Himself alone! What could be clearer, more inevitable, one might say more suitable?

  No wonder that human intercourse had failed to satisfy her!

  Zella burned to impart her new discovery to Reverend Mother. She wrote a little note asking for an interview, and for the next two days trod upon air, as she mentally rehearsed the few simple sentences in which she would make clear to Reverend Mother the number and magnitude of the sacrifices entailed upon her by the high destiny to which she was called.

  Reverend Mother, however, did not altogether rise to the occasion. After receiving Zella’s modest assurance that God had now made clear to her the exceptional vocation designed for her, Reverend Mother replied with an unenthusiastic smile:

  “Ah, my dear child, many souls have thought that, in the first ardour of conversion. But a true vocation to the religious life is a rare thing, and not to be settled in a moment.”

  Zella tried not to look disconcerted.

  “I know that,” she said in a tone of blended firmness and humility. “And, of course, it would mean suffering and sacrifice; but I feel that it is worth it all.”

  “Indeed, yes; but your own strength would not be sufficient, my little Zella, and it needs a very clear call from God to enable a soul to follow Him in that especial way. The life of a religious is a hard one, and the grace to live it is not given to everyone.”

  Few arguments in favour of the religious life could have appealed more strongly to Zella’s temperamental vanity. She returned more firmly than ever:

  “Reverend Mother, I do really feel that God means me to be a nun. Of course I know that I may be mistaken (though I don’t think so), and in any case I should have to wait some time before entering, I suppose. But I felt I ought to tell you at once, and — and try to prepare myself, you know,” she added rather feebly.

  Yes, yes, you must try to be very faithful in little things. That is your business just now, is it not? You must not think me discouraging, child, but, you know, any idea of the religious life is apt to be looked upon merely as a phase through which many converts pass — a very generous impulse, but no more!”

  Zella’s expressive face betokened considerable mortification.

  “We will talk of this again later on. Meanwhile you must pray very much for light, and that Our Lord should show you what it is He wants of you. I feel sure that, whatever it is, you will try to do it, like a good generous child,” said Reverend Mother placidly, and not at all in the tones of one addressing a fervent young virgin martyr, preparing herself to renounce the world and all its pomps for the austerities of the cloister.

  “Had I better not say anything to my father at present, then?”

  “But no! Why should you distress him anew, when he has shown so much kindness and indulgence over your reception into the Church? He would reply, and very rightly, that you are far too young to decide such a question, and would probably remove you from the convent at once. Almost all parents, even the Catholic ones, are alike in such matters,” said Reverend Mother calmly.

  “And yet it is the highest destiny to which one could be called,” Zella murmured musingly.

  “Undoubtedly, but one should be very sure that one has indeed been called to it. Tell me, Zella, when did you first begin to think of this?”

  “I — I have been thinking about it, in a way, for some time,” stammered Zella, unwilling to descend to a precision which must indicate that exactly forty-eight hours had elapsed since the discovery of her religious vocation.

  “Even before I became a Catholic, I used to wonder very much about nuns, and what made them leave their own homes, or even their own country sometimes, and live a hard, mortified life, and yet seem so extraordinarily happy.”

  Reverend Mother looked, rather more attentively than before, at the enthusiast, who had pinned to her face an expression of mingled awe and spirituality, tinged and irradiated by a sort of innocent confidence.

  “And do you still wonder?”

  “I think I know, now,” softly replied Zella, and felt that she had scored a point.

  Reverend Mother was silent for a moment, during which Zella, though by this time with some slight difficulty, still held the component parts of her expression together.

  “Well, my dear child,” said Reverend Mother at last, to Zella’s relief, “it may be that you are indeed called to follow Our Lord in the highest possible way. I need not tell you how deeply glad and thankful I shall be if it proves so. But, on the other hand, this may be, as I said before, s
imply a good generous impulse that has very likely been permitted in order that you may become more fervent. You must pray much, Zella, and I will pray for you as well, that you may be shown Our Lord’s will very clearly.”

  “I felt I had to tell you,” repeated Zella wistfully.

  “I am very glad that you did so,” kindly returned Reverend Mother, “and we must have some further talks together. Tell me one thing: had you reflected as to which particular Order you might be called upon to enter?”

  Zella had not, but instantly recalled the abridged Life of St. Theresa which was being read aloud by one of the mistresses, and glibly replied:

  “I want to be a Carmelite, Reverend Mother, more than anything.”

  “Ah.”

  Reverend Mother appeared to be slightly amused, and Zella coloured with annoyance. She also wished that she had not so hastily committed herself to the Order of Mount Carmel, -reflecting on the picturesque cornette of a Sister of Charity, and on the greater opportunities afforded to these religious of edifying the outside world.

  “Of course, I’m not really sure about the Order,” she amended hurriedly. “I don’t know very much about different Orders yet.”

  “That is true,” remarked Reverend Mother, “and there is certainly time to decide upon that when we have discovered whether you have indeed received the grace of a religious vocation. I cannot tell about that at present, my child, and neither can you.”

  Zella looked rather bewildered.

  “Your confessor will be your best adviser when the time comes,” Reverend Mother explained. “But it has hardly come yet, I think. We must make very sure that you are not mistaking the good and eager impulse of your own heart, newly awakened to the true faith, for the voice of God.”

  Zella felt annoyed. She would have preferred, had it been possible, an immediate and public renunciation of all that life might be supposed to hold in readiness for her youth and beauty, and a solemn and beautiful ceremony, to take place in full view of all her convent companions, in which the young postulant of seventeen should bind herself, by vows of the most permanent and irrevocable nature, to a life of the highest contemplation and sternest austerity.