In Convent Walls

by Emily Sarah Holt

  PART THREE, CHAPTER 4.

  MORTIFYING THE WILL.

  "L'orgueil n'est jamais mieux deguise, et plus capable de tromper, que lorsqu'il se cache sous la figure de l'humilite."

  Rochefoucauld.

  "Oh, you have no idea how happy we are here!" said Sister Ada to Joan."I often pity the people who live in the world. Their time is filledwith such poor, mean things, and their thoughts must be so frivolous.Now our time is all taken up with holy duties, and we have no room forfrivolous thoughts. The world is shut out: it cannot creep in here. Weare the happiest of women."

  I happened to look at Sister Gaillarde, and I saw the beginning of oneof her grim smiles: but she did not speak.

  "Some of you do seem happy and peaceful," said Joan (she says I am tocall her Joan). "But is it so with all?"

  Sister Gaillarde gave her little Amen nod.

  "Oh dear, yes!" answered Sister Ada. "Of course, where the will is notperfectly mortified, there is not such unbroken bliss as where it is.But when the rule of holy obedience is fully followed out, so that wehave no will whatever except that of our superiors, you cannot imaginewhat sweet peace flows into the soul. Now, if Father Benedict were tocommand me any thing, I should be positively delighted to do it, becauseit was a command from my superior. It would not in the least matterwhat it was. Nay, the more repugnant it was to my natural inclinations,the more it would delight me."

  Joan's eyes wandered to two or three other faces, with a look whichsaid, "Do you agree to this?"

  "Don't look at me!" said Sister Gaillarde. "I'm no seraph. It wouldn'tplease me a bit better to have dirty work to do because Father Benedictordered it. I can't reach those heights of perfection--never understoodthem. If Sister Ada do, I'm glad to hear it. She must have learned itlately."

  "I do not understand it, as Sister Ada puts it," said I, as Joan's eyescame to me. "I understand what it is to give up one's will in any thingwhen it seems to be contrary to the will of God, and to have more realpleasure in trying to please Him than in pleasing one's self. Iunderstand, too, that there may be more true peace in bearing a sorrowwherein God helps and comforts you, than in having no sorrow and nocomfort. But Sister Ada seems to mean something different--as if onewere to be absolutely without any will about any thing, and yet todelight in the crossing of one's will. Now, if I have not any wall, Ido not see how it is to be crossed. And to have none whatever wouldsurely make me something different from a woman and a sinner. I shouldbe like a harp that could be played on--not like a living creature atall."

  Two or three little nods came from Sister Gaillarde.

  "People who have no wills are very trying to deal with," said Margaret.

  "People who have wills are," said Sister Philippa.

  "Nay," said Margaret, "if I am to be governed, let it be by one that hasa will. `Do this,' and `Go there,' may be vexatious at times: but farworse is it to ask for direction, and hear only, `As you like,' `I don'tknow,' `Don't ask me.'"

  "Now that is just what I should like," said Sister Philippa. "I neverget it, worse luck!"

  "Did you mean me, Sister Margaret?" said Sister Ada, stiffly.

  "I cry you mercy, Mother; I was not thinking of you at all," answeredMargaret.

  "It sounded very much as if you were," said Sister Ada, in her iciestfashion. "I think, if you had been anxious for perfection, you wouldnot have answered me in that proud manner, but would have come here andentreated my pardon in a proper way. But I am too humble-minded toinsist on it, seeing I am myself the person affronted. Had it been anyone else, I should have required it at once."

  "I said--" Margaret got so far, then her brow flushed, and I could seethere was an inward struggle. Then she rose from the form, and layingdown her work, knelt and kissed the ground at Mother Ada's feet. Icould hear Sister Roberga whisper to Sister Philippa, "Thatmean-spirited fool!"

  Sister Gaillarde said in a softer tone than is her wont,--"_Beatipauperes spiritu: quoniam ipsorum est regnum caelorum_." [Matthew 5,verse 3.]

  "Thank you, Sister Gaillarde," said Sister Ada, quickly. "I scarcelyexpected recognition from _you_."

  "You got as much as you expected, then," said Sister Gaillarde, drily,with a look across at me which almost made me laugh.

  "I told you, I got more than I expected," was Sister Ada's answer.

  "Did you mean it for her?" asked Joan, in so low a voice that only thoseon each side of her could hear.

  "I meant it for whoever deserved it," was Sister Gaillarde's reply.

  Just then Mother Joan came in and sat down.

  "Sister Ada," she said, "Sister Marian tells me, that my Lady has givenorders for that rough black rug that nobody likes to be put on your bedthis week."

  "No, has she?" cried Sister Ada, in tones which, if she were delighted,very much belied her feelings. "How exceedingly annoying! What couldmy Lady be thinking of? She knows how I detest that rug. I shall notbe able to sleep a wink. Well! I suppose I must submit; it is my duty.But I do feel it hard that _all_ the disagreeable things should come tome. Surely one of the novices might have had that; it would have beengood for somebody whose will was not properly mortified. Really, I _do_think--Oh, well, I had better not say any more."

  Nor did she: but that night, as I was going round the children'sdormitory, little Damia looked up at me.

  "Mother, dear, what's the matter with Mother Ada?"

  "What did she say, my child?"

  "Oh, she didn't say any thing; but she has looked all day long as if shewould like to hit somebody."

  "Somebody vexed her a little, perhaps," said I. "Very likely she willbe all right to-morrow."

  "I don't know--she takes a long while to come right when any body hasput her wrong--ever so much longer than you or Sister Margaret. Thelightning comes into Sister Margaret's eyes, and then away it runs, andshe looks so sorry that she let it come; and you only look sorry withoutany lightning. But Mother Ada looks I don't know how--as if she'd liketo pull all the hair off your head, and all your teeth out of yourmouth, and wouldn't feel any better till she'd done it."

  I laughed, and told the child to go to sleep, and not trouble her littlehead about Mother Ada. But when I came into my cell, I began to wonderif Sister Ada's will is perfectly mortified. It does not look exactlylike it.

  Before I had done more than think of undressing, Sister Gaillarde rappedat my door.

  "Sister Annora, may I have a little chat with you?"

  "Do come in, Sister, and sit down," said I.

  "This world's a very queer place!" said Sister Gaillarde, sitting downon my bed. "It would not be a bad place, but for the folks in it: andthey are as queer as can be. I thought I'd just give you a hint,Sister, that you might feel less taken by surprise--I expect you'll havea lecture given you to-morrow."

  "What have I done?" I asked, rather blankly.

  Sister Gaillarde laughed till the tears came into her eyes.

  "Oh dear, the comicality of folks in this world!" saith she. "SisterAnnora, do you know that you are a very carnal person?"

  "Indeed, I have always feared so," said I, sorrowfully.

  "Rubbish!" said Sister Gaillarde in her most emphatic style. "Don't,for mercy's sake, be taken in by such nonsense. It is a wonder whatfolks can get into their heads when they have nothing else in them!Sister Ada is very much concerned about the low tone of spiritualitywhich she sees in you--stupid baggage! She is miserably afraid you area long way off perfection. I'm more concerned a deal about her."

  "But, Sister Gaillarde, it is true!" said I. "I am very, very far frombeing perfect, and I fear I never shall be."

  "Well!" saith she, "if I had to go into the next world holding on tosomebody's skirts, I'd a sight rather they were yours than Sister Ada's.I do think some folks were born just to be means of grace and nothingelse. Maybe it is as well some of them should get into nunneries."

  "Some are rather trying, I must admit," said I. "Sister Roberga--"

 
"Oh, Sister Roberga! she's just a butterfly and no better. Brush heroff--she's good for no more. But she isn't one that tries me like someother folks. You did not hear what happened yesterday between SistersAda and Margaret?"

  "No. What was it?"

  "Some of the Sisters were talking about hymns in recreation. SisterMargaret said she admired the _Dies Irae_. Sister Ada wanted to knowwhat she admired; she could not see any thing to admire; it was just ajingle of words, and nothing else. The rhymes might be good to rememberby--that was all. I saw the look on Sister Margaret's face: of courseshe did not answer the Mother. But I did. I told her that I believedif any one showed her a beautiful rose, she would call it a redvegetable. `Well,' quoth she, `and what is it else? I never smell arose or any other flower. We were put here to mortify our senses.'`Sister Ada,' said I, `the Lord took a deal of pains for nothing, so faras you were concerned.' Well, she said that was profane: but I don'tbelieve it. The truth is, she's just one of those dull souls thatcannot see beauty, nor smell fragrance, nor hear music; and so sheassumes her dulness as virtue, and tries to make it out that those whohave their senses are carnal and worldly. But just touch her pride, anddoesn't it fly up in arms! Depend upon it, Sister Annora, men are quiteas often taken for fools because they can see what other folks can't, asbecause they can't see what other folks can."

  "I dare say that is true," said I. "But--forgive me, Sister Gaillarde--ought we to be talking over our Sisters?"

  "Sister Annora, you are too good for this world!" she answered, ratherimpatiently. "If one may not let out a bit, just now and then, what isone to do?"

  "But," said I, "we were put here to mortify ourselves."

  "We were put here to mortify our sins," said she: "and wala wa! some ofus don't do it. I dare say old Gaillarde's as bad as any body. But Icannot stand Sister Ada's talk, when she wants to make every creature ofus into stones and stocks. She just inveighs against loving one anotherbecause she loves nobody but Ada Mansell, and never did. Oh! I knewher well enough when we were young maids in the world. She was an onlychild, and desperately spoiled: and her father joined in the Lancasterinsurrection long ago, and it ruined his fortunes, so she came into aconvent. That's her story. Ada Mansell is the pivot of her thoughtsand actions--always will be."

  "Nay," said I; "let us hope God will give her grace to change, if it beas you say."

  "It'll take a precious deal of grace to change some folks!" said SisterGaillarde, satirically. "Hope many of them won't want it at once, orthere'll be such a run upon the treasury there'll be none left for youand me. Well! that's foolish talk. My tongue runs away with me now andthen. Don't get quite out of patience with your silly old SisterGaillarde. Ah! perhaps I should have been a wiser woman, and a bettertoo, if something had not happened to me that curdled the milk of myhuman kindness, and sent me in here, just because I could not bearoutside any longer--could not bear to see what had been mine given toanother--well, well! We are all poor old sinners, we Sisters. And asto perfection--my belief is that any woman may be perfect in any life,so far as that means having a true heart towards God, and an honest wishto do His will rather than our own--and I don't believe in perfection ofany other sort. As to all that rubbish men talk about having no will atall, and being delighted to mortify your will, and so forth--my serviceto the lot of it. Why, what you like to have crossed isn't your will;what you delight in can't be mortification. It is just like playing atbeing good. Eh, dear me, there are some simpletons in this world!Well, good-night, Sister: _pax tibi_!"

  Sister Gaillarde's hand was on the latch when she looked back.

  "There, now I'm forgetting half of what I had to tell you. FatherHamon's going away."

  "Is he?--whither?"

  "Can't say. I hope our next confessor will be a bit more alive."

  "Father Benedict is alive, I am sure."

  "Father Benedict's a draught of vinegar, and Father Hamon's been a bowlof curds. I should like somebody betwixt."

  And Sister Gaillarde left me.

  She guessed not ill, for I had my lecture in due course. Sister Adacame into my cell--had she bidden me to hers, I should have had a chanceto leave, but of course I could not turn her forth--and told me she hadbeen for long time deeply concerned at my want of spiritual discernment."Truly, Sister, no more than I am," said I. "Now, Sister, you reckonme unkindly, I cast no doubt," saith she: "but verily I must be faithfulwith you. You take too much upon you,--you who are but just promoted toyour office--and are not ready enough to learn of those who have hadmore experience. In short, Sister Annora, you are very much wanting intrue humility."

  "Indeed, Sister Ada, it is too true," said I. "I beseech you, Sister,to pray that you may have your eyes opened to the discerning of yourfaults," saith she. "You are much too partial and prejudiced in yourgovernance of the Sisters, and likewise with the children. Some youkeep not under as you should; and to others you grant too littlefreedom."

  "Indeed, Sister, I am afraid it may be so, though I have tried hard toavoid it."

  "Well, Sister, I hope you will think of these things, and that our Lordmay give you more of the grace of humility. You lack it very much, Ican assure you. I would you would try to copy such of us as are reallyhumble and meek."

  "That I earnestly desire, Sister," said I: "but is it not better to copyour Lord Himself than any earthly example? I thank you for yourreproof, and I will try harder to be humble."

  "You know, Sister," said she, as she was going forth, "I have no wishbut to be faithful. I cannot bear telling others of their faults.Only, I _must_ be faithful."

  "I thank you, Sister Ada," said I.

  So away she went. Sister Gaillarde said when she saw me, with one ofher grim smiles--

  "Well! is the lecture over? Did she bite very hard?"

  "She saith I am greatly lacking in meekness and humility, and take toomuch on myself," said I: "and I dare say it is true."

  "Humph!" said Sister Gaillarde. "It would be a mercy if some folksweren't. And if one or two of us had a trifle more self-assertion,perhaps some others would have less."

  "Have I too much self-assertion, Sister?" I said, feeling sorry itshould be thus plain to all my Sisters. "I will really--"

  Sister Gaillarde patted me on the shoulder with her grimmest smile.

  "You will really spoil every body you come near!" said she. "Go yourways, Sister Annora, and leave the wasps in the garden a-be."

  "Why, I do," said I, "without they sting me."

  "Exactly!" said Sister Gaillarde, laughing, and away. I know not whatshe meant.

  Mother Joan is something troubled with her eyes, and the leech thinks itbest she should no longer be over the illumination-room, but be set tosome manner of work that will try the sight less. So I am appointedthereto in her stead. I cannot say I am sorry, for I shall see more ofJoan, since in this chamber she passes three mornings of a week. I meanmy child Joan, for verily she is the child of mine heart. And my verysoul yearns over her, for Sister though I be, I cannot help the thoughtthat had it not been for Queen Isabel's unjust dealing, I should havebeen her mother. May the good Lord forgive me, if it be sin! I knownow, that those deep grey eyes of hers, with the long black lashes,which stirred mine heart so strangely when she first came hither, arethe eyes of my lost love. I knew in myself that I had known such eyesaforetime, but it seemed to be long, long ago, as though in anotherworld. Much hath Joan told me of him; and all I hear sets him before meas man worthy of the best love of a good woman's heart, and whom mineheart did no wrong to in its enduring love. And I am coming to think--seeing, as it were, dimly, through a mist--that such love is not sin,neither disgrace, even in the heart of a maid devoted unto God. For Heknoweth that I put Him first: and take His ordering of my life, as beingHis, not only as just and holy, but as the best lot for me, and thatwhich shall be most to His glory and mine own true welfare. I say notthis openly, nor unto such as should be likely to misconceive me. Thereare some to whose p
ure and devoted souls all things indifferent arepure; and they are they that shall see God. And man saith that in theworld there are some also, unto whose vile and corrupt hearts all thingsindifferent are impure; and maybe not in the world only, but by timeseven in the cloister. So I feel that some might misread my meaning, andtake ill advantage thereof; and I keep my thoughts to myself, and toGod. I never ask Joan one question touching him of whom I treasureevery bye-note that she uttereth. Yet I know not how it is, but sheseems to love to tell me of him. Is it by reason she hath loved, thather heart hath eyes to see into mine?

  Not much doth Joan say of her mother to me: I think she names her moreto others. Methinks I see what she was--a good woman as women go (andsome of them go ill), with a little surface cleverness, that shereckoned to run deeper than it did, and inclined to despise her lord byreason his wit lay further down, and came not up in glittering bubblesto the top. I dare reckon she looked well to his bodily comforts andsuch, and was a better wife than he might have had: very likely, abetter than poor Alianora La Despenser would have made, had God orderedit thus. Methinks, from all I hear, that he hath passed behind thejasper walls: and I pray God I may meet him there. They wed not, nor begiven in marriage, being equal unto the angels: but surely the angelslove.

  Strange talk it was that Joan held with me yesterday. I marvel what itmay portend. She says, of late years many priests have put forthwritings, wherein they say that the Church is greatly fallen away fromthe verity of Scripture, and that all through the ages good men havesaid the same (as was the case with the blessed Robert de Grosteste,Bishop of Lincoln, over two hundred years gone, and with the holy Thomasde Bradwardine, Archbishop of Canterbury, and with Richard Rolle, thehermit of Hampole, whose holy meditations on the Psalter are in ourlibrary, and I have oft read therein): but now is there further stir, asthough some reforming of the Church should arise, such as BishopGrosteste did earnestly desire. Joan says her lord is earnest for thesenew opinions, and eager to promote them: and that he saith that both inthe Church and in matters politic, men sleep and nap for a season,during which slow decay goes on apace, and then all at once do they wakeup, and set to work to mend matters. During the reign of this presentKing, saith he, the world and the Church have had a long nap; and noware they just awake, and looking round to see how matters are all overdust and ivy, which lack cleansing away. Divers, both clerks andlaymen, are thus bestirring themselves: the foremost of whom is my Lordof Lancaster, the King's son [John of Gaunt], among the lay folk, andamong the clergy, one Father Wycliffe [Note 1], that was head of aCollege at Oxenford, and is now Rector of Lutterworth in Leicestershire.He saith (that is, Father Wycliffe) that all things are thus gone tocorruption by reason of lack of the salt preservative to be found inHoly Scripture. Many years back, did King Alfred our forefather setforth much of the said Scriptures in the English tongue; as much,indeed, as he had time, for his death hindered it, else had all the holyhooks been rendered into our English tongue. But now, by reason ofyears, the English that was in his day is gone clean out of mind, andman cannot understand the same: so there is great need for anotherrendering that man may understand now. And this Father Wycliffe hopesto effect, if God grant him grace. But truly, some marvellous strangenotions hath he. Joan says he would fain do away with all endowing ofthe Church, saying that our Lord and the Apostles had no such provision:but was that by reason it was right, or because of the hardness of men'shearts? Surely the holy women that ministered to Him of their substancedid well, not ill. Moreover, he would have all monkery done away, yea,clean out of the realm, and he hath mighty hard names for monks,especially the Mendicant Friars: yet of nuns was he never heard to speakan unkindly word. Strange matter, in good sooth! it nearly takes awaymy breath but to hear tell of it. But when he saith that the Popeshould have no right nor power in this realm of England, that is butwhat the Church of England hath alway held: Bishop Grosteste did asfervently abhor the Pope's power--"Egyptian bondage" was his word forit. Much has this Father also to say against simony: and he would haveno private confession to a priest (verily, this would I gladly seeabolished), nor indulgences, nor letters of fraternity, nor pilgrimages,nor guilds: and he sets his face against the new fashion of singing mass[intoning, then a new invention], and the use of incense in thechurches. But strangest of all is it to hear of his inveighing againstthe doctrine of the Church that the sacred host is God's Body. It isso, saith he, in figure, and Christ's Body is not eaten of men saveghostly and morally. And to eat Christ ghostly is to have mind of Him,how kindly He suffered for man, which is ghostly meat to the soul.[Arnold's English Works of Wycliffe, Volume 2, pages 93, 112.]

  Here is new doctrine! Yet Father Wycliffe, I hear, saith this is theold doctrine of the Apostles themselves, and that the contrary is thenew, having never (saith he) been heard of before the time of oneRadbert, who did first set it forth five hundred years ago [in 787]: andafter that it slumbered--being then condemned of the holy doctors--tillthe year of our Lord God 1215, when the Pope that then was forced it onthe Church. Strange matter this! I know not what to think.

  Joan says some of these new doctrine priests go further than FatherWycliffe himself, and even cast doubt on Purgatory and the worship [thisword then merely meant "honour"] of our Lady. Ah me! if they can provefrom God's Word that Purgatory is not, I would chant many thanksgivingsthereon! All these years, when I knew not if my lost love were dead oralive, have I thought with dread of that awful land of darkness andsorrow: yet not knowing, I could have no masses sung for him; and had Ibeen so able, I could never have told for whom they were, but only haveasked for them for my father and mother and all Christian souls, andhave offered mine own communion with intention thereto. Ay, and many atime--dare I confess it?--I have offered the same with that intent, ifhe should be to God commanded [dead]--knowing that God knew, and humblytrusting in His mercy if I did ill. But for the worship of our Lady,that is passing strange, specially to me that am religious woman. Forwe were always taught what a blessing it was that we had a woman to whomwe might carry our griefs and sorrows, seeing God is a man, and not solike to enter into a woman's feelings. But these priests say--I amalmost afraid to write it--this is dishonouring Christ who died for us,and who therefore must needs be full of tenderness for them for whom Hedied, and cannot need man nor woman--not even His own mother--to standbetwixt them and Him. O my Lord, have I been all these yearsdishonouring Thee, and setting up another, even though it be Thy blessedmother, between Thee and me? Yet surely He regardeth her honour fulldiligently! Said He not to Saint John, "Behold thy mother?"--and dothnot that Apostle represent the whole Church, who are thereby commandedto regard her, each righteous man, as his own very mother? [This is theteaching of the Church of Rome.] I remember the blessed Hermit ofHampole scarcely makes mention of her: it is all Christ in his book.And if it be so--of which Joan ensures me--in the Word of God, whereofshe hath read books that I have missed--verily, I know not what tothink.

  Lord, Thou wist what is error! Save me therefrom. Thou wist what istruth: guide me therein!

  It would seem that I have erred in offering my communions at all. Forif to eat Christ's Body be only to have mind of Him--and this isaccording to His own word, "_Hoc facite in meam commemorationem_"--howthen can there be at all any offering of sacrifice in the holy mass?Joan says that Saint Paul's Epistle to the Hebrews saith that we behallowed by the oblation of the body of Jesus Christ once, and thatwhere remission is, there is no more oblation for sin. Truly we haveneed to pray, Lord, guide us into Thy truth! and yet more, Lord, keep ustherein! I must think hereon. In sooth, this I do, and then up risessome great barrier to the new doctrine, which I lay before Joan: and asquickly as the sun can break forth and melt a spoonful of snow, does sheclear all away with some word of Saint Paul. She has his Epistles rightat her tongue's end. For instance, quoth I,--"Christ said He shouldbestow the Holy Spirit, to lead the Church into all truth. How then canthe Church err?"

  "What Church?" said s
he, boldly. "The Church is all righteous men thathold Christ's words: not the Pope and Cardinals and such like. Theselast have no right to hold the first in bondage."

  "But," said I, "Father Benedict told me Saint Paul bade the religious toobey their superiors: how much more all men to obey the Church?"

  "I marvel," saith she, "where Father Benedict found that. Never a wordsays Paul touching religious persons: there were none in his day."

  "No religious in Paul's day!" cried I.

  "Never so much as one," saith she: "not a monk, not a nun! FriarPareshull himself told me so much; he is a great man among us. SaintPeter bids the clergy not to dominate over inferiors; Saint Paul says tothe Ephesians that out of themselves (he was speaking to the clergy)should arise heretics speaking perversely; and Saint John says, `Believenot every spirit, but prove the spirits if they be of God.' Dear MotherAnnora, we are nowhere bidden in Scripture to obey the Church save onlyonce, and that concerns the settling of a dispute betwixt two members ofit. Obey the Church! why, we are ourselves the Church. Has not FatherRolle taught you so much? `Holy Kirk,' quoth he--`that is, ilkrighteous man's soul.' Verily, all Churches be empowered of Christ tomake laws for their own people: but why then must the Church of Englandobey laws made by the Bishop of Rome?"

  "Therein," said I, "can I fully hold with thee."

  "And for all things," she said earnestly, "let us hold to God's law, andtake our interpretation of it not from men, but straight from GodHimself. Lo! here is the promise of the Holy Ghost assured unto theChurch--to you, to me, to each one that followeth Christ. They thatkeep His words and are indwelt of His Spirit--these, dear Mother, arethe Church of God, and to them is the truth promised."

  I said nought, for I knew not what to answer.

  "There is yet another thing," saith Joan, dropping her voice low. "Canthat be God's Church which contradicts God's Word? David saith `Overall things Thou hast magnified Thy Name' [Note 2]: but I have heard of amost wise man, that could read ancient volumes and dead tongues, thatSaint Hierome set not down the true words, namely, `Over all Thy NameThou hast magnified Thy Word.' Now, if this be so--if God hath set upHis Word over all His Name--the very highest part of Himself--how dareany assemblage of men to gainsay it? What then of these indulgences andlicences to sin, which the Popes set forth? what of their suffering themto wed whom God has forbidden, and forbidding it to priests to whom Godhas suffered it? Surely this is the very thing which God points at,`teaching for doctrines the commandments of men.'"

  "But, Joan," said I, "my dear heart, did not our Lord say, `Whatsoeverye shall bind on earth shall be bound in Heaven?' Surely thatauthorises the Church to do as she will."

  "Contrary unto God's Word? It may give her leave to do her will withinthe limits of the Word: I trow not contrary thereto. When the Kinggiveth plenipotentiary powers to his Keeper of the Great Seal, his owndeposing and superseding, I reckon, are not among them. `All things aresubject unto Christ,' saith Paul; `doubtless excepting Him which didsubject all things unto Him.' So, if God give power of loosing andbinding to His Church, it cannot be meant that she shall bind Himselfwho thus endowed her, contrary to His own will and law."

  I answered nought, again, for a little while. At last I said, "Joan,there is a word that troubles me, and religious folks are always quotingit. `If a man hate not his father and his mother'--and so forth--hecannot be our Lord's disciple. I think I have heard it from one oranother every week since I came here. What say these new doctrine folksthat it means?"

  "Ours are old doctrines, Mother dear," saith she; "as old as theApostles of Christ. What means it? Why, go forth to the end, and youwill see what it means: he is to hate his own soul also. Is he then tokill himself, or to go wilfully into perdition? Nay, what can it mean,but only that even these dearest and worthiest loves are to be set belowthe worthier than them all, the love of the glory of God? That our Lordnever meant a religious person should neglect his father and mother, isplainly to be seen by another word of His, wherein he rebukes thepriests of His day, because they taught that a man might bestow inoblation to God what his father's or his mother's need demanded of him.Here again, he reproves them, because they rejected the command of Godin order to keep their own tradition. You see, therefore, that when theChurch doth this, it is not ratified in Heaven."

  "Then," said I, after a minute's thought, "I am not bidden to hatemyself, any more than my relations?"

  "Why should we hate one whom God loveth?" she answered. "To hate ourselfishness is not to hate ourselves."

  I sat a while silent, setting red eyes and golden claws to my greenwyvern, and Joan ran the white dots along her griffin's tail. When shecame to the fork of the tail, she laid down her brush.

  "Mother," she saith--the dear grey eyes looking up into my face--"shallwe read together the holy Scripture, and beseech God to lead us into alltruth?"

  "Dear child, we will do so," said I. "Joan, didst thou ever read inholy Scripture that it was wicked to kiss folks?"

  She smiled. "I have read there of one," saith she, "who stole up behindthe holiest of all men that ever breathed, and kissed His feet: and therebuke she won from Him was no more than this: `Her many sins areforgiven her, and she loved much.' So, if a full sinful woman mightkiss Christ without rebuke, methinks, if it please you, Mother dear, youmight kiss me."

  Well, I knew all my life of that woman, but I never thought of it thatway before, and it is marvellous comforting unto me.

  My Lady sent this morning for all the Mothers together. Mine heart wentpitter-patter, as it always doth when I am summoned to her chamber. Itis only because of her office: for if she were no more than a commonSister, I am sorely afraid I should reckon her a selfish, lazy woman:but being Lady Prioress, I cannot presume to sit in judgment on mysuperiors thus far. We found that she had sent for us to introduce usto the new confessor, whose name is Father Mortimer, he is tall, andgood-looking (so far as I, a Sister, can understand what is thought tobe so in the world), and has dark, flashing eyes, which remind me ofMargaret's, and I should say also of that priest that once confessed us,did I not feel certain that this is the same priest himself. He willbegin his duties this evening at compline.

  Sister Gaillarde said to me as we came forth from my Lady,--"Had I beena heathen Greek, and lived at the right time, methinks I should have wedDemocritus."

  "Democritus! who was he?" said I.

  "He was named the Laughing Philosopher," said she, "because he was everlaughing at men and things. And methinks he did well."

  "What is there to laugh at, Sister Gaillarde?"

  "Nothing you saw, Saint Annora."

  "Now you are laughing at me," said I, with a smile.

  "My laugh will never hurt you," answered she. "But truly, betwixtSister Ada and the peacock--They both spread their plumes to be lookedat. I wonder which Father Mortimer will admire most."

  "You surely never mean," said I, much shocked, "that Sister Ada expectsFather Mortimer to admire her!"

  "Oh, she means nothing ill," said Sister Gaillarde. "She only admiresAda Mansell so thoroughly herself, that she cannot conceive it possiblethat any one can do otherwise. Let her spread her feathers--it won'thurt. Any way, it will not hurt him. He isn't that sort of animal."

  Indeed, I hope he is not.

  When my Lady dismissed us, I went to my work in the illumination-room,where Joan, with Sister Annot and Sister Josia, awaited my coming. Ibade Sister Josia finish the Holy Family she was painting yesterday fora missal which we are preparing for my Lord's Grace of York; I toldSister Annot to lay the gold leaf on the Book of Hours writing for myLady of Suffolk; and as Margaret, who commonly works with her, was notyet come, I began myself to show Joan how to coil up the tail of agriffin--she said, to put a yard of tail into an inch of parchment. Itappeared to amuse her very much to see how I twisted and interlaced thetracery, so as to fill up every little corner of the parallelogram.When the outline was drawn, and she began to fill it with cobalt, as
Isat by, she said suddenly yet softly--

  "Mother Annora, I have been considering whether I should tell yousomething."

  "Tell me what, dear child?" quoth I.

  "I am afraid," said she, "I shocked you yesterday, making you think Iwas scarcely sound in the faith. Yet where can lie the verity of thefaith, if not in Holy Writ? And I marvelled if it should aggrieve youless, if you knew one thing--yet that might give you pain."

  "Let me hear it, Joan."

  "Did you know," said she, dropping her voice low, "that it was in partfor heresy that your own father suffered death?"

  "My father!" cried I. "Joan, I know nothing of my father, save onlythat he angered Queen Isabel, and for what cause wis I not."

  "For two causes: first, because the King her husband loved him, and shewas of that fashion that looked on all love borne by him as so muchrobbed from herself. But the other was that very thing--that she wasorthodox, and he was--what the priests called an heretic. There mightbe other causes: some men say he was proud, and covetous, and unpitiful.I know not if it be true or no. But that they writ him down anheretic, as also they did his father, and Archdeacon Baldok--so much Iknow."

  I felt afraid to ask more, and yet I had great longing to hear it.

  "And my mother?" said I. I think I was like one that passes round andround a matter, each time a little nearer than before--wishing, and yetfearing, to come to the kernel of it.

  "I have heard somewhat of her," said Joan, "from the Lady Julian mygrandmother. She was a Leybourne born, and she wedded my grandfather,Sir John de Hastings, whose stepmother was the Lady Isabel La Despenser,your father's sister. I think, from what she told me, your mother was alittle like--Sister Roberga."

  I am sorely afraid I ought not to have answered as I did, for itwas--"The blessed saints forfend!"

  "Not altogether," said Joan, with a little laugh. "I never heard thatshe was ill-tempered. On the contrary, I imagine, she was somewhat tooeasy; but I meant, a little like what Mother Gaillarde calls abutterfly--with no concern for realities--frivolous, and lacking in duethought."

  "Was your grandmother, the Lady Julian, an admirer of these newdoctrines?" said I.

  "They were scarcely known in her day as they have been since," saidJoan; "only the first leaves, so to speak, were above the soil: but sofar as I can judge from what I know, I should say, not so. She was agreat stickler for old ways and the authority of the Church."

  "And your mother?" I was coming near delicate ground, I felt, now.

  "Oh! she, I should say, would have liked our doctrines better. MotherAnnora, is there blue enough here, or shall I put on another coat?"

  Joan looked up at me as she spoke. I said I thought it was deep enough,and she might now begin the shading. Her head went down again to herwork.

  "My mother," said she, "was no bigot, nor did she much love priests; Idare venture to say, had Father Wycliffe written then as he has now, shewould somewhat have supported him so far as lay in her power. But myfather, I think, would have loved these doctrines best of all. I haveheard say he spoke against the ill lives of the clergy, and the idledoings of the Mendicant Friars: and little as I was when he departed toGod, I can myself remember that he used to tell me stories of our Lordand the ancient saints and patriarchs, which I know, now that I can readit, to have come out of God's Word. Ay, methinks, had he lived, hewould have helped forward this new reformation of doctrine and manners."

  "Reformation!" cries Mother Ada, entering the chamber. "I would wecould have a reformation in this house. What my Lady would be at,passeth me to conceive. She must think I have two pairs of eyes and sixpairs of hands, if no more. Do but guess, Sister Annora, what she wantsto have done."

  "Nay, that I cannot," said I. I foresaw some hard work, for my Lady isone who leaves things to go as they list for ever so long, and then,suddenly waking up, would fain turn the house out o' windows ere one canshut one's eyes.

  "Why, if she did not send for me an hour after we came out, and said thecondition of the chapel was shameful; how could we have let it get intosuch a state? Father Mortimer was completely scandalised at the sightof it. All the holy images were all o'er cobwebs, and all--"

  "And all of a baker's dozen of blessed times," said Sister Gaillarde,entering behind, "have I been at her for new pails and brushes, neverspeak of soap. I told her a spider as big as a silver penny had spun aline from Saint Peter's key to Saint Katherine's nose; and as to thedust--why, you could make soup of it. I've dusted Saint Katherine manya time with my hands, for I had them, if I'd nought else: and trust me,the poor Saint looked so forlorn, I fairly wondered she did not speak.Had I been the image of a saint, somebody would have heard of it, Iwarrant you, when that spider began scuttering up and down my nose."

  "And now she bids us drop every thing, and go and clean out the chapel,this very morning--to have done by vesper time! Did you ever hear sucha thing?" said Sister Ada, from the bench whereon she had sunk.

  "Mother Ada," said Sister Josia, "would you show me--"

  "Mercy on us, child, harry not me!" cried Sister Ada.

  "But I do not know whether a lily should be in this corner by theblessed Mary," said Sister Josia, "or if the ass should stand here."

  "The lily, by all means," said Sister Gaillarde. "Prithee paint not anass: there's too many in this world already."

  "I do wish Father Mortimer would attend to his own business!" criedSister Ada, "or that we had old Father Hamon back again. I do hatethese new officers: they always find fault with every thing."

  "Ay, new brooms be apt to sweep a bit too clean," replied SisterGaillarde. "Mary love us, but I would we had a new broom! I don'tbelieve there are twenty bristles left of the old one."

  Joan looked up from her griffin's tail to laugh.

  "Well, what is to be done?"

  "Oh, I suppose we must do as we are bid," saith Sister Ada in a mournfulvoice. "But, dear heart, to think of it!"

  "How many pails have you, Sister Ada?"

  "There's the large bouget, and the little one. The middle-sized one isbroken, but it will hold some water."

  "Two and a half, then," answered Sister Gaillarde. "Well, fetch them,Sister, and I will go and see to the mops. I think we have a mop left.Perhaps, now, if we din our needs well into my Lady's ears, we may getone or two more. But, sweet Saint Felicitas! is there any soap?"

  "Half a firkin came in last week," responded Sister Ada. "You forget,Sister Gaillarde, the rule forbids us to ask more than once foranything."

  "The rule should forbid Prioresses to have short memories, then. Come,Sister Annot, leave that minikin fiddle-faddle, and come and help withthe real work. If it is to be done by vespers, we want all the hands wecan get. I will fetch Sister Margaret to it; she always puts her heartinto what she has to do. Well, you look sorely disappointed, child: Iam sorry for it, but I cannot help it. I have no fancy for suchvanities, but I dare say you like better sticking bits of gold leaf uponvellum than scrubbing and sweeping."

  "Sister Annot, I am ashamed of you!" said Sister Ada. "Your perfectionmust be very incomplete, if you can look disappointed on receiving anorder from your superior. You ought to rejoice at such an opportunityof mortifying your will."

  "That's more than I've done," said Sister Gaillarde. "Well, Sister Ada,as you don't offer to move, I suppose we had better leave you here tillyou have finished rejoicing over the opportunity. I hope you'll getdone in time to take advantage of it. Come, Sister Annot."

  I thought I had better follow. So, having given Joan a few directionsto enable her to go on for a time without superintendence, I went to seeafter the water-bougets, which should have been Sister Ada's work. Shecalled after me--"Sister Annora, I'll follow you in a moment. I havenot quite finished my rosary."

  I left her there, telling her last few beads, and went to fetch thebougets, which I carried to the chapel, just as Sister Gaillarde came inwith her arms full, followed by Margaret and Annot.

  "I'v
e found two mops!" she cried. "Mine was all right, but where SisterAda keeps hers I cannot tell. Howbeit, Sister Joan has one. Now,Sister Annora, if you will bring yours--And see here, these brushes havea few bristles left--this is a poor set-out, though. It'll do to knockoff spiders. Now, Sister Margaret, fetch that long ladder by the gardendoor. Sister Annot, you had better go up,--you are the lightest of us,and I am not altogether clear about that ladder, but it is the only onewe have. Well-a-day! if I were Pr--Catch hold of Saint James by thehead, Sister Annot, to steady yourself. Puff! faugh! what a dust!"

  We were all over dust in a few minutes. I should think it was monthssince it had been disturbed, for my Lady never would order the chapel tobe cleaned. We worked away with a will, and got things in order forvespers. Sister Annot just escaped a bad fall, for a rung of the laddergave way, and if she had not clutched Saint Peter by the arm, down shewould have come. Howbeit, Saint Peter held, happily, and she escapedwith a bruise.

  Just as things were getting into order, and we had finished all thedirty work, Sister Ada sauntered in.

  "Well, really," said Sister Gaillarde, "I did not believe you couldtruly rejoice in the mortification of your will till I saw how long ittook you! Thank you, the mortification is done; you will have to waittill next time: I only hope you will let this rejoicing count. There'snothing left for you, but to empty the slops and wipe out the pails."

  Joan told me afterwards, in a tone of great amusement, that "Mother Adafinished her beads very slowly, and then said she would go after you.But she stopped to look at Sister Annot's work, and at once discoveredthat if left in that state it would suffer damage before she came back.So she sat down and wrought at that for above an hour. Then she wasjust going again, but she found that an end of the fringe was coming offmy robe, and she fetched needle and thread of silk, and sewed it on.The third time she was just going, when she saw the fire wanted wood.So she kept just going all day till about half an hour before vespers,and then at last she contrived to go."

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  Note 1. I may here ask pardon for an anachronism in having broughtWycliffe forward as a Reformer some years before he really began to beso. The state of men's minds in general was as I have described it; theuneasy stir of coming reformation was in the air; the pamphlet which isso often (but wrongly) attributed to Wycliffe, The Last Age of theChurch, had been written some fifteen years before this time: butWycliffe himself, though then a political reformer, did not come forwardas a religious reformer until about six years later.

  Note 2. Psalm 138 verse 2, Vulgate. The Authorised Version correctlyfollows the Hebrew--"Thou hast magnified Thy Word above all Thy Name."