by George Moore
Presently Sister Veronica came running down the garden path and joined the little group; she had waited at supper and had had to have her meal afterwards.
“I came as quickly as I could,” she said, “for I didn’t wish to miss all of Sister Evelyn’s first recreation,” and she looked at Evelyn with such a tender little smile of welcome that Evelyn was cheered, and when Mother Hilda said Veronica might sit next her, and pulled up a little wooden stool for her, she felt almost absurdly grateful.
The little babble and talk meandered on, checked and guided by Mother Hilda, who saved it from falling into absolute silliness. And presently, by a clever turn given by her to the conversation, they were all talking of Italy, and Evelyn found that Mother Hilda knew Rome and Milan quite well, and she herself was encouraged to talk of her travels, whilst the novices listened open-eyed. Suddenly the bell rang out its warning notes and the recreation hour had come to an end. Mother Hilda stood up and began the De Profundis, the Sisters repeating the alternate verses. The beauty of the prayer, of this appeal for the peace of departed souls sounded strangely beautiful in the still evening air; its beauty entered Evelyn’s heart, and in a thrill of anticipation she seemed to foresee that this cloister life would mean a great deal to her one day. She seemed to divine the spiritual fulness which lies beneath the childish triviality which had tried her all the evening; and, kneeling among the community in church, she began to understand the importance a church is to a community; how much it means to each individual member, and how, on entering her church, each enters the mysterious and profound life of prayer. She felt she was no longer a solitary soul fighting a lonely battle; now she was a member of a spiritual community, and her wandering thoughts would be drawn Into the streams of petitions going up to God. A nun whispered that she need not stay for the night office, and she refrained from saying that it was now eight, and that for many years she had not been to bed till past midnight. This was her first act of obedience.
“This mattress,” she said to herself as she turned restlessly, “is very trying, but it is a means to an end,” and she foresaw a wider life than she could have known in the world.
CHAP. XIV.
THERE ARE HOURS of the day which are unknown to those who live in the world, and six o’clock in the morning was an hour unknown to Evelyn. It was at that hour she awakened from a shallow, restless sleep, and heard with a drowsy brain that she would be expected in chapel in half an hour. She rolled herself out of bed, and still only half conscious, she hurried through her simple dressing. Her small basin and water-jug seemed to her miserably insufficient, but her desire not to be late for chapel saved her from further reflection regarding excessive cleanliness.
The convent day began with half an hour for meditation, and this was just over when Evelyn entered the chapel. At half-past six there were morning prayers, followed by Prime and Tierce; at seven Mass and Exposition, and at a quarter to eight breakfast; and a breakfast of weak tea and bread and butter made Evelyn feel that before the end of the week she would be back in her Bayswater flat. But taking her purpose between her teeth, she determined not to yield so easily. She followed Mother Hilda and the novices to the novitiate, and tied on the blue apron that was given to her. Every novice was expected to make her own bed, and tidy and sweep out her cell before she did any other work. They divided between them such work as dusting the novitiate and sweeping the stairs and passage, and keeping the Mother Mistress’s cell in cleanliness and order.
Evelyn had done plenty of housework in her younger days, but she seemed to have forgotten how to use a broom, and the making of her bed had exhausted her, and she felt more inclined to get into it than to follow the Mother Mistress down to Sext and None at nine o’clock. She managed, however, to overcome her weakness, and she and Sister Winifred and Sister Veronica preceded Mother Hilda in the cloister, where they joined the rest of the community. After Sext and None a pause came, and none too soon did it come for Evelyn, who felt she was giving way; and perceiving her condition the Mother Mistress asked her to come to the novitiate. Evelyn felt that to sit in a cheerful sunny room, with windows looking on to the garden, hearing the voice of the quiet nun speaking to her, was the pleasantest hour she could hope for.
“The centre of our life,” said Mother Hilda, “is the perpetual adoration of the blessed Sacrament exposed on the altar. Our life is a life of expiation; we expiate by our prayers and our penances and our acts of adoration the many insults which are daily flung at our divine Lord by those who not only disobey His commandments but deny His very presence on our altars. To our prayers of expiation we add prayers of intercession; we pray for the many people in this country outside the faith who offend our Lord Jesus Christ more from ignorance than from malice. All our little acts of mortification are offered with this intention. From morning Mass until Benediction, our chapel, as you know, is never left empty for a single instant of the day; two silent watchers kneel before the blessed Sacrament, offering themselves in expiation of the sins of others. This watch before the blessed Sacrament is the chief duty laid upon the members of our community. Nothing is ever allowed to interfere with it. Unfailing punctuality is asked from everyone in being in the chapel at the moment her watch begins, and no excuse is accepted from those who fail in this respect. Our idea is that all through the day a ceaseless stream of supplication should mount to heaven, that not for a single instant should there be a break in the work of prayer. Our Sisters are taught to feel that, next to receiving Holy Communion, this hour of prayer and meditation in the presence of onr Lord is the central factor in their spiritual life, the axis on which their spiritual progress revolves. If our numbers permitted it, we should have perpetual adoration by day and night, as in the mother house in France; but here the bishop only allows us to have Exposition once a month throughout the night, and all our Sisters look forward to this as their greatest privilege.”
“It is a very beautiful life, Mother Hilda; but it is hard to bear.”
“Only at first; you will bear it more and more easily as you realise its beauty. Once a week, in the novitiate, I give instructions to the novices on our rule and its object, and perhaps this will prove a help to you.”
“And when shall I take my watch?”
“I don’t think dear Mother has fixed your hour yet. She did not wish you to begin to-day; we must not overburden you with piety in the beginning. In any case, the novices are not allowed more than half an hour’s watch in the day — only the professed choir Sisters take an hour.”
Obedience, the Mother Mistress declared, was the beginning of the religious life, and Evelyn must bear in mind she was a child in school, with nothing to teach and everything to learn.
“The experience of your past life,” said Mother Hilda with a smile, “which you may think entitles you to consideration, will probably only be a hindrance to you in the new life that you are beginning. I would beg you to put all the teaching of the world as far from your mind as possible, it will only confuse you. What we think wise, the world thinks foolish, and the wisdom of the world is to us a vanity.”
After the rule of obedience came the rule of silence, and that, too, had to be followed in what seemed to her a painfully literal sense. Silence from the saying of the De Profundis, after evening recreation, until after Mass the next morning!
“Conversation is never allowed except at recreation, and all whispering in the passages and visits to each others’ cells are forbidden. The novices,” Mother Hilda added, “are not allowed to speak to any of the professed without special permission; but in your case the Mother Prioress has decided that an exception will be made in favour of Sister Mary John, as you and she will of course have music to discuss; but you must keep the rules strictly as regards everyone else.”
“Mayn’t I even speak to Mother Philippa?”
“Not unless Mother Philippa first speaks to you.” Evelyn had not expected this complete interruption of all human intercourse, not only from the outside world, but even
from those who were actually within the walls of the convent.
Perhaps Mother Hilda saw what was passing in her mind, and feeling that her new postulant had received as much instruction as she could absorb in one day, she looked at her watch, remarking that she expected Sister Winifred and Sister Veronica for their Latin lesson; and a few minutes after the two novices appeared, each with her breviary in her hand.
The Latin lesson consisted mainly of explanation of the offices for the day, and reading aloud for practice and pronunciation, and the translation of one or two of the psalms. Evelyn applied herself to the lesson which Mother Hilda made interesting by her enthusiasm for the subject and her intimate knowledge of all that the breviary contains; and the books were only closed when the Angelus rang at twelve o’clock.
CHAP. XV.
THEN EVELYN REMEMBERED that she had not had a word with the Mother Prioress, nor had she had a word with Sister Mary John, though this was necessary and could not be delayed much longer if she were going to sing at Benediction. She had looked forward to speaking to this nun in the recreation hour; but Mother Hilda, having regard for their health, had kept them walking up and down St. Peter’s Path. The sun was hot, and the conversation seemed more trivial and disjointed than it had done the night before; and in her weariness Evelyn had asked herself if she could endure this life to the end of a week.
Rosary followed recreation, and Vespers followed Rosary, and Evelyn had just gone up the novitiate stairs, feeling that her patience and her piety were equally exhausted, and wondering what would be the next duty required of her, when Sister Veronica appeared, and with her sweet, demure smile, she said, “Reverend Mother would like to speak to you in her room.”
“Oh, thank you so much; I had just begun to think I was never to see Mother Prioress again.”
“I expect you are tired, aren’t you? The life is hard at first.”
“Yes, I am dreadfully tired,” Evelyn said, conscious of a sudden inclination to tears.
“I am sorry, but you know we shall all help you, and you will feel better when you have had a little talk with dear Mother. But you must come at once,” the little novice added in sudden alarm, for Evelyn had shown no sign of immediate obedience. “You must never keep Reverend Mother waiting; and please take off your apron; we never go into her room with our aprons on.” Evelyn untied her apron, and flinging it on a chair, hastened from the room. Veronica picked up the discarded garment with a smile, and folded it neatly in four, rolled it up and twisted the strings carefully round it, and laid it on Evelyn’s bed in her cell.
At the same moment Evelyn was impetuously knocking at the Prioress’s door, with all the effusiveness of the actress, and none of the demureness of the novice. Sitting with the Prioress was Sister Mary John, her strong, expectant face full of pleasure at the sight of Evelyn.
“Dear Mother, it is nice of you to have sent for me; I was pining to see you.”
“Oh, but postulants must learn patience, you know; and how are you getting on, my dear child? Have Mother Mistress’s instructions filled you with misgivings?”
“I do feel rather bewildered, Mother, and I am beginning to realise that no one outside the convent has the slightest idea of what it is like inside.”
“Well, perhaps you will feel more at home talking music with Sister Mary John for a bit.”
Evelyn saw that Sister Mary John was longing to interrupt the Reverend Mother, but she managed to restrain herself.
“Well,” the Prioress continued in her clear, even tones, “it is she and you who must be responsible for the convent music in future, and you must talk over what is best for you to sing. You will both see, I am sure, that in the little musical reformation you are going to undertake, you should be guided in your choice of music by what will best serve the interests of the community. Now, as regards the reformation and the singing of the plain chant, the Benedictine gradual versus the Ratisbon, do you really think that our little lay congregation would take an interest in the question? Is the difference between the two sufficient for the uncultivated to distinguish? That must be a question for the future; the immediate question is, how can we render our daily Benediction service more popular? You have brought some music with you, Evelyn, I believe?”
“I have brought a good deal, Mother; whatever seemed most likely to be of use.”
“Well, you and Sister Mary John had better take it into the library and look through it together, and decide what to begin with. You can use the harmonium there.”
“The library harmonium is out of tune, Mother,” broke in Sister Mary John.
“If it is out of tune, we will send for the tuner to-morrow, and you will be glad to hear that I am going to arrange for more time to be given to choir practice, but it will require some consideration.”
“Well, that is a comfort at any rate,” said Sister Mary John, as they left the Prioress’s room; “your coming amongst us has accomplished something already. For years I have been telling the Reverend Mother that two hours a week are insufficient for practising, but I could never make her see the necessity for more.”
“But we must practise every day if we are to accomplish anything,” said Evelyn.
“I have not yet told you,” said Sister Mary John, “how glad I am that you have come. You don’t know how I have prayed for you,” and the brown eyes gazed at Evelyn with their radiant smile. “I do hope you will stay; you must try your hardest.”
“I don’t know, I am sure; at recreation to-day I began to think I could not stand it much longer.”
“Why, Sister Evelyn, you have only been here half a day. You do not yet know what our life is. You must not judge by the mere outside like that; is it the food, or what? Of course, I know the food is a trial to everyone at first.”
“No, it is not so much the food,” said Evelyn, as the two friends laid their bundles of music on the library table, “that is trying, but one can outlive the food. No, it is the sense of having all one’s day parcelled out for one in a round of trivial little duties; not a minute to call one’s own, not a moment left to oneself, and I, who have been my own mistress for years, I feel as though I should choke, or scream and do something desperate.”
“Yes, I understand,” said Sister Mary John, kindly, “I know the feeling.”
“I knew you were the one person here who would understand. I wonder if I shall be able to bear it — oh, those recreations, I don’t think I can get used to them.”
“I know, I know,” repeated Sister Mary John, and her clear comprehension soothed Evelyn’s spirit. “I know our life seems trivial from an outside point of view. But is the conversation of the novices sillier than that of the ordinary society woman? You are troubled because you do not yet see the spiritual life that lies so dose beneath the trifling surface — all our real love of our Lord, all our eager desire to serve Him, all our anxious endeavour not to be wholly unworthy of our vocation.”
As Sister Mary John talked, her face lit up and her eyes shone, with a dear, passionate joy, and Evelyn saw that her submission was no half-hearted one, that she had embraced the life with her heart and her intellect, and if the yoke fretted here and there, it was borne with the splendid courage of a strong nature. In her there was nothing petty or narrow, her warm sympathies had never been chilled by separation from the world, and though Sister Evelyn recognised that Sister Mary John might have many human faults — impatience and rash judgment and self-will, from which Mother Hilda’s well-balanced and deeply religious nature was free — yet it seemed to her that she would receive more help from the impulsive enthusiasm of the one than the delicate spirituality of the other.
“The first thing,” the nun said, “is to grasp the great ideal that permeates our life; I am sure Mother Mistress has spoken to you of it already.”
Evelyn nodded.
“We must keep it always in the front of our thoughts; to us it must be the only real thought that life has to offer. The externalities of our life are of no account. Wh
at can they matter in the light of eternity? The petty routine which distresses you is only the envelope, which will fade from your eyes, you may be sure, and you will soon enter into the enjoyment of the spiritual life, without which life lived here would be unendurable, with it the convent is an earthly paradise.”
“Yes, but how may I arrive at this enviable state of detachment?”
“By prayer,” said Sister Mary John, and Evelyn noticed how her face became suddenly absorbed. “We must learn to pray. We come here because we can pray better here than in the world. We can do nothing without prayer; but by prayer we can do almost everything. Once we enter the life of prayer this miserable world falls behind us, and we enter the real world. Let us kneel down at once and pray, before we do anything else.”
They fell on their knees before the almost life-sized crucifix which hung between the windows, and they rose from their knees with shining eyes which smiled at one another.
“There, you look better already,” said Sister Mary John. “Now, what about the music?”
When they had looked through all the music, making separate heaps of pieces that seemed within the compass of their little choir, Sister Mary John said, “What will you sing to-day at Benediction? Will you sing Stradella’s ‘Chanson d’Eglise’ or will you sing Schubert’s ‘Ave Maria’ — nothing is more beautiful than that.”
“I will sing the ‘Ave Maria.’”... The nun sat down to play it, but she had not played many bars when Evelyn interrupted her. “The intention of the single note, dear Sister, the octave you are striking now, has always seemed to me like a distant bell heard in the evening. Will you play it so?”
