Sister Teresa — Chapter 23

London: T. Fisher Unwin, 8 July 1901, pages 130-135, 2,128 words

XXIII

Evelyn perceived the wisdom of the Prioress in these long mornings spent in manual work. Veronica, on account of her age, could not reprove her, nor could she submit herself so easily to Veronica’s authority, and she often stood looking through the sacristy forgetful of the half-cleaned candlestick in her hand. In these moments the cup of life seemed unendurably bitter; a long life in the convent affrighted her, and she could not return to the world. To remember that she was alone and would have to go on living had become a grief that pierced her like a sword; a sense of desolation swept over her mind; sometimes in the midst of her singing she would lose control over herself, and the Sister would look round from the organ, fearing she would not be able to continue her song.

‘She must take the veil,' the Prioress said to herself as she knelt in her stall; 'nothing else will set her free from her grief.' The Prioress remembered the great relief that the mere putting on of the habit brings to the soul; and she rose from her knees quite determined. She would be opposed by Mother Hilda, but Mother Hilda would not have Mother Philippa’s support.

'I look upon her past life,' the sub-Prioress said, 'as so much dead wood; all the rubble and wreck must be cleared away before the new growth can begin in her. You will agree, Mother, that the veil makes a great difference; it’s like marriage after a long engagement — you know what I mean, dear Mother.’

‘Yes, I think I do,’ the Prioress answered, looking approvingly at the sub-Prioress. ‘When one has taken the white veil, the past is behind us, one knows where one is going. But I fear, Mother Hilda, that you are not with us in this matter.’

‘It’s because of Evelyn’s present state of mind that I do not feel sure that this is the best moment for her to receive the white veil. When her mood passes, as it will pass, she may think quite differently.’

‘I do not think that,’ the Prioress said. ‘A more serious objection is that she has only been in the novitiate three months.’

‘And her postulancy has been broken by a month in Rome. It should begin again,’ said Mother Hilda.

‘On that point the bishop will have to be consulted,’ and she tried to conciliate Mother Hilda by reminding her that Monsignor had telegraphed for Evelyn. ‘Her journey to Rome, you will admit, was quite unavoidable. Will you tell her, Mother Hilda, when you go downstairs, that I shall be glad to see her in my room?’

And when Evelyn came to the Prioress’s room she was addressed as Sister Teresa, and the Prioress told her that she had chosen that name on account of Evelyn’s admiration for the saint’s writings and character.

‘I felt I should like to call you Teresa, and you will prove yourself worthy of the name, my dear child.’

‘But, Mother, my postulancy!’

‘Hasn’t the Mother Mistress told you that I intend to lay your case before the bishop. To-morrow you go into the week’s retreat which precedes the clothing. And now you must think of your past life as being really behind you; you are Evelyn Innes no longer, you are Sister Teresa.’

‘But my past, dear Mother, has been behind me this long while. There can be no manner of doubt about that. I am filled with wonder when I think of the life I used to lead before my conversion.’

‘You feel that you could not return to the world?’

‘To my old friends, to those who still pursue shadows? No, dear Mother, I could not go back to the world, to the stage, and sing operas for the money and applause I should get by singing.’

‘That I believe; but do you think that the life here is the most suitable to you? Is it the life of your deliberate choice? Remember that there are many other rules of life — there are the active orders.’

‘Dear Mother, there is no time for thinking any more; I must act. I cannot tell you if the rule here is more suitable than some other rule which I have not tried. I have had some experience of your rule; if you will take me I am yours. If you do not’ — she stopped, and stood looking at the Reverend Mother — ‘I cannot think what will happen. I’ve been through a great deal, and feel that I am unequal to any further experiments. Don’t you know what I mean?’

‘Oh, yes, I think I know very well indeed.... You are still suffering from the shock of your father’s death.’

'My father’s death, dear Mother, was a great shock to me, but his death was only a link in a very long chain; from the very beginning it was all ordained, every step was marked out. At the time I did not understand why I was perplexed, why I had doubts, but things have become much clearer. In my youth I accepted the conventions, but there was always an uneasy feeling in my heart. This feeling was in me in the beginning, but it died away; for years I think I must have lived without scruples of any kind. My tether was a long one; I wandered far, but suddenly I came to the end of it. That’s how it was.’

‘You see, my dear child, my responsibility in admitting you to the convent is a great one. Convince me that you have a vocation, and I shall not mind the responsibility.’

'How shall I convince you, Mother?’

'By telling me your story, by telling me everything you know about yourself. If I am a nun, I am an old woman, and I suffered deeply before I came here.’

Evelyn told her story from the day she met Owen Asher to the day she went to confession to Monsignor.

'And the strange part of it is that I would not marry. Owen Asher often asked me to marry him, but something always held me back from marriage. Ulick Dean nearly succeeded;’ and she told of the extraordinary lassitude which had overcome her one evening, how she had sat in her armchair looking at the fire, unable to get up. ‘My tether was a sense of that one sin, for I always felt it to be wrong to live with a man who was not your husband; but it was not until my father died that I began to perceive that my life was wrong from end to end. It usen’t to seem wrong to me to spend months learning an opera and singing it for a great deal of money, or to spend as much on a dress as a workman and his family could live on for a whole year. But I think I always thought it wrong to live with Owen Asher, and as I did not want to give up living with him, I was forced to deny God. Owen Asher knew all the atheistical arguments very well, and I read the books he gave me to read. But to live without faith, dear Mother, is a nightmare. Driving home in the brougham after singing, I never failed to ask myself, What is the use of all this? it is all over now. Sometimes before I went down to the theatre I used to say, “In three hours — in four hours it will be all over, and then it will be the same as if I hadn’t sung at all!” If one doesn’t believe in God, life ceases to have a meaning; that is the atheist’s difficulty. Owen Asher used to feel the same as I did. I remember his once stopping me; he looked round suddenly and there was such conviction in his eyes when he said. “Evelyn, there’s nothing in it. I’ve tried everything and there’s nothing in it.” Still he goes on living, pursuing pleasures in which he knows there is nothing except disappointment.

‘Looking back upon my life, that is how I see it. I cannot live without faith, without authority, without guidance. I am weak, I require authority. I am bound to tell you all these things so that you may be able to decide whether I have a vocation.’

‘The ways by which we come back to God are many, and I think I understand very well how you have been brought back. This convent was but an instrument in His hands for the purpose of bringing you back, and it may be it has served its purpose now and you can return to the world. One can love God in the world and serve Him in the world. Some serve Him best in the world, some in the convent. When your grief has died down a little you may be able to return to the world.’

The Prioress waited for Evelyn to answer, but she did not answer, and she said, —

'My dear child, tell me of what you are thinking; confide in me.’

‘It’s just that, Mother — what I have told you. I cannot live without faith, and if I leave the convent I lose my faith, or part of it. Even in the month I spent in Rome I lost something. Dogma does not appeal to me as much as practice, and Rome is full of worldly ecclesiastics who quarrel and abuse each other and contradict each other. I hardly dare to say it, but their worldliness, or what seemed to me their worldliness, was near destroying my faith again. It is only here that I can believe as I want to believe. Here everyone is humble, here everyone has renounced the lust of the flesh; so I know that you all believe, for your lives prove it.’

'We prayed, and our prayer was answered. Prayer is the only real power in the world, my dear Teresa, and you have had proof of the efficacy of our prayers; and if anyone here needed proof of the efficacy of prayer she would find it in you — how you came here, how you were brought here, is surely one of the most wonderful things in the world, and yet one of the most natural, if one thinks of it.’

The Prioress got up from her chair, and Evelyn followed her to the novitiate, where the novices were making the dress that Evelyn was to wear when she received the white veil.

 'You see, Teresa, we spare no expense or trouble on your dress,' said the Prioress.

'Oh, it’s no trouble, dear Mother;' and Sister Angela rose from her chair and turned the dress right side out and shook it, so that Evelyn might admire the handsome folds into which the silk fell.

'And see, here is the wreath,' said Sister Jerome, picking up a wreath of orange blossom from a chair.

'And what do you think of your veil, Sister Teresa? Sister Rufina did this feather-stitch; hasn’t she done it beautifully?’

Evelyn examined the veil, and her interest was sincere in it, for she believed that the ritual and its symbolic garments were necessary to complete the inward conviction that she was liberated from the world.

'And Sister Rufina is making your wedding-cake. Mother Philippa has told her to put in as many raisins and currants as she pleases; yours will be the richest cake we have ever had in the convent.' Sister Angela spoke very demurely, for she was thinking of the portion of the cake that would come to her, and there was a little gluttony in her voice as she spoke of the almond paste it would have upon it.

‘It is indeed a pity,' said Sister Jerome, 'that Sister Teresa’s clothing takes place so early in the year.’

'How so, Sister Jerome?' Evelyn asked incautiously.

'Because if it had been a little later, or if Monsignor had not been delayed in Rome — I only thought,' she added, stopping short, ‘that you would like Monsignor to give you the white veil — it would be nicer for you, or if the bishop gave it,' she added, ‘or Father Ambrose. I am sure Sister Veronica never would have been a nun at all if Father Ambrose had not professed her. Father Daly is such a little frump.’

'That will do, children. I cannot really allow our chaplain to be spoken of in that manner.’

The Prioress and Evelyn descended the novitiate stairs together, and the Prioress said, —

‘I think, dear Teresa, your retreat had better begin to-morrow.’