Sister Teresa — Chapter 15

London: T. Fisher Unwin, 8 July 1901, pages 87-91, 1,665 words

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 folding 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 tomorrow 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 close 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 clear, 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. What 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-size 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?’