In Convent Walls Part 36

But I do feel it hard that _all_ the disagreeable things should come to me. Surely one of the novices might have had that; it would have been good 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's dormitory, 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 she would like to hit somebody."

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

"I don't know--she takes a long while to come right when any body has put her wrong--ever so much longer than you or Sister Margaret. The lightning comes into Sister Margaret's eyes, and then away it runs, and she looks so sorry that she let it come; and you only look sorry without any lightning. But Mother Ada looks I don't know how--as if she'd like to pull all the hair off your head, and all your teeth out of your mouth, 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 little head about Mother Ada. But when I came into my cell, I began to wonder if Sister Ada's will is perfectly mortified. It does not look exactly like it.

Before I had done more than think of undressing, Sister Gaillarde rapped at 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 down on my bed. "It would not be a bad place, but for the folks in it: and they 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 have a 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. "Sister Annora, 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 what folks can get into their heads when they have nothing else in them!

Sister Ada is very much concerned about the low tone of spirituality which she sees in you--stupid baggage! She is miserably afraid you are a 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 from being perfect, and I fear I never shall be."

"Well!" saith she, "if I had to go into the next world holding on to somebody'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 nothing else. 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 b.u.t.terfly and no better. Brush her off--she's good for no more. But she isn't one that tries me like some other folks. You did not hear what happened yesterday between Sisters Ada and Margaret?"

"No. What was it?"

"Some of the Sisters were talking about hymns in recreation. Sister Margaret said she admired the _Dies Irae_. Sister Ada wanted to know what she admired; she could not see any thing to admire; it was just a jingle of words, and nothing else. The rhymes might be good to remember by--that was all. I saw the look on Sister Margaret's face: of course she did not answer the Mother. But I did. I told her that I believed if any one showed her a beautiful rose, she would call it a red vegetable. 'Well,' quoth she, 'and what is it else? I never smell a rose 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 far as you were concerned.' Well, she said that was profane: but I don't believe it. The truth is, she's just one of those dull souls that cannot see beauty, nor smell fragrance, nor hear music; and so she a.s.sumes her dulness as virtue, and tries to make it out that those who have their senses are carnal and worldly. But just touch her pride, and doesn't it fly up in arms! Depend upon it, Sister Annora, men are quite as often taken for fools because they can see what other folks can't, as because 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, rather impatiently. "If one may not let out a bit, just now and then, what is one 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 of us don't do it. I dare say old Gaillarde's as bad as any body. But I cannot stand Sister Ada's talk, when she wants to make every creature of us into stones and stocks. She just inveighs against loving one another because she loves n.o.body but Ada Mansell, and never did. Oh! I knew her well enough when we were young maids in the world. She was an only child, and desperately spoiled: and her father joined in the Lancaster insurrection long ago, and it ruined his fortunes, so she came into a convent. That's her story. Ada Mansell is the pivot of her thoughts and actions--always will be."

"Nay," said I; "let us hope G.o.d will give her grace to change, if it be as you say."

"It'll take a precious deal of grace to change some folks!" said Sister Gaillarde, satirically. "Hope many of them won't want it at once, or there'll be such a run upon the treasury there'll be none left for you and me. Well! that's foolish talk. My tongue runs away with me now and then. Don't get quite out of patience with your silly old Sister Gaillarde. Ah! perhaps I should have been a wiser woman, and a better too, if something had not happened to me that curdled the milk of my human kindness, and sent me in here, just because I could not bear outside any longer--could not bear to see what had been mine given to another--well, well! We are all poor old sinners, we Sisters. And as to perfection--my belief is that any woman may be perfect in any life, so far as that means having a true heart towards G.o.d, and an honest wish to do His will rather than our own--and I don't believe in perfection of any other sort. As to all that rubbish men talk about having no will at all, and being delighted to mortify your will, and so forth--my service to 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 at being 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. Father Hamon'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 bowl of curds. I should like somebody betwixt."

And Sister Gaillarde left me.

She guessed not ill, for I had my lecture in due course. Sister Ada came into my cell--had she bidden me to hers, I should have had a chance to leave, but of course I could not turn her forth--and told me she had been for long time deeply concerned at my want of spiritual discernment.

"Truly, Sister, no more than I am," said I. "Now, Sister, you reckon me unkindly, I cast no doubt," saith she: "but verily I must be faithful with you. You take too much upon you,--you who are but just promoted to your office--and are not ready enough to learn of those who have had more experience. In short, Sister Annora, you are very much wanting in true 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 your faults," saith she. "You are much too partial and prejudiced in your governance of the Sisters, and likewise with the children. Some you keep not under as you should; and to others you grant too little freedom."

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

"Well, Sister, I hope you will think of these things, and that our Lord may give you more of the grace of humility. You lack it very much, I can a.s.sure you. I would you would try to copy such of us as are really humble and meek."

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

"You know, Sister," said she, as she was going forth, "I have no wish but 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 of her grim smiles--

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

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

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