CHAPTER VIII.

_CONVENT LIFE AT SLAPTON, IN DEVONSHIRE._

I will now pass on to say a few words about my life at the Slapton convent, in Devonshire, where we took up our abode after leaving Feltham.

We commenced life in our new home, which was part of an old chantry house, with glad, bold, and brave hearts, determined to keep the rules which were imposed upon us. Our motto was “In omnibus glorificetur Deus.” We were under stricter rule than we had ever been before, but we were glad of this, as we believed we were brought nearer to Jesus the stricter the rule we kept.

I cannot say much for the peace and happiness that fell to me here after two years had passed away. During that period I was housekeeper—Mother Wereburgh sacristan, and Mother Cecilia scribe. I was greatly praised and flattered; but there was one fault found with me, and this was my unwillingness to obey implicitly the two sisters who were put above me as my Superiors. The fact is that both these nuns were jealous of me, on account of the good opinion Father Ignatius had of me. Besides, I am certain that Mother Cecilia had no right to be made Novice-mistress, nor had Mother Wereburgh right to be made Lady Prioress. The former had not been properly professed, and the latter was what is termed a “desecrated virgin,” and it was unlawful, according to the constitutions of St. Benedict, for either of them to hold office. It was not right of Father Ignatius to place these women over me in the place of God, and to command me to see God in them. Although I tried hard, I could not submit to them, and thus my life became by no means a smooth or happy one.

I may mention here that, whilst residing at Slapton, a poor old woman was somehow induced to sell her little home in Herefordshire, that she might come to our convent; but alas! she “found everything,” as she told me, “so different from what I expected. My life is a misery to me. I shall never believe in anything again.” I must say she seemed at times somewhat peculiar; but when a person of fifty years of age begins life over again, and is expected to be as obedient as she was required to be when quite a little child, is it to be wondered at that such a return to an artificial childhood causes bewilderment? It was nothing else than devotion to Father Ignatius that caused her to give up her home.

It was the rule in choir to _hold_ books; when sitting, to have the palm of each hand resting on each knee; and when kneeling, to do so perfectly upright, with hands crossed on each breast. Now this old woman had not taken any vow of obedience, and she either forgot to keep her hands in a proper position, or did not choose to do so; consequently the reverend Father, during the service, would cross the choir to her seat, and put her hands in the proper position. Five minutes afterwards she would have them clasped or folded, whereon the Father had to come to her again repeatedly. At last the poor old thing would cry and become quite hysterical. Mother Wereburgh told her she had better go home, but she had none to go to, for she had parted from her own home, believing that she was coming to one. Once she ran away and scandalized the nuns to the villagers. When she came back, the Mother sent for the village policeman, as she made out that the poor old woman was violent; and with the help of the policeman, she was conveyed away in the carrier’s cart, and she gave the constable the money to pay her fare to her own home again.

The unkindness of the two sisters was quite sufficient to make the old woman strange and angry. I remember how she denounced these nuns, assuring them that the Lord would take vengeance on them, and it was such a speech that caused the Mother Superior to draw the policeman’s attention to the alleged fact that she was mad. The simple-minded man said he could “see it.” Now this policeman was made favourably disposed to the nuns, when we first went to Slapton, by the present of a leg of mutton going to his family for a Sunday dinner, and other gifts of a similar kind. The old woman was really no more mad than I am at present, but she was often made frantic with anger by the conduct of the Mother. After her return home she wrote for some clothes she had left behind at the convent, and asked the Mother to return everything that belonged to her, upon which the Mother assured Father Ignatius that she had taken all her belongings with her. Soon after this I happened to be at the linen-press with the Mother, and there I saw some of the old woman’s clothes, and exclaimed, “See, here are the things she asked for!” The Mother replied, “Oh, they are only old rags.” They were not. “But,” said I, “are they not what she wrote for?” Three times afterwards she wrote for them, for she was badly off, having sold all her little earthly possessions to enter the “holy, happy cloister.” Father Ignatius again asked the Mother to send the things off; yet in my presence she said: “I assure you, dear Father, there is nothing here of hers, and to make certain of this, I looked all through the linen cupboard the other day, and could not find a single garment belonging to her.” I dared not open my lips, or even say a word to help this poor old woman to regain her clothes. They were of no value to the Mother; but once having denied that they were there, she would not acknowledge she had made a mistake, and would stick to it.

I remember too how, whilst at Slapton, an ignorant girl came to be what is called a lay-sister. She knew nothing of any kind of religion whatever, yet in a few months she made her first communion, and took novice vows for one year. I am sure she had no more idea than a new-born babe of what she had undertaken, or what was expected of her; and the hundred and one rules we had to conform to in each day were frightfully bewildering. This poor creature consequently was frequently breaking rule, and was therefore plunged in penance, disgrace and misery, and really for no fault of hers. After about two months she was sent back to the world, as she was always in trouble, especially as she was very fond of talking to the gardener, and could not see the sin of an enclosed novice talking to a man, or why she should cover her face with her veil when she wanted to see him, or any one else. As she could not make head or tail of the “glorious holy life,” and was thoroughly miserable in it, she was dispensed from her vows, and sent away in a kind spirit, which was from a _prudent_ motive.

I will mention the case of another young lady who came to our convent as a postulant. When she had been there a few days, she felt she had done wrong in leaving her only brother, as she had so much influence over him for good, and they were orphans. With the Mother’s permission, she went back. The reverend Father was absent at the time. On his return, he sent off a letter to her, telling her that the curse of God would be upon her—that she had no faith in God. She should leave her brother in His hands, and he actually told her that she was a spiritual adulteress.

It is important that my readers should thoroughly grasp this fearful moral compulsion, which is exercised on impressible and easily influenced minds. And yet the world is told that postulants, and novices, and professed nuns, are quite free to go back if they choose. The letter of Ignatius brought this young lady back, and she was duly put to penance for leaving. She had to cover her face with a black mask, during the divine office, which is recited seven times a day and once at night. She had to sit upon the ground during the time allowed to sitting in those offices, and she was ordered to sit on the floor to eat her food. After meekly going through all her penances for the space of six weeks, she took novice vows, when her beautiful long hair was cut off quite short, in token of her renunciation of the world. She was a sweet girl of about nineteen at the time, and I know full well that she was as thoroughly miserable as she could be. When she had been a novice some time, the Lady Prioress announced to her publicly:

“Sister Ermenild, you have been a novice now over two years. Reverend Father and I both think it time you made your profession; so please to get ready to take the black veil.”

Although this profession was made after we had removed to Wales, I may as well give a short account of it in this chapter.

A solemn service was performed, in which the nun was “married to Jesus Christ, Son of the most high God.” A ring was placed on her finger as a token and pledge thereof, after which she was laid out on a mattress, over which was placed a black pall, ornamented with a white cross. The Burial Service from the Book of Common Prayer was then read over her, earth being solemnly dropped upon her. The _De Profundis_ was sung for the repose of her soul, after which the altar was then divested of its black funeral hangings (which had been put on for this part of the service), and soon afterwards Sister Ermenild appeared in her bridal attire. She was a new creature now, raised, so to speak, to a new life. She was then led to the altar, bearing in her hands a massive lighted taper, and wearing a virgin’s crown, during which proceeding a hymn was sung:

Dead with me, then death is over, Dead and gone are death’s dark fears.

After which came “_the cursing_,” a ceremony which is always used in the Roman Catholic Church in the consecration of a virgin, and is to the effect that—

“Should any one attempt to draw aside this present virgin, let him be cursed in his rising up and sitting down, in his standing or walking, in sleeping or waking, in eating or drinking, etc., etc., and may his flesh rot from his bones, and may he be blotted out of the book of life. Amen, amen, so be it.”

After all this cursing was finished, the now reverend Dame Mary E. was enthroned on a seat covered with rich crimson plush, which was placed upon the altar steps, that from thence she might give all who went up to her the blessing. Father Ignatius led the way, followed by monks, boys, nuns, girls, and as many seculars as felt inclined to go. The service was then finished.[11]

In less than a month after, being in great trouble and disgrace with her Superior (for what it would be a puzzle to find out), Sister E. said to me:

“Oh! how I wish I had never taken the black veil!”

“But,” said I, “you wanted to?”

She said, “No, I never asked to. You yourself heard what the reverend Mother said to me; and previous to that, she had not uttered a word on the subject.”

“But,” said I, “you know what the reverend Father said before every one, how eloquently he told them that the virgin about to be professed was not yet bound, and even at that last minute she was perfectly free to return to the world if she chose; but that only after she had taken this awful step she could not go back?”

To which she replied: “Yes, he did, I know, say so in public, but you do not know what he said to me in private.”

Oh, how easily the world is deceived by such high-sounding phrases! “The doors are open—all are free to leave as soon as they like, etc.” When people speak of inspecting convents, they should remember that to do so thoroughly, something beyond what is visible to the eye must be investigated, even the interior of each nun’s heart, and the terrible moral force that has been brought to bear upon it. And remember, too, that if a sister’s own mother or sister came to see her, she could not discover the deep distress that so often lies upon her daughter’s heart. No nun would _dare_ to tell it, even to her mother, though her heart might be breaking with misery. She would have to appear before her mother with the look of one who is perfectly happy, and even smiling, otherwise she would be instrumental in bringing disgrace and scandal upon the convent, and this, at all cost, must be avoided. I have had to appear thus, looking happy and free before my own mother, when a few minutes before I had been crying, wishing and praying that I might die.

After this digression, I will return to give an account of a novice at Slapton, who took vows on the same day as Sister E. just mentioned. They promised to let her take the black veil soon, provided only that she showed herself a submissive child (this child was over thirty), who had no wish or opinion but that of her superiors. But unfortunately for her, she had a very natural habit of forming an opinion for herself, and admitted that she thought it no harm to do so, as long as she kept that opinion to herself. But there was great harm in this (so the Superior said), inasmuch as a novice should be in all things of one mind with her Superiors, in thought, word, and deed. This novice brought with her a valuable gold watch, which she was content to give up for the time being, and, according to novice rules, she had given up her box and keys. The Mother had looked into Sister F.’s box, and there saw some things she wanted for use in the convent, and she told Sister F. so. The novice, however, was not willing that they should be used, as she had not taken life vows; in this way she first drew upon herself the Mother Superior’s displeasure and censure. Shortly after this she was asked to give up her money to help in building a new cloister at Llanthony. She said she was willing to give up a part but not the whole, and would very much like to put a stone in the building. Thus by exercising her own opinion she was again brought into disgrace, and was told she could keep her money, and would not be allowed the privilege of putting a stone to the building. She must give up all her money or none. From that time she was treated with the greatest severity, and looked upon as the offscouring of all things. To make a long story short, she was soon packed off from Slapton as having no vocation to the “religious life.” How strange it was that her Superiors were unable to detect this until they discovered that she was unwilling to give up her money to build a holy cloister! Before this they had a very good opinion of her.