A FRIEND OF THE LITTLE SISTERS

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXVII, Issue 16, 22 April 1909, Page 603

A FRIEND OF THE LITTLE SISTERS

The Hon. Violet Frant was visiting her cousin the Duchess at the Little House of Loretto in the, Bow road. Bow associates itself with grime and poverty and meanness; but the House of the Little Sisters had once been a country house, and it still had its few acres of garden surrounding "and isolating it from the seething, ugly world beyond. There was a high wall and a row of stumpy, pollarded trees, in which tlie birds sang delightfully in spring and summer. When the trees were bare the inhabitants of the opposite row of mean houses could see into the Convent gardens and be s«en; but in the leafy time the Convent could forget that it had neighbors. The Hon. Violet had come and gone at the Little Sisters' since her charming babyhood. Her father, Lord Pelham, was the Duchess's first cousin, and they were attached friends, although Lord Pelham administered a considerable portion of the Empire, while the Duchess only administered the affairs of the Little Sisters and their old children. And that was not always so easy a matter as might be supposed. The Duchess, liy the Avay, was not Duchess, but Reverend Mother to her little kingdom. There were several of the Little Sisters who had left their titles behind them in the world as well as she. Madame la Marquise and Madame la Comtcsse were forgotten in Sister St. John of the Cross ami # Sister Magdalen. You might see a lady who could trace her ancestry back lialf a dozen centuries, picking; an old mattress to pieces, or cutting garments for the old people out of discarded garments of benefaciors. They fed on the bits and scraps left over when the best of the food given by hotels and restaurants and. private people had been selected for their old children, for whom they begged from door to door. Tliey worked incessantly and often disagreeably, for the old people had to be waited upon and in many instances washed and dressed like children; they had to be made for, mended for; and they ~ were often extremely cross. One old gentleman of ninety — they were always ' old ladies and gentlemen ' to the Little Sisters— had dealt the Marquise dv Chateau Fer-^ raud, otherwise Sister Frances, a sounding box on the ear one day when Violet Frant was looking on. The nun had apologised, turning deeply red, for the failure that had been punished by the box on the ear. After all, an old child of ninety is hardly accountable for what it does in its froward humors. To Violet Frant the life seemed one of unnatural austerities. She was a creature of delicate refinement, and she felt that she could have endured austerities with anyone so long as the austerities were beautiful. But the work of the Little Sisters was often disagreeeable, sometimes disgusting. Everyone has not the vocation for minding old babies. With the -Little Sisters nothing is Avasted. The si^ht of a black-eyed French Sister, who had been a great lady in the world, taking to pieces a, feather-bed, which had seen much service and showed it, affected Miss Frant with a sense of physical nausea. She said as much, being a privileged person, to her cousin, the Duchess. There were things that refined ladies ought not to be asked to do. The Duchess smiled. ' You have not the vocation, Vi,' she said. ' Your vocation is to marry Anthony Hamilton and bring him to God. You will servo God in laces and silks and fine linen; your personal beauty and cliarms are given to you by God to draw the soul of your lover to Him.' Miss Frant shook her head. Why would not her cousin believe that the rupture with Anthony Hamilton was final? She had come to the Little Sisters to find balm for her broken heart. She had even expected to be approved and praised by her cousin, the Duchess, because .she had sacrificed her love for the most golden of golden youth to her Catholic ideals. Anthony Hamilton came of an old Catholic family indeed, but he was gay, he was worldly, he was indifferent; the world had taken possession of him, finding his youth and beauty and gaiety irresistible; he had laughed at Miss Fiant when she had tried to lead him to her own lofty- spiritual planes, quoting poetry to her : ' Bid me to live and I will live Thy Protestant to be/ and: ' Chide me not, Sweet, that thee I love More than the earth and Heaven above.' Miss Frant would, in fact, drive liim in too tight a rein. Though the sunniest of mortals, lie had rebelled at last! - She had been hard with him, and, suddenly stern, he

had" told - her that tie next advances must come from her; he was tired of serving so hard a task-mistress. Miss Frant being perfectly aware of her own highmindedness in the matter, .and also of how much she suffered — for Anthony Hamilton was not a lover to be lightly - relinquished — she had expected praise and consolation. And here was her cousin, a woman of the world as well as a saint, disapproving not tacitly but frankly of the rupture of her engagement, and bidding .her go back and make it up -with her lover. ' On her way to the Little Sisters Violet Frant had almost developed a vocation. Not for the Little Sisters. She said to herself that she could not endure that; hers must be a clean austerity. Her thoughts went longingly to the- Carmelites, wlo had a Convent in a sequestered grove in Surrey, where nightingales sang in their season and there was a green stillness and shade; where a fountain plashed, in a pleasant garden; and doves whirled in the sun through the quiet summer days. She thought she was -certainly drawn to the Carmelites and resolved to consult her confessor about it. And here was her cousin, the Duchess, the Reverend Mother of the Little Sisters, bidding her go back and eat humble pie to- her lover. ' An engagement is only less solemn than a marriage, ' she had said; ' and since he loves you, you are responsible for him. A woman's grace and beauty are given to her by God that she may lay a golden chain over a man's heart to draw it to Him.' Violet Frant was a delight to look at in the old grey house of the Little Sisters and their charges. She was very beautiful — fair and fcall and gracioxis, with what her lover had called ' everlasting eyes ' — deep, shining eyes of dark grey. She was always beautifully dressed, being one of the flowers of the world. Lord Pelham was a rich man, and grudged his only- child nothing. She had always gone to the best houses in London for her clothes. She would not have known how to do otherwise. In her silks and velvets and laces and sables she was extraordinarily exotic in the house of the Little Sisters. She was too precious and too remarkable in the East to be allowed to go out even with a Little Sister ; so while she stayed she had perforce to take her exercise in the gardens. She was a constant delight to the old charges of the Little Sisters. The old ladies would finger her garments and calculate their" cost; the old gentlemen would blink at her as though the sun had dazzled them and make her pretty speeches. They all knew her, many of them from • her exquisite childhood ; and they loved to see her come and go ; doubtless her beauty making to them unconsciously the bright spot in a life of safety and shelter indeed. Miss Frant had no idea that the ' Duchess had had a letter from. Lord Pelham. She would not have liked the allusion to her charming self. 'Vi has got a "bee in her bonnet that she wants to go to the Carmelites,' he said. ' She has been driving Anthony Hamilton on too tight a rein. The' lad is well enough — wonderfully unspoilt, considering how the women run after him. Vi wants a saint for a husband. I am not sure that I want a saint for a son-in-law. A decent fellow is good enough for me;" and I am satisfied with Anthony Hamilton. Send her back in a better frame of mind. This talk about vocations worries me — unnecessarily, I am sure.' This time Miss Frant's stay at the Little Sisters' extended to quite an unusual period. The Duchess had an idea that the young lady had expected her lover to follow her and make his submission ; but if she had expected that, it did not come about. The Duchess, watching her young cousin, saw that there was a cloud upon her beauty. She looked sad when she was abstracted, in thought. There were purple lines about her beautiful eyes; she was languid, and confessed that she did not sleep well of nights. ' The East End does not agree with you, Vi,' the Duchess said one day. ' You are not lookiiig well. Why not write and say you have changed your mind about some of these invitations •■ you refused? Why not go to the Riviera for Christmas with the Warringtons? Or why not go down to Grest for Christmas?' ' I should be all alone. Papa has arranged his Christmas holiday, excluding me, since he knew I meant to spend it with you. He goes to Vienna first, to the Ambassador; then into Bavaria. What should Ido with a big empty house at Christmas? And the servants would be put out. They are looking to enjoy their Christmas without anyone to wait upon.' _ ' And where does Anthony Hamilton spend Christmas ?' 'My dear cousin, I do not know. Mr. Hamilton's movements do not interest me.' 'Ah — I am sorry, Vi; I don't see how you can help being interested, though.' It was most irritating to Miss Frant that the Duchess would- not take her vocation to the Carmelites seriously. It was as bad as papa, • who never ' protested, but went

on making arrangements for the future, for Violet's, as well as his own, which left the Carmelites out. It was not in her dream of the spiritual happiness that should make up for the lost earthly happiness that the Duchess should join -with papa in ignoring Vis vocation. The month was December. It was too cold for tie garden, except for the brisk constitutional which the Duchess insisted upon. She did not feel at all brisk; but in the walk round and round the garden she was accompanied by one or other ,of -the Little Sisters, who kept her up to it. The place was less cheerful than in the old times, when she had talked with the old ladies and gentlemen, and derived much pleasure and amusement from their oddities. She was less interested in her friends among the Little Sisters. Somehow it had been, different when she had come for a brief visit, arid the world had lain, smiling its invitation to her, beyond the gates of tlie House of Loretto. As the days grew to weeks and Anthony Hamilton made no sign her heart was really sick within, her. One day in a passion of grief and resentment she had. sent him back bis ring; she had not in the least such a strong measure as that when she had run awSy'ffbm him to the Little Sisters. She had thought he would come after her in her secret heart; even while she talked and thought she talked sincerely of the Carmelites. She 'had thought that he would abase himself before her, and that she might consent at last to stoop and lift him to her own heights. And lo ! and behold, he had taken her dismissal without aii attempt to alter her decision; he had received the ring that had meant so much when it was given, without a protest. Well, she would be done with him when she had escaped to the Carmelites. She wondered what he would think and feel when he heard that the impassable barrier of the Convent had fallen, between her and him. Would he be sorry' that he "had let her go so easily after all? She made up her mind now that she would not go back to the world at all. She would stay at the Little Sisters till her father, influenced at last by her earnestness,, gave her permission to go to the Carmelites. She would not face a world where any day she'and Anthony Hamilton might meet. Doubtless he had himself. There were plenty ready to console him, to make him forget her. Her heart ached atrociously while she said it; he had been so entirely hers. If only she could have lifted him to her own heights! She secluded herself a good deal in the nun's cell, which- had always been her bedroom when she visited the Convent. Concessions had been made to- her — a couple of rugs put down, linen sheets and white woollen blankets on the pallet — where a Little Sister would have had sheets of the coarsest and other people's, worn-out blankets. There was a looking-glass for her special behoof; a wicker easychair; a fire was laid in the grate so that she should not be cold. __ ' - She left the fire unlit even though it necessitated her wearing lier furs ! She rolled up the rugs and touched the bare floor with her feet. '. She sat on a penitential chair, while she read over to herself the *• Spiritual Exercises ' of St. Teresa and St. Francis de Sales' 'On -fche Love of God.' - .... She blamed herself in feeling cold and miserable, and felt injured when Sister Martina descended upon her with instructions from Rev. Mother *• to light her fire. She objected to the delicate fare provided for her, even while hei soul revolted at the food the Little Sisters ate and thanked God for. She would have liked a diet of the most austere, so long as it was dainty. The Sisters, eating the coarser, less inviting portions of what was given to them for their charges, filled'her with something that was almost disgust. It had -been a fine, open, mild December .up to this. A few yellowed leaves yet shook upon the boughs in the Convent garden. The Little Sisters were grateful for the mild weather, because it was so hard to keep the old folk warnr when it was very cold. When the cold came- there would be a crop of funerals at the Little Sisters. The old bedridden folk, despite all that could be done, died easily of the cold, the fire having gone out in their old bodies. So ihe Little Sisters, who had their affection for the old people, thanked God for the mild winter. • The thrushes and blackbirds were beginning to sing, although winter was a week ahead. The old people grumbled :no more than usual when they crowded about the fires, the coals for which had been begged by the Little Sisters, even sifted by them out of heaps of ashes. And Miss Frant took no harm from her self-imposed austerities, which, as_she said to herself, were preparing her for the Carmelites. She was making a new gown for ""herself with unheardof difficulty, with much pricking of fingers and many blunders — a gown of black nun's veiling, of the most nun-like straighthess and skhnpiness,

' Better let Sister Bernardino help you,' the Duchess had said. ' Even a nun's habit requires fitting.' She had surprised Miss Frant at her task, to the girl's discomfiture ; and her eyes had twinkled in the shadow of her veil. ' I had to get something,' Violet protested shamefacedly. ' I was like Madame' Louise of France, who, when she went to- the Carmelites, had no simpler dress in her wardrobe to wear, cleaning the pots and pans, than a perfectly plain, tight-fitting gown of rose-pink satin. I hate^ all my fine frocks when I think of how you and the old people are clad.' ' Don't liate them, Vi. The old people like them so much. I believe we do. Your grey gown, now, with the grey velvet hat and the white ostrich plumes gives me positive pleasure, although I have had my silver Jubilee as a Little Sister. You are our one peep into the world, my child. And St. Francis de Sales was of opinion that ladies should dress according to their station. Lord Pelham's daughter should dress beautifully — which you do, Vi. We shall have no delight in this black sack of yours.' The Duchess would go on believing her to be a worldling, without a real vocation for the Carmelites. Violet had a feeling that the Duchess even thought that she stayed over-long with them. All the world would be coming to town after Christmas, at least, a considerable portion of it. There would be Ministerial divisions and parties- Was Lord Pelham to be left without his hostess? The Duchess let a word fall now and again which betrayed her thought that Violet should be by her father's side, and not occupied with making frocks against the Carmelites. Violet was hurt about it ; she had looked to the Duchess to help her with her father. Letters followed her to the Little Sisters — worldly letters sometimes — which jarred upon her mind. A letter from . Lady Grizel Beauclerk, a smart and rather frivolous young matron, brought a disturbing element into her thoughts. A sentence of it troubled her more than she could have thought possible. ' Anthony Hamilton is epris with Mary Trefusis,' it Tan. 'My dearest yi — praying is all very well, but why not come back and'fight for your own.' Mary Trefusis was not a negligible rival. She, too, was of the old religion — a charming girl, who was like a light in the world. Violet had had for her a young girl's admiration for an older oiie. Why, Mary Trefusis could - drive such a one as Violet Frant completely out of the heart into which she chose' to enter. She began to wonder if she had not been a little- too unyielding, too certain of herself, too priggish, too pharisaical. Papa had said she was. He had almost lost his invariable good temper — Lord Pelham sat at life like the spectator at a good play-^-in rebuking her attitude towards Anthony Hamilton. He was very fond of Anthony Hamilton, "who was in the Foreign Office, and thought well of his future. And she knew the Duchess bore with her as one does with a froward child. If it was true about Anthony and Mary Trefusis, then she would have given him up with her own hands. Why could she not have been more patient? She had expected too much of Anthony. Everyone had said so. Was she to be wiser • than papa and Cousin Grangetrade ? — that is to say, the Duchess- Why, what was coming to her? Was it possible that she wanted Anthony just as he was — no impossible perfection, but just Anthony ? About the middle of the mild grey December day a pall of fog swept in from the sea. London had been peculiarly exempt from fogs so far that season. Now the pall settled down with a suddenness — it was a cotton-wool fog — which presses on all the senses with a numbing force. In a cotton-wool fog one cannot hear, one cannot see, one cannot breathe ; there is something terrifying in the way in which the familiar landmarks are blotted out. Where you could have found -your way blindfold you are absolutely lost, at sea. "* c'< All London was. paralysed, all traffic stopped : life suspended under the immense pall of fog; and Sister Louis and Sister Imelda were out questing. There was dismay among the Little Sisters. How were they ever to get home? They had gone far afield, into the West End, where Sister Louis and Sister Imelda were well known. Sister Louis's brogue and her blue eyes and her smile coaxed - gifts fiom the most unlikely quarters.She was a true daughter of Erin, and of a superabundant energy and enterprise. Once she had driven home a pig, offered her in jest, from. ' the' Cattle Market right across London, had built a sty herself to house him, and had regret when he fattened and had to be sold, because he had become a pet and very knowledgable. ' r The fog was an' unusually dense visitation, and the Little Sisters, who were given to accepting all tliat came as in the day's work and something sent by the good God, might be pardoned for their perturbation. Besides, Sister Louis was driving a new horse in the little covered waggon

that was known so well up and down London, streets; He was not so wise as old Dobbin, who had been put out -to grass for the remainder of his days. Dobbin would have found his way home through the fog as he had done before. But now Sister Louis would have to 'depend on herself, unaided by. the wonderful instinct of the dumb creature. All day the Sisters prayed for the fog to lift, without answer to their prayers. It but thickened. The House of Loretto might have been in the midst of a great desert. There was a strange sense- of silence^'-of- aloofness- from all the world. The short afternoon changed to evening." The lights had been lit all day. All day the curtain of the fog -had hung in. the rooms, blown hither and thither like a substantial thing when a door opened. With the coming of night the fog took on a new terror. • It was unheard-of that a Little Sister should pass the night outside the House of Loretto. Five o'clock came — six, seven, and there was no sign of the -two questing Sisters. The old people were all on their knees praying for the safe return of the wanderers. The Sisters were • murmuring prayers to themselves as they went to and fro about their duties. There was a hush and a consternation over the evening meal which the Duchess tried to lift by cheerful and sober talk. Suddenly in the midst of the meal the bell of the hall door clanged. All the Little SisteVs were on their feet. For once discipline was forgotten. Sister Matthew, the portress, ran with her clanking keys. There was a hurry, a bustle, a happy confusion.; and the two missing Sisters were in the midst of the rejoicing throng. ■ Old Simon, who had been a coachman in his mundane days, had taken charge of the horse and van, so that Sister Louis was free to tell all her adventures. Sister Louis was as talkative as Sister Imelda was taciturn. Sister linelda could only turn her black eyes up to Heaven and wave "her hands in the air. The narrative of their adventures lost nothing in Sister Louis's telling of it. They were not famished; oh, no; they were not at all famished. That dear angel from Heaven had fed them luxuriously before piloting them through the fog. 'That dear Angel?' Yes: Sister Louis would tell Reverend Mother all about it. When she bad told all they could judge whether the Lord had not sent an angel to theirhelp or not. They Lad been in Piccadilly when the fog had swept down on them; and they had made their way by infinitesimal degrees down St. James's street and into Pall Mall. In Pall Mall the clubs were showing great lights which only made indistinct patches of luridness through the fog; but here and there the police wero guiding the traffic by means of flare-lights; and urchins were rushing hither and thither with torches, offering to take foot-passengers across the streets for a penny.. Half way down Pall Mall the new horse came to a full stop, terrified, poor beast. He was Irish-bred, and had never beheld such a thing before. .Sister Louis had got down, and was trying in vain to induce him to move. She was illumined by one of the flare-lights. Suddenly a young gentleman came, as she conjectured, from one of the clubs — or from Heaven, perhaps. He was beautiful enough for Heaven, and he had a rose in his ' coat. "As for his gar.ments, words failed Sister Louis to describe how he was clad as the lilies of the field. He had run to Sister Louis's assistance, had put her back in the waggon, and taken the horse's head. The horse had yielded to his persuasions. Step by step they had walked through the world of dirty cotton-wool, with a golden haze somewhere beyond. The Sisters, under th« tilt of the waggon, could not , see their benefactor ; but they went steadily on. Now and again iis cheery voice came back to them out of the darkness. He had a dear voice, said Sister Louis, really and truly like an angel cf God. Somewhere, when the flare beyond the darkness was very great, the waggon stopped and the gentleman came back to them. He asked them to wait a second or two. Presently he returned to them'^" bringing them hot coffee and the most delicious food they had ever' tasted. - Really and truly, the food and the coffee might have come- from Heaven. And they had been chill«d to the bone and ready to faint from the fear. (To be concluded.)

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