Glamorous Powers. Susan Howatch
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out, I’ve got to live by joining in the Crusade somehow and proving I’m not as old as the calendar says I am! Because he was such a good monk he did attempt to suppress this thought but at that moment the bad fairy pounced, sneaking into his subconscious and showing him the perfect way to escape from his dilemma. And on the morning after that terrible birthday he had a beautiful vision, just as beautiful as any vision from God should be, so beautiful that he had no doubt at all, in his pride and arrogance, that he was being called to leave the Order.’
Francis stopped speaking. With a supreme effort of will I maintained my silence, while far away on the mantelshelf the hideous china clock ticked so abrasively that I longed to smash it to pieces.
‘Now, Jonathan,’ said Francis, smiling at me with great charm, ‘having, I trust, soothed your nerves by spinning you that quaint little tale which of course you’ll deny has any relevance to your current situation, I shall conclude this interview by asking you to meditate on the following questions: how vulnerable are you as a monk now that you’ve been deprived of your mentor? How vulnerable are you as a man who’s just turned sixty? Why did you so fiercely deny to Ambrose that you might be seriously depressed? Why did you resent Ambrose asking about your age? Why, when Ambrose began to talk about carnal matters, were you first withdrawn, then evasive and finally downright annoyed? Why have you been so busy insisting both to Ambrose and to me that everything in the garden’s lovely when it’s quite obvious that some very nasty weeds have begun to flourish in the flower-beds? Forget that pride of yours for a moment, Jonathan! Try and see yourself for once as the, vulnerable man you really are instead of as the superhuman mystic whom your vanity requires you to be – and then perhaps we may have some hope of unravelling this most complex of mysteries … Now go away, please, and when you return here tomorrow I trust you’ll have made up your mind to display very much more honesty and infinitely more humility than you’ve deigned to display so far.’
IV
Retiring to my room I sat for a long time on the edge of the bed. It was not until after Compline that I was able to read a chapter of Dame Julian’s ‘Revelations’ and feel comforted. ‘And at the end of our woe,’ Dame Julian had written, ‘suddenly our eyes shall be opened and in clearness of light our sight shall be full; which light is God, our Maker and Holy Ghost, in Christ Jesus our Saviour. Then I saw and understood that our faith is our light in our night; which light is God, our endless day.’
I thought of the light of God in the chapel, and at once my faith was renewed. As a good monk I accepted that I had to consider all Francis’ repulsive and degrading insinuations, but my will to survive his attacks was now as iron and it was in a new mood of obstinate defiance that I knocked the next day on his door.
V
‘I know this is going to be just as tedious for you as it’ll undoubtedly be for me, Jonathan,’ said Francis in his most businesslike voice as soon as I was seated, ‘but I’m afraid that today we’ll really have to discuss sexual matters.’
‘I was wondering how long you’d be able to keep off the subject of Havelock-Ellis! Are you sure it’s wise to allow all your men access to his work?’ I was well aware that this critical response represented a gross impertinence, but I was becoming a little tired of standing by meekly while Francis flexed the muscles of his power.
For a moment I thought he would lose his temper but he controlled himself; and despite all my animosity I was impressed. Dealing with a recalcitrant monk was never easy; dealing with a hostile abbot would without doubt be a nightmare, and the temptation to wield one’s power repressively, even violently, would be strong.
‘No monk in this house is permitted to take a book from the psychology section of the library without my permission,’ he said at last, ‘but I thought it right that everyone should be able to see what’s on offer. I wanted to avoid the hypocritical situation sanctioned by Father Darcy in which a select group of men is granted unlimited freedom in their reading while the superior continues to declare virtuously that only devotional and theological books can stand on the library shelves. Now if you’ve satisfied your urge to be obnoxious in order to prove to me that you’re under strain, may we proceed with this interview?’
Finding myself wholly outmanoeuvred by this honest and dignified reply I could only say: ‘I’m extremely sorry, Father. I’m afraid I was in error. Forgive me.’
‘Very well, but let me take advantage of your penitent mood by turning immediately to the subject of your celibacy; perhaps your penitence will encourage a frank response. Have you any comment to make about your past difficulties here?’
I said cautiously: ‘The difficulties weren’t serious. My chief problem as a monk has been in accepting authority, not in doing without women.’
‘Nevertheless I see from your file that there’s been at least one occasion during your career in the Order when you’ve longed – and I quote your own words, recorded with startling fidelity by Father Darcy – “to chuck it all up and fuck every woman in sight”.’
‘I assure you I don’t usually use such language, but I was extremely upset when I made that remark and having worked for years among working-class men who used that sort of word with monotonous regularity –’
‘My dear Jonathan, just because you’ve always taken a “holier-than-thou” attitude to my own occasional lapses into vulgarity, there’s no need for you to go into such a paroxysm of embarrassment now that I’ve caught you out in a rare verbal indiscretion! The truth is, as you well know, that so long as you avoid blasphemy and talk like a gentleman in front of your subordinates I don’t care a fig about your language. And now if we may return to the subject of your sexual frustration –’
‘I see no point in dwelling on it. All normally-sexed monks feel frustrated occasionally.’
‘Quite. But would it be fair to say, do you think, that these bouts of difficulty with your celibacy coincided with periods of emotional stress in other areas of your life?’
I said obtusely: ‘I’m not sure I understand you.’
‘I think you do but you’re playing for time while you try to drum up an innocuous response. Very well, let me be more precise: we all have our different ways of coping with emotional disturbances. When I was in the world I used to cope with them by drinking too much, but I seem to remember you were never greatly interested in food and drink. Your solace always lay elsewhere.’
‘Only when I was a very young man. But after my call to the priesthood –’
‘– you turned over a new leaf, yes, of course you did, but nevertheless isn’t it a fact that when you experienced emotional turbulence as a monk you also experienced a period of difficulty with your celibacy?’
‘Well –’
‘And isn’t it a fact that in the emotional stress which followed Father Darcy’s death you might have expected to experience yet another bout of discontent with the celibate life?’
I said abruptly: ‘I thought you assured me at the beginning of these conversations that you didn’t intend to behave like a prosecuting counsel.’
We stared at each other.
‘So!’ said Francis. ‘You sidestep the question! May I remind you that we’ll get absolutely nowhere unless –’
‘I was aware of sexual tension but it wasn’t an urgent problem. It didn’t interfere with my work – indeed I worked harder than ever in order to take my mind off the difficulty.’
‘And no doubt this aggravated the exhaustion which led to your depression.’
‘I deny –’
‘Yes, you would, wouldn’t you? But never mind, we’ve somehow succeeded in establishing that you felt sexually tense. Now let’s turn again to that young woman Mrs Charles Ashworth. How often has she been coming to see