Sister Teresa. George Moore
Читать онлайн книгу.
opinion before I go, Monsignor."
"Well, now I think I shall disappear," said Sister Mary John. "I'm going to feed the birds."
"But you asked me to go with you."
"That was before Monsignor came. But perhaps he would like to come with us. The garden is beautiful and white, and all the birds are waiting for me, poor darlings!"
The nuns, Evelyn and Monsignor went down the steps.
"There is a great deal of snow in the sky yet," said Sister Mary John, pointing to the yellow horizon. "To-night or to-morrow it will fall, and the birds will die, if we don't feed them."
A flock of speckled starlings flew into a tree, not recognising Evelyn and Monsignor, but the blackbirds and thrushes were tamer and ran in front, watching the visitors with round, thoughtful eyes, the beautiful shape of the blackbird showing against the white background, and everybody admiring his golden bill and legs. The sparrows flew about Sister Mary John in a little cloud, until they were driven away by three great gulls come up from the Thames, driven inland by hard weather. A battle began, the gulls pecking at each other, wasting time in fighting instead of sharing the bread, only stopping now and then to chase away the arrogant sparrows. The robin, the wisest bird, came to Sister Mary John's hand for his food, preferring the buttered bread to the dry. There were rooks in the grey sky, and very soon two hovered over the garden, eventually descending into the garden with wings slanted, and then the seagulls had to leave off fighting or go without food altogether. A great strange bird rose out of the bushes, and flew away in slow, heavy flight. Monsignor thought it was a woodcock; and there were birds whose names no one knew, migrating birds come from thousands of miles, from regions where the snow lies for months upon the ground; and Evelyn and the prelate and the nuns watched them all until the frosty air reminded the prelate that loitering was dangerous. Sister Mary John walked on ahead, feeding the birds, forgetful of Monsignor and Evelyn; a nun saying her rosary stopped to speak to the Prioress; Evelyn and Monsignor went on alone, and when they came towards St. Peter's Walk no one was there, and the moment had come, Evelyn felt, to speak of her project to return to the stage in order to redeem the convent from debt.
"You didn't answer me, Monsignor, when I said that I would have to consult you regarding my return to the stage."
"Well, my dear child, the question whether you should go back to the stage couldn't be discussed in the presence of the nuns. Your motives I appreciate; I need hardly say that. But for your own personal safety I am concerned. I won't attempt to hide my anxiety from you."
"But it is possible to remain on the stage and lead a virtuous life."
"You have told me yourself that such a thing isn't possible; from your own mouth I have it."
Evelyn did not answer, but stood looking at the prelate, biting her lips, annoyed, finding herself in a dilemma.
"The motive is everything, Monsignor. I was speaking then of the stage as a vanity, as a glorification of self."
"The motive is different, but the temptations remain the same."
"I'm afraid I can't agree with you. The temptation is in oneself, not in the stage, and when oneself has changed … and then many things have happened."
"You are reconciled to the Church, it is true, and have received the
Sacraments—"
"More than that, Monsignor, more than that." But it was a long time before he could persuade her to tell him. "You don't believe in miracles?"
"My dear child, my dear child!"
After that it was impossible to keep herself from speaking, and she told how, at Thornton Grange, in the middle of the night, she had heard the nuns singing the Veni Creator.
"The nuns told me, Monsignor, their prayers would save me, and they were right."
"But you aren't sure whether you were dreaming or waking."
"But my experience was shared by Sir Owen Asher, who told me next morning that he had thought of coming to my room and was restrained."
"Did he say that he, too, heard voices?"
She had to admit that Owen had not said that he had heard voices, only that a restraint had been put upon him.
"The restraint need not have been a miraculous one."
"You think he didn't want to come to see me? I beg your pardon,
Monsignor."
"There is nothing to beg my pardon for. I am your confessor, your spiritual adviser, and you must tell everything to me; and it is my duty to tell you that you place too much reliance upon miracles. This is not the first time you have spoken to me about miraculous interposition."
"But if God is in heaven and His Church upon earth, why shouldn't there be miracles? Moreover, nearly all the saints are credited with having performed miracles. Their lives are little more than records of miracles they have performed."
"I cannot agree with you in that. Their lives are records of their love of God, and the prayers they have offered up that God's wrath may be averted from a sinful world, and the prayers they have offered up for their souls."
"What would the Bible be without its miracles? Miracles are recorded in the Old and in the New Testaments. Surely miracles cannot have ceased with the nineteenth century? Miracles must be inherent in religion. To talk of miracles going out of fashion—"
"But, Miss Innes, I never spoke of miracles going out of fashion. You misunderstand me entirely. If God wills it, a miracle may happen to-morrow, in this garden, at any moment. Nobody questions the power of God to perform a miracle, only we mustn't be too credulous, accepting every strange event as a miracle; and you, who seemed so difficult to convince on some points, are ready enough to believe—"
"You mean, Monsignor, because I experienced much difficulty in believing that the sins I committed with Owen Asher were equal to those I committed with Ulick Dean."
"Yes, that was in my mind; and I doubt very much that you are not of the same opinion still."
"Monsignor, I have accepted your opinion that the sin was the same in either case, and you have told me yourself that to acquiesce is sufficient. You don't mind my arguing with you a little, because in doing so I become clear to myself?"
"On the contrary, I like you to argue with me; only in that way can you confide all your difficulties to me. I regret that, notwithstanding my opinion, you still believe you are not putting yourself in the way of temptation by returning to the stage."
"I know myself. If I didn't feel sure of myself, Monsignor, I wouldn't go to America. Obedience is so pleasant, and your ruling is so sweet—"
"Nevertheless, you must go your own way; you must relieve this convent from debt. That is what is in your mind."
"I am sorry, Monsignor, for I should have liked to have had your approval."
"It was not, then, to profit by my advice that you consulted me?"
Evelyn did not answer, and the singer and the prelate walked on in silence, seeing Sister Mary John among her blackbirds and thrushes, sparrows and starlings, accepting her crumbs without fear, no stranger being by. The starlings, however, again flew into a tree when they saw Evelyn and Monsignor, and some of the other birds followed them.
"The robin follows her like a dog; and what a saucy little bird he is! Look at him, Monsignor! isn't he pretty, with his red breast and black, beady eyes?"
"Last winter, Monsignor, he spent on the kitchen clock. He knows our kitchen well enough, and will go back there if a thaw does not begin very quickly. But look," continued Sister Mary John, "I have two bullfinches following me. Aren't they provoking birds? They don't build in our garden, where their nests would be safe, stupid birds! but away in the common. I'd like to have a young bird and teach him to whistle."
Evelyn and Monsignor stayed a moment watching the birds, thinking