CHAPTER XXX.
PLUMING FOR FLIGHT.
“To-Morrow Katharine La Tour becomes a nun. You have succeeded admirably, cousin Agnes. I am more than gratified at the result of your labors.”
“I really am troubled, Julius,” replied the Lady Abbess, “at your treatment of my young novice. What will be the effect of this tissue of lies on that sincerely honest and innocent girl, when she discovers the truth? She believes us to be but little removed from angels, and she does not for a moment imagine that we really deny ourselves but few of the world’s pleasures.”
“I care not what she thinks, after her vows are once spoken,” replied the Superior. “She will then be bound to us by irrevocable ties, and she will have to accept the condition of things as she finds them. But my influence over her is so unbounded that I am confident she will consider that whatever I advise is right. I never was so interested in a woman before. But how can one behold Katharine La Tour, with her candor, her intelligence, her spirituality, her charms of person and manner, without admiring such a lovely creature!”
“You are waxing eloquent, Julius,” said the lady, with curling lips. “And yet, cousin, do you not see that you are seeking to destroy in this admirable young person those very qualities of heart and mind which are her chief attraction? It almost rouses a conscience within me, to see the looks of love and reverence with which she regards both you and me,”
“Let us make an end of this fruitless discussion,” said Father Ryder, rising and trying vainly to suppress a yawn, “It is nearly my dinner hour, and I feel the need of refreshment. I will see my novice at four o’clock this afternoon, to prepare her for the ceremonies of the morrow.”
Monseigneur was feeling elated at the success of his schemes, and in consequence he allowed himself considerably more wine with his dinner than he was in the habit of taking. He became unusually genial and communicative. It was in this condition that he sought an interview with the prospective bride of Christ.
As the young novice entered the room at the summons of her confessor, Father Ryder was again impressed with the loveliness of her person, the charm of her exquisite grace. There was a conscious purity in her presence, which effectually shielded her even more than her novice’s garb. She was now dressed in the long flowing black robe of the Order, and wore a white veil, which to-morrow would be replaced by one of sombre black, typifying her death to the world.
The generous wine was coursing through the Superior’s veins, and for the moment he was not guarded in his speech.
“Sweet Katharine,” he said, “how lovely you look to-day! By your serene expression I judge that life in the convent is thoroughly congenial to you.”
The novice stared in amazement at this unusual language from her stately and dignified confessor. The Superior realized instinctively that he had made a serious blunder. Collecting his scattered wits, he began again:
“My daughter, how do you feel in reference to the momentous step which you are about to take to-morrow?”
“Holy Father,” faltered the girl, “I have doubts and fears, and I think I am unfit for the conventual life. I have longings after the world and its pleasures. I do not know how to stifle these sinful desires.”
“You do not need to silence them, my little friend. They are not sinful, as you imagine, and the Church will not frown them down. The Church is not so ascetic as you have been taught. Far from it! She imposes secrecy upon her followers, that their indulgences may not be known to the outside world, to mar their influence; but she grants her faithful children all the pleasures that life can offer.”
Katharine was amazed at these doctrines, which were so unlike the catechism she had studied within these walls. Recovering herself with an effort, she said, “If your words are true, Father, why do I need to leave the world and become a nun? I thought that the worship and service of God were the chief objects in life, to those who entered holy houses.”
“My little friend, do not misunderstand me. We do worship God. Our masses, our festivals, our fasts are all evidences of our solemn adoration of God. But as a reward for separating ourselves from the world, and cutting ourselves off from the amenities of life, the Church grants us indulgences.”
“It seems to me,” said Katharine, with gathering courage, “that it is an insult to the Almighty to offer Him merely lip-service and a divided heart. Did not Christ denounce those who kept the outside of the platter clean, while the inside was filthy? It cannot be that you are talking seriously, Father.”
“I never was more serious in my life, my fair reasoner,” replied the Superior, completely off his guard. “You have treasured in your mind the words of Christ. It is well! Let me quote others to you, not only from the lips of the Master, but from those of His holy apostles: ‘To the pure all things are pure.’ ‘Love one another.’ ‘A bishop shall be the husband of one wife.’ You look astonished, my sweet Katharine, at such astounding words; but I tell you this Church of ours sanctions marriage amongst the priesthood, secretly, to be sure, but it makes such a state possible by special dispensations, and that without violating conscience. You must have known, Katharine, that I loved you. Perhaps I have obeyed the Master's command too literally, in your case, but the fact remains unaltered—I love you. The other fact remains unaltered, that Christ sanctioned the marriage of priests. When He selected His apostles, He made choice of men who had wives. ‘Is not Peter’s wife made a personage of special note by an allusion to her in the Sacred Word? And Peter is the rock upon which our Church is built, and to whom she looked in those days as to her spiritual head. Marriage was not forbidden priests until the thirteenth century, and this command is an arbitrary one, which can easily be evaded. When I receive that cardinal’s hat which the Pope has promised me, I can also procure a special dispensation which will permit our union.”
“Stop!” cried Katharine, in a voice of indignation, her cheeks crimson with wrath and shame. “Say not another word at your peril. Is this your professed holy life, this life which you admit is a tissue of lies from beginning to end? If I had entertained thoughts of marriage, think you I would have entered a convent, or have wounded the heart of my noble friend and lover by rejecting his suit? Merciful God, save me from these pitfalls!”
This cry of anguish sobered the Superior. Realizing that he had gone too far, he sought to obliterate the unfortunate impression he had made.
“My daughter,” he said, in his accustomed dignified manner, “the test is over, and you have not faltered in your loyalty. Did you believe I could he in earnest? I sought but to prove your sincerity of purpose. You have passed the ordeal triumphantly. Now kneel!” he said authoritatively, “and make your last confession before assuming the veil.”
Katharine was powerless to resist the stern, imperious personality of the priest. She fully realized her dangerous position, She knew that if she would escape from this place the utmost discretion was necessary, in order that her confessor might not suspect her purpose. She therefore obeyed submissively the command of Monseigneur Ryder.
In conclusion, the Superior said, “I shall exact a penance, my daughter, for entertaining such rebellious feelings as you have described and for doubting the word of your confessor. You will remain before the altar in the chapel until midnight, reciting the prayers which I will mark in the breviary. I trust that by that time your mind will have become tranquillized, and that thoughts of the ceremonies of the morrow will bring you only joy and peace, Farewell.”
Fully confident in his power over the novice, and never doubting but what she was thoroughly grounded in her desire to take the veil, the Superior departed. Had his sensibilities not been dulled, he would quickly have noted that the calmness of his charge was forced.
Until eight o'clock in the evening Katharine revolved in her mind the chances of escape. She was fully resolved to leave these hateful walls that very night, and to seek shelter elsewhere. Never would she willingly submit to the life which Father Ryder had so graphically described. She fell upon her knees and besought God to avert the impending danger and to aid her escape.
She repaired to the chapel at the time appointed. It was the hour for quiet meditation in the convent, and the halls were deserted. As Katharine knelt before the altar, she felt a soft touch on her shoulder. Looking up she saw the impassive face of the portress. Over her arm she carried a peasant’s coarse cape and rough hood.
“Rise, child,” she said kindly. “I listened to your prayers for deliverance this afternoon. I saw your tears of distress, and I pitied you. I would save you from the fate which has been mine. The Church has sadly changed since the days of my youth. I have always loved and reverenced her, and I do so still. It is only those things within her which are not holy that I would see changed. May God in His own good time purge her from all her spots and stains, and bring her forth as gold purified by the refiner’s fire. But enough of this. The convent is no place for you. If you remain, you will be sadly persecuted. I have come to set you free. Hasten! there is no time to lose!”
So saying, she wrapped the bewildered girl in the coarse garments and led her to the postern gate of the convent. As she opened the gate she said, “Go along the Westernstrasse until you come to Canal Street. In the third house from the corner on the right lives my sister, Betgen Faber. She will shelter you to-night for my sake. Farther than this, the blessed Mother must direct your steps.”
With these words she gently thrust the trembling girl into the dark street of the city.