The Wooden Shepherdess (16 page)

By now it was much too late to start home through the forest. But only the coachman was sent to sleep at a Gasthaus, for no one of consequence stays in public hotels and Walther's custom (whenever he had to stop in town overnight) was to billet himself on his man-of-business in Kammstadt, the lawyer Krebelmann.

Krebelmann was a Kammstadter born and bred: a man with obsequious mouth and contemptuous eyes and a nervous trick of shifting his papers about for emphasis when he spoke, and another ridiculous one of leaning back when he walked as though he carried a tray. But no one denied he was shrewd.

The Krebelmann house was roomy and old and over-ornate, having once belonged to an infant heir whose affairs Herr Krebelmann managed, and then changed owners nobody quite knew how. It stood on Kammstadt's principal street; and was gloomy, as though it felt come-down-in-the-world nowadays with only a small-town lawyer's family in it.

Walther had found himself more and more seeking the lawyer's advice these days; and tonight the two had plenty of pressing things to discuss, while Frau Emma took Adèle and Mitzi away to talk women's-talk and to coo at the latest baby—or rather, to coo at the tiny upturned nose which was all that emerged to breathe from a sea of wool, like a miniature schnorkel.

*

Back in the Convent too there was anxious discussion. The Reverend Mother had spent a whole hour in private prayer, then summoned her Council and laid the problem before them. At first they took the common-sense view: they agreed that blindness would handicap far too severely the strenuous life of a nun, and the applicant must be refused. But the other Council Sisters had never seen Mitzi, and when they asked the Sub-prioress what she had thought of the girl she said “That you just can't argue with Grace!” That loosened the Reverend Mother's tongue, and she spoke the name already so much on her mind: Thérèse Martin, the child who in spite of refusals had gained admission to Carmel when still under age—to become a Canonized Saint. Then, sorely perplexed, all four of them jointly offered the problem in prayer.

Mother Agnes of the Holy Face, the oldest Religious among them, eased the tension a bit when she asked the Prioress why she considered the question was one which need be finally settled now? This blind girl offered herself to God as a Postulant only. Postulants wear no habit: they're not even Novices yet, let alone Nuns—and may never become so, for not every tadpole grows to a frog. That rests in the hands of the Lord. Since only a “No” at the present time need be final, why
not
allow her to come—thus leaving the Lord to reveal His will in His own good time?

Postulants take their place in the convent life, but only like guests who can leave any moment they want to. Surely this girl would presently leave of her own accord when she found it impossible? Also, said Mother Agnes, Advent was only a few days off (in the penitential season of Advent the silent seclusion of Carmelite life grows even more rigorous): “No normal time for a normal admission, I grant you; but coming in Advent surely this girl whom words can't convince will see for herself all the sooner that blind girls cannot go on....”

“Unless,” the Sub-prioress added in a little more than a whisper: “Unless the Lord's will really
is
otherwise....”

What Mother Agnes said turned the scales: the Council agreed, and presently so did the Chapter. Formally asked by Chapter, the Bishop gave his consent. Thus was that Wednesday the Twelfth of December settled for Mitzi's admission as Postulant, albeit few of the Sisters imagined she'd stop very long (perhaps barely the end of the year).

*

Mitzi of course was fully convinced this was final; and Schmidtchen got down at once to preparing her darling's (flannel and calico) trousseau.

Walther gave all the credit to Rome: for there
must
have been high-up pressure to cause such a sudden surrender. Indeed, in his eyes, this all went to show that even if ancient nobility nowadays cut little ice in the secular world in the Church it still counted for something—at any rate, ancient nobility backed up like his with a couple of Curial cousins (in short, things always did come right in the end if the right strings were pulled).

Returning at last from Munich to seek his bride, Augustine's first intimation of what was afoot was the children's thunder-bolt words as they flocked to the station to meet him: for no one had thought to tell him before, since no one supposed him concerned. A second Persephone's Rape! In his calendar “Wednesday December the Twelfth 1923” would remain ever after his unforgettable date of historic despair.

Those desolate hours he spent alone in the snowy forest kept him again off-stage when Mitzi set off on her second and final journey; and long before Walther and Adèle got back he had fled from their castle and even their country. All they found on return was a cryptic note saying nothing of why he was going, or where.... He had humped his own bags to the train and forgotten his guns: Otto said he seemed half off his head.

Only ten-year-old Trudl, loving Augustine herself, had spotted his trouble was love; and Trudl of course wasn't telling.

Wednesday, December the Twelfth.... That heavy old two-horse sleigh had plenty of room for all four of them, Father and Mother and Mitzi and coachman—and luggage.

Soon after ten in the morning it passed from the comforting homely smell of cows through the hollowly-echoing castle gate, and crossed the causeway; but since there were drifts that day in the forest it didn't arrive at the convent gate till dusk. There they were once again left to wait in that tiny carbolicky room for an hour or more before the Portress, candle in hand, returned to lead the way to the parlor.

Mitzi could hear hushed voices behind the curtains; and even before she was called to the grille, and the curtains were drawn aside, she guessed that the struggle wasn't yet over....

The time then was half-past six. At six, the Sisters had walked in procession to supper chanting the
De Profundis
: then eaten their meal in absolute silence without sitting down and in front of a skull on the table—for such was their custom. In other than seasons of penance, they'd then have adjourned for that pleasant hour of recreation together which, being one of the rare occasions they talked, was the hour most often ordained for receiving a Postulant. But this was Advent, with no such hour of recreation allowed them; and so tonight they'd assemble only briefly, and break their silence for only so long as was strictly needful for Mitzi's formal reception among them.

For Mitzi's reception, that is, if Mitzi was still unconvinced.... For now (as everyone knew) she was still barred out behind that grille in the parlor, and hearing one last attempt by all four Sisters-in-Council in concert: one final attempt to dissuade her from risking her own neck (and theirs) on the perilous cliff-face of Carmel.... “Elijah's unscalable mountain,” she heard them describe it, “Where one weak climber imperils herself and impedes all the others.”

But Mitzi, in spite of the strain of this one-against-all resistance, was not to be moved; and indeed how could she be moved when she knew herself driven on by Something—oh, greater by far than her reasoning self? So at last the useless reasoning ceased; and the sound of a key in a lock came to tell her the door of Enclosure at last stood open in front of her.

Hands reached over the threshold to guide her. A gentle pressure told her to kneel, and something was held to her lips which must be a crucifix. Rising again, she felt them turning her round to face the door she had come by and bow her farewell to the world. Then she heard that door on the world being locked, and her father blowing his nose.

*

Schacht (the financial dictator) had lately trebled a landowner's troubles by stopping inflation so suddenly: cash was instantly scarce, and with bank-rate at 15 per cent credit impossible. Forests are largely capital work; but now all capital work on the land had to cease and men be laid off, or stretches of forest be sold—and who, these days, had the money to buy them? Mitzi's problem at least was settled, while all these other things weren't: so as soon as they reached the Krebelmanns' house tonight the Baron retired with his Man of Business, and started discussing his thorniest problems at once. Walther might feel heavy-hearted at parting with Mitzi, but had to put Mitzi right out of his mind and get down to it—heavy-hearted or not.

It was well after midnight before the two men finally left their papers and sat down to supper. The women had long ago gone up to bed. The Krebelmanns' peasant slave always breathed through her mouth, but now her eyes were gummy with sleep as well as she served hot consommé, sipped from cups while munching a wealth of steaming sausage and so on—and afterwards, beer.

When Walther at last went up to bed, his wife never stirred. Her face was hidden; but Walther concluded she must be uncommonly deeply asleep by the way she gave no sign even when he none-too-quietly kicked off his boots: and although it wouldn't be fair to call that a downright attempt to wake her, he found his wife's continued coma no small annoyance because, in spite of the beer, he didn't feel ready for sleep himself and wanted to talk. For now he had come to bed not even financial worries could keep his thoughts any longer from Mitzi: recalling the long-ago days when his little darling would climb on his lap to play with his watch-chain, and used to squeal with delight if he chucked her high in the air and pretended to let her fall....

When finally Walther heaved his huge bulk on to the bed, it swayed and creaked: but still his helpmeet lay with her back towards him, as if he didn't exist. Above the head of the bed a pious picture oozed with unction. Facing its foot, a photograph hung of a furious Tanganyikan elephant rather too much enlarged. There was nothing to read.... He blew out the candle, and lay “full of tossings to and fro till the break of day”—like Job. For it always tended to happen like this to Walther, that what had seemed so certain by day seemed much less certain by night. Now it was altogether too late he'd begun to have qualms: had their final solution of Mitzi been really the right one? His poor little Mitzi ... as if her blindness wasn't burden enough! And now for the very first time he allowed himself to imagine what life must be like for a girl of her age, in that holy hen-coop....

If only his wife would respond He reached out an arm towards her for comfort, and touched her. At that his senses began to stir: they were sluggish enough, but surely the marital act at least might serve to distract his thoughts.... He rolled against her; but Adèle jerked away, and left him only a pillow wet with her tears.

Mitzi had heard that door on the world being locked, then felt them lead her along with a guiding hand on each arm. They were taking her first to the Choir for her Consecration. From there she was brought in silence (already alert, in spite of her exaltation, to notice each landmark of turning or staircase or stumble) to what by its echo-quality sounded a largish room that was filled with a gentle and happy twitter of voices, like birds. Here she heard herself being presented to each of the Sisters in turn (though with all those sacred names and identical-feeling clothes, how hopeless it seemed attempting to know them apart!) and felt her face being kissed all over by welcoming nuns.

But then the Sisters returned to the Choir, and Mitzi found herself left with a single strong young hand on her arm and a single strong young voice in her ear: for each new arrival in Carmel was given some senior novice as “Guardian Angel,” to help her and guide her and show her the ropes. This strong young voice (which had some sort of foreign accent, she noticed) was hers. Her “Angel” conducted her first to the novices' own Recreation Room, and then to their own place of prayer (for except at Mass they weren't allowed in the Choir). Then they returned from the Novices' Wing to the Nuns' own, equally freezing, part of the house.

In Carmelite convents, even at times when speech is allowed, nobody speaks in passages or on the stairs any more than one ever speaks in the cells themselves: so Mitzi kept being drawn into specially-licensed cubby-holes, called “speech-corners.” There she'd be given Angelic advice rapid-fire: for example, that underclothes folded and slept on in bed aren't quite so icily cold to the skin in the morning. At last, however, they entered the vacant cell where a Postulant always spent her first few days as the Sisters' guest, in their special care. Here her Angel silently helped her unpack and presently left her, in cold and darkness and strangeness, alone—with her face still covered in kisses that smelled of beeswax and incense and soap.

That Angel's accent ... it sounded a bit like the German our visiting English cousin had spoken. “Augustin” ... Mitzi smiled, recalling his gentle voice and his strangely silent shoes; and his clothes, with their faint smell of peat-smoke.... But also that terrible time when he'd tried to read Schiller aloud (though he'd meant it kindly enough). All the same, her Angel was anyhow probably Swiss not English; and surely this wasn't the moment—with Home and the World so newly behind her—to think about anyone out of the past? Instead she had better get down at once to discovering all she could of this cell she was housed in. She stretched out her arms to measure its length and width, and found it so small she could certainly never get lost in here! Her hands then found the hairy blanket, spread over a mattress of straw so round, being newly stuffed, that she feared rolling off in her sleep. Laid across it.... Of course, all this cold cardboard-like cloth was tomorrow's black Postulant's dress, with its cape. Then she knelt to explore the plain plank bed underneath, on its trestles. Below that bed, her hands found a basin with something rough folded over it—something which must be her towel.... Where then was the water to put in it? Turning too quickly on hands and knees, she nearly knocked over the tall crock of water with ice in its neck which stood by the wall.