recognise; it lay in the isolation, the dull, soul-benumbing oppression of the monastic life.
The sick were treated with great kindness, as a rule, but, naturally, with little skill and effectiveness, for no woman is, under any conceivable circumstances, allowed to enter the monastery. In a serious illness which befell me I had acute consciousness of that aspect of celibate life. The custards and beef-tea which the doctor had ordered were made by our cook of corn-flour and somebody’s essence of beef (the cook had the laudable intention of saving time for his prayers); and even when certain lady friends outside had taken the responsibility for my diet, I still had the equivocal blessing of ‘fraternal’ nursing. The lay-brother who acted as my infirmarian, a good, rough, kind-hearted fellow, like most of his class, had been a collier before his conversion, and, though he made a desperate effort to be gentle and soothing, his big horny hands lent themselves very badly to the purpose. However, no expense was spared in the care of the sick, and most superiors were extremely kind and considerate in their treatment.
The constant changes in the personnel of the monastery are also one of the forms of relieving the monotony of the life. Elections are held every eighteen months in which changes of superiors are made and religious are transferred from one monastery to another; for months in advance the convents are thrown into a fever of excitement over the issues.
