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know it is nothing of the sort; they praise you or criticize you quite
deliberately. They try to work out your innermost thoughts; they ask
you about what you read, they offer you some sacred books and some
secular ones, and they make a note of which one you choose. They
encourage you to bend the rules; they tell you secrets; they say a few
words here and there about the Mother Superior s odd behaviour;
everything is stored up and repeated. They drop you and then they
become interested in you again; they sound you out about your
feelings on morals, piety, the world, religion, monastic life, every-
thing in fact. These repeated tests enable them to come up with an
epithet which sums you up and which they tag on to your first name
like a surname. So I was called Sainte Suzanne the shy.
On the first evening, the Mother Superior came to visit me; she
came in as I was getting undressed. It was she who took off my veil
and wimple and brushed my hair for bed; it was she who undressed
me. She said a hundred sweet things to me and stroked me a thousand
times, which made me feel rather awkward, but I do not know why,
96 The Nun
because I did not know what was happening, and neither did she, and
even now as I think back over it, what could we have possibly known?
Nevertheless I told my confessor and he reacted to this intimacy,
which to me seemed, and does indeed still seem, innocent, in a very
serious way and solemnly ordered me not to let it happen again. She
kissed my neck, shoulders, and arms, she praised the fullness of my
figure and my waist, and she put me to bed; she tucked in the
blankets on both sides, kissed my eyes, drew the curtains, and left. I
forgot to tell you that she assumed that I was tired and so gave me
permission to stay in bed as long as I wanted.
I took her at her word. That was, I think, the only good night s
sleep I ever had in a convent, although I spent most of my life in
them. The next morning, at about nine o clock, I heard someone
tapping softly on my door. I was still in bed; I answered and someone
came in; it was a nun who told me, rather testily, that it was late and
that the Mother Superior wanted to see me. I got up, quickly got
dressed, and went.
Good morning, my child, she said. Did you sleep well? This
coffee was made an hour ago, but I think it will still be fine. Drink it
quickly and then we can have a talk.
And as she spoke she laid out a handkerchief on the table, laid
another across my lap, and poured out a cup of coffee and put in
some sugar. The other nuns did the same in each other s cells. While
I was having my breakfast she talked to me about my fellow nuns,
describing them according to her likes and dislikes. She was
extremely friendly towards me and asked me hundreds of questions
about the convent I had left, my parents, and the unpleasant experi-
ences I had had; she accorded praise or blame as she saw fit, and she
never listened to any of my replies in full. I did not contradict her;
she was very pleased with my intelligence, my judgement, and my
discretion. Meanwhile a nun came in, and then another, and then a
third and a fourth and a fifth. One of them talked about the Mother
Superior s birds, another about Sister *** s habits; they talked about
all the funny little ways of those nuns who were not there, and they
became rather merry. There was a virginal in one corner of the cell
and I distractedly ran my fingers over it, since, as a newcomer to the
convent, I did not know any of the nuns they were joking about, so
what they were saying was not very amusing, and even if I had been
better informed, what they were saying would still not have been
The Nun 97
very amusing. To make a really good joke requires too much wit, and
after all, is there anybody who does not have a ridiculous side to
them? While they were laughing, I played some chords, and grad-
ually attracted their attention. The Mother Superior came over to
me and, tapping me on the shoulder, said: Come along, Sainte
Suzanne, entertain us. Play first, and then you can sing afterwards. I
did what she told me. I played a few pieces which I knew off by
heart, I improvised, and then I sang a few verses from Mondonville s
setting of the Psalms.*
That s splendid, said the Mother Superior, but we have as much
holiness as we want in church. We re by ourselves here. These are
my friends, and they ll be yours too. Sing us something more
cheerful.
Some of the nuns said: But perhaps that s all she knows; she s
tired after her journey, we must spare her. That s quite enough for
one occasion.
No, no, said the Mother Superior, she plays marvellously, and
she has the most beautiful voice in the world (it is true that my voice
is not ugly; it is accurate, sweet, and flexible rather than strong and
wide in range) and I shan t let her off until she s sung something
else for us.
I was a little put out by what the nuns had said, and I told the
Mother Superior that the sisters were no longer enjoying my music.
But I still am.
I thought she would say that. So I sang a rather dainty little song,
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