Iris Murdoch - The Bell

Catherine had risen to her knees and was staring about as if looking for something. At that moment more voices were heard in the wood, and several more people appeared, uttering questions and cries of amazement. Among them was Michael.

It was certainly a strange scene: most of the men muddied to the waist, two half-drowned women, and Mother Clare swinging the coat over her shoulders. Michael looked at it with the expression of someone who has had enough surprises and feels that this ought to be the last. But it was not the last.

As he advanced towards the centre of the group and began to say something, Catherine staggered to her feet. She advanced, grotesque with her long stripes of black hair, her mouth hanging open. Everyone fell silent. Then with a moan she ran at Michael. It seemed for a moment as if she were going to attack him. But instead she hurled her arms about his neck and seemed to cling to him with the whole of her wet body. Her head burrowed into the front of his jacket as in tones of frantic endearment she uttered his name over and over again. Michael’s arms closed automatically about her. Over her bowed and nestling head his face was to be seen, blank with amazement and horror.

PAUL paid the taxi-driver. He spent a moment or two working out the exactly appropriate tip. They went into the station. Paul bought the morning papers. They had arrived far too early for the train, as usual. They sat side by side on the platform, Paul reading the papers and Dora looking out across the railway. The sun shone upon, a yellow mustard field and there was a haze over the low green tree-fringed horizon beyond. It was sunny again, but chill; the dusty illusions of late summer were giving place to the golden beauties of autumn, sharper and more poignantly ephemeral.

Dora had spent the rest of the previous day in bed. Everyone had been very nice to her; everyone, that is, except Paul. But the general concern had been for Catherine. Carried back to the Court, Catherine had remained throughout the day in a completely distracted condition. The doctor had been called. After administering sedatives he had shaken his head, spoken of schizophrenia, and mentioned a clinic in London. Late in the evening, after much debate and indecision, arrangements were made for Catherine to go as soon as possible.

Paul, in a condition not far from schizophrenic himself, had divided his energies between studying the bell and reproaching his wife. Fortunately for Dora’s repose, the bell had claimed the larger part of his time; and very early that morning, after a long telephone call to someone at the British Museum, he had decided to travel to London by the ten o’clock train. This haste left no time for packing, and it had been decided that Dora should travel the following day, bringing the luggage. The larger suitcase, filled with Paul s notebooks, travelled with him. Dora was to do what she could with brown paper and string, and take a taxi from Paddington if necessary. The bell itself, the old bell, was also going to London, by road-rail container, for examination by experts.

Dora saw out of the corner of her eye that there was something about Imber in the paper. She did not want to see it. She stared ahead of her at the mustard field. Paul was reading it avidly.

After a little while he said, “Read this,” and handed her the paper.

Dora glanced at it unseeingly for a moment, and then said, “Yes, I see.”

“No, read it properly,” said Paul. “Read every word.” He kept the paper held up in front of her.

Dora began to read. The article was headed – FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD – and read as follows:

Few days in the history of religious communities, lay or otherwise, can have been quite so eventful as the last twenty-four hours at Imber Court, home of an Anglican lay community tucked away in the wilds of Gloucestershire. Event number one was the discovery, by two visiting members of the community, of an antique carved bell which had lain for many centuries sunk in the ornamental lake which surrounds the house. This bell is alleged to be the property of nearby Imber Abbey, Anglican Benedictine convent, which by an odd coincidence was just about to instal a modern bell. Rumour had it that the antique bell was to be“miraculously” substituted for the modern bell at a quaint baptismal ceremony outside the Abbey. The miracle however did not occur, and those not in the secret were given a different surprise instead by (event number two) the pealing of the bell at dead of night, summoning them to a gathering in the woods more reminiscent of a witches’ sabbath than of the sober goings on of the Anglican church.

More surprises were to follow. Next day, Friday, began ceremoniously, no witches in evidence. Blessed by a mitred Bishop the new bell processed slowly along the picturesque causeway which leads across Imber lake to the gates of the nunnery. Event number three took place, with dramatic suddenness, half-way across the causeway. The bell suddenly overturned into the water and sank without trace. Subsequent investigation suggested that sabotage, and not accident,-was responsible for this disaster; and the finger of suspicion was pointed at one of the brothers.

Scarce, however, had this mystery been allowed to thicken when event, or catastrophe, number four ensued. One of the brothers, a sister this time, since the brotherhood embraces both sexes, who was shortly to proceed herself across Imber causeway to nunhood, became deranged and threw herself into the lake. Happily she was rescued quite unhurt by Miss Dora Greenfield, a visitor to the Abbey, with the help of an aquatic nun, who provided a unique spectacle by doffing her habit and diving in in her underclothes. The unfortunate would-be suicide is receiving medical attention.

The Imber brotherhood, designed to allow laymen to have the benefits of the religious life while remaining in the world, has been in existence for less than a year. When not engaged in religious exercises it cultivates a market-garden. Why this recent outbreak of drama? A spokesman closely connected with the community mentioned schisms and emotional tensions, but members of the brotherhood were not anxious to comment, and assured us that life at Imber is normally peaceful.

The brothers are a self-governing body, subject to no defined ecclesiastical authority. They make no vows of chastity or of poverty. Who supports them? Voluntary contributors. An appeal for contributions is shortly to be issued, to be followed by a swelling of the numbers of brothers and sisters. The community occupies a charming eighteenth-century house in extensive grounds.

“Well,” said Paul, “have you read it all?”

“Yes,” said Dora.

“And are you pleased with your achievement?”

“Not very.”

“Not very? You mean you’re a little pleased?”

“I’m not pleased at all.”

“I suppose you realize you’ve probably done permanent damage to these excellent people?”

“Yes.”

“Whose idea was it? Gashe”s? Or Spens”s?”

“Mine.”

“And you still say you had nothing to do with what happened to the new bell?”

“Nothing.”

“I wonder why I ask you questions when I never believe what you say.”

“Oh, do stop, Paul,” said Dora. Her eyes filled with unshed tears.

“I can’t understand you,” said Paul. “I’m beginning to wonder whether you aren’t mentally ill. Perhaps you’d better see a psychiatrist in London.”

“I won’t see a psychiatrist,” said Dora.

“You will if I decide you will,” said Paul.

The distant sound of the train vibrated on the still air. They both turned and looked down the line. The train was coming into view, a long way off. Paul got up and lifted his suitcase and advanced towards the edge of the platform.