Quote Of The Week: August Derleth

All of my memories of my parochial school years are informed with affection for the nuns who labored so untiringly to till their charges with learning, and at the same time instill in them something of their own discipline and set then on the paths of Christian thought and the timeless Catholic teachings with which they were imbued. They were, in a sense, substitute mothers, and it is quite possible that we were, some of us, for some of them, the children they would never bear. It was never my experience to know any Dominicans at St. Aloysius who were anything but kind – firm, yes, but always kind, sympathetic, and understanding – who were not only what we expected of teachers but also what we had come to expect from mothers.

[…]

Sister Anaclete was the epitome of gentleness and patience. She was fair, and she was young – she could not have been much over twenty when I came into the fourth grade – and she was beautiful with a completely feminine beauty which was enriched by humility. All of us in the three grades which were her charge loved her, and I remember that when, in the recesses of my mind I thought of angels, each angel wore the face of Sister Anaclete, and walked as Sister Anaclete did, and talked as Sister Anaclete did, which was not surprising, for it was impossible to imagine that any angel could be superior in any way, not more gentle, not more comely, not kinder nor more patient.

But none of these attributes was Sister Anaclete’s special attribute for me, for it was she who opened up to me the world of creative art.
[…]

But words were left to me, and by the time I got around to use them, I moved into the final grades of parochial school and was being taught by Sister Isabelle, who was in many ways what Sister Anaclete was not. She was a tall, sturdy woman, pronouncedly masculine in her manner, with keen, brown eyes that gave the unvarying impression that she knew just what everyone one of us in her two grades was about at every moment of time we were in the room. She was a strict disciplinarian who expected the best from her charges and in turn did her best to exact it; and, as such, she inspired either marked dislike or a strong liking – there was never any half-way, milk-sop reactions to Sister Isabelle.
[…]

But for me, Sister Isabelle did far more than anyone else. She read my first story – a poor thing about violent death and detection. She may not have liked its subject, but if so, she did not say as much. But she liked the way in which it was done and she liked the spirit which moved me to venture it. She encouraged me. No one could have done more. Of my watercolors and my essays in music, Sister Anaclete took a tolerant but dim view; of my words, Sister Isabelle spoke well and with warmth and kindness and made me believe that in that world of creativity to which Sister Anaclete was so devoted, I, too, might play a small part, one enough to satisfy my modest needs.

— August Derleth. Walden West (New York: Duell, Sloan and Pearce), 21 – 25.

Quote of the Week: August Derleth