It was after the convent doors closed that the real struggles of the singer began. Some of them have considerable vraisemblance, some of them are very trivial. The letters sent to Monsignor Mostyn, for example, are not credible; nor are Teresa’s revolt and subsequent spiritual rebirth made quite clear. Perhaps Mr. Moore is not yet so strong a believer as Huysmans. His words do not carry the intense conviction of the Fleming-Frenchman, who from his retreat in a Benedictine monastery has given the world a vivid and edifying account of St. Lydwine de Schiedam, that blessed Dutch saint he speaks of in En Route, first attacked at the time of the plague in Holland. “Two boils formed, one under her arm, the other above the heart. ‘Two boils, it is well,’ she said to the Lord, ‘but three would be better in honor of the Holy Trinity,’ and immediately a third pustule broke out on her face.” This extraordinary mystic considered herself as an expiatory victim for all the sins of the earth. Her sufferings were finally rewarded. Like John Bunyan, she died a “comfortable and triumphant death.” A writer of Huysmans’s magnificent artistry, who can thus transform himself into an humble hagiographer, must indeed have forsworn his ways and become impregnated by faith. Mr. Moore does not succeed in arousing any such poignant and unpleasant impressions. Notwithstanding his array of mystical learning, his familiarity with the writings of Rüysbroeck, John of the Cross, Saint Teresa, Catharine Emmerich, Saint Angela, and the rest, one cannot escape the conviction that it is not all deeply felt. Count S. C. de Soissons writes: “He who praises the lasciviousness of Alcibiades does not enjoy the pleasure that he had; neither do they experience the mystic ecstasies of the anchorites of the Thebaid who try to parody their saintly lives.” Even the striking account of the Carmelite’s profession in Sister Teresa is paralleled in En Route. There is not so much music talk as in Evelyn Innes, for she leaves its world of vain and empty sonorities. This much I found in an early chapter. “In Handel there are beautiful proportions; it is beautiful like eighteenth-century architecture, but here I can discover neither proportion nor design.” Moore referred to a Brahms score, which is manifestly absurd. Whatever else there may be in Brahms, we are sure to discover proportion, design. Again, “She remembered that César Franck’s music affected her in much the same way.” Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “When I listen I always hear something beautiful, only I don’t listen.” I fear Mr. Moore has succumbed again to the blandishing voice of Ulick Dean Runciman!