Behind the Convent Grille
ONE route to Montreal is straight up the Vermont Central Railway, and means nothing more than fifteen hours’ transit over a country of little interest; another is by way of Lakes George and Champlain to Ogdensburg, and thence by steamer down the St. Lawrence, sliding delightfully over all the Rapids and under the Victoria Bridge, until one steps on shore at the Pier Jacques Cartier, near the Bonsecours Market, and feels one’s self already in foreign lands. This route takes a Little more than twice as much time, and is rather more expensive, but yet is much to be preferred; at least so decided the band of adventurous spirits whose observations are to be recorded, and who hereby introduce themselves as Alix, expensionnaire of the Convent-School of Hochelaga, conducted by the Sisters of the Order of the Holy Names of Jesus and Mary; Miselle, the matron of the party; and her two daughters, St. Ives and Bud; the former a young lady at the age when “ they want to know, you know,” and the latter aged only twelve, but yet the most important person of the expedition, since its purpose was to place her at the abovenamed school, should the young lady herself find it attractive, and her mamma find herself satisfied not only with the educational and hygienic system pursued by the sisters, but with their pledges of non-interference with the religious principles transmitted in a straight line to little Bud from heroic Plymouth Rock.
A short but spirited combat between Alix and a hackman, called in Montreal a carter, resulted in engaging a carriage at a moderate price; and a selection having been made from a pile of luggage so large that the carter muttered impertinent allusions to the necessity for a dray to carry it, the tired, happy travelers crowded themselves and two boxes into the carriage and drove merrily away upon the Hochelaga road.
“ I will just state, my dear friends,” remarked Alix calmly, “ that the convent doors are hermetically sealed at nine o’clock every evening, and that it is now half past that witching hour.
I will add, moreover, that there is neither knocker nor bell attached to the outer doors, the profane world being absolutely excluded after hours.” The exclamations, questions, and propositions induced by the information thus tardily conveyed were not yet exhausted in variety when the carriage paused before the closed gates of a large building, its facade of gray stone surmounted by a colossal statue of the Mother and Child glimmering ghostly white in the moonlight. The dim figure of a man started from the shadow of the wall, exchanged some words of Canadian patois with the carter, and then throwing open the gates, ran before the carriage up to the house, upon whose many windows the moonlight glittered, but whence shone no other light.
“ The doors are closed, madame; the ladies are at their prayers and will see no one, I assure you,” said the carter, already calculating his charges for driving back to a hotel in the city.
“ Hold, my friend! I will run round to the nuns’ house; they will be there, and I shall make them hear; wait but a little! ” And the good-natured shadow ran clattering round the end of the building, and could presently be heard hammering upon some door in the rear and shouting in what may be called a style of respectful vociferation. Relying upon the success of his efforts the travelers dismounted and softly climbed the steps of the grand portico, their steps and voices involuntarily subdued to the tone of the moonlight night, the sleeping nunnery, the hoarse murmur of the mighty St. Lawrence hastening toward the sea. This novel feeling was not diminished when on reaching the great doors they found one leaf drawn noiselessly back, and saw standing upon the threshold the slender figure of a woman draped in clinging black, a long veil of the same hue flowing from the back of her head, and a coif of transparent white muslin closely surrounding a pale and beautiful face whose dark eyes rested in calm inquiry upon the faces of the strangers.
“ Sister Antoinette ! Don’t you know me? Are not we expected? I wrote to Sister Marie ” —began Alix confusedly, and a faint smile of recognition stirred the pale lips of the nun as she laid her finger-tips upon the shoulders of the former pupil, and lightly touched her upon either cheek, while she said in French, —
“ You are very welcome, Alix, and she ladies your friends. You were expected this morning. Come in.”
She turned as she spoke, and led the way through a vestibule closed at the farther end by folding doors fitted with a lock but no latch, and with a movable panel through which all visitors are inspected and interrogated before proceeding farther. If they come simply upon business they are answered and dismissed without penetrating farther; if to visit one of the pupils, or to make inquiries relative to placing a new one, or to speak with one of the sisters who attend to the outside business of the convent, they announce their wishes to the portress as she stands framed in the open panel, and she by pulling a cord opens a door, giving entrance from the vestibule to an ante-room and thence to a long and handsomely decorated drawing-room; the door closes as noiselessly as it has opened, and the guest finds himself inside the convent indeed, but as completely shut off from all communication with the interior as if he had remained outside. The sister portress meantime sends word to one of the directresses of the young ladies that Miss So-and-so is wanted “ at parlor,” to speak with her father, brother, mother or sister, as the case may be, and usually the sister attends the girl down, greets the visitor courteously, and having seen that all is as it should be, withdraws, leaving the pupil and her relative together.
All these formalities were, however, omitted in the case of our travelers, and unlocking the door of the vestibule, which she had jealously closed behind her, Sister Antoinette showed them into a little reception room, where some one had already placed a lamp, and went to call Sister Marie. Miselle, attracted by the glimpse she had already caught of the terra incognita around her, lingered at the door instead of decorously seating herself upon the sofa pointed out to her, and feasted her eyes upon a scene not often to be chanced upon at this day and within a few miles of the borders of New England. A wide and lofty hall led straight from the entrance doors to the doors of the chapel opposite, and this hall was intersected by a long corridor running the length of the building, the two forming a cross, one arm pointing to the world and one to the church. At the point of intersection hung a lamp, its faint light flickering upon lofty ceilings, dim corridors, pillars, arches, paintings, statues, a few dim, blackrobed figures gliding in or out of the chapel and disappearing in the gloom which hid its extent; a faint odor of incense still hung upon the quiet air, and Miselle was wondering if it could really be that yesterday she was in Massachusetts, when a door swung noiselessly open, and a tiny, black-robed figure glided across the hall toward the reception room. Miselle retreated, and the next moment a lady entered the room, cordially embraced Alix, and greeted her companions with a graceful ease savoring more of courts than convents, and with a hospitable warmth not to be learned in courts. Miselle admired her at first sight., believed in her as soon as she heard her voice, and before the month of her sojourn was over loved her dearly, and must always love, and believe in, and admire her, in spite of opposing creeds and utterly divergent schemes of life. A young girl, dressed in the black robes and white veil of a novice, presently appeared and quietly laid the cloth, and in a very little while served an excellent “meat-tea,” of which the travelers stood in considerable need. The little novice waited upon the table with a quiet grace that, as St. Ives subsequently remarked, formed rather a cruel contrast with such ministrations as mere money can procure. This sort of service seems to enter into the lessons of humility and self-denial which are among the first inculcated upon the mind of the young religieuse, and it is to be hoped may prove as beneficial to her as it is charming to the recipients. Sister Marie also assisted from time to time in the service, and Miselle urged her to sit down and partake with them, until she pleasantly replied, —
“ Thanks, madame, but we never take anything out of our own refectory unless when we visit other convents; ” and Alix added, —
“ No, indeed! I remember how you used to take us girls into Montreal shopping, and when we went to the confectioner’s and devoured all sorts of dainties, you never would touch a thing, but sat aside so patient and amiable, although you must have been hungry too. ’ ’
“ You remember your convent life with pleasure then, my child,” replied Sister Marie, leading away from her own habits with easy grace; and it was not the last time that Miselle observed this airy barrier erected between the world and a careless discussion of conventual customs and rules, although serious questioning was usually met in a spirit of frankness and candor.
Tea over, the travelers were conducted to one of the six bedrooms devoted to guests or to parlor boarders; a charmingly white, nice, plump little bed stood in each corner of the room, and Sister Marie proposed that la petite should remain with her friends instead of going to the dormitory for some days at least.
The next morning was Sunday, and Miselle was awakened by strains of harmony so sublime, so penetrating, so thrilling, that at first she thought it must be the continuance of a celestial dream, for never had she supposed such music possible on earth. She roused her companions, and Alix, listening a moment, sleepily explained, —
“ It’s the nuns in chapel practicing for vespers. Splendid, isn’t it? The organist is one of the sisters too; that Jenny Lind voice is Sister — ; she might have made her fortune as an operasinger; they have the best voices in Montreal here.”
Alix’s own voice trailed off into slumber, and Miselle, softly opening the door, stood listening to such music as no opera-singer could ever make, no paid choir ever utter ; for neither the hope of fame nor the hope of riches can awaken or feign the ecstasy of adoration, of love, of beseeching, that thrilled through that Stabat Mater and Gloria in Excelsis.
A few days after their arrival, Sister Marie escorted her guests over the entire convent, which consists of two parallelogrammic buildings connected by the chapel. Of these the one facing the road is the pensionnat, containing, besides the great drawing - room already described, and some smaller sittingrooms, an apartment called the bishop’s parlor, and another containing a collection of stuffed birds, curiosities, and specimens of drawing, fancy-work, etc., made by the pupils. Below these are the kitchens and refectories for both pupils and nuns, and on the floor above are the airy and spacious class, recreation, and music rooms. Above these again are the dormitories, with their rows of little white beds, and ample arrangements for bathing. Above the dormitories is the flat, graveled roof, with the great statue of the Virgin Mother with her baby in her arms, serenely holding watch over all; and here the sisters come sometimes at sunset to breathe the pure air, and look at the wide landscape, with the city at their right hand, and the great river close in front, and the mountain dominating the whole, the same mountain that Jacques Cartier climbed more than three hundred years ago, and named Mount Royal.
Descending to the first floor, the visitors pass from the pensionnat into the chapel, first covering their heads with some of the black or white net veils used by the pupils for this purpose, since it is considered irreverent for women to enter the presence of the blessed sacrament uncovered. Sister Marie leads the way to the upper end of the chapel, sinks light as thistle-down to her knees as she reaches the steps leading to the altar, whispers a few words, and rising, leads the heretics, a little puzzled as to what is proper for them to do under the circumstances, past the altar to the sacristy, where she exhibits some magnificent robes of various colors and degrees, and promises her guests that they shall see the finest of them all upon the 4th of August, when certain new sisters are to be admitted and grand ceremonials observed. From the sacristy the party pass through a small sitting-room where, after mass, which must be said fasting, the priest is usually served with some refreshment, to a large, bare room called the nuns’ parlor, where they receive their female relatives and friends. On the floor above are several similar rooms: one devoted to the ring-sisters, or those who have accepted the ring which seals them irrevocably to the church: another for the black-veiled sisters, or those who have assumed the dress and provisional vows; and others for the novices and laynuns, of which latter class more hereafter. Above these sitting-rooms, furnished in the barest and most comfortless manner consistent with perfect neatness and wonderful cleanliness, are several large work-rooms, where all the garments worn by the sisters, even to the shoes, are manufactured, and much of the sewing for the pupils. Several sewing-machines stood ready for use, and Miselle was glad to hear that her own favorite was the most popular of these, and regrets that “circumstances Over which,” etc., forbid her to mention which it is; upon this floor, also, is a very attractive oratory lighted by two windows of stained glass, one of the many gifts of the Valois family, the founders of the convent. The upper story is devoted to the dormitories of the nuns, who no longer enjoy, as in the days of old romance, separate little cells, but are all accommodated in three or four large chambers, in the same fashion as the pupils.
Having thus seen the entire building, the party returned to their own quarters, pausing, as they reached the great entrance hall, to read the inscriptions at each side of the central door of the chapel. These were,—
“ Deo Omnipotenti Maximo hoc Templum consecratum fuit die 28 Augusti, A. D. 1860.” And,—
“ Sanctissimo Nomini Mariæ ex munificentia Simonis Valois.”
Above the three doors were the respective shields of his Holiness the Pope, of the Bishop of Montreal, and of the community itself.
“And who was Simonis Valois?” asked Miselle, spelling out the inscription.
“ Our revered benefactor, and the founder of our house. You shall see his tomb in the subterranean chapel,” said Sister Marie; and then with all the enthusiasm of a truly grateful nature, she went on to tell how the Community of the Holy Nuns of Jesus and Mary, founded in 1844 by three pious ladies of Longueil, who took for their convent the small private house occupied by one of their number, struggled on for fifteen years surrounded by every difficulty and discouragement, until it happily attracted the attention of Mons. Simon Valois, a benevolent and pious Canadian gentleman who had retired to Pied-du-Courant, as the point of the St. Lawrence opposite the convent is called, to enjoy the fruits of his successful mercantile career. This gentleman not only aided the infant community in establishing some of its missions, and in other ways, but entirely at his own expense built and presented to them the portion of the present convent known as the nuns’ house, and the chanel connected with it. For several years the front of the chapel formed the facade of the building; but, as the community prospered, it erected at its own expense the pensionnat, shaping it in uniformity with the nunnery, and connecting it with the chapel through what had been the outer doors of the latter. Mons. Valois also bestowed upon the sisters the use and privilege of about thirty acres of land adjoining the immediate grounds of the convent, and this land is farmed with great success, partly by the lay-nuns and partly by hired male labor.
Having finished his work this good man went to his reward, and after magnificent obsequies, at which all Montreal assisted, he was laid in the tomb which forms the principal feature of the subterranean chapel of the house, which is itself his best monument. His surviving family, who still live nearly opposite the convent, continue his fostering care for the institution.
A day or two after the arrival of the travelers, they received in their apartment a visit from a tall and stately lady in the prime of her rich beauty, whom Alix joyfully greeted as “ mother,” and to whom she presented her friends, each of whom the mother lightly kissed upon both cheeks, and welcomed to the convent with a grace nothing short of majestic.
“ I am so much occupied that I have but little time for my friends, but if I can serve you in any manner, I shall be the obliged one,” were her parting words, and it was very pleasant to believe that she meant what she said.
“ What a perfect lady!” exclaimed one as she closed the door.
“ A lady superior,” remarked another; and Alix added, —
“ Not only a perfect lady, but a woman of most uncommon ability. It was she who personally superintended the building of this convent. They say that she used to sit out there day after day, overlooking and directing, and never wearying until the work was done. It must have made a striking picture ! that rich brunette beauty glowing in the noonday sun, and the still, pale-lipped nuns standing patiently behind her chair.”
“ I should think the workmen would have spent all their time in contemplation,” suggested St. Ives.
“ No danger of that,” returned Alix.
“ The mother is far too good a business woman to overlook any idling; it would have been ' no work no pay,’ they would soon have found.”
“ Is this the first mother the community has had? ” asked Miselle, who was making notes.
“No; the first was one of the three foundresses. She was called Mother Rose, and is buried in the cemetery of the mother-house at Longueil. The other two, Sister Marie Madeleine and Sister Marie Agnes, are still alive and live at the mother-house, which, by the way, we ought to visit. Perhaps Sister Marie will go with us.”
Sister Marie would, and the next morning the party, with the addition of two or three other ladies also staying at the convent, were driven in two of the convent carriages to the landing of the ferry-boat, and made a short but charming voyage across the river to Longueil, a pretty village containing several objects of interest. The convent lies about half a mile from the landing, and a hack-carriage conveyed four of the party over that distance, for the sum total of twenty-five cents; driving being one of the cheapest luxuries of Canada. Turning in at the gate of some extensive grounds, the carriage stopped before a long, low building of gray stone, whose small, sunken windows, thick walls, and picturesque irregularity of outline, suggested an antiquity and gradual growth more harmonious with the idea of a convent, than the modern and brilliant design of the house at Hochelaga.
A heavy outer door stood open, but an inner one bearing the monogram of J. and M. was locked and without handle. A bell-cord hung beside it, and this being pulled, a wicket in the door presently opened and a pale face, lighted by two great, dark eyes and straitly surrounded bv the linen bandage and transparent coif of the order, silently appeared.
“ We have come from Hochelaga with Sister Marie,” began Miselle, feeling as if she had arrived at the house of the interpreter, and ought to say, “I am Christiana, and here are Mercy and two other damsels come to ask hospitality,” but a voice as sweet as the face interposed: —
“ Je ne parle pas Anglais, madame.”
A contribution of French was immediately taken up in the party and tendered to Sister Hélène, who presently exclaimed brightly, —
“ Ah, you come from Hochelaga with Sister Marie, and you are to visit our house? But where then is she? ”
Not waiting however for the halting explanation, the little nun disappeared, and presently opened a door at the right hand of the vestibule, admitting the guests to a great, cool parlor, its floor of dark, shining wood, its low ceiling crossed by heavy beams, and floating curtains of white muslin covering the deep-seated windows. At one side of this room a heavy archway led into a smaller apartment where stood a harp, some antique chairs, and a wide, comfortable sofa; and hither the little sister presently led Miselle, to repose until the arrival of the rest of the party. The swinging casement was open, and the summer air, laden with the perfume of a whole garden of flowers, floated the muslin curtain inward, sighed softly across the loosened strings of the harp, and swept like the touch of loving fingers across the burning brow and eyes of the idler upon the sofa; while from the outer room came the merry voices and subdued laughter of the others, as they rested and partook of the refreshment set before them by the good nuns.
“ Come, mamma, we are going over the convent now,” cried Bud’s fresh little voice; and mamma, leaving her delightful retreat with half a sigh, followed the rest through a long corridor lighted only by windows looking into a sort of cloister with the garden beyond, to a flight of stairs made of the same polished wood as the floor of the parlor. In a niche at the foot of these stairs stood a madonna richly dressed in white and blue, and before this Sister Marie lingered.
“ When I was a novice here, it was my duty to care for this image of the Blessed Virgin,” said she, with the smile of a woman recalling the days of her earliest maidenhood. “ How I used to love it, that pretty labor! how carefully I used to arrange her dress and remove every speck of dust! I was so young, you see, and it was a responsibility.”
“ What a charming little novice she must have been,” whispered the girls to each other; and Miselle thought, —
“ And what a wife and mother she might have been.”
They ascended the polished stairs, so smooth and dark that they might serve as mirrors, to long rows of class-rooms, recreation-rooms, music-rooms, drawing and painting rooms; for at Longueil, as at Hochelaga, the “ Ladies of Jesus and Mary ” devote themselves to the instruction of young girls. Above the class-rooms is the dormitory with its little white beds, but not all of one pattern, as at Hochelaga, since it was formerly the custom for each pupil to furnish her own establishment throughout, and many of these little bedsteads are of rich dark wood, some with carved posts, some arranged for hangings; these were probably bought by the daughters of wealthy houses, and given to the convent at their departure. Beyond the dormitory and lavatory, some stairs led to the roof, whence a magnificent view is to be obtained of Montreal, with its many spires, noble quays, and glittering metallic roofs. Close at our feet lie the richly cultivated grounds of the convent, and beyond, the flat Canadian landscape stretches in mile after mile of greenery to the horizon.
“ It is a fine view, is it not? ” asked the sister who now escorted the party. “I never in my life went so far as one can see from here.”
No doubt the young and pretty sister was happy in her vocation, and would not have abandoned it if she might; but the look in her eyes as she opened them wide upon that view was too much like that of a bird peeping between his prison bars at the world he has never tried.
Down-stairs again, with a peep by the way into the cool and shady infirmary, its nice beds all happily unoccupied, to the chapel; where the stations of the cross are marked by quaint old Spanish engravings, and where among other votive offerings before an image of the Virgin hung the chaplet of Mother Rose. Here also in a quaint little gallery stood an organ, upon which the sister organist was so kind as to play, and with much skill and taste. From the chapel through a cool, wide corridor to an open door, whence shallow, sunny steps led to the garden; an old French garden, with fruit-trees and vegetable-beds and beehives and great, fragrant flower-plots, where busy bee or idle butterfly might feast and dream all through the summer day, and the south wind linger lovingly, drowsily; a garden to loiter in for hours with a book that never need be read, or vague, sweet thoughts that never need be said or written, — the rambling, picturesque roofs of the old convent, with its latticed windows swaying open to the summer, and its sombre chapel with the old Spanish pictures, and the wide-open door at the top of the shallow, sunny steps, and the vague, dark corridor beyond, forming one side of the picture, while at the other rises the black wooden paling that incloses another garden, the garden of the dead.
Lifting the simple latch that secures the gate, the sister enters, and points to the central plot laid out in the shape of a great cross, and crowded with pansies and mignonnette and pure white roses. A tall wooden cross is at the head of this flower-cross, and the inscription upon it shows that, here lies the Mother Rose whose memory is still kept so green in the house she helped to found, and in whose service she met her early death. The visitors all read the simple lines, and stand for a moment silent; then the sister plucks a flower or two and offers to each; some receive the gift carelessly, some reverently, some as an idle compliment, some as a relic, and the party passes on to a long row of carefully tended flower-plots, each headed by a little black wooden cross bearing the name “in religion” of the sister who lies beneath. All are gathered here, all who have lived and died in the picturesque old house across the garden, and the flowers are as fresh and bright upon the grave of the oldest, as upon that one at the end of the significantly incomplete second row, whose date is not yet a month old.
One of the older graves especially attracted Miselle’s attention, for it bore only the Christian and family name of its occupant, instead of the saint’s name with the prefix of sister, by which the nuns replace their worldly appellatives upon entering the convent. In answer to her inquiries the sister gravely answered, —
“ No, poor child, she never was of us although she lived and died among us. There was mental alienation in her blood; in fact, both father and mother had died insensate, and the rules of the community forbade her entrance; but so great was her desire for the life of a religieuse that she at length obtained permission to assume the robes and conform to the rules of our order, and to live among us, helping in all our labors, bearing all our privations, and like us giving up the whole world to better devote herself to the service of Heaven. Yes, madame, she lived and died in this house, and her last request was that she might sleep in this cemetery with those whose companion she so long had been. It is a simple story, and yet, to my mind, a sad one, madame.”
“May I pluck a pansy from her grave, my sister? ”
“ But yes, as many as you will, madame.”
“ Only this pansy. Thanks, my sister.”
But that one poor little pansy is the embodiment of a story such as the Book of Martyrs does not excel.
Near the gate of the cemetery stood a prie-dieu in black painted wood, and close beside it a box was attached to the fence, with “ Remember the Poor” painted upon it, and Miselle half regretted, as she dropped a mite into the latter, that her ingrained faith would not allow her to bow her head and bend her knee as did the Catholics of the party, for she would have said a word in memory of that poor unreceived vestal whose lamp remained indeed untrimmed, yet through no fault of her own.
And so, the pleasant visit over, the friends said good-by to the fair garden and thoughtful house, and retraced their steps through the quiet village, and across the river, to the statelier convent upon the other shore.
The happy month that followed was all too short for the pleasures that our travelers crowded into it. They went to Quebec and stayed at Le Chien d’Or, model of little French hotels. They returned to Montreal and spent many a pleasant hour in rambling over the old churches, still redolent of a faith frank and child-like enough to express itself in votive offerings, and visible proofs of miracles performed, such as the chair in the Church of Bonsecours out of which a helpless cripple rose at the end of protracted prayers and walked away, leaving the chair for the confusion and confutation of all scoffers and unbelievers.
After the churches our friends visited the convents, of which there are many in Montreal, and all devoted either to the instruction of young girls, or to works of benevolence and mercy. Connected with these houses is the memory of the brave and devoted women who established them and nursed them through their feeble infancy, and it is in the lives of Marguerite Bourgeois, Madame d’Youville, Jeanne Mance, Madame de la Peltrie, that the thrilling and romantic history of early Canada is to be traced. One cannot but hope that the spirits of these noble and fearless women are permitted to see and rejoice in the prosperity of the institutions for whose establishment they, delicately nurtured, highly educated, and refined as most of them were, shrank not from hunger, cold, rude manual labor, and contact with loathsome maladies and pitiless savages. But to describe these most, interesting establishments, and even mention their early history, would require a larger space than can be allowed to the present paper, and omitting it all for the present, we come to the 4th of August, day memorable in the lives of at least a score of the religieuses of the Convent of Hochelaga as the date of their betrothal or marriage with the church. The day itself was a lovely one, and at an early hour the friends arose, and having donned their best apparel devoted themselves to the decoration of little Bud, who had received an invitation to act as bridesmaid to one of the novices about to take the black veil. The compliment was the greater as this was the first instance of a Protestant child employed in such capacity, and if Bud should ever be dressed for her own bridal she will not probably feel half the anxiety on the subject of gloves, boots, veil, sash, bretelles, etc., that caused her to make life a torment to her loving friends upon this occasion. When she was considered ready, one of the sisters came to inspect her toilette, and from that proceeded to glance at those of the young ladies, at first with the naive interest and appreciation of a young woman, and especially a French young woman; but after the first few moments education overcame instinct, and she turned away, muttering, —
“Mon Dieu! Quel esclavage! Quel esclavage! ” and to this day those three heretics refer to ribbons, lace, jewelry, and such matters, as “ esclavage.”
Sister Marie, who upon this occasion multiplied herself like the fairy she looked, was the next visitor, and in be stowing her thistle-down morning sa lutes, gayly exclaimed,—
“ All ready, and like so many brides! Come to chapel now, and let me place you before the world arrives.”
“ But we have had no breakfast, sister,” plaintively remarked one of the party, and it was beautiful to see how immediately the look of surprise that one should wait for such a trifle was replaced by the polite concern of a hospitable hostess.
Breakfast was eaten, but “ the world ” had meantime arrived, and it was only by a stretch of Sister Marie’s influence that two prie-dieus near the altar had been reserved, and two other seats were found farther back for “ le fils de madame ” and one of the girls. Mass had already commenced, and as our party entered, two of the attendant priests brought forward a gilded chair of peculiar form and planted it in front of the grand altar; then, returning to the sacristy, escorted the bishop, Monseigneur Pinsonncoult, who seated himself, with the ten assistant priests on either side. And now was heard from the room behind the altar, and corresponding to the sacristy, the deep voice of a priest singing, —
“ Prudentes virgines, aptate vestras lampades. Ecce, Sponsus venit, exite obviam ei! ” and to this the sweet voices of the sisters responding in the words of the one hundred and twenty-first Psalm, singing which, they entered the sanctuary and descended to the seats reserved for them in the body of the church; first the young girls who come to request admission into the novitiate as postulantes ; then the postulantes who are ready to receive the religious habit and white veil of the novice; then the novices who, having completed their year of probation, desire to assume the black veil and make the first vows; and, lastly, those who, after five years’ experience, decide to take the irrevocable vows and receive the ring symbolizing their marriage to the church. At any one of these steps the religieuse may retract her promises and return to the world; and this sometimes, but not often, occurs.
Each of the eight novices who took the black veil and five years’ vows upon this occasion, and each of the five postulantes who assumed the white veil, carried in her hand a lighted candle, and behind her walked her little bridesmaid dressed all in white and blue, and covered with a veil of white net. They bore the baskets containing the robes, veils, crosses, books, and rings about to be bestowed, which they placed in passing upon a table in the sanctuary, and then following the brides, seated themselves in front of them, and received the candles when the latter relinquished them.
The superior general of the community and the mistress of the novices followed and seated themselves in readiness for their important offices.
A short sermon in French was next delivered by the bishop, and as soon as he had resumed his seat, the two young girls who desired admittance to the novitiate came forward, knelt, and preferred their request, which was granted. One of them was dressed in ordinary dark clothes, but the other was dressed in the blue and white costume of a bridesmaid, and attended in that capacity her elder sister, who was about to take the black veil. These girls retiring, the five postulantes, who, having spent several months in the novitiate, demand to be received as novices, come forward, kneel before the railing of the sanctuary, and are questioned by the bishop as to the sincerity of their intentions, the freedom of their actions, and their full comprehension of the rules of the order. These questions answered in the affirmative, the bishop, the postulantes, and the choir unite in chanting the Veni Creator, the organ sustaining and carrying on the grand harmony with sublime effect.
Returning to his chair of state, the bishop takes the silver bénitier presented by one of the priests, and sprinkles with holy water the robes destined for the postulantes, who receive them from his hands, and then retire, led by the superior and mistress of the novices, to put them on. While they are gone the choir sing L'Adieu du Monde, and as the last plaintive strain dies away the postulantes return, chanting some verses of Scripture, and again kneel before the altar. They are now dressed in the robes of the order, except for the head, which is covered with a simple square of white net. The bishop asks each one as she kneels at his feet whether she persists in her intention, and she replying in the affirmative, he takes one of the white veils, after sprinkling it with holy water, and gives it to the postulante; the superior and mistress of the novices deftly slip away the square of net, and replace it by the veil of white muslin, the bishop meantime repeating, —
“ Accipe velamen sacrum,” etc., and presently the novice arises, her robe and veil still glittering with drops of holy water, and stands aside until joined by her companions, when all resume their places.
The novices of a year’s standing now present themselves, and one of the assistant priests, bowing before the bishop, begs him, if it seem best in his eyes, to receive and bless these young virgins, and to unite them in a spiritual union with the church.
The bishop in turn, addressing the assistant, demands if he believes them to be worthy of this alliance, and, receiving an affirmative reply, exclaims three times, —
“ Venite, filiæ, audite me; timorem Domini docebo vos! ”
At this invitation the novices rise, singing, advance some steps, incline themselves profoundly, and at the third repetition, kneel before the bishop, who questions them as he has already done the postulantes, and having received satisfactory answers, he blesses the black veils, and each novice kneeling at his feet receives one, which is placed upon her head, and the white one withdrawn by the superior and mistress of the novices, the bishop meantime repeating the same Avords used in bestowing the white veils, —
“ Accipe velamen sacrum,” etc., the new nuns responding also in singing. When all have received the black veil, they return to their seats and resume the candles, which have meantime been held by the little bridesmaids, or “ filles d’honneur. ”
The mass now continues until the moment of administering the communion, when the nuns who have completed the five years’ probation, and desire to make the perpetual vows, present themselves, and kneel at the rail of the sanctuary, holding a lighted candle in one hand, and in the other the formula of their VOWS written and signed by themselves. They are followed by the new nuns Avbo have just assumed the black veil, aud by the new novices and new postulantes. Each of the first two classes reads her vows aloud, either in French or English, according to her nationality, and having heard and accepted them, the bishop at once administers the sacrament and passes on to the next. The novices and postulantes make no vows.
After the communion the prelate, resuming his seat, invites the older nuns to approach, in these words: —
“ Desponsari dilecta veni, hiems transiit, turtur canit, vinæ florentes redolent.”
At these words the sisters one by one rise, approach the prelate, and kneel at his feet, while he, having blessed and sprinkled the rings, which are heavy and rich, — of gold for the choir nuns and silver for the lay-nuns, — presents one to each applicant, the superior receiving and passing it upon the ring finger, the bishop meantime reciting,—
“ Desponso te Jesu Christo filio summi Patris; accipe ergo annulum fidei signaculum Spiritus sancti,” etc.
After this, the bishop solemnly blesses “ these holy virgins who have come to consecrate themselves irrevocably to God,” and they return to their places.
The new nuns now advance one by one to receive the crucifix which the sisters of this order wear suspended upon their breasts, and the book of rules which is to be their future guide of conduct, and these having retired, the new novices in their fresh and pretty white veils come forward, and the bishop, addressing each in turn, bestows upon her the saint’s name by which she is in future to be known, as, “ From this moment you shall no more be called Mademoiselle Désirée de Maisonneuve, but Sister Marie Rose du Calvaire; ” and so wholly does the new name take place of the old one, that it is very difficult to discover the original title of any religieuse. The mass is now terminated by the Te Deum Laudamus, and a most interesting occasion is over.
The remainder of the day was devoted to the reception of visitors to the convent, or to the few pupils who remained during vacation, and in the last part of the afternoon to some magnificent singing by the choir of nuns at the service called Benediction. A few days later Miselle with St. Ives and Alix returned home, leaving little Bud to her new and promising life. Many of the anxious friends who so kindly decide upon our lives, without the perplexity of knowing much about them, disapproved of this course, and indignantly or sarcastically inquired if Bud was in training for a Romanist and a nun. To such Miselle tranquilly answered, No, she entertained neither wish nor expectation of that sort, although some of her best friends and most agreeable acquaintance were of the Romish faith, and the nuns whose life she had studied as closely as possible for a month seemed to her a class of wonderfully brave, conscientious, and pure-minded women, daily practicing the virtues of industry and self-denial to a remarkable extent, and doing the good work that lay before them with a zeal and perseverance that might well be imitated by any woman or any man of any faith or mode of life whatever. But still it would be a great grief to Bud’s mother to see her relinquish the inheritance with which her ancestors freighted that wonderfully elastic little Mayflower, and she did not leave her until well convinced that proselytism is not one of the objects of the Sisters of Hochelaga, for as one blunt, frank Connecticut girl assured her, “ They think it ’s better to do what good they can to us poor heretics by keeping us here, than to scare our parents into taking us away by trying to convert us.”
A noticeable feature of the house, felt by guests and pupils alike, is a restful calm that seems to brood in all the great rooms and lofty corridors, a gentle and subduing influence that renders turbulence or discord impossible, a pray-be-on-your-best-behavior appeal that reaches every little heart and makes every form of discipline except gentle words and a system of rewards apparently unnecessary; and yet a healthier, merrier group of children than collected on the croquet-ground beneath the windows of the guest-chamber, or sat chatting beneath the trees with sweet Sister Agnes in their midst, would be difficult to find.
The fever-hurry, the competition, the urging forward of overtaxed brains and failing physical powers, which is the curse of our modern school - systems, does not enter within the convent walls; the affectations of toilette, the outside gossip, the daily walks, or travel in public conveyances, so justly dreaded by thoughtful parents who place their daughters in fashionable city schools, are here done away with ; and instead of pale and languid little miniature ladies, one sees genuine children, plainly dressed, simple mannered, ignorant of the world outside the convent gate, learning steadily but not swiftly, occupied with little matters, and gathering strength and courage by and by to face larger ones. In short, the city education is the short, sharp road across a scorching desert, and the convent education the cool and shaded detour to the same point, twice as long perhaps, and out of sight of the spectators who applaud the rapid, brilliant course, but bringing the contestant to the goal with unexhausted energy, and reserved strength and courage for the future.
Jane G. Austin.