Life in the Grey Nunnery at Montreal Part 1

Life in the Grey Nunnery at Montreal.

by Sarah J Richardson.

CHAPTER I.

PARENTAGE.--FATHER'S MARRIAGE.

I was born at St. John's, New Brunswick, in the year 1835. My father was from the city of Dublin, Ireland, where he spent his youth, and received an education in accordance with the strictest rules of Roman Catholic faith and practice. Early manhood, however, found him dissatisfied with his native country, longing for other scenes and distant climes. He therefore left Ireland, and came to Quebec.

Here he soon became acquainted with Capt. Willard, a wealthy English gentleman, who, finding him a stranger in a strange land, kindly opened his door, and gave him employment and a home. Little did he think that in so doing he was warming in his bosom a viper whose poisonous fangs would, ere long, fasten on his very heart-strings, and bring down his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. His only child was a lovely daughter of fourteen. From what I have heard of her, I think she must have been very beautiful in person, quiet, gentle and una.s.suming in her deportment, and her disposition amiable and affectionate. She was exceedingly romantic, and her mental powers were almost, if not entirely uncultivated; still, she possessed sufficient strength of character to enable her to form a deep, ardent, and permanent attachment.

The young stranger gazed upon her with admiring eyes, and soon began to whisper in her ear the flattering tale of love. This, of course, her parents could not approve. What! give their darling to a stranger?

Never, no, never. What could they do without her? Grieved that their kindness should have been thus returned, they bade him go his way, and leave their child in peace. He did go, but like a thief he returned. In the darkness of midnight he stole to her chamber, and bore away from the home of her childhood, "a father's joy, a mother's pride."

Who can tell the anguish of their souls when they entered that deserted chamber? How desolate their lonely hearthstone! How dark the home where her presence had scattered rainbow hues! A terrible blow it was to Capt. Willard; a very bitter thing thus to have his cherished plans frustrated, his brightest hopes destroyed; to see the very sun of his existence go down at midday in clouds and darkness. Yes, to the stern father this sad event brought bitter, bitter grief. But to the mother--that tender, affectionate mother, it was death. Yea, more than death, for reason, at the first shock, reeled and tottered on its throne; then, as days and weeks pa.s.sed by, and still the loved one did not return, when every effort to find her had been made in vain, then, the dread certainty settled down upon her soul that her child was lost to her forever. Hope, gave place to despair, and she became, from that time, a raving maniac. At length death came to her relief, and her husband was left alone.

Six weary years pa.s.sed over the lonely man, and then he rejoiced in the intelligence that his child was still living with her husband at St.

John's. He immediately wrote to her imploring her to return to her old home, and with the light of her presence dispel the gloom of his dwelling. Accordingly she left St. John's, and in company with her husband returned to her father. I was then about a year and a half old, but I have so often heard these facts related by my father and grandfather, they are indelibly impressed on my mind, and will never be erased from my memory.

My mother now thought her trouble at an end, that in future she should enjoy the happiness she once antic.i.p.ated. But, alas for all human prospects! Ere one short month had pa.s.sed, difficulties arose in consequence of the difference in their religious opinions. Capt. Willard was a firm Protestant, while my father was quite as firm in his belief of the principles of the Roman Catholics. "Can two walk together except they be agreed?" They parted in anger, and my father again became a wanderer, leaving his wife and child with his father-in-law. But my mother was a faithful, devoted wife. Her husband was her heart's chosen idol whom she loved too well to think of being separated from. She therefore left her father's house, with all its luxuries and enjoyments, to follow the fortunes of one, who was certainly unworthy of the pure affection thus lavished upon him. As her health had been delicate for the last two years, she concluded to leave me with her father for a short time, intending to send for me, as soon as she was in a situation to take care of me. But this was not to be. Death called her away, and I saw my mother no more till her corpse was brought back, and buried in her father's garden.

Two years I remained with my grandfather, and from him, I received the most affectionate and devoted attention. My father at length opened a saloon, for the sale of porter, and hired a black woman to do his work.

He then came for me. My grandfather entreated that I might be allowed to remain. Well he knew that my father was not the man to be entrusted with the care of a child--that a Porter House was no place for me, for he was quite sure that stronger liquors than porter were there drank and sold.

In fact, it was said, that my father was himself a living evidence of this. But it is of a parent I am speaking, and, whatever failings the world may have seen in him, to me he was a kind and tender father. The years I spent with him were the happiest of my life. On memory's page they stand out in bold relief, strikingly contrasting with the wretchedness of my after life. And though I cannot forget that his own rash act brought this wretchedness upon me, still, I believe his motives were good. I know that he loved me, and every remembrance of his kindness, and those few bright days of childhood, I have carefully cherished as a sacred thing. He did not, however, succeed in the business he had undertaken, but lost his property and was at length compelled to give up his saloon.

I was then placed in a Roman Catholic family, where he often visited, and ever appeared to feel for me the most devoted attachment. One day he came to see me in a state of partial intoxication. I did not then know why his face was so red, and his breath so offensive, but I now know that he was under the influence of ardent spirits. The woman with whom I boarded seeing his condition, and being a good Catholic, resolved to make the most of the occasion for the benefit of the nunnery. She therefore said to him, "You are not capable of bringing up that child; why don't you give her to Priest Dow?"--"Will he take her?" asked my father. "Yes," she replied, "he will put her into the nunnery, and the nuns will take better care of her than you can." "On what condition will they take her?" he asked. "Give the priest one hundred dollars," replied the artful woman, "and he will take good care of her as long as she lives."

This seemed a very plausible story; but I am sure my father did not realize what he was doing. Had he waited for a little reflection, he would never have consented to such an arrangement, and my fate would have been quite different. But as it was, he immediately sent for the priest, and gave me to him, to be provided for, as his own child, until I was of age. I was then to be allowed to go out into the world if I chose. To this, Priest Dow consented, in consideration of one hundred dollars, which he received, together with a good bed and bedding. My mother's gold ear-rings were also entrusted to his care, until I should be old enough to wear them. But I never saw them again. Though I was at that time but six years old, I remember perfectly, all that pa.s.sed upon that memorable occasion. I did not then comprehend the full meaning of what was said, but I understood enough to fill my heart with sorrow and apprehension.

When their bargain was completed, Priest Dow called me to him, saying, with a smile, "You are a stubborn little girl, I guess, a little naughty, sometimes, are you not?" Surprised and alarmed, I replied, "No, sir." He then took hold of my hair, which was rather short, drew it back from my forehead with a force that brought the tears to my eyes, and pressing his hand heavily on my head, he again asked if I was not sometimes a little wilful and disobedient. I was so much frightened at this, I turned to my father, and with tears and sobs entreated him not to send me away with that man, but allow me to stay at home with him. He drew me to his bosom, wiped away my tears, and sought to quiet my fears by a.s.suring me that I would have a good and pleasant home; that the nuns would take better care of me than he could; and that he would often come to see me. Thus, by the aid of flattery on one side, and sugarplums on the other, they persuaded me at last to accompany the priest to the White Nunnery, St. Paul's street, Quebec.

I was too young to realize the sad change in my situation, or to antic.i.p.ate the trials and privations that awaited me. But I was deeply grieved thus to leave my father, my only real friend, my mother being dead, and my grandfather a heretic, whom I had been taught to regard with the utmost abhorrence. Little, however, did I think that this was a last farewell. But such it was. Though he had promised to come often to see me, I never saw my father again; never even heard from him; and now, I do not know whether he is dead or alive.

CHAPTER II.

THE WHITE NUNNERY.

On my arrival at the nunnery, I was placed under the care of a lady whom they called a Superior. She took me into a room alone, and told me that the priest would come to me in the morning to hear confession, and I must confess to him all my sins. "What are sins?" I asked, and, "How shall I confess? I don't know what it means." "Don't know what sins are!" she exclaimed in great astonishment "Why, child, I am surprised that you should be so ignorant! Where have you lived all your days?"

With all the simplicity of childhood, I replied, "With my father; and once I lived with my grandfather; but they didn't tell me how to confess." "Well," said she, "you must tell the priest all your wicked thoughts, words, and actions." "What is wicked?" I innocently asked.

"If you have ever told an untruth;" she replied, "or taken what did not belong to you, or been in any way naughty, disobedient, or unkind; if you have been angry, or quarrelled with your playmates, that was wicked, and you must tell the priest all about it If you try to conceal, or keep back anything, the priest will know it and punish you. You cannot deceive him if you try, for he knows all you do, or say, or even think; and if you attempt it, you'll only get yourself into trouble. But if you are resolved to be a good girl, kind, gentle, frank, sincere, and obedient, the priest will love you, and be kind to you."

When I was conducted to my room, at bedtime, I rejoiced to find in it several little cot beds, occupied by little girls about my own age, who had been, like myself, consigned to the tender mercies of priests and nuns. I thought if we must live in that great gloomy house, which even to my childish imagination seemed so much like a prison, we could in some degree dispel our loneliness and mitigate our sorrows, by companionship and sympathy. But I was soon made to know that even this small comfort would not be allowed us, for the Superior, as she a.s.sisted me to bed, told me that I must not speak, or groan, or turn upon my side, or move in any way; for if I made the least noise or disturbance, I would be severely punished. She a.s.sured me that if we disobeyed in the least particular, she would know it, even if she was not present, and deal with us accordingly. She said that when the clock struck twelve, the bell would ring for prayers; that we must then rise, and kneel with our heads bowed upon the bed, and repeat the prayer she taught us. When, at length, she left us, locking the door after her, I was so frightened, I did not dare to sleep, lest I should move, or fail to awake at the proper time.

Slowly pa.s.sed the hours of that long and weary night, while I lay, waiting the ringing of the bell, or thinking upon the past with deep regret. The most fearful visions haunted my brain, and fears of future punishment filled my mind. How could I hope to escape it, when they were so very strict, and able to read my most secret thoughts? What would I not have given could I have been again restored to my father? True he was intemperate, but at that time I thought not of this; I only knew that he was always kind to me, that he never refused what I asked of him. I sometimes think, even now, that if he had not so cruelly thrust me from him, I might have been able to win him from his cups and evil course of life. But this was not to be. Having given himself up to the demon of intemperance, it is not surprising that he should have given away his only child; that he should have placed her in the hands of those who proved utterly unworthy of the trust. But however indignant I may at times have felt towards him, for the one great wrong he committed against me, still I do not believe he would ever have done it but for the influence of ardent spirits. Moreover, I do not suppose that he had the least idea what kind of a place it was. He wished, doubtless, that his child might be well educated; that she might be shielded from the many trials and temptations that cl.u.s.ter around the footsteps of the young and inexperienced, in the midst of a cold and heartless world.

From these evils the nunnery, he thought, would be a secure retreat, for there science, religion, and philanthropy, PROFESSEDLY, go hand in hand.

Like many other deluded parents, he thought that "Holiness to the Lord"

was inscribed upon those walls, and that nothing which could pervert or defile the youthful mind, was permitted to enter there. With these views and feelings, he was undoubtedly sincere when he told me, "I would have a good home, and the nuns would take better care of me than he could."

Rash his decision certainly was, cruel it proved to be; but I shall ever give him credit for good intentions.

At length the bell rang, and all the girls immediately left their beds, and placed themselves upon their knees. I followed their example, but I had scarcely time to kneel by my bed, when the Superior came into the room with a light in her hand, and attended by a priest. He came to me, opened a book, and told me to cross myself. This ceremony he instructed me to perform in the following manner: the right hand is placed upon the forehead, and drawn down to the breast; then across the breast from left to right. The Superior then told me to say the prayer called "Hail Mary!" I attempted to do so, but failed, for, though I had often repeated it after my father, I could not say it correctly alone. She then bade me join my hands, and repeat it after her. "Hail Mary! Full of grace! The Lord be with thee! Blessed art thou among women! Blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus! Mother of G.o.d! Pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death, Amen."

"Now," said the Superior, as I rose from my knees, "you must learn every word of that prayer before to-morrow night, or go without your supper."

I tried my best to remember it, but with so little instruction, for she repeated it to me but once, I found it quite impossible the next night to say it correctly. Of course, I was compelled to go without my supper.

This may seem a light punishment to those who have enough to eat--who sit down to a full table, and satisfy their appet.i.te three times per day, but to a nun, who is allowed only enough to sustain life, it is quite a different thing. And especially to a child, this mode of punishment is more severe, and harder to bear than almost any other. I thought I would take good care not to be punished in that way again; but I little knew what was before me.

Before the Superior left us she a.s.sisted me into bed, and bade me be very still until the second bell in the morning. Then, I must rise and dress as quickly as possible, and go to her room. Quietness, she enjoined upon me as a virtue, while the least noise, or disturbance of any kind, would be punished as a crime. She said I must walk very softly indeed along the halls, and close the doors so carefully that not a sound could be heard. After giving me these first instructions in convent life, she left me, and I was allowed to sleep the rest of the night.

The next morning, I awoke at the ringing of the first bell, but I did not dare to stir until the second bell, when the other little girls arose in great haste. I then dressed as quickly as possible, but not a word was spoken--not a thought, and scarcely a look exchanged. I was truly "alone amid a crowd," and I felt the utter loneliness of my situation most keenly. Yet I saw very clearly that there was but one course for me to pursue, and that was, to obey in all things; to have no will of my own, and thus, if possible, escape punishment. But it was hard, very hard for me to bring my mind to this. I had been the idolized child of affection too long to submit readily and patiently to the privations I was now forced to endure. Hitherto my will had been law.

I had naturally an imperious, violent temper, which I had never been taught to govern. Instead of this, my appet.i.tes were pampered, my pa.s.sions indulged, and every desire gratified as far as possible. Until that last sad parting, I hardly knew what it was to have a request refused; and now, to experience such a change--such a sudden transition from the most liberal indulgence to the most cruel and rigorous self-denial--Oh, it was a severe trial to my independent spirit to submit to it. Yet, submit I must, for I had learned, even then, that my newly appointed guardians were not to be trifled with. Henceforth, OBEDIENCE must be my motto. To every command, however cruel and unjust, I must yield a blind, pa.s.sive, and unquestioning obedience.

I dressed as quickly as possible, and hastened down to the Superior.

As I pa.s.sed through the hall, I thought I would be very careful to step softly, but in my haste I forgot what she said about closing the door, and it came together with a loud crash. On entering the room, I found the Superior waiting for me; in her hand she held a stick about a foot long, to the end of which was attached nine leather strings, some twelve or fifteen inches long, and about the size of a man's little finger. She bade me come to her, in a voice so cold and stern it sent a thrill of terror through my frame, and I trembled with the apprehension of some impending evil. I had no idea that she was about to punish me, for I was not aware that I had done anything to deserve it; but her looks frightened me, and I feared,--I know not what. She took hold of my arm, and without saying a word, gave me ten or twelve strokes over the head and shoulders with this miniature cat-o'-nine-tails. Truly, with her, it was "a word and a blow, and the blow came first." Wherever the strings chanced to fall upon the bare flesh, they raised the skin, as though a hot iron had been applied to it. In some places they took off the skin entirely, and left the flesh raw, and quivering with the stinging pain. I could not think at first what I had done to deserve this severe punishment, nor did she condescend to enlighten me. But when I began to cry, and beg to go to my father, she sternly bade me stop crying at once, for I could not go to my father. I must stay there, she said, and learn to remember all her commands and obey then. She then taught me the following verse:

I am a little nun, The sisters I will mind; When I am pretty and learn, Then they will use me kind.

I must not be so noisy When I go about the house, I'll close the doors so softly They'll think I am a mouse.

This verse I repeated until I could say it correctly. I was then taken to the breakfast-room, where I was directed to kneel before the crucifix, and say my prayers, which I repeated after the Superior. I was then seated at the table, and directed to hold my head down, and fix my eyes upon my plate. I must not look at any one, or gaze about the room; but sit still, and quietly eat what was given me. I had upon my plate, one thin slice of wheat bread, a bit of potato, and a very small cup of milk. This was my stated allowance, and I could have no more, however hungry I might be. The same quant.i.ty was given me every meal, when in usual health, until I was ten years of age. On fast days, no food whatever was allowed; and we always fasted for three meals before receiving the sacrament. This ceremony was observed every third day, therefore we were obliged to fast about one-third of the time.

Yet, however long the fast might be, my allowance of food was never increased.

After breakfast the Superior took me to Priest Dow for confession. He kept me with him all day, allowing me neither food nor drink; nor did he permit me to break my fast until four o'clock the next day. I then received what they call the sacrament, for the first time.

To prepare for this, I was clad in a white dress and cape, and a white cap on my head. I was then led to the chapel, and pa.s.sing up the aisle, knelt before the altar. Priest Dow then came and stood before me, and taking from a wine-gla.s.s a small thin wafer, he placed it upon my tongue, at the same time repeating some Latin words, which, the Superior afterwards told me, mean in English, "The body and blood of Christ." I was taught to believe that I held in my mouth the real body and blood of Christ. I was also told that if I swallowed the wafer before it had melted on my tongue, IT WOULD CHOKE ME TO DEATH; and if I indulged an evil thought while I held it in my mouth I SHOULD FALL INTO A POOL OF BLOOD.

CHAPTER III.

THE NURSERY.

While in the White Nunnery, I spent the most of my time in the nursery.

But the name gives one no idea of the place. The freedom and careless gayety, so characteristic of other nurseries, had no place in this. No cheerful conversation, no juvenile merriment, or pleasureable excitement of any kind, were ever allowed. A merry laugh, on the contrary, a witty jest, or a sly practical joke, would have been punished as the most heinous offence. Here as elsewhere in the establishment, the strictest rules of silence and obedience were rigidly enforced. There were twenty little girls in the room with me, but we were never permitted to speak to each other, nor to any one except a priest or a Superior. When directly addressed by either of them we were allowed to answer; but we might never ask a question, or make a remark, or in any way, either by looks, words, or signs, hold communication with each other. Whenever we did so, it was at the risk of being discovered and severely punished.

Yet this did not repress the desire for conversation; it only made us more cautious, artful, and deceptive. The only recreation allowed us was fifteen minutes' exercise in the yard every morning and evening. We might then amuse ourselves as we chose, but were required to spend the whole time in some kind of active exercise; if one of our number ventured to sit still, we were all punished the next day by being kept in the house.

It was my business, while in the nursery, to dust all the furniture and the floor, with a flannel mop, made and kept for this purpose. The floors were all painted and varnished, and very easily kept clean.

Two hours and a half each day we spent with a priest, whom we were taught to call Father Darity (I do not know as I spell this and other names correctly, but I give it to the reader as it sounded to my ear).

He appeared to take great pleasure in learning us to repeat the prayers and catechism required by Priest Dow. He also gave us a variety of instructions in other things, enjoining in particular the most absolute obedience and perfect silence. He a.s.sured us that if we dared to disobey him in the least particular, he should know it, even if he was not present with us at the time. He said he knew all our thoughts, words, and actions; and if we did not obey, he should "EAT US WITH A GRAIN OF SALT."

I presume my reader will smile at this, and exclaim, "How absurd!" Yes, to you it is absurd; but to the mind of a child who placed the utmost confidence in his veracity, it was an evidence that he was invested with supernatural powers. For myself I believed every word he said, and nothing would have tempted me to disobey him. Perfect obedience he considered the highest attainment, and, to secure this, the greatest of all virtues, no means were thought too severe. We were frightened and punished in every possible way.

But, though Father Darity acted on the one great principle with the Romanists, that the "end sanctifies the means," he was in general a much kinder man than Priest Dow. He urged us on with our catechism as fast as possible, telling us, as a motive to greater diligence, that the bishop was soon to visit us, and that we could not be admitted to his presence until we had our prayers and catechism perfectly.

One day, when we were in the yard at play, I told one of the little girls that I did not like to live there; that I did not like one of the people in the house; that I wished to return to my father, and I should tell him so the first time he came to see me.