Life in the Grey Nunnery at Montreal. Sarah J. Richardson
he placed a crown of thorns upon each of our heads. These crowns were made of bands of some firm material, which passed over the head and around the forehead. On the inside thorns were fastened, with the points downward, so that a very slight pressure would cause them to pierce the skin. This I suppose is intended to imitate the crown of thorns which our Saviour wore upon the cross. But what will it avail them to imitate the crucifixion and the crown of thorns, while justice and mercy are so entirely neglected? What will it avail to place a crown of thorns upon a child's head, or to bid her kneel before the image of the Saviour, or travel up stairs on her knees, while the way of salvation by Christ is never explained to her; while of real religion, holiness of heart, and purity of life she is as ignorant as the most benighted, degraded heathen? Is it rational to suppose that the mere act of repeating a prayer can heal the wounded spirit, or give peace to a troubled conscience? Can the most cruel penance remove the sense of guilt, or whisper hope to the desponding soul? Ah, no! I have tried it long enough to speak with absolute certainty. For years I practiced these senseless mummeries, and if there were any virtue, in them, I should, most certainly have discovered it. But I know full well, and my reader knows that they cannot satisfy the restless yearnings of the immortal mind. They may delude the vulgar, but they cannot dispel the darkness of the tomb, they cannot lead a soul to Christ.
On leaving the chapel after the ceremony, I found a new Superior, waiting for us at the door to conduct us to our rooms. We were all very much surprised at this, but she informed us that our old Superior died that morning, that she was already buried, and she had come to take her place. I could not believe this story, for she came to us as usual that morning, appeared in usual health, though always very pale, and made no complaint, or exhibited any signs of illness. She told us in her kind and pleasant way that we were to be consecrated, gave us a few words of advice, but said nothing about leaving us, and I do not believe she even thought of such a thing. Little did I think, when she left us, that I was never to see her again. But so it was. In just two hours and a half from that time, we were told that she was dead and buried, and another filled her place! A probable story, truly! I wonder if they thought we believed it! But whether we did or not, that was all we could ever know about it. No allusion was ever made to the subject, and nuns are not allowed to ask questions. However excited we might feel, no information could we seek as to the manner of her death. Whether she died by disease, or by the hand of violence; whether her gentle spirit peacefully winged its way to the bosom of its God, or was hastily driven forth upon the dagger's point, whether some kind friend closed her eyes in death, and decently robed her cold limbs for the grave, or whether torn upon the agonizing rack, whether she is left to moulder away in some dungeon's gloom, or thrown into the quickly consuming fire, we could never know. These, and many other questions that might have been asked, will never be answered until the last great day, when the grave shall give up its dead, and, the prison disclose its secrets.
After the consecration we were separated, and only one of the girls remained with me. The others I never saw again. We were put into a large room, where were three beds, one large and two small ones. In the large bed the Superior slept, while I occupied one of the small beds and the other little nun the other. Our new Superior was very strict, and we were severely punished for the least trifle—such, for instance, as making a noise, either in our own room or in the kitchen. We might not even smile, or make motions to each other, or look in each other's face. We must keep our eyes on our work or on the floor, in token of humility. To look a person full in the face was considered an unpardonable act of boldness. On retiring for the night we were required to lie perfectly motionless. We might not move a hand or foot, or even a finger. At twelve the bell rang for prayers, when we must rise, kneel by our beds, and repeat prayers until the second bell, when we again retired to rest. On cold winter nights these midnight prayers were a most cruel penance. It did seem as though I should freeze to death. But live or die, the prayers must be said, and the Superior was always there to see that we were not remiss in duty. If she slept at all I am sure it must have been with one eye open, for she saw everything. But if I obeyed in this thing, I found it impossible to lie as still as they required; I would move when I was asleep without knowing it. This of course could not be allowed, and for many weeks I was strapped down to my bed every night, until I could sleep without the movement of a muscle. I was very anxious to do as nearly right as possible, for I thought if they saw that I strove with all my might to obey, they would perhaps excuse me if I did fail to conquer impossibilities. In this, however, I was disappointed; and I at length became weary of trying to do right, for they would inflict severe punishments for the most trifling accident. In fact, if I give anything like a correct account of my convent life, it will be little else than a history of punishments. Pains, trials, prayers, and mortifications filled up the time. Penance was the rule, to escape it the exception.
I neglected at the proper time to state what name was given me when I took the veil; I may therefore as well say in this place that my convent name was Sister Agnes.
CHAPTER VIII. — CONFESSION AND SORROW OF NO AVAIL.
It was a part of my business to wait upon the priests in their rooms, carry them water, clean towels, wine-glasses, or anything they needed. When entering a priest's room it was customary for a child to knock twice, an adult four times, and a priest three times. This rule I was very careful to observe. Whenever a priest opened the door I was required to courtesy, and fall upon my knees; but if it was opened by one of the waiters this ceremony was omitted. These waiters were the boys I have before mentioned, called apostles. It was also a part of my business to wait upon them, carry them clean frocks, etc.
One day I was carrying a pitcher of water to one of the priests, and it being very heavy, it required both my hands and nearly all my strength to keep it upright. On reaching the door, however, I attempted to hold it with one hand (as I dare not set it down), while I rapped with the other. In so doing I chanced to spill a little water on the floor. Just at that moment the door was opened by the priest himself, and when he saw the water he was very angry. He caught me by the arm and asked what punishment he should inflict upon me for being so careless. I attempted to explain how it happened, told him it was an accident, that I was very sorry, and would try to be more careful in future. But I might as well have said that I was glad, and would do so again, for my confession, sorrow, and promises of future obedience were entirely thrown away, and might as well have been kept for some one who could appreciate the feeling that prompted them.
He immediately led me out of his room, it being on the second floor, and down into the back yard. Here, in the centre of the gravel walk, was a grate where they put down coal. This grate he raised and bade me go down. I obeyed, and descending a few steps found myself in a coal cellar, the floor being covered with it for some feet in depth. On this we walked some two rods, perhaps, when the priest stopped, and with a shovel that stood near cleared away the coal and lifted a trap door. Through this we descended four or five steps, and proceeded along a dark, narrow passage, so low we could not stand erect, and the atmosphere so cold and damp it produced the most uncomfortable sensations. By the light of a small lantern which the priest carried in his hand, I was enabled to observe on each side the passage small doors, a few feet apart, as far as I could see. Some of them were open, others shut, and the key upon the outside. In each of these doors there was a small opening, with iron bars across it, through which the prisoner received food, if allowed to have any. One of these doors I was directed to enter, which I did with some difficulty, the place being so low, and I was trembling with cold and fear. The priest crawled in after me and tied me to the back part of the cell, leaving me there in midnight darkness, and locking the door after him. I could hear on all sides, as it seemed to me, the sobs, groans, and shrieks of other prisoners, some of whom prayed earnestly for death to release them from their sufferings.
For twenty-four hours I was left to bear as I best could the pains and terrors of cold, hunger, darkness, and fatigue. I could neither sit or lie down, and every one knows how very painful it is to stand upon the feet a long time, even when the position can be slightly changed; how much more so when no change can be effected, but the same set of muscles kept continually on the stretch for the space of twenty-four