Causes that have diminished the Religios.--The Provincials and
Superiors of Convents.--The perfect Organization.--The Monks.--San
Franciscans.--Dominicans.--Carmelites.--The well-reputed Orders.--The
Jesuits.--The Nuns.--How Novices are procured.--Contrasted with a
Quaker Prison.--The poor deluded Nun.--A good old Quaker Woman not a
Saint.--Protestantism felt in Mexico.
THE RELIGIOUS ORDERS.
The monkish orders of Mexico have remained unchanged from the time of
their first establishment. We have seen that they have fallen off
immensely in numbers, but have increased immensely in efficiency, by
the termination of those internal controversies between the
Spanish-born and Creoles, and by enfranchisement from state control.
Not only are they now all native-born, but the Meztizos seem to be the
predominant race in the priesthood. The priesthood is not now so
inviting an employment as it was before the suppression of the
Inquisition. Miracles have ceased to be a profitable speculation, while
the revenue once paid to the monks has been followed by ill-suppressed
contempt. The employment once monopolized by the Spaniards being now
thrown open to general competition, there is less willingness to submit
to the despotism which ever reigns in religious houses than there was
in the times of the vice-kings. Hard fare, cruel treatment, and public
contempt have diminished the candidates for monastic orders, until the
old proverb--"He that can not do better, let him turn monk"--is not
unknown at Mexico. With the increase of liberty the number of nuns has
diminished, as violence can no longer be used in getting a girl into a
convent. For all these reasons the number of the _religios_ has rapidly
diminished, while the wealth and efficiency of the Church has
increased.
Having spoken of the bishops, the lords spiritual of Mexico, and the
controlling influence they exercise over a feeble government, we come
next to the second class of spiritual masters of the country--the heads
of orders, the provincials, and the heads of religious houses. These
two classes of dignitaries are usually elected for their known severity
of discipline, either by the procurement of the bishop, or through
fanaticism of the monks or nuns, who, having voluntarily made
themselves convicts and prisoners for life, now undertake to add to
their self-afflicted mortification by choosing for their head a
superior the most hateful of their number. The novice is taught that
the greatest favor with Heaven is to be obtained by implicit obedience
under most trying circumstances, and the more cruel the despotism they
unmurmuringly submit to, the greater will be the accumulation of good
works. But cursed to the lowest depths of Purgatory is that recluse who
dares to murmur even in his inmost thoughts; and if he so far forgets
his duty as to murmur aloud, then all the powers of the Church are
brought to crush his insubordination.
We have thus followed spiritual despotism through its various stages,
from the Pope to the bishops; from the bishops to the provincials of
religious orders; and then down to superiors of a community of half a
dozen monks or nuns, by whom immorality is pardonable, but who regard
disobedience or insubordination in the slightest particular "like the
sin of witchcraft and idolatry." Such is the perfect organization of
the papacy in all its parts, which, acting as one great secret,
political, social, and religious association, labors continually to
concentrate the riches of the nations at Rome as a common centre.
There is a peculiar feature in the Catholic Church in Mexico unknown in
other Catholic countries: it is the preponderance of the regular clergy
(monks) over the secular clergy. This is owing to Cortez, who wrote to
the Emperor Charles V. to send him regulars, for the conversion of the
Indians, instead of seculars, assigning as a reason for this request
"that the latter display extravagant luxury, leave great wealth to
their natural children, and give great scandal to the newly-converted
Indians." Hence more than one half of the Mexican clergy are monks, and
wear the cowl; for at the time of the census of 1793, as we have seen,
there were in the city of Mexico 1646 monks, besides lay brothers,
against 550 secular priests, while in the fifteen convents for nuns
there were 923 of these female monks.
CHARACTER OF THE DIFFERENT ORDERS.
The reader has already become quite familiar with the Franciscan
fathers and their vows of poverty and self-mortification, and their
skill at playing for gold ounces. They have pretty well maintained that
reputation since the time of Friar Thomas Gage. But there are some
honorable exceptions to this rule, though few and far between. We have
already noticed how they were favored by Cortez, and the result has
been that they are the richest fraternity in the republic. These holy
men of the Angelic Order of Saint Francis have lately discovered a new
source of wealth in renting their large central court to a Frenchman,
who occupies it with the best garden of plants in Mexico; and as the
convent occupies nearly a whole square in the central part of the city,
they have pierced the convent walls, and rented out shops upon the
business streets, while the soldiers of Santa Anna occupy the vacant
cloisters of the convent. In this "happy family," with all the immense
wealth of the establishment, the _donados_, and those monks who are so
poor as to have no friends, find but a miserable subsistence.
Of the Dominicans I have already spoken in connection with the
Inquisition. In their yard is the flag-stone which was used by them in
offering human sacrifice before the Revolution. There it is kept as a
relic and symbol of the power once enjoyed by the Church. There is yet
a lingering hope that there may be restored to these brethren the power
of roasting alive human beings. In speaking of depravity of morals, it
is hard to say which of the fraternities has reached the lowest level,
though common consent concedes the palm to the Dominicans.
The name of the Carmelites carries us back to the time of the Crusades;
but they are better known in Mexico as the former proprietors of the
_Desierto_, which Thomas Gage so touchingly describes. Their habitual
practice of self-denial and mortification, in appearance, while rioting
on the luxuries that devotees lavished upon them, has not been
forgotten. These holy brothers had a hand in the Inquisition as well as
the Dominicans. They were a set of scamps set to watch the purity of
other men's lives, while they themselves lived a life of habitual
profligacy. The ruins of their old convent, the _Desierto_, is still
one of the most attractive spots about the city. As the traveler
wanders among its ruined walls, he will find in the subterraneous cells
ring-bolts fastened in the walls, where poor prisoners for their faith
endured something more than self-mortification.
The monks of Santiago, San Augustin, and the Capuchins have all fine
convents, and are rich; but the monks of Saint James are the most
inveterate beggars.
The monks of San Fernando enjoy an enviable reputation compared with
the spotted sheep I have just been considering. They are late comers,
and have not learned all the ways of wickedness of the older orders.
Next come the "Brethren of the Profession," of whom it is pleasant to
speak, after saying so many hard things of their neighbors. They stand
so high as men of character and learning, that I am tempted to tell
their story on hearsay, for want of better authority. They were once
Jesuits, but when the royal _cebula_ of Carlos III. came for their
expulsion, these fathers had sustained so good a character for charity
and usefulness that they were allowed to return, on condition of
renouncing the name and peculiarities of that order. I am inclined to
believe this strange story to be substantially true, for clearly they
are of the Jesuits, and yet they are not Jesuits. The reputation which
they enjoyed in 1767 they still retain, and not only command the
respect of all classes of society in Mexico, but their chapel is the
fashionable church of the city, where genteel people resort to say
their prayers.
"The Brethren of the Holy Places of Jerusalem"--the Hieronomite monks,
are not numerous, and are known in the markets as lenders of money,
with the interest of which they support themselves and "the poor saints
of Jerusalem;" that is, a portion of those lazy, greasy, fighting Latin
monks at Jerusalem, that have been one of the causes of the present war
in Europe.
"The Hospitalers of Saint John" (_Juanos_) are better known for their
exploits in the time of the Crusaders than for any thing they have done
in Mexico.
It would be a thrice-told tale to repeat the story of the Jesuits; the
world knows that too well already. The details of their proceedings in
Mexico till the time of their expulsion have been too often written by
their enemies. Their great prosperity and their great wealth made them
the envy of the other orders, as corrupt and depraved as themselves,
but not so dangerous, because they had reached that point at which
depravity ceases to contaminate. Dirty, greasy monks could not endure
an order that wore the garb of gentlemen, and were in favor with the
aristocracy, while they themselves were despised.
This envy was all-powerful with them, and led, for a time, to the
laying aside of their own private bickerings, and uniting in the
crusade against the common enemy, the Jesuits, and acting in harmony
with the political power.
NUNNERIES.
The Church has always made much of the nuns. It has ever been the
custom of the priesthood to endeavor to throw a veil of romance over
the very unromantic way of life followed by females who have shut
themselves up for life in a place hardly equal to a second-class
state-prison. Woman has an important place which God has assigned her
in the world; but when she separates herself from the family circle,
and elbows her way to the rostrum, where, with a semi-masculine attire,
and with a voice not intended for oratory, she harangues a tittering
crowd upon the rights of women to perform the duties of men; or goes to
the opposite extreme, and shuts herself up within high stone walls to
avoid the society of the other sex, she equally sins against her own
nature, and not only brings misery upon herself, but inflicts upon
society the evils of a pernicious example, and furnishes a theme for
all kinds of scandal.
Proud families who have portionless daughters; relatives who desire to
get rid of heirs to coveted estates; convents in want of funds and
endowments,[68] or a pretty victim for the public entertainment on
taking the veil; friends who have unmarriageable women on their hands;
and romantic young misses, ambitious of playing the queen for a day at
the cost of being a prisoner for life, have all contributed to populate
the fifteen nunneries of the city of Mexico. In the flourishing times
of the Inquisition, this business of inveigling choice victims into
convents was more profitable, for then murmuring could be crushed into
silence, and parents dreaded to oppose the wretched pimps of
superstition who came to inveigle their daughters into convents.
NUNNERIES AND PRISONS.
The Quaker prison of Philadelphia is a paradise compared with such a
place as this. If the reader has ever placed his eye at the keeper's
eye-hole in that prison, he must have seen in many a cell a cheerful
face, and the appearance of as much comfort as is compatible with an
imprisoned condition; for ministering angels have been there--mothers
in Israel, who have torn themselves from their domestic duties for a
little time to minister consolation to the very criminals in prison;
and, now that the prison-door has separated the poor wretch forever
from society, whose laws have been outraged, she, by her kindness and
teaching, has led the convict to look to Heaven with a hope of
forgiveness, and daily to pray for those he has injured, while he reads
in the holy book which she gave him, that a repenting thief accompanied
the Son of God to Paradise.
Let us turn from such an unpoetical scene as this, which that cheerful
prison presents, to the convent of Santa Teresa, the most celebrated of
all the ten or fifteen nunneries now in operation about the city of
Mexico. In a cold, damp, comfortless cell, kneeling upon the pavement,
we may see a delicate woman mechanically repeating her daily-imposed
penance of Latin prayers, before the image of a favorite saint and a
basin of holy water. This self-regulating, automaton praying machine,
as she counts off the number of allotted prayers by the number of beads
upon her rosary, beats into her bosom the sharp edge of an iron cross
that rests within her shirt of sacking-cloth, until, nature and her
task exhausted, she throws herself down upon a wooden bed, so
ingeniously arranged as to make sleep intolerable.[69] This poor victim
of self-inflicted daily torture, half crazed from insufficient food,
and sleep, and clothing, has endured all this misery to accumulate a
stock of good works for the use of less meritorious sinners, besides
the amount necessary to carry herself to heaven; for penance, and not
repentance, is this poor pagan's password for salvation.
The old Quakeress is not a fashionable saint, for she never dreamed of
this huxter business in spiritual affairs. Out of the overflowing
goodness of her heart, she had tried to lighten the miseries of life in
her own humble and quiet way, and found her happiness in seeing all
about her made comfortable. The money that others expended in buying
masses for the repose of their own souls and those of their relatives
after death, she expended in ministering to soul and body in this
world, leaving to God above the affairs of departed spirits, to deal
with them according to His mercy. She never presumed to add to the
torments of this life, or undertook to lighten the torments of the
departed. Her duties lay all in this world, and when her labors were
ended, she quietly lay down in death, leaving her future condition to
God. She never would pierce her bosom with an iron cross, though it had
often been pierced by the trials of life. She has seen enough of real
poverty and mortification, but never dreamed of such a thing as poverty
and mortification self-imposed, by wearing upon her flesh a garment of
sacking-cloth, or the ingenious invention of a bed so contrived as to
deprive herself of wholesome sleep. Images and holy water occupy no
place in her creed, though soap and water are almost too prominent. She
did her good deeds from a sense of duty which she owed to her kind, and
from the pleasure that it gave her to relieve misery while discharging
the ordinary duties of life, and never dreamed of the sweet odor her
good works left behind her--an odor which followed her to heaven--an
odor more acceptable to the Almighty than all the endowments she might
have left to pay for masses for the repose of her soul.
SELF-CASTIGATION.
There is so much that is monotonous in talking over the details of
affairs of the different orders of these female monks, from the Sister
of Guadalupe to the Sisterhood of Mercy, that it is as well to consider
them as one, as divers households of single women, who, to win
extraordinary favor of God, had separated themselves from their
families, and devoted their lives, some to repeating prayers and acts
of self-mortification, some to attending at the hospitals on the sick
or the blind, the idiotic, the deformed, the deaf and the dumb, others
to educating young ladies according to their peculiar notions of
education, others again consecrating themselves to pauperism, and
living upon charity; and when the daily supply of alms has failed,
these self-made poor sisters collect together, and there wait and pray,
and ring their bell, until some benevolent individual shall chance to
hear the well-known signal, and come and relieve them.
Such is the system of religion of all countries which bear the
Christian name, but where freedom does not exist, and where liberty can
not thrive. There is a trifling difference in its phases as exhibited
in the Greek and the Latin Churches, but the difference is too slight
for us outsiders to notice. In Mexico it exists in its most
unadulterated state, less contaminated than elsewhere with
Protestantism or other foreign substances.
PENANCES.
The old farce of self-castigation is here still enacted, as it has been
for three hundred years, but in the dark, _of course_; and blood, or
some substitute for it, is heard to fall upon the floor by the few
selected witnesses;[70] but a party of boys, report says, being
somewhat skeptical about the quality of this blood, concealed
themselves in the church, and when the pious farce began, took so
active a part in the sport upon the naked backs of the fathers, as to
inflict bodily injury, and break up the bloody entertainment. Still
Protestantism has been felt in Mexico, if not embraced, and the common
people look back to the happy time when the soldiers of their
Protestant conquerors made money plenty among them, and when
even-handed justice was dealt out alike to rich and poor, high and low.
Though the foreigners laughed at the fables of the priests and
ridiculed the monks, they yet were honest in their dealings with the
people instead of taking by violence. As there are no people so
besotted that they do not admire courage and honesty, so the _Paisano_
looks upon the heretic as a man of a superior race to himself.
[68] I have selected three cases of taking the veil, to which I
have added captions, which lift the veil from this practice of
consecrating young girls to superstitions uses. They are
extracted from Madame Calderon's Life in Mexico.
_Taking the Veil._
"I followed the guide back into the sacristy [of the convent],
where the future nun was seated beside her grandmother, in the
midst of her friends and relations, about thirty in all.
"She was arrayed in pale blue satin, with diamonds, pearls, and a
crown of flowers. She was literally smothered in blonde and
jewels; and her face was flushed, as well it might be, for she
had passed the day in taking leave of her friends at a fete they
had given her, and had then, according to custom, been paraded
through the town in all her finery. And now her last hour was at
hand. When I came in, she rose and embraced me with as much
cordiality as if we had known each other for years. Beside her
sat the Madrina, also in white satin and jewels; all the
relations being likewise decked out in their finest array. The
nun kept laughing every now and then in the most unnatural and
hysterical manner, as I thought, apparently to impress us with
the conviction of her perfect happiness; for it is a great point
of honor among girls similarly situated to look as cheerful and
gay as possible--the same feeling, though in a different degree,
which induces the gallant highwayman to jest in the presence of
the multitude when the hangman's cord is within an inch of his
neck; the same which makes a gallant general, whose life is
forfeited, command his men to fire on him; the same which makes
the Hindoo widow mount the funeral pile without a tear in her eye
or a sigh on her lips. If the robber were to be strangled in the
corner of his dungeon--if the general were to be put to death
privately in his own apartment--if the widow were to be burned
quietly on her own hearth--if the nun were to be secretly
smuggled in at the convent gate like a bale of contraband goods,
we might hear another tale. This girl was very young, but by no
means pretty; on the contrary, rather _disgraciee par la nature_;
and perhaps a knowledge of her own want of attractions may have
caused the world to have few charms for her.
"Suddenly the curtain was withdrawn, and the picturesque beauty
of the scene within baffles all description. Beside the altar,
which was in a blaze of light, was a perfect mass of crimson and
gold drapery; the walls, the antique chairs, the table before
which the priests sat, all hung with the same splendid material.
The Bishop wore his superb mitre, and robes of crimson and gold,
the attendant priests also glittering in crimson and gold
embroidery.
"In contrast to these, five-and-twenty figures, entirely robed in
black from head to foot, were ranged on each side of the room,
prostrate, their faces touching the ground, and in their hands
immense lighted tapers. On the foreground was spread a purple
carpet bordered round with a garland of freshly-gathered flowers,
roses, and carnations, and heliotrope, the only things that
looked real and living in the whole scene; and in the middle of
this knelt the novice, still arrayed in her blue satin, white
lace veil and jewels, and also with a great lighted taper in her
hand.
"The black nuns then rose and sang a hymn, every now and then
falling on their faces and touching the floor with their
foreheads. The whole looked like an incantation, or a scene in
Robert le Diable. The novice was then raised from the ground and
led to the feet of the Bishop, who examined her as to her
vocation, and gave her his blessing, and once more the black
curtain fell between us and them.
"In the _second act_ she was lying prostrate on the floor,
disrobed of her profane dress, and covered over with a black
cloth, while the black figures kneeling around her chanted a
hymn. She was now dead to the world. The sunbeams had faded away
as if they would not look upon the scene, and all the light was
concentrated in one great mass upon the convent group.
"Again she was raised. All the blood had rushed into her face,
and her attempt to smile was truly painful. She then knelt down
before the Bishop, and received the benediction, with the sign of
the cross, from a white hand with the pastoral ring. She then
went round alone to embrace all the dark phantoms as they stood
motionless, and as each dark shadow clasped her in its arms, it
seemed like the dead welcoming a new arrival to the shades.
"But I forget the sermon, which was delivered by a fat priest,
who elbowed his way with some difficulty through the crowd to the
grating, panting and in a prodigious heat, and ensconced himself
in a great armchair close beside us. He assured her that she 'had
chosen the good part, which could not be taken away from her;'
that she was now one of the elect, 'chosen from among the
wickedness and dangers of the world'--(picked out like a plum
from a pie). He mentioned with pity and contempt those who were
'yet struggling in the great Babylon,' and compared their
miserable fate with hers, the Bride of Christ, who, after
suffering a few privations here during a short term of years,
should be received at once into a kingdom of glory. The whole
discourse was well calculated to rally her fainting spirits, if
fainting they were, and to inspire us with a great disgust for
ourselves.
"When the sermon was concluded the music again struck up; the
heroine of the day came forward, and stood before the grating to
take her last look of this wicked world. Down fell the black
curtain. Up rose the relations, and I accompanied them into the
sacristy. Here they coolly lighted their cigars, and very
philosophically discoursed upon the exceeding good fortune of the
new-made nun, and on her evident delight and satisfaction with
her own situation. As we did not follow her behind the scenes, I
could not give my opinion on this point. Shortly after, one of
the gentlemen civilly led me to my carriage, and _so it
was_."
_A Victim for her Musical Powers._
"In the convent of the Incarnation I saw another girl sacrificed
in a similar manner. She was received there without a dowry, on
account of the exceeding fineness of her voice. She little
thought what a fatal gift it would prove to her. The most cruel
part of all was that, wishing to display her fine voice to the
public, they made her sing a hymn alone, on her knees, her arms
extended in the form of a cross, before all the immense crowd:
"Ancilla Christi sum," "The bride of Christ I am." She was a
good-looking girl, fat and comely, who would probably have led a
comfortable life in the world, for which she seemed well fitted;
most likely without one touch of romance or enthusiasm in her
composition; but, having the unfortunate honor of being niece to
two _chanoines_, she was thus honorably provided for without
expense in her nineteenth year. As might be expected, her voice
faltered, and instead of singing, she seemed inclined to cry out.
Each note came slowly, heavily, tremblingly; and at last she
nearly fell forward exhausted, when two of the sisters caught and
supported her."
_A Victim of her Confessor._
"She was in purple velvet, with diamonds and pearls, and a crown
of flowers; the corsage of her gown was entirely covered with
little bows of ribbon of divers colors, which her friends had
given her, each adding one, like stones thrown on a cairn in
memory of the departed. She had also short sleeves and white
satin shoes.
"Being very handsome, with fine black eyes, good teeth, and fresh
color, and, above all, with the beauty of youth, for she is but
eighteen, she was not disfigured by even this overloaded dress.
Her mother, on the contrary, who was to act the part of Madrina,
who wore a dress facsimile, and who was pale and sad, her eyes
almost extinguished with weeping, looked like a picture of Misery
in a ball-dress. In the adjoining room long tables were laid out,
on which servants were placing refreshments for the fete about to
be given on this joyous occasion. I felt somewhat shocked, and
inclined to say with Paul Pry, 'Hope I don't intrude.'
"----, however, was furious at the whole affair, which he said
was entirely against the mother's consent, though that of the
father had been obtained; and pointed out to me the confessor
whose influence had brought it about. The girl herself was now
very pale, but evidently resolved to conceal her agitation, and
the mother seemed as if she could shed no more tears--quite
exhausted with weeping. As the hour for the ceremony drew near,
the whole party became more grave and sad, all but the priests,
who were smiling and talking together in groups. The girl was not
still a moment. She kept walking hastily through the house,
taking leave of the servants, and naming, probably, her last
wishes about every thing. She was followed by her younger
sisters, all in tears.
"But it struck six, and the priests intimated that it was time to
move. She and her mother went down stairs alone, and entered the
carriage which was to drive them through all the principal
streets, to show the nun to the public, according to custom, and
to let them take their last look, they of her and she of them. As
they got in, we all crowded to the balconies to see her take
leave of her house, her aunts saying, 'Yes, child, _despidete
de tu casa_, take leave of your house, for you will never see
it again!' Then came sobs from the sisters; and many of the
gentlemen, ashamed of their emotion, hastily quitted the room. I
hope, for the sake of humanity, I did not rightly interpret the
look of constrained anguish which the poor girl threw from the
window of the carriage at the home of her childhood.
"At stated periods, indeed, the mother may hear her daughter's
voice speaking to her as from the depths of the tomb, but she may
never fold her in her arms, never more share in her joys or in
her sorrows, or nurse her in sickness; and when her own last hour
arrives, though but a few streets divide them, she may not give
her dying blessing to the child who has been for so many years
the pride of her eyes and heart.
"They gave me an excellent place, quite close to the grating,
beside the Countess de S----o; that is to say, a place to kneel
on. A great bustle and much preparation seemed to be going on
within the convent, and veiled figures were flitting about,
whispering, arranging, &c. Sometimes a skinny old dame would come
close to the grating, and, lifting up her veil, bestow upon the
pensive public a generous view of a very haughty and very
wrinkled visage of some seventy years standing, and beckon into
the church for the major-domo of the convent (an excellent and
profitable situation, by the way), or for padre this or that.
Some of the holy ladies recognized and spoke to me through the
grating.
"But, at the discharge of fireworks outside the church, the
curtain was dropped, for this was the signal that the nun and her
mother had arrived. An opening was made in the crowd as they
passed into the church, and the girl, kneeling down, was
questioned by the bishop, but I could not make out the dialogue,
which was carried on in a low voice. She then passed into the
convent by a side door, and her mother, quite exhausted and
nearly in hysterics, was supported through the crowd to a place
beside us, in front of the grating. The music struck up; the
curtain was again drawn aside. The scene was as striking here as
in the convent of the Santa Teresa, but not so lugubrious. The
nuns, all ranged around, and carrying lighted tapers in their
hands, were dressed in mantles of bright blue, with a gold plate
on the left shoulder. Their faces, however, were covered with
deep black veils. The girl, kneeling in front, and also bearing a
heavy lighted taper, looked beautiful, with her dark hair and
rich dress, and the long black lashes resting on her glowing
face. The churchmen near the illuminated and magnificently-decked
altar formed, as usual, a brilliant background to the picture.
The ceremony was the same as on the former occasion, but there
was no sermon.
"The most terrible thing to witness was the last, straining,
anxious look which the mother gave her daughter through the
grating. She had seen her child pressed to the arms of strangers
and welcomed to her new home. She was no longer hers. All the
sweet ties of nature had been rudely severed, and she had been
forced to consign her, in the very bloom of youth and beauty, at
the very age in which she most required a mother's care, and when
she had but just fulfilled the promise of her childhood, to a
living tomb. Still, as long as the curtain had not fallen, she
could gaze upon her as upon one on whom, though dead, the
coffin-lid is not yet closed.
"But while the new-made nun was in a blaze of light and distinct
on the foreground, so that we could mark each varying expression
of her face, the crowd in the church, and the comparative
faintness of the light, probably made it difficult for her to
distinguish her mother; for, knowing that the end was at hand,
she looked anxiously and hurriedly into the church, without
seeming able to fix her eyes on any particular object, while her
mother seemed as if her eyes were glazed, so intensely were they
fixed upon her daughter.
"Suddenly, and without any preparation, down fell the black
curtain like a pall, and the sobs and tears of the family broke
forth. One beautiful little child was carried out almost in fits.
Water was brought to the poor mother; and at last, making our way
with difficulty through the dense crowd, we got into the
sacristy. 'I declare,' said the Countess ---- to me, wiping her
eyes, 'it is worse than a marriage!' I expressed my horror at the
sacrifice of a girl so young that she could not possibly have
known her own mind. Almost all the ladies agreed with me,
especially all who had daughters, but many of the old gentlemen
were of a different opinion. The young men were decidedly of my
way of thinking, but many young girls who were conversing
together seemed rather to envy their friend, who had looked so
pretty and graceful, and 'so happy,' and whose dress 'suited her
so well,' and to have no objection to 'go and do likewise.'"
[69] "The Santa Teresa, however, has few ornaments. It is not
nearly so large as the _Encarnacion_, and admits but
twenty-one nuns. At present there are, besides these, but three
novices. Its very atmosphere seems holy, and its scrupulous and
excessive cleanness makes all profane dwellings seem dirty by
comparison. We were accompanied by a bishop, Senor Madrid, the
same who assisted at the archbishop's consecration--a
good-looking man, young and tall, and very splendidly dressed.
His robes were of purple satin, covered with fine point-lace,
with a large cross of diamonds and amethysts. He also wore a
cloak of very fine purple cloth, lined with crimson velvet,
crimson stockings, and an immense amethyst ring.
"When he came in we found that the nuns had permission to put up
their veils, rarely allowed in this order in the presence of
strangers. They have a small garden and fountain, plenty of
flowers, and some fruit; but all is on a smaller scale, and
sadder than in the convent of the Incarnation. The refectory is a
large room, with a long, narrow table running all round it--a
plain deal table, with wooden benches; before the place of each
nun, an earthen bowl, an earthen cup with an apple in it, a
wooden plate, and a wooden spoon; at the top of the table a
grinning skull, to remind them that even these indulgences they
shall not long enjoy.
"In one corner of the room is a reading-desk, a sort of elevated
pulpit, where one reads aloud from some holy book while the
others discuss their simple fare. They showed us a crown of
thorns, which, on certain days, is worn by one of their number by
way of penance. It is made of iron, so that the nails, entering
inward, run into the head, and make it bleed. While she wears
this on her head, a sort of wooden bit is put into her mouth, and
she lies prostrate on her face till dinner is ended; and while in
this condition her food is given her, of which she eats as much
as she can, which probably is none.
"We visited the different cells, and were horror-struck at the
self-inflicted tortures. Each bed consists of a wooden plank
raised in the middle, and, on days of penitence, crossed by
wooden bars. The pillow is wooden, with a cross lying on it,
which they hold in their hands when they lie down. The nun lies
on this penitential couch, embracing the cross, and her feet
hanging out, as the bed is made too short for her, upon
principle. Round her waist she occasionally wears a band with
iron points turning inward; on her breast a cross with nails, of
which the points enter the flesh, of the truth of which I had
melancholy ocular demonstration. Then, after having scourged
herself with a whip covered with iron nails, she lies down for a
few hours on the wooden bars, and rises at four o'clock. All
these instruments of discipline, which each nun keeps in a little
box beside her bed, look as if their fitting place would be in
the dungeons of the Inquisition. They made me try their _bed
and board_, which I told them would give me a very decided
taste for early rising.
"Yet they all seem as cheerful as possible, though it must be
confessed that many of them look pale and unhealthy. It is said
that, when they are strong enough to stand this mode of life,
they live very long; but it frequently happens that girls who
come into this convent are obliged to leave it from sickness long
before the expiration of their novitiate. I met with the girl
whom I had seen take the veil, and can not say that she looked
either well or cheerful, though she assured me that 'of course,
in doing the will of God,' she was both. There was not much
beauty among them generally, though one or two had remains of
great loveliness. My friend, the Madre A----, is handsomer on a
closer view than I had supposed her, and seems an especial
favorite with old and young. But there was one whose face must
have been strikingly beautiful. She was as pale as marble, and,
though still young, seemed in very delicate health; but her eyes
and eyebrows were as black as jet; the eyes so large and soft,
the eyebrows two penciled arches, and her smiles so resigned and
sweet, would have made her the loveliest model imaginable for a
Madonna.
"Again, as in the Incarnation, they had taken the trouble to
prepare an elegant supper for us. The bishop took his place in an
antique velvet chair; the Senora ---- and I were placed on each
side of him. The room was very well lighted, and there was as
great a profusion of custards, jellies, and ices as if we had
been supping at the most profane _cafe_. The nuns did not sit
down, but walked about, pressing us to eat, the bishop now and
then giving them cakes, with permission to eat them, which they
received laughing.
"After supper a small harp was brought in, which had been sent
for by the bishop's permission. It was terribly out of tune, with
half the strings broken; but we were determined to grudge no
trouble in putting it in order, and giving these poor recluses
what they considered so great a gratification. We got it into
some sort of condition at last, and when they heard it played,
they were vehement in their expressions of delight. The Senora
----, who has a charming voice, afterward sang to them, the
bishop being very indulgent, and permitting us to select whatever
songs we chose, so that, when rather a profane canticle, "The
Virgin of the Pillar" (La Virgin del Pilar), was sung, he very
kindly turned a deaf ear to it, and seemed busily engaged in
conversation with an old madre till it was all over.
"In these robes they are buried; and one would think that if any
human being can ever leave this world without a feeling of
regret, it must be a nun of the Santa Teresa, when, her
privations in this world ended, she lays down her blameless life,
and joins the pious sisterhood who have gone before her; dying
where she has lived, surrounded by her companions, her last hours
soothed by their prayers and tears, sure of their vigils for the
repose of her soul, and, above all, sure that neither pleasure
nor vanity will ever obliterate her remembrance from their
hearts."--_Life in Mexico_, vol. ii. p. 9.
[70] "All Mexicans at present, men and women, are engaged in what
are called the _desagravios_, a public penance performed at this
season in the churches during thirty-five days. The women attend
church in the morning, no men being permitted to enter, and the
men in the evening, when women are not admitted. Both rules are
occasionally broken. The penitence of the men is most severe,
their sins being no doubt proportionably greater than those of
the women; though it is one of the few countries where they
suffer for this, or seem to act upon the principle, that 'if all
men had their deserts, who would escape whipping?'
"To-day we attended the morning penitence at six o'clock, in the
church of San Francisco, the hardest part of which was their
having to kneel for about ten minutes with their arms extended in
the form of a cross, uttering groans, a most painful position for
any length of time. It was a profane thought, but I dare say so
many hundreds of beautifully-formed arms and hands were seldom
seen extended at the same moment before. Gloves not being worn in
church, and many of the women having short sleeves, they were
very much seen.
"But the other night I was present at a much stranger scene, at
the discipline performed by the men, admission having been
procured for us by certain means, _private but powerful_.
Accordingly, when it was dark, enveloped from head to foot in
large cloaks, and without the slightest idea of what it was, we
went on foot through the streets to the church of San Agustin.
When we arrived, a small side door apparently opened of itself,
and we entered, passing through long vaulted passages, and up
steep winding stairs, till we found ourselves in a small railed
gallery looking down directly upon the church. The scene was
curious. About one hundred and fifty men, enveloped in cloaks and
sarapes, their faces entirely concealed, were assembled in the
body of the church. A monk had just mounted the pulpit, and the
church was dimly lighted, except where he stood in bold relief,
with his gay robes and cowl thrown back, giving a full view of
his high, bald forehead and expressive face.
"His discourse was a rude but very forcible and eloquent
description of the torments prepared in hell for impenitent
sinners. The effect of the whole was very solemn. It appeared
like a preparation for the execution of a multitude of condemned
criminals. When the discourse was finished, they all joined in
prayer with much fervor and enthusiasm, beating their breasts and
falling upon their faces. Then the monk stood up, and in a very
distinct voice read several passages of Scripture descriptive of
the sufferings of Christ. The organ then struck up the
_Miserere_, and all of a sudden the church was plunged in
profound darkness, all but a sculptured representation of the
Crucifixion, which seemed to hang in the air illuminated. I felt
rather frightened, and would have been glad to leave the church,
but it would have been impossible in the darkness. Suddenly a
terrible voice in the dark cried, 'My brothers! when Christ was
fastened to the pillar by the Jews, he was _scourged_!' At these
words the bright figure disappeared, and the darkness became
total. Suddenly we heard the sound of hundreds of scourges
descending upon the bare flesh. I can not conceive any thing more
horrible. Before ten minutes had passed, the sound became
_splashing_ from the blood that was flowing.
"I have heard of these penitencies in Italian churches, and also
that half of those who go there do not really scourge themselves;
but here, where there is such perfect concealment, there seems no
motive for deception. Incredible as it may seem, this awful
penance continued, without intermission, for half an hour! If
they scourged _each other_, their energy might be less
astonishing.
"We could not leave the church, but it was perfectly sickening;
and had I not been able to take hold of the Senora ----'s hand,
and feel something human beside me, I could have fancied myself
transported into a congregation of evil spirits. Now and then,
but very seldom, a suppressed groan was heard, and occasionally
the voice of the monk encouraging them by ejaculations, or by
short passages from Scripture. Sometimes the organ struck up, and
the poor wretches; in a faint voice, tried to join in the
_Miserere_. The sound of the scourging is indescribable. At the
end of half an hour a little bell was rung, and the voice of the
monk was heard calling upon them to desist; but such was their
enthusiasm, that the horrible lashing continued louder and
fiercer than ever.
"In vain he entreated them not to kill themselves, and assured
them that heaven would be satisfied, and that human nature could
not endure beyond a certain point. No answer but the loud sound
of the scourges, which are many of them of iron, with sharp
points that enter the flesh. At length, as if they were perfectly
exhausted, the sound grew fainter, and little by little ceased
altogether. We then got up in the dark, and with great difficulty
groped our way in the pitch darkness through the galleries and
down the stairs till we reached the door, and had the pleasure of
feeling the fresh air again. They say that the church floor is
frequently covered with blood after one of these penances, and
that a man died the other day in consequence of his
wounds."--_Life in Mexico_, vol. ii. p. 213.