Produced by Gardner Buchanan with help from Charles Franks
and Distributed Proofers
LIFE IN THE GREY NUNNERY AT MONTREAL
An authentic narrative of the horrors, mysteries, and cruelties of
convent life by Sarah J. Richardson, an escaped nun.
By Sarah J Richardson
Edited by Edward P. Hood
[A long unsigned note of opinion on the veracity of this work has been
deleted per the policy of Project Gutenberg concerning such ammendations.}
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PARENTAGE--FATHER'S MARRIAGE
CHAPTER II THE WHITE NUNNERY
CHAPTER III THE NURSERY
CHAPTER IV A SLAVE FOR LIFE
CHAPTER V CEREMONY OF CONFIRMATION
CHAPTER VI THE GREY NUNNERY
CHAPTER VII ORPHAN'S HOME
CHAPTER VIII CONFESSION AND SORROW OF NO AVAIL
CHAPTER IX ALONE WITH THE DEAD
CHAPTER X THE SICK NUN
CHAPTER XI THE JOY OF FREEDOM
CHAPTER XII STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND
CHAPTER XIII LANDLADY'S STORY CONTINUED
CHAPTER XIV THE TWO SISTERS
CHAPTER XV CHOICE OF PUNISHMENTS
CHAPTER XVI HORRORS OF STARVATION
CHAPTER XVII THE TORTURE ROOM
CHAPTER XVIII RETURN TO THE NUNNERY
CHAPTER XIX SICKNESS AND DEATH OF A SUPERIOR
CHAPTER XX STUDENTS AT THE ACADEMY
CHAPTER XXI SECOND ESCAPE FROM THE NUNNERY
CHAPTER XXII LONELY MIDNIGHT WALK
CHAPTER XXIII FLIGHT AND RECAPTURE
CHAPTER XXIV RESOLVES TO ESCAPE
CHAPTER XXV EVENTFUL JOURNEY
CHAPTER XXVI CONCLUSION
APPENDIX I ABSURDITIES OF ROMANISTS
APPENDIX II CRUELTY OF ROMANISTS
APPENDIX III INQUISITION OF GOA--IMPRISONMENT OF
M. DELLON, 1673
APPENDIX IV INQUISITION OF GOA, CONCLUDED
APPENDIX V INQUISITION AT MACERATA, ITALY
APPENDIX VI ROMANISM OF THE PRESENT DAY
APPENDIX VII NARRATIVE OP SIGNORINA FLORIENCIA
D' ROMANI
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PARENTAGE--FATHER'S MARRIAGE CHAPTER II THE WHITE NUNNERY
CHAPTER III THE NURSERY CHAPTER IV A SLAVE FOR LIFE CHAPTER V CEREMONY
OF CONFIRMATION CHAPTER VI THE GREY NUNNERY CHAPTER VII ORPHAN'S HOME
CHAPTER VIII CONFESSION AND SORROW OF NO AVAIL CHAPTER IX ALONE WITH THE
DEAD CHAPTER X THE SICK NUN CHAPTER XI THE JOY OF FREEDOM CHAPTER XII
STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND CHAPTER XIII LANDLADY'S STORY CONTINUED
CHAPTER XIV THE TWO SISTERS CHAPTER XV CHOICE OF PUNISHMENTS CHAPTER XVI
HORRORS OF STARVATION CHAPTER XVII THE TORTURE ROOM CHAPTER XVIII RETURN
TO THE NUNNERY CHAPTER XIX SICKNESS AND DEATH OF A SUPERIOR CHAPTER
XX STUDENTS AT THE ACADEMY CHAPTER XXI SECOND ESCAPE FROM THE NUNNERY
CHAPTER XXII LONELY MIDNIGHT WALK CHAPTER XXIII FLIGHT AND RECAPTURE
CHAPTER XXIV RESOLVES TO ESCAPE CHAPTER XXV EVENTFUL JOURNEY CHAPTER
XXVI CONCLUSION
APPENDIX I ABSURDITIES OF ROMANISTS APPENDIX II CRUELTY OF ROMANISTS
APPENDIX III INQUISITION OF GOA--IMPRISONMENT OF M. DE
APPENDIX IV INQUISITION OF GOA, CONCLUDED APPENDIX V INQUISITION AT
MACERATA, ITALY APPENDIX VI ROMANISM OF THE PRESENT DAY APPENDIX VII
NARRATIVE OP SIGNORINA FLORIENCIA D' ROMANI
LIFE IN THE GREY NUNNERY.
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 unassuming 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 passed 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 passed 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 anticipated. But, alas for all human
prospects! Ere one short month had passed, 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 passed 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 assuring 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
anticipate 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.