THE SICK NUN.
On my return to the kitchen I found the sick nun sitting as we left her.
She asked me, by signs, if we were alone. I told her she need not fear
to speak, for the Superior was two flights of stairs above, and no one
else was near. "Are they all away?" she whispered. I assured her that
we were quite alone, that she had nothing to fear. She then informed me
that she had been nine days under punishment, that when taken from the
cell she could not stand or speak, and she was still too weak to walk
without assistance. "O!" said she, and the big tears rolled over her
cheeks as she said it, "I have not a friend in the world. You do not
know how my heart longs for love, for sympathy and kindness." I asked if
she had not parents, or friends, in the world. She replied, "I was born
in this convent, and know no world but this. You see," she continued,
with a sad smile, "what kind of friends I have here. O, if I HAD A
FRIEND, if I could feel that one human being cares for me, I should get
better. But it is so long since I heard a kind word--" a sob choked her
utterance. I told her I would be a friend to her as far as I could. She
thanked me; said she was well aware of the difficulties that lay in my
way, for every expression of sympathy or kind feeling between the nuns
was strictly forbidden, and if caught in anything of the kind a severe
correction would follow. "But," said she "if you will give me a kind
look sometimes, whenever you can do so with safety, it will be worth a
great deal to me. You do not know the value of a kind look to a breaking
heart."
She wept so bitterly, I feared it would injure her health, and to divert
her mind, I told her where I was born; spoke of my childhood, and of
my life at the White Nunnery. She wiped away her tears, and replied, "I
know all about it. I have heard the priests talk about you, and they say
that your father is yet living, that your mother was a firm protestant,
and that it will be hard for them to beat Catholicism into you. But I
do not know how you came in that nunnery. Who put you there?" I told her
that I was placed there by my father, when only six years old. "Is
it possible?" she exclaimed, and then added passionately, "Curse your
father for it." After a moments silence, she continued, "Yes, child;
you have indeed cause to curse your father, and the day when you first
entered the convent; but you do not suffer as much as you would if you
had been born here, and were entirely dependent on them. They fear
that your friends may sometime look after you; and, in case they are
compelled to grant them an interview, they would wish them to find you
in good health and contented; but if you had no influential friends
outside the convent, you would find yourself much worse off than you are
now."
She then said she wished she could get some of the brandy from the
cellar. Her stomach was so weak from long fasting, it would retain
neither food or drink, and she thought the brandy would give it
strength. She asked if I could get it for her. The idea frightened me at
first, for I knew that if caught in doing it, I should be most cruelly
punished, yet my sympathy for her at length overcame my fears, and I
resolved to try, whatever might be the result. I accordingly went up
stairs, ostensibly, to see if the Superior wanted me, but really, to
find out where she was, and whether she would be likely to come down,
before I could have time to carry out my plan. I trembled a little,
for I knew that I was guilty of a great misdemeanor in thus boldly
presenting myself to ask if I was wanted; but I thought it no very great
sin to pretend that I thought she called me, for I was sure my motives
were good, whatever they might think of them. I had been taught that
"the end sanctifies the means," and I thought I should not be too hardly
judged by the great searcher of hearts, if, for once, I applied it in my
own way.
I knocked gently at the door I had left but a few moments before. It was
opened by the Superior, but she immediately stepped out, and closed it
again, so that I had no opportunity to see what was passing within.
She sternly bade me return to the kitchen, and stay there till she came
down; a command I was quite ready to obey. In the kitchen there was a
small cupboard, called the key cupboard, in which they kept keys of all
sizes belonging to the establishment. They were hung on hooks, each one
being marked with the name of the place to which it belonged. It was
easy for me to find the key to the cellar, and having obtained it, I
opened another cupboard filled with bottles and vials, where I selected
one that held half a pint, placed it in a large pitcher, and hastened
down stairs. I soon found a cask marked "brandy," turned the faucet, and
filled the bottle. But my heart beat violently, and my hand trembled
so that I could not hold it steady, and some of it ran over into the
pitcher. It was well for me that I took this precaution, for if I had
spilt it on the stone floor of the cellar, I should have been detected
at once. I ran up stairs as quickly as possible, and made her drink what
I had in the pitcher, though there was more of it than I should have
given her under other circumstances; but I did not know what to do
with it. If I put it in the fire, or in the sink, I thought they would
certainly smell it, and, there was no other place, for I was not allowed
to go out of doors. I then replaced the key, washed up my pitcher, and
secreted the bottle of brandy in the waist of the nun's dress. This
I could easily do, their dresses being made with a loose waist, and a
large cape worn over them. I then began to devise some way to destroy
the scent in the room. I could smell it very distinctly, and I knew that
the Superior would notice it at once. After trying various expedients to
no purpose, I at length remembered that I had once seen a dry rag set on
fire for a similar purpose. I therefore took one of the cloths from the
sink, and set it on fire, let it burn a moment, and threw it under the
caldron.
I was just beginning to congratulate myself on my success, when I saw
that the nun appeared insensible, and about to fall from her chair. I
caught her in my arms, and leaned her back in the chair, but I did not
dare to lay her on the bed, without permission, even if I had strength
to do it. I could only draw her chair to the side of the room, put a
stick of wood under it, and let her head rest against the wall. I was
very much frightened, and for a moment, thought she was dead. She was
pale as a corpse, her eyes closed, and her mouth wide open. Had I really
killed her? What if the Superior should find her thus? I soon found that
she was not dead, for her heart beat regularly, and I began to hope she
would get over it before any one came in. But just as the thought passed
my mind, the door opened and the Superior appeared. Her first words
were, "What have you been burning? What smells so?" I told her there was
a cloth about the sink that I thought unfit for use, and I put it
under the caldron. She then turned towards the nun and asked if she had
fainted. I told her that I did not know, but I thought she was asleep,
and if she wished me to awaken, and assist her to bed, I would do so. To
this she consented, and immediately went up stairs again. Glad as I was
of this permission, I still doubted my ability to do it alone, for I had
little, very little strength; yet I resolved to do my best. It was long,
however, before I could arouse her, or make her comprehend what I said,
so entirely were her senses stupified with the brandy. When at length I
succeeded in getting her upon her feet, she said she was sure she could
not walk; but I encouraged her to help herself as much as possible, told
her that I wished to get her away before any one came in, or we would
be certainly found out and punished. This suggestion awakened her fears,
and I at length succeeded in assisting her to bed. She was soon in a
sound sleep, and I thought my troubles for that time were over. But
I was mistaken. In my fright, I had quite forgotten the brandy in her
dress. Somehow the bottle was cracked, and while she slept, the brandy
ran over her clothes. The Superior saw it, and asked how she obtained
it. Too noble minded to expose me, she said she drew it herself. I
heard the Superior talking to a priest about it, and I thought they were
preparing to punish her. I did not know what she had told them, but I
did not think she would expose me, and I feared, if they punished her
again, she would die in their hands.
I therefore went to the Superior and told her the truth about it, for
I thought a candid confession on my part might, perchance, procure
forgiveness for the nun, if not for myself. But no; they punished us
both; the nun for telling the lie, and me for getting the brandy. For
two hours they made me stand with a crown of thorns on my head, while
they alternately employed themselves in burning me with hot irons,
pinching, and piercing me with needles, pulling my hair, and striking
me with sticks. All this I bore very well, for I was hurt just enough to
make me angry.
When I returned to the kitchen again, the nun was sitting there alone.
She shook her head at me, and by her gestures gave me to understand that
some one was listening. She afterwards informed me that the Superior was
watching us, to see if we would speak to each other when we met. I do
not know how they punished her, but I heard a priest say that she would
die if she suffered much more. Perhaps they thought the loss of that
precious bottle of brandy was punishment enough. But I was glad I got
it for her, for she had one good dose of it, and it did her good;
her stomach was stronger, her appetite better, and in a few weeks she
regained her usual health.
One day, while at work as usual, I was called up stairs with the other
nuns to see one die. She lay upon the bed, and looked pale and thin, but
I could see no signs of immediate dissolution. Her voice was strong, and
respiration perfectly natural, the nuns were all assembled in her room
to see her die. Beside her stood a priest, earnestly exhorting her to
confess her sins to him, and threatening her with eternal punishment if
she refused. But she replied, "No, I will not confess to you. If, as
you say, I am really dying, it is with my God I have to do; to him alone
will I confess, for he alone can save." "If you do not confess to me,"
exclaimed the priest, "I will give you up to the devil." "Well," said
she, "I stand in no fear of a worse devil than you are, and I am quite
willing to leave you at any time, and try any other place; even hell
itself cannot be worse. I cannot suffer more there than I have here."
"Daughter," exclaimed the priest, with affected sympathy, "must I give
you up? How can I see you go down to perdition? It is not yet too late.
Confess your sins and repent." "I have already confessed my sins to God,
and I shall confess to no one else. He alone can save me." Her manner of
saying this was solemn but very decided. The priest saw that she would
not yield to his wishes, and raising his voice, he exclaimed, "Then let
the devil take you."
Immediately the door opened, and a figure representing the Roman
Catholic idea of his Satanic Majesty entered the room. He was very
black, and covered with long hair, probably the skin of some wild
animal. He had two long white tusks, two horns on his head, a large
cloven foot, and a long tail that he drew after him on the floor. He
looked so frightful, and recalled to my mind so vividly the figure that
I saw at the White Nunnery, that I was very much frightened; still I did
not believe it was really a supernatural being. I suspected that it was
one of the priests dressed up in that way to frighten us, and I now
know that such was the fact. But what of that? We all feared the priests
quite as much as we should the Evil One himself, even if he should come
to us in bodily shape, as they pretended he had done. Most of the nuns
were very much frightened when they saw that figure walk up to the
bedside, taking good care, however, to avoid the priest, he being so
very holy it was impossible for an evil spirit to go near or even look
at him.
The priest then ordered us to return to the kitchen, for said he, "The
devil has come for this nun's soul, and will take it with him," As we
left the room I looked around on my companions and wondered if they
believed this absurd story. I longed to ask them what they thought of
it, but this was not allowed. All interchange of thought or feeling
being strictly forbidden, we never ventured to speak without permission
when so many of us were present, for some one was sure to tell of it if
the least rule was broken.
I was somewhat surprised at first that we were all sent to the kitchen,
as but few of us were employed there; but we were soon called back again
to look at the corpse. I was inexpressibly shocked at this summons, for
I had not supposed it possible for her to die so soon. But she was dead;
and that was all we could ever know about it. As we stood around the
bed, the priest said she was an example of those in the world called
heretics; that her soul was in misery, and would remain so forever; no
masses or prayers could avail her then, for she could never be prayed
out of hell. Sins like hers could never be forgiven.
I continued to work in the kitchen as usual for many months after this
occurrence, and for a few weeks the sick nun was there a great part of
the time. Whenever we were alone, and sure that no one was near, we used
to converse together, and a great comfort it was to us both. I felt that
I had found in her one real friend, to sympathize with me in my grievous
trials, and with whom I could sometimes hold communication without fear
of betrayal. I had proved her, and found her faithful, therefore I
did not fear to trust her. No one can imagine, unless they know by
experience, how much pleasure we enjoyed in the few stolen moments that
we spent together.
I shall never forget the last conversation I had with her. She came and
sat down where I was assisting another nun to finish a mat. She asked
us if we knew what was going on in the house. "As I came from my room,"
said she, "I saw the priests and Superiors running along the halls, and
they appeared so much excited, I thought something must be wrong. As
they passed me, they told me to go to the kitchen, and stay there. What
does it all mean?" Of course we did not know, for we had neither seen or
heard anything unusual. "Well," said she, "they are all so much engaged
up stairs, we can talk a little and not be overheard. I want to know
something about the people in the world. Are they really cruel and
cold-hearted, as the priests say they are? When you was in the world
were they unkind to you?" "On the contrary," I replied, "I would gladly
return to them again if I could get away from the convent. I should
not be treated any worse, at all events, and I shall embrace the-first
opportunity to go back to the world." "That is what I have always
thought since I was old enough to think at all," said she, "and I have
resolved a great many times to get away if possible. I suppose they tell
us about the cruelty in the world just to frighten us, and prevent us
from trying to escape. I am so weak now I do not suppose I could walk
out of Montreal even if I should leave the convent. But if I ever get
strong enough, I shall certainly try to escape from this horrible place.
O, I could tell you things about this convent that would curdle the
blood in your veins."
The other nun said that she had been once in the world, and every one
was kind to her. "I shall try to get out again, some day," said she,
"but we must keep our resolutions to ourselves, for there is no one
here, that we can trust. Those whom we think our best friends will
betray us, if we give them a chance. I do believe that some of them
delight in getting us punished."
The sick nun said, "I have never exposed any one and I never will. I
have the secrets of a great many hid in my breast, that nothing shall
ever extort from me." Here she was interrupted, and soon left the room.
I never saw her again. Whether she was under punishment, or was so
fortunate as to make her escape, I do not know. As no questions could
be asked, it was very little we could know of each other. If one of our
number escaped, the fact was carefully concealed from the rest, and if
she was caught and brought back, no one ever knew it, except those who
had charge of her. The other nun who worked in the room with me, watched
me very closely. Having heard me declare my intention to leave the first
opportunity, she determined to go with me if possible.