Treatment of young Infants in the Convent--Talking in
Sleep--Amusements--Ceremonies at the public interment of deceased
Nuns--Sudden disappearance of the Old Superior--Introduction of the new
one--Superstition--Alarm of a Nun--Difficulty of Communication with
other Nuns.
It will be recollected, that I was informed immediately after receiving
the veil, that infants were occasionally murdered in the Convent. I was
one day in the nuns' private sick room, when I had an opportunity,
unsought for, of witnessing deeds of such a nature. It was, perhaps, a
month after the death of Saint Francis. Two little twin babes, the
children of Sainte Catharine, were brought to a priest, who was in the
room, for baptism. I was present while the ceremony was performed, with
the Superior and several of the old nuns, whose names I never knew,
they being called Ma tante, Aunt.
The priests took turns in attending to confession and catechism in the
Convent, usually three months at a time, though sometimes longer
periods. The priest then on duty was Father Larkin. He is a
good-looking European, and has a brother who is a professor in the
college. He baptized, and then put oil upon the heads of the infants,
as is the custom after baptism. They were then taken, one after
another, by one of the old nuns, in the presence of us all. She pressed
her hand upon the mouth and nose of the first, so tight that it could
not breathe, and in a few minutes, when the hand was removed, it was
dead. She then took the other, and treated it in the same way. No sound
was heard, and both the children were corpses. The greatest
indifference was shown by all present during this operation; for all,
as I well knew, were long accustomed to such scenes. The little bodies
were then taken into the cellar, thrown into the pit I have mentioned,
and covered with a quantity of lime.
I afterward saw another new-born infant treated in the same manner, in
the same place; but the actors in the scene I choose not to name, nor
the circumstances, as everything connected with it is of a peculiarly
trying and painful nature to my own feelings.
These were the only instances of infanticide I witnessed; and it seemed
to be merely owing to accident that I was then present. So far as I
know, there were no pains taken to preserve secrecy on this subject;
that is, I saw no attempt made to keep any of the inmates of the
Convent in ignorance of the murder of children. On the contrary, others
were told, as well as myself, on their first admission as veiled nuns,
that all infants born in the place were baptized and killed, without
loss of time; and I had been called to witness the murder of the three
just mentioned, only because I happened to be in the room at the time.
That others were killed in the same manner during my stay in the
nunnery, I am well assured.
How many there were I cannot tell, and having taken no account of those
I heard of, I cannot speak with precision; I believe, however, that I
learnt through nuns, that at least eighteen or twenty infants were
smothered, and secretly buried in the cellar, while I was a nun.
One of the effects of the weariness of our bodies and minds, was our
proneness to talk in our sleep. It was both ludicrous and painful to
hear the nuns repeat their prayers in the course of the night, as they
frequently did in their dreams. Required to keep our minds continually
on the stretch, both in watching our conduct, in remembering the rules
and our prayers, under the fear of the consequences of any neglect,
when we closed our eyes in sleep, we often went over again the scenes
of the day; and it was no uncommon thing for me to hear a nun repeat
one or two of our long exercises in the dead of night. Sometimes, by
the time she had finished, another, in a different part of the room,
would happen to take a similar turn, and commence a similar recitation;
and I have known cases in which several such unconscious exercises were
performed, all within an hour or two.
We had now and then a recreation day, when we were relieved from our
customary labor, and from all prayers except those for morning and
evening. The greater part of our time was then occupied with different
games, particularly backgammon and drafts, and in such conversation as
did not relate to our past lives, and the outside of the Convent.
Sometimes, however, our sports would be interrupted on such days by the
entrance of one of the priests, who would come in and propose that his
fete, the birth-day of his patron saint, should be kept by "the
saints." We saints!
Several nuns died at different times while I was in the Convent; how
many I cannot say, but there was a considerable number: I might rather
say, many in proportion to the number in the nunnery. The proportion of
deaths I am sure was very large. There were always some in the nuns'
sick-rooms, and several interments took place in the chapel. When a
Black nun is dead, the corpse is dressed as if living, and placed in
the chapel in a sitting posture, within the railing round the altar,
with a book in the hand, as if reading. Persons are then freely
admitted from the street, and some of them kneel and pray before it. No
particular notoriety is given, I believe, to this exhibition out of the
Convent; but such a case usually excites some attention.
The living nuns are required to say prayers for the delivery of their
deceased sister from purgatory, being informed, as in all other such
cases, that if she is not there, and has no need of our intercession,
our prayers are in no danger of being thrown away, as they will be set
down to the account of some of our departed friends, or at least to
that of the souls which have no acquaintances to pray for them.
It was customary for us occasionally to kneel before a dead nun thus
seated in the chapel, and I have often performed that task. It was
always painful, for the ghastly countenance being seen whenever I
raised my eyes, and the feeling that the position and dress were
entirely opposed to every idea of propriety in such a case, always made
me melancholy.
The Superior sometimes left the Convent, and was absent for an hour, or
several hours, at a time, but we never knew of it until she had
returned, and were not informed where she had been. I one day had
reason to presume that she had recently paid a visit to the priests'
farm, though I had no direct evidence that such was the fact. The
priests' farm is a fine tract of land belonging to the Seminary, a
little distance from the city, near the Lachine road, with a large
old-fashioned edifice upon it. I happened to be in the Superior's room
on the day alluded to, when she made some remark on the plainness and
poverty of her furniture. I replied, that she was not proud, and could
not be dissatisfied on that account; she answered--
"No; but if I was, how much superior is the furniture at the priests'
farm! the poorest room there is furnished better than the best of mine."
I was one day mending the fire in the Superior's room, when a priest
was conversing with her on the scarcity of money; and I heard him say,
that very little money was received by the priests for prayers, but
that the principal part came with penances and absolutions.
One of the most remarkable and unaccountable things that happened in
the Convent, was the disappearance of the old Superior. She had
performed her customary part during the day, and had acted and appeared
just as usual. She had shown no symptoms of ill health, met with no
particular difficulty in conducting business, and no agitation, anxiety
or gloom, had been noticed in her conduct. We had no reason to suppose
that during that day she had expected anything particular to occur, any
more than the rest of us. After the close of our customary labours, and
evening lecture, she dismissed us to retire to bed, exactly in her
usual manner. The next morning the bell rung we sprang from our bed,
hurried on our clothes as usual, and proceeded to the community-room in
double line, to commence the morning exercises. There, to our surprise,
we found Bishop Lartigue; but the Superior was nowhere to be seen. The
Bishop soon addressed us, instead of her, and informed us, that a lady
near him, whom he presented to us, was now the Superior of the Convent,
and enjoined upon us the same respect and obedience which we had paid
to her predecessor.
The lady he introduced to us was one of our oldest nuns, Saint Du ----,
a very large, fleshy woman, with swelled limbs, which rendered her very
slow in walking, and often gave her great distress. Not a word was
dropped from which we could conjecture the cause of this change, nor of
the fate of the old Superior. I took the first opportunity to inquire
of one of the nuns, whom I dared talk to, what had become of her; but I
found them as ignorant as myself, though suspicious that she had been
murdered by the orders of the Bishop. Never did I obtain any light on
her mysterious disappearance. I am confident, however, that if the
Bishop wished to get rid of her privately and by foul means, he had
ample opportunities and power at his command. Jane Ray, as usual, could
not allow such an occurrence to pass by without intimating her own
suspicions more plainly than any other of the nuns would have dared to
do. She spoke out one day, in the community-room, and said, "I'm going
to have a hunt in the cellar for my old Superior."
"Hush, Jane Ray!" exclaimed some of the nuns, "you'll be punished."
"My mother used to tell me," replied Jane, "never to be afraid of the
face of a man."
It cannot be thought strange that we were superstitious. Some were more
easily terrified than others, by unaccountable sights and sounds; but
all of us believed in the power and occasional appearance of spirits,
and were ready to look for them at almost any time. I have seen several
instances of alarm caused by such superstition, and have experienced it
myself more than once. I was one day sitting mending aprons, beside one
of the old nuns, in a community-room, while the litanies were
repeating; as I was very easy to laugh, Saint Ignace or Agnes, came in,
walked up to her with much agitation, and began to whisper in her ear.
She usually talked but little, and that made me more curious to know
what was the matter with her. I overheard her say to the old nun, in
much alarm, that in the cellar from which she had just returned, she
had heard the most dreadful groans that ever came from any being. This
was enough to give me uneasiness. I could not account for the
appearance of an evil spirit in any part of the Convent, for I had been
assured that the only one ever known there, was that of the nun who had
died with an unconfessed sin, and that others were kept at a distance
by the holy water that was rather profusely used in different parts of
the nunnery. Still, I presumed that the sounds heard by Saint Ignace
must have proceeded from some devil, and I felt great dread at the
thought of visiting the cellar again. I determined to seek further
information of the terrified nun; but when I addressed her on the
subject, at recreation-time, the first opportunity I could find, she
replied, that I was always trying to make her break silence, and walked
off to another group in the room, so that I could obtain no
satisfaction.
It is remarkable that in our nunnery, we were almost entirely cut off
from the means of knowing anything, even of each other. There were many
nuns whom I know nothing of to this day, after having been in the same
rooms with them every day and night for many months. There was a nun,
whom I supposed to be in the Convent, and whom I was anxious to learn
something about from the time of my entrance as a novice; but I never
was able to learn anything concerning her, not even whether she was in
the nunnery or not, whether alive or dead. She was the daughter of a
rich family, residing at Point aux Trembles, of whom I had heard my
mother speak before I entered the Convent. The name of her family I
think was Lafayette, and she was thought to be from Europe. She was
known to have taken the black veil; but as I was not acquainted with
the name of the Saint she had assumed, and I could not describe her in
"the world," all my inquiries and observations proved entirely in vain.
I had heard before my entrance into the Convent, that one of the nuns
had made her escape from it during the last war, and, once inquired
about her of the Superior. She admitted that such was the fact; but I
was never able to learn any particulars concerning her name, origin, or
manner of escape.