WORK AT THE "LOUVRE."--PIETY, ZEAL, AND PROGRESS OF THE PUPILS.--LITTLE
TRUANTS.--BANQUETS.
Meantime, the work of zeal and love went on actively at the "Louvre."
Besides the "seminarists," or resident pupils, who were always as
numerous as space admitted, and the day scholars, who included all
children old enough to be taught, adults of both sexes received daily
instruction--the women in the school-room, the men at the parlour
grating--all manifesting equal eagerness to hear the word of God; all
afterwards showing in their altered lives the miraculously transforming
power of Divine grace. So great was the desire of the seminarists to
learn, that they would ask their mistresses, to punish them if they
failed in diligence; and when any one bad committed a fault, she, of her
own accord, begged pardon on her knees. The piety of these poor children
of the wilds was truly admirable, and especially so was the ardour with
which they received the doctrine of the Heal Presence of Jesus in His
Adorable Sacrament. "I never saw livelier joy," wrote the Mother St.
Joseph, "than in three of our pupils, each aged twelve, when told that
they were to be admitted to the Holy Table at Easter. They listened, as
if entranced, to the instructions on the Most Blessed Eucharist, and
seemed to possess a comprehension of the Mystery of Love quite beyond
their years. They begged to be allowed to fast on the eve of their first
Communion, a practice which they afterwards observed every time they
communicated. One day, while a Jesuit Father was speaking to them of
their approaching happiness, a little child of six ventured to present
her baby pleadings to be allowed to join them. The Father told her she
was too young. "Oh, Father!" she said, "do not send me away because I am
too young; you will see that I shall soon be as old and as tall as my
companions." She was allowed to assist at the instructions, which she
understood and retained so as to surprise all who questioned her;
nevertheless, she had to resign herself to wait yet longer for the much-
desired day. Her mother, coming soon after to see her, the child
undertook to instruct her in the holy truths of faith by the help of
pictures. Having taught her to pray, she proceeded to initiate her in the
mysteries of a lesson in reading, pointing out the letters in a book. To
please her dear child, the good Mother repeated the sounds one by one as
if she had been saying a lesson. "When our child returns to us," she said
to the Mothers, "she will prepare her father and me for Baptism, which we
are very desirous to receive." "The sentiments of our pupils on the Holy
Communion," wrote Madame de la Peltrie, "are most edifying. When asked
why they desire so much to receive it, they tell us that it is because
Jesus Himself will enter their souls, to purify and adorn them. The
countenance of my god-daughter, Mary, sometimes actually beams with joy,
and, if questioned as to its cause, she is sure to answer, "I am soon to
make my first Communion." The Indian pupils were sometimes heard
discussing what each, considered the greatest favour she had received
from God. The answer from one would be, "That He has made me a
Christian;" from another, "That He became man to rescue me from hell." On
one of these occasions, a little voice was heard to say, "The greatest
favour that Jesus does us, is to give Himself for our food in the Holy
Eucharist." The speaker, though only nine years of age, had made her
first Communion a year and a half before. The Mother of the Incarnation,
who mentions the circumstance, adds the reflection, "Are not such
sentiments admirable in children born in the very bosom of barbarism and
infidelity?" If a pupil saw a companion commit a fault, she checked her
by the simple words, "Take care, or your guardian angel will go away."
In proportion as the souls of these poor children opened to the softening
influence of religion, so did the hitherto latent qualities of their
better nature manifest themselves more clearly. In the genial atmosphere
of charity, their hearts expanded as flowers in sunshine, developing a
depth, a constancy, and a delicacy of feeling which none would have
suspected to underlie manners so cold, and characters apparently so
apathetic. They learned fully to appreciate, and sought only how best
they might return the tenderness of their devoted Mothers, and, as
affection is a ready teacher, they were not slow to discover that the
best proof of their gratitude would be found in strict compliance with
the wishes of their instructresses; hence the docility to directions, the
submission to reproof, the respect for school regulations, exemplified in
the daily lives of the seminarists, and all the more to be admired that
such practices were foreign to their habits and repugnant to their
nature. Madame de la Peltrie writes that they showed her the deference
and love of fond children, as well as a degree of refinement which, she
says, she would never have expected from savages. In her temporary charge
of them during the nuns' annual retreat, she found no difficulty in
enforcing silence; it was enough for them to know that their dear Mothers
were spending the week with God; the mere fear of even slightly
disturbing them, proved a sufficient restraint. If the Foundress
occasionally happened to be absent for a short time on some errand of
mercy, they were inconsolable until her return, which they greeted with
joyous acclamations. Once they were told that the Mother of the
Incarnation was ill, and would die if they made a noise. At the sound of
the word _die_, they burst into tears, and, with a consideration
which would have done honour to more polished natures, they kept
perfectly still, afraid, as it seemed, to move, or almost to breathe,
lest dreaded death should come and claim their first, best earthly
friend. As early as 1641, the Venerable Mother described the converts in
general as transformed beings--barbarians no longer, but fervent
Christians, animated, by a truly heavenly spirit. She, too, remarks, that
in refinement of feeling, they might have competed with many a favoured
child of civilization, and so charmed was she with the beautiful
simplicity of their piety, that she declares she would rather have
listened to their unstudied eloquence, than to the finished oratory of
the first speaker in Europe.
A remarkable characteristic of the converts, both adult and young, was
their ardour for the propagation of the faith among their countrymen; not
only, then, had the Mothers the consolation of seeing the fruit of their
labours among their immediate pupils, but that also of knowing that
through the zeal of these, the heavenly word would be borne far and wide
over the pagan land. So impressed were the Jesuit Fathers with the value
of this kind of apostolate, that they were wont to say, "One converted
Indian, who leads a truly Christian life, can do more good among the
infidels than three missioners." This spirit of zeal early manifested
itself among the seminarists at the convent. It was admirable to hear the
more grown teaching the less advanced the Christian doctrine, repeating
the questions which had been asked to themselves at catechism, and
exciting the interest of the new-comers by explaining the subject of a
pious picture, or relating an attractive history. Even some of the very
young ones had their own little mission of charity. One interesting child
in particular, was to be seen surrounded by a class of tiny ones younger
than herself, whom she assiduously catechised, teaching them especially
how to prepare for confession, and exhorting them above all things never
to conceal a sin. To the zeal of a Huron girl named Teresa, the first
Ursuline pupil of that nation, many of her countrymen were indebted for
their conversion. Though only about thirteen years of age, she spoke to
them of God with an earnestness and a force that they could not resist.
One of the converts, wishing to test her, feigned to have given up the
idea of receiving baptism nearly on the eve of the day fixed for its
administration. Inexpressibly grieved, she reproached him for his
inconstancy in the strongest terms, but, finding that her eloquence
seemed to produce no impression, she hastened, all in tears, to the
Mother of the Incarnation, beseeching her to use her influence with the
supposed apostate. "Oh!" she exclaimed in the vehemence of her
indignation, "if I could only have broken the grating which divided us, I
would have beaten him well!" The astonished Mother soon learned the
truth, but it was difficult to undeceive the sorely-afflicted Teresa.
Not seeing the Mothers during the eight days of their annual retreat, the
savages concluded that they concealed themselves to pray. On one of these
occasions Teresa determined to imitate them, so she hid behind the
palisade, and spent the day in prayer. When discovered at last by one of
her companions, and asked what she was doing, she replied, "I hide like
the Mothers to pray for you, for myself, for the French, and for the
Indians." "She is so constant in her faith, so well instructed, so
fervent," said one of her own race, "that it would seem as if she had not
been born a Huron. When she comes home she will be looked up to by the
whole tribe. Her teacher must surely be one of the wisest persons in all
France." On her way back to her own country, she was seized by the
Iroquois, together with Father Jogues and some of her relatives, and in
her captivity not only retained her faith, but professed it with the
heroism of a martyr. Deeply concerned at her fate, the Ursulines
interested all the authorities in her behalf, and, thanks to the
exertions of her good Mothers, her deliverance was stipulated for in the
arrangement of the articles of peace at the general meeting in 1645.
Besides religious and moral training, the seminarists received a simple
elementary education, comprising chiefly reading, writing, and
needlework. Before long, two of the more grown were able to write their
own language so well as to venture on letters to an absent Jesuit Father.
Great was the delight of their parents when shown the mysterious
productions. They took them reverently into their hands, turned them
cautiously in every direction, and begged to hear the contents again and
again, equally charmed and surprised to find that the paper could speak,
and in their own language too. It was always a matter of wonder to them
to hear that a few characters traced on paper could convey thought to the
remotest distance.
Another object of intense amazement was the first clock brought by the
missioners to the country of the Hurons. They called it 'The Captain of
the Day,' and many were the inquiries each time they came, how often he
had spoken since their last visit. Lest they should lose the benefit of
any of his remarks, they sometimes waited hour after hour to hear him
speak again. They were puzzled about his food, but never at a loss to
interpret the stroke which announced the hour of the good Fathers' frugal
meal, in which they fully calculated on sharing.
The Indians are fond of music, so to attract the adults, the Mothers of
Incarnation and St. Joseph taught their little pupils to sing hymns, and
many a grave chief listened with delight to the simple lay, returning the
compliment by a performance in Indian measure. A record has been
preserved of a certain old-fashioned stringed instrument in the convent
which greatly charmed the audience. Among the early pupils was a child of
twelve, whose disposition was so gentle that she received the name of
Agnes, and whose ear was naturally so attuned to all sweet sounds, that
she was considered capable of being taught to accompany her own warble on
the said wonderful instrument. When her parents removed her in due time
from school, still she sang God's praises among the echoes of the woods--
not only sang herself, but taught to others the hymns she had learned in
her Ursuline home--gathering a little choir about her in the heart of the
silent wilderness, and making it her holy joy thus to promote piety among
her companions. The predestined child desired to consecrate herself to
God in religion, but her Heavenly Father accepted the wish, and called
her to Himself at the age of fifteen.
But if the labours of the first Mothers were very richly repaid by the
pupils in general, it must be owned that their forbearance was often
severely tried by some among them, known as the vagrants of the woods.
The wild, free life of the forest had charms for these, for which all the
comforts of civilization could not compensate. Like caged birds, they
would flutter against the bars, and, at the first opportunity, break
through them, to fly back to their cabins and independence. Once a young
Algonquin was thus attacked by home-sickness; the Mothers did their best
to comfort and encourage her, but all in vain. The melancholy mood grew
deeper and darker--so dark at last, that, unable to bear the restraint
any longer, the truant jumped through the window, leaped the cloister
palisade, and fled in the direction of the woods. In a few minutes she
looked back, expecting to see a persuer, but, finding that her flight had
caused no concern, she began already to repent of it. Her reception at
home was rather cool, and when, a few days after, she proposed to her
mother to return to the monastery, the readily accorded permission was
accompanied by a significant hint not to leave again without being sent.
With a light heart, she presented herself at the convent door; but, alas!
it would not open. Her place, the portress told her, had been given to
another pupil. Vain were her entreaties, her tears and her sobs, for the
Mother of the Incarnation had decided on strict measures with the little
wanderers, who, by their restlessness, disturbed the peace and order of
the house. But nothing like perseverance! Poor Catherine watched for the
arrival of the day pupils, and so effectually did she excite their
compassion by her tale of woe, that they agreed to let her fall into the
ranks. When the door unclosed for their admission, she rushed to the feet
of the Mother of the Incarnation, confessed her fault, and asked pardon.
Touched by her penitence and promises the good Mother relented; Catherine
was restored to favour, and never again did she deserve a reproof or even
a reproach.
Another child, aged eight, stole away from the monastery, and spent the
winter with her parents at some distance from Quebec. When they returned
to the town in spring, she applied for re-admission, but the request was
refused. She persisted, but so did the Mothers too. At last she bethought
herself that by joining the procession on the festival of Corpus Christi,
she would be entitled to accompany her parents to the feast at the
convent, which was always understood to follow the devotions, and she
calculated that once there, it would be easy to keep her ground.
Accordingly, she took her place among the guests, but when the time came
for retiring, instead of joining them, she threw herself on her knees at
the door and repeated her petition. Another refusal--but, determined to
succeed, she crouched outside the door. Night came, and with it came
rain, and still the repentant culprit kept her post, so the kind-hearted
Mothers were constrained to admit her, and she eventually became an
example of virtue to the school.
The banquets at the "Louvre," to which we have alluded, were conducted
after a very original fashion; the bill of fare was restricted to one
dish, and this, as the receipt shows, could be prepared with little
expenditure of culinary skill, yet it fully satisfied the simple guests.
It was composed of bread, maize or pea-flour, and black plums, all boiled
together; and, as the savages relish unctuous food, a few melted tallow
candles and some rich pork were added for seasoning. On this dainty dish,
as many as sixty or eighty Indians were occasionally regaled at a time,
in what they considered splendid style. The Indians have no fixed hours
for meals. Hunger is the signal for beginning; the disappearance of the
provisions that for concluding. The latter point is one of strict
etiquette.
It would seem as if even the ingenuity of charity had left nothing undone
for the gratification of the poor savages, but it was not so. One day
that Father Lalemant visited the school-room, the children gathered round
him with an air of mystery and importance, as if burdened with some
weighty secret. "Look at our clothes, Father," they said; "you can see
that they are faded and worn, and, as our Mothers do not give us new
ones, we cannot look as smart as the French girls, which makes us
sorrowful." Much amused, the Father reported the complaint of the little
ones to the Venerable Mother. Without showing the least surprise at it,
or reminding the children of all her generosity, she at once provided
each with a new red dress, adding new shoes and stockings, and assisting
to prepare the finery with her own hands, lest, as she said, any
impression of sadness might connect itself with the memory of their first
instruction in the faith, and the Divine seed be thus hindered from
striking deep root and producing rich fruit.
Madame de la Peltrie had provided for the maintenance of six seminarists,
but this number had gradually swelled to eighteen, all of whom were not
only supported but likewise clothed from the common fund. The adult
Indians who crowded to the monastery for instruction, also expected and
invariably received hospitality, which was, moreover, occasionally
extended to the families of the pupils. The pecuniary resources of the
convent were wholly inadequate to meet so many claims on its charity, and
at the same time, defray its own moderate expenditure. But the self-
denying Mothers struggled bravely through their poverty, and by the
generous aid of benefactors in France, they managed not only to continue
their alms to the adults and to retain their seminarists, but by degrees
considerably to increase the number of these last.
Among the first pupils were some of very tender age, little ones of six
and less. One of these was brought to the Mother of the Incarnation, all
covered with small-pox. Young as she was, she had attended her parents
through the terrible malady, and after the death of both, had contracted
it herself. She recovered, and proved her gratitude to her devoted friend
by showing herself so perfect a model of obedience, that she would even
anticipate orders, running to put herself in the way if she thought there
was a chance of her being employed. Another would begin her baby prayers
of her own accord the moment she awoke, say her rosary during Mass, and
recreate herself by singing little hymns. A third, of scarcely four,
paralysed in all her limbs, gave ample exercise to the patience of the
kind mothers. Once her mistress had to rise four times in one night to
soothe the poor little sufferer. Next day, a companion remarked,
"Charity," for so the child was called, "Charity, you gave a great deal
of trouble to your mistress last night." "I know I did," coolly replied
Charity, "but my dear mistress is very good, and what she did for me was
just what she would have done for the Child Jesus, if He had been in my
place." Ah, wise little one! you have found out the secret--"Whatever you
did. to one of these My least brethren, you did it to Me "(St. Matt. xxv.
40). In the eye of faith, the untutored Indian was as exalted, because as
much the representative of God, as the lady of noble birth or even royal
lineage; so, each object of loving care in that house of charity might
equally have said of every act of every Sister, "What she did for me, is
what she would have done for the Child Jesus in my place."