Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk/Chapter 9
CHAPTER IX.
FIRST VISIT TO THE CELLAR.
I FOUND that I had several namesakes among the nuns, two others who had already borne away my name, Saint Eustace. This was not a solitary case, for there were five Saint Marys, and three Saint Monros, besides two novices of that name. Of my namesakes I have little to say, for they resembled most nuns; being so much cut off from intercourse with me and other sisters, that I never saw anything in them, nor learnt anything worth mentioning.
Several of my new companions were squaws, who had taken the veil at different times. They were from the Indian settlements in the country, but were not distinguishable by any striking habits of character from other nuns, and were not very different in their appearance when in their usual dress, and engaged in their occupations. They were treated with much kindness and lenity by the Superior and the old nuns; and this was done in order to render them as contented and happy in their situation as possible: and I should have attributed the motives for this partiality to their wishing that they might not influence others to keep away, had I not known they were, like ourselves, unable to exert such an influence. And therefore I could not satisfy my mind why this difference was made. Many of the Indians were remarkably devoted to the priests, believing everything they were taught; and as it is represented to be not only a high honour, but a real advantage to a family, to have one of its members become a nun, Indian parents pay large sums of money for the admission of their daughters into a convent. The father of one of the squaws, I was told, paid to the Superior nearly her weight in silver on her reception, although he was obliged to sell nearly all his property to do it. This he did voluntarily, because he thought himself overpaid by having the advantage of her prayers, self-sacrifices, &c, for himself and family. The squaws sometimes served to amuse us; for when we were partially dispirited or gloomy, the Superior would send them to dress themselves in their Indian garments, which usually excited us to merriment.
Amongst the squaw nuns whom I remember, was one of the Saint Hypolites, not the one who figured in a dreadful scene, described in another part of this narrative, but a woman of a more mild and humane character.
A few days after my reception, the Superior sent me into the cellar for coals; and after she had given me directions, I proceeded down a staircase with a lamp. I soon found myself on the bare earth, in a spacious place, so dark that I could not at once distinguish its form or size, but I observed that it had very solid stone walls, and was arched overhead, at no great elevation. Following my directions, I proceeded onwards from the foot of the stairs, where appeared to be one end of the cellar. After walking about fifteen paces, I passed three small doors on the right, fastened with large iron bolts on the outside, pushed into posts of stone work, each having a small opening above, covered with a fine grating, secured by a smaller bolt. On my left were three similar doors, resembling these, and opposite them.
Beyond these, the space became broader; the doors evidently closed small compartments, projecting from the outer wall of the cellar. I soon stepped upon a wooden floor, on which were heaps of wood, coarse linen, and other articles, deposited there for occasional use. I crossed the floor, and found the bare earth again under my feet.
A little further on I found the cellar contracted in size by a row of closets, or smaller compartments, projecting on each side. These were closed by different doors from the first, having a simple fastening, and no opening through them.
Just beyond, on the left side, I passed a staircase leading up, and then three doors, much resembling those first described, standing opposite three more, on the other side of the cellar. Having passed these I found the cellar again enlarged as before, and here the earth appeared as if mixed with some whitish substance, which attracted my attention.
As I proceeded, I found the whiteness increase, until the surface looked almost like snow, and I observed before me a hole dug go deep into the earth that I could perceive no bottom. I stopped to observe it — it was circular, twelve or fifteen feet across, in the middle of the cellar, and unprotected by any curb, so that one might easily have walked into it in the dark.
The white substance was spread all over the surface around it; and lay in such quantities on all sides, that it seemed as if a great deal must have been thrown into the hole. It occurred to me that the white substance was lime, and that this was the place where the infants were buried, after being murdered, as the Superior had informed me. I knew that lime is often used by Roman Catholics in burying places; and this accounted for its being about the spot in such quantities.
This was a shocking thought to me; but I can hardly tell how it affected me, as I had been prepared to expect dreadful things, and undergone trials which prevented me from feeling as I should formerly have done in similar circumstances.
I passed the pit, therefore, with dreadful thoughts about the little corpses which might be in that secret burying place, but with recollections also of the declarations about the favour done their souls in sending them direct to heaven, and the necessary virtue accompanying all the actions of the priests.
There is a window or two on each side nearly against the hole, in at which are sometimes thrown articles brought to them from without for the use of the Convent. Through the window on my right, which opens into the yard, towards the cross street, lime is received from carts; I then saw a large heap of it near the place.
Passing the hole, I came to a spot where was another projection on each side, with three cells like those I first described. Beyond them, in another part of the cellar, were heaps of vegetables, and other things; and on the left I found the charcoal I was in search of. This was placed in a heap against the wall, near a small high window, like the rest, at which it is thrown in. Beyond this spot, at a short distance, the cellar terminated.
The top, quite to that point, is arched overhead, though at different heights, for the earth on the bottom is uneven, and in some places several feet higher than in others. Not liking to be alone in so spacious and gloomy a part of the Convent, especially after the discovery I had made, I hastened to fill my basket and to return.
Here then I was in a place which I had considered as the nearest imitation of heaven to be found on earth, amongst a society where deeds were perpetrated, which I had believed to be criminal, and had now found the place in which harmless infants were unfeelingly thrown out of sight, after being murdered. And yet, such is the power of instruction and example, although not satisfied, as many around me seemed to be, that this was all righteous and proper, I sometimes was inclined to believe it, for the priests could do no sin. Among the first instructions I received from the Superior, one was to admit priests into the Nunnery, from the street, at irregular hours. It is no secret that priests enter and go out; but if they were to be watched by any person in St. Paul's street all day long, no irregularity might be suspected; and they might be supposed to visit the Convent for the performance of religious ceremonies merely.
But if a person were near the gate about midnight, he might form a different opinion; for when a stray priest is shut out of the Seminary, or is put in the need of seeking a lodging, he is sure of being admitted into the Black Nunnery. Nobody but the priest can ring the bell at the sick-room door; much less can any but a priest gain admittance. The pull of the bell is entirely concealed on the outside of the gate.
He makes himself known as a priest by a hissing sound, made by the tongue against the teeth while they are kept closed and the lips open. The nun within, who delays to open the door until informed who is there, immediately recognizes the signal, and replies with two inarticulate sounds, such as are often used instead of yes, with the mouth closed.
The Superior considered this part of my instructions important, and taught me the signals. I had often occasion to use them; I have been repeatedly called to the door, in the night, while watching in the sick-room; and on reaching it, heard the hissing sound, then according to my orders, unfastened the door, admitted a priest, who was at liberty to go where he pleased. I will name M. Bierze, from St. Denis.
The books used in the nunnery, such as I recollect of them, were the following. Most of these are lecture books, such as are used by the daily readers, while we were at work and meals. These were all furnished by the Superior, out of her library, to which we never had access. When we had done with the book, it was exchanged for another, as she pleased to select. La Miroir de Chrètien (Christian Mirror), History of Rome, History of the Church, Life of Sœur Bourgeoise, (the founder of the Convent), in two volumes, L'Ange Conducteur (the Guardian Angel), L'Ange Chrètien (the Christian Angel), Les Vies des Saints (Lives of the Saints), in several volumes; Dialogues, a volume consisting of conversations between a Protestant Doctor, called Dr. D., and a Catholic gentleman, on the articles of faith, in which, after much ingenious reasoning, the former was confuted; one large book, the name I have, forgotten, occupied us nine or ten months at our lectures, night and morning; L'Instruction de la Jeunesse (the Instruction of Youth), containing much about Convents, and the education of persons in the world, with a great deal on confession, &c. Examen de la Conscience (Examination of Conscience), is a book frequently used.
I never saw a Bible in the Convent from the day I entered as a novice, until that on which I effected my escape. The Catholic New Testament, commonly called the Evangile, was read to us three or four times a year. The Superior directed the reader what passages to select; but we never had it in our hands to read when we pleased. I often heard the Protestant Bible spoken of in bitter terms, as a most dangerous book, and which never ought to be in the hands of common people.