Life in the Grey Nunnery at Montreal | Page 8

was an image of Christ on the cross, with his arms extended as we usually see them in pictures. On his right hand was a representation of heaven, and on the left, of hell. Heaven was made to appear like a bright, beautiful, and glorious place. A wall of pink color surrounded it, and in the center was a spring of clear water. In the midst of this spring stood a tree, bearing on every limb a lighted candle, and on the top, the image of Christ and a dove.
Hell was surrounded by a black wall, within which, there was also a spring; but the water was very black, and beside it stood a large black image, with horns on its head, a long tail, and a large cloven foot. The place where it stood was in deep shadow, made to resemble, as neatly as possible, clouds and darkness. The priest led me up to this fearful object, and placed me on one side of it, while he stood on the other; but it would turn away from him towards me, roll up its great eyes, open its mouth and show its long white tusks. The priest said it turned from him, because he was a good man, and I was very wicked. He said that it was the devil, come up from the bottomless pit to devour me; and if I said such wicked words again, it would carry me off. I was very much frightened, for I then thought that all he said was true; that those images, which I now know were strung on wires were really what they were made to represent.
In fact, until I was fifteen years old, I really believed that the image I then saw was an evil spirit. But since that time, I have been made to know that the priests themselves are the only evil spirits about the place.
Priest Dow then led me back to the nursery, and left me with the Superior. But he soon came, back, saying he "knew what I was thinking about; that I had wicked thoughts about him; thought he was a bad man, and that I wished to leave him and go to my father;" Now this was all true, and the fact that he knew it, frightened me accordingly. It was a sure proof that what Father Darity said was true. But how could I ever be safe, if they could thus read the inmost secrets of my soul? I did dislike them all very much indeed and I could not help it. How then could I avert the consequences of this deep aversion to convent life, since it could not be concealed? Was it possible for me so far to conquer myself, as to love the persons with whom I lived? How many nights did I lie awake pondering this question, and resolving to make the effort. I was, of course, too young to know that it was only by shrewd guessing, and a general knowledge of human nature, that he was enabled to tell my thoughts so correctly.
"Now," said he, "for indulging these dreadful thoughts, I shall take you back to the devil, and give you up to him." I was frightened before; but I have no words to describe my feelings when he again led me back, and left me beside the image, saying, as he closed the door, "If the devil groans three times, and the Lord does not speak, you must stay here until to-morrow at this time." I trembled so that I could hardly stand, and when, after a few moments, a sound like a groan fell upon my ears, I shrieked in the extremity of terror.
[Footnote: Cioui, formerly a Benedictine Monk, giving an account of his imprisonment at Rome, after his conversion says:--
"One evening, after listening to a discourse filled with dark images of death, I returned to my room, and found the light set upon the ground. I took it up and approached the table to place it there, but what was my horror and consternation at beholding spread out upon it, a whitened skeleton! Before the reader can comprehend my dismay, it is necessary he should reflect for a moment on the peculiarities of childhood, especially in a Romish country, where children are seldom spoken to except in superstitious language, whether by their parents or teachers: and domestics adopt the same style to answer their own purposes, menacing their disobedient charges with hobgoblins, phantoms and witches. Such images as these make a profound impression on tender minds, leaving a panic terror which the reasoning of after years is often unable entirely to efface. There can be no doubt but that this pernicious habit, is the fruit of the noxious plant fostered in the Vatican. Rising