Add to this the splendour of the ceremony, of which she is the sole object; the cynosure of all approving eyes. A girl of sixteen finds it hard to resist all this. I am told that more girls are smitten by the ceremony, than by anything else, and am inclined to believe it, from the remarks I have heard made on these occasions by young girls in my vicinity. What does she lose? A husband and children? Probably she has seen no one who has touched her heart. Most probably she has hitherto seen no men, or at least conversed with none but her brothers, her uncles, or her confessor. She has perhaps also felt the troubles of a Mexican menage. The society of men! She will still see her confessor, and she will have occasional visits from reverend padres and right reverend bishops.
Some of these convents are not entirely free from scandal. Amongst the monks, there are many who are openly a disgrace to their calling, though I firmly believe that by far the greater number lead a life of privation and virtue. Their conduct can, to a certain extent, be judged of by the world; but the pale nuns, devout and pure, immured in the cloister for life, kneeling before the shrine, or chanting hymns in the silence of the night, a veil both truly and allegorically must shade their virtues or their failings. The nuns of the Santa Teresa and of other strict orders, who live sparingly, profess the most severe rules, and have no servants or boarders, enjoy a universal reputation for virtue and sanctity. They consider the other convents worldly, and their motto is, "All or nothing; the world or the cloister." Each abbess adds a stricter rule, a severer penance than her predecessor, and in this they glory. My friend the Madre—-frequently says —"Were I to be born again, I should choose, above every lot in life, to be a nun of the Santa Teresa, but of no other convent."…
It is strange how, all the world over, mankind seems to expect from those who assume religion as a profession a degree of superhuman perfection. Their failings are insisted upon. Every eye is upon them to mark whatsoever may be amiss in their conduct. Their virtues, their learning, their holy lives—nothing will avail them, if one blot can be discovered in their character. There must be no moral blemish in the priesthood. In the Catholic religion, where more is professed, still more is demanded, and the errors of one padre or one ecclesiastic seem to throw a shade over the whole community to which they belong.
LETTER THE TWENTIETH
The Convent Entry—Díalogue—A Chair in Church—Arrival of the
Nun—Dress—José María—Crowd—Withdrawal of the Black Curtain—The Taking
of the Veil—The Sermon—A Dead Body—Another Victim—Convent of the
Encarnación—Attempt at a Hymn—Invitation—Morning Visit—The Nun and her
Mother—Banquet—Taking Leave—Ceremony of the Veil-taking—A Beautiful
Victim—The Last Look—Presentation to the Bishop—Reflections—Verses.
4th June.
Some days ago, having received a message from my nun that a girl was about to take the veil in her convent, I went there about six o'clock, and knowing that the church on these occasions is apt to be crowded to suffocation, I proceeded to the reja, and speaking to an invisible within, requested to know in what part of the church I could have a place. Upon which a voice replied—
"Hermanita (my sister), I am rejoiced to see you. You shall have a place beside the godmother."
"Many thanks, Hermanita. Which way shall I go?"
Voice.—"You shall go through the sacristy. José María!"