1.C.6.2. THE OBEDIENCE OF MARTIN VERGA
THIS convent, which in 1824 had already existed for many
a long year in the Rue Petit-Picpus, was a community of Bernardines
of the obedience of Martin Verga.
These Bernardines were attached, in consequence, not to
Clairvaux, like the Bernardine monks, but to Citeaux, like the
Benedictine monks. In other words, they were the subjects,
not of Saint Bernard, but of Saint Benoit.
Any one who has turned over old folios to any extent knows
that Martin Verga founded in 1425 a congregation of
Bernardines-Benedictines, with Salamanca for the head of the order,
and Alcala as the branch establishment.
This congregation had sent out branches throughout all the
Catholic countries of Europe.
There is nothing unusual in the Latin Church in these
grafts of one order on another. To mention only a single
order of Saint-Benoit, which is here in question: there are
attached to this order, without counting the obedience of Martin
Verga, four congregations,— two in Italy, Mont-Cassin and
Sainte-Justine of Padua; two in France, Cluny and SaintMaur;
and nine orders,— Vallombrosa, Granmont, the Celestins,
the Camaldules, the Carthusians, the Humilies, the Olivateurs,
the Silvestrins, and lastly, Citeaux; for Citeaux itself,
a trunk for other orders, is only an offshoot of Saint-Benoit.
Citeaux dates from Saint Robert, Abbe de Molesme, in the diocese
of Langres, in 1098. Now it was in 529 that the devil,
having retired to the desert of Subiaco— he was old— had he
turned hermit?— was chased from the ancient temple of
Apollo, where he dwelt, by Saint-Benoit, then aged seventeen.
After the rule of the Carmelites, who go barefoot, wear a bit
of willow on their throats, and never sit down, the harshest
rule is that of the Bernardines-Benedictines of Martin Verga.
They are clothed in black, with a guimpe, which, in accordance
with the express command of Saint-Benoit, mounts to the chin.
A robe of serge with large sleeves, a large woollen veil, the
guimpe which mounts to the chin cut square on the breast, the
band which descends over their brow to their eyes,— this is
their dress. All is black except the band, which is white. The
novices wear the same habit, but all in white. The professed
nuns also wear a rosary at their side.
The Bernardines-Benedictines of Martin Verga practise the
Perpetual Adoration, like the Benedictines called Ladies of the
Holy Sacrament, who, at the beginning of this century, had
two houses in Paris,— one at the Temple, the other in the Rue
Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve. However, the Bernardines-Benedictines
of the Petit-Picpus, of whom we are speaking, were a
totally different order from the Ladies of the Holy Sacrament,
cloistered in the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve and at the Temple.
There were numerous differences in their rule; there were
some in their costume. The Bernardines-Benedictines of the
Petit-Picpus wore the black guimpe, and the Benedictines of
the Holy Sacrament and of the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve
wore a white one, and had, besides, on their breasts, a Holy
Sacrament about three inches long, in silver gilt or gilded
copper. The nuns of the Petit-Picpus did not wear this Holy
Sacrament. The Perpetual Adoration, which was common to
the house of the Petit-Picpus and to the house of the Temple,
leaves those two orders perfectly distinct. Their only resemblance
lies in this practice of the Ladies of the Holy Sacrament
and the Bernardines of Martin Verga, just as there
existed a similarity in the study and the glorification of all the
mysteries relating to the infancy, the life, and death of Jesus
Christ and the Virgin, between the two orders, which were,
nevertheless, widely separated, and on occasion even hostile.
The Oratory of Italy, established at Florence by Philip de
Neri, and the Oratory of France, established by Pierre de
Berulle. The Oratory of France claimed the precedence, since
Philip de Neri was only a saint, while Berulle was a
cardinal.
Let us return to the harsh Spanish rule of Martin Verga.
The Bernardines-Benedictines of this obedience fast all the
year round, abstain from meat, fast in Lent and on many other
days which are peculiar to them, rise from their first sleep,
from one to three o'clock in the morning, to read their breviary
and chant matins, sleep in all seasons between serge sheets and
on straw, make no use of the bath, never light a fire, scourge
themselves every Friday, observe the rule of silence, speak to
each other only during the recreation hours, which are very
brief, and wear drugget chemises for six months in the year,
from September 14th, which is the Exaltation of the Holy
Cross, until Easter. These six months are a modification: the
rule says all the year, but this drugget chemise, intolerable in
the heat of summer, produced fevers and nervous spasms. The
use of it had to be restricted. Even with this palliation, when
the nuns put on this chemise on the 14th of September, they
suffer from fever for three or four days. Obedience, poverty,
chastity, perseverance in their seclusion,— these are their
vows, which the rule greatly aggravates.
The prioress is elected for three years by the mothers, who
are called meres vocales because they have a voice in the chapter.
A prioress can only be re-elected twice, which fixes the
longest possible reign of a prioress at nine years.
They never see the officiating priest, who is always hidden
from them by a serge curtain nine feet in height. During the
sermon, when the preacher is in the chapel, they drop their
veils over their faces. They must always speak low, walk with
their eyes on the ground and their heads bowed. One man
only is allowed to enter the convent,— the archbishop of the
diocese.
There is really one other,— the gardener. But he is always
an old man, and, in order that he may always be alone in the
garden, and that the nuns may be warned to avoid him, a bell
is attached to his knee.
Their submission to the prioress is absolute and passive. lt
is the canonical subjection in the full force of its abnegation.
As at the voice of Christ, ut voci Christi, at a gesture, at the
first sign, ad nutum, ad primum signum, immediately, with
cheerfulness, with perseverance, with a certain blind obedience,
prompte, hilariter, perseveranter et caeca quadam obedientia, as
the file in the hand of the workman,
quasi limam in manibus
fabri, without power to read or to write without express permission,
legere vel scribere non addiscerit sine expressa superioris
licentia.
Each one of them in turn makes what they call reparation.
The reparation is the prayer for all the sins, for all the faults,
for all the dissensions, for all the violations, for all the iniquities,
for all the crimes committed on earth. For the space of
twelve consecutive hours, from four o'clock in the afternoon
till four o'clock in the morning, or from four o'clock in the
morning until four o'clock in the afternoon, the sister who is
making reparation remains on her knees on the stone before
the Holy Sacrament, with hands clasped, a rope around her
neck. When her fatigue becomes unendurable, she prostrates
herself flat on her face against the earth, with her arms outstretched
in the form of a cross; this is her only relief. In
this attitude she prays for all the guilty in the universe. This
is great to sublimity.
As this act is performed in front of a post on which burns a
candle, it is called without distinction, to make reparation or
to be at the post. The nuns even prefer, out of humility, this
last expression, which contains an idea of torture and abasement.
To
make reparation is a function in which the whole soul is
absorbed. The sister at the post would not turn round were a
thunderbolt to fall directly behind her.
Besides this, there is always a sister kneeling before the
Holy Sacrament. This station lasts an hour. They relieve
each other like soldiers on guard. This is the Perpetual
Adoration.
The prioresses and the mothers almost always bear names
stamped with peculiar solemnity, recalling, not the saints and
martyrs, but moments in the life of Jesus Christ: as Mother
Nativity, Mother Conception, Mother Presentation, Mother
Passion. But the names of saints are not interdicted.
When one sees them, one never sees anything but their
mouths.
All their teeth are yellow. No tooth-brush ever entered that
convent. Brushing one's teeth is at the top of a ladder at
whose bottom is the loss of one's soul.
They never say my. They possess nothing of their own, and
they must not attach themselves to anything. They call everything
our; thus: our veil, our chaplet; if they were speaking
of their chemise, they would say our chemise. Sometimes they
grow attached to some petty object,— to a book of hours, a
relic, a medal that has been blessed. As soon as they become
aware that they are growing attached to this object, they must
give it up. They recall the words of Saint Therese, to whom
a great lady said, as she was on the point of entering her order,
"Permit me, mother, to send for a Bible to which I am greatly
attached." "Ah, you are attached to something! In that case,
do not enter our order!"
Every person whatever is forbidden to shut herself up, to
have a place of her own, a chamber. They live with their cells
open. When they meet, one says, "Blessed and adored be the
most Holy Sacrament of the altar!" The other responds,
"Forever." The same ceremony when one taps at the other's
door. Hardly has she touched the door when a soft voice on
the other side is heard to say hastily, "Forever!" Like all
practices, this becomes mechanical by force of habit; and one
sometimes says forever before the other has had time to say
the rather long sentence, "Praised and adored be the most
Holy Sacrament of the altar."
Among the Visitandines the one who enters says: "Ave
Maria," and the one whose cell is entered says, "Gratia plena."
It is their way of saying good day, which is in fact full of
grace.
At each hour of the day three supplementary strokes sound
from the church bell of the convent. At this signal prioress,
vocal mothers, professed nuns, lay-sisters, novices, postulants,
interrupt what they are saying, what they are doing, or what
they are thinking, and all say in unison if it is five o'clock, for
instance, "At five o'clock and at all hours praised and adored
be the most Holy Sacrament of the altar!" If it is eight
o'clock, "At eight o'clock and at all hours!" and so on, according
to the hour.
This custom, the object of which is to break the thread of
thought and to lead it back constantly to God, exists in many
communities; the formula alone varies. Thus at The Infant
Jesus they say, "At this hour and at every hour may the love
of Jesus kindle my heart!" The Bernardines-Benedictines of
Martin Verga, cloistered fifty years ago at Petit-Picpus, chant
the offices to a solemn psalmody, a pure Gregorian chant, and
always with full voice during the whole course of the office.
Everywhere in the missal where an asterisk occurs they pause,
and say in a low voice, "Jesus-Marie-Joseph." For the office
of the dead they adopt a tone so low that the voices of women
can hardly descend to such a depth. The effect produced is
striking and tragic.
The nuns of the Petit-Picpus had made a vault under their
grand altar for the burial of their community. The Government,
as they say, does not permit this vault to receive coffins
so they leave the convent when they die. This is an affliction
to them, and causes them consternation as an infraction of the
rules.
They had obtained a mediocre consolation at best,—
permission to be interred at a special hour and in a
special corner in the ancient Vaugirard cemetery, which
was made of land which had formerly belonged to their
community.
On Fridays the nuns hear high mass, vespers, and all the
offices, as on Sunday. They scrupulously observe in addition
all the little festivals unknown to people of the world, of which
the Church of France was so prodigal in the olden days, and of
which it is still prodigal in Spain and Italy. Their stations
in the chapel are interminable. As for the number and duration
of their prayers we can convey no better idea of them than by
quoting the ingenuous remark of one of them: "The prayers
of the postulants are frightful, the prayers of the novices are
still worse, and the prayers of the professed nuns are still
worse."
Once a week the chapter assembles: the prioress presides;
the vocal mothers assist. Each sister kneels in turn on the
stones, and confesses aloud, in the presence of all, the faults
and sins which she has committed during the week. The vocal
mothers consult after each confession and inflict the penance
aloud.
Besides this confession in a loud tone, for which all faults
in the least serious are reserved, they have for their venial
offences what they call the coulpe. To make one's coulpe
means to prostrate one's self flat on one's face during the office
in front of the prioress until the latter, who is never called
anything but our mother, notifies the culprit by a slight tap of
her foot against the wood of her stall that she can rise. The
coulpe or peccavi, is made for a very small matter— a broken
glass, a torn veil, an involuntary delay of a few seconds at an
office, a false note in church, etc.; this suffices, and the coulpe
is made. The coulpe is entirely spontaneous; it is the culpable
person herself (the word is etymologically in its place here)
who judges herself and inflicts it on herself. On festival days
and Sundays four mother precentors intone the offices before a
large reading-desk with four places. One day one of the
mother precentors intoned a psalm beginning with Ecce, and
instead of Ecce she uttered aloud the three notes do si sol; for
this piece of absentmindedness she underwent a coulpe which
lasted during the whole service: what rendered the fault enormous
was the fact that the chapter had laughed.
When a nun is summoned to the parlor, even were it the
prioress herself, she drops her veil, as will be remembered, so
that only her mouth is visible.
The prioress alone can hold communication with strangers.
The others can see only their immediate family, and that very
rarely. If, by chance, an outsider presents herself to see a
nun, or one whom she has known and loved in the outer world,
a regular series of negotiations is required. If it is a woman,
the authorization may sometimes be granted; the nun comes,
and they talk to her through the shutters, which are opened
only for a mother or sister. It is unnecessary to say that
permission is always refused to men.
Such is the rule of Saint-Benoit, aggravated by Martin
Verga.
These nuns are not gay, rosy, and fresh, as the daughters of
other orders often are. They are pale and grave. Between
1825 and 1830 three of them went mad.