MY probation ended, and the long-looked for day on which I was publicly to take the vows and receive the habit of a monk came at last. According to custom, my reception had been arranged to take place on one of the festivals of the Virgin, Candlemas day, so-called because on that day candles blessed during the mass are distributed among the people.
At ten o'clock in the morning two monks came to my room, and placing themselves one on each side conducted me to the end of the corridor and on toward a staircase leading to the cloisters. Without, the sun was shining brightly; within the cloisters all was dim and shadowy. The cloisters were the burial ground of the order. A large stone crucifix was placed in the center, while here and there an almost leafless fir waved its branches and threw gloomy shadows across the grass.
We stood there for some time waiting for the procession of monks that I was to join. Often in after years have I recalled that scene, never without feeling it to have been a fitting picture of the strange, unnatural life of repression and restraint on which I then entered.
Far different were the thoughts that then filled my mind. I moved and spoke like one in a dream. Visions of beauty seemed to fill my soul. For was I not about to become one with the saints and holy fathers of all ages? Nay, more, was I not to be the very bride of Christ? The dream while it lasted was a bright and beautiful one. Painful and bitter indeed was the awakening, but I must not anticipate.
The grand procession came slowly on, brilliant with white and gold, waving with banners, and sparkling with gems. A place with several other postulants, who were like myself to take the vows, having been pointed out to me, we entered the church, already crowded with spectators, who knelt as the monks passed.
Raising my eyes for a moment, I saw seats had been placed round the high altar for the use of the superiors. Each postulant then received the white serge habit of the order, with a high-peaked cowl of the same color and material drawn tightly over the head and face, to these was added a long black vest reaching nearly to the feet. We were then placed in the center of the choir. A pause followed. We were then commanded to kneel before the altar while the abbot and his assistants repeated certain prayers. Then came the crowning ceremony of the morning—our supposed death to the world. We were required to extend ourselves with our faces to the ground on the stone pavement of the church as if already dead, while the monks chanted a solemn funeral dirge, and the muffled, mourning tolling of the abbey bells announced to the busy world of Bruges what was taking place within the church.
It must have been an impressive scene, and if one might judge from the smothered sobs I heard from time to time, during the whole ceremony, many of the onlookers were deeply moved.
The chanting continued for about half an hour. We were then allowed to sit down while the abbot addressed to us an exhortation lasting nearly an hour, his subject being the loss of the soul. "Earthly love would," he said, "burn the soul to all eternity. The only way to tear away all roots and traces of such love from the heart was by a long course of fasting, prayer, and penance. Thus, and only thus, might we hope to be counted worthy to be numbered among the bride of our divine Lord. Then prayer would obtain power, and we might hope to secure our eternal salvation.”
I tried to understand and remember all he said, but tried in vain, though this may in some measure be accounted for by the overwrought state of my nerves. At last the sermon came to an end, and while sweet, solemn music once more filled the cathedral the spectators withdrew. The ceremony over, I remained with the monk who had me in charge; he took me over the monastery, giving me at the same time somewhat lengthy instructions as to the rule of the order as to the hours of rest, rising, meals, &c., also a long list of things that might and might not be done. My guide then led me up a narrow winding staircase into a long corridor, on either side of which were doors leading to the cells of the monks.
Over each door was the religious name of the monk who occupied the cell. The names chosen are often very curious. We had a Brother Mary in our community, and I have heard of more than one Sister Joseph among nuns. I had already received the name of Raphael. Perhaps you, my reader, would like a peep into my cell.
It was small and poorly furnished, more than half the space being taken up by a bedstead of very primitive construction, two rough boards placed lengthways across trestle’s; the bedding was a piece of matting and a straw pillow, one blanket in summer and two in winter. I need hardly add that with such uncomfortable surroundings the temptations to self-indulgence were not many or great. A table of unplaned deal held a few books, over it was a large and somewhat clumsy wooden crucifix. A smaller and very shaky table held a basin and jug of common brown earthenware. By a special permission from the abbot I had been allowed to retain my mother's parting gift, a manuscript book.
I had now entered on my noviciate. The vows were upon me, though I knew they must at the end of twelve months be rendered final and irrevocable by another public profession. Should I find the reality of life in a monastery very different from what I expected?
The first bell for vespers sounded, my companion rose and stood in the doorway of the cell, I followed him, and looking down the corridor, saw the monks formed a long double line, each at his own door waiting the summons of the second bell. It sounded, and we entered the church.
Vespers is the last hour but one of the seven into which the monastic day is divided: Matins at midnight, Lauds at daybreak, Sext at six, Terce at nine, Nones at eleven, Vespers at three, Compline at seven o'clock in the evening.
On retiring to my cell after Compline, I received a visit from the novice-father, who gave me his blessing, commended me to the Virgin, and presented me with two aids to self torture, The Discipline, or whip made of several strands of whipcord knotted at the ends of each; and the chain, made of a number of links of steel wire, bent into the shape of a horseshoe, each link having an end of wire about half an inch long, sharply cut or filed. The chain was intended to be worn on the person next to the skin, the points turned inwards in such a way as to form a wound thus causing great pain.
I received these gifts joyfully, for my desire was one day to become a great saint, my prayers, penances, and self-inflicted suffering being, I thought, so many steps towards perfection; for I did not then know the high calling of those who are children of God by faith in Christ Jesus is that of saints, or holy ones, elect according to the foreknowledge of God the Father "through sanctification of the Spirit unto obedience and sprinkling of the blood of Jesus Christ." (1 Peter 1:22Elect according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, through sanctification of the Spirit, unto obedience and sprinkling of the blood of Jesus Christ: Grace unto you, and peace, be multiplied. (1 Peter 1:2).)