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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 Saint-Maur;
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.
It 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 absent-mindedness 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.
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