THE WHITE AND SILENT NUNS.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XIX, Issue 11, 12 December 1890, Page 9

THE WHITE AND SILENT NUNS.

(.By HenbyVV. Lucy, in the New York Freeman's Journal.") Evbey day, as noon strikes from the clock tower of the little Church of Notre Dame de Refuge at Anglet, a s^nd-bound village near Bayonne, there files forth from the porch a notable procession. It is rtadily perceived that it is composed of women ; but whatever may be beautiful or graceful in this womankind is carefully hidden. Each figure is clothed in a course white flannel skirt with a cape, carrying at the back a large black cross. liead and f^ce are completely enveloped in a hood of the same rough material that comuoses the dress. Tne hood pokes out in front funnel-like, so that, unless one meets the wearer directly in front, there is no opportunity of looking on her face, nor miy she regard the face of her kind.

Chanting in low, monotonous notes, the melancholy procession, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, with heads bowed and banis crossed, shuffle along in their sabots, till they reach the door of the refectory. When the last has passed in, the door closes upon them shutting out oven the temporary darkened glance of the living world they have just enjoyed.

These are the nuns known as the Bernardine*-, a religious Sisterhood founded nearly Mxty ye its apo, by I'Abce (Jestac. Thf peculiarity of their vow is, that they voluntarily resign the privilege of speech. Except when they join in a chant or murmur their prayers, they never open their lips to speak, and through the long year they hold no converse with human being. At the beginning, the founder of this strange Order proposed to the nuns that at lea,t once a week

they should accept relief from their vow end celebrate Sunday by indulging in conversation. But, enamored ot their new luxury, they declined the suggested amelioration of their lot, and remained silent all through th« year.

The foundations of the buildings connected with the Order were literally built upon the sand. Between the village of Anglet aad the sea there lie plains of sand, with here an t there a pine tree braving the blasts from the Bay of Biscay. Half a century ego there dwelt here, housed in a straw hut, an old man who earned a pitiful living by growing a few vegetables. There was no one to dispute his territory, and little by little he scraped together a few perches of garden ground. L'Abbe Cestac found him here one day dying in the solitude of his hut. He removed him to a place of shelter, and, in order to satisfy the yearnings of the dying man, he undertook to look after his carrots and turnips. L'Abbe had already Btarted a refuge for fallen women, and it occurred to him to engage them upon the old man's pinched garden ground. Accordingly, half a dozen of the women were dispatched to the sand dunes, and there, in solitude, with the sea on one band and the distant village oa the other, they began the work which to-day has reclaimed many acres of valunble land. Where the monotonous sand heaps stood there now lies outstretched a smiling garden. But whilst Les Solitaires, as the Bernardines are called, form the moat striking feature in this little colony, they are not the sole or numerically the largest section. There is a sister Order known as the Strvantes de Marie. They have all passed a life of purity before entering upon their novitiate. They share in the labours of the repentant women, bat these can never become Servantes de Marie. Between them the two classes till the soil and tend the garden. In addition, there is a farmyard and a dairy, where, as throughout the colony, all the work is done by womeD, with the occasional help of male labourers to grapple with the heaviest work. Everything, whether to eat or to wear, is grown or made within the borders of the colony. There are joiners, carpenters, shoemakers, bakers, and dressmakers— all women. The Servantes de Marie do not confine their labours within the convent. They are ever ready to answer calls from the neighbouring country, to nurse the sick, instruct the young, care for the aged, watch by the dying, and bury the dead. The largest building on tb» estate is the Pansionnat, a vast boarding school, where over a hundred children are educated and maintained. The Sjrvantes de Marie, who have the institution in charge, provide from their own ranks professors of English, German, Spanish, and music. There is a kind of lower school, where the children of the poorer classes are educated in a manner suitable to their necessities

At the present time there are over a thousand Servantes de Marie, with something like a hundred novices, the Bernardines numbering only half a hundred. The colony at Anglet is the mother of many similar institutions. The Sister who showed us round — a lady whose spirit forty-six years of immuring in a convent had not subdued, and who was about as lively a little body as I met in the south of France — told me that there are over one hundred and fifty houses scattered about France . at Bayonne, Bordeaux, La Rochelle, Toulouse, Montpelier, Limoges, Arras, Cambrai, and other places. These houses comprise orphanages, hospitals, and schools. Over 8,000 children owe their instruction to the Servantes dc Marie. Iv especial manner the Sisters' mission is to women. They seek out and succour young girls who are beiog led astray, endeavouring to place them in a way of gaining an honest living. They shelter abandoned children, and take care of the babes of poor people whilst they are out earning their daily bread.

As far as 1 could gather the institution is self-sustaining, having no money endowment. Everybody works, and the proceeds of the common labour furnish them with nourishment. The principal source of money income is tne sale of flowers. Cam^hao, in particular, thrive marvellously in these reclaimed sand hills, and bring in a substantial revenue. The dairy is another profitable workshop, the Sisters being pardonably proud of their butter.

Summer and winter Sisters and Bernardines rise at half-past four in the morning and go to bed at mue. Within the grounds is preserved one of the cells in which the pioneer Bernardines braved the heat and the cold of the lonely sand hills. It is neatly built of straw, with pure wci'e sand for flooring. A narrow bed, and a tiny table carrying an infinitesimal ewer and washhand basin, comprise the furniture of the hut. The chapel in which the Sisters meet for Mass was constructed in the same neat way, with walls of Btiaw, roof of rough red tiles, and the soft sand in which the sabot sank as the nuns walked to their appointed places. Now, eacl nun has her stone built cell, which may, or may not, be more comfortable, but certainly is not bo picturesque aB the earlier device.

'1 hough eogaged in common work, the Bernardines live a class apart. Ihey have their own chapel, their own range of cells, and their own refectory. Entering the portion of the grounds where their domicile iB situated the visitor is faced by the injunction • — Pries de parler a volx basse. This injunction extends to the Bervantes de Mane, who drop their voice to a whisper as they watch the ghoetly line file past, chanting something that might well be a dirge for the lovliness of life voluntarily abandoned for this grim similitude of death. j "They don't look very happy," I ventured to observe to (he buxom, bustling Sister who did the honours of the place.

" Mais Monsieur .' " she criftl, with a look of genuine surprise, " they are not of a gaiety mcroyablc.' 1

Within the refectory the silence is from time to time broken by the voice of one of the Sisiers who reads passages from works enjoin ing humility and self-renunciation. Again, a bell rings, and the hand uplifted to carry the meagie soup to the lips is arrested, the heads are oowed, aud thoughts are concentrated on that heavenly home whither tins thorny pathway (they are taught) infallibly leads.

After a duly ordered interval, the scanty meal is continued wi>h more pious reflections from the reader, and another sudden interposition from the bell with peremptoiy call to turn aside from the pomps and vanities of this wicked world, the lust of the flesh, and the wiles

of the devil, and think only of the world to come. Then silence reigns again over this party in the parlour All silent and all blessed.