A Fair Penitent | Page 7

(once so generally admired for
their whiteness) striped with all the colours of the rainbow. The sight
threw me into a passion, and I profanely said to myself while I was
dressing, "The next time I see Father Deveaux, I will give my tongue
full swing, and make the hair of that holy man stand on end with
terror!" A few hours afterwards, he came to the convent, and all my
resolution melted away at the sight of him. His imposing exterior had
such an effect on me that I could only humbly entreat him to excuse me

from indicting a second flagellation on myself. He smiled, benignantly,
and granted my request with a saintly amiability. "Give me the
cat-o'-nine-tails," he said, in conclusion, "and I will keep it for you till
you ask me for it again. You are sure to ask for it again, dear child--to
ask for it on your bended knees!"
Pious and prophetic man! Before many days had passed his words
came true. If he had persisted severely in ordering me to flog myself, I
might have opposed him for months together; but, as it was, who could
resist the amiable indulgence he showed towards my weakness? The
very next day after my interview, I began to feel ashamed of my own
cowardice; and the day after that I went down on my knees, exactly as
he had predicted, and said, "Father Deveaux, give me back my
cat-o'-nine-tails." From that time I cheerfully underwent the discipline
of flagellation, learning the regular method of practising it from the
sisterhood, and feeling, in a spiritual point of view, immensely the
better for it.
The nuns, finding that I cheerfully devoted myself to every act of
self-sacrifice prescribed by the rules of their convent, wondered very
much that I still hesitated about taking the veil. I begged them not to
mention the subject to me till my mind was quite made up about it.
They respected my wish, and said no more; but they lent me books to
read which assisted in strengthening my wavering resolution. Among
these books was the Life of Madame de Montmorenci, who, after the
shocking death of her husband, entered the Order of St. Mary. The
great example of this lady made me reflect seriously, and I
communicated my thoughts, as a matter of course, to Father Deveaux.
He assured me that the one last greatest sacrifice which remained for
me to make was the sacrifice of my liberty. I had long known that this
was my duty, and I now felt, for the first time, that I had courage and
resolution enough boldly to face the idea of taking the veil.
While I was in this happy frame of mind, I happened to meet with the
history of the famous Rance, founder, or rather reformer, of the Order
of La Trappe. I found a strange similarity between my own worldly
errors and those of this illustrious penitent. The discovery had such an
effect on me, that I spurned all idea of entering a convent where the
rules were comparatively easy, as was the case at Anticaille, and
determined, when I did take the veil, to enter an Order whose discipline

was as severe as the discipline of La Trappe itself. Father Deveaux
informed me that I should find exactly what I wanted among the
Carmelite nuns; and, by his advice, I immediately put myself in
communication with the Archbishop of Villeroi. I opened my heart to
this worthy prelate, convinced him of my sincerity, and gained from
him a promise that he would get me admitted among the Carmelite
nuns of Lyons. One thing I begged of him at parting, which was, that
he would tell the whole truth about my former life and about the
profession that I had exercised in the world. I was resolved to deceive
nobody, and to enter no convent under false pretences of any sort.
My wishes were scrupulously fulfilled; and the nuns were dreadfully
frightened when they heard that I had been an actress at Paris. But the
Archbishop promising to answer for me, and to take all their scruples
on his own conscience, they consented to receive me. I could not trust
myself to take formal leave of the nuns of Anticaille, who had been so
kind to me, and towards whom I felt so gratefully. So I wrote my
farewell to them after privately leaving their house, telling them frankly
the motives which animated me, and asking their pardon for separating
myself from them in secret.
On the fourteenth of October, seventeen hundred and twenty-four, I
entered the Carmelite convent at Lyons, eighteen months after my
flight from the world, and my abandonment of my profession--to adopt
which, I may say, in my own defence,