St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1895-02-13
A WHITE SISTER.

FROM BelSrdVld.
Most visitors to Antwerp know the
Pepiniere. 1t lies little way out of
the town, and generally has some good
open-air concerts with which to enter
tain the people when they go there.
Now was staying a few months ago
at Antwerp, with my very good friends,
the Ursuline sisters, of Mount Sta.
Maria, which, as everybody knows, is
a large conventual building, where
some thirty or more religieuses live
under the wise and beneficent rule of
the Reverend Mother Mere Marguerite
and one. day as l sat reading in the
Spracht- thinner Mere Angelo came i'll
quickly.
1T will soon be time for 'benedic-
tion,''' she said, as she stood near
me- .'If you would like it we will go
to the convent of the White Sisters
and hear the service in their chapel.
1t is, as you know, the festival of the
Assumption
I jumped up in hurry.
81 should like it above all things,
dear Mere Angelo" l said, with a
smile.
1 am always impulsive and ready
for an interesting expedition. So it
was not many moments before I stood
In the hall fully prepared for the walk.
1t was one of those hot afternoons of
August last, when there seemed no
air in the streets, and when there is lit
tie or no choice between the temper
allure indoors or outside. 1 put on
hat and gloves, the Mere Angelo added
veil to her toilette, for a sister needs
but little preparation for her eXpedi-
TONS and we set forth
1t was a very gay day in Antwerp,
and the road to the Pepiniere was
lined with eXpectant ranks of Specta-
tors awaiting the return of the pleas
ure-seekers who had gone to keep the
festivals of the races.
Drags, carriages, cabs and the humble
cart were conveying the people home
again; and the dust and noise was
frightful Never before had l known
how many horses and carriages-or,
for the matter of that how many
people there were in this beautiful, ar
tistic and interesting city on the
Scheldt.
The change, as we stepped into the
quiet chapel of the White Sisters was
something wonderful.
The peace and hush of the service,
the sonOrous voice of the priest, the
exquisite beauty of the small chapel;
all these stole upon us with a sense
of refreshment after WEAKNESS, rest
after toll, calm after conflict. There
was such a contrast between the world
outside and this world into which we
had for brief moment entered. Mere
Angelo glided forward noiselessly with
that soft football peculiar to nuns, and
L followed closely behind until wei
reached the barrier which, in this con-
vent, separated the sisters from the
rest of the congregation.
1t was lovely chapel, for all that
art and wealth could do had been done
to beautify and adorn it, Exquisite
frescoes were on the walls, the
priests robes were richly ornamentedI
the altar was vested in gorgeous purple
and fine linen; and as I glanced at my
friend the UrSuline sister who had ac-
companied me, fancied that Mere An
gele looked wistfully at all this display
of wealth and glory.
They are rich,' she whispered, and
after her whisper came little sigh.
Aye, that they were. &c
Tall, pale pink lilies stood on either
side, of the. altar, lilies whose rare
blossoms and delicious odor filled thee
SiihpCi, USlllS WdIlSu out INTO Inc
aisle where we knelt. White annuncia-
ton lilies also were grouped at the
sides, while tall, stately and gigantic
palms filled the space between the al
tar and the apse, their foliage rearing
itself on high against the delicate color
ing of the background.
When the pater had finished his
portion of the devotions, the nuns took
up the Litany, after the custom of
the Roman church, where you will
often hear poor peasant folks spending
their extra hour after vespers in chant
ing some antiphonal litany, which is
intensely comforting to their souls.
The White Nuns have a vow of ST.
lence. In quietness they go through
their daily round and the voiceless
calm of their conventual life goes on
from day to day, and all day long.
But in the chapel they sing, and. as
If to make up for the long hours of en-
forced silence, they pour forth all
their hearts into the voice of their song,
until it rings through the dim choir,
into the corridors of the cloister.
Never, surely, have l heard such sing
ing. 1t swept around me as, when
the litany ceased, they sang hymn of
many verses, in which soprano and
contralto, in rich, cultivated tones, rose
and fell, filling my soul with sort of
pain as well as rapture-a pain that
made the tears rush unbidden to nv
eyes.
On-and on-and on-the measure
swept, and no one moved in the dusky
aisle. We kneit as if turned to stone,
while those pleading, importunate
voices passed from the fervor of PRAYER
to the grand crescendo of rejoicing;
and the triumphant ascription at the
end proclaimed that the benediction
was over.
Nay, we still knelt while the white
robed sisters drew their long wells over
their faces, and passed. as we watched,
into the silence of their cloister home
once more.
One voice had rung out more clearly
than the others. 1t was that of a nun
who had knelt so close to me that by
putting out my hand I might have
touched her. Yet, near as 1 was, I
did not so much as catch a fleeing
glimpse of her face. Only the white
robes rustled family in the distance.
Only the memory. of wondrous voice
remained to haunt my waking, Sleep
less moments. -
When we passed out into the air
again, Mere Angelo grasped my arm
You were fortunate-that was Mere
Celeste who sang. She has mar
velous voice-is it not so? And she has
history, too. poor SOUL
She sighed, for she, had a sympa=
thetic heart, this dear little Mere An
gele. d