The Secret of the Blue Trunk by Lise Dion Read Free Book Online

peaceful spot, and I could understand why Victor Hugo chose to go and write on this island.
    The low-ceilinged dormitory was particularly inviting. The beds were wonderfully soft and so comfortable that I savoured my sleep every night of my stay.
    I soon familiarized myself with the organization of the house and was assigned to the kitchen. I tried to quickly memorize the names of the cooking utensils by jotting them down on a piece of paper. Most of the French names were different from the Quebec ones and I found them prettier. Thus, a ladle was a cassotte , a conical mesh sieve a chinois , a potato masher a presse-purée . A marguerite was used to steam vegetables and a pince à chiqueter to crimp the edge of a tart.
    I worked at preparing meals while discovering new flavours, spices, and smells. This country life satisfied me completely.
    On Guernsey, I also got to know the community’s values. In the opinion of the Abbé Fleury, the founder, we shouldn’t become ladies, but sisters of charity. “Always be content with your lot,” he would say. Sisters needed to strive to attain evangelic simplicity in all their activities. Their zeal ought to be imbued with true generosity, never flinching at any task. They must remain serene at all times, in good fortune as in bad. In a word, we ought to attain the calm and cheerful humility that expands the soul and infuses its devotion with the artlessness described by Saint Francis de Sales.
    On girls whose thoughts are filled with generous ideas, who are enthralled with perfection, and feel impelled toward the cloister, the Divine Master has cast His eye. Quietly He speaks to them and draws them to Him. They should always remember the words of one of our founders, Louise Lemarchand: “You will be a nun … Jesus needs you. He wants you all to Himself. He counts on you to serve Him and love Him …” Mademoiselle Lemarchand also said that nuns must be good, devout, and strong, and, above all, have no taste for society life, because the world around them is spiritually beneath them.
    It was the first time I heard the religious life described this way. There was no mention whatsoever of the obligation to experience the emotion of faith or God’s call. The image of God as a master had never crossed my mind. Surprisingly, this religious philosophy seemed to be based on resentment against life outside the convent, whereas everything I had seen, heard, and experienced of the outside world since the beginning of this epic, had struck me as stimulating. I wasn’t able to put into words how I felt, but such a view seemed nevertheless quite oppressive to me, and as a result I was less at ease in this milieu. Naturally I kept my doubts to myself.
    On July 11, 1931, I took my first, temporary, vows, which allowed me to begin my novitiate. I was nineteen.
    That day, the postulants had to follow a protocol. After we got dressed, our hair was cut. This represented a big sacrifice for me because I loved my long, black, curly hair. Never mind , I thought, it will grow again . I didn’t have time to pine for the past and didn’t want to spoil such a beautiful occasion. I was nervous but, more than anything else, I longed to become a novice. I imagined I would become a different person: Every day I would feel, deep inside, the state of grace in which my pure soul dwelled. How naive I was!
    All the postulants had donned a little black dress, which was shorter than the nuns’, with a white collar, and put on a silver cross without the figure of Christ, strung on a silk cord. On our heads we wore a black veil over a white headband.
    The ceremony resembled in every respect a first communion. Seated in the pews of the chapel, we listened to the nuns as they guided our thoughts. They asked us once more if we were certain about our choice and if our decision had been made of our own free will. How can you be sure about the path to take when you are just nineteen? As for me, my decision had been firm