CHAPTER I.

BOARDING SCHOOL IN THE COUVENT DES FILLES DE MARIE, WILLEBROECK, PROV. D’ANVERS, BELGIQUE, JULY, 1914.

A merry group of Convent girls, in charge of Sister guardian, was seated in the shade of a huge old pear tree, discussing the joys and expectations of the approaching summer vacation. High are the walls enclosing this ancient cloister, and many are the gay young hearts protected and developed within its shady precincts.

Bright are the faces and happy the hearts of more than one hundred young girls on this midsummer day in the memorable year 1914. They are now enjoying the morning air in the playground, having just returned from their usual walk in the garden. The weather is somewhat oppressive; but as time is precious in boarding school, every one has something to do. One is crocheting; another is finishing a piece of Irish lace; still another is reviewing an article in a certain newspaper, as it is her task to make a summary for that evening’s meeting of the Study Circle.

Joy, unalloyed by the experience of care or sorrow, is written on the face of every child. It is only one week before the annual distribution of prizes, the subsequent close of the school year, and a speedy family reunion.

It is eight o’clock. The sign is given, and instantly a hundred busy-bodies become still and serious. Not another word is spoken as the preceptress conducts the long line through the large playroom, over the small yard, and into the various classrooms.

The young ladies, aged from fifteen to twenty, proceed at once to the sewing department. This is to them the most important and interesting of all the rooms; needlework being a predominant feature in the education of all young Belgian women. After prayer, work begins. Some are cutting patterns; others are putting pretty lace collars on those suits which must serve for the reception of diplomas; and a few of the more diligent, who have completed the term’s work, are now finishing some lace or embroidery; while a cheery little canary is singing to the doubtful harmony of twenty sewing machines.

At the desk sits the patient and zealous teacher, Sister M. Alphonse, assisted in her work by two young novices. She is, perhaps, the most widely known and respected seamstress in all the province. For years her gold embroidery has sparkled on flags and banners; for years her skillful fingers have adorned the vestments that beautified God’s altar in many churches of the diocese. Sister M. Alphonse knows the secret of winning the confidence of her pupils, and it is interesting to see how they crowd around her to reveal their little joys and sorrows and obtain advice in the various necessities of a long and busy school year.

On leaving the sewing-room, the visitor proceeds to the other departments. On all sides order and discipline prevail. The stone-floored halls are spotlessly clean. Pretty mosaic figures attract the eye and give a quaint appearance to those ancient corridors. The walls are very high, the rooms spacious, the windows long and broad, thus capable of admitting an abundance of air, light and sunshine. The wooden floors of the classrooms are often scrubbed and strewn with fine white sand from the seashore.

Sad is the lot of any poor child who might have the misfortune to upset an inkstand. You would find her on her knees rubbing the stain with soap and scraping it with a piece of glass until every vestige of ink disappears. If you tell her to be more careful in future, she will laughingly reply: “Schuren is toch zoo aangenaam” (scrubbing is so pleasant).

In passing from one room to another, one notices the zeal and energy of both pupils and teachers. So busy are they, and so diligently are the hours employed, that the long school day, from eight o’clock in the morning until seven in the evening, fleets quickly away. The desks are stiff, and hard, and heavy; but no one complains. The young Belgian women are devoted to their country and its customs; and if one were told that in another country more comfortable desks were provided, she would answer candidly, “Wij blijven liever in ons vaderland” (We would rather remain in our _own_ country.)

The climate of Belgium is temperate, though more inclined to be cool than warm. The ground is very moist in some places. Never have we experienced the extremes of heat and cold found in America. Very heavy rains, accompanied by lightning and deafening peals of thunder, occur in the summer. There is little snow in the winter. In some parts of the country the grass is emerald green all year long. Rosebuds are seen on the bushes in January, and sometimes the trees are budding in February.

The stoves in Belgium are far inferior to those in America. Kitchen ranges are not used to bake bread. Those who do not possess stone or steam ovens, are obliged to buy bread daily at the baker’s.

When accustomed to the cool, invigorating climate of Belgium, a great contrast is experienced in visiting America, and one feels more or less in danger of suffocation during a journey in an overheated railroad car, or a few hours spent in the rooms of our American homes.

Most of the people in Belgium are early risers; and if, by chance, you happen to visit any of her cities at dawn of day, you will find her churches full to overflowing with zealous Christians, who, like their time-honored forefathers, offer the first fruits of the day to God, the giver of every good. The churches are numerous, large and beautiful, and multitudes of worshipers are in daily attendance. Men and women of the higher class attired in robes of broadcloth; poor peasant women, with little shawls or kerchiefs covering their heads and shoulders; blue-eyed, fair-faced children, and the aged; whose bent forms and tottering steps show that they are nearing the end of life’s journey; all assemble in the early morning seeking mercy, peace and comfort at the Throne of Grace. We can imagine the effect of this morning’s devotion, especially consoling to the poor, who, in their heavy “blokken” (wooden shoes) toil, day in and day out, all year long, for a small compensation, insufficient for the comfort of their families.

As are the parents, so are the children; particularly in the boarding-school, where the rules and regulations necessitate strict discipline. Shortly before or after five o’clock in the morning, every child is up, unless some one is ill, who, for the time, is excused from rising. After dressing, a sign is given and all descend in strict silence to the chapel for morning prayer and the holy sacrifice of the Mass. After morning devotions they go to the refectory, where a bounteous supply of “botterham” (bread and butter) and strong coffee is served. Breakfast is eaten in silence, except on special festivals.

Needless to say that a great amount of tact is necessary on the part of the monitor to keep one hundred little tongues within their ivory walls until the signal is given to go to the playground.

Here we found them at the beginning of our narrative; here we shall find them again at half-past nine, at twelve, after four-o’clock lunch, and after supper; in the summer evenings. In winter the time of recreation is spent in the reception hall of the boarding-school. At eight o’clock the school day ends, and all advance in strict silence to the dormitories to enjoy the peaceful slumber which health and youth affords.

The dormitories are four in number. Each child has a separate alcove. Several Sisters are in attendance during the night. In case of illness, a child is immediately removed to another apartment.

To these general rules and regulations there are exceptions on Sundays and special festivals during the year. On those days special devotional exercises take place in the morning, the afternoon being assigned to the practicing of hymns and sacred music. When the weather is fine, the recesses are longer, and pleasant walks may be enjoyed in the garden. One Sunday in the month, called “Visiting Day,” is at the disposal of parents and visitors, who are permitted to call upon the children.