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Forty years ago； the nuns numbered nearly a hundred； fifteen years ago there were not more than twenty…eight of them。
How many are there to…day？ In 1847； the prioress was young； a sign that the circle of choice was restricted。 She was not forty years old。
In proportion as the number diminishes； the fatigue increases； the service of each bees more painful； the moment could then be seen drawing near when there would be but a dozen bent and aching shoulders to bear the heavy rule of Saint…Benoit。 The burden is implacable； and remains the same for the few as for the many。
It weighs down； it crushes。
Thus they die。 At the period when the author of this book still lived in Paris； two died。
One was twenty…five years old； the other twenty…three。 This latter can say； like Julia Alpinula：
〃Hic jaceo。
Vixi annos viginti et tres。〃
It is in consequence of this decay that the convent gave up the education of girls。
We have not felt able to pass before this extraordinary house without entering it； and without introducing the minds which acpany us； and which are listening to our tale； to the profit of some； perchance； of the melancholy history of Jean Valjean。 We have penetrated into this munity； full of those old practices which seem so novel to…day。 It is the closed garden； hortus conclusus。 We have spoken of this singular place in detail； but with respect； in so far； at least； as detail and respect are patible。 We do not understand all； but we insult nothing。
We are equally far removed from the hosanna of Joseph de Maistre； who wound up by anointing the executioner； and from the sneer of Voltaire； who even goes so far as to ridicule the cross。
An illogical act on Voltaire's part； we may remark； by the way； for Voltaire would have defended Jesus as he defended Calas； and even for those who deny superhuman incarnations； what does the crucifix represent？
The assassinated sage。
In this nineteenth century； the religious idea is undergoing a crisis。
People are unlearning certain things； and they do well； provided that； while unlearning them they learn this：
There is no vacuum in the human heart。
Certain demolitions take place； and it is well that they do； but on condition that they are followed by reconstructions。
In the meantime； let us study things which are no more。
It is necessary to know them； if only for the purpose of avoiding them。
The counterfeits of the past assume false names； and gladly call themselves the future。 This spectre； this past； is given to falsifying its own passport。 Let us inform ourselves of the trap。
Let us be on our guard。 The past has a visage； superstition； and a mask； hypocrisy。
Let us denounce the visage and let us tear off the mask。
As for convents； they present a plex problem；a question of civilization； which condemns them； a question of liberty； which protects them。
BOOK SEVENTH。PARENTHESIS
CHAPTER I
THE CONVENT AS AN ABSTRACT IDEA
This book is a drama； whose leading personage is the Infinite。
Man is the second。
Such being the case； and a convent having happened to be on our road； it has been our duty to enter it。
Why？
Because the convent； which is mon to the Orient as well as to the Occident； to antiquity as well as to modern times； to paganism； to Buddhism； to Mahometanism； as well as to Christianity； is one of the optical apparatuses applied by man to the Infinite。
This is not the place for enlarging disproportionately on certain ideas； nevertheless； while absolutely maintaining our reserves； our restrictions； and even our indignations； we must say that every time we encounter man in the Infinite； either well or ill understood； we feel ourselves overpowered with respect。 There is； in the synagogue； in the mosque； in the pagoda； in the wigwam； a hideous side which we execrate； and a sublime side； which we adore。
What a contemplation for the mind； and what endless food for thought； is the reverberation of God upon the human wall！
BOOK SEVENTH。PARENTHESIS
CHAPTER II
THE CONVENT AS AN HISTORICAL FACT
From the point of view of history； of reason； and of truth； monasticism is condemned。
Monasteries； when they abound in a nation； are clogs in its circulation； cumbrous establishments； centres of idleness where centres of labor should exist。
Monastic munities are to the great social munity what the mistletoe is to the oak； what the wart is to the human body。
Their prosperity and their fatness mean the impoverishment of the country。
The monastic regime； good at the beginning of civilization； useful in the reduction of the brutal by the spiritual； is bad when peoples have reached their manhood。
Moreover； when it bees relaxed； and when it enters into its period of disorder； it bees bad for the very reasons which rendered it salutary in its period of purity； because it still continues to set the example。
Claustration has had its day。
Cloisters； useful in the early education of modern civilization； have embarrassed its growth； and are injurious to its development。
So far as institution and formation with relation to man are concerned； monasteries； which were good in the tenth century； questionable in the fifteenth； are detestable in the nineteenth。 The leprosy of monasticism has gnawed nearly to a skeleton two wonderful nations； Italy and Spain； the one the light； the other the splendor of Europe for centuries； and； at the present day； these two illustrious peoples are but just beginning to convalesce； thanks to the healthy and vigorous hygiene of 1789 alone。
The conventthe ancient female convent in particular； such as it still presents itself on the threshold of this century； in Italy； in Austria； in Spainis one of the most sombre concretions of the Middle Ages。 The cloister； that cloister； is the point of intersection of horrors。 The Catholic cloister； properly speaking； is wholly filled with the black radiance of death。
The Spanish convent is the most funereal of all。
There rise； in obscurity； beneath vaults filled with gloom； beneath domes vague with shadow； massive altars of Babel； as high as cathedrals； there immense white crucifixes hang from chains in the dark； there are extended； all nude on the ebony； great Christs of ivory； more than bleeding；bloody； hideous and magnificent； with their elbows displaying the bones； their knee…pans showing their integuments； their wounds showing their flesh； crowned with silver thorns； nailed with nails of gold； with blood drops of rubies on their brows； and diamond tears in their eyes。
The diamonds and rubies seem wet； and make veiled beings in the shadow below weep； their sides bruised with the hair shirt and their iron…tipped scourges； their breasts crushed with wicker hurdles； their knees excoriated with prayer； women who think themselves wives； spectres who think themselves seraphim。 Do these women think？
No。 Have they any will？
No。 Do they love？ No。 Do they live？
No。 Their nerves have turned to bone； their bones have turned to stone。
Their veil is of woven night。
Their breath under their veil resembles the indescribably tragic respiration of death。
The abbess； a spectre； sanctifies them and terrifies them。 The immaculate one is there； and very fierce。
Such are the ancient monasteries of Spain。
Liars of terrible devotion； caverns of virgins； ferocious places。
Catholic Spain is more Roman than Rome herself。
The Spanish convent was； above all others； the Catholic convent。
There was a flavor of the Orient about it。
The archbishop； the kislar…aga of heaven； locked up and kept watch over this seraglio of souls reserved for God。
The nun was the odalisque； the priest was the eunuch。 The fervent were chosen in dreams and possessed Christ。 At night； the beautiful； nude young man descended from the cross and became the ecstasy of the cloistered one。
Lofty walls guarded the mystic sultana； who had the crucified for her sultan； from all living distraction。
A glance on the outer world was infidelity。 The in pace replaced the leather sack。
That which was cast into the sea in the East was thrown into the ground in the West。 In both quarters； women wrung their hands； the waves for the first； the grave for the last； here the drowned； there the buried。 Monstrous parallel。
To…day the upholders of the past； unable to deny these things； have adopted the expedient of smiling at them。
There has e into fashion a strange and easy manner of suppressing the revelations of history； of invalidating the mentaries of philosophy； of eliding all embarrassing facts and all gloomy questions。
A matter for declamations； say the clever。
Declamations； repeat the foolish。 Jean…Jacques a declaimer； Diderot a declaimer； Voltaire on Calas； Labarre； and Sirven； declaimers。
I know not who has recently discovered that Tacitus was a declaimer； that Nero was a victim； and that pity is decidedly due to 〃that poor Holofernes。〃
Facts； however； are awkward things to disconcert； and they are obstinate。 The author of this book has seen； with his own eyes； eight leagues distant from Brussels；there are relics of the Middle Ages there which are attainable for everybody；at the Abbey of Villers； the hole of the oubliettes； in the middle of the field which was formerly the courtyard of the cloister； and on the banks of the Thil； four stone dungeons； half under ground； half under the water。 They were in pace。
Each of these dungeons has the remains of an iron door； a vault； and a grated opening which； on the outside； is two feet above the level of the river； and on the inside； six feet above the level of the ground。
Four feet of river flow past along the outside wall。
The ground is always soaked。 The occupant of the in pace had this wet soil for his bed。 In one of these dungeons； there is a fragment of an iron necklet riveted to the wall； in another； there can be seen a square box made of four slabs of granite； too short for a person to lie down in； too low for him to stand upright in。
A human being was put inside； with a coverlid of stone on top。
This exists。
It can be seen。 It can be touched。
These in pace； these dungeons； these iron hinges； these necklets； that lofty peep…hole on a level with the river's current； that box of stone closed with a lid of granite like a tomb； with this difference； that the dead man here was a living being； that soil which is but mud； that vault hole； those oozing walls； what declaimers！
BOOK SEVENTH。PARENTHESIS
CHAPTER III
ON WHAT CONDITIONS ONE CAN RESPECT THE PAST
Monasticism； such as it existed in Spain； and such as it still exists in Thibet； is a sort of phthisis for civilization。
It stops life short。
It simply depopulates。
Claustration； castration。 It has been the scourge of Europe。
Add to this the violence so often done to the conscience； the forced vocations； feudalism bolstered up by the cloister； the right of the first…born pouring the excess of the family into monasticism； the ferocities of which we have just spoken； the in pace； the closed mouths； the walled…up brains； so many unfortunate minds placed in the dungeon of eternal vows； the taking of the habit； the interment of living souls。 Add individual tortures to national degradations； and； whoever you may be； you will shudder before the frock and the veil；those two winding…sheets of human devising。
Nevertheless； at certain points and in certain places； in spite of philosophy； in spite of progress； the spirit of the cloister persists in the midst of the nineteenth century； and a singular ascetic recrudescence is； at this moment； astonishing the civilized world。
The obstinacy of antiquated institutions in perpetuating themselves resembles the stubbornness of the rancid perfume which should claim our hair； the pretensions of the spoiled fish which should persist in being eaten； the persecution of the child's garment which should insist on clothing the man； the tenderness of corpses which should return to embrace the living。
〃Ingrates！〃 says the garment； 〃I protected you in inclement weather。 Why will you have nothing to do with me？〃
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