The Secret of the Blue Trunk (4 page)

I would like to think that we didn’t meet purely by chance and that this nun had been chosen to accompany me during the second part of my life. Sister Adolphine, too, discovered I had a talent for sewing, and encouraged me to persevere. She taught me haute couture, how to cut out a pattern and sew clothes. I eagerly applied myself to it. For the first time in my life, I realized I was happy, at last.

Sister Adolphine spoke French with a Breton accent, a musical quality that added a new flavour to my everyday existence. I even tried to imitate it, which made her laugh. I was fascinated by the distance she had covered to come all the way to us.

I often quizzed her about her country. I must have bothered her more than once, but her replies delighted me and made me want to travel.

This desire was completely new for me, even though my reading made me discover new horizons. Until that day, the idea of leaving had never entered my mind. My talks with the nun who had come from afar encouraged me, however, to explore territories other than my familiar surroundings. Besides, my education would soon be completed, and I would have to leave the convent school.

The Augustinian sisters weren’t showing me the door, but they urged me to think about my future. After all the congregation had done for me, it would be right to pay my debt by becoming a member of the congregation, they said. So, when I was seventeen, I mentioned to Sister Adolphine that I would like to take the veil within the same community as hers. I indicated to her in this way how deeply I admired her.

The nun was thrilled, but she wanted me first to take part in a compulsory retreat for novices. The retreat would allow me to think things over thoroughly and find out if I really felt the call of God. She suggested a few considerations I might reflect on, such as the fact that by joining the ranks of the community, I would renounce the joys of motherhood. I should also ask myself if my love for God was powerful enough to make me accept all the heartbreaks without being overwhelmed with regrets for the rest of my life. “Because you are bound to have regrets at some time or other,” she said.

Have I prayed enough to God to guide me on the path I believe to be mine? Am I ready to show a spirit of penitence and self-effacement and to glorify God at all times? In short, am I really willing to lead such an austere life?

I was much too young to be aware of all that was involved in such a decision. Those questions seemed abstract to me then. I couldn’t really grasp their full meaning and certainly not their implications. Having only known the convent, I looked upon this calling as an occupation that would allow me to develop my talents as a dressmaker while I continued living a communal existence, as I always had.

To set my mind at ease, however, I asked Sister Adolphine what exactly one feels when one thinks one has been called. She said that if I had been summoned I would know it. But perhaps the call hadn’t made itself heard yet, she added.

She also explained that to join her congregation one had to fulfill certain requirements. First of all, it was necessary to bring a dowry, as when a woman gets married. In 1929, the amount could be as high as $750. On the other hand, no candidate had ever been turned down on the grounds of a lack of money. Next, I had to agree to go through my novitiate at the congregation’s mother house in Brittany. Even if I didn’t have the money for the dowry, I would still need the funds for the trip. I felt wretched because I hadn’t expected that becoming a nun would be so complicated.

When Sister Adolphine noticed my distress, she came to my aid once again. If my desire to join her congregation was sincere, she said, there might be a solution. She made an appointment with one of the curates of the parish. This priest had set up the Société Sainte-Marthe, which assisted needy girls. They immediately agreed to help me get the money together. Three months later, the Société Sainte-Marthe gave me $175. That was an achievement, especially in a time of crisis. Among my benefactors was a very wealthy couple from Chicoutimi. This amount made it possible for me to pay for the voyage across the Atlantic, which cost $27, and allowed me to have a few extra dollars for travelling and personal expenses. I gave the rest to the community. I had never thought, never even dreamt, that this journey could become a reality.

How lucky I was to be able to experience such an adventure in a foreign country. But I would only really believe it when the day of the great journey arrived. Time passed slowly, too slowly.

A
week before my adventure began, I couldn’t keep still anymore. The preparations were complex and I found it terribly difficult to stay calm. The nuns had to call me to order several times. I talked too loudly, I laughed without reason. But how could anyone keep calm before such a grandiose undertaking? The experience I was about to embark on was most extraordinary for a girl like me. I was quite unprepared for it.

In all my young life, I had only known horse-drawn carriages. But to complete the long journey that would take me to the port of Saint-Malo in France, I had to travel by motor car, by train, and transatlantic liner!

The two nights before my departure, I just couldn’t get to sleep. I tried to picture the various stages of the trip, but didn’t succeed very well. Everything was confused and abstract. I had only seen trains, ocean liners, and the sea in photographs.

The night before leaving, I didn’t sleep at all. I checked the contents of my suitcase several times, as thin as it was: some underwear, a black tunic, and a white blouse identical to the one I wore every day, two exercise books, a pencil, holy pictures, two white cotton head coverings that had to be worn to identify girls who were beginning their novitiate. I also took the old doll Sister Marguerite had given me when I first came to the convent and a personal letter from her.

I would reread it often all through my new life. She wished me good luck. In Europe, she said, I would be able to perfect my sewing skills because it was one of the best places in the world to do so. In Brittany, moreover, I would learn lace-making if I wanted to. She told me once again how dear I was to her and assured me she would always cherish me. I cried when I read that. Sister Marguerite was an extremely important woman to me. She was really my second mother.

On October 15, 1930, I was eighteen and ready for the first day of the rest of my life.

As on every other morning, the wake-up bell rang at half past five. The two Eudist fathers and Sister Romuald, who would be travelling with us, would arrive at seven. Two other postulants from Chicoutimi were leaving with me to go through their novitiate in Europe: Sister Éva Tremblay and Sister Thérèse Martel, a cousin of mine whom I’d never met.

I washed, rushed through my breakfast, and made my way to the chapel to pray before leaving. I placed my fate in the hands of God and the Virgin Mary, in whom I had complete confidence. I asked them to guide me in this utterly unknown world. I confided my anxiety to them. I would no longer be sheltered as in the convent. I would be immersed in the outside world for over a week. The nuns had actually mentioned a ten-day journey to me. So I would be in contact with a huge number of people. “How should I act in society? That is why I ask you, God and merciful Blessed Virgin Mary, to protect me during this great odyssey.”

Then I ran to the dormitory, although running was forbidden, picked up my suitcase, went to the convent’s front door and waited as quietly as I could. It was half past six. Two nuns who were talking to each other in the hall came up to remind me that the fathers wouldn’t be here until about seven. I told them that time was passing too slowly and I would rather wait for them by the door. That way I could be sure they wouldn’t forget me.

Fifteen minutes later, the two other postulants joined me in the doorway. They were just as overwrought as I was. We held hands. We needed to stay calm and definitely not shout.

Mother Superior came to give us her last recommendations. She warned us against strangers and made us promise we would always keep in sight of the nun who was in charge of us during the journey. She also gave us our legal papers. These enabled us to travel overseas under supervision. We were too young yet to have our own passports.

A funny noise reached us from outside. Everyone turned around and we saw the car, all black and shiny, with its four white-wall tires. I couldn’t believe it. The automobile that would take us to the railway station was simply magnificent. It could hold six people.

I settled myself on the back seat and kept totally still. Only my fingers moved as I stroked the golden velvet of the seat. I was so excited I hardly dared take another breath, afraid to miss this unique moment. I tried to make myself tiny so no one would ask me to get out. Someone talked to me, but I didn’t answer. In my nervousness I had forgotten my suitcase. I just wanted the automobile to get going. The driver switched on the ignition and we left. The huge car ran wonderfully smoothly. We barely felt the holes in the road and the stones, and that amazed us, since we were used to horse-drawn carriages shaking us energetically about whenever their wheels struck the slightest obstacle.

Already I prepared myself for the moment we would be asked to get out. The driver had left his window half open and I felt the chilly October wind on my cheeks. I closed my eyes and a great wave of happiness swept through me. I knew that from then on I would always love going for a drive.

Half an hour later, we arrived at the station. I stepped out of the car with a heavy heart. I would have wanted the ride to last longer. One of the fathers went to get the tickets. I was handed my suitcase with the warning to be careful not to lose it again. For the first time I saw the platform and my excitement grew.

Soon the train to Quebec City would enter the station at the scheduled time. If I already found the automobile huge, the train was even more astounding. It was interminably long and at least two storeys high. I was most impressed by its whistle announcing the train’s entry into the station. As soon as I could, I climbed the three steps of the narrow stairs leading to the car where we were supposed to seat ourselves, and looked back to admire the station from my new vantage point.

The car’s ceiling and walls were made of metal while the bench seats on either side were upholstered in black imitation leather. Some of the benches even allowed us to sit face to face with one another. After the size of the train, I think this surprised me the most. I don’t know what came over me, but I ran to reserve a place on one of the benches. Astonished by my reaction, one of the fathers asked me to be a little less demonstrative and try to quiet down. He reminded me that given the number of hours we would spend on the train, I would have more than enough time to try all the seats, should I want to.

When I stepped into the dining-car a little later, I had to control myself all over again. I just stood there, flabbergasted. Unable to walk down the corridor and look for a seat, I obediently followed the nun who grabbed my arm and made me sit close to her at the table. I simply couldn’t get over it. We could eat, sitting at a table, while the train travelled along! And, what’s more, while admiring the passing scenery! I didn’t miss a second of that first trip. It lasted five hours. I saw lakes, forests, farms, and animals slip by. It was like a picture book changing from page to page. When we arrived in Quebec City, we glimpsed the station in the distance before slowly entering it. It was as though we went into a castle surrounded by turrets. And I hadn’t seen anything yet! There were still Montreal’s Windsor Station and the station in New York to discover.

At a certain point, I forgot where I was. Travelling had tired me out, of course, but there was also all that nervous excitement at the many discoveries I made. I felt as if I were living a waking dream, too gigantic to be true. I became just a spectator, no longer experiencing the present moment, as if there was no more room in my eyes for new images. I had difficulty taking it all in. The fathers gave us a veritable history lecture by taking time to explain what we saw through the windows. My brain filled with all these explanations and I was overwhelmed by them.

I pulled myself together again in the automobile that took us from the station to the New York harbour. This car was called a taxi. I remember taking an instant liking to the word “taxi.” It sounded like a foreign language.

What struck me first when I saw New York were, of course, the large number of skyscrapers. But I was especially amazed to see that the buildings were squeezed together on an island much smaller than the Saguenay–Lac-Saint-Jean territory. The fathers came to my aid once again. They explained that the reason there was such a density of buildings in this particular spot was that the soil lent itself to it, and this wasn’t the case outside the area.

When we arrived at the harbour, we saw the majestic liner
France
, which would take us across the Atlantic. It was the only liner with four funnels and nothing like the photographs of ships I had seen at the convent. I was awestruck once more, and so overcome with emotion I felt like crying. My travel companions seemed as stunned as I was.

We were told how the boarding would proceed, but we were so excited we didn’t understand a word of the fathers’ explanations. We joined the lineup without really knowing where we were going. It was half past eight on the morning of October 17, and the virtual orphan Armande Martel was about to board the stately liner
France
. I who had resigned myself to living shut away in a convent for the rest of my days, was setting off toward a different destiny. It seemed unreal to me. Yet all I had done was tell Sister Adolphine that I wished to join her community. I never thought I would find myself thrust into the thick of an expedition like this.

We were guided through corridors to the space booked for us. It consisted of a large sitting room and two adjoining cabins, one of which, fitted out with berths, was reserved for us: the postulants and the nun.

My excitement reached fever pitch and made me forget my manners. Without consulting the others, I expressed my preference for sleeping in the upper berth. Luckily, no one objected, and I climbed into it. Up on my bed, I could see the toilet bowl and the tiny wash basin beside it. There was even a door we could close so we could wash ourselves in complete privacy. I couldn’t believe it. I was beginning to understand the meaning of the word
luxury
. The fathers claimed on the other hand that the ship had deteriorated somewhat since the last time they sailed on it, a few years before, even though it still had a certain lustre. I decided to ignore their remarks. For me, it was the most beautiful ship in the world.

We quickly got ourselves settled and went out to walk around the decks. A lot of deck chairs were lined up there. I decided to lie down on one for a few seconds. I was called to order immediately. Leaning on the ship’s railing — to me, it was the “balcony balustrade” — we watched the activity in the harbour. Many automobiles drove up and discharged batches of new passengers, who rushed up the gangway while workers pushed along carts loaded with luggage, food, and all sorts of bottles.

Beside me, a couple was in the middle of a discussion. The lady said she was worried about the ocean voyage because she still remembered what happened to the
Titanic
, which sank in 1912, the year I was born. Her husband tried to reassure her. He explained that the sinking was due in part to human error. This argument seemed to reassure her, as it did me, in fact. I had absolutely no desire to make the voyage while dreading some looming misfortune.

We continued looking around the decks, from port side to starboard. There was an area set aside for “sunbathing,” but we were forbidden to go there, of course. Besides the main deck, we counted six others. At the centre of the ship was a magnificent staircase, with wrought-iron railings, connecting the promenade deck with the upper deck. There were also two elevators giving access to the upper storeys.

We entered a large, luxurious lounge. Sitting on velvet-upholstered chairs around little tables, people were talking while having coffee, tea, or alcoholic drinks. The adjoining dining room was extremely grand with its glass chandeliers, immaculate white tablecloths, and china tableware. We wouldn’t have the good fortune to see it sparkle brilliantly at night with its diners in evening dress, since we were to eat in the cabin. It would be an enchanting sight, I thought. Our chaperones didn’t want to show us the huge ballroom because, I imagine, they were anxious to keep us away from the temptation of sin.

We then sat down in the cafeteria and for the first time in my life I had a scrumptious ham sandwich.

An announcement was made that the ship would leave in an hour. Awaiting that moment, the postulants and I exchanged our first impressions while the fathers talked to other passengers. It was a glorious mid-October day and rather warm. We were told that the holds were finally full and a siren would soon sound the departure. It was a good thing they had let us know, otherwise we all would have jumped when we heard the shrill blast of that siren. Then the engines started up noisily, giving off a nasty fuel-oil smell. The odour made Éva Tremblay very unwell; I even thought she was going to faint.

All the passengers were out on the decks to watch the great departure manoeuvres. It was spectacular. Slowly the ship pulled away from the docks and the tugboats darted ahead as they began towing us to the open sea, since the engines couldn’t run at full throttle in such shallow water. The
France
, according to what we caught from conversations around us, was the third-fastest liner on the North Atlantic.