Elizabeth Schoffen

I Become Superintendent of the Third Floor at St. Vincent's.

In the order of the Sisters of Charity of Providence, the rules restrict the members to certain reading. The books we were allowed to read were those on the Roman Catholic religious practices, such as "Christian Perfection" by the Jesuit, Alphonsus Rodriguez, a set of books on "Meditation" by St. Ignatius, also a Jesuit, a book on the "Conferences of St. Vincent de Paul," a prayer book, a manual of community prayers, and a book of rule. If a sister should wish to read any other books, outside of a few like these I have named, she must have permission from her superior, even to the reading of "The Lives of the Saints."

The reading of secular, or profane, as it is called, books are never allowed under any conditions. No magazines, newspapers or periodicals are they ever allowed to read. If there happened to be an article in some religious magazine or paper that it was decided to let the sisters read, it was cut out and handed to them, hereby having permission to read it. Think of the terrible darkness the poor girls are kept in, with nothing to develop their mental faculties, nothing to read except the few chosen books, and when you have read one you have read all, and this over and over again, year in and year out.

When I came to St. Vincent's Hospital, I had been in the order about twelve years. Twelve years of almost silence; twelve years of Latin prayers; twelve years of communion and confession; twelve years of Roman convent-slavery; twelve years of retrogression.

I found myself almost lost as to how to talk intelligibly to the doctors and patients. My vocabulary was certainly very limited. I felt the grave necessity of doing something to aid me in my work. But how? That was the great question in my mind for some time. I had been taught that God would punish me if I dared to read anything except what I was allowed. And, believe me, even twelve years' experience in the convent had changed my views of Romanism but very little, if any.

Finally, one day while on the daily routine, a newspaper came to my notice, and I dared to read just one line. I waited a day or two to see if God would punish me. Then, when nothing extraordinary happened, I dared to read a few lines more, and I waited a few days again to see what God would do.

At last the opportunity came. In one of the rooms I found a book, by the name of "At the Mercy of Tiberius." I dared to read it, and oh, how I enjoyed that novel. It was the first book of that nature, profane reading, that I had ever read. But trouble was brewing. Some sister had seen me reading, and although she did not know exactly what it was, she knew that it was not a religious book, and she reported me to the superior. When the superior asked me about it, I told her I had been reading a book, where it could be found and offered to go and get it for her. But I had her "bluffed" and she told me to never mind.

It took me about six months to read this first book, as I had to steal away and read for only a few minutes at a time. Where do you suppose I went to do this un-Roman, "un-Christian" act of endeavoring to enlighten my mind? In dark closets, bath-rooms, and in fact any place I could secret myself, so I would not be seen by some of the other sisters. For it would mean a reprimand and very often a penance, and the sister thus charged with having broken this point of the "holy" rules, is held under suspicion.

For some time after this it was a problem to my mind as to how I was to obtain other reading. In time I made friends among those who came to the hospital, and very often these good people, mostly Protestant or non-Catholic, would present me with some little token, showing their appreciation of the kindness shown them, as is done to most sisters. Instead of accepting money or other gifts, which by rule had to be turned over to the superior, I would ask them to give me some book, generally leaving the nature of it to their discretion, if I thought I could trust them. Then I would warn them to be very careful when they gave it to me that no sister saw them do so, as it would mean trouble for me.

In this manner I received much good reading, books that were very instructive. When a book was too large to carry around in my big pockets, I would cut or tear off a piece of it, and throw the remaining portion on some old, dusty cupboard in the attic, until I had read the piece torn off, then get a small ladder or box and tear off another piece, and so on until I had finished reading the entire book. One good friend gave me a small dictionary, which was a great help to me. Another gave me a book of word study, which I covered with a prayer-book cover and studied in chapel. This was a case of "Johnny Morgan wasn't here."

By stealing, thieving and lying, so to speak, in this manner I read and studied for a great many years, and I credit my final escape from darkness and ignorance largely to the fact that I had independence enough to read and friends kind enough to give me these books.

During the summer of 1899, I was appointed to the superintendency of the third floor of St. Vincent's Hospital. In this position, which I held for twelve years, I found a few more minutes occasionally to read, and to exercise the little independence I possessed. The result, the more I read, the more independent I became, and this was one of the grave charges brought against me when I was at last transferred, or, I might say, dragged from Portland.

One of the great responsibilities of the office of superintendent was the caring of the priest's apartment which was on my floor. There was the chaplain of the hospital who resided in this apartment, and he nearly always had from one to four "wafer God manufacturers" visiting him, and you may be sure it was not a small care to see that these "gentlemen" had everything of the best, principally in the dining-room. I always had to take particular care to see that there was plenty of cream for their tables when possibly some of the patients had to do without or take skimmed milk, and many times the over supply would sour before it could be used. I just mention cream, but it was the same about many other things, it was always the very best of everything obtainable—cigars and liquors included. Yes, I have carried many bottles of wine to these priests, as well as carrying baskets of empty bottles down the back stairs, that had been emptied by these "holy celibate men of God." A large refrigerator was kept especially for this apartment with a large padlock on the door. It might have contaminated these "holy men of God" if their food had happened to have been mixed with that of a wicked secular, you know.

St. Vincent's Hospital, Portland, Oregon, Where I Served Eighteen Years of My Sisterhood Life.

Another very interesting feature of this new office was the care I had to give sick priests. There was nearly always some priest occupying a private room on my floor, sometimes sick, as they are only human and susceptible to the same ills as others, but many times on "sick leave," in other words, just plain drunk. Many times they would stay with us a month at a time, and once I remember, one made a nice long stay of a year, or more, but he was not drunk. I had to help these "gentlemen" many times, when they were much more able to help themselves than I was. But I was a woman, "a spouse of Christ," and these so-called men were the "representatives of Christ," and that made the difference.

Soon after I had received the appointment of officer of the third floor there were many complaints from the patients and physicians about the food and the manner in which it was prepared. So it was decided that some of the sisters should go to a cooking school which was being conducted by a woman by the name of Miss Porter, in the Exposition Building, Nineteenth and Washington Streets. I happened to be one of the chosen number, and we took a series of twelve lessons, principally on preparing dainty dishes such as could be used for the sick.

After I had completed this course, I was appointed to teach cooking to the nurses in the training school and the young sisters in addition to my other duties. I conducted this class from two to three-thirty in the afternoon.

Our rules prescribe that the hour from two to three be observed by profound silence, and also that no sister shall partake of any food outside of the dining-room without special permission from the superior. During the teaching of this class on cooking, I was compelled to talk to the sisters, and it was also quite necessary that they should talk to me, in order that they could get the proper instruction. When they would cook some dish I would request them to taste it, that they might judge for themselves as to the seasoning. These were serious breaks of the rules, and it caused trouble for me after I had been instructing the class about six weeks.

My young sister pupils plotted with the superior to cause my removal, and wrote to the Mother Provincial, Sister Mary Theresa, who was at that time in Oakland, California, instituting a new house of the order. Sister Mary Theresa did not write to me about the matter, but took it up with my superior, who came to me and said that there was so much complaint about me causing the sisters to break the rule that she would have to change me. She was going to take the superintendency of the third floor away from me and send me to the basement to the fruit cannery to teach cooking. I told her that I could not do that. I had learned how to cook because she had wanted me to, and that if I was going to teach it, I was going to teach it right; and if she would delegate some other sister, I would teach her all I knew about cooking and I would be through with it. But she did not want me to do that, she wanted me to keep the class.

I had done the very best I could with the class, and all this trouble was caused, not because I was unsuccessful, but because the sisters broke some of the rules of the order, which could not be avoided if they wished to learn. The action of the superior had caused me much distress, both of heart and mind, and with the assistance of two stewards of my floor, I placed all the cooking utensils and supplies of the school in a large box and sent it to the superior's room. For weeks she tried to prevail upon me to take the school back, but I refused to have anything more to do with it.

This instance may not be very interesting to my readers, but I relate it to show how little petty happenings cause so very much trouble, and very often serious trouble for the poor girls in these institutions. There are many more instances of this nature I could relate, but I do not care to burden you with them. My action in this little matter caused me to be looked upon with great suspicion and a certain amount of contempt from the other sisters. It was this sort of treatment that caused me to write notes of the cruelties I, with other sisters, had to endure. I expected to give these notes to some trust-worthy friend to read after my death, but for some unknown reason I kept them and have them at the present time.

About this time, also, I had a class of about twenty young sisters to whom I taught what nursing I had acquired, principally from experience. This was soon abandoned, for the reason that it interfered with evening prayer and retirement at nine o'clock, the only time that could be found during the day to hold the class.

Of all the superstitious and pagan practices that enforces the vow of obedience, is the traditional exercise of penances or penalties. The most inhuman, unjust, humiliating and very often torturing punishments are imposed upon the sisters for breaking any of the many childish rules—rules that just as really and truly bind the poor victim as though she was a criminal in the penitentiary.

A sister is only human. The "holy" black garb she wears does not change her. She is subject to the same sorrows, the same joys, the same love, the same hate, the same humility, the same pain as you. But here in these hellish, soul-destroying institutions, walled high "to keep the Protestants out," they say, there is a system in vogue that holds women in servitude—yes, slavery—and for failing to heed the "voice of God," which is the voice of the priest, or superior, or the toll of the religious bell, or the observance of the book of rule, there is a penalty imposed, penalties such as will torture or humiliate the poor subject.

Some of the torturing penances are the wearing of the armlet—a chain with little prongs on it to prick the flesh; the scourging of the bare body with the "discipline" or cat-o'-nine-tails—constructed of heavy, knotted cord; kneeling and praying with arms extended in the shape of a cross; and the wearing of the chastity cord—constructed of heavy, knotted cord. This practice ties up our virtues and keeps us chaste and pure.

Some of the humiliating penances are the kissing of the floor many times a day, kissing the feet of our companions, fasting, silence, eating off the floor, and many other little, petty practices and self-denials too numerous to mention.

Think of it, a system here in free, Protestant America, in this day of advanced civilization, holding women in subjection and demanding practices of this nature!

To illustrate the teaching of this system in regard to penances, I wish to quote from "St. Rita's Prayer Book," compiled by Rev. Chas. Ferina, D.D., and this publication has the imprimatur cross of John M. Farley, then Archbishop elect of New York. On pages 35-36: "She (St. Rita) renounced her property in favor of the poor, renounced every earthly tie to devote herself entirely to austere penance. She professed to have no compassion for her body. She scourged herself thrice every day, the first time being the longest and the instrument composed of little iron chains. Vigils, hair-shirt, the discipline, and rigid fasts were the arms used to afflict her body, knowing that penance is the only means of expiation and salvation for fallen man, although our material age would utterly ignore it. In changing her costume Rita had no need to change her habits, for, as we have seen, as a girl, a wife and widow, she had ever led a stainless life. Her aim now was to attain the height of perfection. But amidst her penances, she had the sweetest consolations; and during her lengthy prayers, her fervent colloquies with God, her daily and nightly meditations on the passions of our Lord Jesus Christ, rapt in her Creator, her soul totally absorbed in Him and almost detached from her body, experienced heavenly delights."