Le Seminaire
Still more ancient is a venerable postern in the blackened wall of the
Seminary of St. Sulpice, near by, which is now the oldest building in
the city, being erected some fifty years before the Chateau. It leads by
a narrow lane to the gardens of the Monastery, which bloom quiet and
still here in the heart of the throbbing life of a city of to-day.
Generations of saintly men, under vows, have trodden in the shade of its
walks, trying with the rigours of monastic life to crush out the
memories of love and home left behind among the sun-kissed vineyards of
France. For two hundred years and more no woman's footstep had fallen
here among the flowers, until recently the wife of a Governor-General
was admitted on a special occasion. On the cobble-stones of the
courtyard, pilgrims, penitents, priests and soldiers have trodden, the
echoes of their footsteps passing away in centuries of years. Above the
walls, blackened by time and pierced by windows with the small panes of
a fashion gone by, the bells of the clock ring out the stroke of
midnight over one-third of a million souls, as it did the hours of
morning when the great-great-grandfathers of the present generation ran
to school over the grass-grown pavements of young Ville-Marie.
"The inimitable old roof-curves still cover the walls, and the
Fleur-de-Lys still cap the pinnacles" as in the days when Richelieu, the
prince of prelates, sought to plant the feudalism and Christianity of
old France on the shores of the new. They still rise against the blue of
Canadian skies unmolested, while in France, in the early years of the
century, popular frenzy dragged this symbol of royalty from the spires
of the churches and convents of Paris.