Moreover， through the periodical repetition of the same acts at the same hours， lie confines himself to a cycle of habits which are forces， and which keep growing since they are ever turning the inward balance on the same side through the ever-increasing weight of his entire past. Through eating and lodging together， through a communion of prayer， through incessant contact with other brethren of the same religious observances， through the precaution taken to join with him one companion when he goes out and two companions when he lodges elsewhere， through his visits to and fro to the head establishment， he lives in a circle of souls strained to the same extent， by the same processes， to the same end as himself， and whose visible zeal maintains his own. - Grace， in this state of things， abounds. Such is the term bestowed on the silent and steady， or startling and brusque， emotion by which the Christian enters into communication with the invisible world， an aspiration and a hope， a presentiment and a divination， and even often a distinct perception. Evidently， this grace is not far off， almost within reach of the souls which， from the tenor of their whole life， strive to attain it. They have closed themselves off on the earthly side， therefore， these can no longer look or breathe otherwise than heavenward.
At the end of the eighteenth century， the monastic institution no longer produced this effect； deformed， weakened and discredited through its abuses， especially in the convents of males， and then violently overthrown by the Revolution， it seemed to be dead. But， at the beginning of the nineteenth century， behold it springing up again spontaneously， in one direct， new， strong and active jet and higher than the old one， free of the excrescences， rottenness and parasites which， under the ancient régime， disfigured and discolored it. No more compulsory vows， no "frocked" younger sons "to make an elder，" no girls immured from infancy， kept in the convent throughout their youth， led on， urged， and then driven into a corner and forced into the final engagement on becoming of age； no more aristocratic institutions， no Order of Malta and chapters of men or of women in which noble families find careers and a receptacle for their supernumerary children. No more of those false and counterfeit vocations the real motive of which was， sometimes pride of race and the determination not to lose a social standing， sometimes the animal attractions of physical comfort， indolence and idleness. No more lazy and opulent monks， occupied， like the Carthusians of Val Saint-Pierre， in overeating， stupefied by digestion and routine， or， like the Bernardines of Granselve[5] turning their building into a worldly rendezvous for jovial hospitality and themselves taking part， foremost in rank， in prolonged and frequent parties， balls， plays and hunting-parties； in diversions and gallantries which the annual fête of Saint Bernard， through a singular dissonance， excited and consecrated. No more over-wealthy superiors， usufructuaries of a vast abbatial revenue， suzerain and landlord seigniors， with the train， luxury and customs of their condition， with four-horse carriages， liveries， officials， antechamber， court， chancellorship and ministers of justice， obliging their monks to address them as "my lord，" as lax as any ordinary layman， well fitted to cause scandal in their order by their liberties and to set an example of depravity. No more lay intrusions， commendatory abbés or priors， interlopers， and imposed from above； no more legislative and administrative interferences[6] in order to bind monks and nuns down to their vows， to disqualify them and deprive them almost of citizenship， to exclude them from common rights， to withhold from them rights of inheritance and testamentary rights， from receiving or making donations， depriving them in advance of the means of subsistence， to confine them by force in their convents and set the patrol on their track， and， on trying to escape， to furnish their superior with secular help and keep down insubordination by physical constraint. Nothing of this subsists after the great destruction of 1790. Under the modern régime， if any one enters and remains in a convent it is because the convent is more agreeable to him than the world outside； there is no other motive no pressure or hindrance of an inferior or different kind， no direct or indirect， no domestic or legal constraint， no ambition， vanity and innate or acquired indolence， no certainty of finding satisfaction for a coarse and concentrated sensuality. That which now operates is the awakened and persistent vocation； the man or the woman who takes vows and keeps them， enters upon and adheres to his or her engagement only through a spontaneous act deliberately and constantly renewed through their own free will.
