Last month, I wandered through the halls of the Ursuline Convent in Quebec. A place so steeped in history you can almost trip over it. Nearly four centuries of education seep from the walls, the floors, the air. What struck me most? Not just that girls have been taught here since 1639 (now boys too), but the way that story is told—carefully, respectfully, and with surprising relevance.

Take the order’s relationship with the indigenous communities. Elsewhere, local languages were often erased; here, they became part of the curriculum. The sisters learned them, created dictionaries, wrote teaching materials, keeping those languages alive into the present. It’s not a fairy tale—there’s still the tension between conversion and colonisation, but it’s also a rare example of genuine reverence within a complicated history.

Or their sheer determination. When money from Europe dried up after the French Revolution, they didn’t fold. They taught music, ran a boarding school, and sold embroidery and handicrafts. Not to get rich—just to keep educating girls. That was the mission. And it started in 1639, when Marie de l’Incarnation and two other Ursulines crossed the Atlantic to a fragile little colony. They set up a school for girls from both settler and indigenous families. And somehow, it lasted—nearly 400 years, making it the oldest continuously operating girls’ school in North America.

Over the centuries, the school shifted with the times but stayed within monastic life. The education was classical, Catholic, and in French. Religion was part of it, but hardly the whole story: the girls learned reading, writing, music, art, and crafts. The cloister walls didn’t shut the world out—they just reframed it.

A few years ago, monastic life here ended—not with scandal, not with bankruptcy, simply because religious life was fading. The sisters were ageing, and enrollments slowed. The school had long been run by laypeople, but the moment felt right to close this chapter. A dignified ending, but still an ending. Today, only a primary school remains, with pupils from nineteen nationalities.

The convent itself is now a heritage site. Before they left, the sisters had it carefully restored. You can still walk through its educational past: dormitories, classrooms, a print shop, music rooms, and chapels. It’s not an empty shell, but a living memory of care, cultural exchange, religious idealism, and the belief that educating girls strengthens society.

What did I learn there? That even in the 17th century, education could be an act of looking forward. The most lasting schools aren’t always the newest, but the ones that keep adapting. That relevance is a moving target—whether it was introducing science into the girls’ curriculum or teaching farm finance so they didn’t have to become housewives by default. And that the alumni—many of them among Canada’s most influential women—are, in their way, still part of the school’s story.