Books: The Three Cities Trilogy: Lourdes, Vol. 4

E >> Emile Zola >> The Three Cities Trilogy: Lourdes, Vol. 4

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Father Massias had returned to the pulpit a moment previously; and this
time he had devised another pious exercise. After the burning cries of
faith, hope, and love that he threw forth, he all at once commanded
absolute silence, in order that one and all might, with closed lips,
speak to God in secret for a few minutes. These sudden spells of silence
falling upon the vast crowd, these minutes of mute prayer, in which all
souls unbosomed their secrets, were deeply, wonderfully impressive. Their
solemnity became formidable; you heard desire, the immense desire for
life, winging its flight on high. Then Father Massias invited the sick
alone to speak, to implore God to grant them what they asked of His
almighty power. And, in response, came a pitiful lamentation, hundreds of
tremulous, broken voices rising amidst a concert of sobs. "Lord Jesus, if
it please Thee, Thou canst cure me!"--"Lord Jesus take pity on Thy child,
who is dying of love!"--"Lord Jesus, grant that I may see, grant that I
may hear, grant that I may walk!" And, all at once, the shrill voice of a
little girl, light and vivacious as the notes of a flute, rose above the
universal sob, repeating in the distance: "Save the others, save the
others, Lord Jesus!" Tears streamed from every eye; these supplications
upset all hearts, threw the hardest into the frenzy of charity, into a
sublime disorder which would have impelled them to open their breasts
with both hands, if by doing so they could have given their neighbours
their health and youth. And then Father Massias, not letting this
enthusiasm abate, resumed his cries, and again lashed the delirious crowd
with them; while Father Fourcade himself sobbed on one of the steps of
the pulpit, raising his streaming face to heaven as though to command God
to descend on earth.

But the procession had arrived; the delegations, the priests, had ranged
themselves on the right and left; and, when the canopy entered the space
reserved to the sick in front of the Grotto, when the sufferers perceived
Jesus the Host, the Blessed Sacrament, shining like a sun, in the hands
of Abbe Judaine, it became impossible to direct the prayers, all voices
mingled together, and all will was borne away by vertigo. The cries,
calls, entreaties broke, lapsing into groans. Human forms rose from
pallets of suffering; trembling arms were stretched forth; clenched hands
seemingly desired to clutch at the miracle on the way. "Lord Jesus, save
us, for we perish!"--"Lord Jesus, we worship Thee; heal us!"--"Lord
Jesus, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God; heal us!" Thrice
did the despairing, exasperated voices give vent to the supreme
lamentation in a clamour which rushed up to Heaven; and the tears
redoubled, flooding all the burning faces which desire transformed. At
one moment, the delirium became so great, the instinctive leap toward the
Blessed Sacrament seemed so irresistible, that Berthaud placed the
bearers who were there in a chain about it. This was the extreme
protective manoeuvre, a hedge of bearers drawn up on either side of the
canopy, each placing an arm firmly round his neighbour's neck, so as to
establish a sort of living wall. Not the smallest aperture was left in
it; nothing whatever could pass. Still, these human barriers staggered
under the pressure of the unfortunate creatures who hungered for life,
who wished to touch, to kiss Jesus; and, oscillating and recoiling, the
bearers were at last thrust against the canopy they were defending, and
the canopy itself began swaying among the crowd, ever in danger of being
swept away like some holy bark in peril of being wrecked.

Then, at the very climax of this holy frenzy, the miracles began amidst
supplications and sobs, as when the heavens open during a storm, and a
thunderbolt falls on earth. A paralytic woman rose and cast aside her
crutches. There was a piercing yell, and another woman appeared erect on
her mattress, wrapped in a white blanket as in a winding sheet; and
people said it was a half-dead consumptive who had thus been
resuscitated. Then grace fell upon two others in quick succession: a
blind woman suddenly perceived the Grotto in a flame; a dumb woman fell
on both her knees, thanking the Blessed Virgin in a loud, clear voice.
And all in a like way prostrated themselves at the feet of Our Lady of
Lourdes, distracted with joy and gratitude.

But Pierre had not taken his eyes off Marie, and he was overcome with
tender emotion at what he saw. The sufferer's eyes were still
expressionless, but they had dilated, while her poor, pale face, with its
heavy mask, was contracted as if she were suffering frightfully. She did
not speak in her despair; she undoubtedly thought that she was again in
the clutches of her ailment. But all at once, when the Blessed Sacrament
passed by, and she saw the star-like monstrance sparkling in the sun, a
sensation of dizziness came over her. She imagined herself struck by
lightning. Her eyes caught fire from the glare which flashed upon her,
and at last regained their flame of life, shining out like stars. And
under the influence of a wave of blood her face became animated, suffused
with colour, beaming with a smile of joy and health. And, suddenly,
Pierre saw her rise, stand upright in her little car, staggering,
stuttering, and finding in her mind only these caressing words: "Oh, my
friend! Oh, my friend!"

He hurriedly drew near in order to support her. But she drove him back
with a gesture. She was regaining strength, looking so touching, so
beautiful, in the little black woollen gown and slippers which she always
wore; tall and slender, too, and crowned as with a halo of gold by her
beautiful flaxen hair, which was covered with a simple piece of lace. The
whole of her virgin form was quivering as if some powerful fermentation
had regenerated her. First of all, it was her legs that were relieved of
the chains that bound them; and then, while she felt the spirit of
life--the life of woman, wife, and mother--within her, there came a final
agony, an enormous weight that rose to her very throat. Only, this time,
it did not linger there, did not stifle her, but burst from her open
mouth, and flew away in a cry of sublime joy.

"I am cured!--I am cured!"

Then there was an extraordinary sight. The blanket lay at her feet, she
was triumphant, she had a superb, glowing face. And her cry of cure had
resounded with such rapturous delight that the entire crowd was
distracted by it. She had become the sole point of interest, the others
saw none but her, erect, grown so radiant and so divine.

"I am cured!--I am cured!"

Pierre, at the violent shock his heart had received, had begun to weep.
Indeed, tears glistened again in every eye. Amidst exclamations of
gratitude and praise, frantic enthusiasm passed from one to another,
throwing the thousands of pilgrims who pressed forward to see into a
state of violent emotion. Applause broke out, a fury of applause, whose
thunder rolled from one to the other end of the valley.

However, Father Fourcade began waving his arms, and Father Massias was at
last able to make himself heard from the pulpit: "God has visited us, my
dear brothers, my dear sisters!" said he. "/Magnificat anima mea
Dominum/, My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in
God my Saviour."

And then all the voices, the thousands of voices, began the chant of
adoration and gratitude. The procession found itself at a stand-still.
Abbe Judaine had been able to reach the Grotto with the monstrance, but
he patiently remained there before giving the Benediction. The canopy was
awaiting him outside the railings, surrounded by priests in surplices and
chasubles, all a glitter of white and gold in the rays of the setting
sun.

Marie, however, had knelt down, sobbing; and, whilst the canticle lasted,
a burning prayer of faith and love ascended from her whole being. But the
crowd wanted to see her walk, delighted women called to her, a group
surrounded her, and swept her towards the Verification Office, so that
the miracle might be proved true, as patent as the very light of the sun.
Her box was forgotten, Pierre followed her, while she, stammering and
hesitating, she who for seven years had not used her legs, advanced with
adorable awkwardness, the uneasy, charming gait of a little child making
its first steps; and it was so affecting, so delicious, that the young
priest thought of nothing but the immense happiness of seeing her thus
return to her childhood. Ah! the dear friend of infancy, the dear
tenderness of long ago, so she would at last be the beautiful and
charming woman that she had promised to be as a young girl when, in the
little garden at Neuilly, she had looked so gay and pretty beneath the
tall trees flecked with sunlight!

The crowd continued to applaud her furiously, a huge wave of people
accompanied her; and all remained awaiting her egress, swarming in a
fever before the door, when she had entered the office, whither Pierre
only was admitted with her.

That particular afternoon there were few people at the Verification
Office. The small square room, with its hot wooden walls and rudimentary
furniture, its rush-bottomed chairs, and its two tables of unequal
height, contained, apart from the usual staff only some five or six
doctors, seated and silent. At the tables were the inspector of the
piscinas and two young Abbes making entries in the registers, and
consulting the sets of documents; while Father Dargeles, at one end,
wrote a paragraph for his newspaper. And, as it happened, Doctor Bonamy
was just then examining Elise Rouquet, who, for the third time, had come
to have the increasing cicatrisation of her sore certified.

"Anyhow, gentlemen," exclaimed the doctor, "have you ever seen a lupus
heal in this way so rapidly? I am aware that a new work has appeared on
faith healing in which it is stated that certain sores may have a nervous
origin. Only that is by no means proved in the case of lupus, and I defy
a committee of doctors to assemble and explain mademoiselle's cure by
ordinary means."

He paused, and turning towards Father Dargeles, inquired: "Have you
noted, Father, that the suppuration has completely disappeared, and that
the skin is resuming its natural colour?"

However, he did not wait for the reply, for just then Marie entered,
followed by Pierre; and by her beaming radiance he immediately guessed
what good-fortune was befalling him. She looked superb, admirably fitted
to transport and convert the multitude. He therefore promptly dismissed
Elise Rouquet, inquired the new arrival's name, and asked one of the
young priests to look for her papers. Then, as she slightly staggered, he
wished to seat her in the arm-chair.

"Oh no! oh no!" she exclaimed. "I am so happy to be able to use my legs!"

Pierre, with a glance, had sought for Doctor Chassaigne, whom he was
sorry not to see there. He remained on one side, waiting while they
rummaged in the untidy drawers without being able to place their hands on
the required papers. "Let's see," repeated Dr. Bonamy; "Marie de
Guersaint, Marie de Guersaint. I have certainly seen that name before."

At last Raboin discovered the documents classified under a wrong letter;
and when the doctor had perused the two medical certificates he became
quite enthusiastic. "Here is something very interesting, gentlemen," said
he. "I beg you to listen attentively. This young lady, whom you see
standing here, was afflicted with a very serious lesion of the marrow.
And, if one had the least doubt of it, these two certificates would
suffice to convince the most incredulous, for they are signed by two
doctors of the Paris faculty, whose names are well known to us all."

Then he passed the certificates to the doctors present, who read them,
wagging their heads the while. It was beyond dispute; the medical men who
had drawn up these documents enjoyed the reputation of being honest and
clever practitioners.

"Well, gentlemen, if the diagnosis is not disputed--and it cannot be when
a patient brings us documents of this value--we will now see what change
has taken place in the young lady's condition."

However, before questioning her he turned towards Pierre. "Monsieur
l'Abbe," said he, "you came from Paris with Mademoiselle de Guersaint, I
think. Did you converse with the doctors before your departure?"

The priest shuddered amidst all his great delight.

"I was present at the consultation, monsieur," he replied.

And again the scene rose up before him. He once more saw the two doctors,
so serious and rational, and he once more saw Beauclair smiling, while
his colleagues drew up their certificates, which were identical. And was
he, Pierre, to reduce these certificates to nothing, reveal the other
diagnosis, the one that allowed of the cure being explained
scientifically? The miracle had been predicted, shattered beforehand.

"You will observe, gentlemen," now resumed Dr. Bonamy, "that the presence
of the Abbe gives these proofs additional weight. However, mademoiselle
will now tell us exactly what she felt."

He had leant over Father Dargeles's shoulder to impress upon him that he
must not forget to make Pierre play the part of a witness in the
narrative.

"/Mon Dieu/! gentlemen, how can I tell you?" exclaimed Marie in a halting
voice, broken by her surging happiness. "Since yesterday I had felt
certain that I should be cured. And yet, a little while ago, when the
pins and needles seized me in the legs again, I was afraid it might only
be another attack. For an instant I doubted. Then the feeling stopped.
But it began again as soon as I recommenced praying. Oh! I prayed, I
prayed with all my soul! I ended by surrendering myself like a child.
'Blessed Virgin, Our Lady of Lourdes, do with me as thou wilt,' I said.
But the feeling did not cease, it seemed as if my blood were boiling; a
voice cried to me: 'Rise! Rise!' And I felt the miracle fall on me in a
cracking of all my bones, of all my flesh, as if I had been struck by
lightning."

Pierre, very pale, listened to her. Beauclair had positively told him
that the cure would come like a lightning flash, that under the influence
of extreme excitement a sudden awakening of will so long somnolent would
take place within her.

"It was my legs which the Holy Virgin first of all delivered," she
continued. "I could well feel that the iron bands which bound them were
gliding along my skin like broken chains. Then the weight which still
suffocated me, there, in the left side, began to ascend; and I thought I
was going to die, it hurt me so. But it passed my chest, it passed my
throat, and I felt it there in my mouth, and spat it out violently. It
was all over, I no longer had any pain, it had flown away!"

She had made a gesture expressive of the motion of a night bird beating
its wings, and, lapsing into silence, stood smiling at Pierre, who was
bewildered. Beauclair had told him all that beforehand, using almost the
same words and the same imagery. Point by point, his prognostics were
realised, there was nothing more in the case than natural phenomena,
which had been foreseen.

Raboin, however, had followed Marie's narrative with dilated eyes and the
passion of a pietist of limited intelligence, ever haunted by the idea of
hell. "It was the devil," he cried; "it was the devil that she spat out!"

Doctor Bonamy, who was more wary, made him hold his tongue. And turning
towards the doctors he said: "Gentlemen, you know that we always avoid
pronouncing the big word of miracle here. Only here is a fact, and I am
curious to know how any of you can explain it by natural means. Seven
years ago this young lady was struck with serious paralysis, evidently
due to a lesion of the marrow. And that cannot be denied; the
certificates are there, irrefutable. She could no longer walk, she could
no longer make a movement without a cry of pain, she had reached that
extreme state of exhaustion which precedes but by little an unfortunate
issue. All at once, however, here she rises, walks, laughs, and beams on
us. The paralysis has completely disappeared, no pain remains, she is as
well as you and I. Come, gentlemen, approach, examine her, and tell me
what has happened."

He triumphed. Not one of the doctors spoke. Two, who were doubtless true
Catholics, had shown their approval of his speech by their vigorous nods,
while the others remained motionless, with a constrained air, not caring
to mix themselves up in the business. However, a little thin man, whose
eyes shone behind the glasses he was wearing, ended by rising to take a
closer look at Marie. He caught hold of her hand, examined the pupils of
her eyes, and merely seemed preoccupied by the air of transfiguration
which she wore. Then, in a very courteous manner, without even showing a
desire to discuss the matter, he came back and sat down again.

"The case is beyond science, that is all I can assume," concluded Doctor
Bonamy, victoriously. "I will add that we have no convalescence here;
health is at once restored, full, entire. Observe the young lady. Her
eyes are bright, her colour is rosy, her physiognomy has recovered its
lively gaiety. Without doubt, the healing of the tissues will proceed
somewhat slowly, but one can already say that mademoiselle has been born
again. Is it not so, Monsieur l'Abbe, you who have seen her so
frequently; you no longer recognise her, eh?"

"That's true, that's true," stammered Pierre.

And, in fact, she already appeared strong to him, her cheeks full and
fresh, gaily blooming. But Beauclair had also foreseen this sudden joyful
change, this straightening and resplendency of her invalid frame, when
life should re-enter it, with the will to be cured and be happy. Once
again, however, had Doctor Bonamy leant over Father Dargeles, who was
finishing his note, a brief but fairly complete account of the affair.
They exchanged a few words in low tones, consulting together, and the
doctor ended by saying: "You have witnessed these marvels, Monsieur
l'Abbe, so you will not refuse to sign the careful report which the
reverend Father has drawn up for publication in the 'Journal de la
Grotte.'"

He--Pierre--sign that page of error and falsehood! A revolt roused him,
and he was on the point of shouting out the truth. But he felt the weight
of his cassock on his shoulders; and, above all, Marie's divine joy
filled his heart. He was penetrated with deep happiness at seeing her
saved. Since they had ceased questioning her she had come and leant on
his arm, and remained smiling at him with eyes full of enthusiasm.

"Oh, my, friend, thank the Blessed Virgin!" she murmured in a low voice.
"She has been so good to me; I am now so well, so beautiful, so young!
And how pleased my father, my poor father, will be!"

Then Pierre signed. Everything was collapsing within him, but it was
enough that she should be saved; he would have thought it sacrilegious to
interfere with the faith of that child, the great pure faith which had
healed her.

When Marie reappeared outside the office, the applause began afresh, the
crowd clapped their hands. It now seemed that the miracle was official.
However, certain charitable persons, fearing that she might again fatigue
herself and again require her little car, which she had abandoned before
the Grotto, had brought it to the office, and when she found it there she
felt deeply moved. Ah! that box in which she had lived so many years,
that rolling coffin in which she had sometimes imagined herself buried
alive, how many tears, how much despair, how many bad days it had
witnessed! And, all at once, the idea occurred to her that it had so long
been linked with her sufferings, it ought also to share her triumph. It
was a sudden inspiration, a kind of holy folly, that made her seize the
handle.

At that moment the procession passed by, returning from the Grotto, where
Abbe Judaine had pronounced the Benediction. And thereupon Marie,
dragging the little car, placed herself behind the canopy. And, in her
slippers, her head covered with a strip of lace, her bosom heaving, her
face erect, glowing, and superb, she walked on behind the clergy,
dragging after her that car of misery, that rolling coffin, in which she
had endured so much agony. And the crowd which acclaimed her, the frantic
crowd, followed in her wake.

IV

TRIUMPH--DESPAIR

PIERRE also had followed Marie, and like her was behind the canopy,
carried along as it were by the blast of glory which made her drag her
little car along in triumph. Every moment, however, there was so much
tempestuous pushing that the young priest would assuredly have fallen if
a rough hand had not upheld him.

"Don't be alarmed," said a voice; "give me your arm, otherwise you won't
be able to remain on your feet."

Pierre turned round, and was surprised to recognise Father Massias, who
had left Father Fourcade in the pulpit in order to accompany the
procession. An extraordinary fever was sustaining him, throwing him
forward, as solid as a rock, with eyes glowing like live coals, and an
excited face covered with perspiration.

"Take care, then!" he again exclaimed; "give me your arm."

A fresh human wave had almost swept them away. And Pierre now yielded to
the support of this terrible enthusiast, whom he remembered as a
fellow-student at the seminary. What a singular meeting it was, and how
greatly he would have liked to possess that violent faith, that mad
faith, which was making Massias pant, with his throat full of sobs,
whilst he continued giving vent to the ardent entreaty "Lord Jesus, heal
our sick! Lord Jesus, heal our sick!"

There was no cessation of this cry behind the canopy, where there was
always a crier whose duty it was to accord no respite to the slow
clemency of Heaven. At times a thick voice full of anguish, and at others
a shrill and piercing voice, would arise. The Father's, which was an
imperious one, was now at last breaking through sheer emotion.

"Lord Jesus, heal our sick! Lord Jesus, heal our sick!"

The rumour of Marie's wondrous cure, of the miracle whose fame would
speedily fill all Christendom, had already spread from one to the other
end of Lourdes; and from this had come the increased vertigo of the
multitude, the attack of contagious delirium which now caused it to whirl
and rush toward the Blessed Sacrament like the resistless flux of a
rising tide. One and all yielded to the desire of beholding the Sacrament
and touching it, of being cured and becoming happy. The Divinity was
passing; and now it was not merely a question of ailing beings glowing
with a desire for life, but a longing for happiness which consumed all
present and raised them up with bleeding, open hearts and eager hands.

Berthaud, who feared the excesses of this religious adoration, had
decided to accompany his men. He commanded them, carefully watching over
the double chain of bearers beside the canopy in order that it might not
be broken.

"Close your ranks--closer--closer!" he called, "and keep your arms firmly
linked!"

These young men, chosen from among the most vigorous of the bearers, had
an extremely difficult duty to discharge. The wall which they formed,
shoulder to shoulder, with arms linked at the waist and the neck, kept on
giving way under the involuntary assaults of the throng. Nobody,
certainly, fancied that he was pushing, but there was constant eddying,
and deep waves of people rolled towards the procession from afar and
threatened to submerge it.

When the canopy had reached the middle of the Place du Rosaire, Abbe
Judaine really thought that he would be unable to go any farther.
Numerous conflicting currents had set in over the vast expanse, and were
whirling, assailing him from all sides, so that he had to halt under the
swaying canopy, which shook like a sail in a sudden squall on the open
sea. He held the Blessed Sacrament aloft with his numbed hands, each
moment fearing that a final push would throw him over; for he fully
realised that the golden monstrance, radiant like a sun, was the one
passion of all that multitude, the Divinity they demanded to kiss, in
order that they might lose themselves in it, even though they should
annihilate it in doing so. Accordingly, while standing there, the priest
anxiously turned his eyes on Berthaud.

"Let nobody pass!" called the latter to the bearers--"nobody! The orders
are precise; you hear me?"

Voices, however, were rising in supplication on all sides, wretched
beings were sobbing with arms outstretched and lips protruding, in the
wild desire that they might be allowed to approach and kneel at the
priest's feet. What divine grace it would be to be thrown upon the ground
and trampled under foot by the whole procession!* An infirm old man
displayed his withered hand in the conviction that it would be made sound
again were he only allowed to touch the monstrance. A dumb woman wildly
pushed her way through the throng with her broad shoulders, in order that
she might loosen her tongue by a kiss. Others were shouting, imploring,
and even clenching their fists in their rage with those cruel men who
denied cure to their bodily sufferings and their mental wretchedness. The
orders to keep them back were rigidly enforced, however, for the most
serious accidents were feared.

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