第 29 页

leaning against the walls. Half a dozen, however, were seated at the two

tables, a central position being occupied by the superintendent of the

piscinas, who was constantly consulting a thick register; whilst around

him were a Father of the Assumption and three young seminarists who acted

as secretaries, writing, searching for documents, passing them and

classifying them again after each examination. Pierre, however, took most

interest in a Father of the Immaculate Conception, Father Dargeles, who

had been pointed out to him that morning as being the editor of the

"Journal de la Grotte." This ecclesiastic, whose thin little face, with

its blinking eyes, pointed nose, and delicate mouth was ever smiling, had

modestly seated himself at the end of the lower table where he

occasionally took notes for his newspaper. He alone, of the community to

which he belonged, showed himself during the three days of the national

pilgrimage. Behind him, however, one could divine the presence of all the

others, the slowly developed hidden power which organised everything and

raked in all the proceeds.

The onlookers consisted almost entirely of inquisitive people and

witnesses, including a score of doctors and a few priests. The medical

men, who had come from all parts, mostly preserved silence, only a few of

them occasionally venturing to ask a question; and every now and then

they would exchange oblique glances, more occupied apparently in watching

one another than in verifying the facts submitted to their examination.

Who could they be? Some names were mentioned, but they were quite

unknown. Only one had caused any stir, that of a celebrated doctor,

professor at a Catholic university.

That afternoon, however, Doctor Bonamy, who never sat down, busy as he

was conducting the proceedings and questioning the patients, reserved

most of his attentions for a short, fair-haired man, a writer of some

talent who contributed to one of the most widely read Paris newspapers,

and who, in the course of a holiday tour, had by chance reached Lourdes

that morning. Was not this an unbeliever whom it might be possible to

convert, whose influence it would be desirable to gain for

advertisement's sake? Such at all events appeared to be M. Bonamy's

opinion, for he had compelled the journalist to take the second

arm-chair, and with an affectation of smiling good-nature was treating

him to a full performance, again and again repeating that he and his

patrons had nothing to hide, and that everything took place in the most

open manner.

"We only desire light," he exclaimed. "We never cease to call for the

investigations of all willing men."

Then, as the alleged cure of the deaf girl did not seem at all a

promising case, he addressed her somewhat roughly: "Come, come, my girl,

this is only a beginning. You must come back when there are more distinct

signs of improvement." And turning to the journalist he added in an

undertone: "If we were to believe them they would all be healed. But the

only cures we accept are those which are thoroughly proven, which are as

apparent as the sun itself. Pray notice moreover that I say cures and not

miracles; for we doctors do not take upon ourselves to interpret and

explain. We are simply here to see if the patients, who submit themselves

to our examination, have really lost all symptoms of their ailments."

Thereupon he struck an attitude. Doubtless he spoke like this in order

that his rectitude might not be called in question. Believing without

believing, he knew that science was yet so obscure, so full of surprises,

that what seemed impossible might always come to pass; and thus, in the

declining years of his life, he had contrived to secure an exceptional

position at the Grotto, a position which had both its inconveniences and

its advantages, but which, taken for all in all, was very comfortable and

pleasant.

And now, in reply to a question from the Paris journalist, he began to

explain his mode of proceeding. Each patient who accompanied the

pilgrimage arrived provided with papers, amongst which there was almost

always a certificate of the doctor who had been attending the case. At

times even there were certificates given by several doctors, hospital

bulletins and so forth--quite a record of the illness in its various

stages. And thus if a cure took place and the cured person came forward,

it was only necessary to consult his or her set of documents in order to

ascertain the nature of the ailment, and then examination would show if

that ailment had really disappeared.

Pierre was now listening. Since he had been there, seated and resting

himself, he had grown calmer, and his mind was clear once more. It was

only the heat which at present caused him any inconvenience. And thus,

interested as he was by Doctor Bonamy's explanations, and desirous of

forming an opinion, he would have spoken out and questioned, had it not

been for his cloth which condemned him to remain in the background. He

was delighted, therefore, when the little fair-haired gentleman, the

influential writer, began to bring forward the objections which at once

occurred to him.* Was it not most unfortunate that one doctor should

diagnose the illness and that another one should verify the cure? In this

mode of proceeding there was certainly a source of frequent error. The

better plan would have been for a medical commission to examine all the

patients as soon as they arrived at Lourdes and draw up reports on every

case, to which reports the same commission would have referred whenever

an alleged cure was brought before it. Doctor Bonamy, however, did not

fall in with this suggestion. He replied, with some reason, that a

commission would never suffice for such gigantic labour. Just think of

it! A thousand patients to examine in a single morning! And how many

different theories there would be, how many contrary diagnoses, how many

endless discussions, all of a nature to increase the general uncertainty!

The preliminary examination of the patients, which was almost always

impossible, would, even if attempted, leave the door open for as many

errors as the present system. In practice, it was necessary to remain

content with the certificates delivered by the medical men who had been

in attendance on the patients, and these certificates accordingly

acquired capital, decisive importance. Doctor Bonamy ran through the

documents lying on one of the tables and gave the Paris journalist some

of these certificates to read. A great many of them unfortunately were

very brief. Others, more skilfully drawn up, clearly specified the nature

of the complaint; and some of the doctors' signatures were even certified

by the mayors of the localities where they resided. Nevertheless doubts

remained, innumerable and not to be surmounted. Who were these doctors?

Who could tell if they possessed sufficient scientific authority to write

as they did? With all respect to the medical profession, were there not

innumerable doctors whose attainments were very limited? And, besides,

might not these have been influenced by circumstances that one knew

nothing of, in some cases by considerations of a personal character? One

was tempted to ask for an inquiry respecting each of these medical men.

Since everything was based on the documents supplied by the patients,

these documents ought to have been most carefully controlled; for there

could be no proof of any miracle if the absolute certainty of the alleged

ailments had not been demonstrated by stringent examination.

* The reader will doubtless have understood that the Parisian

journalist is none other than M. Zola himself--Trans.

Very red and covered with perspiration, Doctor Bonamy waved his arms.

"But that is the course we follow, that is the course we follow!" said

he. "As soon as it seems to us that a case of cure cannot be explained by

natural means, we institute a minute inquiry, we request the person who

has been cured to return here for further examination. And as you can

see, we surround ourselves with all means of enlightenment. These

gentlemen here, who are listening to us, are nearly every one of them

doctors who have come from all parts of France. We always entreat them to

express their doubts if they feel any, to discuss the cases with us, and

a very detailed report of each discussion is drawn up. You hear me,

gentlemen; by all means protest if anything occurs here of a nature to

offend your sense of truth."

Not one of the onlookers spoke. Most of the doctors present were

undoubtedly Catholics, and naturally enough they merely bowed. As for the

others, the unbelievers, the _savants_ pure and simple, they looked on

and evinced some interest in certain phenomena, but considerations of

courtesy deterred them from entering into discussions which they knew

would have been useless. When as men of sense their discomfort became too

great, and they felt themselves growing angry, they simply left the room.

As nobody breathed a word, Doctor Bonamy became quite triumphant, and on

the journalist asking him if he were all alone to accomplish so much

work, he replied: "Yes, all alone; but my functions as doctor of the

Grotto are not so complicated as you may think, for, I repeat it, they

simply consist in verifying cures whenever any take place." However, he

corrected himself, and added with a smile: "All! I was forgetting, I am

not quite alone, I have Raboin, who helps me to keep things a little bit

in order here."

So saying, he pointed to a stout, grey-haired man of forty, with a heavy

face and bull-dog jaw. Raboin was an ardent believer, one of those

excited beings who did not allow the miracles to be called in question.

And thus he often suffered from his duties at the Verification Office,

where he was ever ready to growl with anger when anybody disputed a

prodigy. The appeal to the doctors had made him quite lose his temper,

and his superior had to calm him.

"Come, Raboin, my friend, be quiet!" said Doctor Bonamy. "All sincere

opinions are entitled to a hearing."

However, the _defile_ of patients was resumed. A man was now brought in

whose trunk was so covered with eczema that when he took off his shirt a

kind of grey flour fell from his skin. He was not cured, but simply

declared that he came to Lourdes every year, and always went away feeling

relieved. Then came a lady, a countess, who was fearfully emaciated, and

whose story was an extraordinary one. Cured of tuberculosis by the

Blessed Virgin, a first time, seven years previously, she had

subsequently given birth to four children, and had then again fallen into

consumption. At present she was a morphinomaniac, but her first bath had

already relieved her so much, that she proposed taking part in the

torchlight procession that same evening with the twenty-seven members of

her family whom she had brought with her to Lourdes. Then there was a

woman afflicted with nervous aphonia, who after months of absolute

dumbness had just recovered her voice at the moment when the Blessed

Sacrament went by at the head of the four o'clock procession.

"Gentlemen," declared Doctor Bonamy, affecting the graciousness of a

_savant_ of extremely liberal views, "as you are aware, we do not draw

any conclusions when a nervous affection is in question. Still you will

kindly observe that this woman was treated at the Salpetriere for six

months, and that she had to come here to find her tongue suddenly

loosened."

Despite all these fine words he displayed some little impatience, for he

would have greatly liked to show the gentleman from Paris one of those

remarkable instances of cure which occasionally presented themselves

during the four o'clock procession--that being the moment of grace and

exaltation when the Blessed Virgin interceded for those whom she had

chosen. But on this particular afternoon there had apparently been none.

The cures which had so far passed before them were doubtful ones,

deficient in interest. Meanwhile, out-of-doors, you could hear the

stamping and roaring of the crowd, goaded into a frenzy by repeated

hymns, enfevered by its earnest desire for the Divine interposition, and

growing more and more enervated by the delay.

All at once, however, a smiling, modest-looking young girl, whose clear

eyes sparkled with intelligence, entered the office. "Ah!" exclaimed

Doctor Bonamy joyously, "here is our little friend Sophie. A remarkable

cure, gentlemen, which took place at the same season last year, and the

results of which I will ask permission to show you."

Pierre had immediately recognized Sophie Couteau, the _miraculee_ who had

got into the train at Poitiers. And he now witnessed a repetition of the

scene which had already been enacted in his presence. Doctor Bonamy began

giving detailed explanations to the little fair-haired gentleman, who

displayed great attention. The case, said the doctor, had been one of

caries of the bones of the left heel, with a commencement of necrosis

necessitating excision; and yet the frightful, suppurating sore had been

healed in a minute at the first immersion in the piscina.

"Tell the gentlemen how it happened, Sophie," he added.

The little girl made her usual pretty gesture as a sign to everybody to

be attentive. And then she began: "Well, it was like this; my foot was

past cure, I couldn't even go to church any more, and it had to be kept

bandaged because there was always a lot of matter coming from it.

Monsieur Rivoire, the doctor, who had made a cut in it so as to see

inside it, said that he should be obliged to take out a piece of the

bone; and that, sure enough, would have made me lame for life. But when I

got to Lourdes, and had prayed a great deal to the Blessed Virgin, I went

to dip my foot in the water, wishing so much that I might be cured, that

I did not even take the time to pull the bandages off. And everything

remained in the water; there was no longer anything the matter with my

foot when I took it out."