第 59 页

inquiry dead within him, and allowed the cry of supplication to carry him

away: "Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!" He repeated this appeal

with all his charity, clasped his hands, and gazed fixedly at the statue

of the Virgin, until he became quite giddy, and imagined that the figure

moved. Why should he not return to a state of childhood like the others,

since happiness lay in ignorance and falsehood? Contagion would surely

end by acting; he would become nothing more than a grain of sand among

innumerable other grains, one of the humblest among the humble ones under

the millstone, who trouble not about the power that crushes them. But

just at that second, when he hoped that he had killed the old man in him,

that he had annihilated himself along with his will and intelligence, the

stubborn work of thought, incessant and invincible, began afresh in the

depths of his brain. Little by little, notwithstanding his efforts to the

contrary, he returned to his inquiries, doubted, and sought the truth.

What was the unknown force thrown off by this crowd, the vital fluid

powerful enough to work the few cures that really occurred? There was

here a phenomenon that no physiologist had yet studied. Ought one to

believe that a multitude became a single being, as it were, able to

increase the power of auto-suggestion tenfold upon itself? Might one

admit that, under certain circumstances of extreme exaltation, a

multitude became an agent of sovereign will compelling the obedience of

matter? That would have explained how sudden cure fell at times upon the

most sincerely excited of the throng. The breaths of all of them united

in one breath, and the power that acted was a power of consolation, hope,

and life.

This thought, the outcome of his human charity, filled Pierre with

emotion. For another moment he was able to regain possession of himself,

and prayed for the cure of all, deeply touched by the belief that he

himself might in some degree contribute towards the cure of Marie. But

all at once, without knowing what transition of ideas led to it, a

recollection returned to him of the medical consultation which he had

insisted upon prior to the young girl's departure for Lourdes. The scene

rose before him with extraordinary clearness and precision; he saw the

room with its grey, blue-flowered wall-paper, and he heard the three

doctors discuss and decide. The two who had given certificates

diagnosticating paralysis of the marrow spoke discreetly, slowly, like

esteemed, well-known, perfectly honourable practitioners; but Pierre

still heard the warm, vivacious voice of his cousin Beauclair, the third

doctor, a young man of vast and daring intelligence, who was treated

coldly by his colleagues as being of an adventurous turn of mind. And at

this supreme moment Pierre was surprised to find in his memory things

which he did not know were there; but it was only an instance of that

singular phenomenon by which it sometimes happens that words scarce

listened to, words but imperfectly heard, words stored away in the brain

almost in spite of self, will awaken, burst forth, and impose themselves

on the mind after they have long been forgotten. And thus it now seemed

to him that the very approach of the miracle was bringing him a vision of

the conditions under which--according to Beauclair's predictions--the

miracle would be accomplished.

In vain did Pierre endeavour to drive away this recollection by praying

with an increase of fervour. The scene again appeared to him, and the old

words rang out, filling his ears like a trumpet-blast. He was now again

in the dining-room, where Beauclair and he had shut themselves up after

the departure of the two others, and Beauclair recapitulated the history

of the malady: the fall from a horse at the age of fourteen; the

dislocation and displacement of the organ, with doubtless a slight

laceration of the ligaments, whence the weight which the sufferer had

felt, and the weakness of the legs leading to paralysis. Then, a slow

healing of the disorder, everything returning to its place of itself, but

without the pain ceasing. In fact this big, nervous child, whose mind had

been so grievously impressed by her accident, was unable to forget it;

her attention remained fixed on the part where she suffered, and she

could not divert it, so that, even after cure, her sufferings had

continued--a neuropathic state, a consecutive nervous exhaustion,

doubtless aggravated by accidents due to faulty nutrition as yet

imperfectly understood. And further, Beauclair easily explained the

contrary and erroneous diagnosis of the numerous doctors who had attended

her, and who, as she would not submit to examination, had groped in the

dark, some believing in a tumour, and the others, the more numerous,

convinced of some lesion of the marrow. He alone, after inquiring into

the girl's parentage, had just begun to suspect a simple state of

auto-suggestion, in which she had obstinately remained ever since the

first violent shock of pain; and among the reasons which he gave for this

belief were the contraction of her visual field, the fixity of her eyes,

the absorbed, inattentive expression of her face, and above all the

nature of the pain she felt, which, leaving the organ, had borne to the

left, where it continued in the form of a crushing, intolerable weight,

which sometimes rose to the breast in frightful fits of stifling. A

sudden determination to throw off the false notion she had formed of her

complaint, the will to rise, breathe freely, and suffer no more, could

alone place her on her feet again, cured, transfigured, beneath the lash

of some intense emotion.

A last time did Pierre endeavour to see and hear no more, for he felt

that the irreparable ruin of all belief in the miraculous was in him.

And, in spite of his efforts, in spite of the ardour with which he began

to cry, "Jesus, son of David, heal our sick!" he still saw, he still

heard Beauclair telling him, in his calm, smiling manner how the miracle

would take place, like a lightning flash, at the moment of extreme

emotion, under the decisive circumstance which would complete the

loosening of the muscles. The patient would rise and walk in a wild

transport of joy, her legs would all at once be light again, relieved of

the weight which had so long made them like lead, as though this weight

had melted, fallen to the ground. But above all, the weight which bore

upon the lower part of the trunk, which rose, ravaged the breast, and

strangled the throat, would this time depart in a prodigious soaring

flight, a tempest blast bearing all the evil away with it. And was it not

thus that, in the Middle Ages, possessed women had by the mouth cast up

the Devil, by whom their flesh had so long been tortured? And Beauclair

had added that Marie would at last become a woman, that in that moment of

supreme joy she would cease to be a child, that although seemingly worn

out by her prolonged dream of suffering, she would all at once be

restored to resplendent health, with beaming face, and eyes full of life.

Pierre looked at her, and his trouble increased still more on seeing her

so wretched in her little cart, so distractedly imploring health, her

whole being soaring towards Our Lady of Lourdes, who gave life. Ah! might

she be saved, at the cost even of his own damnation! But she was too ill;

science lied like faith; he could not believe that this child, whose

limbs had been dead for so many years, would indeed return to life. And,

in the bewildered doubt into which he again relapsed, his bleeding heart

clamoured yet more loudly, ever and ever repeating with the delirious

crowd: "Lord, son of David, heal our sick!--Lord, son of David, heal our

sick!"

At that moment a tumult arose agitating one and all. People shuddered,

faces were turned and raised. It was the cross of the four-o'clock

procession, a little behind time that day, appearing from beneath one of

the arches of the monumental gradient way. There was such applause and

such violent, instinctive pushing that Berthaud, waving his arms,

commanded the bearers to thrust the crowd back by pulling strongly on the

cords. Overpowered for a moment, the bearers had to throw themselves

backward with sore hands; however, they ended by somewhat enlarging the

reserved path, along which the procession was then able to slowly wend

its way. At the head came a superb beadle, all blue and gold, followed by

the processional cross, a tall cross shining like a star. Then followed

the delegations of the different pilgrimages with their banners,

standards of velvet and satin, embroidered with metal and bright silk,

adorned with painted figures, and bearing the names of towns: Versailles,

Rheims, Orleans, Poitiers, and Toulouse. One, which was quite white,

magnificently rich, displayed in red letters the inscription "Association

of Catholic Working Men's Clubs." Then came the clergy, two or three

hundred priests in simple cassocks, about a hundred in surplices, and

some fifty clothed in golden chasubles, effulgent like stars. They all

carried lighted candles, and sang the "Laudate Sion Salvatorem" in full

voices. And then the canopy appeared in royal pomp, a canopy of purple

silk, braided with gold, and upheld by four ecclesiastics, who, it could

be seen, had been selected from among the most robust. Beneath it,

between two other priests who assisted him, was Abbe Judaine, vigorously

clasping the Blessed Sacrament with both hands, as Berthaud had

recommended him to do; and the somewhat uneasy glances that he cast on

the encroaching crowd right and left showed how anxious he was that no

injury should befall the heavy divine monstrance, whose weight was

already straining his wrists. When the slanting sun fell upon him in

front, the monstrance itself looked like another sun. Choir-boys meantime

were swinging censers in the blinding glow which gave splendour to the

entire procession; and, finally, in the rear, there was a confused mass

of pilgrims, a flock-like tramping of believers and sightseers all

aflame, hurrying along, and blocking the track with their ever-rolling

waves.

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