 Section 15 of Lord. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please contact LibriVox.org. Lord by Emile Zola. Translated by Ernest Visitelli. The third day. Five. The two victims. Pierre walked along thirsting for fresh air, his head so heavy that he took off his hat to relieve his burning brow. Despite all the fatigue of that terrible night of vigil, he did not think of sleeping. He was kept erect by that rebellion of his whole being which he could not quiet. Eight o'clock was striking and he walked at random under the glorious morning sun, now shining forth in a spotless sky, which the storm seemed to have cleansed of all the Sunday dust. All at once, however, he raised his head, anxious to know where he was, and he was quite astonished for he found that he had already covered a deal of ground and was now below the station near the municipal hospital. He was hesitating at a point where the road forked, not knowing which direction to take, when a friendly hand was laid on his shoulder and a voice inquired, Where are you going at this early hour? It was Dr. Chassain who addressed him, drawing up his lofty figure clad in black from head to foot. Have you lost yourself? he added. Do you want to know your way? No thanks, no, replied Pierre, somewhat disturbed. I spent the night at the grotto with that young patient to whom I am so much attached and my heart was so upset that I had been walking about in the hope it would do me good before returning to the hotel to take a little sleep. The doctor continued looking at him, clearly detecting the frightful struggle which was raging within him, the despair of which he felt at being unable to sink a sleep in faith, the suffering which the futility of all his efforts brought him. Ah, my poor child, murmured Monsieur Chassain, and in a fatherly way he added, Well, since you were walking, suppose we take a walk together. I was just going down yonder to the bank of the garve. Come along and on our way back you will see what a lovely view we shall have. For his part the doctor took a walk of a couple of hours duration each morning, ever alone, seeking as it were to tire and exhaust his grief. First of all, as soon as he had risen, he repaired to the cemetery and knelt on the tomb of his wife and daughter, which at all seasons he decked with flowers. And afterwards he would roam along the roads, with tearful eyes, never returning home until fatigue compelled him. With a wave of the hand Pierre accepted his proposal and in perfect silence they went side by side down the sloping road. They remained for a long time without speaking. The doctor seemed more overcome than was his won't that morning. It was as though his chat with his dear lost ones had made his heart bleed yet more copiously. He walked along with his head bowed. His face, round which his white hair streamed, was very pale, and tears still blurred his eyes. And yet it was so pleasant, so warm in the sunlight on that lovely morning. The road now followed the garve on its right bank, on the other side of the new town. And you could see the gardens, the inclined ways, and the basilica. And all at once the grotto appeared, with the everlasting flair of its tapers now paling in the broad light. Dr. Chassegne, who had turned his head, made the sign of the cross which Pierre did not at first understand. And when in his turn he had perceived the grotto, he glanced in surprise at his old friend and once more relapsed into the astonishment which had come over him a couple of days previously on finding this man of science, this phylum atheist and materialist, so overwhelmed by grief that he was now a believer longing for the wonder-light of meeting his dear ones in another life. His heart had swept his reason away. Old and lonely as he was, it was only the illusion that he would live once more in paradise where loving souls meet again that prolonged his life on earth. This thought increased the young priest's discomfort. Must he also wait until he had grown old and endured equal sufferings in order to find a refuge in faith? Still walking beside the garve, leaving the town farther and farther behind them, they were lulled as it were by the noise of those clear waters rolling over the pebbles between banks shaded by trees. And they still remained silent, walking on with an equal step, each on his own side absorbed in his sorrows. And Bernadette, Pierre suddenly inquired, did you know her? The doctor raised his head. Bernadette, yes, yes, said he. I saw her once, afterwards. He relapsed into silence for a moment and then began chatting. In 1858, you know, at the time of the apparitions, I was 30 years of age. I was in Paris, still young in my profession and opposed to all supernatural notions so that I had no idea of returning to my native mountains to see a girl suffering from hallucinations. Five or six years later, however, some time about 1864, I passed through Lourdes and was inquisitive enough to pay Bernadette a visit. She was then still at the asylum with the Sisters of Nevers. Pierre remembered that one of the reasons of his journey had been his desire to complete his inquiry respecting Bernadette. And who could tell if Grace might not come to him from that humble, lovable girl on the day when he should be convinced that she had indeed fulfilled a mission of divine love and forgiveness? For this consummation to ensue, it would perhaps suffice that he should know her better and learn to feel that she was really the saint, the chosen one, as others believed her to have been. Tell me about her, I pray you, he said. Tell me all you know of her. A faint smile curved the doctor's lips. He understood and would have greatly liked to calm and comfort the young priest whose soul was so grievously tortured by doubt. Oh, willingly, my poor child, he answered, I should be so happy to help you on the path to light. You do well to love Bernadette. That may save you. For since all those old-time things I have deeply reflected on her case and I declare to you that I never met a more charming creature or one with a better heart. Then to the slow rhythm of their footsteps along the well-kept sunlit road in the delightful freshness of morning the doctor began to relate his visit to Bernadette in 1864. She had then just attained her twentieth birthday. The apparitions had taken place six years previously and she had astonished him by her candid and sensible air, her perfect modesty. The sisters of Navelle, who had taught her to read, kept her with them at the asylum to shield her from public inquisitiveness. She found an occupation there, helping them in sundry petty duties but she was very often taken ill and would spend weeks at a time in her bed. The doctor had been particularly struck by her beautiful eyes, pure, candid and frank like those of a child. The rest of her face, said he, had become somewhat spoiled. Her complexion was losing its clearness, her features had grown less delicate and her general appearance was that of an ordinary servant-girl, short, puny and unobtrusive. Her piety was still keen but she had not seemed to him to be the ecstatical, excitable creature that many might have supposed. Indeed she appeared to have a rather positive mind which did not indulge in flights of fancy and she invariably had some little piece of needlework, some knitting, some embroidery in her hand. In a word she appeared to have entered the common path and in no wise resembled the intensely passionate female worshippers of the Christ. She had no further visions and never of her own accord spoke of the eighteen apparitions which had decided her life. To learn anything it was necessary to interrogate her to address precise questions to her. These she would briefly answer and then seek to change the conversation as though she did not like to talk of such mysterious things. If wishing to probe the matter further you asked her the nature of the three secrets which the Virgin had confided to her, she would remain silent simply averting her eyes and it was impossible to make her contradict herself. The particulars she gave invariably agreed with her original narrative and indeed she always seemed to repeat the same words with the same inflections of the voice. I heard her in hand during the whole of one afternoon continued Dr. Chasseigne and there was not the variation of a syllable in her story. It was disconcerting. Still I am prepared to swear that she was not lying, that she never lied, that she was altogether incapable of falsehood. Pierre boldly ventured to discuss this point. But won't you admit Dr. the possibility of some disorder of the will? He asked. Has it not been proved, is it not admitted nowadays, that when certain degenerate creatures with childish minds fall into an hallucination, a fancy of some kind or other, they are often unable to free themselves from it, especially when they remain in the same environment in which the phenomenon occurred. Cloistered living alone with her fixed idea, Bernadette naturally enough obstinately clung to it. The doctor's faint smile returned to his lips and vaguely waving his arm, he replied. Ah, my child, you ask me too much. You know very well that I am now only a poor old man who prides himself but little on his science and no longer claims to be able to explain anything. However, I do of course know of that famous medical school example of the young girl who allowed herself to waste away with hunger at home because she imagined that she was suffering from a serious complaint of the digestive organs, but who nevertheless began to eat when she was taken elsewhere. However, that is but one circumstance and there are so many contradictory cases. For a moment they became silent and only the rhythmical sound of their steps was heard along the road. Then the doctor resumed, Moreover, it is quite true that Bernadette shunned the world and was only happy in her solitary corner. She was never known to have a single intimate female friend, any particular human love for anybody. She was kind and gentle towards all, but it was only for children that she showed any lively affection. And as after all the medical man is not quite dead within me, I will confess to you that I have sometimes wondered if she remained as pure in mind as most undoubtedly she did remain in body. However, I think it quite possible given her sluggish, poor-blooded temperament, not to speak of the innocent sphere in which she grew up, first Barthress and then the Convent. Still a doubt came to me when I heard of the tender interest which she took in the orphan asylum built by the Sisters of Nevers farther along this very road. Poor little girls are received into it and shielded from the perils of the highways, and if Bernadette wished it to be extremely large so as to lodge all the little lambs in danger, was it not because she herself remembered having roamed the roads with bare feet and still trembled at the idea of what might have become of her but for the help of the Blessed Virgin? Then resuming his narrative he went on telling Pierre of the crowds that flocked to see Bernadette and pay her reverence in her asylum at Lourdes. This had proved a source of considerable fatigue to her. Not a day went by without a stream of visitors appearing before her. They came from all parts of France, some even from abroad, and it soon became necessary to refuse the applications of those who were actuated by mere inquisitiveness and to grant admittance only to the genuine believers, the members of the clergy, and the people of Marc on whom the doors could not well have been shut. A sister was always present to protect her against the excessive indiscretion of some of her visitors, for questions literally reigned upon her and she often grew faint through having to repeat her stories so many times. Ladies of high position fell on their knees, kissed her gown and would have liked to carry a piece of it away as a relic. She also had to defend her chaplet which in their excitement they all begged her to sell to them for a fabulous amount. One day a certain Marchioness endeavored to secure it by giving her another one which she had brought with her, a chaplet with a golden cross and beads of real pearls. Many hoped that she would consent to work a miracle in their presence. Children were brought to her in order that she might lay her hands upon them. She was also consulted in cases of illness and attempts were made to purchase her influence with the Virgin. Large sums were offered to her. At the slightest sign, the slightest expression of a desire to be a queen, decked with jewels and crowned with gold, she would have been overwhelmed with regal presence. And while the humble remained on their knees on her threshold, the great ones of the earth pressed round her and would have counted it a glory to act as her escort. It was even related that one among them, the handsomest and wealthiest of princes, came one clear sunny April day to ask her hand in marriage. But what always struck and displeased me, said Pierre, was her departure from Lord when she was two and twenty, her sudden disappearance and sequestration in the convent of Saint-Gildard-Never when she never emerged. Didn't that give a semblance of truth to those spurious rumours of insanity which was circulated? Didn't it help people to suppose that she was being shut up, whisked away for fear of some indiscretion on her part, some naive remark or other which might have revealed the secret of a prolonged fraud? Indeed, to speak plainly, I will confess to you that for my own part I still believe that she was spirited away. Dr. Chasseigne gently shook his head. No, no, said he. There was no story prepared in advance in this affair, no big melodrama secretly staged and afterwards performed by more or less unconscious actors. The developments came of themselves by the sole force of circumstances and they were always very intricate, very difficult to analyse. Moreover, it is certain that it was Bernadette herself who wished to leave Lord. Those incessant visits wearied her, she felt ill at ease amidst all that noisy worship. All that she desired was a dim nook where she might live in peace and so fierce was she at times in her disinterestedness that when money was handed to her even with the pious intent of having a mass set or a taper burnt, she would fling it upon the floor. She never accepted anything for herself or for her family, which remained in poverty and with such pride as she possessed, such natural simplicity, such a desire to remain in the background, one can very well understand that she should have wished to disappear and cloister herself in some lonely spot so as to prepare herself to make a good death. Her work was accomplished. She had initiated this great movement scarcely knowing how or why and she could really be of no further utility. Others were about to conduct matters to an issue and ensure the triumph of the grotto. Let us admit then that she went off of her own accord, said Pierre. Still, what a relief it must have been for the people you speak of who thenceforth became the real masters whilst millions of money were raining down on Lourdes from the whole world. Oh, certainly, I don't pretend that any attempt was made to detain her here, exclaimed the doctor. Frankly, I even believe that she was in some degree urged into the course she took. She ended by becoming somewhat of an encumbrance. It was not that any annoying revelations were feared from her but remember that with her extreme timidity and frequent illnesses she was scarcely ornamental. Besides however small the room which she took up at Lourdes, however obedient she showed herself she was nonetheless a power and attracted the multitude which made her so to say a competitor of the grotto. For the grotto to remain alone, resplendent in its glory it was advisable that Bernadette should withdraw into the background become as it were a simple legend. Such indeed must have been the reasons which induced Monseigneur Laurence, the bishop of Tarbe, to hasten her departure. The only mistake that was made was in saying that it was a question of screening her from the enterprises of the world as though it were feared that she might fall into the sin of pride by growing vain of the saintly fame with which the whole of Christendom re-echoed. And this was doing her a grave injury for she was as incapable of pride as she was of falsehood. Never indeed was there a more candid or more modest child. The doctor was growing impassioned, excited, but all at once he became calm again and a pale smile returned to his lips. Dis-true, said he, I love her. The more I have thought of her the more I have learned to love her. But you must not think, Pierre, that I am completely brutified by belief. If I nowadays acknowledge the existence of an unseen power if I feel a need of believing in another, better and more just life I nevertheless know right well that there are men remaining in this world of ours and at times, even when they wear the cowl or the cassock, the work they do is vile. There came another interval of silence. Each was continuing his dream apart from the other. Then the doctor resumed, I will tell you of a fancy which has often haunted me. Suppose we admit that Bernadette was not the shy, simple child we knew her to be. Let us endow her with a spirit of intrigue and domination, transform her into a conqueror, a leader of nations and try to picture what, in that case, would have happened. It is evident that the grotto would be hers, the basilica also. We should see her lording at all the ceremonies under a dice with a gold mitre on her head. She would distribute the miracles. With a sovereign gesture her little hand would lead the multitudes to heaven. All the lustre and glory would come from her, she being the saint, the chosen one, the only one that had been privileged to see the divinity face to face. And indeed nothing would seem more just, for she would triumph after toiling, enjoy the fruit of her labour in all glory. But you see as it happens she is defrauded, robbed. The marvellous harvests sewn by her are reaped by others. During the twelve years which she lived at Saint Gildale, kneeling in the gloom, Lord was full of victors, priests and golden vestments, chanting thanksgivings and blessing churches and monuments erected at a cost of millions. She alone did not behold the triumph of the new faith, whose author she had been. You say that she dreamt it all. Well, at all events what a beautiful dream it was, a dream which has stirred the whole world and from which she, dear girl, never awakened. They halted and sat down for a moment on a rock beside the road, before returning to the town. In front of them the garve, deep at this point of its course, was rolling blue waters tinged with dark marie-like reflections, whilst farther on, rushing hurriedly over a bed of large stones, the stream became so much foam, a white froth light like snow. Amidst the gold raining from the sun, a fresh breeze came down from the mountains. Whilst listening to that story of how Bernadette had been exploited and suppressed, Pierre had simply found in it all a fresh motive for revolt, and with his eyes fixed on the ground, he began to think of the injustice of nature, of that law which wills that the strong should devour the weak. Then all at once, raising his head, he inquired, and did you also know Abbe Père Marle? The doctor's eyes brightened once more and he eagerly replied, certainly I did. He was an upright, energetic man, a saint, an apostle. He and Bernadette were the great makers of Our Lady of Lorde. Like her, he endured frightful sufferings, and like her he died from them. Those who do not know his story can know nothing, understand nothing of the drama enacted here. Thereupon he related that story at length. Abbe Père Marle was the parish priest of Lorde at the time of the apparitions. A native of the region, tall, broad-shouldered, with a powerful Leonine head, he was extremely intelligent, very honest, and good-hearted, though at times violent and domineering. He seemed built for combat. An enemy of all pious exaggerations, discharging the duties of his ministry in a broad, liberal spirit, he regarded the apparitions with distrust when he first heard of them, refused to believe in Bernadette's stories, questioned her, and demanded proofs. It was only at a later stage when the blast of faith became irresistible, upsetting the most rebellious minds and mastering the multitude, that he ended in his turn by bowing his head, and when he was finally conquered it was more particularly by his love for the humble and the oppressed, which he could not restrain when he beheld Bernadette threatened with imprisonment. The civil authorities were persecuting one of his flock, at this his shepherd's heart awoke, and in her defence he gave full reign to his ardent passion for justice. Moreover the charm which the child diffused had worked upon him. He felt her to be so candid, so truthful that he began to place a blind faith in her and love her even as everybody else loved her. Moreover, why should he have curtly dismissed all question of miracles, when miracles abound in the pages of Holy Rite? It was not for a minister of religion whatever his prudence to set himself up as a skeptic when entire populations were falling on their knees and the church seemed to be on the eve of another great triumph. Then too he had the nature of one who leads men, who stirs up crowds, who builds, and in this affair he had really found his vocation, the vast field in which he might exercise his energy, the great cause to which he might wholly devote himself with all his passionate ardour and determination to succeed. From that moment then Abbe Peramal had but one thought to execute the orders which the virgin had commissioned Bernadette to transmit to him. He caused improvements to be carried out at the grotto. A railing was placed in front of it. Pipes were laid for the conveyance of the water from the source and a variety of work was accomplished in order to clear the approaches. However the virgin had particularly requested that a chapel might be built and he wished to have a church, quite a triumphal basilica. He pictured everything on a grand scale and full of confidence in the enthusiastic help of Christendom he worried the architects, requiring them to design real palaces worthy of the Queen of Heaven. As a matter of fact, offerings already abounded, gold poured from the most distant dioceses, a reign of gold destined to increase and never end. Then came his happy years. He was to be met among the workmen at all hours, instilling activity into them like the jovial good-natured fellow he was, constantly on the point of taking a pick or trial in hand himself. Such was his eagerness to behold the realisation of his dream. But days of trial were in store for him. He fell ill and lay in danger of death on the 4th of April 1864 when the first processions started from his parish church to the Grotto, a procession of 60,000 pilgrims which wound along the streets amidst an immense concourse of spectators. On the day when Abbey Péramal rose from his bed, saved the first time from death, he found himself despoiled. To second him in his heavy task, Monseigneur Lawrence, the bishop, had already given him an assistant, a former Episcopal secretary, Father Saint-P whom he had appointed warden of the missionaries of Garrison, a community founded by himself. Father Saint-P was a sly, spare little man, to all appearance most disinterested and humble, but in reality consumed by all the thirst of ambition. At the outset he kept in his place, serving the priest of Lourdes like a faithful subordinate, attending to matters of all kinds in order to lighten the other's work and acquiring information on every possible subject in his desire to render himself indispensable. He must soon have realised what a rich farm the grotto was destined to become and what a colossal revenue might be derived from it if only a little skill were exercised. And henceforth he no longer stirred from the Episcopal residence, but ended by acquiring great influence over the calm practical bishop who was in great need of money for the charities of his diocese. And thus it was that during Abbey Péramal's illness Father Saint-P succeeded in effecting a separation between the parish of Lourdes and the domain of the grotto, which last he was commissioned to manage to have a few fathers of the immaculate conception over whom the bishop placed him as Father Superior. The struggle soon began, one of those covert, desperate, mortal struggles which have waged under the cloak of ecclesiastical discipline. There was a pretext for rupture already, a field of battle on which the longer purse would necessarily end by conquering. It was proposed to build a new parish church larger and more worthy of Lourdes than the old one already in existence, which was admitted to have become too small since the faithful had been flocking into the town in larger and larger numbers. Moreover, it was an old idea of Abbey Péramal who desired to carry out the virgin's orders with all possible precision. Speaking of the grotto, she had said that people would go thither in procession, and the Abbey had always seen the pilgrims start in procession from the town, wither they were expected to return in the same fashion, as indeed had been the practice on the first occasions after the apparitions. A central point, a rallying spot, was therefore required, and the Abbey's dream was to erect a magnificent church, a cathedral of gigantic proportions which would accommodate a vast multitude. Builder as he was by temperament, impassioned artisan working for the glory of heaven, he already pictured this cathedral springing from the soil and rearing its clanging belfry in the sunlight, and it was also his own house that he wished to build. The edifice which would be his act of faith and adoration, the temple where he would be the pontiff, and triumph in company with the sweet memory of Bernadette, in full view of the spot of which both he and she had been so cruelly dispossessed. Naturally enough, bitterly as he felt that act of spoliation, the building of this new parish church was in some degree his revenge, his share of all the glory, besides being a task which would enable him to utilize both his militant activity and the fever that had been consuming him ever since he had ceased going to the grotto by reason of his soreness of heart. At the outset of the new enterprise, there was again a flash of enthusiasm. At the prospect of seeing all the life and all the money flow into the new city which was springing from the ground around the Basilica, the old town which felt itself thrust upon one side, espoused the cause of its priest. The municipal council voted a sum of 100,000 francs which, unfortunately, was not to be paid until the new church should be roofed in. Habib Perramal had already accepted the plans of his architect, plans which he had insisted should be on a grand scale, and had also treated with the contractor of Charlesre, who engaged to complete the church in three or four years if the promised supplies of funds should be regularly forthcoming. The Habib believed that offerings would assuredly continue raining down from all parts, and so he launched into this big enterprise without any anxiety, overflowing with a careless bravery and fully expecting that heaven would not abandon him on the road. He even fancied that he could rely upon the support of Monseigneur Jourdan, who had now succeeded Monseigneur Laurence as Bishop of Tarbe, for this prelate, after blessing the foundation stone of the new church, had delivered an address in which he admitted that the enterprise was necessary and meritorious. And it seems, too, as though Father Saint-Pierre, with his customary humility, had bowed to the inevitable and accepted this vexatious competition, which would compel him to relinquish a share of the plunder. For he now pretended to devote himself entirely to the management of the Grotto, and even allowed a collection box for contributions to the building of the new parish church to be placed inside the Basilica. Then, however, the secret, rageful struggle began afresh. Habib Perramal, who was a wretched manager, exalted on seeing his new church so rapidly take shape. The work was being carried on at a fast pace and he troubled about nothing else, being still under the delusion that the Blessed Virgin would find whatever money might be needed. Thus he was quite stupefied when he at last perceived that the offerings were falling off, that the money of the faithful no longer reached him, as though indeed someone had secretly diverted its flow. And eventually the day came when he was unable to make the stipulated payments. In all this there had been so much skillfully combined strangulation of which he only became aware later on. Father Saint-Pierre, however, had once more prevailed on the bishop to grant his favour exclusively to the Grotto. There was even a talk of some confidential circulars distributed through the various dioceses so that the many sums of money offered by the faithful should no longer be sent to the parish. The voracious, insatiable Grotto was spent upon securing everything, and to such a point were things carried that 500 franc notes slipped into the collection box at the Basilica were kept back. The box was rifled and the parish robbed. Habib Perramal, however, in his passion for the rising church, his child, continued fighting most desperately, ready if need were to give his blood. He had at first treated with the contractor in the name of the vestry. Then when he was at a loss how to pay, he treated in his own name. His life was bound up in the enterprise. He wore himself out in the heroic efforts which he made. Of the 400,000 francs that he had promised, he had only been able to pay 200,000. And the municipal council still obstinately refused to hand over the 100,000 francs which it had voted, until the new church should be covered in. This was acting against the town's real interests. However, it was said that Father Sampé was trying to bring influence to bear on the contractor. And all at once the work was stopped. From that moment the death agony began. Wounded in the heart, the Habib Perramal, the broad-shouldered mountaineer with the Leonine face, staggered and fell like an oak struck down by a thunderbolt. He took to his bed and never left it alive. Strange stories circulated. It was said that Father Sampé had sought to secure admission to the parsonage under some pious pretext, but in reality to see if his much-dreaded adversary were really mortally stricken. And it was added that it had been necessary to drive him from the sick room where his presence was an outrageous scandal. Then when the unhappy priest vanquished and steeped in bitterness was dead, Father Sampé was seen triumphing at the funeral, from which the others had not dared to keep him away. It was affirmed that he openly displayed his abominable delight, that his face was radiant that day with the joy of victory. He was at last rid of the only man who had been an obstacle to his designs, whose legitimate authority he had feared. He would no longer be forced to share anything with anybody, now that both the founders of our Lady of Lord had been suppressed. Bernadette placed in a convent and Habib Perramal lowered into the ground. The grotto was now his own property. The alms would come to him alone, and he could do what he pleased with the 800,000 francs or so, 32,000 Lever, which were at his disposal every year. He would complete the gigantic works destined to make the Basilica a self-supporting centre and assist in embellishing the new town in order to increase the isolation of the old one and seclude it behind its rock, like an insignificant parish submerged beneath the splendour of its all-powerful neighbour. All the money, all the sovereignty would be his. He henceforth would reign. However, although the works had been stopped and the new parish church was slumbering inside its wooden fence, it was nonetheless more than half built. The vaulted aisles were already erected, and the imperfect pile remained there like a threat, for the town might some day attempt to finish it. Like Habib Perramal, therefore, it must be killed for good, turned into an irreparable ruin. The secret labour therefore continued, a work of refined cruelty and slow destruction. To begin with, the new parish priest, a simple-minded creature, was cowed to such a point that he no longer opened the envelopes containing remittances for the parish. All the registered letters were at once taken to the fathers. Then the site selected for the new parish church was criticised, and the diocesan architect was induced to draw up a report stating that the old church was still in good condition and of ample size for the requirements of the community. Moreover, influence was brought to bear on the bishop, and representations were made to him respecting the annoying features of the pecuniary difficulties which had arisen with the contractor. With a little imagination, poor Perramal was transformed into a violent, obstinate madman, through whose undisciplined zeal the church had almost been compromised. And at last, the bishop, forgetting that he himself had blessed the foundation stone, issued a pastoral letter laying the unfinished church under interdict, and prohibiting all religious services in it. This was the supreme blow. Endless lawsuits had already begun. A contractor, who had only received 200,000 francs for the 500,000 francs worth of work which had been executed, had taken proceedings against Abbey Perramal's heir at law, the vestry, and the town, for the latter still refused to pay over the amount which it had voted. At first the prefect's council declared itself incompetent to deal with the case, and when it was sent back to it by the council of state, it rendered a judgment by which the town was condemned to pay the 100,000 francs and the heir at law to finish the church. At the same time the vestry was put out of court. However, there was a fresh appeal to the council of state which quashed this judgment and condemned the vestry and, in default, the heir at law to pay the contractor. Neither party being solvent matters remained in this position. The lawsuits had lasted 15 years. The town had now resignedly paid over the 100,000 francs and only 200,000 remained owing to the contractor. However, the costs and the accumulated interest had so increased the amount of indebtedness that it had risen to 600,000 francs. And as, on the other hand, it was estimated that 400,000 francs would be required to finish the church, a million was needed to save this young ruin from certain destruction. The fathers of the grotto were thenceforth able to sleep in peace. They had assassinated the poor church. It was as dead as Abbey Peramel himself. The bells of the Basilica rang out triumphantly and Father Sampir reigned as a victor at the conclusion of that great struggle, that dagger warfare in which not only a man but stones also had been done to death in the shrouding gloom of intriguing sacrosities. And old Lord, obstinate and unintelligent, paid a hard penalty for its mistake in not giving more support to its minister, who had died struggling, killed by his love for his parish. For now the new town did not cease to grow and prosper at the expense of the old one. All the wealth flowed to the former. The fathers of the grotto coined money, financed hotels and candle shops, and sold the water of the source, although a clause of their agreement with the municipality expressly prohibited them from carrying on any commercial pursuits. The whole region began to rot and fester. The triumph of the grotto had brought about such a passion for Lucca, such a burning feverish desire to possess and enjoy, that extraordinary perversion set in, growing worse and worse each day, and changing Bernadette's peaceful Bethlehem into a perfect Sodom or Gomorrah. Father Sampé had ensured the triumph of his divinity by spreading human abominations all around and wrecking thousands of souls. Gigantic buildings rose from the ground, five or six millions of francs had already been expended, everything being sacrificed to the stone determination to leave the poor parish out in the cold and keep the entire plunder for self and friends. Those costly, colossal gradient ways had only been erected in order to avoid compliance with the Virgin's express desire that the faithful should come to the grotto in procession, for to go down from the basilica by the incline on the left and climb up to it again by the incline on the right could certainly not be called going to the grotto in procession. It was simply so much revolving in a circle. However, the Fathers cared little about that. They had succeeded in compelling people to start from their premises and return to them in order that they might be the sole proprietors of the affair, the opulent farmers who garnered the whole harvest. Habib Perama lay buried in the crypt of his unfinished, ruined church, and Bernadette, who had long since dragged out her life of suffering in the depths of a convent far away, was now likewise sleeping the eternal sleep under a flagstone in a chapel. Deep silence fell when Dr. Chasseigne had finished this long narrative. Then with a painful effort he rose to his feet again. It will soon be ten o'clock, my dear child, said he, and I want you to take a little rest. Let us go back. Pierre followed him without speaking, and they retraced their steps towards the town at a more rapid pace. Ah, yes, resumed the doctor. There were great iniquities and great sufferings in it all. But what else could you expect? Man spoils and corrupts the most beautiful things. And you cannot yet understand all the woeful sadness of the things of which I have been talking to you. You must see them. Lay your hand on them. Would you like me to show you Bernadette's room and Abbe Père Amal's unfinished church this evening? Yes, I should indeed, replied Pierre. Well, I will meet you in front of the Basilica after the four o'clock procession, and you can come with me. Then they spoke no further, each becoming absorbed in his reverie once more. The garve, now upon their right hand, was flowing through a deep gorge, a kind of cleft into which it plunged, vanishing from sight among the bushes. But at intervals a clear stretch of it, looking like unburnished silver, would appear to view, and farther on after a sudden turn in the road they found it flowing in increased volume across a plain where it spread at times into glassy sheets which must often have changed their beds, for the gravelly soil was ravined on all sides. The sun was now becoming very hot and it was already high in the heavens whose limpid asia assumed a deeper tinge above the vast circle of mountains. And it was at this turn of the road that Lord, still some distance away, reappeared to the eyes of Pierre and Dr. Chasseigne. In the splendid morning atmosphere amid a flying dust of gold and purple rays, the town showed whitely on the horizon its houses and monuments becoming more and more distinct at each step which brought them nearer. And the doctor, still silent, at last waved his arm with a broad, mournful gesture in order to call his companion's attention to this growing town, as though to approve of all that he had been telling him. There, indeed, rising up in the dazzling daylight was the evidence which confirmed his words. The flare of the grotto fainter now that the sun was shining could already be aspired amidst the greenery. And soon afterwards the gigantic monumental works spread out, the key with its freestone parapet skirting the garve whose course had been diverted, the new bridge connecting the new gardens with the recently opened boulevard, the fossil gradient ways, the massive church of the rosary and finally the slim tapering basilica rising above all else with graceful pride. Of the new town spread all around the monuments, the wealthy city which had sprung as though by enchantment from the ancient impoverished soil. The great convents and the great hotels, you could at this distance merely distinguish a swarming of white facades and a scintillation of new slates, whilst in confusion far away beyond the rocky mass on which the crumbling castle walls were profiled against the sky, appeared the humble roofs of the old town, a jumble of little-time worn roofs, pressing timorously against one another. And as a background to this vision of the life of yesterday and today, the little and the big gels rose up beneath the splendor of the everlasting sun and barred the horizon with their bare slopes, which the oblique rays were tinging with streaks of pink and yellow. Dr. Chassain insisted on accompanying Pierre to the Hotel of the Apparitions and only parted from him at its door after reminding him of their appointment for the afternoon. It was not yet eleven o'clock. Pierre, whom fatigue had suddenly mastered, forced himself to eat before going to bed, for he realized that want of food was one of the chief causes of the weakness which had come over him. He fortunately found a vacant seat at the tableau d'haut and made some kind of adhesion, half asleep all the time and scarcely knowing what was served to him. Then he went upstairs and flung himself on his bed after taking care to tell the servants to awake him at three o'clock. However, on lying down, the fever that consumed him at first prevented him from closing his eyes. A pair of gloves forgotten in the next room had reminded him of Monsieur de Garsin, who had left for Gavalny before daybreak and would only return in the evening. What a delightful gift was thoughtlessness, thought Pierre. For his own part, with his limbs worn out by weariness and his mind distracted, he was sad unto death. Everything seemed to conspire against his willing desire to regain the faith of his childhood. The tale of Abé Péramal's tragic adventures had simply aggravated the feeling of revolt which the story of Bernadette, chosen and martyred, had implanted in his breast. And thus he asked himself whether his search after the truth, instead of restoring his faith, would not rather lead him to yet greater hatred of ignorance and credulity and to the bitter conviction that man was all alone in the world with naught to guide him save his reason. At last he fell asleep but visions continued hovering around him in his painful slumber. He beheld Lord, contaminated by Mammon, turned into a spot of abomination and perdition, transformed into a huge bazaar where everything was sold, masses and souls alike. He beheld also Abé Péramal, dead and slumbering under the ruins of his church, among the nettles which in gratitude had sown there. And he only grew calm again, only tasted the delights of forgetfulness when a last pale woeful vision had faded from his gaze. A vision of Bernadette upon her knees in a gloomy corner at Nevers dreaming of her far away work which she was never, never to behold. End of Section 15 Section 16 of Lourdes This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please contact LibriVox.org Lourdes by Émile Zola translated by Ernest Visitelli The fourth day won the bitterness of death. At the hospital of Our Lady of Delourdes that morning Marie remained seated on her bed propped up by pillows. Having spent the whole night at the grotto she had refused to let them take her back there. And as Madame de Genquière approached her to raise one of the pillows which was slipping from its place she asked What day is it Madame? Monday my dear child. Ah, true. One so soon loses count of the time. And besides I'm so happy it is today that the Blessed Virgin will cure me. She smiled divinely with the air of a daydreamer her eyes gazing into vacancy her thoughts so far away so absorbed in her one fixed idea that she beheld nothing save the certainty of her hope. Round about her the Saint Honoreen ward was now quite deserted all the patients accepting Madame Vitu who lay at the last extremity in the next bed having already started for the grotto. But Marie did not even notice her neighbour. She was delighted with the sudden stillness which had fallen. One of the windows overlooking the courtyard had been opened and the glorious morning sunshine entered in one broad beam whose golden dust was dancing over her bed streaming upon her pale hands. It was indeed pleasant to find this room so dismal at night time with its many beds of sickness its unhealthy atmosphere and its nightmare groans thus suddenly filled with sunlight purified by the morning air and wrapped in such delicious silence. Why don't you try to sleep a little maternally inquired Madame de Genquière you must be quite worn out by your vigil. Marie who felt so light and cheerful that she no longer experienced any pain seemed surprised but I am not at all tired and I don't feel a bit sleepy go to sleep oh no that would be too sad I should no longer know that I was going to be cured. At this the superintendent laughed then why didn't you let them take you to the grotto she asked you won't know what to do with yourself all alone here I am not alone Madame I am with her replied Marie and thereupon her vision returning to her she clasped her hands in ecstasy last night you know I saw her bend her head towards me and smile I quite understood her I could hear her voice although she never opened her lips when the blessed sacrament passes at four o'clock I shall be cured Madame de Genquière tried to calm her feeling rather anxious at the species of some nambulism in which she beheld her however the sick girl went on no no I am no worse I am waiting only you must surely see Madame that there is no need for me to go to the grotto this morning since the appointment which she gave me is for four o'clock and then the girl added in a lower tone Pierre will come for me at half past three at four o'clock I shall be cured the sunbeam slowly made its way up her bare arms which were now almost transparent so wasted had they become through illness whilst her glorious fair hair which had fallen over her shoulders seemed like the very effulgence of the great luminary enveloping her the trill of a bird came in from the courtyard and quite enlivened the tremulous silence of the ward some child who could not be seen must also have been playing close by for now and again a soft laugh could be heard ascending in the warm air which was so delightfully calm well said Madame de Genquière by way of conclusion I don't wish to but keep quiet quiet and it will rest you all the same meantime Madame Vitu was expiring in the adjoining bed they had not dared to take her to the grotto for fear less they should see her die on the way for some little time she had lain there with her eyes closed and sister Ia Sainte who was watching had beckoned to Madame des Agnes in order to acquaint her with the bad opinion she had formed of the case both of them were now leaning over the dying woman observing her with increasing anxiety the mask upon her face had turned more yellow than ever and now look like mud her eyes had become more sunken her lips seemed to have grown thinner and the death rattle had begun a slow pestilential wheezing polluted by the cancer which was finishing its destructive work all at once she raised her eyelids and was seized with fear on beholding those two faces bent over her own could her death be near to be gazing at her immense sadness showed itself in her eyes a despairing regret of life it was not a vehement revolt for she no longer had the strength to struggle but what a frightful fate it was to have left her shop, her surroundings and her husband merely to come and die so far away to have braved the abominable torture of such a journey to have prayed both day and night and then instead of having her prayer granted to die when others recovered however she could do no more than murmur oh how I suffer oh how I suffer do something anything to relieve this pain I beseech you little madame designeur with her pretty milk white face half hidden by a mass of fair frizzy hair was quite upset she was not used to death bed scenes she would have given half her heart as she expressed it to see that poor woman recover and she rose up and began to question sister santa who was also in tears but already resigned knowing as she did that salvation was assured when one died well could nothing really be done however could not something be tried to ease the dying woman abesudein had come and administered the last sacrament to her a couple of hours earlier that very morning she now only had heaven to look to it was her only hope for she had long since given up expecting aid from the skill of man no no we must do something exclaimed madame designeur and thereupon she went and fetched madame designeur from beside marie's bed look how this poor creature is suffering madame she exclaimed sister iacinth says that she can only last a few hours longer but we cannot leave her moaning like this there are things which give relief why not call that young doctor who is here of course we will replied the superintendent we will send for him at once they seldom thought of the doctor in the wards it only occurred to the ladies to send for him when a case was at its very worst when one of their patients was howling with pain sister iacinth who herself felt surprised at not having thought of ferron whom she believed to be in an adjoining room inquired if she should fetch him certainly was the reply bring him as quickly as possible when the sister had gone madame designeur made madame designeur help her in slightly raising the dying woman's head thinking that this might relieve her the two ladies happened to be alone there that morning all the other lady hospitalers having gone to their devotions or their private affairs however from the end of the large deserted ward where amidst the warm quiver of the sunlight such sweet tranquility prevailed there still came at intervals the light laughter of the unseen child can it be sophie who was making such a noise suddenly asked the lady superintendent her nerves were slightly upset by all the worry of the death which she foresaw then quickly walking to the end of the ward she found that it was indeed sophie couteau the young girl so miraculously healed the previous year who seated on the floor behind a bed had been amusing herself despite her 14 years in making a doll out of a few rags she was now talking to it so happy so absorbed in her play that she laughed quite heartily hold yourself up but was held said she dance the polka that I may see how you can do it one two dance turn kiss the one you like best madame Jean-Claire however was now coming up little girl she said we have one of our patients here in great pain and not expected to recover you must not laugh so loud ah madame I didn't know replied sophie rising up and becoming quite serious although still holding the doll in her hand is she going to die madame I fear so my poor child there upon sophie became quite silent she followed the superintendent and seated herself on an adjoining bed went without the slightest sign of fear but with her large eyes burning with curiosity she began to watch madame vetu's death agony in her nervous state madame designeur was growing impatient at the delay in the doctor's arrival whilst Marie still enraptured and resplendent in the sunlight seemed unconscious of what was taking place about her raptor she was in delightful expectancy of the miracle not having found ferron in the small apartment near the linen room which he usually occupied sister ia sainte was now searching for him all over the building during the past two days the young doctor had become more bewildered than ever in that extraordinary hospital where his assistance was only sought for the relief of death pangs the small medicine chest which he had brought with him proved quite useless for there could be no thought of trying any course of treatment as the sick were not there to be doctored but simply to be cured by the lightning stroke of a miracle and so he had mainly confined himself to administering a few opium pills in order to deaden the severer sufferings he had been fairly amazed when accompanying Dr. Bonami on a round through the wards it had resolved itself into a mere stroll the doctor who had only come out of curiosity taking no interest in the patients whom he had questioned nor examined he solely concerned himself with the pretended cases of cure stopping opposite those women whom he recognized from having seen them at his office where the miracles were verified one of them had suffered from three complaints only one of which the blessed virgin had so far deigned to cure but great hopes were entertained respecting the other two sometimes when a wretched woman who the day before had claimed to be cured was questioned with reference to her health her pains had returned to her however this never disturbed the doctor's serenity ever conciliatory the good man declared that heaven would surely complete what heaven had begun whenever there was an improvement in health he would ask if it were not something to be thankful for and indeed his constant saying was there's an improvement already be patient what he most dreaded were the importunities of the lady superintendents who all wished to detain him to show him sundry cases each pried at herself on having the most serious illnesses the most frightful exceptional cases in her ward so that she was eager to have them medically authenticated in order that she might share in the triumph should cure superveen one caught the doctor by the arm and assured him that she felt confident she had a leper in her charge another entreated him to come and look at a young girl whose back she said was covered with fishes scales whilst a third whispering in his ear gave him some terrible details about a married lady of the best society he hastened away however refusing to see even one of them or else simply promising to come back later on when he was not so busy as he himself said if he listened to all those ladies the day would pass in useless consultations however he had last suddenly stopped opposite one of the miraculously cured inmates and beckoning ferron to his side exclaimed ah now here is an interesting cure and ferron utterly bewildered had to listen to him whilst he described all the features of the illness which had totally disappeared at the first emotion in the piscina at last sister ear saint still wondering about encountered abe judein who informed her that the young doctor had just been summoned to the family ward it was the fourth time he had gone down there to attend to brother risidor whose sufferings were as acute as ever and whom he could only stuff with opium in his agony the brother himself merely asked to be soothed a little in order that he might gather sufficient strength to return to the grotto during the afternoon as he had not been able to do so in the morning however his pains increased and at last he swooned away when the sister entered the ward she found the doctor seated at the missionaries bedside monsieur ferron she said come upstairs with me to the saint honorine ward at once we have a patient there at the point of death he smiled at her indeed he never beheld her without feeling brighter and comforted I will come with you sister he replied but you'll wait a minute won't you I must try to restore this poor man she waited patiently and made herself useful the family ward situated on the ground floor was also full of sunshine and fresh air which entered through three large windows opening onto a narrow strip of garden in addition to brother risidor only monsieur sabatier had remained in bed that morning in view of obtaining a little rest whilst madame sabatier taking advantage of the opportunity had gone to purchase a few medals and pictures which she intended for presents comfortably seated on his bed his back supported by some pillows the ex-professor was rolling the beads of a chaplet between his fingers he was no longer praying however but merely continuing the occupation in a mechanical manner his eyes meantime fixed upon his neighbor whose attack he was following with interest ah sister said he to sister yassant who had drawn near that poor brother fills me with admiration yesterday I doubted the blessed virgin for a moment seeing that she still did not dain to hear me though I have been coming here for seven years but the example set me by that poor martyr so resigned amidst his torments that's quite shamed me for my want of faith you can have no idea how grievously he suffers and you should see him at the grotto with his eyes glowing with divine hope it is really sublime I only know of one picture at the louvre a picture by some unknown Italian master in which there is the head of a monk beatified by a similar faith the man of intellect the ex-university professor reared on literature and art was reappearing in this poor old fellow whose life had been blasted and who had desired to become a free patient one of the poor of the earth in order to remove the pity of heaven he again began thinking of his own case and with tenacious hopefulness which the futility of seven journeys to lure it had failed to destroy he added well I still have this afternoon since we shan't leave till tomorrow the water is certainly very cold but I shall let them dip me a last time and all the morning I have been praying and asking pardon for my revolt of yesterday when the blessed virgin chooses to cure one of her children and makes her a second to do so is that not so sister may her will be done and blessed be her name passing the beads of the chaplet more slowly between his fingers he again began saying his avers and paters whilst his eyelids drooped in his flabby face to which a childish expression had been returning during the many years that he had been virtually cut off from the world meantime Ferron had signalled to brother Isidore's sister, Mount she had been standing at the foot of the bed with her arms hanging down beside her showing the tearless resignation of a poor narrow-minded girl whilst she watched that dying man whom she worshipped she was no more than a faithful dog she had accompanied her brother and spent her scanty savings without being of any use save to watch him suffer accordingly when the doctor told her to take the invalid in her arms and raise him up a little she felt quite happy at being of some service at last the heavy freckled mournful face actually grew bright hold him said the doctor whilst I try to give him this when she had raised him, Ferron with the aid of a small spoon succeeded in introducing a few drops of liquid between his set teeth almost immediately the sick man opened his eyes and heaved a deep sigh he was calmer already the opium was taking effect and dulling the pain which he felt burning his right side as though a red hot iron being applied to it however he remained so weak that when he wished to speak it became necessary to place one's ear close to his mouth in order to catch what he said with a slight sign he had begged Ferron to bend over him you are the doctor monsieur are you not? he faltered give me sufficient strength that I may go once more to the grotto this afternoon I am certain that if I am able to go the blessed virgin will cure me of course you shall go replied the young man don't you feel ever so much better oh ever so much better no I know very well what my condition is because I saw many of our brothers die out there in Senegal when the liver is attacked and the abscess has worked its way outside it means the end sweating fever and delirium follow but the blessed virgin will touch the sore with her little finger and it will be healed take me to the grotto even if I should be unconscious sister Yia Sant had also approached and lent over him be easy dear brother said she you shall go to the grotto after degenie and we will all pray for you at length in despair at these delays and extremely anxious about Madame Vitu she was able to get Ferron away still the brothers state filled her with pity and as they ascended the stairs she questioned the doctor asking him if there were really no more hope the other made a gesture expressive of absolute hopelessness it was madness to come to lord when in such a condition however he hastened to add with a smile I beg your pardon sister you know that I am unfortunate enough not to be a believer but she smiled in her turn like an indulgent friend who tolerates the shortcomings of those she loves oh that doesn't matter she replied I know you you're all the same a good fellow besides we see so many people we go amongst such pagans that it would be difficult to shock us up above in the Saint-Honorine Ward they found Madame Vitu still moaning a prey to the most intolerable suffering Madame de Genquière and Madame des Agneaux had remained beside the bed their faces turning pale their hearts distracted by that death cry which never ceased and when they consulted Ferron in a whisper he merely replied with a slight shrug of the shoulders that she was a lost woman that it was only a question of hours perhaps merely of minutes all he could do was to stupefy her also in order to ease the atrocious death agony which she foresaw she was watching him still conscious and also very obedient never refusing the medicine offered her like the others she now had but one ardent desire to go back to the grotto and she gave expression to it in the stammering accents of a child that I may not be granted to the grotto will you to the grotto you shall be taken there by and by I promise you said sister Ier Saint but you must be good try to sleep a little to gain some strength the sick woman appeared to sink into a dose and Madame de Genquière then thought that she might take Madame des Agneaux with her to the other end of the ward to count the linen a troublesome business in which they became quite bewildered meantime Sophie seated on the bed opposite Madame Vitu had not stirred she had laid her doll on her lap and was waiting for the lady's death since they had told her that she was about to die Sister Ier Saint moreover had remained beside the dying woman and unwilling to waste her time had taken a needle and cotton to mend some patients bodice which had a hole in the sleeve you'll stay a little while with us won't you she asked Ferrand the latter who was still watching Madame Vitu replied yes yes she may go off at any moment I fear hemorrhage then catching sight of Marie on the neighbouring bed he added in a lower voice how is she has she experienced any relief no not yet our dear child we all pray for her very sincerely she is so young so sweet and so sorely afflicted just look at her now isn't she pretty one might think her a saint amid all this sunshine with her large ecstatic eyes and her golden hair shining like an oriola Ferrand watched Marie for a moment with interest her absent air her indifference to all about her the ardent faith the internal joy which so completely absorbed her surprised him she will recover he murmured as though giving utterance to a prognostic she will recover then he rejoined sister Ier Saint who had seated herself in the embrasure of the lofty window wide open admitting the warm air of the courtyard the sun was now creeping round and only a narrow golden ray fell upon her white quaff and wimple Ferrand stood opposite to her leaning against the window bar and watching her while she soared do you know sister said he this journey to Lord which I undertook to oblige a friend will be one of the few delights of my life she did not understand him but innocently asked why so close I have found you again because I am here with you assisting you in your admirable work and if you only knew how grateful I am to you what sincere affection and reverence I feel for you she raised her head to look him straight in the face and began jesting without the least constraint she was really delicious with her pure lily white complexion her small laughing mouth adorable blue eyes which ever smiled and you could realize that she had grown up in all innocence and devotion slender with all the appearance of a girl hardly in her teens what you are so fond of me as all that she exclaimed why why I am fond of you because you are the best the most consoling the most sisterly of beings you are the sweetest memory in my life the memory I evoke whenever I need to be encouraged and sustained do you no longer remember the month we spent together in my poor room when I was so ill and you so affectionately nursed me of course of course I remember it why I never had so good a patient as you you took all I offered you and when I tucked you in after changing your linen you remained as still as a little child so speaking she continued looking at him smiling ingenuously the while he was very handsome and robust in the very prime of youth with a rather pronounced nose superb eyes and red lips showing under his black moustache but she seemed to be simply pleased at seeing him there before her moved almost to tears ah sister I should have died if it hadn't been for you he said it was through having you that I was cured then as they gazed at one another with tender gaiety of heart the memory of that adorable month recurred to them they no longer heard Madame Vettu's death-mones nor beheld the ward littered with beds and with all its disorder resembling some ambulance improvised after a public catastrophe they once more found themselves in a small attic at the top of a dingy house in old Paris where air and light only reached them through a tiny window opening onto a sea of roofs and how charming it was to be alone there together he who had been prostrated by fever she who had appeared there like a good angel who had quietly come from her convent like a comrade who fears nothing it was thus that she nursed women, children and men as chance ordained feeling perfectly happy so long as she had something to do some sufferer to relieve she never displayed any consciousness of her sex and he on his side never seemed to have suspected that she might be a woman except it were for the extreme softness of her hands the caressing accents of her voice the beneficent gentleness of her manner and yet all the tender love of her mother all the affection of her sister radiated from her person during three weeks as she had said she nursed him like a child helping him in and out of bed and rendering him every necessary attention without the slightest embarrassment or repugnance the holy purity born of suffering and charity shielding them both the while they were indeed far removed from the frailties of life and when it became convalescent what a happy existence began how joyously they laughed like two old friends she still watched over him scolding him and gently slapping his arms when he persisted in keeping them uncovered he would watch her standing at the basin washing him a shirt in order to save him the trifling expense of employing a laundress no one ever came up there they were quite alone thousands of miles away from the world delighted with this solitude in which their youth displayed such fraternal gaiety do you remember sister the morning when I was first able to walk about asked ferron you helped me to get up and supported me whilst I awkwardly stumbled about no longer knowing how to use my legs we did laugh so yes, yes you were saved and I was very pleased and the day when you brought me some cherries I can see it all again myself reclining on my pillows and you seated at the edge of the bed with the cherries lying between us in a large piece of white paper I refused to touch them unless you ate some with me and then we took them in turn one at a time until the paper was emptied and they were very nice yes, yes very nice it was the same with the current syrup you would only drink it when I took some also there upon they laughed yet louder these recollections quite delighted them but a painful sigh from madame vetu brought them back to the present ferron lent over and cast a glance at the sick woman who had not stirred the ward was still full of a quivering peacefulness which was only broken by the clear voice of madame designeaux counting the linen stifling with emotion the young man resumed in a lower tone ah sister, were I to live a hundred years to know every joy, every pleasure I should never love another woman as I love you then sister Yersaint without however showing any confusion bowed her head and resumed her sewing an almost imperceptible blush tinged her lily white skin with pink I also love you well monsieur ferron she said but you must not make me vain I only did for you what I'd do for so many others it is my business you see and there was really only one pleasant thing about it all that the almighty cured you there were now again interrupted la grivote and Elise Rouquet had returned from the grotto before the others la grivote at once squatted down on her mattress on the floor at the foot of madame vetu's bed and taking a piece of bread from her pocket she needed to devour it veron, since the day before had felt some interest in this consumptive patient who was traversing such a curious phase of agitation a prey to an inordinate appetite and a feverish need of motion for the moment however Elise Rouquet's case interested him still more for it had now become evident that the lupus the sore which was eating away her face was showing signs of cure she had continued bathing her face at the miraculous fountain where Dr. Bonomy had triumphed veron, quite surprised went and examined the sore which although still far from healed was already paler in colour and slightly desiccated displaying all the symptoms of gradual cure and the case seemed to him so curious that he resolved to make some notes upon it for one of his old masters at the medical college who was studying the nervous origin of certain skin diseases due to faulty nutrition have you felt any pricking sensation he asked not at all, monsieur, she replied I bathe my face and tell my beads with my whole soul and that is all La Grivote who was vain and jealous and ever since the day before had been going in triumph among the crowds thereupon called to the doctor I say, monsieur, I am cured cured, cured completely he waved his hand to her in a friendly way but refused to examine her I know my goal there is nothing more to matter with you just then sister Yersant called to him she had put her sewing down on seeing Madame Vettu raise herself in a frightful fit of nausea in spite of her haste however she was too late with the basin the sick woman had brought up another discharge of black matter similar to soot but this time some blood was mixed with it little specks of violet coloured blood it was the hemorrhage coming the near end which Ferrand had been dreading send for the superintendent in a low voice seating himself at the bedside sister Yersant ran for Madame de Junkière the linen having been countered she found her deep in conversation with her daughter Remonde at some distance from Madame des Agneaux who was washing her hands Remonde had just escaped for a few minutes from the refectory where she was on duty this was the roughest of her labours the long narrow room with its double row of greasy tables its sickening smell of food and misery quite disgusted her and taking advantage of the half hour still remaining before the return of the patients she had hurried upstairs where out of breath with a rosy face and shining eyes she had thrown her arms round her mother's neck ah mama she cried what happiness it's settled amazed her head buzzing busy with the superintendent's of her ward Madame de Junkière did not understand what settled my child she asked then Remonde lowered her voice and with a faint blush replied my marriage it was now the mother's turn to rejoice lively satisfaction appeared upon her face the fat face of a ripe, handsome and still agreeable woman she had once beheld in her mind's eye their little lodging in the rue Vanneau where since her husband's death she had reared her daughter with great difficulty upon the few thousand francs he had left her this marriage however meant a return to life to society the good old times come back once more ah my child how happy you make me she exclaimed but a feeling of uneasiness suddenly restrained her God was her witness that for three years past she had been coming to lure through pure motives of charity for the one great joy of nursing his beloved invalids perhaps had she closely examined her conscience she might behind her devotion have found some trace of her fondness for authority which rendered her present managerial duties extremely pleasant to her however the hope of finding a husband for her daughter among the suitable young men who swarmed at the grotto was certainly her last thought it was a thought which came to her of course but merely as something that was possible though she never mentioned it however her happiness rung and a vowel from her ah my child your success doesn't surprise me I prayed to the blessed virgin for it this morning then she wished to be quite sure and asked for further information Remonde had not yet told her of her long walk leaning on Gérard's arm the day before for she did not wish to speak of such things until she was triumphant certain of having at last secured a husband and now it was indeed settled as she had exclaimed so gaily that very morning she had again seen the young man at the grotto and he had formally become engaged to her the grotto would undoubtedly ask for her hand on his cousin's behalf before they took their departure from l'Ordre well declared madame de jonquere who was now convinced smiling and delighted at heart I hope you will be happy since you are so sensible and do not need my aid to bring your affairs to a successful issue kiss me it was at this moment that sister Yersaint arrived to announce madame Vetu's imminent death Remonde at once ran off madame desagneaux who was wiping her hands began to complain of the lady assistants who had all disappeared precisely on the morning when they were most wanted for instance said she there's madame volmar I should like to know where she can have got to she has not been seen even for an hour ever since our arrival pray leave madame volmar alone replied madame de jonquere with some asperity I have already told you that she is ill they both hastened to madame vetu ferron stood there waiting and sister Yersaint having asked him if there were indeed nothing to be done he shook his head the dying woman relieved by her first emesis now lay inert with closed eyes but a second time the frightful nausea returned to her and she brought up another discharge of black matter mingled with violet coloured blood then she had another short interval of calm during which she noticed la grivote who was greedily devouring her hunk of bread on the mattress on the floor she's cured isn't she the poor woman asked feeling that she herself was dying la grivote heard her and exclaimed triumphantly oh yes madame cured cured cured completely for a moment madame vetu seemed overcome by a miserable feeling of grief the revolt of one who will not succumb while others continue to live but almost immediately she became resigned and they heard her ad very faintly it is the young ones who ought to remain then her eyes which remained wide open looked round as though bidding farewell to all those persons whom she seemed surprised to see about her she attempted to smile as she encountered the eager gaze of curiosity which little Sophie Coutot still fixed upon her this charming child had come to kiss her that very morning in her bed Elise Rourquay who troubled herself about nobody was meantime holding her hand-glass absorbed in the contemplation of her face which seemed to her to be growing beautiful now that the sore was healing but what especially charmed the dying woman was the sight of Marie so lovely in her ecstasy she watched her for a long time constantly attracted towards her as towards a vision of light and joy perhaps she fancied that she already beheld one of the saints of paradise amid the glory of the sun suddenly however the fits of vomiting returned and now she solely brought up blood vitiated blood, the colour of claret the rush was so great that it bespattered the sheet and ran all over the bed in vain did Mme Jean-Claire and Mme Desagnes bring cloths they were both very pale and scarcely able to remain standing Ferrand, knowing how powerless he was had withdrawn to the window to the very spot where he had so lately experienced such delicious emotion and with an instinctive movement of which she was surely unconscious Sister Yersaint had likewise returned to that happy window as though to be near him really, can you do nothing? she inquired, no, nothing she will go off like that in the same way as a lamp that has burnt out Mme Vitu, who was now utterly exhausted with a thin red stream still flowing from her mouth looked fixedly at Mme de Jean-Claire whilst faintly moving her lips the lady superintendent thereupon bent over her and heard these slowly uttered words about my husband, Mme the shop is in the Rue Mouffetard oh, it's quite a tiny one not far from the Gobelins he's a clockmaker, he is he couldn't come with me, of course having to attend to the business and he will be very much put out when he finds I don't come back yes, I cleaned the jewellery and did the errands then her voice grew fainter her words disjointed by the death rattle which began therefore, madame I beg you will write to him because I haven't done so and now here's the end tell him my body had better remain at Lord on account of the expense and he must marry again it's necessary for one in trade his cousin tell him his cousin the rest became a confused murmur her weakness was too great her breath was halting yet her eyes continued open her life amid her pale yellow waxy mask and those eyes seemed to fix themselves despairingly on the past on all that which soon would be no more the little clockmaker's shop hidden away in a populous neighbourhood the gentle humdrum existence with a toiling husband who was ever bending over his watchers and the great pleasures of Sunday such as watching children fly their kites upon the fortifications and at last those staring eyes gazed vainly into the frightful night which was gathering her last time did Madame de Genquière lean over her seeing that her lips were again moving it came but a faint breath a voice from far away which distantly murmured in an accent of intense grief she did not cure me and then Madame Vitu expired very gently as though this were all that she had been waiting for little Sophie Couto jumped from the bed quite satisfied and went off to play with her doll again at the far end of the ward La Grivotte who was finishing her bread nor Elise Rouquet busy with her mirror noticed the catastrophe however amidst the cold breath which seemingly swept by while Madame de Genquière and Madame des Agneaux the latter of whom was unaccustomed to the sight of death were whispering together an agitation Marie emerged from the expectant rapture in which the continuous unspoken prayer of her whole being had plunged her so long and when she understood what had happened a feeling of sisterly compassion of a suffering companion on her side certain of cure brought tears to her eyes the poor woman she murmured to think that she has died so far from home in such loneliness at the hour when others are being born anew Ferrand who in spite of professional indifference had also been stirred by the scene stepped forward to verify the death and it was on a sign from him that sister Yersant turned up the sheet and threw it over the dead woman's face for there could be no question of removing the corpse at that moment the patients were now returning from the grotto in bands and the ward hitherto so calm so full of sunshine was again filling with the tumult of wretchedness and pain deep coughing and feeble shuffling mingled with a noisome smell a pitiful display in fact of well-nigh every human infirmity End of section 16 Section 17 of Lourdes This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please contact LibriVox.org Lourdes by Emile Zola Translated by Ernest Visitelli The Fourth Day Two The service at the grotto On that day Monday the crowd at the grotto was enormous it was the last day that the national pilgrimage would spend at Lourdes and Father Foulcard in his morning address had said that it would be necessary to make a supreme effort of fervour and faith to obtain from heaven all that it might be willing to grant in the way of grace and prodigious cure so from two o'clock in the afternoon twenty thousand pilgrims were assembled there feverish and agitated by the most ardent hopes from minute to minute the crowd continued increasing to such a point indeed that Baron Swir became alarmed and came out of the grotto to say to Belto my friend we shall be overwhelmed that's certain double your squads bring your men closer together the hospitality of our Lady of Salvation was alone entrusted with the task of keeping order for there were neither guardians nor policemen of any sort present and it was for this reason that the President of the Association was so alarmed however Belto under grave circumstances was a leader whose words commanded attention and who was endowed with energy that could be relied on be easy said he I will be answerable for everything will not move from here until the four o'clock procession has passed by nevertheless he signaled to Gérard to approach give your men the strictest instructions he said to him only those persons who have cards should be allowed to pass and place your men nearer each other tell them to hold the cord tight yonder beneath the ivy which draped the rock the grotto opened with the eternal flaring of its candles from a distance it looked rather squat and misshapen, a very narrow and modest aperture for the breath of the infinite which issued from it turning all faces pale and bowing every head the statue of the virgin had become a mere white spot which seemed to move in the quiver of the atmosphere heated by the small yellow flames to see anything it was necessary to raise oneself for the silver altar, the harmonium organ divested of its housing the heap of bouquets thrown there the votive offerings streaking the smoky walls which were mostly distinguishable from behind the railing and the day was lovely never yet had a purer sky expanded above the immense crowd the softness of the breeze in particular seemed delicious after the storm of the night which had brought down the over oppressive heat of the two first days Gérard had to fight his way with his elbows in order to repeat the orders to his men the crowd had already begun pushing two more men here he called come for together if necessary hold the rope well the general impulse was instinctive and invincible the 20,000 persons assembled there were drawn towards the grotto by an irresistible attraction in which burning curiosity mingled with the thirst for mystery all eyes converged every mouth, hand and body was born towards the pale glitter of the candles and the white moving speck of the marble virgin and in order that the large space reserved to the sick in front of the railings invaded by the swelling mob it had been necessary to enclose it with a stout rope which the bearers at intervals of two or three yards grasped with both hands their orders were to let nobody pass accepting the sick provided with hospital cards and the few persons to whom special authorisations had been granted they limited themselves therefore to raising the cords and then letting them fall behind the chosen ones without listening to the supplications of any of the others in fact they even showed themselves somewhat rough taking a certain pleasure in exercising the authority with which they were invested for a day in truth however they were very much pushed about and had to support each other and resist with all the strength of their loins to avoid being swept away while the benches before the grotto and the vast reserved space were filling with sick people hand carts and stretchers the crowd, the immense crowd swayed about on the outskirts starting from the Place du Rosaire it extended to the bottom of the promenade along the gave where the pavement throughout its entire length was black with people so dense a human sea that all circulation was prevented on the parapet was an interminable line of women most of them seated but some few standing so as to see the better and almost all carrying silk parasols which with holiday like gayities shimmered in the sunlight the managers had wished to keep a path open in order that the sick might be brought along but it was ever being invaded and obstructed so that the carts and stretchers remained on the road submerged and lost until a bearer freed them from the block nevertheless the great tramping was that of a docile flock an innocent lamb-like crowd and it was only the involuntary pushing the blind rolling of one and all towards the light of the candles that had to be contended against no accident had ever happened there notwithstanding the excitement which gradually increased and threw the people into the unruly delirium of faith however Baran Swir again forced his way through the throng Bertot, Bertot, he called see that the défilé is conducted less rapidly there are women and children stifling this time Bertot gave a sign of impatience oh hang it, I can't be everywhere close the gate for a moment if it's necessary it was a question of the march through the grotto which went on throughout the afternoon the faithful were permitted to enter by the door on the left and made their exit by that on the right close the gate exclaimed the Baron but that would be worse, they would all get crushed against it as it happened Girard was there thoughtlessly talking for an instant with Raymond who was standing on the other side of the court holding a bowl of milk which she was about to carry to a paralysed old woman and Bertot ordered the young fellow to post two men at the entrance gate of the iron railing with instructions only to allow the pilgrims to enter by tens when Girard had executed this order and returned he found Bertot laughing and joking with Raymond she went off on her errand however and the two men stood watching her while she made the paralysed woman drink she is charming and it's settled eh? said Bertot you are going to marry her aren't you I shall ask her mother tonight I rely upon you to accompany me well certainly you know what I told you nothing could be more sensible the uncle will find you a birth before six months are over a push of the crowd separated them and Bertot went off to assure himself personally whether the march through the grotto was now being accomplished in a methodical manner without any crushing for ours the same unbroken tide rolled in women, men and children from all parts of the world all who chose, all who passed that way as a result classes were singularly mixed there were beggars in rags beside neat bourgeois peasants of either sex well dressed ladies servants with bare hair young girls with bare feet and others with pomatumed hair and forads bound with ribbons admission was free the mystery was open to all to unbelievers as well as to the faithful to those who were solely influenced by curiosity as well as to those who entered with their hearts faint with love and it was a sight to see them all almost equally affected by the tepid odor of the wax half stifling in the heavy tabernacle air which gathered beneath the rocky vault and lowering their eyes for fear of slipping on the gratings many stood there bewildered not even bowing examining the things around with the covert uneasiness of indifferent folk astray amidst the redoubtable mysteries of a sanctuary but the devout crossed themselves through letters, deposited candles and bouquets kissed the rock below the virgin statue or else rubbed their chaplets, medals and other small objects of piety against it as the contact sufficed to bless them and the défilé continued continued without end during days and months as it had done for years and it seemed as if the whole world all the miseries and sufferings of humanity came in turn and passed in the same hypnotic, contagious kind of round through that rocky nook ever in search of happiness when Biltour had satisfied himself that everything was working well he walked about like a mere spectator superintending his men only one matter remained to trouble him the procession of the blessed sacrament during which such frenzy burst forth that accidents were always to be feared this last day seemed likely to be a very fervent one for he already felt a tremor of exalted faith rising among the crowd the treatment needed for miraculous cure was drawing to an end there had been the fever of the journey the besetting influence of the same endlessly repeated hymns and the stubborn continuation of the same religious exercises and still and ever the conversation was turned on miracles and the mind fixed on the divine illumination of the croto many not having slept for three nights had reached a state of hallucination and walked about in a rageful dream no repose was granted them the continual prayers were like whips lashing their souls the appeals to the blessed virgin never ceased priest followed priest in the pulpit proclaiming the universal doleur and directing the despairing supplications of the throng during the whole time that the sick remained before the pale smiling marble statue with hands clasped and eyes raised to heaven at that moment the white stone pulpit against the rock on the right of the grotto was occupied by a priest from Toulouse whom Bertheau knew and to whom he listened for a moment with an air of approval he was a start man with an unctuous diction famous for his rhetorical successes however all eloquence here consisted in displaying the strength of one's lungs in a violent delivery of the phrase or cry which the whole crowd had to repeat for the addresses were nothing more than so much vociferation interspersed with arvés and patères the priest who had just finished the rosary strove to increase his stature by stretching his short legs whilst shouting the first appeal of the litanies which he improvised and led in his own way according to the inspiration which possessed him Mary we love thee he called and there upon the crowd repeated in a lower confused and broken tone Mary we love thee from that moment there was no stopping the voice of the priest rang out at full swing and the voices of the crowd responded in a dolorous murmur Mary thou art our only hope Mary thou art our only hope pure virgin make us purer among the pure pure virgin make us purer among the pure powerful virgin save our sick powerful virgin save our sick often when the priest's imagination failed him or he wished the thrust to cry home with greater force he would repeat it thrice while the docile crowd would do the same quivering under the innovating effect of the persistent lamentation which increased its fever the litanies continued and Belto went back towards the grotto those who defiled through it beheld an extraordinary sight when they turned and faced the sick the whole of the large space between the cords was occupied by the thousand or twelve hundred patients whom the national pilgrimage had brought with it and beneath the vast spotless sky on that radiant day there was the most heart-rending jumble of sufferers that one could behold the three hospitals of lord had emptied their chambers of horror to begin with those who were still able to remain seated had been piled upon the benches many of them however were propped up with cushions whilst others kept shoulder to shoulder the strong ones supporting the weak then in front of the benches previously afflicted sufferers lying at full length the flagstones disappearing from view beneath this woeful assemblage which was like a large stagnant pool of horror there was an indescribable block of vehicles stretchers and mattresses some of the invalids in little boxes not unlike coffins had raised themselves up and showed above the others but the majority lay almost on a level with the ground there were some lying fully dressed on the check patterned ticks of mattresses whilst others had been brought with their bedding so that only their heads and pale hands were seen outside the sheets few of these pallets were clean some pillows of dazzling whiteness which by a last feeling of coquetry had been trimmed with embroidery alone shone out among the filthy wretchedness of all the rest a fearful collection of rags worn out blankets and linen splashed with stains and all were pushed squeezed piled up by chances they came women men children and priests people in nightgowns beside people who were fully attired jumbled together in the blinding light of day and all forms of disease were there the whole frightful procession which twice a day left the hospitals to end its way through horrified lured there were the heads eaten away by eczema the forads crowned with roseola and the noses and mouths which elephantiasis had transformed into shapeless snouts next the dropsicle ones swollen out like leathern bottles the rheumatic ones with twisted hands and swollen feet like bags stuffed full of rags and a sufferer from hydrocephalus whose huge and weighty skull fell backwards then the consumptive ones with livid skins trembling with fever exhausted by dysentery wasted to skeletons then the deformities the contractions the twisted trunks the twisted arms the necks all awry all the poor broken pounded creatures motionless in their tragic marionette-like postures then the poor rachitic girls displaying their waxen complexions and slender necks eaten into by sores the yellow-faced besotted-looking women in the painful stupor which falls on unfortunate creatures devoured by cancer and the others who turned pale and dared not move fearing as they did the shock of the tumours whose weighty pain was stifling them on the benches sat bewildered deaf women who heard nothing but sang on all the same and blind ones with their heads erect who remained for hours turned towards the statue of the virgin which they could not see and there was also the woman stricken with imbecility whose nose was eaten away and who laughed with a terrifying laugh displaying the black empty cavern of her mouth and then the epileptic woman whom a recent attack had left as pale as death with froth still at the corners of her lips but sickness and suffering were no longer of consequence since they were all there seated or lying down with their eyes upon the grotto the poor fleshless earthy-looking faces became transfigured and began to glow with hope Ankylosed hands were joined heavy eyelids found the strength to rise exhausted voices revived as the priest shouted the appeals at first there was nothing but indistinct stuttering similar to slight puffs of air rising here and there above the multitude then the cry ascended and spread through the crowd itself from one to the other end of the immense square Mary conceived without sin pray for us cried the priest in his thundering voice and the sick and the pilgrims repeated louder and louder Mary conceived without sin pray for us then the flow of the litany set in and continued with increasing speed most pure mother most chaste mother thy children are at thy feet most pure mother most chaste mother thy children are at thy feet Queen of the angels say but a word and our sick shall be healed Queen of the angels say but a word and our sick shall be healed in the second row of sufferers near the pulpit was Monsieur Sabatier who had asked to be brought there early wishing to choose his place like an old habidue who knew the cosy corners moreover it seemed to him that it was of paramount importance that he should be as near as possible under the very eyes of the virgin as though she required to see her faithful in order not to forget them however for the seven years that he had been coming there he had nursed this one hope of being someday noticed by her of touching her and of obtaining his cure if not by selection at least by seniority this merely needed patience on his part without the firmness of his faith being in the least shaken by his way of thinking only like a poor resigned man just a little weary of being always put off he sometimes allowed himself diversions for instance he had obtained permission to keep his wife near him seated on a campstool and he liked to talk to her and equate her with his reflections raised me a little my dear said he I am slipping I am very uncomfortable a tired in trousers and a coarse woolen jacket he was sitting upon his mattress with his back leaning against a tilted chair are you better asked his wife when she had raised him yes yes he answered and then began to take an interest in brother Isidor whom they had succeeded in bringing in spite of everything and who was lying upon a neighbouring mattress with a sheet drawn up to his nothing protruding but his wasted hands which lay clasped upon the blanket ah the poor man said Monsieur Sabatier it's very imprudent but the Blessed Virgin is so powerful when she chooses he took up his chaplet again but once more broke off from his devotions on perceiving Madame Mars who had just glided into the reserved space so slender and unobtrusive that she had doubtless slipped under the ropes without being noticed she had seated herself at the end of the room and her face the face of a woman of two and thirty faded before her time wore an expression of unlimited sadness infinite abandonment and so resumed Monsieur Sabatier in a low voice again addressing his wife after attracting her attention by a slight movement of the chin it's for the conversion of her husband that this lady prays you came across her this morning in a shop didn't you yes yes replied Madame Sabatier and besides I had some talk about her with another lady who knows her her husband is a commercial traveller he leaves her for six months at a time and goes about with other people oh he's a very gay fellow it seems very nice and he doesn't let her want for money only she adores him she cannot accustom herself to his neglect and comes to pray the Blessed Virgin to give him back to her at this moment it appears he is close by at Lichon with two ladies Monsieur Sabatier signed his wife to stop he was now looking at the grotto again becoming a man of intellect a professor whom questions of art had formally impassioned you see my dear he said they have spoilt the grotto by endeavouring to make it too beautiful I am certain it looked much better in its original wildness it has lost its characteristic features and what a frightful shop they have stuck there on the left however he now experienced sudden remorse helplessness whilst he was chatting away might not the Blessed Virgin be noticing one of his neighbours more fervent, more sedate than himself feeling anxious on the point he reverted to his customary modesty and patience and with dull expressionless eyes again began waiting for the good pleasure of heaven moreover the sound of a fresh voice helped to bring him back to this annihilation in which nothing was left of the cultured reasoner that he had formally been it was another preacher who had just entered the pulpit of Bichon this time whose guttural call persistently repeated sent a tremor through the crowd holy Virgin of Virgin, be blessed holy Virgin of Virgin, be blessed holy Virgin of Virgin, turn not thy face from thy children holy Virgin of Virgin, breathe upon our sores and our sores shall heal upon our sores, and our sores shall heal." At the end of the first bench, skirting the central path, which was becoming crowded, the Vigneron family had succeeded in finding room for themselves. They were all there, little Gustave seated in a sinking posture, with his crutch between his legs. His mother beside him, following the prayers like a punctilious bourgeois. His aunt, Madame Chez, on the other side, so inconvenienced by the crowd that she was stifling. The Monsieur Vigneron, who remained silent and for a moment had been examining Madame Chez attentively. �What is the matter with you, my dear?� he inquired. �Do you feel unwell?� she was breathing with difficulty. �Well, I don�t know� she answered, �but I can�t feel my limbs and my breath fails me.� At that very moment the thought had occurred to him that all the agitation, fever and scramble of a pilgrimage could not be very good for heart disease. Of course he did not desire anybody�s death. He had never asked the Blessed Virgin for any such thing. If his prayer for advancement had already been granted through the sudden death of his chief, it must certainly be because heaven had already ordained the latter�s death. And in the same way if Madame Chez should die first, leaving her fortune to Gustave, he would only have to bow before the will of God, which generally requires that the aged should go off before the young. Nevertheless, his hope unconsciously became so keen that he could not help exchanging a glance with his wife, to whom had come the same involuntary thought. �Gustave, draw back� he exclaimed. �You are inconveniencing your aunt.� And then as Remonde passed he asked, �Do you happen to have a glass of water, Mademoiselle? One of our relatives here is losing consciousness.� And Madame Chez refused the offer with a gesture. She was getting better, recovering her breath with an effort. �No, I want nothing, thank you� she gasped. �There, I�m better. Still, I really thought this time that I should stifle.� Her fright left her trembling, with haggard eyes in her pale face. She again joined her hands, and begged the Blessed Virgin to save her from other attacks and cure her. While the vinyons, man and wife, honest folk, both of them, reverted to the covert prayer for happiness that they had come to offer up at Lorde. A pleasant old age, deservedly gained by twenty years of honesty, with a respectable fortune which in later years they would go and enjoy in the country, cultivating flowers. On the other hand, little Gustave, who had seen and noted everything with his bright eyes and intelligence sharpened by suffering, was not praying, but smiling at space with his vague enigmatic smile. What could be the use of his praying? He knew that the Blessed Virgin would not cure him, and that he would die. However, Monsieur Vigneron could not remain long without busying himself about his neighbours. Madame de La Faye, who had come late, had been deposited in the crowded central pathway, and he marvelled at the luxury about the young woman, that sort of coffin quilted with white silk, in which she was lying, attired in a pink dressing gown trimmed with Valenciennes lace. The husband in a frock coat, and the sister in a black gown of simple but marvellous elegance, were standing by, while Ibeju then, kneeling near the sufferer, finished offering up a fervent prayer. When the priest had risen, Monsieur Vigneron made him a little room on the bench beside him, and he then took the liberty of questioning him. Well, Monsieur Le Curé, does that poor young woman feel a little better? Ibeju then made a gesture of infinite sadness. Alas, no. I was full of so much hope. It was I who persuaded the family to come. Two years ago, the Blessed Virgin showed me such extraordinary grace by curing my poor lost eyes, that I hoped to obtain another favour from her. However, I will not despair. We still have until tomorrow. Monsieur Vigneron again looked towards Madame Violafe, and examined her poor face, still of a perfect oval and with admirable eyes. But now it was expressionless, with Ashenhew, similar to a mask of death amidst the lace. It's really very sad, he murmured. And if you had seen her last summer, resumed the priest. They have their country seated Saligny, my parish, and I often dined with them. I cannot help feeling sad when I look at her elder sister, Madame Jousseur, that lady in black who stands there, for she bears a strong resemblance to her. And the poor sufferer was even prettier, one of the beauties of Paris. And now compare them together, observe that brilliancy, that sovereign grace beside that poor pitiful creature, that oppressors one's heart. Oh, what a frightful lesson. He became silent for an instant, saintly man that he was naturally, altogether devoid of passions, with no keen intelligence to disturb him in his faith. He displayed a naive admiration for beauty, wealth and power, which he had never envied. Nevertheless, he ventured to express a doubt, a scruple which troubled his usual serenity. For my part, I should have liked her to come here with more simplicity, without all that surrounding of luxury, because the Blessed Virgin prefers the humble. But I understand very well that there are certain social exigencies. And then her husband and sister love her so. Remember that he has forsaken his business, and she her pleasures in order to come here with her. And so overcome are they at the idea of losing her, that their eyes are never dry. They always have that bewildered look which you can notice. So they must be excused for trying to procure her the comfort of looking beautiful until the last hour. Monsieur Vigneron nodded his head approvingly. Ah, it was certainly not the wealthy who had the most luck at the grotto. Servants, country folk, poor beggars were cured, while ladies returned home with their ailments unrelieved, notwithstanding their gifts and the big candles they had burnt. And in spite of himself, Vigneron then looked at Madame Ches, who, having recovered from her attack, was now reposing with a comfortable air. But a tremor passed through the crowd, and Abbe Juden spoke again. Here is Father Macias coming towards the pulpit. He is a saint. Listen to him. They knew him, and were aware that he could never appear without every soul being stirred by sudden hope, for it was reported that the miracles were often brought to pass by his great fervour. His voice, full of tenderness and strength, was said to be appreciated by the Virgin. All heads were therefore uplifted, and the emotion yet further increased when Father Fourcard was seen coming to the foot of the pulpit, leaning on the shoulder of his well-beloved brother, the preferred of all. And he stayed there, so that he also might hear him. His garty foot had been paining him more acutely since the morning, so that it required great courage on his part to remain thus standing and smiling. The increasing exultation of the crowd made him happy, however. He foresaw prodigies and dazzling cures which would redound to the glory of Mary and Jesus. Having entered the pulpit, Father Macias did not at once speak. He seemed very tall, thin and pale, with an ascetic face, elongated the moor by his discoloured beard. His eyes sparkled, and his large, eloquent mouth protruded passionately. Lord, save us, for we perish! he suddenly cried, and in a fever which increased minute by minute, the transported crowd repeated, Lord, save us, for we perish! Then he opened his arms, and again launched forth his flaming cry as if he had torn it from his glowing heart. Lord, if it be thy will, thou canst heal me! Lord, if it be thy will, thou canst heal me! Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldst enter under my roof, but only say the word, and I shall be healed. Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldst enter under my roof, but only say the word, and I shall be healed. Morte, brother Isidore's sister, had now begun to talk in a whisper with Madame Sabatier, near whom she had at last seated herself. They had formed an acquaintance at the hospital, and drawn together by so much suffering, the servant had familiarly confided to the bourgeois how anxious she felt about her brother, for she could plainly see that he had very little breath left in him. The Blessed Virgin must be quick indeed if she desired to save him. It was already a miracle that they had been able to bring him alive as far as the grotto. In her resignation, poor simple creature that she was, she did not weep, but her heart was so swollen that her infrequent words came faintly from her lips. Then a flood of past memories suddenly returned to her, and with her utterance, thickened by prolonged silence, she began to relieve her heart. We were fourteen at home at Saint-Jacques-Nirvan. He, big as he was, has always been delicate, and that was why he remained with our priest, who ended by placing him among the Christian brothers. The elder ones took over the property, and for my part I preferred going out to service. Yes, it was a lady who took me with her to Paris, five years ago already. Ah, what a lot of trouble there is in life! Everyone has so much trouble. You are quite right, my girl, replied Madame Sabatier, looking the while at her husband, who was devoutly repeating each of Father Marciasa's appeals. And then, continued Marte, there I learned last month that Isidore, who had returned from a hot climate where he had been on a mission, had brought a bad sickness back with him. And when I ran to see him, he told me he should die if he did not leave for Lourdes, but that he couldn't make the journey because he had nobody to accompany him. Then as I had eighty francs saved up, I gave up my place and we set out together. You see, Madame, if I am so fond of him it's because when I was little he used to bring me gooseberries from the parsonage, whereas all the others beat me. She relapsed into silence for a moment, her countenance swollen by grief, and her poor eyes so scorched by watching that no tears could come from them. Then she began to stutter disjointed words. Look at him, Madame, it fills one with pity. Oh, my God, his poor cheeks, his poor chin, his poor face. It was, in fact, a lamentable spectacle. Madame Sabatier's heart was quite upset when she observed Brother Isidore so yellow, cadaverous, steeped in a cold sweat of agony. Above the sheet he still only showed his clasped hands and his face encircled with long scanty hair. But if those wax-like hands seemed lifeless, if there was not a feature of that long-suffering face that stirred, its eyes were still alive, inextinguishable eyes of love, whose flame sufficed to illumine the whole of his expiring visage, the visage of a Christ upon the cross. And never had the contrast been so clearly marked between his low-forward and unintelligent, large-ish peasant air, and the divine splendor which came from his poor human mask, ravaged and sanctified by suffering, sublime at this last hour in the passionate radiance of his faith. His flesh had melted as it were. He was no longer a breath, nothing but a look, a light. Since he had been set down there, his eyes had not strayed from the statue of the Virgin. Nothing else existed around him. He did not see the enormous multitude. He did not even hear the wild cries of the priests, the incessant cries which shook this quivering crowd. His eyes alone remained to him, his eyes burning with infinite tenderness, and they were fixed upon the Virgin, never more to turn from her. They drank her in, even unto death. They made a last effort of will to disappear, die out in her. For an instant, however, his mouth half-opened and his drawn visage relaxed as an expression of celestial beatitude came over it. Then nothing more stirred. His eyes remained wide open, still obstinately fixed upon the white statue. A few seconds elapsed. Malt had felt a cold breath, chilling the roots of her hair. I say, Madame, look! she stammered. Madame Sabatier, who felt anxious, pretended that she did not understand. What is it, my girl? My brother, look! He no longer moves. He opened his mouth and has not stirred since. Then they both shuddered, feeling certain he was dead. He had indeed just passed away, without a rattle, without a breath, as if life had escaped in his glance, through his large, loving eyes, ravenous with passion. He had expired gazing upon the Virgin, and nothing could have been so sweet. And he still continued to gaze upon her with his dead eyes, as though with ineffable delight. Try to close his eyes, murmured Madame Sabatier. We shall soon know, then. Malt had already risen and, leaning forward, so as not to be observed, she endeavored to close the eyes with a trembling finger. But each time they reopened and again looked at the Virgin with invincible obstinacy. He was dead, and Malt had to leave his eyes wide open, steeped in unbounded ecstasy. Ah, it's finished. It's quite finished, Madame, she started. Two tears then burst from her heavy eyelids and ran down her cheeks, while Madame Sabatier caught hold of her hand to keep her quiet. There had been whisperings, and uneasiness was already spreading. But what course could be adopted? It was impossible to carry off the corpse amidst such a mob, during the prayers, without incurring the risk of creating a disastrous effect. The best plan would be to leave it there, pending a favourable moment. The poor fellow scandalised no one, he did not seem any more dead now than he had seemed ten minutes previously, and everybody would think that his flaming eyes were still alive, ardently appealing to the divine compassion of the Blessed Virgin. Only a few persons among those around knew the truth. Monsieur Sabatier, quite scared, had made a questioning sign to his wife, and on being answered by a prolonged affirmative nod, he had returned to his prayers without any rebellion, though he could not help turning pale at the thought of the mysterious, almighty power which sent death when life was asked for. The vignerons, who were very much interested, leaned forward and whispered as though in presence of some street accident, one of those petty incidents which in Paris the father sometimes related on returning home from the ministry, and which suffice to occupy them all throughout the evening. Madame Jousseau, for her part, had simply turned round and whispered a word or two in Monsieur Dior la Faisie, and then they had both reverted to the heart-rending contemplation of their own dear invalid. While Stabé Juden, informed by Monsieur Vigneron, knelt down, and in a low agitated voice recited the prayers for the dead. Was he not a saint that missionary who had returned from a deadly climate, with a mortal wound in his side, to die there beneath the smiling gaze of the blessed virgin? And Madame Mars, who also knew what had happened, suddenly felt a taste for death, and resolved that she would implore heaven to suppress her also in an unobtrusive fashion, if it would not listen to her prayer and give her back her husband. But the cry of Father Masias rose into a still higher key, burst forth with the strength of terrible despair, with a rending like that of a sob. Jesus, Son of David, I am perishing, save me. And the crowd sobbed after him in unison. Jesus, Son of David, I am perishing, save me. Then in quick succession and in higher and higher keys, the appeals went on, proclaiming the intolerable misery of the world. Jesus, Son of David, take pity on thy sick children. Jesus, Son of David, come heal them that they may live. Jesus, Son of David, come heal them that they may live. It was delirium, at the foot of the pulpit Father Furtkard succumbing to the extraordinary passion which overflowed from all hearts, had likewise raised his arms, and was shouting the appeals in his thundering voice as though to compel the intervention of heaven. And the exaltation was still increasing beneath this blast of desire, whose powerful breath bowed every head in turn, spreading even to the young women who, in a spirit of mere curiosity, sat watching the scene from the parapet of the garve, for these also turned pale under their sunshades. Miserable humanity was clamouring from the depths of its abyss of suffering, and the clamour swept along, sending a shudder down every spine, for one and all were plunged in agony, refusing to die, longing to compel God to grant them eternal life. Ah, life, life! That was what all those unfortunates, who had come from so far, amidst so many obstacles, wanted. That was the one boon they asked for, in their wild desire to live it over again, to live it always. O Lord, whatever our mystery, whatever the torment of our life may be, cure us, grant us that we may begin to live again, and suffer once more what we have suffered already. However unhappy we may be, to be is what we wish. It is not heaven that we ask thee for, it is earth, and grant that we may leave it at the latest possible moment. Never leave it indeed, if such be thy good pleasure. And even when we no longer implore a physical cure but a moral favour, it is still happiness that we ask thee for. Happiness, the thirst for which alone consumes us. O Lord, grant that we may be happy and healthy. Let us live, aye, let us live forever. This wild cry, the cry of man's furious desire for life, came in broken accents, mingled with tears, from every breast. O Lord, Son of David, heal our sick! Bertot had twice been obliged to dash forward to prevent the cords from giving way under the unconscious pressure of the crowd. Baron Suir and Despair kept on making signs, begging someone to come to his assistance, for the grotto was now invaded, and the march past had become the mere trampling of a flock rushing to its passion. In vain did Girard again leave Remonde and post himself at the entrance gate of the iron railing, so as to carry out the orders which were to admit to the pilgrims by tens. He was hustled and swept aside, while with feverish excitement everybody rushed in, passing like a torrent between the flaring candles, throwing bouquets and letters to the virgin and kissing the rock, which the pressure of millions of inflamed lips had polished. It was faith run wild, the great power that nothing henceforth could stop. And now, whilst Girard stood there, hemmed in against the iron railing, he heard two countrywomen, whom the advance was bearing onward, raise loud exclamations at sight of the sufferer's line on the stretchers before them. One of them was so greatly impressed by the pallid face of Brother Isidor, whose large dilated eyes were still fixed on the statue of the virgin, that she crossed herself, and overcome by devout admiration murmured, Oh, look at that one. See how he is praying with his whole heart, and how he gazes on our Lady of Lord. The other peasant woman thereupon replied, Oh, she will certainly cure him. He is so beautiful. Indeed, as the dead man lay there, his eyes still fixedly staring, whilst he continued his prayer of love and faith, his appearance touched every heart. No one in that endless streaming throng could behold him without feeling edified. End of section 17