VIII.
In the name of his see, or, rather, in that of the church, Mgr. Laurence purchased from the town of Lourdes the grotto and the surrounding lands, and the whole group of Massabielle rocks. M. Lacadé was still mayor. He it was who proposed to the municipal council to cede to the church, the bride of Christ, those places which had been consecrated for ever by the appearance of his heavenly Mother. He, also, signed the deed of transfer.
M. Rouland authorized the sale, and also the erection of a church in perpetual memory of the apparition of the Blessed Virgin to Bernadette Soubirous, in memory of the fountain and the numberless miracles which had attested the heavenly visions.
While the vast temple dedicated to the Immaculate Conception was slowly rising, stone upon stone, Our Lady of Lourdes continued to shower blessings and graces upon her clients. At Paris and Bordeaux, in Perigord, Brittany, and Anjou, amid solitary and rural scenes and in the heart of popular cities, Our Lady of Lourdes was invoked, and answered with unquestionable signs of her power and goodness.
Before closing our recital and presenting the picture of things as they now exist, let us narrate two of these divine histories. One of them forms an episode in the life of the writer of these pages which nothing can ever efface from his memory. We give it as we wrote it down nearly seven years ago.
PART X.
I.
During my whole life, I had always enjoyed the blessing of good sight. I was able to distinguish objects at a great distance, and also to read with ease when my book was close to my eyes. I never suffered the least weakness of sight after whole nights passed in study. I often wondered and rejoiced at the strength and clearness of my vision. Thus, it was a great surprise and a cruel disenchantment when in June and July, 1862, I felt my eyesight becoming gradually weak, unable to work at night, and, finally, incapable of any use, so that I was obliged to give up altogether reading and writing. If I chanced to pick up a book, after reading three or four lines, sometimes at the first glance, I felt such weakness in the upper part of my eyes as to render it impossible to continue. I consulted several physicians, and principally the two famous oculists, Desmares and Giraud-Teulon.
The remedies prescribed by them were of little or no avail. After a slight rest, and a treatment principally composed of iron, I had a slight respite, and once read during a considerable portion of the afternoon. But, the following day, I relapsed into my former condition. Then I began to try local remedies, applications of cold water on the ball of the eye, cupping on the neck, a general hydropathic treatment, and alcoholic lotions around the eyes. Sometimes I experienced a slight relief from the weariness which generally oppressed them, but this was only for a moment. In short, my disease assumed all the appearances of a chronic and incurable malady.
According to advice, I condemned my eyes to absolute repose. Not content with putting on blue eye-glasses, I had left Paris, and was living in the country with my mother, at Coux, on the banks of the Dordogne. I had taken with me a young person, who acted as my secretary, writing at my dictation, and who read to me the books which I wished to consult.
September had arrived. This state had lasted for three months. I began to be seriously alarmed. I felt a gloomy foreboding which I dared not communicate to any one. My family shared the same apprehensions, but likewise shrank from manifesting them. We were both convinced that my sight was gone, but both sought to reassure one another, and to conceal our mutual anxiety.
I had a most intimate friend, in whom I had confided from boyhood all my joys and sorrows. I dictated to my secretary a letter to him, in which I described my sad condition, and the fears which I had for the future. The friend of whom I speak is a Protestant, as is also his wife. This twofold circumstance requires to be mentioned. Grave reasons prevent me from giving his name. We shall call him M. de ——.
He answered my letter a few days afterward. His letter reached me on the fifteenth of September, and surprised me greatly. I transcribe it here, without changing a word:
"My Dear Friend: Your few lines gave me great pleasure; but, as I have told you before, I long to hear from you in your own handwriting. A few days ago, as I returned from Cauterets, I passed through Lourdes (in the neighborhood of Tarbes). I visited the famous grotto, and heard about the extraordinary things that have been taking place there, and the cures produced by the waters in cases of diseased eyes. I earnestly recommend you to try it. If I were like you, a believing Catholic, and laboring under any illness, I would certainly try this chance. If it be true that invalids have been suddenly cured, perhaps your name may swell the number. If it be not true, where is the risk? I may add that I am personally interested in this matter. If the experiment succeeds, what an important fact for me to face! I would be in the presence of a miraculous event, or, at any rate, an event whose principal witness would be above all suspicion."
"It appears," he added in post-script, "that it is not necessary to go to Lourdes itself to take the water there, since you can have it sent. It is only necessary to ask the curé of Lourdes; he will forward it without delay. Certain conditions have to be fulfilled of which I am not perfectly informed, but of which the curé of Lourdes will tell you. Ask him also to send you the little pamphlet by the vicar-general of Tarbes, which gives an account of the miracles that have been most thoroughly proved."
This letter of my friend was well calculated to fill me with astonishment. His was an exact, positive, and at the same time a lofty mind, not at all liable to the illusions of enthusiasm, and, besides, he was a Protestant. Such a piece of advice coming from him, in such an urgent manner, filled me with amazement. However, I resolved not to follow it.
"It seems to me," I replied, "that I am to-day a little better. If this improvement continues, I shall not have need of your proposed and extraordinary remedy, for which, besides, I have not, perhaps, the necessary faith."
And here, I must confess, not without a blush, the secret motives of my resistance.
Whatever I may have said, it was not faith which was lacking; and, although ignorant of particulars concerning the water of Lourdes, except through the impertinent remarks of certain ill-disposed journals, I was certain that the power of God could be manifested by cures here as well as elsewhere. I will say more: I had a secret presentiment that if I tried this water, springing, as some said, in consequence of an apparition of the Blessed Virgin, I should be cured. But, to tell the simple truth, I feared the responsibility of such a favor. "If the doctor cures you," I said to myself, "every account is squared as soon as you have handed him his fee. You will be in the same condition as everybody else. But if God cures you by a special act of his providence, it will be quite another affair, and you will have to amend your life and become a saint. If God gives you back those eyes of yours with his own hands, how can you ever let them rest upon objects which draw you away from him? God will demand his fee; and it will amount to more than the doctor's. You must give up this and that bad habit, you must acquire such and such virtues, and others that you know nothing of. How will you do all this? Ah! this is too hard!" And my miserable heart, fearing its own weakness, nevertheless resisted the grace of God.
Thus it was I rebelled against the counsel given me to have recourse to this miraculous intervention—against that counsel which Providence, ever hidden in its ways, sent me by two Protestants, two heretics, outside the church. But my struggles and resistance were vain. An interior voice told me that the hand of man was powerless to cure me, and that the Master whom I had offended would return me my sight, and lead me to a new life, if I would make up my mind to use it well.
Meanwhile, my condition was either stationary or slowly becoming worse.
In the early part of October, I was obliged to go to Paris. By an unlooked-for chance, M. de —— and his wife were there at the same time. My first visit was to them. My friend was staying at his sister's, Madame P——, who lived, together with her husband, in Paris.
"And how are your eyes?" asked Madame de —— as soon as I had entered the parlor.
"They are always in the same condition; I begin to fear that they are gone."
"But why have you not tried the remedy that I proposed? I have a strange hope that you will be cured."
"Pshaw!" I replied; "I confess that, without precisely denying or showing myself hostile, I have but little faith in this water and apparition. It is perfectly possible, I admit; but as I have not examined the matter, I neither assert nor contest; I wash my hands of the whole affair, and do not intend to have anything to do with it."
"You have no valid objections," he answered. "According to your religious principles, you are bound to believe at least the possibility of such things. Very well, then, what is to prevent you from making a trial? What is it going to cost you? It can't do you any harm, for it is nothing but natural water. Now, since you believe in miracles and in your religion, it seems to me that you ought to be moved by two Protestants; and I frankly confess that, if you are cured, it will be a terrible argument against me." Madame de —— joined her entreaties to those of her husband. M. and Madame P——, who are Catholics, insisted as warmly. I was driven to my last entrenchments.
"Well," said I at last, "let me tell you the whole truth. I do not lack faith, but I am full of weaknesses, faults, and a thousand miseries which are entwined with the most sensitive fibres of my nature. Now, a miracle would lay upon me the obligation of giving up everything and trying to become a saint; and I do not feel equal to the responsibility. If God cures me, how do I know what he will ask of me? But if the doctor succeeds, we can settle the matter with money. You think this is disgraceful, I know; but it is nothing but the truth. You have supposed that my faith has been wavering. You have thought that I feared lest the miracle should not succeed. It is not so. I should be only afraid that it might succeed."
My friends vainly tried to convince me that I was exaggerating the responsibility of which I spoke.
"You are none the less obliged to seek after virtue now than if the miracle had been already worked," said M. de ——. "Besides, supposing the physician does cure you, it will be none the less a favor from God; and you will have just the same reasons for struggling against your faults and passions."
This did not seem to me perfectly true; and the logical mind of M. de —— probably admitted as much to itself; but he was bent upon calming my apprehensions and inducing me to follow his advice.
Vainly did I endeavor to combat the pressing earnestness of my host and his wife, and my friends. I ended by promising to do whatever they desired.
"As soon as I get a secretary, I will write to Lourdes; but it is too late at this hour of the day."
"But I will do, will I not?" answered my friend.
"Very well," said I, "come and breakfast with me to-morrow at the Café de Foy. I will dictate the letter after breakfast."
"Why not do it now? We will save one day."
Paper and ink were at hand. I dictated a letter to the curé of Lourdes. It was posted that evening.
The next day, M. de —— came to see me. "My dear friend," he said, "since the die is cast, and you are going to try this experiment, you ought to go seriously to work, and fulfil the conditions which are required in order to make a success. You must pray. You will have to go to confession, and put your mind in the proper state. You know that all this is a prime necessity."
"You are right," I replied; "I will do as you say. But you must acknowledge that you are a queer Protestant. The tables are turned; to-day you are preaching to me my own faith and religion, and I own the contrast is not much to my advantage."
"I am a man of science," he answered. "It is perfectly natural that I should wish to see all the conditions carried out, since we have agreed to try an experiment. I should act in this manner if we were dealing with physics or chemistry."
I confess, to my shame, I did not prepare myself as my friend had so wisely advised me. I was in a very poor spiritual condition; my soul was distracted and turned to evil. I recognized the necessity of throwing myself at the feet of God; but, as I had not been guilty of gross and brutal sins, against which nature reacts with such violence, I delayed from day to day. Man is more rebellious against the sacrament of penance while he is being tempted, than after he has been crushed and humbled by the sight of his crime. It is more difficult to combat and resist than to ask for mercy after defeat. Who does not know this?
A week passed in this manner. M. and Mme. de —— inquired daily if I had heard any news of the miraculous water, or any word from the curé of Lourdes. Finally, I received a note from him to the effect that the water had been forwarded by rail, and would shortly reach me.
We awaited its arrival with great eagerness; but, strange to say, my Protestant friends were much more impatient than I. The state of my eyes continued the same. It was absolutely impossible for me to read or write.
One morning, Friday, October 10, 1862, I was waiting for M. de —— in the Orleans Gallery at the Palais Royal. We breakfasted together. As I had come to the place of meeting some time in advance of him, I employed myself in looking about the shops and reading the list of new books in front of Dentu's library. This was enough to weary my eyes. They had become so weak that I could not let them rest upon the largest signs without feeling them overpowered by lassitude. This little circumstance made me quite sad, as it showed me the extent of my malady.
In the afternoon I dictated three letters to De ——, and, at four o'clock, having left him, returned to my lodgings. As I was going up-stairs, the porter called to me.
"A little box has come for you from the railroad." I entered his store-room eagerly. There was a small pine box, bearing my name and address on one end, and on the other these words, doubtless intended for the custom-house officials, "Natural Water."
It was from Lourdes.
I felt greatly excited; but did not betray any emotion.
"Very well," said I to the porter, "I will take it in a few moments; I will return shortly." I stepped out again into the street.
"This matter is becoming serious," I said to myself. "De —— is right; I must prepare myself. In my present state, I have no right to ask God to work a miracle. I must set to work to heal my own soul before I can ask him to heal my body."
Reflecting on these considerations, I directed my steps toward the house of my confessor, the Abbé Ferrand de Missol, who lived quite near me. I felt certain of finding him in, for it was Friday, and he is always at home on that day. So indeed he was upon this occasion.
But several persons were waiting to see him, whose turn would naturally come before mine. Some member of his family had just arrived on an unexpected visit. His servant informed me of all this, and asked me to call again in the evening about seven o'clock.
I resigned myself to my lot.
As I came to the street-door, I paused for an instant. I wavered between the desire of paying a visit which I had greatly at heart and the thought of returning home to pray. I was very much inclined to the distraction, but finally the good inspiration carried the day, and I returned toward the Rue Seine.
I took from the porter the little box, to which was attached a notice of the apparition at Lourdes, and, with both in my hand, I hastened up-stairs. On reaching my room, I knelt down at my bedside and prayed, all unworthy as I was to turn my eyes toward heaven. Then I arose. On entering, I had placed the little box and the pamphlet upon the mantelpiece. I gazed a moment upon the little case which contained the mysterious water, and it seemed to me that some great event was about to transpire in this lonely chamber. I feared to touch with impure hands the wood which contained this hallowed water, and yet, on the other hand, I felt a lively desire to open it at once, and not wait until after I had been to confession. This indecision lasted for a few moments, and ended with this prayer:
"O my God! I am a wretched sinner, unworthy of raising my voice to you, or of touching that which you have blessed. But this very excess of misery ought to excite your compassion. My God, I come to you and to the Most Blessed Virgin Mary, full of faith and reliance upon you, and from the depths I cry to you. This evening I will confess my sins to your minister, but my faith will not suffer me to wait. Pardon me, Lord, and heal me. And you, O Mother of Mercy! come to the help of your unhappy child!"
And, feeling strengthened by my prayer, I opened the box. It contained a bottle of pure water. I uncorked it, poured some of the water into a glass, and took a napkin from the drawer.
These commonplace preparations, which I made with care, were accompanied by a secret solemnity, the memory of which still haunts me. In that room I was not alone. God was there certainly; and the Blessed Virgin, whom I had invoked, was also there.
Ardent faith inflamed my soul. When all was ready, I knelt down again. "O Blessed Virgin Mary!" I cried in a loud voice, "heal my physical and spiritual blindness." Saying these words, with a heart full of confidence, I bathed successively both eyes and my forehead with the napkin which I had dipped in the water. This did not occupy more than half a minute.
Judge of my astonishment—I had almost said my terror! Scarcely had I touched my eyes and forehead with the miraculous water than I felt myself cured, at once, without transition, with a suddenness which I can compare only to lightning.
Strange contradiction of human nature! A moment before I had trusted my faith, which promised me a cure; now, I could not believe my senses, which assured me that the cure had been worked.
No! I did not believe my senses. In spite of the startling effect which had been wrought upon me, I committed the fault of which Moses was guilty, and struck the rock twice. I continued to bathe my eyes and forehead, not daring to open them, not daring to verify my cure. At the end of ten minutes, however, the strength which I felt in my eyes, and the absence of all heaviness, left no chance for doubt. "I am cured!"
So saying, I snatched up a book. "No," said I, "that is not the book for me to be reading at this moment." Then I took from the mantelpiece the Account of the Apparitions at Lourdes. I read a hundred and four pages without stopping or feeling the least fatigue. Twenty minutes before, I could not have read three lines. Indeed, if I stopped at the hundred-and-fourth page, it was only because it was thirty-five minutes past five o'clock, and at this hour in October it is almost dark in Paris. When I laid aside my book, the gas was being lighted in the shops of the street in which I lived.
That evening, I made my confession to the Abbé Ferrand, and acquainted him with the great gift which I had received from the Blessed Virgin. Although in no degree prepared, he wished me to go to communion the next day, to thank God for such an extraordinary favor, and to strengthen the good resolutions which it had caused to spring up in my soul.
M. and Mme. de —— were, as one may imagine, greatly moved by this event, in which Providence had assigned them so direct a part. What did they think of it? What reflections were suggested to their minds? What took place in the depth of their hearts? That secret belongs only to them and to God. What little I have been able to make out, I am not at liberty to publish.
Be this as it may, I know my friend's nature. I left him to his own thoughts, without urging him to the conclusion. I knew, and still know, that God has his own time and his own ways. His action was so manifest throughout the whole affair that I did not wish to interfere, although my friends have never been ignorant of my desire to see them enter the only church which contains God in his fulness.
I regret not being able to consider these two beings—so dear to me—as receiving from the reaction of the miracle of which I had been the object the first shocks which truth gives to those whom it seeks to conquer.
Seven years have now passed since my miraculous cure. My sight is excellent. Neither reading nor hard work, even when kept up late at night, wearies my eyes. God grant me never to use them save in the cause of right.