The Mother of Our Lord Jesus Christ had not said,—“I am Mary, the Immaculate;” She had said,—“I am the Immaculate Conception,” as if to mark the absolute, and, as it were, substantial character of the divine privilege granted to Her alone since Adam and Eve were created by God. It is as if she had said, not, “I am pure,” but, “I am purity itself;” not, “I am a Virgin,” but, “I am the incarnate and living Virginity;” not, “I am white,” but, “I am whiteness!”
Any thing that is white may cease to be so; but, Whiteness is always white. It is its essence and not its quality.
Mary is more than conceived without sin: She is the Immaculate Conception itself; the essential and superior type; the archetype of unsullied humanity, of humanity as it proceeded from the hands of God without having been tainted by the original stain by the impure element which the fault of our first Parents mixed with the very source of that vast river of generations, which has flowed for the last six thousand years, and of which, each of us, is a fleeting wave.
What would you do, if you wished to draw water pure from a muddy spring? You would pass it through a filter, and the water clears itself of its grosser elements. You then pass it through a second filter, then through a third, and so on. The time soon comes when the water becomes entirely pure and clear,—a liquid diamond. In the same manner did God act, when the original Spring was troubled. He chose a particular family in this world, and watched over it from age to age, from Seth unto Noah, from Shem unto David, from David even unto Joachim and Anne, the parents of the Blessed Virgin. And, when this human blood was thus filtered, so to speak, in spite of the accidents of some intermediate guilty persons, through nearly fifty generations of patriarchs and just men, there came into the world a creature absolutely pure; a creature without stain; a daughter of Adam entirely immaculate. She was called Mary, and Her fruitful Virginity produced Jesus Christ.
The Virgin, at that moment, had desired to attest by her presence and her miracles, the last dogma defined by the Church, and proclaimed by St. Peter, speaking by the voice of Pius IX.
It was the first time in her life that the little shepherd-girl, to whom the divine Virgin had just appeared, had heard the words: “Immaculate Conception;” and, being entirely ignorant of their meaning, she exerted herself to the utmost on her way back to Lourdes to retain them in her memory.
“I repeated them to myself all along the road, in order not to forget them,” she told us, one day; “and, up to the very door of the presbytery to which I was going, I kept saying, Immaculate Conception, Immaculate Conception, at each step I made, as I wished to take to the Curé the exact words of the Vision, in order that the chapel might be built.”
Since the last day of the Quinzaine, Bernadette had several times re-visited the Grotto, but much like any other simple individual, that is to say, without bearing in her heart the irresistible voice which was wont to summon her to the spot.
She heard this voice, however, once more on the twenty-fifth of March, in the course of the morning and immediately proceeded towards the Rocks of Massabielle. Her countenance was beaming with hope. She felt within herself that she was going to see the Apparition once more, and that Paradise would throw its eternal gates half open to her ravished eyes.
It may be easily conceived that she had become ere this an object of general attention at Lourdes, and she could not take a step without becoming “the observed of all observers.”
“Bernadette is going to the Grotto,” was the observation of the one to the other as she was seen passing by.
A moment afterwards, a crowd, issuing from all the houses and collecting from all the alleys, rushed in the same direction and reached the Grotto at the same time with the child.
In the valley, the snow had melted within the last two or three days, but still remained on the crests of the neighboring peaks. The weather was fine and clear, and not a speck was to be seen in the calm blue of the firmament. The sun seemed to rise with royal pomp from the bosom of the white mountains and threw a splendor over his cradle of snow.
It was the anniversary of the day on which the Angel Gabriel had descended to the purest of virgins, the Virgin of Nazareth, and had saluted her in the name of the Lord. The Church was celebrating the feast of the Annunciation.
While the crowd was hurrying to the Grotto, and amongst it might be noticed the greater number of those who had been cured—Louis Bourriette, the widow Crouzat, Blaisette Soupene, Benoite Cazeaux, Auguste Bordes, and twenty more, the Catholic Church, at the close of her morning office, was intoning those wonderful words, “At that moment shall the eyes of the blind be opened, the ears of the deaf shall recover their hearing, the lame shall leap like the deer, for the waters have burst forth in the desert, and torrents in the wilderness.”
Bernadette had not been deceived by the joyful presentiment she had felt. The voice which had called her was the voice of the faithful Virgin.
As soon as the child had fallen on her knees the Apparition made herself manifest. As ever before, an ineffable aureole beamed around her, of boundless splendor and infinite sweetness; it was like the eternal glory of absolute peace. As ever before, her veil and her robe falling in chaste folds were white like the glistening snow. The two roses which blossomed on her feet had the yellow tinge which pervades the base of heaven at the first light of the virgin dawn. Her girdle was blue as the azure firmament.
Bernadette, plunged in ecstasy, had forgotten earth in the presence of her spotless beauty.
“O Lady,” she said to her, “would you have the goodness to inform me who you are and what is your name?”
The queenly Apparition smiled but gave no reply.
But at that very moment, the Universal Church proceeding with the solemn prayers of her Office, was exclaiming:
“O holy and immaculate Virginity, what praises can I give unto Thee? In truth, I know not, for thou hast borne in thy womb Him whom the Heavens cannot contain.”
Bernadette heard not these distant voices, nor could she surmise these profound harmonies. Notwithstanding the silence on the part of the Vision, she urged her request, and repeated:
“O Lady, would you have the kindness to inform me who you are and what is your name?”
The Apparition appeared to become more radiant, as if her joy kept increasing, and yet she did not reply to the child’s question. But the Church, spread over the whole of Christendom, was continuing her prayers and chants and had reached those words:
“Wish me joy, all ye who love the Lord, for when I was yet a child, the Most High hath loved me, and from my womb was produced the God-Man. All generations shall proclaim me Blessed, for God hath deigned to regard the lowliness of his hand-maiden; and from my womb was produced the God-Man.”
Bernadette redoubled the urgency of her request and pronounced for the third time the words:
“O Lady, would you have the kindness to inform me who you are and what is your name?”
The Apparition appeared to enter more and more into the glory of beatitude, and as if absorbed in her own felicity, continued to return no answer.
But, by an extraordinary coincidence the universal choir of the Church was at that moment bursting forth into a song of joy and pronouncing the earthly name of the marvelous Apparition, “Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with Thee, blessed art Thou among women.”
Bernadette pronounced once more these suppliant words:
“O Lady, I beseech you, have the kindness to inform me who you are and what is your name?”
The hands of the Apparition were clasped with fervor and her countenance was radiant with the splendors of infinite beatitude. It was Humility crowned with Glory. At the same time that Bernadette was contemplating the Vision, the Vision was doubtless contemplating, in the bosom of the divine Trinity, God the Father of whom She was the daughter; God the Holy Ghost of whom She was the Spouse, and God the Son of whom She was the Mother.
At the last question of the child She unclasped her hands, slipping over Her right arm the chaplet, whose alabaster beads were strung on a golden thread. She then opened both of Her arms and bent them towards the ground, as if to show to the earth Her Virgin hands, full of blessings. Afterwards, raising them towards the eternal region, from which on that very day centuries before the divine Messenger of the Annunciation had descended, She joined them again fervently, and gazing up to Heaven with an expression of unspeakable gratitude, She pronounced the following words:
“I am the Immaculate Conception.”
The Vision disappeared, and the child, like the multitude, found herself opposite a solitary rock.
At her side, the miraculous Fountain, falling through its wooden conduit into its rustic basin, soothed the ear with the peaceful murmur of its waters.
It was the day and the hour, when Holy Church was intoning in her Office the magnificent hymn—
“O most glorious of Virgins:
Sublimis inter sidera.”
(Exalted above the stars)
During the period of the manifestation of the Apparitions, the popular movement had been favored with the most magnificent weather. There had been an uninterrupted series of fine days, such as had not been experienced for many years past.
From the fifth of March, there was a change in the weather and a heavy fall of snow. The severity of the season naturally abated for some days the concourse of visitors to the Grotto.
The miraculous cures, however, increased in number. Benoîte Cazeaux, a most respectable inhabitant of Lourdes, had been confined to her bed for three years by a slow fever accompanied with pains in her side, and all her applications to the medical men of the place had been fruitless. A course of baths at Gazost had proved equally unavailing towards the recovery of her health.
The medical men had become disheartened by the unsuccessful issue of all their efforts, and had ceased to visit the poor woman, regarding her as incurable. Finding herself in this desperate situation, she had had recourse to Our Lady of Lourdes, and her supposed incurable malady had suddenly disappeared in consequence of drinking one or two glasses of water from the Grotto, and the application of some lotions.
Another woman, Blaisette Soupenne, of Lourdes, about fifty years of age, had been suffering for several years from a chronic affection in her eyes, and her state was truly pitiable. In technical terms, it was a blepharitis accompanied with atrophy. A continual flow of tears from the eyes, severe smarting pains sometimes at the same time, sometimes alternately; an eversion of the eyelids and total disappearance of the eye-lashes, the two lower lids being covered with a multitude of fleshy warts—such was the disastrous state of this unfortunate woman. It was in vain she applied lotions of cold water several times a day to her eyes, employed all the remedies prescribed by her medical advisers, or sought some relief at the baths of Barèges, Cauterets and Gazost—everything had been a failure.
Abandoned by man, she had turned herself towards the Divine Goodness which had manifested itself at the Grotto. Pronounced incurable by medical science, she had addressed herself to Faith, and had besought the miraculous Lady to remove from her that cruel malady which had defied the skill of men and the agency of natural remedies. She received great relief on the application of the first lotion. At the second application, which took place the following day, the cure was complete. Tears ceased to flow from her eyes, the eyelids resumed their natural form, and the fleshy warts disappeared. From that very day the eye-lashes grew again.
In the opinion of the medical men called in to examine the above case, the supernatural effect in this marvelous cure was rendered more obvious from the fact “that the material injury,” they said, “was more striking, and that to the rapid re-establishment of the tissues in their normal and organic condition, was added the restoration of the eyelids to their original form and position. The importance of this fact is so much the greater as the malady in question is one of the most difficult to treat successfully, and in the stage it had reached in the case of Blaisette Soupenne, necessitated a surgical operation, such as the excision of the palpebral mucous membrane, or at least a severe cauterization of the swellings and fleshy pimples of that membrane.”
These wonderful events increased daily in number.
God proceeded in His work. The Blessed Virgin afforded ample display of her omnipotence.
Those of unbelief, irritated by these events they appeared to despise, and in regard to which they dared not risk the decisive proof of a public investigation, sought other means of ridding themselves of such stubborn facts. They had recourse to a manoeuvre which in its extreme cleverness and machiavelic type showed all the resources of intellect which hatred of the Supernatural induced the cluster of Free-thinkers to employ. Instead of investigating the miracles which were really true, they invented false ones, reserving to themselves the right of exposing the imposture at a later period. Their journals made no mention, either of Louis Bourriette, or of the child of Croisine Ducouts, or of Blaise Maumus, or of the widow Crozat, or of Marie Daube, or of Bernarde Soubie, or of Fabien Baron, or of Jean Crassus, or of Augusto Borde, or in fact of hundreds of others. But they treacherously fabricated an imaginary legend, hoping to propagate it by means of the press, and refute it at their ease later on.
This assertion may appear strange, but we assert nothing without having the proofs in our hands.
“Do not be astonished,” observed the journal of the Prefecture, the Ère Impériale, “if there are still to be found persons who persist in maintaining that the young girl is predestinated and endowed with supernatural power. For them it is affirmed,
“1. That a dove hovered the day before yesterday over the head of the child during the time her state of ecstasy lasted.
“2. That the young girl has breathed on the eyes of a little blind child and restored her sight.
“3. That she has cured another child whose arm was paralyzed.
“4. Lastly, that a peasant from the valley of Campan, having declared that he was not the dupe of these scenes of hallucination, the little girl had the same evening procured his fish to be turned into snakes, which snakes devoured this irreverential man, leaving no trace of his bones.”
As to the real cures, the miracles fully authenticated, and the bursting forth of the fountain, the crafty editor took good care not to mention them. With no less art, he did not give any names, in order to avoid being contradicted.
“Such is the present state of things, and all this might have been obviated at Lourdes if the parents of the girl had followed the advice of the medical men and sent her to the hospital.”
We may remark that none of the medical men had up to that time offered advice of the kind.
After having invented these fables, the pious and judicious writer sounded the alarm in the name of reason and the faith.
“Such is the opinion,” he continued, “of all reasonable people, who are actuated by feelings of real piety, who have a real love and respect for religion, who look upon the mania of superstition as highly dangerous, and who hold fast to the principle that the Church alone is competent to pronounce on the genuineness of miraculous facts.”
The remarkable diplomacy which had dictated these articles, was worthily crowned by this devout ebullition of faith and this closing genuflexion. Such are the ordinary formularies of all those who would reduce to the confined limits of their own systems the position which it pleases God to occupy in this nether world. As regards the last affirmation propounded as a principle, when miraculous facts are in question, is it necessary to say that they command respect or not, according to their own merits, as indeed do all facts, and derive their peculiar character, not from the Church, by which they are only recognised, but from God himself, by whose power they are directly produced? The decision of the Church does not create a miracle, it only authenticates it, and on her authoritative examination and affirmation the faithful believe. But no law, either as regards faith or reason prevents Christians, who are witnesses of a fact plainly supernatural, from recognizing, of their own accord, its miraculous character. Such an abdication of their reason and common sense has never been exacted from believers by the Church. She only reserves to herself the right of judging without appeal in the last resort.
“It does not appear up to the present moment,” were the closing words of the article, “that the religious authorities have thought what is going on worthy of any serious attention.”
On this last point, the editor of the journal which supported the views of the Administration was in error, as our readers have already learned in the course of this narration. However, this observation of his—and in this respect at least it was of great value—proved for futurity and for History that the Clergy had been entire strangers to the events which had taken place up to that moment, and that those events were continuing to take place without the slightest connivance on their part.
The poor Lavedan, the local organ of Lourdes, though placed in the very centre of all that was occurring, felt itself crushed by the stubbornness of facts, and had all at once subsided into absolute silence. This silence was destined to endure for several weeks. It never alluded in the most distant manner to these events, so unheard of in their nature, or to the immense concourse of people they attracted. You would have thought it was published for the benefit of readers in some other quarter of the globe, had not its columns been filled with articles borrowed in all directions from the public prints and directed against Superstition in general.
On the supposition that the Parquet (government prosecutors), at whose anti-superstitious tendencies we have already hinted, were right in the decision they had come to of denying everything connected with the Apparition, they had, in these miracles, so publicly attested and proclaimed, an excellent opportunity of instituting a rigid investigation and of prosecuting, if necessary, the authors or propagators of these reports, calculated as they were to lead astray the public conscience and trouble the minds of many.
Unlike the Apparitions which had been visible to Bernadette alone, these cures were open to universal scrutiny. They were numerous, and, far from being isolated cases, they already mounted to five and twenty or thirty. They were within reach of any one who wished to investigate them. Every one might verify, study, or analyze them in order to recognize their truth or demonstrate that they were false.
The Supernatural was abandoning the invisible: it was becoming material and palpable to the senses. In the persons of the sick restored to health, of paralytics who recovered the power of motion, it appealed to all, as did Jesus Christ to the Apostle Thomas, “Look at my feet, look at my hands. See these darkened eyes which have refound the blessings of light. Look at those restored to life who were but now in the agony of death; those now hearing who were formerly deaf; those now running with the agility of strength and health who not long since were lame.”
The Supernatural had, so to speak, incarnated itself in all these incurables who had been cured so suddenly, and, publicly attesting its own claims, courted inquiry, investigation and prosecution. It became possible, if we may be permitted to use such an expression, to lay violent hands upon it and arrest it like any other criminal.
Here lay, as every one perceived, the very core of the question. Some satisfactory method of treating these inconceivable facts, which were so entirely opposed to all received notions, must be discovered. There was therefore hardly any one who did not endeavor to guess the crafty and energetic means which would be employed by that fraction of the official world which had hitherto displayed so firm a resolution of unceasingly persecuting and finally crushing fanaticism.
What kind of interrogatories would be instituted by the Police? With what kind of judicial examinations would the Parquet commence? To what severe measures would the Administration have recourse?
The Administration, the Parquet, and the Police did nothing at all, and, directing their attention in other quarters, did not think it advisable to run any risk in a public investigation of facts so notorious and so bruited abroad over the whole surrounding district.
What was the meaning of this singular forbearance in presence of such striking prodigies? It meant that Incredulity acts prudently.
Even in the midst of their transport and passion, parties, religious as well as political, have sometimes a certain instinct of self-preservation which warns them of the extreme danger into which they are on the point of rushing and forces them to recoil. They cease all at once to advance towards the logical development of their situation and have not courage to attack their enemy on that decisive point towards which they were blindly hurrying, uttering triumphant shouts in anticipation of victory.
They are suddenly brought to understand that they would be entirely, suddenly and hopelessly vanquished, and that such a line of action can only terminate in their death. In such a case what do they do? They retrace their steps and carry on a guerilla warfare on less dangerous ground.
This is all very well in military affairs; but in the order of ideas it appears difficult to reconcile this kind of prudence with entire sincerity of belief. It supposes a vague disquietude as to the value of our own line of argument, and a vague presentiment of the absolute certainty of the things we are opposing.
To fear to face the investigation of any fact, the existence of which would lead to the entire overthrow of such or such a doctrine, is to declare ourselves that we have internal doubts of what we assert so boldly; it is to show that we fear the truth to be known; it is to take to flight without attempting the struggle and to tremble at the approach of light.
Such were the reflections that occurred to the strongest minds in the place on perceiving this retreat and withdrawal of actual hostilities in presence of the events which were occurring.
Incredulity ought to have been convinced, but such was not the case. It was only disconcerted and overwhelmed by the force of circumstances, by the evidence adduced and by the sudden invasion of the Supernatural. Those know but little of the human heart who think that the most conclusive and indubitable proofs are sufficient to bring men, who have already made up their mind, to a humble acknowledgment of their error. The free-will of man has the terrible power of resisting every thing—even God Himself.
It is in vain that the Sun gives light to the world and illuminates the infinite space in which the globes of our universe pursue their course: we have only to shut our eyes in order to resist his omnipotence and to extinguish his very being. The soul also as well as the body may in the same manner shut its senses to the light of truth. The darkness does not proceed from the weakness of the understanding: it is the result of an act of the will, which persists and takes pleasure in its self-imposed blindness.
However, in matters of this kind, men feel the necessity of a certain amount of self-deception, and to quiet their consciences are obliged to keep up the show of sincerity. They have not sufficient determination to deny or to oppose resolutely and face to face what is plainly acknowledged to be truth. What then is their line of conduct? They make it their study to remain in a kind of obscurity, which permits them to struggle against truth without seeing clearly, and which serves them in some measure as an excuse.
Forgetting that ignorance, when voluntary, does not remove responsibility, they reserve to themselves the right of replying: “Nay, Lord, I was ignorant;” and for this reason they make up their minds to deny every thing, and limit themselves to shrugging their shoulders without caring or wishing to take the trouble of getting to the bottom of things. The contempt which they affect outside is but the hypocrisy of the fear they experience within.
Thus it was that the incredulous, brought face to face with the supernatural cures which were being effected on all sides, refused to give themselves the trouble of examination, and dared not hazard investigation. Notwithstanding the challenges issued to them and the railleries of those who believed, they turned a deaf ear to whatever tended to produce a public debate on these miraculous cures. They affected not to busy themselves with the divine phenomena which were submitted to their senses, which were notorious, which claimed universal attention and might have been easily studied, continuing to produce theories on hallucinations—a vague and mist-clad region, in which they might talk and declaim at their ease, without being foiled by the stubbornness of facts, which were palpable, manifest and impossible to gainsay.
The supernatural, therefore, courted discussion, and that to the fullest extent. The Free-thinkers declined the challenge and beat a retreat. By so doing they acknowledged their own discomfiture and condemnation.
Other cures continued to take place in all directions. It would be impossible to report each particular case, not only from their number but from the fact that the author of this book has made it a rule not to bring forward anything in this class of facts of which he has not himself proved the exactitude, not only from the depositions of actual witnesses of what took place, but also from those persons who were themselves favored with such marvelous graces. Notwithstanding the interest which attaches to every supernatural fact, we have been obliged to confine ourselves within certain limits. We have been forced, not without regret, to discard from our narrative many of these wonderful prodigies, which we had ourselves perfectly verified, and limit ourselves to producing a circumstantial history of the most striking miracles.
We will, however, risk quoting from the official report of the Commission named later on to investigate these events, a few of the cures which took place about this time, which were duly authenticated, and of which, consequently, the fame was spread from the very first throughout the district.
The restaurateur, Blaise Maumus, on plunging his hand into the Spring had himself witnessed the dissolving and disappearance of an enormous wen he had in the joint of his wrist. The widow Crouzat, who had been so deaf for the last twenty years as to be unable to hear the Offices, suddenly recovered her hearing on making use of this water. In a similarly miraculous manner, Auguste Borde, who had long been lame owing to an accident, found his leg become straight again and recover its strength and natural shape.
All the persons we have just mentioned belonged to Lourdes, and any one who wished it could hear from them a full account of these extraordinary facts.
Although the crowd was, as we have already stated, more particularly dense in the morning at the time of Bernadette’s arrival, it was not to be supposed that solitude reigned during the latter part of the day at the Rocks of Massabielle. All the afternoon there was perpetual going to and fro on the road leading to the Grotto, which, from that time, was to be so celebrated. Every one examined it in all directions, many prayed in front of it, and some broke off fragments of it in order to keep them as pious souvenirs.
On that day, towards four o’clock, there were still five or six hundred persons, employed as above-mentioned, on the banks of the Gave.
At the same moment, a heart-rending scene was passing round a cradle in a squalid house at Lourdes, in which resided Jean Beauhohorts, a day-laborer, and his wife Croisine Ducouts.
In the cradle there lay a child about two years old, who was sickly, and of a wretched constitution. He had never been able to walk, was constantly out of health, and, from his birth, had been wasted by slow fever of a consumptive nature, which nothing had succeeded in reducing. Notwithstanding the skillful attention of a medical man of the place, M. Peyrus, the child was rapidly approaching his end. Death was spreading its livid hues on a countenance which had been reduced by protracted sufferings to a deplorable state of emaciation.
The father and mother kept their eyes fixed on their dying child, the former, calm in his grief, while the latter seemed plunged in despair.
One of their neighbors, Françonnette Gozos, was already busying herself in preparing a shroud for the poor child’s burial and, at the same time, using her best efforts to induce the mother to listen to some words of consolation.
The latter was crushed with grief, and anxiously watched the progress of the last agony of death. The child’s eye had become glazed, his limbs were absolutely motionless, and his breathing was imperceptible.
“He is dead,” said the father.
“If he is not dead,” observed the neighbor, “he is on the point of death, my poor friend. Go and weep by the fire, while I, ere long, fold him up in his shroud.”
Croisine Ducouts, the mother of the child, did not appear to hear what was said to her. A sudden idea had just taken possession of her mind, and her tears ceased to flow.
“He is not dead!” she exclaimed; “and the Holy Virgin of the Grotto is going to effect his cure for me.”
“Grief has turned her head,” said Beauhohorts, sadly.
He and the neighbor endeavored in vain to dissuade the mother from her project. The latter had just taken the already motionless body of her child out of the cradle and wrapped it up in her apron.
“I go at once to the Virgin!” she exclaimed, making her way to the door.
“But my dear Croisine,” said her husband and Françonnette to her, “if our poor Justin is not quite dead, you are going to kill him outright.”
The mother, as if beside herself with grief, refused to listen to their expostulations.
“What matters it whether he dies here or at the Grotto? Allow me to implore the mercy of the Mother of God.”
Saying this she left the house, carrying the child in her arms.
As she had said, “she went at once to the Virgin.” She walked at a rapid pace, praying aloud, invoking Mary, and appearing to all who met her like an insane person.
It was about five o’clock in the evening, and there were some hundreds of persons before the Rocks of Massabielle.
The poor mother forced her way through the crowd, with her precious burden in her arms. At the entrance of the Grotto she prostrated herself and prayed, after which she dragged herself on her knees towards the miraculous Spring. Her face was burning, her eyes sparkling and full of tears, and the state of disorder of her entire person proved the intensity of her grief.
She had reached the basin which had been dug by the quarry-men. The water was of an icy temperature.
“What is she going to do?” observed the spectators to themselves.
Croisine drew out of her apron the body of her dying child, which was in a state of complete nudity. She made the sign of the Cross on him and herself, and afterwards, without hesitation, and in a quick and determined manner, plunged the child up to his neck in the icy water of the Spring.
A cry of terror, and a murmur of indignation arose from the crowd.
“The woman is insane!” they exclaimed on all sides, pressing round her to hinder her putting her plan into execution.
“Would you kill your child?” said some one to her, rudely.
It seemed as if she were deaf. She remained motionless as a statue—the statue of Sorrow, Prayer, and Faith.
One of the by-standers touched her on the shoulder. The mother turned round on this, still keeping her child in the water of the Fountain.
“Let me alone, let me alone!” she exclaimed in a voice at once energetic and beseeching. “I wish to do all in my power—God and the Blessed Virgin will do the rest.”
The complete immobility of the child and the cadaverous hues of his face, were remarked by several of those present.
“The child is already dead,” they said. “Let her alone; grief has turned the poor mother’s head.”
No; grief had not turned her head. It led her, on the contrary, into the path of the loftiest faith, of that absolute, unhesitating, undecaying faith which God has solemnly promised never to resist.
The earthly mother felt within her, that she was addressing herself to the heart of that Mother who is in heaven. Thence arose her boundless confidence which neutralized the terrible reality of the dying body she held in her hands. Doubtless, she saw as plainly as the multitude around her, that ice-cold water such as that in which she was plunging her child, was calculated, in ordinary circumstances infallibly to kill the little helpless being to whom she was so fondly attached, and suddenly to terminate his agony by the stroke of death. No matter! Her arm remained steady and her Faith was strong.
For a whole quarter of an hour, before the astonished eyes of the multitude, in the midst of the cries, reproaches, and insults heaped upon her by the crowd of by-standers, she kept her child immersed in the mysterious water which had but lately gushed forth at a gesture from the all-powerful Mother of that God, who, for our sins, died and rose again.
What a sublime spectacle of Catholic faith! This woman precipitated her dying child into the most imminent of earthly dangers, to find in it, in the name of the Virgin Mary, the cure which comes from heaven. Humanly speaking, she was urging him in the direction of death, in order to lead him supernaturally to life! Jesus commended the faith of the Centurion. Truly, that displayed by this poor mother strikes us as being still more worthy of admiration.
The Heart of God could not but be touched by an act of faith, at once so simple and so grand. Our Father, who is at the same time, so invisible and so manifest, bent Himself, doubtless, at the same time as the Blessed Virgin, over so moving and religious a scene, and He blessed the Christian woman, who believed with all the fervor of primitive times.
The child had remained motionless as a corpse during this long immersion. The mother wrapped him once more in her apron, and hastily returned home.
His body was cold as ice.
“You see now that he is dead,” said the father.
“No,” said Croisine, “he is not dead! The Blessed Virgin will effect his recovery.”
With these words the poor woman laid the child down in his cradle. He had scarcely been there a few moments, when the mother, having bent her ear attentively over him, suddenly exclaimed:
“He is breathing!”
Beauhohorts advanced rapidly and listened in his turn. Little Justin was certainly breathing. His eyes were closed, and he slept a calm and deep slumber.
The mother did not weep. During the evening and following night, she came every moment to listen to her child’s respiration, which became stronger and more regular, and she waited with anxiety for the moment of his awaking.
This took place at break of day.
The child’s emaciation had not disappeared, but there was some color in his cheeks, and his features wore an air of repose. The mild ray of life sparkled in his laughing eyes, which were turned towards his mother.
During his slumber, deep as that sent of yore by God upon Adam, the mysterious and omnipotent hand, from which every thing good emanates, had re-animated and strengthened—we dare not say resuscitated—his body, which, but a short time before, was motionless and chill.
The child sought his mother’s breast and drew from it long draughts. Though he had never walked, he wished to leave his cradle and walk about the room. But Croisine, notwithstanding the courage and entire faith she had displayed the previous day, dared not trust too much in his recovery, and trembled at the thought of the danger he had escaped. She resisted the repeated solicitations of the child, and refused to remove him from the cradle.
Thus the day passed by. The child constantly demanded nourishment from his mother’s breasts. Night at length came, and was passed as calmly as the one preceding it. The father and mother left the house at day-break, in order to proceed to their daily toil, and their little Justin was still sleeping in his cradle.
When the mother opened the door on her return, she almost fainted at the sight presented to her view.
The cradle was empty. Justin had risen without any assistance from where his mother had laid him; he was on his legs going to and fro, touching the different articles of furniture, and disarranging the chairs. In short, the little paralyzed child was walking.
A mother’s heart alone can imagine the cry of joy emitted by Croisine at such a spectacle. She wished to rush forward, but could not, so great was her emotion. Her limbs trembled. Her sense of happiness seemed to deprive her of strength, and she supported herself against the door. A vague fear, however, in spite of herself, was mingled with her beaming happiness.
“Take care, you will fall down!” she cried out with anxiety.
He did not fall; his step was firm, and he ran and threw himself into the arms of his mother, who embraced him with tears in her eyes.
“He was cured from yesterday,” thought she to herself; “since he wished to leave his cradle and walk, and I, like an infidel, have hindered him, owing to my want of faith.”
“You now see that he was not dead, and that the Blessed Virgin has saved him,” she observed to her husband, on his return home.
Such were the words of this happy mother.
Françonnette Gozos, who had, only two nights since, been present at what was supposed to be poor Justin’s death-agony, and had arranged the shroud for his interment, happened to arrive at the same time, and could scarcely believe her eyes. She was never tired of gazing at the child, as if she wished to convince herself of his identity.
“It is certainly he!” she exclaimed. “It is certainly poor little Justin!”
They knelt down.
His mother joined the child’s hands to raise them towards heaven; and, all together, they offered thanksgivings to the Mother of Mercies.
His malady never returned. Justin grew rapidly and suffered from no relapse. Since that period, eleven years have elapsed. The writer of these pages determined to see him, not very long since. He is strong and in good health; only his mother grieves that he sometimes plays truant when sent to school, and reproaches him with gadding about more than he ought.
M. Peyrus, the medical man, who had attended the child, frankly allowed the impossibility of explaining this extraordinary occurrence according to the ordinary rules of medical science.
The Doctors Vergez and Dozons undertook, separately, an examination of this fact so highly interesting, both as regards Science and Truth, and, like M. Peyrus, they could but attribute it to the omnipotent agency of God. All united in establishing three circumstances which manifestly impressed on this cure a supernatural character—the duration of the immersion—its immediate effect—and the faculty of walking displayed as soon as the child had quitted his cradle.
The conclusions of M. Vergez’ report were unmistakable on this head.
“A bath of cold water of a quarter of an hour’s duration, in the month of February, inflicted on a child in the agony of death, must, in his opinion, and according to all the data, theoretical and experimental, of medical science, produce immediate death. For,” added the skillful physician, “if affusions of cold water, especially when applied repeatedly, may be of the utmost service in severe adynamic affections, their use is subject to certain rules which cannot be transgressed without exposing life to real danger. As a general rule, the duration of the application of cold water should not exceed a few minutes, because the depression occasioned by cold would destroy all power of reaction in the system.
“Now, the woman Ducouts, having plunged her child in the water of the Fountain, kept him in it for upwards of a quarter of an hour. She therefore sought the cure of her son by means absolutely condemned by experience and the rationale of medical science, and yet she did not on that account obtain it less immediately; for, a few moments later, he fell into a calm and deep sleep which lasted for about twelve hours. And in order that this fact should stand out in the clearest light, and that not the slightest incertitude should hover over the reality and instantaneousness of its production, the child, who had never walked, escaped from his cradle, and commenced walking about with the confidence which is usually only the result of practice, showing by this that this cure was effected without any intermediate state of convalescence, in a manner altogether supernatural.”
