In justification of the prohibition of trespass on the communal grounds they had said, “Considering that it is important, in the interests of Religion, to put a stop to the deplorable scenes at the Grotto of Massabielle.” Now, the Bishop by declaring the state of things to be sufficiently grave to warrant his interference, and by taking in hand the investigation of whatever regarded the “interests of Religion,” disarmed the civil power of this motive, which it had so loftily invoked.
In justification of the prohibition of going to drink water at the Spring which had gushed forth from beneath the hands of Bernadette when in a state of ecstasy, they had said, “Considering that it is the duty of the Mayor to watch over the public health; considering that there are serious reasons for believing that this water contains mineral compounds, and that it is prudent―before permitting its use―to wait until a scientific analysis shall make known the manner in which it may be applied by the science of medicine. . . .” Now by declaring that the water did not contain any mineral compound, and by establishing that it might be drank without harm, M. Filhol demolished, in the name of Science and Medicine, this pretended reason, “the public health.”
If then the civil power had alleged these motives as straightforward reasons, and not as misleading pretexts; if it had acted “in the interests of Religion and of public health,” and not under the influence of evil passions and intolerance; if in a word, it had been sincere, and not actuated by hypocrisy, it would, in the present stage of events, have had nothing to do but to cancel its prohibitions and remove its barriers; it would have had nothing to do but to leave the people absolutely free to drink at the Fountain, whose perfect harmlessness had been proclaimed by Science; it would have had nothing to do but to acknowledge their right to go and kneel at the foot of those mysterious Rocks, where from henceforth the Church kept watch.
It did nothing of the kind.
To this solution of the question, so clearly pointed out by logical reasoning and conscience, there was one potent obstacle―Pride. Pride bore the sway from the bottom to the top of the ladder, from Jacomet up to Rouland, including, of course, the Baron, and all their philosophizing Sect. It seemed hard to them to recoil and surrender their arms. Pride never submits. It would rather boldly intrench itself in the illogical than bow to the authority of Reason. Furious, beside itself, driven to the most absurd shifts, it raises itself to its full height against evidence. It says, “Non serviam,” like the Satan of holy writ. It resists, refuses to give way and becomes inflexible―until all at once the crash comes and it is contemptuously shivered into atoms.
