the regiment, and I couldn't live without 'em; and I was hale and
strong, and so I made bold for to jine, too. There was one place left
in the regiment then--the bugler's place, in Company B--and I pled
so hard, the cap'n he said I might try. And, lady, the plaguy thing
used to seem to shut right up when I wanted to make it blow, and the
men used to laugh at me, right out afore my boys. And Abner and John
Henry they felt kind o' cheap, and they kept sayin' to me, 'Father,'
they says, 'it makes us feel kind o' bad to hear you tryin' so hard
and not learnin'; don't you think you'd better give it up?' And says
I, 'No, boys,' says I, 'while there's breath in my body, I won't give
it up till I've conquered that crittur.' And, lady, when the cap'n
see me tryin' so hard and allus comin' to grief, what does he do but
he takes hold himself, and he learns all them signals, and he teaches
on 'em to me. And so I went to the war with my boys, and I nursed
John Henry through a fever, and I kept Abner from fallin' into bad
company; and, lady, if I could have saved the cap'n's life by givin'
my skin inch by inch, I'd have done it; but I couldn't. So I just
held his head against this old heart, and let him breathe his life
away. And I laid him down on the sod as tender as if I'd been his
mother."
"May God reward you! Did he suffer much?"
Tears, such as she had longed for, were pouring from her eyes.
"No, lady; he was gone before the surgeons came on to the field. He
lay quite still, without a moan or sigh; and, now and then, he'd say
a word to me. I was wounded, too, just below the knee. I dropped down
about six feet off from him; and when the retreat came, and I saw as
how I was left behind with the cap'n, didn't I praise the Lord!"
"What did he say to you?"
Abel took a little packet from his breast, and laid it in Sybil's
hand. "He says to me, 'Abel,' says he, 'when you can get a furlough
_honorable_,' says he--'for you mustn't go when the country needs you
bad--you take this locket' (a-unhookin' it from his neck) 'to Miss
Sybil Vaughan--her that lives in the stone farmhouse above our old
camp at Holly Farm--and you tell her as how the poor thing tried to
save my life; and she'll see it by the great dent in the gold made by
a bullet. And you tell her as how she's to open it herself, and see
what I put there. And you tell her '--I'm a Methodist, lady, but I'll
tell you word for word what he said."
"Yes, word for word."
"'You tell her,' says he, 'how I pray that Christ and his Blessed
Mother may be her comfort as they are mine; and tell her as how I've
never let a thought enter my mind, since we parted, that she wouldn't
have approved. And tell her,' says he, a-raisin' himself half-way up
from the ground, 'you tell her I love her fond and true, and that
we shall meet in heaven when she's done the work on earth she is so
fit to do. And tell her to comfort my mother. Poor mother!' And
then he put his arm round my neck, and kind o' stroked my cheek, and
he says, soft and low, a few words, and all I heard was, 'Receive
my soul,' and then I kissed him, and laid him down on the turf, and
his face was like as I think it will be in heaven at the great day.
And now I'm goin' to leave you, lady, 'cos I know as how you want to
be alone. And, with your leave, I'll come again, and tell you how
we loved him, and how we cried like babies round the ambulance that
brought him to the camp; and how there was scarce anything left to
send home to his mother, 'cos he used to give his things away to the
sick boys--blankets, and money, and shirts, and all."
Then Abel took Sybil's delicate hand reverently on his broad, brown
palm, and kissed it.
"Lady," he said, "you're the only thing ever I see that was fit to
mate with him."
"You will come again," she said. "As you have no daughter, and there
must be many things needed to make you comfortable during your
convalescence, you will let me see to all that. And you will let me
replace the many things you must have lost or worn out during these
hard three months?"
She spoke beseechingly, looking up into his face like a child
pleading for a toy.
"You shall just wind me round your finger like he did," said Abel. "I
allus thought I'd got grit in me till I seen him, and then it seemed
as though I hadn't no will but his'n."
* * * * *
Sybil was alone with the little packet. With trembling fingers she
untied the string and removed the wrappings of paper. There lay
the medallion with its twisted chain. She passionately kissed the
battered enamel that had stood between him and death. Then she
opened the locket. With the silky, yellow curl lay a little lock of
dark-brown hair. She was touching it tenderly, wondering when he had
placed it there for her consolation--whether just before the skirmish
or soon after he left her--when a turn of the locket in the level
rays of the sun showed two words scratched on the inner side with
some rude instrument. She looked closer, and read: "Noblesse Oblige."
When Miss Mildred came to lead her into the house, there was a change
in her face that filled the gentle lady's heart with gratitude. It
was the look of courage that comes to those who recognize the claim
of their high birth as the children of God.
THE SPIRIT OF CATHOLIC ASSOCIATIONS.
TRANSLATED FROM THE CIVILTA CATTOLICA.
I.
All societies have aims, more or less remote, which they aspire to
realize. Catholic societies have an object which they also strive
to accomplish. Theirs is the victory of the church over the modern
Islamism, the enemy of all religion and civilization, commonly called
the Revolution. This monster, once obtaining control of the state,
fills nations with ruins, and in its proud ferocity ever threatens
new disorders and fresh streams of blood. Catholic associations, in
order to be victorious, must pass over the dead body of this powerful
enemy. There is no other way. The enterprise is difficult, requires
great courage, absolute generosity, and endurance capable of every
trial. But they will win the day; they will yet sing the hymn of
triumph; for they march to the battle and fight it in the proper
spirit: that is, the Catholic spirit. The victory will be theirs; but
only on conditions.
Reason proves it. The labor of a society must be proportioned to the
end proposed, as the force must be adequate to the effect intended.
It is impossible that an army can win a battle if the necessary
discipline, obedience to officers, and courage be wanting. So with
Catholic associations. Their object, being a religious one, a
crusade which purposes to assure the triumph of Catholic doctrines
and institutions, it is impossible for them to act with vigor, to
bear the fatigue, stand the brunt of their adversaries' onslaught,
conquer their errors, and subdue their forces, unless they are moved,
animated, and fortified by the spirit which is peculiar to Catholic
associations. If they march to the combat with inadequate forces or
lax discipline, they will only become objects of derision to their
enemies.
What is the spirit of Catholic societies? It is the spirit of
faith. Sacred phalanxes of a religion whose foundation is faith;
restorers of principles that are derived from faith; protectors of
institutions based on faith--how can they do battle if their minds
be not animated with the spirit of faith, if their deliberations be
not inspired with it; if their works be not its visible effects? Yes;
the spirit of faith is the peculiar spirit of Catholic associations;
it is their essence, their qualifying property, and the secret power
which impels the Catholic onward to the heroism of virtue. Give us
Catholic associations animated by a spirit of living, fervid faith,
and great acts will not be slow in production. Examples of it may be
seen in the immense and sublime temples erected when the spirit of
faith burned in the breasts of our forefathers, to whom it was only
necessary to propose the plan in order to have it carried out; and
in those chivalrous bands of knights who armed themselves against
Mohammedan fury, and fell pierced by numberless wounds on the ground
given them to defend, but never yielding an inch to the foe.
Catholic associations imbued by a spirit like this need not fear the
power of their adversaries, nor heed their numbers. Faith in the
conflict is the buckler which cannot be broken, the shield which
cannot be pierced, the flag which counts as many victories as the
battles fought under its folds. Let all the members of Catholic
associations march to the contest clothed in this armor, and they
will be invincible. St. Paul advised this to the Thessalonians and
to the Ephesians. This also was the counsel of St. John.[149] What
more do we want? Does not St. John tell us that faith and victory
are synonymous terms? "_For whatsoever is born of God overcometh
the world: and this is the victory which overcometh the world, our
faith._"[150]
II.
It must be remembered, however, that this spirit of faith must
not be a blind spirit, or march to battle with uncertain steps.
Associations actuated by such a spirit prosper slowly; without
purpose, and consequently without success. The reason is plain, for
it is certain that the more thoroughly influenced is a human mind
by a motive, the more earnestly will it strive to obtain an object.
It is, therefore, evident that the spirit of Catholic associations
must be an enlightened spirit, thoroughly knowing what it wants. The
Revolution--great mistress in the arts of hypocrisy, great employer
of every species of argument in its favor through the license of the
press, great seducer by the advantages which it proposes--if it does
not always succeed in catching real Catholics in its net, at least
sows such prejudices in the minds of some as will make them less
hostile to its work or less earnest in the defence of Catholicism,
which is another name for truth and justice. This is the first
danger to be shunned by Catholic associations. The Catholic societies
must not let themselves be seduced by the seductive monsters of the
revolution. The quality and natural goodness of the tree is not known
so well by its leaves as by its fruit. It is, therefore, necessary to
go deeper than the mere extrinsic forms to penetrate the substance of
the work done by the revolution. Oh! how many motives to spur on to
action would Catholics find in such an investigation! A rapid glance
will convince them of this fact.
Observe the religious order. Let the Catholic associate consider, in
this regard, a country in which the revolution has made progress. He
witnesses the most impious and most lamentable scenes; the church
deprived or curtailed of liberty, insulted in her ministers, attacked
by literary barbarians, by trammelling laws, or infamous writings;
her destruction sworn, Christ impugned in his doctrines, derided in
his sacraments, his divinity denied; God excluded from laws, banished
from the school; men grouped in hostility to him, shouting, in full
daylight under the banner of the free-thinkers, like a horde of
savages, "There is no God!"
Pass to the social order. Here a new spectacle of grief is presented.
Every effort is used to take away from the community its common
belief and to plunge individuals into the vortex of incredulity; a
black cloud of practical errors, moving over the nations, abolishing
the restraint of conscience, rendering the populace the slaves of the
vilest and most truculent passions; the basis of all authority, human
and divine, sapped; the most powerful governments crumbling to dust,
and threatening to fall a prey either to perpetual anarchy or brutal
tyranny.
Consider the nature of the means employed. What a sad view! Perpetual
conspiracies, shameless treasons, frauds and deceptions, lies and
calumnies, unmitigated oppression and violence. Furnished with these
weapons, the revolutionary bands war on God, on Christ, and on his
church. The revolution, like a shameless woman, blushes not at its
crimes, but glories in its success.
Consider the results. Every religious conviction blotted out, the
principles of morality annihilated or obscured, authority destroyed,
and consequently a society springing up composed of men without
certainty in regard to their end, without any immutable law to
restrain them, without any bond of affection to unite them. Hence,
we have the unrestrained indulgence of the passions, egotism the
universal law, force and cunning the only arms, and mutual demolition
the consequence. The old French revolution proves it; the modern one
of Paris confirms it. The revolutionary Guéroult himself attests it
in stating that the Parisian insurrection "is disorder, destruction,
self-abandonment, the putrid decomposition of a society without
belief, without compass Or ideal."[151] The results of the revolution
may be summed up in one phrase: it makes men beasts, and society
bestial.
A Catholic association which considers these effects of the
revolution in the light of faith, appreciating the means employed and
the sad results, cannot act remissly. It is not possible; it must
rise in the name of the rights of God, of Christ, of the church; in
the name of that religious belief which is attempted to be taken from
the people, and the principles of moral reason; it must rise full of
shame for society, which tolerates such horrible abuses and crimes.
It will rise to repair these defects with gladness. The spirit of
faith, strengthened by the motives proposed, will spur it on in
its efforts. The Catholic associations of Germany are undoubtedly
energetic; so are those of Austria; but the secret of their force is
found in the fact that the men who lead them are men of strong faith
and of great prudence and intelligence. This is evident from their
congresses, in their speeches and newspapers. Catholic associations
in other lands would do well to imitate them.
III.
The motives just proposed are powerful, but their source is
disagreeable. There are others more pleasant to consider. Among these
latter is the nobility of the end proposed by Catholic associations.
This is not, as has been calumniously stated, to revenge the defeat
of a certain political order, or to satisfy natural restlessness.
Catholic associations, vivified by the true spirit of faith, do not
stoop so low. They aim at things far higher. The name which they
bear, the rules which they profess to follow, the works already
accomplished where they have been established, attest it. Their
particular object is to drag men, made slaves by the revolution, out
of the mire of incredulity and immorality into which false principles
have plunged them. They strive to re-establish society on the true
bases of truth and justice, to restore tranquillity to peoples
disturbed by the passions of party and the fury of false teachers.
They aim to reclaim for God the obedience which is his due, the honor
which belongs to Christ, the rights taken from the church; to give
true liberty--the liberty of the Gospel--to all; to draw men away
from the carnal happiness proposed to them by the revolution; and to
make them seek that beatitude which every rational Christian should
desire. The revolution threatens everything--religion in society and
among individuals; the Catholic associate declares himself their
champion.
Such is the noble aim of Catholic associations; hence the nobleness
of the conflict in which they are engaged. What is this conflict?
It is the struggle of truth against error, of right against might,
of civilization against barbarism, of duty to God, Christ, and his
church against impiety, blasphemy, and injustice. The revolution
means the renewal among men of the revolt of Lucifer and his angels;
the Catholic associations are the faithful cohorts of God and his
Christ. Their war-cry is that of St. Michael: _Quis ut Deus et
Christus ejus?_ Who is like to God and his Christ?
This war-cry has been explicitly recommended in the New Testament.
The words are given by St. Matthew, St. Mark, St. Luke, and plainly
referred to by St. Paul. "Whoever," says Christ, "confesses me in
the midst of this sinful and adulterous race, whoever makes public
profession of my doctrine, will be recognized by me before the
angels, before the tribunal of my Father in heaven."[152] Does not
the present generation publicly boast of making a divorce between
itself and God and Christ? Giving loose rein to passion under
the specious names of liberty of conscience and the preaching of
licentious doctrines, modern society is plunging into the abyss of
iniquity. Hence, the Catholic associates must rise courageously
in the midst of this generation, confess Christ openly, publicly
affirm his doctrines, and defend them in the face of his enemies.
The Catholic associates must revive the praises of Christ; to them
are his divine promises addressed, to them belong the irrevocable
guarantees of being placed near the throne of his Father. Combating
bravely and bearing themselves like true champions of the religion of
Christ, their fate is not and cannot be doubtful.
Let the Catholic associations, therefore, advance courageously to
the fight, bearing the banner of Christ against the standard of
the revolution. Humanity, liberty, progress, light, are written on
the adverse flag, but they are stolen words. In the mouths of the
revolutionists they are lies. The flag of humanity is not that which
destroys its rights, but that which defends them; nor of _liberty_,
that which makes men slaves of their passions instead of freeing
them; nor of _progress_, that which has no aim, but that which leads
to something definite; nor of light, that which begets obscurity
in the intellect, destroying its most obvious principles, but that
which illuminates intelligence with divine revelation. This latter is
the banner of Catholic associations, consequently it is the flag of
humanity, of liberty, of progress, the standard of light.
IV.
The forces of Catholic associations must act in concert. It is not
enough that their members be vigorous and animated with an ardent
faith. There must be harmony of intelligence among them. Woe to the
society whose members have different principles or contradictory
plans! Like a machine whose wheels do not move harmoniously, ruin
will result. There must be uniformity of principles and thorough
harmony of intelligence if the Catholic associates hope to obtain
great successes.
Harmony in generalities is easy; but not so in particulars. If you
ask a Catholic assembly what it wants, all the members will reply,
"The propagation and triumph of Catholic principles." But if you
descend to particular enquiries, you may meet difficulties that close
the way to success; disputes about fixed principles must therefore be
eliminated from Catholic associations.
These associations are in the first place essentially laic, therefore
it is not their business to decide questions of principle. Their aim
is a practical one, namely, to annul the efforts of the revolution,
to introduce the principles of Catholicity where they do not exist,
and strengthen them where they do. It is not of their competence
to determine them. They are called Catholic, therefore, in case
of doubt, they must recur to the teaching church and accept her
decisions. We repeat: the Catholic associations must keep within the
bounds imposed by their very nature and title, and then there will
be no collision of views, no wasting of precious time in useless
disputes, no schisms and separations; but, with all the force of a
strong faith, they will advance with dignity, security, and success
in their undertakings.
In confirmation of this, we quote an apposite passage from the
discourse pronounced by his eminence, Cardinal Schwarzenberg, in
the general congress of the Catholic associations held at Prague
in 1860. "The object of Catholic associations," says the eminent
prelate, "is to take measures to introduce and assist the teaching,
the principles, the precepts, and the desires of the church in
the schools, in the life of the citizen and of the family, among
merchants and men of business. Their duty is to support the teaching
church by counsel and co-operation. Their duty is also to acknowledge
with joyful mind the doctrines of the church, to follow them, defend
and sustain them."
Who does not admit the great good performed by the Catholic
associations of Germany in the course of the few years during which
they have been established? And if we study the reason of their
success, we shall find it in the undisturbed harmony of their views.
The spirit of "liberal Catholicism" tried to influence them, but in
vain. Their associates, mindful of their title and of their duty to
the pastors of the church, and especially to the Roman Pontiff, obey
his instructions without subtle distinctions and commentaries, and
employ their talents properly in securing their prosperity.
An instance of their Catholic zeal is found in the letter sent to the
Pope by the assembly held at Innsbrück preparatory to the general
congress of the German Catholic societies in 1867. In that letter
we read as follows: "On the 9th, 10th, and 11th of September, with
the consent and approval of the most reverend Bishop of Brixen, the
Catholics of Innsbrück, the capital of the Tyrol, will be gathered
together in order to defend courageously their religion as far as
God and their strength will allow; and, the errors and lies of vain
men being rejected, such errors as your holiness has pointed out
and condemned with fulness of authority in your encyclical letters,
in order also to take salutary counsel required by the character of
the times and circumstances, so as to promote the growth of Catholic
life and charity, under the patronage of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
An immense war, as you, Holy Father, have expressed it, is waged
against divine revelation, against the Catholic Church, against the
apostolic see, against good morals and Christian charity, the queen
of all the virtues. While this war rages, every Catholic becomes a
soldier of Christ; _but we cannot carry on a good and just war if we
do not cling with all the ardor of our soul to the apostolic see,
fastened to that rock which God has placed in Rome; and if we are not
helped and sustained by your supreme authority and your efficacious
blessing; wherefore, we_ earnestly _desire from our very inmost
hearts to venerate_, follow, and obey you, _the Vicar of Christ_,
you, the chief pastor of the whole flock of the Lord, you, father of
all the faithful. This is the unanimous feeling of all those who will
be assembled in September at Innsbrück; this is the universal desire;
and, all animated by this thought, God will defend the Christian
doctrine and Christian charity."
Let these be the sentiments of all Catholic associations that may
spring up; let this be their programme and the foundation of their
constitution. The spirit of prompt submission to the teaching of
the church should animate them. This is a simple consequence of the
first element of Catholic life. Christ never said to any theologian,
erudite man, learned historian, or particular society, "Be ye masters
of the church, and let her hear you;" but he did say so to the
bishops and to the pope in the person of the apostles and of Peter.
Only one blinded by his own pride can deny this fundamental principle
of the Catholic religion. The spirit of prompt obedience to lawful
authority is the secret which alone will render Catholic societies
capable of success.
But harmony of intelligence is not the only means by which Catholic
associations can manifest their spirit. There must be unity of
feeling and co-ordination of will, elements essential to every
society.
V.
A Catholic association which possesses the spirit of submission to
the teaching church, and possesses harmony of intelligence, is on
the right road, and may hope to prosper in its undertakings. But how
often does it happen that a serious impediment, an insurmountable
barrier, stops the progress of a brave legion and disappoints
the well-founded hopes of victory! Here is a danger which the
best-intentioned Catholic association may encounter; an obstruction,
an invincible barrier, which may arise from the unexpected
disagreement of wills. Agreement of wills is essential as well as
harmony of intelligence.
It is evident that, in order to maintain this agreement, we must
remove the causes which might disturb it. There are two sources of
discord; one arising from the internal relations of a society. The
intellects may agree on the principles to be sustained, and the wills
consent as to the end proposed; but the task is for the members
to choose the same means and put them in practice. Here may arise
the discord. Some project or design is proposed. It is debated.
The dispute waxes warm. Hard words are interchanged. The majority,
of course, carry the project; but the minority may disagree and
refuse to co-operate in its execution. Hence disaffection, schisms,
and secessions in the association. What is the root of all these
troubles? It is, in one word, pride, the root of all schisms. One
thinks himself more learned, of greater rank or of more experience
than the others, therefore he will not be led by their judgment but
by his own self-conceit. The trouble is small in the beginning,
but it may produce disastrous results. What is the remedy? It is to
bring to every discussion the true Catholic spirit of abnegation
and of sacrifice. Whims and prejudices must be laid aside for the
sake of harmony and the noble cause to be defended. Our God is a God
of peace, not of commotion and disturbance. The best plan is not
always that suggested by our weak judgment. Provided the plan of the
majority be a good one, though it may not be the most perfect, still,
for peace sake, let us adopt it, according to the advice of Xavier,
that it is better to accept a unanimous plan, though not the best,
rather than a perfect one which would cause dissensions among our
brethren.
The second cause of dissensions may be in the external relations
of the associates. This would be the more dangerous, because the
occasion of it might be an apparent external good to be effected. The
will of the bishop or of the pastor may not agree with the desire
of the society. In a case of this kind, if the society should act
in spite of the episcopal will or opposed to it publicly, a great
scandal would happen in the diocese, and the society would fall to
pieces. What is the remedy for such calamities? The associates must
have filial reverence and obedience for the pastors of the church.
Then all difficulties will cease. This is required by the very object
of the association, which is to aid the bishops in religious matters;
it is also required by the dignity of the bishops, since the Holy
Ghost has called them to be rulers in the church. His holiness Pius
IX. clearly teaches that this should be the bearing of Catholic
societies toward their pastors, in his answer to the Catholics of
Innsbrück.
Here we may quote what a bishop said in the general congress held to
condemn the proceedings of the so-called German Catholic liberals.
These gentlemen, under the appearance of doing good, had expressed
their usual lamentations about the storms that threatened the church,
the danger to her future freedom, unless the laity were allowed a
greater influence in religious matters; to deny them this influence,
as had been done so far, would be to render them inert and careless
about church matters. Such were the complaints--complaints of the
discontented son who is trying to deprive his mother of complete
control of the house--subtle revolutionary complaints against the
authority of the hierarchy. The Bishop of Brixen, answering them,
said, "What kind of influence do laymen want in the church? To
control dogma? They cannot. Discipline? They cannot. Influence
of the laity is too vague a conception, and, besides, a useless
one. In order that it should produce benefits, its limits should
be determined, its conditions explained. But it is well known
that the chief among them is faithful dependence on the teachings
and authority of the church, since the words of the apostle suit
individuals as well as the whole church: 'The just man lives by
faith.' The life of the church requires nothing but what comes from
faith. Hence, when the church finds a layman who manifests his faith
in his words and actions, she honors him, salutes him with joy as
a co-operator not having belied the words of the apostle of love:
Let us be co-workers of truth, co-operators in propagating and
strengthening it, and in assuring its triumph. In every age there
have been many such men, like our modern Catholic associations, and
for this reason we protect them, salute, esteem them; and the best
proof of our love for them is that we have hastened to come to this
solemn congress of lay associations, assembled to defend Catholic
interests." Thus spoke the learned prelate. In conclusion, a Catholic
society must not touch on dogmatic subjects, nor interfere in affairs
pertaining to ecclesiastical discipline: it should observe proper
respect and obedience toward its bishops, and then the bishops will
aid, bless and sustain it.
VI.
The parts of a machine, in order to act in concert, must be united
according to mechanical laws: so associations must obey the laws of
order. They must have co-ordination of forces. In this consists the
peculiar advantage of association. Each one has its constitution
and by-laws. Let it observe them, adapting them to the wants and
peculiarities of each nation. The difficulty is really not in
enacting laws for it, but to keep them in vigor.
The associates must have the spirit of order. Then the execution of
laws will be easy. Such a spirit will make each member mind his own
position; each officer act in his own sphere without infringing on
the rights of others. The object of the association being to act
with united forces, this purpose cannot be effected by a disorderly
mass of individuals, acknowledging no obedience to a local or
general superior. Each particular society will become jealous of its
neighbor, unless all agree to obey implicitly a central committee.
Private utility and individuality must be sacrificed to the public
good; jealousy, self-love, personal advantage, these three causes
that tend to disrupt the co-ordination of the common forces, must
be sacrificed to the common welfare, and to the end for which the
association was established, as it is an elementary rule of order
that the private must be sacrificed for the public good. For this
reason we consider that society best in which the strictest bonds
are maintained between the members and the centre or head. Does not
union make strength? A necessary consequence is that the force is
proportioned to the union. Baron Stillfried, a name dear to Catholics
by reason of his fervid zeal for religion, rendering an account of
what the Confraternity of the Archangel St. Michael, founded in
Vienna in 1860, had done, confessed that, owing to dissensions among
the members, and the consequent lack of union of forces, the results
had been relatively few. On the contrary, who does not admire the
wonderful success obtained by the Catholic _Casini_ of Austria in
favor of the pontifical cause, owing to their unity of purpose and
union of forces? They obliged the president of the council to receive
their complaints; they obliged the chancellor of the empire to excuse
himself; they moved all the Catholic populations to such a spirit of
action in favor of religion, tied down by the iniquitous laws of the
revolution, that all the journals of the secret societies bellowed
and blasphemed like lunatics, fearing the destruction of their
nefarious designs.
The multiplicity of Catholic interests gives rise to many
associations differing according to the difference of their aims.
Should this diversity have no common bond of union? By no means. Some
have for object matters of essential importance, as, for instance,
the freedom of the church, her right to educate, and the independence
of her head. In regard to these subjects, all the associations should
unite. Is it necessary to prove this? Is it not self-evident?
Associations that would act differently would resemble those Chinese
troops which neglected the defence of the most important posts,
contenting themselves with guarding places of secondary importance.
Catholic societies are not bands of conspirators, they do not excite
rebellions, nor use violence or deceit to gain their purpose. These
arts are left to the revolutionists. Catholics need no weapons but
truth and justice. They must be ready to die for both. But they must
act legally, they must not violate the civil order. Consequently,
they should never undertake a work without first being satisfied of
its lawfulness.
In this way success is certain; for in modern civil society public
opinion rules. If Catholic societies defend religion, who can object?
For public opinion must admit their right to do so, provided they
violate no laws of the state.
VII.
But although legality is required for Catholic associations, they
must not be timid or cowardly. They must be brave and magnanimous.
Christ teaches us to be magnanimous, for he gave his blood and life
for the love of truth and justice; the martyrs in millions died for
the same cause. We must imitate them. No difficulty or obstacle must
balk the zeal of a Catholic association. No fatigue or danger or
sacrifice must be too great for the Catholic associate. The soldier
of Christ must conquer difficulties. The present conflict, said
Monsignor de Ketteler, in the congress of the Catholic associations
of Trèves, needs champions who, for the love of Christ, dare expose
themselves to the attacks of newspapers and demagogues, to calumny
and terms of contempt in parliament and from the rostrum. The
Catholic spirit must be a self-sacrificing and a magnanimous one.
Every associate must be a Catholic before being a politician, a
Catholic before being a man of letters, a Catholic above all things.
He must never be discouraged, but persevere with generous constancy,
in spite of the attacks of enemies, or the seeming want of success of
many of his efforts. Let the Catholic associates remember that they
are fighting under the very eyes of God; and that their struggles,
even though not always successful, are a manifestation of their faith
before men which will be rewarded in heaven.
VIII.
We say this on the supposition that the combined forces of the
association should produce no result. But this supposition is
unfounded. Let the Catholic association remain constant in its
enterprise, and it will make a new step to victory every day. It may
fail in this or that particular measure, but the general cause will
prosper. We know that the heads of the secret societies speak in this
way, but they do so to deceive. We do not, for our words are founded
on solid reasons.
The first is drawn from the nature of the two causes in conflict. The
revolution is the cause of error and injustice; Catholicism is the
cause of truth and justice, consequently the cause of Catholicism is
conformable to the nature of man, formed for the true and the good,
while the cause of the revolution is in contradiction with man's
nature. How can any nature remain long in a state of contradiction
with itself? Passion or ignorance may obscure for a time the human
intelligence, but when the contradiction is felt and known, nature
revolts against it with all its power, and frees itself. Now, as the
associations in the interest of the Catholic faith are striving to
enlighten our intellect with the light of truth, and to repress the
force of passions by inculcating the love of virtue, the necessary
effect of such labor must be that the cause of the revolution will
daily lose ground as the light of truth, becoming more apparent,
shows the falsity of certain principles. The more the Catholic
associations combine in illuminating the human intelligence and
correcting the dormant moral sense of society, the more will the
Catholic cause hasten towards triumph.
Reason teaches this. But revelation offers other proofs, for it gives
us the promises of Christ. These are expressed in those passages
in which our Lord likens his doctrines to the little leaven which
leavens the whole mass; and when he tells his apostles to trust in
him, the conqueror of the world.[153] Let the Catholic associations,
therefore, advance in their work with confidence. They have divine
promises in their favor. The false and iniquitous doctrines of the
revolution will fall to the ground. Its efforts will be in vain, its
success only local or temporary; for the friends of truth and of
human rights will finally conquer. The best instincts of human nature
and the promises of faith are with them.
The Holy Ghost tells us by the pen of St. Paul that truth must
conquer in the end, speaking of the saints "who triumphed over
the powers of earth, closed the mouths of lions, were invincible
in the combat, and conquered their enemies."[154] The children of
the revolution, having a presentiment of their defeat by the new
Catholic associations, have already cried To arms! and in a thousand
ways manifested their fear. Yes, the victorious future belongs to
the Catholic associations. Let them, therefore, arise with courage
grounded on the principles of faith, strengthened by the noble
motives of their enterprise. Harmony of intelligence, the spirit of
submission to the church, agreement of wills, with the spirit of
sacrifice, and of reverence for their pastors, will make them serried
battalions, moving according to law, with magnanimity, constancy,
and confidence in God, irresistible in their attacks. Let them fight
on the battle-field of faith, and the world will soon know that the
proud pomp of the revolution and its thousand war-cries are founded
only on falsehood and deceit.
FOOTNOTES:
[149] 1 Thess. v. 8; Ephes. vi. 11, 17.
[150] 1 John v. 4.
[151] _Bien Public_, n. 82.
[152] Matt. x. 32, 33; Mark viii. 38; Luke xii. 8; Tim. ii. 12.
[153] John xvi. 33; Matt. xiii. 33; John xvii. 20-23.
[154] Heb. xi. 33, 34.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH.
OUR LADY OF LOURDES.
BY HENRI LASSERRE.
PART NINTH.
I.
By reason of the events which we have narrated, M. Massy no longer
felt at home in this part of the earth. The emperor did not fail to
send him to the first prefecture which became vacant in the empire.
By a remarkable coincidence, this prefecture proved to be that of
Grenoble. Baron Massy left Our Lady of Lourdes only to meet Our Lady
of La Salette.
Jacomet also left the department, and was appointed chief of police
elsewhere. Re-established upon his chosen ground, he contributed
with great sagacity to the detection of some dangerous criminals who
had baffled the efforts of his predecessor and the active search of
the police. The crime was a great robbery committed upon a railroad
company, and amounting to several hundred thousand francs. This was
the point of departure in his fortunes as a police agent, his true
vocation. His remarkable ability, appreciated by his superiors,
raised him to a higher place.
The _procureur impérial_, M. Dutour, was also speedily called to
other functions. M. Lacadé still remained mayor, and his shadow will
yet appear once or twice in the latter pages of our story.
II.
Although he had instituted the tribunal of examination towards the
end of July, still, before permitting it to begin its work, Mgr.
Laurence desired a more peaceful state of the public mind. "To wait,"
he thought, "will not compromise God's work, since he holds all time
in his hands." The issue proved that he was right. For after the
stormy discussions of the French press and the violent proceedings of
Baron Massy, the grotto finally became free, and there was no longer
fear of the scandal of seeing police agents arresting the episcopal
commission on its way to the Massabielle rocks in order to fulfil its
duty, and examine the traces of God's finger at the very place of the
apparition.
On the 17th of November, the commission went to Lourdes. They
examined the seer. "Bernadette," says the _procès-verbal_ of the
secretary, "presented herself before us with great modesty, and,
nevertheless, with remarkable confidence. She appeared calm and
unembarrassed in the midst of the numerous assembly, in presence of
distinguished ecclesiastics, whom she had never seen, but of whose
mission she had been made aware."
She described the apparitions, the words of the Blessed Virgin,
the order given by Mary to build a chapel in her honor, the sudden
breaking out of the fountain, the name, "Immaculate Conception,"
which the vision had given to itself. She set forth all that was
personal to herself in this supernatural drama with the grave
certainty of a witness fully convinced, and the humble candor of
a child. She answered every question, and left no obscurity in the
mind of those who interrogated her, no longer in the name of man,
as Jacomet had done, but in the name of the Catholic Church. Our
readers are already aware of the substance of her testimony. We have,
in former pages, narrated events in the order of their date. The
commission visited the Massabielle rocks. It beheld the great volume
of the miraculous fountain. It established, by the testimony of the
neighboring inhabitants, that no spring existed there before the time
when it broke forth in the presence of the multitudes under the hand
of the ecstatic seer.
At Lourdes and in other places they made studious inquiry into the
miraculous cures worked by the water of the grotto.
In this delicate task there were two parts, entirely distinct. Human
testimony determined the facts themselves; but their natural or
supernatural character depended, for the most part, on the verdict of
medical science. The method followed by the tribunal was inspired by
this twofold thought.
Throughout the dioceses of Lourdes, Auch, and Bayonne, the commission
summoned before it the subjects of these singular cures. It
cross-examined the minutest details of their sickness, and their
sudden or gradual restoration to health. It brought in human science
to put those technical questions of which theologians, perhaps, would
not have thought. It summoned the relations, friends, neighbors, and
other witnesses of the different phases of the event, to confirm
evidence. Having once come to a certainty of all details, it
submitted facts to the judgment of two eminent physicians admitted
as colleagues. These physicians were Dr. Vergès, superintendent of
the baths at Barèges, Fellow of the Medical Faculty of Montpellier,
and Dr. Dozous, who had already, out of private interest, given his
attention to several of these strange incidents. Each physician
gave in his report his personal opinion regarding the nature of the
cure, sometimes rejecting the miracle, and attributing the cessation
of disease to certain natural causes; at other times declaring its
utter inexplicability without the action of a supernatural power;
and, lastly, sometimes not arriving at any conclusion, but remaining
in doubt as to the true explanation. Thus prepared by the double
knowledge of facts and the conclusion of science with respect to
them, the commission deliberated, and finally pronounced its judgment
to the bishop, and submitted the evidence.
The commission had not and could not have any preconceived opinions.
Believing on principle in the supernatural, which is always to be
met with in the history of the world, it knew, also, that nothing so
tends to discredit the true miracles of God as false prodigies worked
by men. Equally indisposed to deny or affirm anything prematurely,
having no brief to sustain either for or against the miracle, it was
confined strictly to the task of examination and sought only the
truth. It appealed to every source of light and information, and
acted in full view of the public.
It was as open to unbelievers as to those who believed. Resolved to
discard remorselessly all that was vague or uncertain, and to accept
only incontestable facts, it rejected every declaration based upon
hearsay.
It imposed two conditions upon every witness: first, to testify only
to what came under personal knowledge and observation; secondly,
to state under oath the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth.
With such precautions and an organization so prudent and wise,
it would have been impossible for a false miracle to deceive the
judgment of the commission. It would have been impossible, in the
face of the hostile criticism of those who were bent upon combating
and overthrowing every error and even the least exaggeration, to
sustain any doubtful assertion or the miraculous character of any
doubtful fact.
If, then, true miracles, imperfectly proved, failed in obtaining the
sanction of the commission, it is absolutely certain that no false
prodigy could stand before its searching examination.
Whoever had the means of contesting any one of the miracles--not by
vague and general theories, but by facts and personal knowledge--was
thereby summoned to appear against it. Not to do so was to give
up the case, and acknowledge that no formal or intelligible
counter-evidence could be sustained. When passions run high in the
ardor of a long struggle, parties do not let judgment go by default.
To refuse the combat is to accept defeat.
III.
During several months, the episcopal commission visited the houses of
those whom public notoriety designated as objects of the miraculous
cures subjected to its examination. It established the truth of many
miracles. Several of them have already found a place in our history.
Two were quite recent. They had taken place shortly after the prefect
had withdrawn his prohibition and the grotto had been reopened. One
was at Nay, the other at Tartas. Although the recipients of these
heavenly favors were mutually unacquainted, a mysterious bond seemed
to connect both events. Let us relate them in order as we have
personally studied them, and written down what we have heard under
the impressions produced by the living testimony.
IV.
In the town of Nay, where young Henry Busquet had been miraculously
cured a few months before, a certain widow, named Madeleine
Rizan, was at the point of death. Her life had for twenty-four or
twenty-five years been an unbroken series of pain and sorrow. Having
been attacked by the cholera in 1832, her left side had remained
almost entirely paralyzed. She was quite lame, and could only move
a few steps inside her house, and that only by supporting herself
against the walls or furniture. Two or three times a year, in warm
weather, she was able to go to Mass at the parish church of Nay, not
far from her dwelling. She was unable, without assistance, either
to kneel or to rise. One of her hands was totally palsied. Her
general health had suffered no less than her limbs from this terrible
scourge. She frequently vomited blood, and her stomach was unable to
bear solid food.
Beef-tea, soup, and coffee had, however, sufficed to keep up the
flame of life, ever flickering and unable to warm her feeble body.
She often suffered from icy chills. The poor woman was always cold.
Even in the heats of July and August, she always wished to see fire
in the grate, and to have her arm-chair wheeled close to the hearth.
For the last sixteen or eighteen months, her state had been much
aggravated; the paralysis of the left side had become total. The same
infirmity had begun to attack the right leg. Her paralyzed limbs were
greatly swollen, as happens in the case of dropsy.
Madame Rizan left her chair to take to her bed. She could not move,
such was her weakness, and they were obliged to turn her, from time
to time, in her bed. She was almost an inert mass. Sensibility was
gone as well as motion.
"Where are my legs?" she used to inquire, when any one came to move
her. Her limbs were drawn together, and she lay continually on one
side in the form of a Z.
Two physicians had successively attended her. Doctor Talamon had long
since given her up as incurable, and, although he continued to visit
her, it was only as a friend. He refused to prescribe any remedies,
saying that drugs and medicines would prove fatal, or, at best, only
enfeeble her system.
Doctor Subervielle, at the repeated instance of Madame Rizan, had
prescribed some medicines, and, soon finding them utterly useless,
had also given up all hope. Although her paralyzed limbs had become
insensible, the sufferings which this unfortunate woman experienced
from her stomach and head were terrible. Owing to her constantly
cramped position, she was afflicted by two painful sores--one in
the hollow of her chest, and the other on the back. On her side, in
several places, her skin, chafed by the bed-clothes, exposed the
flesh, naked and bleeding. Her death was at hand.
Madame Rizan had two children. Her daughter, Lubine, lived with and
took care of her with the greatest devotion. Her son, Romain Rizan,
had a situation in a business-house at Bordeaux.
When the last hope was gone, and Doctor Subervielle declared that she
had only a few hours to live, they sent in haste for her son, Romain
Rizan. He came, embraced his mother, and received her last blessing
and farewell. Then, obliged to leave by a message peremptorily
recalling him--torn by the cruel tyranny of business from his
mother's death-bed--he left her with the bitter conviction that he
should never see her more. The dying woman received extreme unction.
Her agony went on amid excruciating sufferings.
"My God!" she often murmured, "I pray thee to end my torments. Grant
me to be healed or to die."
She sent to ask the Sisters of the Cross, at Igon, where her own
sister-in-law was superior, to make a novena to Our Lady for her
cure or death. The sick woman also evinced a desire to drink some of
the water of the grotto. One of her neighbors, Madame Nessans, who
was going to Lourdes, promised to fetch some of the water when she
returned. For some time past, she had been watched day and night. On
Saturday, October 16, a violent crisis heralded the near approach
of her last moment. She was continually spitting blood. A livid hue
spread over her worn features; her eyes became glassy. She no longer
spoke, except when forced by excessive pain.
"O my God! how I suffer! O Lord! would that I might die!"
"Her prayer will soon be granted," said Doctor Subervielle as he left
her. "She will die to-night, or at least before the sun is fairly up.
There is only a little oil left in the lamp!"
From time to time the door of her chamber opened. Friends, neighbors,
and priests, the Abbé Dupont and the Abbé Sanareus, vicar of Nay,
entered and softly inquired if she were still alive.
Her friend and consoler, the Abbé Dupont, could not restrain his
tears as he left her. "Before morning she will be dead, and I shall
see her again only in paradise," he said.
Night fell, and solitude gradually took possession of the house.
Kneeling before a statue of the Blessed Virgin, Lubine prayed without
any earthly hope. The silence was profound, and broken only by the
difficult breathing of the invalid.
It was nearly midnight. "My daughter!" cried the dying woman.
Lubine arose and approached the bed.
"What do you wish, mother?" she asked, taking her hand. "My dear
child," answered the dying mother, in a strange voice that seemed to
come from a heavy dream, "go to our friend Madame Nessans, who was
to have returned from Lourdes, this evening. Ask her for a glassful
of the water from the grotto. This water will cure me. The Blessed
Virgin wishes it."
"Dear mother," answered Lubine, "it is too late to go there. I cannot
leave you alone. Besides, everybody is asleep at the house of Madame
Nessans. But I will go early in the morning."
"Let us wait, then." The invalid relapsed into silence. The long
night finally passed.
The joyous bells at last announced the day. The morning Angelus as
it rose carried up to the Virgin Mother the prayers of earth, and
celebrated the eternal memory of her all-powerful maternity. Lubine
hastened to Madame Nessans's, and soon returned with a bottle of
water from the grotto.
"Here, mother! Drink! and may the Blessed Virgin come to your help!"
Madame Rizan raised the glass to her lips, and swallowed a few
mouthfuls.
"O my daughter! my daughter! It is life that I am drinking! Here is
life in this water! Bathe my face with it! Bathe my arms! Bathe my
whole body with it!"
Trembling and almost beside herself, Lubine moistened a piece of
linen with the miraculous water, and bathed her mother's face.
"I feel that I am cured!" she cried in a voice now clear and strong.
"I feel that I am cured!"
Lubine meanwhile bathed with the wet linen the paralyzed and swollen
limbs of the invalid. Trembling with mingled joy and terror, she saw
the enormous swelling disappear under the rapid movement of her hand,
and the stretched and shining skin reassume its natural appearance.
Suddenly, completely, and without transition, health and life revived
beneath her touch.
"It seems to me as if burning pimples were breaking out all over me."
It was, doubtless, the principle of disease leaving for ever under
the influence of a superhuman will. All this was over in a moment.
In a couple of minutes the body of Madame Rizan, apparently in her
agony, bathed by her daughter, recovered the fulness of strength.
"I am cured! perfectly cured!" cried the happy woman. "Oh! how good
the Blessed Virgin is! Oh! how powerful she is!"
After the first burst of gratitude toward heaven, the material
appetites of earth made themselves keenly felt.
"Lubine, dear Lubine, I am hungry. I must have something to eat!"
"Will you have some coffee, some wine, or some milk?" stammered her
daughter, confused by the suddenness and astounding character of the
miracle.
"I want to have meat and bread, my daughter. I have not tasted any
for twenty-four years." There happened to be some cold meat and some
wine near at hand; Madame Rizan partook of both. "And now," said she,
"I want to get up."
"It is impossible, mother," said Lubine, hesitating to believe her
eyes, and fancying, perhaps, that cures which come directly from
God are subject, like other cures, to the degrees and dangers of
convalescence. She feared to see the miracle vanish as suddenly as it
had come.
Madame Rizan insisted and demanded her clothes. They had been for
many months carefully folded and packed in the wardrobe never to be
worn again. Lubine left the room to find them. Soon she re-entered.
But as she crossed the threshold, she uttered a loud cry, and dropped
the garment which she was bringing. Her mother had sprung out of bed,
during her absence, and there she was, before the mantelpiece, where
she kept a statue of the Blessed Virgin, with clasped hands returning
thanks to her all-powerful deliverer.
Lubine, as frightened as if she had beheld one risen from the dead,
was unable to help her mother to dress. The latter, however, put on
her clothes in an instant without any assistance, and again knelt
down before the sacred image.
It was about seven o'clock in the morning, and the people were going
to the early Mass. Lubine's cry was heard in the street by the groups
who were passing under the windows.
"Poor girl!" they said, "her mother is dead at last. It was
impossible for her to survive the night." Several entered the house
to console and support Lubine in this unspeakable affliction, among
others two sisters of the Holy Cross.
"Ah! poor child, your good mother is dead! But you will certainly
see her again in heaven!" They approached the young girl, whom they
beheld leaning against the half-opened door, her face wearing a
stupefied look. She could scarcely answer them.
"My mother is risen from the dead!" she answered, in a voice choked
by strong emotion.
"She is raving," thought the sisters, as they passed by and entered
the room, followed by some persons who had come up-stairs with them.
Lubine had spoken the truth. Madame Rizan had left her bed. There
she was, dressed and prostrated before the image of Mary. She arose,
and said: "I am cured! Let us all kneel down, and thank the Blessed
Virgin."
The news of this extraordinary event spread like lightning through
the city. All that day and the day after the house was full of
people. The crowd, agitated and yet recollected, pressed to visit
the room into which a ray of the all-powerful goodness of God had
penetrated.
Everybody wished to see Madame Rizan, to touch the body restored to
life, to convince his own eyes, and grave upon his memory the details
of this supernatural drama.
Doctor Subervielle acknowledged, without hesitation, the supernatural
and divine character of this cure.
At Bordeaux, meanwhile, Romain Rizan awaited in despair and anguish
the fatal missive announcing his mother's death. It was a great shock
to him when, one morning, the postman brought him a letter addressed
in the well-known hand of Abbé Dupont.
"I have lost my poor mother!" he said to a friend who had just come
to visit him. He burst into tears, and dared not break the seal.
"Take courage in your misfortune. Have faith!" said his friend.
Finally, he opened the letter. The first words which met his eyes
were:
"Deo gratias! Alleluia!
"Rejoice, my dear friend. Your mother is cured--_completely cured_.
The Blessed Virgin has restored her miraculously to health." The Abbé
Dupont then went on to relate the divine manner in which Madame Rizan
had found at the end of her agony life instead of death.
We may easily fancy the joy of the son and of his friend. The latter
was employed in a printing-house at Bordeaux, where was published
the _Messager Catholique_. "Give me that letter," said he to Romain.
"The works of God ought to be made known, and Our Lady of Lourdes
glorified."
Partly by force, and partly by entreaty, he obtained the letter. It
was published a few days afterward in the _Messager Catholique_.
The happy son hastened to Nay at the earliest moment. As he arrived
in the diligence, a woman was waiting to greet him. She ran swiftly
to meet him, and, when he descended from the coach, threw herself
into his arms, weeping with tenderness and joy. It was his mother.
A few years afterward, the author, while searching out the details
of his history, went in person to verify the report of the episcopal
commission. He visited Madame Rizan, whose perfect health and green
old age excited his admiration. Although in her seventy-first year,
she has none of the infirmities which that age usually brings. Of her
illness and terrible sufferings there remains not a trace; and all
who had formerly known her, and whose testimony we gathered, were yet
stupefied at her extraordinary cure.[155] We wished to see Doctor
Subervielle. He had been dead some years.
"But," we asked a clergyman of Nay, who acted as our guide, "the
invalid was attended by another physician, Doctor Talamon, was she
not?"
"He is a very distinguished man," replied our companion. "He was
in the habit of visiting Madame Rizan, not professionally, but as
a friend and neighbor. But after her miraculous cure he ceased his
visits, and did not make his appearance for eight or ten months."
"Perhaps," we rejoined, "he wished to avoid being questioned on the
subject, and being obliged to explain this extraordinary phenomenon,
which would certainly have been out of accord with his principles of
medical philosophy?"
"I do not know how that may have been."
"No matter; I want to see him."
We knocked at his door.
Doctor Talamon is a tall and handsome old man, with an expressive
and intelligent countenance. A remarkable forehead, a crown of white
locks, a glance which betokens positive adherence to opinions, a
mouth varied in expression, and on which a sceptical smile often
plays--these are the features which strike one who approaches him.
We stated the object of our visit.
"It is a long time," he answered, "since all that happened, and, at
the distance of ten or twelve years, my memory supplies but a dim
recollection of the matter about which you inquire; besides, I was
not an eye-witness of it. I did not see Madame Rizan for several
months, and, consequently, do not know by what conditions or agents,
or with what degree of speed or slowness, her recovery was effected."
"But, doctor, did you not have curiosity enough to investigate such
an extraordinary event, of which rumor must have instantly informed
you, especially in this place?"
"The fact is," he answered, "I am an old physician. I know that the
laws of nature are never reversed, and, to tell you the truth, I do
not believe the least bit in miracles."
"Ah! doctor, you sin against the faith," cried the abbé who had
accompanied me.
"And I, doctor, do not accuse you of sinning against faith, but I
accuse you of sinning against the very principles of the science
which you profess."
"How, pray, and in what?"
"Medicine is not a speculative, but an empirical science. Experience
is its law. The observation of facts is its first and fundamental
principle. If you had been told that Madame Rizan had cured herself
by washing with a decoction from some plant recently discovered on
yonder mountain, you would not have failed to ascertain the cure
and to examine the plant, and put the discovery on record. It might
have been as important as that of quinine in the last century. You
would have done the same if the cure had been produced by some new
sulphurous or alkaline substance. But, now, everybody is talking
about a fountain of miraculous water, and you have never yet been
to see it. Forgetting that you are a physician, that is to say,
a humble observer of facts, you have refused to notice this, as
did the scientific academies which rejected steam and proscribed
quinine on some quack principles of their own. In medicine, when
fact contradicts a principle, it means that the principle is wrong.
Experience is the supreme judge. And here, doctor, allow me to say
that, if you had not had some vague consciousness that what I am
telling you is true, you would have rushed to find out the truth, and
would have given yourself the pleasure of showing up the imposture
of a miracle which was setting the whole neighborhood wild with
excitement. But this would have exposed you to the danger of being
forced to surrender; and you have acted like those party-slaves
who will not listen to the arguments of their opponents. You have
listened to your philosophical prejudices, and you have been false to
the first law of medicine, which is to face the study of facts--no
matter of what nature--in order to derive instruction from them.
I speak freely, doctor, because I am aware of your great merits,
and that your keen intellect is capable of hearing the truth. Many
physicians have refused to certify to facts of this nature, for fear
of having to brave the resentment of the faculty and the raillery
of friends of their profession. With regard to yourself, doctor,
although your philosophy may have deceived you, human respect has had
nothing at all to do with your keeping aloof."
"Certainly not," he replied, "but, perhaps, if I had placed myself at
the point of view which you have indicated, I might have done better
by examining the matter."
V.
Long before the occurrences at Lourdes, at an epoch when Bernadette
was not yet in the world, in 1843, during the month of April, an
honorable family of Tartas in the Landes was in a state of great
anxiety. The year before, Mlle. Adèle de Chariton had been married to
M. Moreau de Sazenay, and now approached the term of her pregnancy.
The crisis of a first maternity is always alarming. The medical
men, summoned in haste on the preliminary symptoms, declared that
the birth would be very difficult, and did not conceal their fear
of some danger. No one is ignorant of the cruel anxiety of such a
juncture. The most poignant anguish is not for the poor wife who
is prostrated upon her bed of pain, and entirely absorbed in her
physical sufferings. It is the husband whose heart is now the prey
of indescribable tortures. They are of the age of vivid impressions;
they have entered upon a new life, and begun to taste the joys of
a union which God seems to have blessed; they have passed a few
months full of anticipations of the future. The young couple have
set them down, so to speak, side by side in a fairy pleasure-boat.
The river of life has carried them softly on amid banks of flowers.
Suddenly, without warning, the shadow of death rises before them.
The heart of the husband, expanded with hope for the child so soon
to be born, is crushed by terror for his wife, who may be about to
perish. He hears her accents of pain. How will the crisis end? Is
it to be in joy or bereavement? What is about to issue from that
chamber? Will it be life or death? What must we send for--a cradle or
a coffin? Or--horrible contrast--will both be necessary? Or, worse
still, shall two coffins be necessary? Human science is silent, and
hesitates to pronounce.
This anguish is frightful, but especially for those who do not
seek from God their strength and consolation. But M. Moreau was a
Christian. He knew that the thread of our existence is in the hands
of a supreme Master, to whom we can always appeal from the doctors of
science. When man has passed sentence, the King of heaven, as well as
other sovereigns, holds the right of pardon.
"The Blessed Virgin will, perhaps, vouchsafe to hear me," thought the
afflicted husband. He addressed himself with confidence to the Mother
of Christ.
The danger which had appeared so threatening disappeared as a cloud
upon the horizon. A little girl had just been born.
Assuredly there was nothing extraordinary about this deliverance.
However alarming the danger might have appeared to M. Moreau himself,
the physicians had never given up hope. The favorable issue of the
crisis may have been something purely natural.
The heart of the husband and father, however, felt itself penetrated
with gratitude to the Blessed Virgin. His was not one of those
rebellious souls which demands freedom from all doubt in order to
escape acknowledging a favor.
"What name are you going to give to your little girl?" he was asked.
"She shall be called Marie."
"Marie? Why, that is the commonest name in the whole country. The
children of the laboring people, the servants, are all named Marie.
Besides, Ma_r_ie Mo_r_eau is out of all euphony. The two _m_'s
and two _r_'s would be intolerable!" A thousand reasons of equal
validity were urged against him. There was a general protest.
M. Moreau was very accessible, and easily moved by others; but in
this instance he resisted all counsel and entreaty; he braved all
discontent, and his tenacity was really extraordinary. He did not
allow himself to forget that, in his distress, he had invoked this
sacred name, or that it belonged to the Queen of heaven.
"She shall be called Marie, and I wish her to take the Blessed Virgin
for a patroness. And I tell you the truth, this name will some day
bring her a blessing."
Everybody was astonished at this apparent obstinacy, but it remained
unshaken as that of Zachary when he gave his son the name John.
Vainly did they apply every means of attack; there was no getting by
this inflexible will. The first-born of the family, therefore, took
the name of Marie. The father, moreover, desired that she should be
vowed for three years to dress in white, the color of the Blessed
Virgin. This, too, was done.
More than sixteen years had now passed since this episode. A second
daughter had been born, she was called Marthe. Mlle. Marie Moreau was
being educated at the Convent of the Sacred Heart at Bordeaux. About
the commencement of January, 1858, she was attacked by a disease
of the eyes, which shortly obliged her to give up her studies. She
supposed at first that it was only a cold which would pass off as
it had come; but her hopes were deceived, and her complaint assumed
a most alarming character. The physician in attendance judged it
necessary to consult a distinguished oculist of Bordeaux, M. Bermont.
It was not a cold; it was amaurosis.
"Her case is a very serious one," said M. Bermont; "one of the eyes
is entirely gone, and the other in a very dangerous condition."
The parents were immediately notified. Her mother hastened to
Bordeaux, and brought back her daughter, in order that she might have
at home that care, treatment, and perfect attention which the oculist
had prescribed in order to save the eye which yet remained, and
which was so gravely affected that it could perceive objects only as
through a mist.
The medicines, baths, and all the prescriptions of science proved
useless. Spring and autumn passed without any change for the better.
Indeed, the deplorable condition of the invalid was daily aggravated.
Total blindness was approaching. M. and Madame Moreau decided to take
their child to Paris, in order to consult the great medical lights.
While engaged in hasty preparations for their journey, fearing lest
it might be too slow to escape the danger which threatened their
child, the postman brought them the weekly number of the _Messager
Catholique_. It was about the first of November, and this number of
the _Messager Catholique_ happened to be precisely the one which
contained the letter of Abbé Dupont, and the story of the miraculous
cure of Madame Rizan, of Nay, by means of water from the grotto.
M. Moreau opened it mechanically, and his glance fell upon that
divine history. He turned pale as he read, hope began to awaken in
the heart of the desolate father, and that soul, or rather that
heart, was touched by a gleam of light.
"There," said he--"there is the door at which we must knock. It is
evident," he added, with a simplicity whose actual words we delight
to repeat, "that, if the Blessed Virgin has really appeared at
Lourdes, she must be interested in working miraculous cures to prove
the truth of her apparitions. And this is especially true at first
before the event is not generally believed.... Let us be in a hurry,
then, since in this case the first come are to be the first served.
My dearest wife and daughter, we must address ourselves at once to
Our Lady of Lourdes." Sixteen years had not worn out the faith of M.
Moreau.
A novena was resolved upon, in which all the neighboring friends
of the young girl were to be asked to join. By a providential
circumstance, a priest of the city had in his possession a bottle of
the water, so that the novena could be commenced at once.
The parents, in case of a cure, bound themselves to make a pilgrimage
to Lourdes, and to devote their daughter for a year to the colors
of white and blue, the colors of the Blessed Virgin, which she had
already worn for three years during her infancy.
The novena commenced on Sunday evening, the 8th of November.
Must it be acknowledged? The invalid had but little faith. Her mother
dared not hope. Her father alone had that tranquil faith which the
kind powers of heaven never resist.
All said the prayers together in M. Moreau's room, before an image of
the Blessed Virgin. The mother and her two daughters rose one after
another to retire, but the father remained on his knees.
He thought he was alone, and his voice broke forth with a fervor
which recalled his family, who have given us the account, and who
never can forget that solemn moment without a tremor.
"Blessed Virgin!" said the father--"most blessed Virgin Mary! you
must cure my child. Yes, indeed, you are _bound_ to do it. It is an
obligation which you cannot refuse to acknowledge. Remember, O Mary!
how, in spite of everybody and against everybody, I chose you for her
patron. Remember what struggles I had to give her your sacred name.
Can you, Holy Virgin, forget all this? Can you forget how I defended
your glory and power against the vain reasons with which they
surrounded me? Can you forget that I publicly placed this child under
your protection, telling everybody and repeating that your name would
some day bring a blessing upon her? Can you be unmindful of all this?
Are you not bound in honor--now that I am in misfortune, now when I
pray you for our child and yours--to come to our help and heal her
malady? Are you going to allow her to become blind, after the faith I
have shown in you? No! no! impossible! You will cure her."
Such were the sentiments which escaped in loud tones from the unhappy
father, as he appealed to the Blessed Virgin, and, as it were,
presenting a claim against her, demanded payment.
It was ten o'clock at night.
The young girl, before retiring, dipped a linen bandage in the water
of Lourdes, and, placing it upon her eyes, tied it behind her head.
Her soul was agitated. Without having her father's faith, she said
to herself that, after all, the Blessed Virgin was perfectly able
to cure her, and that, perhaps, at the end of the novena she might
recover her sight. Then doubt returned, and it seemed as if a miracle
ought not to be worked for her. With all these thoughts revolving in
her mind, she could hardly lie still, and it was very late before she
fell asleep.
When morning came, as soon as she awoke, her first movement of hope
and uneasy curiosity was to remove the bandage which covered her
eyes. She uttered a loud cry.
The room about her was filled with the light of the rising day. She
saw clearly, exactly, and distinctly. The diseased eye had recovered
its health, and the eye which before was blind had been restored to
sight.
"Marthe! Marthe!" she cried, "I see perfectly. I am cured!"
Little Marthe, who slept in the same room, sprang out of bed and
ran to her sister. She saw her eyes, stripped of their bloody veil,
black and brilliant, and sparkling with life and strength. The little
girl's heart at once turned toward her father and mother, who had not
yet shared in this joy.
"Papa! mamma!" she cried.
Marie beckoned her not to call them yet.
"Wait! wait!" said she, "until I have tried if I can read. Give me a
book."
The child took one from the table. "There!" said she.
Marie opened the book, and read with perfect ease as freely as any
one ever has read. The cure was complete, radical, absolute, and the
Blessed Virgin had not left her work half-done.
The father and mother hastened to the room.
"Papa, mamma, I can see--I can read--I am cured!"
How can we describe the scene which followed? Our readers can
understand it, each for himself, by entering into his own
imagination. The door of the house had not yet been opened. The
windows were closed, and their transparent panes admitted only the
early light of morning. Who, then, could have entered to join this
family in the happiness of this sudden blessing? And yet these
Christians felt instinctively that they were not alone, and that a
powerful being was invisibly in the midst of them. The father and
mother, and little Marthe, fell on their knees; Marie, who had not
yet arisen, clasped her hands; and from these four breasts, oppressed
with gratitude and emotion, went forth, as a prayer of thanks, the
holy name of the Mother of God: "O holy Virgin Mary! Our Lady of
Lourdes!"
What their other words were, we know not; but what their sentiments
must have been, any one can imagine by placing himself before this
miraculous event, which, like a flash from the power of God, had
turned the affliction of a family into joy and happiness.
Is it necessary to add that, shortly afterward, Mlle. Marie Moreau
went with her parents to thank Our Lady of Lourdes in the place of
her apparition? She left her colored dresses upon the altar, and went
away happy and proud of wearing the colors of the Queen of virgins.
M. Moreau, whose faith had formerly been so strong, was wholly
stupefied. "I thought," said he, "that such favors were only granted
to the saints; how is it, then, that they descend upon miserable
sinners like us?"
These facts were witnessed by the entire population of Tartas, who
shared in the affliction of one of their most respected families.
Everybody in the city saw and can testify that the malady, which had
been considered desperate, was completely healed at the beginning
of the novena. The superior of the Convent of the Sacred Heart at
Bordeaux, the one hundred and fifty pupils who were school-mates
of Mlle. Marie Moreau, the physicians of that institution, have
established her serious condition before the events which we have
related, and her total cure immediately afterward. She returned to
Bordeaux, where she remained two years to complete her studies.
The oculist Bermont could not recover from his surprise at an
event so entirely beyond his science. We have read his declaration
certifying to the state of the invalid, and acknowledging the
inability of medical treatment to produce such a cure, "which," he
observes, "has persisted and still holds. As to the instantaneousness
with which this cure has been wrought," he adds, "it is a fact which
incomparably surpasses the power of medical science. In testimony of
which I attach my signature. BERMONT."
This declaration, dated February 8th, 1859, is preserved at the
bishop's residence at Tarbes, together with a great number of letters
and testimonials from citizens of Tartas, among others that of the
mayor of that city, M. Desbord.
Mlle. Marie continued to wear the colors of the Blessed Virgin up to
the day of her marriage, which took place after she had finished her
studies and left the Sacred Heart. On that day she went to Lourdes
and laid aside her maiden attire to put on her bridal robes. She
wished to give this dress of blue and white to another young girl,
also beloved by the Blessed Virgin, Bernadette.
This was the only present which Bernadette ever accepted. She wore
for several years, indeed until it was worn out, this dress which
recalled the loving power of the divine apparition at the grotto.
Eleven years have since elapsed. The favor accorded by the Blessed
Virgin has not been withdrawn. Mlle. Moreau has always had most
excellent and perfect sight; never any relapse, never the slightest
indisposition.
Excepting by suicide, ingratitude, or abuse of grace, that which God
has restored can never die. _Resurgens jam non moritur._
Mlle. Marie Moreau is now called Madame d'Izaru de Villefort, and is
the mother of three delightful children, who have the finest eyes in
the world. Although they are boys, each bears in his baptismal name
first the name of Mary.
VI.
Miraculous cures were counted by hundreds. It was impossible to
verify them all. The episcopal commission submitted thirty of them
to most rigorous scrutiny. The most severe strictness was shown in
this examination, and nothing was admitted as supernatural, until it
was absolutely impossible to call it anything else. All cures which
had not been almost instantaneous, or which had been occupied by
successive stages, all these were rejected; as also were all which
had been obtained in conjunction with medical treatment, however
unavailing the latter might have been. "Although the inefficacy
of the remedies prescribed by science has been sufficiently
demonstrated, we cannot in this case in an exclusive manner attribute
the cure to a supernatural virtue in the water of the grotto which
was used at the same time." So runs the report of the secretary of
the commission.
Moreover, numerous spiritual favors, singular graces, unlooked-for
conversions, had been reported to the commission. It is difficult to
establish juridically events which have taken place in the closed
recesses of the human soul and which escape the observation of all
without. Although such facts, such changes, are often more wonderful
than the restoration of a member or the healing of a physical
disease, the commission judged rightly when it decided that it ought
not to include them in the solemn and public inquiry with which it
had been charged by the bishop.
In the report to his grace, the committee, by agreement with
the physicians, divided the cures which had been examined into
three categories, with all the carefully gathered details and
_procès-verbaux_, signed by the persons cured and by numerous
witnesses.
The first category included those cures which, despite their
striking and astonishing appearance, were susceptible of a natural
explanation. These were six in number; namely, those of Jeanne-Marie
Arqué, the widow Crozat, Blaise Maumus, a child of the Lasbareilles
of Gez, Jeanne Crassus, Arcizan-Avant, Jeanne Pomiès of Loubajac.
The second list comprised cures which the commission felt inclined to
attribute a supernatural character. Of this number were Jean-Pierre
Malou, Jeanne-Marie Dauber, wife of a certain Vendôme, Bernarde
Soubies and Pauline Bordeaux of Lourdes, Jean-Marie Amaré of
Beaucens, Marcelle Peyregue of Agos, Jeanne-Marie Massot Bordenave
of Arras, Jeanne Gezma and Auguste Bordes of Pontacq. "The greater
number of these facts," says the medical report, "possess all the
conditions to cause them be admitted as supernatural. It will,
perhaps, be found that in excluding them we have acted with too much
reserve and scrupulousness.
"But far from complaining of this reproach, we shall congratulate
ourselves upon it, since in these matters we are convinced that
prudence demands severity."
Under such circumstances, a natural explanation, although in
itself utterly improbable, seemed rigorously possible, and this was
sufficient to prevent the examiners from declaring a miracle.
The third class contained cures which presented an undeniable
and evident supernatural character, fifteen in number. Those of:
Blaisette Soupenne, Benoite Cazeaux, Jeanne Grassus married to
Crozat, Louis Bourriette, little Justin Bouhohorts, Fabian and
Suzanne Baron of Lourdes, Madame Rizanand, Henry Busquet of Nay,
Catherine Latapie of Loubajac, Madame Lanou of Bordères, Marianne
Garrot and Denys Bouchet of Lamarque, Jean-Marie Tambourné of St.
Justin, Mlle. Marie Moreau de Sazenay of Tartas, Paschaline Abbadie
of Rabasteins, all these were incontestably miraculous.
"The maladies to which those favored by such sudden and startling
cures were subject were of entirely different natures"--we quote from
the report of the commission. "They possessed the greatest variety
of character. Some were the subjects of external, others of internal
pathology. Nevertheless, these various diseases were all cured by a
single simple element, used either as a lotion or drink, or sometimes
in both ways.
"In the natural and scientific order, furthermore, each remedy is
used in a fixed and regular manner; it has its special virtue proper
to a given malady, but is either inefficacious or hurtful in other
cases.
"It is not, then, by any property inherent in its composition that
the Massabielle water has been able to produce such numerous,
diverse, and extraordinary cures, and to extinguish at once diseases
of different and opposite characters. Furthermore, science has
authoritatively declared, after analysis, that this water has no
mineral or therapeutic qualities, and chemically does not differ
from other pure waters. Medical science, having been consulted, after
mature and conscientious examination, is not less decisive in its
conclusions."
"In glancing at the general appearance of these cures," says the
medical report, "one cannot fail to be struck by the ease, the
promptitude, and instantaneous rapidity with which they spring
from their producing cause; from the violation and overthrow
of all therapeutic laws and methods which takes place in their
accomplishment; from the contradictions offered by them to all
the accepted axioms and cautions of science; from that kind of
disdain which sports with the chronic nature and long resistance of
the disease; from the concealed but real care with which all the
circumstances are arranged and combined: everything, in short, shows
that the cures wrought belong to an order apart from the habitual
course of nature.
"Such phenomena surpass the limits of the human intellect. How,
indeed, can it comprehend the opposition which exists:
"Between the simplicity of the means and the greatness of the result?
"Between the unity of the remedy and the variety of the diseases?
"Between the short time employed in the use of this remedy and the
lengthy treatment indicated by science?
"Between the sudden efficacy of the former and the long-acknowledged
inutility of the latter?
"Between the chronic nature of the diseases and the instantaneous
character of the cure?
"There is in all this a contingent force, superior to any that spring
from natural causes, and, consequently, foreign to the water of which
it has made use to show forth its power?"
In view of so many carefully-collected and publicly-certified facts,
so striking in their nature; in view, moreover, of the conscientious
and thorough inquiry made by the commission, together with the formal
and united declarations of medicine and chemistry, the bishop could
no longer remain unconvinced.
Nevertheless, on account of that spirit of extreme prudence which we
have before remarked, Monseigneur Laurence, before giving the solemn
episcopal verdict in this matter, demanded a still further guaranty
of these miraculous cures--the proof of time. He allowed three years
to pass. A second examination was then made. The miraculous cures
still held good. No one appeared to retract former testimony or to
contest any of the facts. The works of him who rules over eternity
had nothing to fear from the test of time.
After this overwhelming series of proofs and certainty, Monseigneur
Laurence at length pronounced the judgment which all had been
awaiting. We give below its general features.
TO BE CONTINUED.
FOOTNOTE:
[155] "All the circumstances connected with this fact," says the
report of the physicians, "stamp it with a supernatural character.
It is impossible to escape from this conviction, if one considers,
on one hand, the chronic nature of the complaint which began in
1834; the force of its engendering cause, namely, the cholera; the
permanence of some of its symptoms in a most important organ of life,
the stomach; the fruitlessness of remedies applied by a competent
physician, M. Subervielle, the gradual prostration of strength,
followed inevitably by dyspepsia, and the enervation resulting from
continual pain; and, on the other hand, if one will couple with
these circumstances the effect produced by natural water, only once
applied, and the instantaneous character of the result."
PÈRE JACQUES AND MADEMOISELLE ADRIENNE.
A SKETCH AFTER THE BLOCUS.
It was just five months since I had left it, the bright, proud
Babylon, beautiful and brave and wicked, clothed in scarlet and
feasting sumptuously. King Chanticleer, strutting on the Boulevards,
was crowing loudly, and the myriad tribe of the Coq Gaulois,
strutting up and down the city, crowed loud and shrill in responsive
chorus--petits crévés, and petits mouchards, and petits gamins, and
all that was _petit_ in that grand, foolish cityful of humanity.
Bedlam was abroad, singing and crowing and barking itself rabid, and
scaring away from Babylon all that was not bedlam. But there were
many in Babylon who were not afraid of the bedlam, who believed that
crowing would by-and-by translate itself into action, into those
seeds of desperate daring that none but madmen can accomplish, and
that, when the bugle sounded, these bragging, swaggering maniacs
would shoulder the musket, and, rushing to the fore, save France or
die for her. No one saved her, but many did rush to the fore, and
die for her. They were not lunatics, though, at least not many of
them. The lunatics showed, as they have often done before, that there
was method in their madness. They cheered on the sane, phlegmatic
brethren to death and glory, while they stayed prudently at home to
keep up the spirits of the capital; they were the spirit and soul of
the defence, the others were but the bone and muscle of it. What is
a body without a soul? The frail arm of the flesh without the nerve
and strength of the spirit? Pshaw! If it were not for the crowing of
King Chanticleer, there would have been no siege at all; the whole
concern would have collapsed in its cradle.
The story of that Blocus has yet to be written. Of its outward and
visible story, many volumes, and scores of volumes, good and bad,
true and false, have been already written. But the inward story,
the arcana of the defence, the exposition of that huge, blundering
machine that, with its springs and levers, and wheels within wheels,
snapped and broke and collapsed in the driver's hand, all this is
still untold. The great _Pourquoi?_ is still unanswered. History will
solve the riddle some day, no doubt, as it solves most riddles, but
before that time comes, other, grander problems of greater import to
us will have been solved too, and we shall care but little for the
true story of the Blocus.
"Yes, monsieur," said my concierge, when we met and talked over the
events that had passed since the first of September, when I fled and
left my goods and chattels to her care and the tender mercies of the
Prussians and the Reds--"yes, monsieur, it is very wonderful that one
doesn't hear of anybody having died of cold, though the winter was
so terrible, and the fuel so scarce. It ran short almost from the
beginning. We had nothing but green sticks that couldn't be persuaded
to burn and do our best. I used to sit shivering in my bed, while
the petiots tried to warm themselves skipping in the porte-cochère,
or running up and down from the _cintième_ till their little legs
were dead beat. O Mon Dieu! je me rapellerai de cette guerre en tous
les sens, monsieur."
"Did many die from starvation," I asked--"many in this neighborhood
that you knew?"
"Not one, monsieur! Not one of actual hunger, though my belief is,
plenty of folks died of poison. The bread we ate was worse than
the want of it. Such an abomination, made out of hay and bran and
oats; why, monsieur, a chiffonier's dog wouldn't have touched it in
Christian times. How it kept body and soul together for any of us is
more than I can understand."
"And yet nobody died of want?" I repeated.
"Not that I heard of, monsieur; unless you count Père Jacques as dead
from starvation. He disappeared one morning soon after he told Mlle.
Adrienne, and nobody ever knew what became of him. They said in the
quartier that he went over to the Prussians; but they said that of
better men than Père Jacques, and besides, what would the Prussians
do with a poor old _toqué_ like Père Jacques, I ask it of monsieur?"
I was going to say that I fully agreed with her, when we were both
startled by a sudden uproar in the street round the corner. We rushed
out simultaneously from the porte-cochère, where we were holding our
confabulation, to see what was the matter. A crowd was collected
in the middle of the Rue Billault, and was vociferously cheering
somebody or something. As a matter of course, the assembly being
French, there were counter-cheers; hisses and cries of "renégat!
Vendu aux Prussiens! drôle," etc., intermingling with more friendly
exclamations.
"Bon Dieu! ce n'est done pas fini! Is the war going to begin again?
Are we going to have a revolution?" demanded my concierge, throwing
up her hands to heaven and then wringing them in despair. "Will the
petiots never be able to eat their panade and build their little
mud-pies in peace! Oh! monsieur, monsieur, you are happy not to be a
Frenchman!"
Without in the least degree demurring to this last proposition, I
suggested that before giving up France as an utterly hopeless case,
we would do well to see what the row was about; if indeed it were a
row, for the cheering, as the crowd grew, seemed to rise predominant
above the hissing. Already reassured, I advanced boldly toward the
centre of disturbance, my concierge following, and keeping a tight
grip of the skirts of my coat for greater security.
"Vive Mlle. Adrienne! Donne la patte Mlle. Adrienne! Vive le Père
Jacques!" The cries, capped by peals of laughter which were suddenly
drowned in the uproarious braying of a donkey, reverberated through
the street and deafened us as we drew near.
With a shout of laughter, my concierge dropped my skirts, and
clapping her hands:
"Comment!" she cried, "she is alive, then! He did not eat her! He did
not sell her! Vive le Père Jacques! Vive Mlle. Adrienne!"
Those of my readers who have lived any time in the quartier of the
Champs Elysées will recognize Mlle. Adrienne as an old friend, and
rejoice to learn that, thanks to the intelligent devotion of Père
Jacques, she did not share the fate of her asinine sisterhood, but
has actually gone through the horrors of the siege of Paris and
lived to tell the tale. Those who have not the pleasure of her
acquaintance will perhaps be glad to make it, and to hear something
of so remarkable a personage.
For years--I am afraid to say how many, but ten is certainly within
the mark--Père Jacques's donkey has been a familiar object in the
Rue Billault and the Rue de Berri, and that part of the Faubourg St.
Honoré and the Champs Elysées which includes those streets. Why Père
Jacques christened his ass Mlle. Adrienne nobody knows. Some say,
out of vengeance against a certain blue-eyed Adrienne who won his
heart and broke it; others say, only love for a faithful Adrienne who
broke his heart by dying; but this is pure conjecture; Père Jacques
himself is reticent on the subject, and, when questioned once by a
curious, impertinent man, he refused to explain himself further than
by remarking, "Que chacun avait son idée, et que son idée à lui,
c'etait Mlle. Adrienne," and having said this he took a lump of sugar
from his pocket and presented it affectionately to his _idée_, who
munched it with evident satisfaction, and acknowledged her sense of
the attention by a long and uproarious bray.
"Voyons, Mlle. Adrienne! Calmons-nous!" said Père Jacques in a tone
of persuasive authority. "Calmons-nous, ma chérie!"--the braying grew
louder and louder--"wilt thou be silent? Uplà, Mlle. Adrienne! Ah,
les femmes, les femmes! Toujours bavardes! La-a-a-à, Mlle. Adrienne!"
This was the usual style of conversation between the two. Père
Jacques presented lumps of sugar which were invariably recognized
by a bray, or, more properly, a series of brays, such as no other
donkey in France or Navarre but herself could send forth; and while
it lasted Père Jacques kept up a running commentary of remonstrance.
"Voyons, Mlle. Adrienne! Sapristi, veux-tu te taire? A-t-on jamais
vu! Lotte, veux-tu en fini-i-i-r!"
Though it was an old novelty in the quartier, it seemed never to have
lost its savor, and as soon as Père Jacques and his little cart, full
of apples, or oranges, or cauliflowers, as the case might be, were
seen or heard at the further end of the street, the gamins left off
marbles and pitch-and-toss to bully and chaff Père Jacques and greet
his _idée_ with a jocular "Bonjour, Mlle. Adrienne." The tradesmen
looked up from their weights and measures, laughing, as the pair went
by.
When provisions began to run short during the Blocus, Père Jacques
grew uneasy, not for himself, but for Mlle. Adrienne. Hard-hearted
jesters advised him to fatten her up for the market; ass-flesh was
delicate and rarer than horse-flesh, and fetched six francs a pound;
it was no small matter to turn six francs in these famine times, when
there were no more apples or cauliflowers to sell; Mlle. Adrienne was
a burden now instead of a help to her master; the little cart stood
idle in the corner; there was nothing to trundle, and it was breaking
his heart to see her growing thin for want of rations, and to watch
her spirits drooping for want of exercise and lumps of sugar. For
more than a fortnight Père Jacques deprived himself of a morsel of
the favorite dainty, and doled out his last demikilog to her with
miserly economy, hoping always that the gates would be opened before
she came to the last lump.
"Voyons, ma fille!" Père Jacques would say, as she munched a bit half
the usual size of the now precious bonbon. "Cheer up, ma bouriquette!
Be reasonable, Mlle. Adrienne, be reasonable, and bear thy trials
like an ass, patiently and bravely, not like a man, grumbling and
despairing. Paperlotte, Mlle. Adrienne! if it were not for thee
I should be out on the ramparts, and send those coquins to the
right-abouts myself. Les gredins! they are not content with drilling
our soldiers and starving our citizens, but they must rob thee of
thy bit of sugar, my pretty one. Mille tonnerres! if I had but their
necks under my arm for one squeeze!"
And, entering into the grief and indignation of her master, Mlle.
Adrienne would set up an agonized bray.
Thus comforting one another, the pair bore up through their trials.
But at last came the days of eating mice and rats, and bread that
a dog in good circumstances would have turned up its nose at a
month ago, and then Père Jacques shook in his sabots. He dared not
show himself abroad with Mlle. Adrienne, and not only that, but he
lived in chronic terror of a raid being made on her at home. The
mischievous urchins who had amused themselves at the expense of his
paternal feelings in days of comparative plenty, gave him no peace
or rest now that the wolf was really at the door. Requisitions were
being made in private houses to see that no stores were hoarded up
while the people outside were famishing. One rich family, who had
prudently bought a couple of cows at the beginning of the Blocus,
after vainly endeavoring to keep the fact a secret, and surrounding
the precious beasts with as much mystery and care as ever Egyptian
worshippers bestowed on the sacred Isis, were forced to give them up
to the commonwealth. This caused a great sensation in the quartier.
Père Jacques was the first to hear it, and the _gamins_ improved
the opportunity by declaring to him that the republic had issued a
decree that all asses were to be seized next day, all such as could
not speak, they added facetiously, and there was to be a general
slaughter of them, a _massacre des innocents_, the little brutes
called it, at the abattoir of the Rue Valois. The fact of its being
at the Rue Valois was a small mercy for which they reminded Père
Jacques to be duly grateful, inasmuch as, it being close at hand,
he might accompany Mlle. Adrienne to the place of execution, give
her a parting kiss, and hear her last bray of adieu. At this cynical
climax, Père Jacques started up in a rage, and seizing his stick, set
to vigorously belaboring the diabolical young torturers, who took to
their heels, yelling and screaming like frightened guinea-pigs, while
Mlle. Adrienne, who stood ruminating in a corner of the room, opened
a rattling volley of brays on the fugitives.
All that night Père Jacques lay awake in terror. Every whistle of
the wind, every creak in the door, every stir and sound, set his
heart thumping violently against his ribs; every moment he was
expecting the dreaded domiciliary visit. What was he to do? Where
was he to fly? How was he to cheat the brigands and save Mlle.
Adrienne? The night wore out, and the dawn broke, and the raid was
still unaccomplished. As soon as it was light, Père Jacques rose
and dressed himself, and sat down on a wooden stool close by Mlle.
Adrienne, and pondered. Since her life had been in jeopardy, he had
removed her from her out-house in the court to his own private room
on the ground-floor close by.
"Que me conseilles-tu, Mlle. Adrienne?" murmured the distracted
parent, speaking in a low tone, impelled by the instinct that drives
human beings to seek sympathy somewhere, from a cat or a dog if they
have no fellow-creature to appeal to, Père Jacques had contracted a
habit of talking out loud to his dumb companion when they were alone,
and consulting her on any perplexing point. Suddenly a bright idea
struck Père Jacques; he would go and consult Mère Richard.
Mère Richard lived in a neighboring court amidst a numerous family of
birds of many species, bullfinches, canaries, and linnets. She had
often suggested to Père Jacques to adopt a little songster by way
of cheering his lonely den, and had once offered him a young German
canary of her own bringing up.
"It's as good as a baby for tricks and company, and nothing so dear
to keep," urged Mère Richard.
But Père Jacques had gratefully declined. "Mlle. Adrienne is company
enough for me," he said, "and it might hurt her feelings if I took up
with a bird now, thanks to you all the same, voisine."
To-day, as he neared the house, he looked in vain for the red and
green cages that used to hang out au troisième on either side of Mère
Richard's windows. The birds were gone. Where? Père Jacques felt a
sympathetic thrill of horror, and with a heavy heart mounted the
dark little stairs, no longer merry with the sound of chirping from
the tidy little room au troisième. He refrained, through delicate
consideration for Mère Richard's feelings, from asking questions,
but, casting his eyes round the room, he beheld the empty cages
ranged in a row behind the door.
But Mère Richard had a donkey. There was no comparison to be
tolerated for a moment between it and Mlle. Adrienne, still their
positions were identical, and Mère Richard, who was a wise woman,
would help him in his present difficulty, and if she could not help
him she would, at any rate, sympathize with him, which was the next
best thing to helping him. But Mère Richard, to his surprise, had
heard nothing of the impending raid on donkeys. When he explained to
her how the case stood, instead of breaking out into lamentations,
she burst into a chuckling laugh.
"Pas possible! Bouriquette good to be eaten, and the republic going
to buy her, and pay me six francs a pound for her! Père Jaques, it's
too good to be true," declared the unnatural old Harpagon.
Père Jacques was unable to contain his indignation. He vowed that
rather than let her fall into the hands of the cannibals, he would
destroy Mlle. Adrienne with his own hand; he would kill any man in
the republic, from Favre to Gambetta, who dared to lay a finger on
her; aye, that he would, if he were to swing for it the next hour!
"Père Jacques, you are an imbecile," observed Mère Richard, taking a
pinch of snuff; "you remind me of a story my bonhomme used to tell of
two camarades of his that he met on their way to be hanged; one of
them didn't mind it, and walked on quietly, holding his tongue; but
the other didn't like it at all, and kept howling and whining, and
making a tapage de diable. At last the quiet one lost patience, and
turning round on the other, 'Eh grand bétat,' he cried, 'si tu n'en
veux pas, n'en dégoute pas les autres!'"
Père Jaques saw the point of the story, and, taking the hint, stood
up to go.
"What did you do with the birds?" he demanded sternly, as he was
leaving the room.
"Sold four of them for three francs apiece, and ate three of them,
and uncommonly good they were," said the wretched woman, with
unblushing heartlessness.