The Three Cities Trilogy: Lourdes, Volume 3Zola, Émile
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The Three Cities Trilogy: Lourdes, Volume 3
Zola, Émile
Catholics -- Fiction; Christian pilgrims and pilgrimages -- Fiction; Clergy -- Fiction; Lourdes (France) -- Fiction
"No, my child, it is scarcely half-past eight," was the reply. "Here is a
nice woollen shawl for you to wrap round you at daybreak, for the Gave is
close by, and the mornings are very fresh, you know, in these mountainous
parts."
"Oh! but the nights are so lovely, Sister, and besides, I sleep so little
here!" replied Marie; "I cannot be worse off out-of-doors. /Mon Dieu/,
how happy I am; how delightful it will be to spend the whole night with
the Blessed Virgin!"
The entire ward was jealous of her; for to remain in prayer before the
Grotto all night long was the most ineffable of joys, the supreme
beatitude. It was said that in the deep peacefulness of night the chosen
ones undoubtedly beheld the Virgin, but powerful protection was needed to
obtain such a favour as had been granted to Marie; for nowadays the
reverend Fathers scarcely liked to grant it, as several sufferers had
died during the long vigil, falling asleep, as it were, in the midst of
their ecstasy.
"You will take the Sacrament at the Grotto tomorrow morning, before you
are brought back here, won't you, my child?" resumed Sister Hyacinthe.
However, nine o'clock at last struck, and, Pierre not arriving, the girl
wondered whether he, usually so punctual, could have forgotten her? The
others were now talking to her of the night procession, which she would
see from beginning to end if she only started at once. The ceremonies
concluded with a procession every night, but the Sunday one was always
the finest, and that evening, it was said, would be remarkably splendid,
such, indeed, as was seldom seen. Nearly thirty thousand pilgrims would
take part in it, each carrying a lighted taper: the nocturnal marvels of
the sky would be revealed; the stars would descend upon earth. At this
thought the sufferers began to bewail their fate; what a wretched lot was
theirs, to be tied to their beds, unable to see any of those wonders.
At last Madame de Jonquiere approached Marie's bed. "My dear girl," said
she, "here is your father with Monsieur l'Abbe."
Radiant with delight, the girl at once forgot her weary waiting. "Oh!
pray let us make haste, Pierre," she exclaimed; "pray let us make haste!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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