The Miracle Part 25

Walking now in the midday heat, Amanda spoke. "Do you think anything will come of this?" she wondered. "Maybe it's a wild goose chase."

Liz shrugged. "Never can tell. In my profession, you don't miss a bet. You just keep burrowing and burrowing, and hope for a gleam of gold. I don't expect we'll find anyone here as b.i.t.c.hy as Father Cayoux. Yet, we might find something-we just might."

They had reached the eight-foot-high convent wall that led to the open gates at the entrance. A diminutive middle-aged nun, in gray habit, short skirt, standing inside the gates, was waiting for them. She had a broad smooth brow, unlined peach complexion, bright intelligent dark eyes, and a gentle smile.

"Miss Liz Finch? Miss Amanda Spenser? You are the Americans we are expecting?"

"None other," said Liz.

"I'm Sister Francesca-"

"Who speaks perfect English," said Liz.

"I hope so," said the nun, "coming, as I do, from an American father and a French mother. Well, welcome to Saint-Gildard Convent." She paused. "I understand you are writing a story on Saint Bernadette, Miss Finch, and that Miss Spenser is your a.s.sistant. We are glad to cooperate. You'll have to give me an idea what you want to know. Saint-Grildard Convent was, of course. Saint Bernadette's last station on earth. Do you want me to show you around first?"

"Definitely," said Liz. "Miss Spenser and I want to see everything related to Bernadette. After that, we'd like to spend a little while with you asking some questions."

"I hope that I have the answers," said Sister Francesca. "But let's begin with a brief guided tour."

The nun was leading them past a long bank of lavender-colored flowers, and they followed her until she slowed down.

"La Grotte de Lourdes," Sister Francesca announced.

To Amanda's surprise, they were standing in front of a replica of the original grotto at Lourdes, smaller than the real one, but hardly miniature, either, a replica of the real grotto created on a slope that ran uphill to street level.

"For ourdoor Ma.s.ses," the nun said.

Then Amanda realized that, behind them, but facing the duplicate grotto, were rows of benches for pilgrims, and that a horde of pilgrims was this moment leaving the benches and filing out toward another exit on the side.

"Those are the members of a German pilgrimage from Cologne and Dortmund, about four hundred of them," the nun explained. "They have finished their religious services now and are going across the Boulevard Victor Hugo to our Abri du Pelerin-our pilgrim shelter or dormitory for visitors. This group will remain for tonight and then go on to Lourdes itself."

Amanda was examining the replica grotto once more. There, at the upper right, inside the niche, was a blue and white statue of the Virgin Mary.

"The plague beneath the statue," said Sister Francesca, "tells us that the little piece of rock mounted on it is an actual rock fragment from the real grotto of Ma.s.sabielle in Lourdes. Now, let me show you our convent church and Saint Bernadette herself." She had started away from the rephca grotto toward a courtyard, and was beckoning Liz and Amanda past a tall, white marble statue of the Virgin Mary to a side door of the church.

Once inside the convent church, and proceeding down the center aisle between pews. Sister Francesca resumed speaking in a hushed tone. "This church was constructed in 18SS. It was modernized twice, the last time in 1972. The white altar ahead is concrete."

Except for the modernity of the church's interior decoration, Amanda felt that she had been inside this church before. She had visited at least a hundred churches in Europe, and they were always the same. High above the altar the arched ceiling and the multicolored windows. Behind the altar a crucifix, a bronze Jesus on a pale wooden cross. Immediately on either side of her, the rows of oak and walnut pews and a scattering of wors.h.i.+ppers in silent prayer or meditation.

Liz and Amanda had arrived at the two steps leading up to the altar, and halted with their nun guide. Sister Francesca's voice dropped lower. "After the apparitions, Bernadette was at a loss as to what to do with herself. True, she was going to school at last, and sometimes acting as a baby-sitter to earn money for her parents, but she was constantly the object of attention from both neighbors and the endless stream of visitors coming to Lourdes. She could not be alone. She was daily exposed to intruders with their questions. By 1863, her mentors had decided that she needed a vocation, and suggested she enter some holy order as a nun."

"Maybe the church people just wanted her out of sight," said Liz provocatively. "By then, she was a growing legend, yet she sometimes did not behave like one. She had a streak of stubbornness, I've heard, and she disliked discipline, enjoyed playing pranks, had too lively an interest in fancy clothes. Maybe the churchmen wanted to get her off the streets and out of the way. To them, probably a convent seemed a convenient place to put her."

In this setting, Liz's a.s.sessment seemed harsh, and Amanda wondered how their nun guide would react. But Sister Francesca reacted nicely. "Some of that may have been true," she agreed, "but actually many convents considered her a prize and were after her, although with reservations because her health was so poor and her fame might disrupt their routines. The Carmehtes and the Bemardines were both after her. She rejected the latter because she did not like their ungainly headdress. When she settled on the order in Nevers, she remarked, 'I am going to Nevers because they did not lure me.' The mayor of Lourdes wanted her to become a dressmaker, but she told him she preferred to be a nun. On July 4, 1866, at the age of twenty-two, she left Lourdes forever, and took a train, her first and last train ride, to Nevers and entered our order. She remained here until her death on April 16, 1879, at the age of thirty-five. She was elevated to sainthood in 1933." The nun paused, smiled, and said, "Now we can have a look at Saint Bernadette herself. She rests in the chapel near the altar."

Trailing after the other two, Amanda could not imagine what to expect.

They were facing the chapel, a restricted alcove, a narrow room almost sterile in its simphcity. The ceiling was a Gothic arch, the high windows dark blue, the three walls gray stone, and the centerpiece of the chapel was a large gla.s.s-and-gold casket, and inside it lay the body of a young woman, the object of their quest.

"Bernadette," the nun whispered.

Unaccountably, Amanda found herself drawn closer to the casket. When she had approached the low railing that protected the chapel, her emotion had been combative, as if she were about to come face to face with the other woman, this woman who stood between Ken and herself and their planned life together. But now, preceding Liz and Sister Fran-cesca to look closely at the casket, Amanda found that her anger had dissipated. She was enveloped by a sense of awe at what this young woman, little more than her own age, an unlettered peasant girl, had achieved, the unswerving beliefs she'd held, the indomitable strength of her belief The casket itself was trimmed in gold, with gla.s.s sides, quite ornate, and rested on a carved solid-oak stand. Inside the reliquary, attired in the black and white habit of her order, eyes eternally shut, hands crossed on her breast as if in prayer, lay Bernadette. She seemed like one asleep, and at peace, after a long wearying day.

"It's really Bernadette?" asked Amanda softly, as Liz and Sister Francesca joined her.

"Yes, the blessed Saint Bernadette," said the nun, "all but the face and hands, that is."

"All but the face and hands?" Amanda said, surprised.

"In truth those are wax impressions of her face and hands that were fitted after her third and final exhumation."

"No wonder she looks so smooth and unblemished," said Liz.

"I'd better explain," said Sister Francesca. "Bernadette's physical condition was poor at the time of her death-bed sores on her back, a knee swollen from tuberculosis, lungs collapsed-therefore what followed is all the more remarkable. Her corpse was displayed for three days after her death. Then she was placed in a lead coffin, which was set in an oak coffin, and this was buried in a vault beneath a garden chapel. Thirty years after her burial, when efibrts were first being undertaken by an episcopal commission to start Bernadette on the road to sainthood, her coffin was opened. That was in 1909."

"Why?" Liz wanted to know.

"To observe her condition," said the nun. "Most bodies of ordinary corpses suffer putrefaction. But a church tradition has always held that the body of a candidate for canonization would escape decay, be found in good condition. Well, when the coffin was opened, Bernadette's remains were found to be in an excellent state. The report by the examining doctor read: 'The head was tilted to the left. The face was matte white. The skin clung to the muscles and the muscles adhered to the bones. The sockets of the eyes were covered by the eyelids. The brows were flat on the skin and stuck to the arches above the eyes. The lashes of the right eyelid were stuck to the skin. The nose was dilated and shrunken. The mouth was open slightly, and it could be seen that the teeth were still in place. The hands, which were crossed on her breast, were perfectly preserved, as were the nails. The hands still held a rusting rosary."

"What happened next?" asked Liz.

"Bernadette's body was washed, dressed, reburied. There were two more exhumations as sainthood came closer, one more in 1919, and the last one in 1925. Each time the body was found well preserved, a good sign of sanct.i.ty. But after all those exposures to air and light, the body began to be affected and blacken. So impressions were made of Bernadette's face and hands, and in Paris a mask of wax was made for the face and wax covers for the hands. I will admit the artist took a few minor liberties-in the face mask he straightened Bernadette's nose a wee bit, plucked her eyebrows a little, and he added polish to her fingernails on the hand covers. Finally, the mask was fitted, Bernadette's body was wrapped in bandages and dressed in a fresh habit, and she was ready to be shown to the world. Here she has rested ever since. If there is anything else you would like to know-"

"I have a few questions," said Liz firmly.

A man with an armband had come into the chapel from the altar area and held some kind of photograph over the casket. In a few seconds he left.

"What was that?" Amanda wanted to know.

"Probably a supplication," said Sister Francesca. "Some pilgrim sending in the picture of a loved one who is ill, and by this, hopes for a healing, and a guide agreed to take it right to the casket to have it blessed, in a sense, by proximity to Bernadette." She glanced at Liz. "You have some questions?"

"Yes," said Liz.

"Very well. I think it best if I try to answer them outside the church. Less disruptive. Let's go back to the courtyard."

The moment that they left the church and emerged into the sun-light, and gathered together at the foot of the statue of the Virgin Mary, Amanda had a question of her own to ask, before allowing Liz to begin her promised interrogation.

"I was wondering," said Amanda, "what Bernadette did with herself in her thirteen years here at Saint-Gildard. Was it all prayer?"

"Not quite," said Sister Francesca. "True, the nuns here today- they live in the upper floors of the convent and keep to themselves- devote their time largely to prayer and various household tasks. Some few of us, of course, work with the tourists. But in Bernadette's time she had many things to do. Her main job was in the infirmary, serving as a.s.sistant infirmarian. She loved to nurse ailing patients. She never fully escaped public exposure, of course. Her fame grew steadily during her lifetime, and notable visitors came and went. Sometimes biographers sought to see her, speak with her. And don't forget, she was frequently ill and bedridden, several times on the verge of death."

Impatient to try out her own questions, Liz aggressively stepped nearer to the nun. "I've also heard that Bernadette was pretty busy in the convent fighting with her superior, the Novice Mistress Mother Marie-Therdse Vauzou. Is that true?"

"Not exactly fighting," said the unrufiled Sister Francesca. "After all, Mother Vauzou was Bernadette's superior, Bernadette would not have dared to fight with her."

"Let's not quibble," said Liz. "I've heard from good authority that the two of them were on the outs from day one."

"I would put it another way," said Sister Francesca, still not flinching. "Allow me to be strictly factual based on what we know. At first Mother Vauzou welcomed Bernadette as 'the privileged child of the Virgin Mary.' But then she had certain reservations about her new novice. For one thing, she never quite believed that Bernadette had actually seen the apparitions of the Virgin. Moreover, she did not like the whole Virgin Mary cult that was growing, since her own devotions were based on the all-importance of Jesus Christ. As to the talk that the mistress of novices treated Bernadette severely, even making her kiss the ground, that was common in those days. The task of the superior was to teach all novices humihty and make them do penance."

Liz persisted. "I heard that Bernadette was afraid of Mother Vauzou."

"Some witnesses say that is tme. But Mother Vauzou had her reasons to treat Bernadette a trifle harshly. She worried about what some call the Bernadette legend, that the keen interest in Bernadette may have gone to her head, that she had become too vain and prideful to become a proper nun. Also, Mother Vauzou believed that Bernadette lacked frankness, once describing her novice as 'a stiff, very touchy character.' Above all, I repeat. Mother Vauzou may have had lingering doubts that Bernadette had ever seen the Virgin Mary. She could not imagine the Virgin coming before such a simple girl with so lowly a background. Mother Vauzou remarked of Bernadette, 'Oh, she was a little peasant girl. If the Holy Virgin wanted to appear somewhere on earth, why should She choose a common, illiterate peasant instead of some virtuous and well-instmcted nun?' On another occasion, Mother Vauzou said, 'I do not understand why the Holy Virgin should reveal Herself to Bernadette. There are so many other souls more lofty and dehcate! Really!' When there was talk of introducing Bernadette's cause, it was set aside in the period when Mother Vauzou was promoted to superior general of our convent. When her successor came along and mentioned the possibility of sainthood, Mother Vauzou begged her, *Wait until after I am dead.' "

"Wasn't that enough to put down the Bernadette legend?" asked Liz.

"Not really," said the nun. "Because on her death bed Mother Vauzou confessed that her doubts were created by her own weakness and not Bernadette's. Mother Vauzou's last words indicated that she had capitulated to Bernadette and to the reality of Lourdes. Her last words were, 'Our Lady of Lourdes, protect my death-agony.' "

Liz herself seemed to capitulate at this point. "All right," she said, "enough of that. But there's one more thing I must ask you. It touches on church pohtics, the desire by some to get Bernadette out of Lourdes and tucked into relative anonymity in Nevers. You know, of course, that someone of high social standing wanted to marry Bernadette before she became a nun?"

"I do," said Sister Francesca.

"Well, I for one would like to know why the church did not permit the suitor to propose to Bernadette, or even tell her that someone had asked for her hand? Wasn't that because the church didn't want her to remain in the open, become as normal as any other young woman, but preferred to keep her from view in order to maintain her legend and to build the fame of the shrine at Lourdes?"

"No, that wasn't so," said the nun. "I'm afraid you have it quite wrong."

"Then tell me what's right," said Liz testily.

"What's correct is this: A young n.o.bleman and medical student in Nantes, Raoul de Tricqueville, wrote Monsignor Laurence, the bishop of Tarbes and Lourdes, in March, 1866, and stated that the only thing he wanted in this world was to marry Bernadette, and would the bishop intercede for him. The bishop replied somewhat tartly that any marriage for Bernadette was opposed 'to what the Holy Virgin wanted.' Shortly after Bernadette came to Nevers, the young man pressed his suit again. This time he wrote to Bishop Forcade, and asked if he could visit Bernadette and propose marriage to her in person. 'Let me at least ask her myself to marry me. If she is as you say, she will refuse me; if she accepts, you will know she is not truly suited for the vocation she has chosen.' The bishop replied that Bernadette was, indeed, perfectly suited for her vocation, and he did not intend to disturb her peace of mind. He did not bother to tell Bernadette about the young man or the proposal. There is not one shred of evidence that either of these refusals was engendered by a church plot or politics. Bernadette's superiors were merely looking after her best interests."

"If you say so," said Liz grimly.

"The facts say so," said Sister Francesca with equanimity. "Now I had better get back to my duties. You'll be driving to Lourdes?"

'To Paris to catch the last flight to Lourdes tonight," said Liz.

"Let me see you to the front gate," said the nun.

They strolled in silence to the gate, and were about to part company, when Amanda held back.

"Sister, just one last thing, if you don't mind," said Amanda.

"Please, go ahead."

"About Bernadette's private journal," said Amanda. "I've heard everyone refer to Bernadette as illiterate, unable to write. So how could she keep a journal?"

Sister Francesca nodded. "She was illiterate and unable to write at the time of the apparitions. After that, preparing for her First Communion, Bernadette went to school, studied at the Hospice in Lourdes, and learned to write very well. She then wrote a number of accounts about the apparitions. She wrote numerous letters, including one to the Pope in Rome. She wrote quite easily, not in French at first but in her regional language. Eventually, she did leam French."

"But this journal, the one that was recently found," said Amanda, "I read that it was written by her right here in Nevers, in this convent."

"So I am told," agreed Sister Francesca. "She kept this journal toward the end, setting down all she could remember of her young life before the apparitions and more detail of what she could recall of her visions at the grotto. Before her death, she sent the journal to a relative or friend as a memento."

"How was it discovered after so many years? And where?"

"I know only that it was located in Bartres, and that someone from Lourdes acquired it-or at least the latter part of it-for the church."

"Acquired it from whom in Bartress?" Amanda wondered.

"I don't know." For the first time, the nun appeared evasive. "You might ask Father Ruland when you return to Lourdes."

"I may do that," said Amanda. "Anyway, thank you for everything."

"G.o.d go with you," said Sister Francesca, and left them.

Liz glared after the nun. "Thanks for nothing. Sister," she muttered. "What a bust. The straight party line."

They started away.

"I don't know," mused Amanda. "There may have been something. I keep thinking of that journal."

"You can be sure it's authentic," Liz said grouchily. "The Pope would never have announced its contents unless he was positive it was genuine."

"Not that, that's not what I'm thinking. I'm thinking about the rest of the contents. The church announced only the part about the apparitions, especially the one apparition where the Virgin pa.s.sed on her secret to Bernadette. But you heard Sister Francesca. There was more to the journal than that. There was all kinds of material Bernadette set down about her early life."

"So what? Where will that get you? Forget it. We've reached a dead end. Admit it. We've lost. I've lost with my boss, Trask. And you've lost with your boyfriend, Ken. We're through."

Amanda shook her head slowly. "I don't know. I'm still not quitting. I'm going to follow up."

"On what?"

"On that journal. I want to know more about the journal that brought us all to Lourdes."

"Oh, that," said Liz. "Believe me, you're not going to get anywhere."

"We'll see," said Amanda.

Edith Moore had kept her second appointment of the day at the Medical Bureau in Lourdes exactly on time. She had come, and in less than a half hour she had gone, and Dr. Paul Kleinberg had barely seen her. He had thanked her for coming in again, apologized for the X-ray botch, and turned her over to Esther Levinson for another set of X rays.

Now Kleinberg paced restlessly in the examination room of the Medical Bureau waiting for Esther to hang the X-ray negatives and turn on the view box. It was all mechanics now, routine, and he would be through with the case and in Paris again by evening.

"Ready for you," Esther said, turning on the view box.

She stepped aside as Dr. Kleinberg moved toward the X rays. "This won't take more than a minute," he said absently.

But it took more than a minute.

It was ten minutes before Kleinberg came away from the X rays and wandered over to the chair and sat down heavily. Briefly, he was lost in thought. When he looked up, he saw his nurse's worried expression.

"Didn't they come out again?" Esther wondered.

"They came out very well," Kleinberg said.

"Then you can confirm our miracle woman?"

"No, I can't," said Kleinberg flatly.

"What?" Esther came forward with surprise. "What are you saying?"

Kleinberg met his nurse's stare, and shook his head. "She's not a miracle woman. Probably never was. The sarcoma is plainly there. Either the tumor has come back-something I've never seen happen before-or it has never gone away. Whatever took place, Mrs. Moore is not cured."