One day she
spoke some words, which her historians have preserved, with the view of
making her passion more touching. Cloistered far away from her mountains,
confined to a bed of sickness, she exclaimed: "It seems to me that I was
made to live, to act, to be ever on the move, and yet the Lord will have
me remain motionless." What a revelation, full of terrible testimony and
immense sadness! Why should the Lord wish that dear being, all grace and
gaiety, to remain motionless? Could she not have honoured Him equally
well by living the free, healthy life that she had been born to live? And
would she not have done more to increase the world's happiness and her
own if, instead of praying for sinners, her constant occupation, she had
given her love to the husband who might have been united to her and to
the children who might have been born to her? She, so gay and so active,
would, on certain evenings, become extremely depressed. She turned gloomy
and remained wrapped in herself, as though overcome by excess of pain. No
doubt the cup was becoming too bitter. The thought of her life's
perpetual renunciation was killing her.
Did Bernadette often think of Lourdes whilst she was at Saint-Gildard?
What knew she of the triumph of the Grotto, of the prodigies which were
daily transforming the land of miracles? These questions were never
thoroughly elucidated.
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