Dramatic Dialogue on Faith and Healing

You're not sorry you came back to visit us?

No.

For five years, I've been stationed in Long Dock,

a stinking hole if ever there was one.

Now that I see this,

I realize what a paradise I've been living in.

You see, my friend,

how deeply hell reaches into human life?

Poor ignorant sheep.

Why do they come?

Because they have faith, because they're desperate,

because occasionally someone is cured.

Because some hypochondriac, due to emotional excitement,

forgets a malady that never existed.

Oh, yes, we have hundreds of those,

but we have many, many other cases

that aren't so easy to explain.

Yesterday there was a woman with lupus,

tuberculosis of the face.

Suddenly, she discovered a nose and a mouth,

but only ten minutes before,

there was nothing but one large decaying cavity.

Please, Doctor, I'm not a gullible sheepherder from the Pyrenees.

We have pictures in the office,

would you care to come down?

Gentlemen, watch these.

The same argument has been going on for a great many years,

and I'm afraid will go on for a great many more.

To those who believe in God, no explanation is necessary.

To those who do not, no explanation will suffice.

Your Reverence.

Yes, Adela?

Here is a message.

Your housekeeper thought it was important

and asked me to bring it to you.

Thank you.

This is the first.

You remember him, the Boohoo war child?

Is that all, Your Reverence?

Yes, thank you, Adela.

You should have the doctor give you something for that cold, Monsieur.

No.

It's just a little laryngitis

I picked up on the drafty train last night.

It will be gone by tomorrow.

Excuse me, gentlemen.

Good day.

Good day, Dean.

I give you full permission, dear Doctor,

to write down in your big book,

my amazing recovery was due solely to the Lady of Lourdes.

If I kept such a book,

I would write you down merely as a skeptic.

Who, I promise, will leave Lourdes at least wondering.

Not I, Doctor.

Not I.

This place only succeeds in revolting me.

Once it was a dull but pleasing little village.

Now look at it.

Tremendous sponge sopping up all the infection.

Good morning, Mr. Jones.

Good morning, Doctor Jones.

Good day, gentlemen.

Good day, Monsieur.

Good day, Monsieur.

You look better today.

Yes, Doctor.

I think I feel much better today.

Thank you.

Monsieur Jones' voice has a lot in common with Monsieur Dutout's.

Don't you think?

Yes, now that you mention it.

Monsieur Jones has cancer of the larynx.

Ahhh!

Holy Mary,

mother of God.

Holy Virgin of virgins.

Mother of Christ,

mother of divine grace.

Mother most pure.

I'm a stranger here.

I'm not like these thousands of

souls flickering brightly and hopefully in the darkness.

My pride has always stood between them and me.

The pride of being a superior human being.

But now I know that we are all a wretched animal species.

Distinguished from the insects only by nerve centers.

False reasoning.

cancer is feeding at my throat.

Tomorrow I'll crawl back to Langdock,

hide in some hole of death and

be heard of no more.

I'll be alone.

Alone and desolate.

And why not?

It's logical.

I'll be alone because I have loved no one.

No one and nothing.

Not even myself.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Pray for me, Bernadette.

Reverence. My child.

I didn't lie to you.

God knows you didn't.

They questioned me again and again.

I saw her.

Tell them I saw her.

They won't believe me.

Yes, my little one, you saw her.

And you will see her again.

I'm not so sure.

Maybe I haven't suffered enough.

You've suffered enough, my child, for the heaven of heavens.

Oh, no.

I know about sick people.

We all exaggerate a little.

Our pains aren't so terrible.

I believe... Sister?

Sister?

Are the pains worse?

What day is this?

Wednesday.

Wednesday?

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow will be Thursday.

The lady... Madame?

Madame?

Madame?

The lady won't come here, Your Reverence.

I'll never see her again.

You will, my child.

No.

No, I was stupid and lazy.

I didn't even know what the Holy Trinity was.

Where are you, madame?

Where are you?

She's gone.

Behold, my beloved, seated to me.

Arise, make haste, my love, my dove.

I won't see her.

I'll never see her again.

Never.

I'll never see.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Holy Mary, Mother of God,

pray for me.

You are now in heaven and on earth.

Your life begins, O Bernadette.