"
The priest, who had just finished the Rosary, strove to increase his
stature by stretching his short legs, whilst shouting the first appeal of
the litanies which he improvised, and led in his own way, according to
the inspiration which possessed him.
"Mary, we love thee!" he called.
And thereupon the crowd repeated in a lower, confused, and broken tone:
"Mary, we love thee!"
From that moment there was no stopping. The voice of the priest rang out
at full swing, and the voices of the crowd responded in a dolorous
murmur:
"Mary, thou art our only hope!"
"Mary, thou art our only hope!"
"Pure Virgin, make us purer, among the pure!"
"Pure Virgin, make us purer, among the pure!"
"Powerful Virgin, save our sick!"
"Powerful Virgin, save our sick!"
Often, when the priest's imagination failed him, or he wished to thrust a
cry home with greater force, he would repeat it thrice; while the docile
crowd would do the same, quivering under the enervating effect of the
persistent lamentation, which increased the fever.
The litanies continued, and Berthaud went back towards the Grotto. Those
who defiled through it beheld an extraordinary sight when they turned and
faced the sick. The whole of the large space between the cords was
occupied by the thousand or twelve hundred patients whom the national
pilgrimage had brought with it; and beneath the vast, spotless sky on
that radiant day there was the most heart-rending jumble of sufferers
that one could behold.
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