A JUDGMENT OF GOD.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XVI, Issue 35, 21 December 1888, Page 11

A JUDGMENT OF GOD.

( Australian Messenger of the Sacred Heart.')

The late Louis Vcuillot, the weil-knowu French writer and the most brilliant editor of his day, tells the lollowing story :

There was in the Pyrtn^es a learned and worthy physician who was called Di. F^bas. I know nut if he is still hviag. It is from him 1 have what I am going to tell you, and I am not the only one who has heaid it. Dr. Fabas saw among the new arrivals — it was at Eaux- Bonnes, I believe, — a mm wlio carried about in his leg a wound received from a gunshot. The wouud, which was already old, had something peculiar about it. Worms formed in it ; the doctor tried at least to make tbe worms disappear, but none of his means succeeded. Tbe sick man said to him one day : " Doctor, stop where you are ; try no longer, 1 shall die still having this dreadful sore."

•' Eeally," answered the physician, " There is something extraordinary about it. I have seen nothing like it, though lam old and many surprising cases have passed under my hands." And for the twentieth time he asked the sick man : " But where did you get this wound ?"

"In Spain, as I have often told you,'* replied the other. " But I have noi. told you why I SDall never b» better of it. lam willing that you should know at last. I was twenty years old," he went on with a hesitating voice, " when we were in the year '93, when I was obliged to join a part of the army which the Convention was sending into Spain. Three of us set out from our village, Thomas, Francip, and myself. We had the ideas of those times ; wo were unbelieving or rather impious, like three little fools who pride themselves on following the fashion. We made the journey gaily ; we were about reaching the end wuerj, goiug through a village in the mountains, wo saw a staiue of the Blessed Virgin, s > venerated tbat in ipite of revolution and revolutionises it rem lined unmutilated on its pedestal at the door of the chuich. One of us had the unhappy thought of insultmg thia image, so as to brave the superstition of the peasants. We had our guvs. Thomas proposed to fire at the statue. Francis accepted the proposal with a burst of laughicr. Timidly and fearing to show myself less bold than nu companions, I tried to turn them from a desire which frightened me m the bottom of my heart. I remembered my mother. They laughed at me. Thorn »s loaded his gun and fired. Ihe bill struck the statue in the foieheau. Francis took his tin n and hit the breast. " ' Come.' tbey said to me, ' it is your turn.' " I dared not resist, I tojk aim u enabling. I closed my eyes involuntarily and hit the statue.' 1

Ou the lee; i ' sa\'{ the physici m

" Yes, on the leg above the knee, tiero where I am wounded. You can see ihat i will never be belter ot it. After this fine exploit we made ready to march again. An old wounn who had seen us said tj me :

'" You are off for the ware. What you have just done will not bring you g,i oJ luck.'

'• ruonuas threatened her. 1 was ashamed of what we had done. Francis, le-is movel thin myselt, was not disposed to rejjice at it. We prevented oat cotnpiiiion iroin satisfying his resentment and finished the day paintully, not wimout having quarrelled ammg ourselves more than tnee. lhat very evening we joined our regiment.

•' Some da\s afterwards we met the enemy. I contces to you that 1 v\e it under (ire without joy, and I though: of tLie statue of the Blest cJ Virgin more than 1 wished. However, everything passed off well. Wl' had a decided a, 1 vantage ; Thomas distinguished himself. Tb^ action was over, tL-e taemy routed, and the Colonel had just stopped the pursuit, when a ritle shot, fired from a lock and seeming to come i'owh fium heaven, was he ird. Tuomas turned and fell stiff, tun face to the grouud. Fiaucid and mysaif leaped forward to rise him up. He was lifeless, the ball hid 6truck him in the middle of the forehead between the cy> s — the place where his own ball, two days befce, had struck the statue.

•' We looked at each other, Francis and myself, without saying a w id and paler ihrni death. At the bivouac Francis wae near me ;he did not speak. I waited for him to speak to me, to advise him to Bay a prayer ; but he kept silent and I did not dare to begin a converea*

tmn on the though* which kept ub both awake, The next day the enemy came back in force. As soon as we perceived them, Francis, pushing my band, said to me :

'• ' To-day it ib my turn

You are lucky to have badly aimed.'

" lhe unfortunate man did not mistake ; this lime we were diivenback. We had been retreating for some time; Francis, like myself, was without a wound. Vain hope!— a shot was fired from a ditch where a Spaniard mortally wounded was lying, and Francis fell, his breast pierced through from aide to side. Ah I Doctor, what a death 1 He rolled on the ground asking for a priest. Those who were n«ar him shrugged their shoulders and he expired. They left him by the wayside.

" Fjom that moment I was convinced that I should ro: l<'ng remain untouched, aud I resolved to confess my sacnlege to the first priest I should meet. Uahappily I found no one, In the mennlime several skirmisbf 8 passed without any ill-luck, and little by little my terrors took to flight and with them my good lesohrions.

" When we were called back to France I had received promotion. Ino longer thought of my crime, nor of repentance, nor of puniehment. Everything was brought back to me at a day's march from the village of the statue. By some accident, which could not be explained, a shot was fired from our ranks which hit me where you see. Thus was accomplished the prophecy of toe old woman, who had said to us after the sacrilege— l hear her still :

"'You are off for the wars. What you have juat done will not brinp you good luck.'

'• My two comrades were dead, and I was coming hack wounded.

" Sal), the wound at first sight did not Beem very grave. Tbe surgeon declared that I would be rid of it with a few days in the hospital. I believed so myself. His surprise was great — equal to my own fright — when he saw breeding in the wound those undying worms which have put your science to confusion.

" For twenty years, doctor, I drag this wound about with me, trying every remedy and finding all powerless. But, although I aßk God to cure me and hope it from His mercy, I ought not to complain. Ido not complain. This wound has been a remedy for many souls, especially for my own. I am not ignorant of the fact that if I come to lhe end of my life as 1 must come, that is, as a Christian and a penitent, 1 shall owe it to my tenible wound. Then I shall r. joice that I have limped through life. For I doubt whether I shall be cuied; but I doubt not of tbe mercy of God, and I firmly hope to div in His grace through the intercession of her whom 1 so outraged.'"