# FRANCIS MACARY ^ 
 
 THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 
 
 HENRY LASSERRE. 
 
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 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
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FRANCIS MACARY 
 
 THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRI LASSERRE 
 
 With the Author’s Approval 
 
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 NOTRE DAME, INDIANA: 
 
 THE AVE MARIA. 
 
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FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 
 
 I. 
 
 RANCIS MACARY, the cabinet-maker’s 
 apprentice, was a good-humored fel¬ 
 low. He had a lively and jovial 
 disposition, and none more than he was 
 ever ready for fun and merriment. Sprightly 
 and active, he had travelled through France; 
 he had been at Nantes, Cambrav, Nimes, 
 Marseilles, and Lyons. He was a skilful 
 workman, and it was not long before he 
 passed his apprenticeship and became a 
 master in his trade. 
 
 A good workman and a gay companion, 
 he loved labor and did not despise pleasure. 
 No prejudices restrained him. His course 
 of philosophy had been completed with the 
 reading of a few romances and infidel papers, 
 and not a vestige of superstition remained 
 to trouble him. He had thrown to the 
 winds all the faith he ever possessed; and 
 thus disencumbered himself of any baggage, 
 
FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 - 6 
 
 that lie might journey through life with a 
 more active gait. 
 
 While he travelled around in order to 
 perfect himself in his trade, his free - thinking 
 became more and more liberal. He never 
 entered a church. He never sang a hymn; 
 there were other songs that had his prefer¬ 
 ence. When some of the good women with 
 whom he used to board would speak to 
 him of prayer, he would say to these “Pater¬ 
 noster reciters”: “Prayer! to work is to 
 pray.” In saying these words, he never 
 thought that the reverse was true: To pray 
 is to work. * 
 
 In matters of religion, as in everything 
 else, his impetuous character could bear 
 with neither tepidity nor moderation; and 
 so in a short time Macary had broken 
 down the weak barrier which separates 
 indifference from open infidelity. 
 
 It must be acknowledged, however, that 
 otherwise he was good enough,—hot-headed 
 but warm-hearted. Frank and prepossess¬ 
 ing, always ready to oblige any of his 
 comrades, true as gold, endowed with that 
 natural wit and poetic fire so characteristic 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 7 
 
 of southerners, Francis Macary was every¬ 
 where welcome. He knew how to sym¬ 
 pathize with the sufferings of others; he 
 was quick to help the weak with his strong 
 arms, and with his meagre purse to assist 
 the poor. 
 
 He was as inflammable as gunpowder, 
 and flew into a passion at the slightest 
 provocation. The least contradiction—a 
 broken plane, an unsteady bench, a knotty 
 board, — would call forth a cry of impa¬ 
 tience, which was invariably an oath or 
 a blasphemy. Never did the parrot Vert- 
 Vert —like Macary, perverted by travel— 
 give utterance to more horrible imprecations 
 than those which from morning till night, 
 intermingled with the grinding of saws and 
 the blows of the hammer, resounded in the 
 workshop of Francis Macary. 
 
 H. 
 
 In 1833, after eight years passed in travel¬ 
 ling from city to city, the journeyman 
 cabinet-maker returned to Lavaur,* his 
 
 * Lavaur is a sub-prefecture in the department of 
 
FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 9 
 
 i 
 
 native city. He had just enough of Chris¬ 
 tianity left to desire to receive the Sacrament 
 of Matrimony according to the rites of the 
 Church. 
 
 Before going farther, we may say that, 
 although he rejected for himself, and for 
 men in general, all thought of devotion, 
 he maintained, and with great warmth, 
 that women should be pious. And when 
 others sought to argue with him on this 
 subject and to expose this contradiction of 
 principles, he brought forward the most 
 unexpected arguments. 
 
 “When I went to school,” he would reply, 
 laughingly, “I learned in my grammar that 
 religion — la religion —was of the feminine, 
 not the masculine gender.” 
 
 “But if you find that religion is good 
 
 and suitable for women, why is it not 
 
 \ 
 
 suitable for men, and why do not you 
 yourself practise it?” 
 
 “You might just as well say that because 
 
 Tarn. Before the Revolution, this tittle town of seven 
 or eight thousand was an episcopal see, and had the 
 honor to count amongst its Bishops the illustrious 
 Flechier, who later was promoted to the see of Nimes, 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 9 
 
 I find that a dress is very becoming to 
 women, I should therefore put on petticoats 
 
 mvself! ” 
 
 «/ 
 
 The real truth, hidden under these subtle 
 pleasantries and these paradoxical replies, 
 was that Macary, who was a great ob¬ 
 server of human nature, had, in his travels, 
 remarked that good Christian women made 
 the best wives, and that this was quite the 
 reverse with maidens without religion. 
 
 Shortly after his return to Lavaur, he led 
 to the altar a young and pious workwoman, 
 who seemed expressly adapted to make him 
 happy. She had grace and devotedness, and 
 other charming qualities. A fervent Catholic, 
 and tenderly loving her husband, she wished 
 to lead Francis back to the bosom of the 
 Church. She had prepared a short apostolic 
 discourse, which, one evening as they were 
 walking together under the trees, beneath 
 the soft rays of the moon, she began to 
 deliver to him. But the workman soon cut 
 short this homily. 
 
 “My dear little Virginie,” he said, “I love 
 you very much, and you preach very well,— 
 almost as well as the cure. But if I do 
 
10 
 
 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 not attend the sermons in the church, it is 
 because I do not like them. It is, therefore, 
 useless to bring them home to me. I have 
 my ideas fixed — fixed like my heart, dear, 
 which is wholly yours. In place of preaching 
 to me, be satisfied with loving me, and in 
 being loved in return. Do not commit the 
 fault of striving to force your beliefs on your 
 husband, of teasing him at every moment 
 to go to Mass, or confession, or his Easter 
 duty. Do not compromise our peace by 
 seeking to direct and govern him whom you 
 should obey. We should only have continual 
 disputes, and all would end in making me 
 set against religion even in women.” 
 
 Tears came into the eyes of poor Virginie. 
 
 “Come,” said Francis, embracing her, “let 
 us talk no more on the subject, or rather do 
 not speak of it again. If you find that I 
 have but little religion, I willingly grant 
 that you have much. Your good God will 
 lose nothing on His part, nor I on mine. 
 Let us both do our own duties in the man¬ 
 agement of the household, my dear little 
 wife. I shall work for you, and you will 
 pray for me. My labor and the sweat of 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 11 
 
 my brow will be given for you, and your 
 prayers will be said for me.” 
 
 Virginie was intelligent. She understood— 
 what many women seem to be ignorant of— 
 that the conversion of her husband was not 
 to be effected by continually pressing and 
 insisting with many words,—means which 
 are rarely effectual, and oftentimes hazard¬ 
 ous; but by the safer and more patient way, 
 although more difficult to follow, of Christian 
 virtues daily and hourly practised, with in¬ 
 creasing perfection, at home; by the way of 
 persevering prayer, incessantly knocking at 
 the gates of Heaven. Burying her trouble 
 in her heart, she maintained henceforth. an 
 absolute silence on this delicate subject. 
 
 “I will be silent,” she said to herself. “I 
 shall pray, and await the hour of grace. 
 My only sermon will be to make myself 
 better and to make him happy.” 
 
 Francis Macary was happy. But happi¬ 
 ness is a fugitive bird. Scarcely have we 
 touched it when it suddenly flies away and 
 is hidden in the branches above us. Such 
 was, alas! the short-lived happiness of the 
 cabinet-maker of Lavaur, 
 
12 
 
 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 Macarv had been married but a few 
 •/ 
 
 months when a malady, the first symptoms 
 of which had appeared during the last period 
 of his travels, began to assume more alarm¬ 
 ing proportions. The veins in his limbs 
 became very much swollen. It is well known 
 what a painful affliction this is. The sufferer 
 is unable to stand without experiencing 
 great weakness and pain. Macary was now 
 to know this practically. 
 
 Always hard on himself, he began to fight 
 against his bodily infirmity. “My legs are 
 lazy,” he would say. “They want to get 
 up late, go to bed early, and do nothing. 
 If they were two servants, I would discharge 
 them and employ others. But since I must 
 keep them, I will try their temper so well 
 that I shall force them in spite of themselves 
 to do their duty.” 
 
 And doing violence to himself every day, 
 sawing and planing as usual, he obstinately 
 refused to consult a physician. In this way, 
 some years passed by, until an incident— 
 the illness of his mother—brought Doctor 
 Rossignol to his house. 
 
 “Well, Francis,” said the latter, “you are 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 13 
 
 never tired. As often as I pass in the street 
 I always see you at work.” 
 
 “Never tired?” answered Macary. “Not 
 exactly. In the morning I am hardly able to 
 stand, and during the whole day my limbs 
 are like lead, with sharp, darting pains as 
 if you pierced me with your lancet. In the 
 evening they are all inflamed.” 
 
 “My friend, you work too much.” 
 
 “That’s the way the rich talk! A poor 
 man never works enough. My little girl 
 and my boy already eat like wolves.” 
 
 “ Have you not a large vein running down 
 your thigh?” 
 
 “I have two enormous ones: one on each 
 leg.” 
 
 “Let me see. They are varicose veins,” 
 said the Doctor, after examining them. 
 “They are indeed enormous, and threaten 
 to assume altogether abnormal proportions. 
 There are also large tumors with marked 
 obstructions. You willjiave to take great 
 precautions.” 
 
 “What must I do?” asked Macary. 
 
 “You will have to compress your limbs 
 with linen bandages and wear dog-skin 
 
14 
 
 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 gaiters. At the same time you must rest, 
 and lie down on feeling the least fatigue.’’ 
 
 The window-panes rattled at the terrible 
 oath uttered by Macary. 
 
 “I quit work and only twenty-six years 
 old! You would make Francis Macary a 
 fine father of a family. You—you mock 
 me!” It was with difficulty he restrained 
 himself from taking the Doctor by the shoul¬ 
 ders and pitching him out of the house. 
 
 He continued to follow his own course, but 
 the malady rapidly grew worse. Macary 
 consulted another physician, one of the 
 Benevolent Society of St. Louis, of which 
 he was a member. Doctor Segur spoke in 
 the same way as Doctor Rossignol. 
 
 “If you do not follow my advice, you will 
 soon be a helpless invalid. You will be an 
 old man at forty.” 
 
 Now, Macary had withal good common 
 sense. The perfect agreement of the tw r o 
 physicians, and in addition his pains and 
 sufferings, which were becoming intolerable, 
 brought him to his senses. But it was not 
 without storms of fury and dreadful im¬ 
 precations that he consented to follow the 
 
THE cabinet-maker of lavaur. 15 
 
 Doctor’s prescriptions, and rested from time 
 to time. His legs, from the big toe to the 
 knee, were compressed in linen bandages, 
 and he wore dog - skin gaiters, tightly 
 laced. 
 
 i 
 
 In spite of these precautions, , the disease 
 progressed from year to year. About the 
 age of thirty - five or forty, the two saphena 
 veins were so greatly swollen as to project 
 about the thickness of a finger. Large 
 tumors formed: one as large as an egg. 
 When the bandages were removed they ap¬ 
 peared like enormous wens. Later they 
 formed ulcers, and recourse was had to 
 dressings with lint and cerate. 
 
 The unfortunate man was now unable to 
 work more than a few hours every day. 
 Often it happened that he was obliged to 
 stop work for a month or longer, and keep 
 to his bed, or rest in an invalid - chair covered 
 with a mattress. As Doctor Segur had 
 predicted, old age came on prematurely, at 
 least as far as his limbs were concerned, 
 for the rest of the body was perfectly sound, 
 and the mind, ever active, preserved the 
 freshness of youth. 
 
FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 *16 
 
 This sad state gradually became worse. 
 Macary saw his children growing up around 
 him, and was indignant at himself because 
 he was not the first and last at work. 
 
 “I am not worth a quarter of an ap¬ 
 prentice!” he would often exclaim, striking 
 the bench an awful blow with the hammer. 
 
 Sometimes, beside himself with rage, and 
 grinding his teeth, he would tear off his 
 leather gaiters, bandages and dressings, and 
 throw them all out of the window; as if, 
 in ridding himself of the remedy, he could 
 also drive away the disease. Then, in a few 
 moments, he would groan and cry out. The 
 veins and tumors, no longer compressed, 
 would begin to bleed profusely, and pains, 
 smarting like fire burning into the flesh, 
 would seize upon his body. Then Macary, 
 suffering and swearing like one of the 
 damned, would call again for his cast-oft 
 bandages with the same fury with which 
 he had thrown them away. “Here! here!” 
 he would cry; “put that dog-skin on my 
 dog’s skin again.” 
 
 The word put on is a soft expression for 
 the real verb used. The dignity of historian 
 
 ( 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OE LAVAUR. 17 
 
 does not permit us to repeat in writing the 
 words used, and which no dictionary has 
 dared to give. 
 
 Sad as the present was, the future held 
 out no hope of cure. The cabinet-maker 
 had consulted other physicians, especially 
 the famous Doctor Bernet. All declared the 
 case incurable; on this point the medical 
 faculty agreed. It remained only to bear his 
 affliction with patience and resignation. 
 But Macary knew not what patience was; 
 and resignation was a flower that did not 
 grow in his garden. This energetic and 
 impetuous man, condemned to inactivity; 
 this fiery and explosive nature, confined and 
 held captive within four walls, vented itself 
 in imprecations. He grumbled, stormed and 
 raged from morning until night. His room 
 resounded with thunder. 
 
 This storm of pain and rage lasted ten, 
 twenty, thirty years. Macary, during these 
 thirty years of suffering, vowed himself to 
 the devil from morning till night. He never 
 addressed Heaven except by his oaths; for 
 him blasphemy took the form of prayer. 
 Non precabat , imprecabat. The name of 
 
18 
 
 Francis macary, 
 
 God was never pronounced by him except 
 in his terrible expressions of anger and rage. 
 
 i 
 
 III. 
 
 In that same house, however, the sacred 
 name of God was pronounced in low tones 
 of reverence. Macary’s pious wife and his 
 daughter Delphine prayed with all their 
 heart. And He who hears the secret as¬ 
 pirations of the Christian soul was no doubt 
 more attentive to those humble, noiseless 
 supplications than to the frenzied outbursts 
 of the enraged workman. They did not hope 
 for the cure of an incurable evil, and did not 
 petition for the impossible. They only asked 
 of God to soften the bitterness of the trial, 
 and to give peace to this troubled soul. 
 
 That nothing may be omitted, we must 
 say that if Macary waged a kind of open 
 warfare against Heaven, he lived in peace 
 with his fellowmen. In his advanced age, 
 in the evening of life, he still remained the 
 frank, generous and obliging man that he 
 had been in youth. He loved his wife and 
 children. And, assuredly, if he had died at 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 19 
 
 that moment, the epitaph so frequently seen 
 in our cemeteries, though so often deceitful, 
 might with all truth be engraved upon his 
 tombstone: “He was a good father and a 
 good husband.” His anger expended itself 
 upon things, not on persons. He was gentle 
 and affectionate toward the companion of 
 his life. And when, amid his impatience and 
 oaths, one of his children or grandchildren 
 (for time had passed on, and he was now a 
 grandfather) came near him, he became 
 suddenly calm and began to smile. He was 
 a good, charitable and cordial neighbor. 
 The poor never knocked in vain at his door. 
 
 Macary had little; but that little he dis¬ 
 tributed with a generous heart. His com¬ 
 passion for the sufferings of others often 
 made him forget his own; and if his own 
 pain wrung cries from him, the affliction 
 of his neighbor drew tears from his eyes. 
 How many times, giving his labor, painful 
 as it was, as an alms, did he not, with noble 
 joy, make a bed, or a cupboard, or a table 
 for some poor household in want of every¬ 
 thing? Like the poor widow spoken of in 
 the Gospel, and whom Our Lord praised, 
 
20 
 
 Francis macary, 
 
 he gave from his very substance; as though 
 to yield to charity was more necessary than 
 the necessaries of life. 
 
 When a man without religion has these 
 qualities,—to speak more justly, when he 
 possesses these virtues toward his neighbor, 
 —his apparent impiety toward God is, in 
 reality, but a mistake. He blasphemes 
 because he is in ignorance, because he does 
 not understand, because he has false ideas. 
 The evil which he then commits, however 
 monstrous it may be formally and as it 
 appears to our judgment, proceeds far less 
 from perversity of will than from an error 
 of mind and a partial obscuration of reason, 
 -—intellectual miseries upon which the Lord 
 has pity, and which He takes into account 
 in the exercise of His pardoning justice. 
 
 Through the muddy stream, the eye of 
 God discerns the pure diamond. Thus it 
 happens that the Father of all mercy is often 
 pleased to choose His friends and servants 
 from among these generous wanderers. 
 While these blasphemers are uttering their 
 imprecations, and the furious are giving 
 vent to their fury, there comes the day of 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 21 
 
 grace marked out by His Providence. He 
 calls them to Him suddenly, as He called 
 St. Paul; and, in a voice that brings them 
 to their knees, He says, “Why persecutest 
 thou Me?” To the surprise of all, He gives 
 the preference to these publicans amongst a 
 thousand others, and accepts their hospi¬ 
 tality: “Zaccheus, make haste and come 
 down: for this day I must abide in thy 
 house.” More than that: He sometimes 
 presents them as examples to men of strict 
 dogma and literal practice. And if He 
 wishes to point out to the latter a type 
 and a model to follow, He takes, on the 
 road from Jerusalem to Jericho, some lost 
 child, who, though wrong in head, is right 
 at heart, and He relates to His disciples 
 the sublime history of the Good Samaritan. 
 
 Let us never forget that it is not without 
 reason that Our Lord wishes to be called 
 “The Good God.” Among His infinite and 
 numberless perfections goodness is, in a sense, 
 supreme; and, before all else, goodness con¬ 
 stitutes the true character of His children. 
 “Be merciful,” He says, “as your Heavenly 
 Father is merciful.” “Blessed are the mer- 
 
22 
 
 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 ciful; for they shall obtain mercy.” And 
 therefore the good, though they may appear 
 to be out of the fold, belong to the flock. 
 In a blessed moment the Heavenly Pastor 
 comes in search of the stray sheep that bear 
 His mark; He seeks for the lost coin which 
 bears His image and inscription: Deus 
 charitas est. 
 
 God will perform a miracle rather than 
 that such souls and such hearts should be 
 lost. With a word, from the depths of the 
 Invisible penetrating the heart, He will say 
 to another Augustine: “ Tolle , lege, — Take 
 and read”; and He will place before his 
 eyes the apostolic page which is to enlighten 
 and convert him. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The blasphemer Macary was for more 
 than thirty years in the condition we have 
 described. As already stated, though at 
 certain times he was able to stand and 
 walk a little, and work for a few hours, 
 there were other and longer periods when 
 he was obliged to lie stretched at full length. 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAYAUR. 23 
 
 This happened especially when the varicose 
 ■ulcers suppurated more than usual. 
 
 These interruptions would soon have 
 ruined the little business of Macary, had 
 he not provided for the contingency by 
 training his son Charles in his own trade 
 of cabinet-making. The latter, who had 
 become as skilful as his father, was married, 
 and lived in a neighboring house, but came 
 each morning to the old workshop. 
 
 About the middle of July, 1871, the in¬ 
 tensity of the malady and the fearful con¬ 
 dition of the ulcers had condemned Macarv 
 to a state of complete inaction, and for six 
 weeks he lay extended on his invalid - chair. 
 His physical and mental sufferings were 
 extreme. His body was racked with pain, 
 and his soul a prey to the greatest weariness. 
 
 As a means of distraction, he wished to 
 read, and called for a book which he was 
 told contained some extraordinary tales. 
 He called for it just as he would ask for 
 “The Arabian Nights,” or any other story¬ 
 book. But Providence was to make his 
 reading serve to accomplish His own designs. 
 
 When God, only yesterday,—fifteen centu- 
 
24 
 
 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 ries have passed since, but for Him they are 
 as one day, — willed to conquer the son of 
 Monica, He placed in the hands of that 
 philosopher, that thinker, that prince of 
 intelligence and knowledge, the Divine Book 
 itself,—the words written by the Apostle 
 St. Paul, inspired by the Holy Ghost. But 
 for the cabinet-maker Macary, the illiterate 
 Samaritan, the poor publican, the humble 
 workman, whose hands were hardened by 
 the saw and the plane, it was not necessary 
 to employ such profundity of thought and 
 sublimity of expression. There was no need 
 either of the epistle of a saint or the inspired 
 text. 
 
 The volume which Macary called for was 
 a work of his own times, a history of ap¬ 
 paritions and miracles, and had been written 
 by a layman, a man of the world,—himself 
 a publican! 
 
 This book, entitled “OurLady of Lourdes,” 
 was received by the invalid late one evening. 
 On the next day he took it up carelessly 
 and began to peruse its pages, interrupting 
 his reading from time to time, in order to 
 give orders about some piece of work, or to 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAYAUR. 25 
 
 inquire if some entries had been made,—in a 
 word, informing himself about the details 
 of the business of the shop. But, little by 
 little, his attention was arrested, and his 
 tongue became silent. He appeared, so to 
 speak, to see and hear nothing of what was 
 going on around him. Just as a traveller on 
 leaving a dusty road, where he has been 
 exposed to the burning rays of a summer 
 sun, and entering a thick forest, finds himself 
 yielding to the influence of the refreshing 
 shade and profound silence; and, walking 
 under the arching branches of ancient trees 
 and in solitary parks, sees himself separated 
 from the rest of mankind, and, as it were, 
 lost in the grand and majestic bosom of 
 Nature,— so too, did Macary, as he pro¬ 
 gressed in his reading, feel himself influenced 
 by some unknown emotion which penetrated 
 his soul and entirely absorbed him. He be¬ 
 held himself freed from all thought of things 
 of earth, and, as it were, mysteriously sur¬ 
 rounded by a spiritual atmosphere and the 
 presence of God the Lord. 
 
 Tears poured down the rough face of the 
 workman, 
 
26 
 
 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 “What! You are crying!” exclaimed his 
 wife, in astonishment. “What is there so 
 affecting in that book?” 
 
 “My dear Virginie, I can not explain it. 
 Leave me! leave me!” 
 
 “Read a few pages, at least, that I may 
 know what it is about.” 
 
 “No, no! It is impossible. Tears choke 
 me. After a while we will read it together. 
 But for the present I must read it alone.” 
 
 To Francis Macary it seemed as though he 
 had awakened from a long dream and the 
 darkness of night were suddenly dissipated. 
 A new, unexpected light broke upon his 
 dazzled vision. His country—the true coun¬ 
 try of souls—from which he had so long 
 wandered, lay extended before him, with its 
 fountains of living water, its refreshing peace 
 and its heavenly horizon. The aged Macary 
 was born again to the faith of his childhood. 
 
 What had acted so powerfully upon him? 
 Was it the book itself? Certainly not. No 
 more than in Baptism the common water 
 of earthly fountains — no more than the 
 trumpets of the Jews, when at their sound 
 the walls of Jericho crumbled. It was solely 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVA UR. 27 
 
 the blessing of God, who made use of a 
 means in itself of no value. To Him who 
 created the world out of nothing, all things 
 are instruments for good. 
 
 As Macary read the chapters in which 
 the author recounts the wonderful effects ol 
 the supernatural Spring, which the Blessed 
 Virgin caused to burst forth at the Grotto 
 of Lourdes, he experienced a violent trem¬ 
 bling. 
 
 “And I, too/’ he said to himself: “If I 
 could procure some of that water, I should 
 be cured.” 
 
 Faith was not alone in entering his soul; 
 it was accompanied by hope. 
 
 The book had been opened at early dawn; 
 it was finished with the last rays of the 
 setting sun. 
 
 V. 
 
 That day, which was to be an epoch m 
 Francis Macary’s life, was Sunday, July 
 16, 1871, Feast of Our Lady of Mount 
 Carmel, and the thirteenth anniversary ol 
 the final apparition of the Blessed Virgin to 
 Bernadette Soubirous, 
 
28 
 
 FRANCIS MAC ARY, 
 
 “From that moment/’ he afterward wrote 
 to a friend, “the hand of God was upon me 
 and began to guide me. And it was indeed 
 necessary. For at that moment, though 
 nailed to my chair by my varicose limbs, 
 and unable to stand without experiencing 
 the most terrible sufferings, I took it into my 
 head to go out and take the few steps which 
 were to lead me on that blessed road.” 
 
 It was then about eight o’clock in the 
 evening: the heat was very oppressive. 
 
 “I can not stay any longer on this chair,” 
 said Macary. “I must take the fresh air; 
 let us go out for a while.” 
 
 “Where do you want to go, my poor 
 husband?” asked his wife.. “You are not 
 able to walk.” 
 
 “So much the worse for my legs. It’s all 
 the same to me. These limbs can complain 
 if they want to. I have nursed them long 
 enough; they should support me, too, for a 
 while.” 
 
 “ Come, come! Be reasonable! ” 
 
 “I want to leave this room and breathe 
 a while outside. Give me your arm.” 
 
 He was already on his feet, and, willing or 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAYATJR. 
 
 29 
 
 unwilling, it was necessary to humor his 
 passing fancies. 
 
 Leaning with one hand upon his wife 
 
 . 
 
 Virginie, the faithful support of his old age 
 and sickness, and with the other upon a 
 heavy, gnarled cane, he dragged himself 
 along the street which led to St. Alain’s, 
 the Cathedral of Lavaur. He suffered ex¬ 
 cruciating pain; it was only his indomitable 
 will that kept him erect and enabled him to 
 walk under such suffering. 
 
 In this way, he reached the house of his 
 sister, Madame Bonafous, who saw him 
 from the window, and called out to him: 
 “ Where in the world are you going, 
 Francis? ” 
 
 “I would go and throw myself under the 
 bridge, for half a sou. My limbs are pierced 
 with red-hot irons.” 
 
 “Come in for a while and take a little 
 rest.” 
 
 “Rest? My poor Marie, I do not know 
 what it is! ” 
 
 His sister’s room was on the ground-floor. 
 He opened a door and fell into a seat, com¬ 
 pletely exhausted. They talked together for 
 
30 
 
 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 a while; I do not know on what subject, and 
 it matters little. Night came on, and they 
 could no longer distinguish each other’s face. 
 
 A priest was passing along the street. It 
 was M. l’Abbe Coux, the curate of the 
 Cathedral. When in front of the open 
 window, he recognized the clear, short tones 
 of the cabinet-maker’s voice. 
 
 “Macary! Is that you?” he cried from 
 the street. “Why, you are getting better!” 
 
 “On the contrary, I am getting worse, 
 Monsieur l’Abbe. I would like to sell you 
 the skin of my legs. But I tell you before¬ 
 hand that it is not worth much. It is full 
 of varicose veins, ulcers, lumps and knots. 
 Before, behind, right, left; on the ankles, on 
 the calves,—from the foot to the knee, it is 
 as full of holes as an old stocking.” 
 
 The Abbe Coux entered the house. He 
 exhorted Macary to patience and resigna¬ 
 tion ; and, after exchanging a few words, he 
 arose to take his leave. “I must go,” he 
 said, “and finish some preparations for my 
 journey. To-morrow I leave for Our Lady 
 of Lourdes, and I will gladly undertake any 
 commissions you may have.” 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 31 
 
 At the words “Our Lady of Lourdes” 
 Macary raised his head quickly. 
 
 “Certainly I have a commission. If your 
 Blessed Virgin has compassion on the un¬ 
 fortunate, she may well take pity on me. 
 Tell her that there is a poor devil here at 
 Lavaur whose limbs are full of holes, and 
 that she should not leave a man in that 
 condition when she can take him out of it. 
 Tell her that I am at the height of suffering, 
 and can stand it no longer. Let her cure me 
 or kill me.” 
 
 “You may be assured,” replied the Abbe, 
 smiling, “that I shall not ask her to kill 
 you. Indeed, she would not listen to such 
 a petition.” 
 
 The thought of the book which he had 
 read, and the miraculous cures it narrated 
 came before the mind of Macary, and he felt 
 a vague yet strong hope rising within him. 
 “Monsieur TAbbe,” he said, gravely, “do me 
 this service. Bring me some of the blessed 
 water, and pray for me.” 
 
 “I promise you to do so.” 
 
32 
 
 Francis macary, 
 
 VI. 
 
 On the following Wednesday, the 19th of 
 July, about nine o’clock in the evening, 
 Francis Macary was visited by his sister, 
 Madame Bonafous, at whose house he had 
 met the Abbe Coux. She brought with her 
 a little vial, holding about the third of a 
 pint of the water of Lourdes. 
 
 “That is for me!” exclaimed Macary, 
 radiant with hope. “Now I shall soon be 
 cured. Au revoir, my dear sister.” 
 
 Crippled in both limbs, dragging his feet 
 painfully, supporting himself by the wall, the 
 furniture, or leaning upon his wife’s arm, the 
 workman left his chair and betook himself to 
 his room. He placed on the bureau the vial 
 of the water of Lourdes, and fell on his 
 knees before a crucifix, which on the day of 
 their marriage his pious wife had hung upon 
 the wall. 
 
 “I then said a short prayer to the good 
 Virgin,” he told us. “It was the only prayer, 
 I believe, I ever knew, and I said it with my 
 whole soul.” 
 
 It was the “Hail Mary,” the remembrance 
 
"THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAYAUR. 
 
 33 
 
 of which had alone escaped the religious 
 shipwrecks of his memory. 
 
 Then he proceeded to remove his dress¬ 
 ings—the bandages and the dog-skin gaiters, 
 —and pouring the blessed water in the 
 hollow of his right hand he gently bathed 
 his limbs, the varicose veins, the enormous 
 excrescences, and the supper a ting wounds. 
 He prayed with his whole heart; not, as 
 before, by the aid of a studied formula, but 
 with that interior and profound elevation of 
 the soul, at the same time mute and elo¬ 
 quent, which is the highest form of prayer,— 
 the prayer in spirit and in truth of which the 
 Lord Jesus has spoken and which penetrates 
 at once to the throne of an all-powerful 
 atid all-merciful God. 
 
 There still remained a few drops of the 
 water. “Swallow that, my boy!” said 
 Macary to himself. And putting the vial 
 to his lips he drained it at one draught. 
 
 On his bed lay the linen bandages and dog¬ 
 skin gaiters, which had encircled his diseased 
 limbs. It was Macary’s custom, when in 
 bed, to roll up carefully these bandages, each 
 of them five or six yards long, so as to put 
 
34 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 them on easily in the morning. On this 
 evening he acted differently. His blunt faith 
 assumed blunt expressions. Gathering up 
 everything, he made a bundle, which he 
 threw violently into a corner, saying: 
 
 “Good-night to you, bandages and gait- 
 ters! I bid you good-bye, dog-skin and 
 corset-laces! Since the Blessed Virgin has 
 cured so many others, she will certainly cure 
 me too. You will never again be around my 
 limbs as long as I live.” 
 
 Good Christian though she was, the wife 
 of Macary did not share his unshaken con¬ 
 fidence. When she saw this mingling of 
 prayer and liveliness, she could not forbear 
 smiling sadly; and, shaking her head, she 
 said to herself: “Alas! alas! my poor, dear 
 husband! You will need your bandages and 
 dog-skin again to-morrow. And then we 
 shall hear the curses resound.” 
 
 Faith in the power of God, and in the 
 reality of miracles in general, does not neces¬ 
 sarily imply faith in any particular miracle 
 which the hope of another may proclaim as 
 indubitable. Nature is slow to believe that 
 which surpasses its powers, and to it the 
 
 t 
 
 / 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 35 
 
 miraculous seems impossible. Thus, in bib¬ 
 lical times, the aged Sara, wife of Abraham, 
 laughed when the angel announced her ap¬ 
 proaching maternity: so too, on Wednesday, 
 July 19, 1871, the wife of the cabinet¬ 
 maker of Lavaur smiled when she heard her 
 husband announce with bold assurance his 
 own immediate and certain cure. 
 
 Hitherto Macary had always been slow 
 to find rest at night. The blood, coursing 
 rapidly through the veins of the limbs when 
 relieved from the pressure of the bandage, 
 would cause, through the whole system, a 
 kind of fever and sleeplessness. But on this 
 evening, the cabinet - maker had hardly 
 stretched himself in bed when he fell into 
 a deep sleep. His wife, somewhat surprised, 
 retired on tip-toe to her own room. 
 
 An open door communicated between the 
 two rooms. All the lights were extinguished, 
 and silence reigned throughout the house. 
 
 VII. 
 
 At midnight Macary suddenly awoke. 
 Contrary to his usual experience, he felt 
 
36 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 no pain in his limbs. He passed his hands 
 over them; there were no lumps! 
 
 “ Wife!”he cried, “I am cured! ” 
 
 “You are dreaming, my poor Francis,” 
 replied his wife from the adjoining room. 
 “You are dreaming. Go to sleep.” 
 
 “I am not dreaming,” said Macary. “I 
 have felt my limbs.” 
 
 But sleep, which had been interrupted for 
 a moment, again weighed upon him; and, in 
 spite of his happy surprise, his head fell back 
 upon the pillow, and once more he fell into 
 a deep slumber. 
 
 At five o’clock he opened his eyes. The 
 rays of the morning sun lit up the room. 
 Macary could not only touch his limbs, but 
 also see them. All signs of the malady had 
 disappeared; no lumps, no varicose veins, no 
 ulcers! The veins had resumed their normal 
 proportions! To the sight as well as to the 
 touch the skin was whole and smooth! 
 
 Ah! if up' to this time the feelings of 
 Macary had always found expression in 
 terrible oaths, it may be said now that 
 the cry which he uttered denoted a complete 
 transformation in his nature. The poor 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 37 
 
 man joined his hands, and raising them to 
 Heaven he exclaimed: “0 my God! 0 most 
 holy Virgin of Lourdes!” And at the same 
 time that he turned his heart to Heaven, he 
 thought also of the aged companion of his 
 life, and in indescribable tones of emotion 
 he cried: ‘ ‘ Virginie! Virginie! ’ ’ 
 
 She thought he called for help, and, fright¬ 
 ened, she hastened to his assistance. With 
 a gesture, her husband, his face bathed in 
 tears, pointed to his healed limbs. 
 
 “Well,” he said, “you would not believe 
 me last night. Look, now! ” 
 
 She was seized with trembling at the 
 wonderful sight; she knelt by the side of the 
 bed, and, burying her head in-her hands, 
 broke into deep sobs. 
 
 Macary arose and stood erect. He walked 
 without gaiters and bandages, and felt no 
 pain or fatigue. He knelt and prayed for 
 a while; then he ran to his workshop. He 
 took up and carried without effort a heavy 
 plank, and placing it across his bench began 
 to plane. The blood circulated more vigor¬ 
 ously through his veins. It seemed as though 
 he had renewed his youth. 
 
38 
 
 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 His son Charles now came as usual to his 
 daily work; when he entered the shop he 
 uttered a cry of surprise. 
 
 “What, father! Are you on your feet and 
 at work ? What has happened ? ” 
 
 “What has happened, my son, is that the 
 water of Lourdes has produced its effect. 
 Come here.” 
 
 And rolling up to his knees his wide linen 
 pantaloons, he showed his limbs. Like his 
 mother a few moments before, the son could 
 find no words. He clasped his father in his 
 arms and wept in silence. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 During the morning, Macary, looking 
 through the window, saw the figure of a 
 priest advancing rapidly in the direction of 
 the Cathedral. It was the Abbe Coux. The 
 happy cabinet-maker hurried out; but the 
 priest had already passed the house, and 
 was some fifteen or twenty paces ahead. 
 
 “Good morning, Monsieur l’Abbe!” Macary 
 shouted after him. “ The Blessed Virgin has 
 heard you, and me too. I am cured. Come 
 and see.” 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 39 
 
 “Very well! very well!” replied the Abbe 
 Coux, who either did not understand the 
 workman, or, perhaps, feared some of his 
 wicked jokes. He did not for a moment 
 think that the cure of an incurable malady, 
 which had endured for more than thirty 
 years, could be effected so suddenly in one 
 evening. “Very well!” he said; “I am in a 
 hurry.” And he continued on his way. 
 
 Later in the day the priest passed again 
 before the workshop, and Macary ran out 
 to meet him. 
 
 “ Monsieur 1’Abbe, I called out to you this 
 morning that I was cured. But I understood 
 well that you did not believe me. It is true, 
 nevertheless; and you can prove it with your 
 own eyes. The Blessed Virgin has cured 
 me.” 
 
 i 
 
 Macary’s tone of voice excluded all idea of 
 raillery or falsehood. The priest experienced 
 a feeling of terror:—the supernatural had 
 passed by his side and he had failed to 
 recognize it. 
 
 “Is it possible!” he exclaimed, growing 
 pale. 
 
 Thev entered the nearest house, which 
 * 
 
40 
 
 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 happened to be that of Macary’s sister, 
 where three days before the old workman 
 had charged the Abbe Coux to pray for him 
 at the rocks of Massabielle, and to bring 
 him some water of Lourdes. 
 
 On hearing the words of Macary and the 
 priest, a crowd formed in the street. Several 
 entered with them into the house of Madame 
 Bonafous. Macary showed his cured limbs 
 to all. The varicose veins were now in their 
 normal condition, the lumps had disappeared, 
 and the wounds were all healed. 
 
 “And now, Monsieur l’Abbe,” said the 
 workman, “now that the Blessed Virgin 
 has cured my body, the soul must also be 
 cured, and you will be my physician.” 
 
 The Divine Hand which had removed the 
 physical evil had also touched the heart, and 
 Francis Macary was a new man. The un- 
 believer, the blasphemer, the man of terrible 
 oaths, on the following Sunday arose from 
 the midst of the faithful and with his family 
 approached the Holy Table to receive that 
 God whom he had so long blasphemed. His 
 eyes were filled with tears, and joy was 
 manifested on the faces of all present, 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 41 
 
 If there is more joy in heaven over one 
 sinner that is converted than a hundred 
 just who need not penance, this joy of our 
 heavenly Father is also felt in the hearts 
 of His children upon earth. It was a happy 
 day for the people of the Cathedral of 
 St. Alain. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The report of this great event soon spread 
 through the city of Lavaur and the sur¬ 
 rounding country, and everywhere produced 
 a great sensation. 
 
 Macary went to visit his three physicians. 
 Nothing could equal their surprise on seeing 
 him cured. The malady, they considered, 
 was certainly incurable; it dated back some 
 thirty years; no medical treatise had related 
 a ease like it: — and yet Macary was there 
 before their eyes with neither ulcers nor 
 varicose veins. A power unknown to science, 
 and superior to nature,, had removed all^ 
 Those numerous and enormous varicose 
 bundles, those monstrous knots which had 
 so deformed his two limbs, had all disap- 
 
 V 
 
 peared, and nothing remained except one 
 
42 
 
 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 very small knot on the right limb. And 
 this slight trace of his former condition re¬ 
 mained to bear witness to a malady that 
 had passed away, just as the dry bed of a 
 torrent testifies to all eyes the former passage 
 of the w^aters. 
 
 “Decidedly,” cried Doctor Segur, after a 
 most careful examination, “I can perceive 
 but a slight trace of those enormous varicose 
 veins.” 
 
 “Yes, indeed,” replied Doctor Rossignol, 
 in his turn: “the accidents have suddenly 
 disappeared , and of the enormous knots 
 there remains but this very little one.” 
 
 “And there exists not the slightest appear¬ 
 ance of engorgement ,” said Doctor Bernet, in 
 astonishment. “What is particularly strik- 
 
 l 
 
 ing is that the bundles of varicose veins have 
 entirely disappeared , and in their place the 
 touch reveals little hard cords, empty of 
 blood and rolling under the fingers. . . . Now, 
 we know that Macary was attacked by a 
 chronic malady. All doctors agree on this 
 pointy that varicoses if left to themselves 
 are incurable; that they are rarely cured 
 by palliative means , and still less do they 
 
 i 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 43 
 
 disappear spontaneously. . . . And yet here is 
 a radical cure effected in the space of one 
 night, and solely by the application of the 
 water of Lourdes!” 
 
 “This case of spontaneous cure appears 
 still more surprising to me,” declared Doctor 
 Segur, “from the fact that the annals of 
 science record no case of like nature .” 
 
 “It must be confessed,” said Doctor Bernet, 
 finally, “ that no author mentions a case 
 similar or analogous to this , and science 
 is incapable of explaining such a cure. And 
 even though some details of the fact affirmed 
 by Macary were not proved by authentic 
 testimonies apart from his own, it would 
 still be a most extraordinary — nay, a super¬ 
 natural fact.” 
 
 Such was the textual verdict pronounced 
 by these three eminent physicians, one after 
 another, in the name of human science. We 
 have copied these positive and formal ex¬ 
 pressions word for word from their written 
 declarations. At the end of the volume 
 (Appendix) we reproduce in extenso the 
 certificates of these three distinguished mem¬ 
 bers of the medical Faculty, with their 
 
44 
 
 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 signatures entered before the Mayor and 
 the Sub-Prefect. 
 
 If the adversaries of the supernatural 
 demand authentic proofs and certificates 
 from men of science, they have them at 
 hand. 
 
 X. 
 
 Two months afterward, on the 18th of 
 September, Macary carried to the Grotto 
 of Lourdes as an ex-voto his bandage ap¬ 
 paratus, mute witnesses of a former malady 
 divinely cured. They may still be seen there 
 to remind the visitor of one of God’s miracles. 
 
 At Lourdes, under the shadow of those 
 Rocks of Massabielle sanctified by the 
 presence of her who had so miraculously 
 succored and saved him, the emotion of 
 Macary was very great. He thus expressed 
 himself in a letter which is before us as 
 we write: 
 
 “I fell on my knees, and for ten minutes at 
 least my heart was so moved that, though I 
 wished to pray, I could not utter a word. 
 Finally, a torrent of tears came to my relief, 
 and I found words to address an act of 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 45 
 
 thanksgiving to that tender Mother whom 
 I seemed to see before me. Sir, I shall never 
 forget that moment. . . . Ah! if our free¬ 
 thinkers could but taste a little of the 
 happiness which one experiences at such 
 moments, they would very soon recognize 
 the difference between our faith and their 
 doctrines.” 
 
 From such words we may divine that the 
 moral change in the man was not less 
 wonderful than the physical. From that 
 day his life passed between work, since he 
 had recovered his strength, and prayer, since 
 he had again found faith. Just as Saul the 
 persecutor was converted on the way to 
 Damascus, so the blasphemer Macary had 
 been changed by the grace of God. No doubt 
 his joy at being freed from his infirmity was 
 very great; but we, after having seen and 
 heard him, can testify that it was nothing 
 compared to his happiness at again becoming 
 a Christian. 
 
 The Gospel speaks of the joy of the Good 
 Shepherd on finding the lost sheep; but it 
 tells us nothing of the intoxicating delight 
 of the sheep itself so sweetly brought back 
 

 46 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 to the fold; nor of the prodigal child em¬ 
 braced by his father; nor of the sinner recon¬ 
 ciled with his God. This delight, this filial 
 joy, this interior and inexpressible happiness, 
 Francis Macary tasted in all its plenitude. 
 His soul was henceforth that of an apostle. 
 He would have wished to convert the whole 
 world, and to bring all the members of the 
 great human family to the knowledge and 
 love of the Sovereign Truth. 
 
 XI. 
 
 After his cure, Macary never ceased return¬ 
 ing thanks to God and giving testimony 
 before men of the heavenly favor of which 
 he had been the object. Every evening, after 
 the work of the day, he would visit the 
 church, there to pass an hour before the 
 
 Blessed Sacrament. He related his historv 
 
 •/ 
 
 to everyone that came to see him. To all 
 who wrote to him he responded scrupulously, 
 giving a clear, exact and vivid narration of 
 this great event of his life. 
 
 If he chanced to read in any of the news¬ 
 papers an attack upon miracles, this brave 
 
 4 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 47 
 
 workman would leave his plane and take 
 up the pen to write to the editor a circum¬ 
 stantial relation of what had happened to 
 himself. Several of the letters thus written 
 have been sent to us, and we have drawn 
 largely from them, trying to infuse into our 
 own story the spirit of his frank and manly 
 words. One of them concludes thus: 
 
 “. . . . From that moment I have worn 
 stockings like other people. I have not seen 
 the slightest inflammation, not felt the least 
 pain; and yet I work every day from five 
 o’clock in the morning to seven at night. 
 
 “This is an exact account of the wonder 
 which Our Lady of Lourdes has deigned to 
 work in me, and I give it to you under oath, 
 praying you to publish it, to make it known 
 everywhere as you may think fit. Happy 
 shall I be if I learn from you that my letter 
 has been the means of leading back one 
 infidel into the true path. As for me, who 
 never prayed before, I assure you that I am 
 striving to redeem the time lost; and I shall 
 never cease thanking the good God and the 
 Blessed Virgin for having chosen me as an 
 instrument for the manifestation of their 
 
48 
 
 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 glory and goodness. Adieu. Be so good 
 as to remember me in your prayers, and 
 believe me 
 
 “Your brother in Jesus Christ, 
 
 “Francis Macary.” 
 
 XII. 
 
 The following year, on the 24th of June, a 
 procession of about a thousand Christians,— 
 men and women, priests and laics, — singing 
 canticles, followed the road which led to the 
 Grotto of Lourdes. These pilgrims remem¬ 
 bered that the Blessed Virgin Mary, on being 
 invoked, had twice delivered their city: the 
 first time from a plague during the fourteenth 
 century, and the second time from the in¬ 
 vasion of enemies two centuries later; and a 
 magnificent armorial banner at the head of 
 the procession recalled by two dates this 
 radition of their ancestors. But between 
 the two dates of the past was one entirely 
 modern: 
 
 July 19, 1871. 
 
 It was the date of the supernatural cure 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAVAUR. 49 
 
 which we have related. On the other side 
 of the banner was inscribed: 
 
 TO MARY IMMACULATE. 
 
 THE GRATEFUL CITY OF LAVAUR. 
 
 The man who carried this emblem of the 
 gratitude of a whole people was Francis 
 Macary. Every year afterward he made a 
 pilgrimage of thanksgiving to Lourdes. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 In the beginning of October, 1875, Macary 
 paid his customary annual visit to the 
 sanctuary of his benefactress. We happened 
 to be in Lourdes at the same time, and he 
 came to visit us. We shall never forget his 
 frank, open countenance. 
 
 “Ah! Monsieur,” he said to us, “I have 
 long desired to know you. It is through 
 your book that I was led to obtain my two 
 cures.” 
 
 What he called his second cure was that 
 of his soul. 
 
 With these words the good man opened 
 his arms and gave us the embrace customary 
 
50 
 
 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 among the faithful in the early ages of the 
 Church. 
 
 While conversing with him, and carefully 
 examining his limbs, at one time diseased, 
 we remarked the peculiar character of his 
 physical condition. Since his miraculous 
 cure, which had taken place four years 
 previously, Macary had been free not only 
 from relapse, but.from any other indispo¬ 
 sition. It seemed as if the Divine Hand was , 
 henceforth to preserve this man, who had 
 suffered so long, from the slightest change 
 in perfect health. Spare, active, erect and 
 strong, his appearance gave the idea that 
 he was invulnerable. Though subject to the 
 law of death, he appeared removed from the 
 accidents of sickness. He was like a soldier 
 clothed in a coat of mail, upon whose breast 
 every dart falls harmless, without leaving 
 any impression. A violent shock may over¬ 
 throw him, but no thrust can pierce him. 
 
 We invited Francis Macary to sit at our 
 table and partake of our repast; and it was 
 during the meal that he related to us his 
 history, with wonderful animation and en¬ 
 thusiasm, and an emotion which communi- 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OE LAVAUR. 0± 
 
 cated itself to as. The Cure Peyramale; the 
 Abbe Pomian, cetechist of Bernadette; the 
 Abbe Peyret, curate of Lourdes, and now 
 cure of Aubaride; M. and Madame Ernest 
 Hello, were with us, and all were charmed 
 by this Christian, picturesque and graphic 
 recital* 
 
 In a corner of the dining-room my secretary 
 was seated at a writing-desk. 
 
 “What is that young man doing there?” 
 asked Macary, toward the end of dinner. 
 
 “He is a stenographer. He writes as fast 
 as a person speaks. He has taken down on 
 paper every word that you have said.” 
 
 “Oh — well! I have nothing to take back. 
 From beginning to end, you have heard 
 nothing but the truth.” 
 
 He accepted our hospitality and passed a 
 few days with us. When he was leaving, I 
 went with him to the station and promised 
 to visit him at Lavaur during the following 
 month, on my way to Paris. I desired to 
 interrogate still further—to penetrate more 
 deeply into the heart of this history, and 
 the history of this heart. 
 
 Alas! man proposes and God disposes! 
 
52 
 
 FRANCIS MACARY, 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Two weeks afterward (October 21, 1875), 
 the city of Lavaur was in mourning. An 
 immense crowd accompanied to the tomb 
 the remains of the most loved and venerated 
 workman in that part of the country. 
 Francis Macary had been carried off sud¬ 
 denly. No suffering, no sickness, no weari¬ 
 ness had preceded his sudden death. Th^ 
 subject of the Blessed Virgin’s favor had not 
 been ill: he had suddenly ceased to live 
 on earth, in order to enter into life on high. 
 He died cured. 
 
 A friendly pen writes as follows: “Thus 
 Lazarus was raised to life, and then he died. 
 So too have died, after a few years passed 
 upon earth, all those personages of whom 
 the Gospel records the supernatural cures by 
 the hand of Jesus our Saviour. But the 
 health and the life to which they had been 
 restored manifested before the world the 
 power of the Lord. Once this work was 
 accomplished, God permitted them to die 
 like other men, and enter the place of recom- 
 pense. 
 
 * E. Artus. 
 
THE CABINET-MAKER OF LAYAUR. 53 
 
 Therefore it is, good and pious Macary, 
 that I can not see you again here below, and 
 keep my promise to visit you. Pray to God 
 that our meeting may be only deferred, and 
 that one day, with those whom I love, we 
 may be united together in the brilliant light 
 of the throne of God, at the feet of her 
 whose history I, though unworthy, have 
 had the joy to write, and whose powerful 
 hand, to use your own words, twice cured 
 you. * 
 
 La us Deo. 
 
 * The miraculous event, the details of which we have 
 related, has furnished the subject of one of the stained- 
 glass windows of the Basilica of Lourdes,—that of the 
 Rosary Chapel, the seventh to the right on entering. 
 Francis Macary is represented at the moment when he 
 affirms his cure by the water of Lourdes. On a table by 
 his side is the book which gave him faith. On the upper 
 portion of the window, Our Lady of Lourdes is sending 
 forth upon the workman the rays of grace. Called by 
 the cries of happiness which she hears, the wife of the 
 cabinet-maker of Lavaur has her hands clasped in 
 thanksgiving to God, 
 
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APPENDIX. 
 
 We, the undersigned, Charles Macary 
 (cabinet-maker), son of Francis Macary; 
 Marie Bonafous (nee Macary), his sister; 
 P. Bonafous (priest and professor at the - 
 Petit Seminaire), his nephew;—having read 
 the history entitled “The Cabinet-Maker 
 of Lavaur,” do hereby attest its entire 
 exactness. The facts therein related are 
 absolutely such as Francis Macary related; 
 such as we members of his family have 
 witnessed; such as they are known in the 
 city of Lavaur. 
 
 C. Mac ary, 
 
 P. Bonafous, 
 
 Marie Bonafous. 
 
 Lavaur, June 7, 1882. 
 
 I, the undersigned, Archpriest of Lavaur, 
 add my own testimony to that of the 
 Macary family, in favor of the authenticity 
 of the narrative of Henri Lasserre. 
 
 Roques, 
 
 Archpriest of Lavaur, 
 Lavaur, June 16, 1882. 
 
 55 
 
56 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Lagrave, Jan. 25, 1883. 
 M. Henri Lasserre: 
 
 Honored Sir: —I most willingly comply 
 with your request to give my testimony 
 regarding the history you have written. 
 Your work is, in every particular , a truthful 
 narration of a fact which will be one of the 
 sweetest memories of my priestly life. . .,. 
 Allow me to tell you how true to life has 
 been your sketch of Francis Macary. ... I 
 am convinced that the few pages you have 
 devoted to him will be of great benefit to 
 all who may have the happiness to read 
 them. . . . 
 
 Accept, my dear sir, my most profound 
 respects. 
 
 J. Coux. 
 
 Cure de Lagrave (Diocese d’Albi.) 
 
 I, the undersigned, testify that for about 
 thirty years, Francis Macary, cabinet¬ 
 maker, was troubled with varicose veins. 
 The varices, which were the thickness of a 
 finger and unusually knotted and winding, 
 required, up to the present, regular compres¬ 
 sion by bandages and by dog-skin gaiters, 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 57 
 
 In spite of these precautions, ulcerations ap¬ 
 peared frequently in both legs, necessitating 
 invariably absolute rest and prolonged treat¬ 
 ment. I visited him to-day, and, with the 
 lower members free from bandages, etc., I 
 could perceive but very slight traces of the 
 enormous varices. 
 
 This case of spontaneous cure appears to 
 me the more extraordinary, because the 
 annals of science mention no fact of a like 
 nature . 
 
 Segur, M. D. 
 
 Layaur, Aug. 16, 1871. 
 
 I, the undersigned, testify that for about 
 thirty years, Francis Macary, cabinet-maker 
 at Lavaur, was attacked by varices with 
 enormous nodosities, complicated frequently 
 with ulcerous formations, despite the con¬ 
 stant compression of gaiters and proper 
 bandages; that these have suddenly dis¬ 
 appeared, and to-day there remains but a 
 slight node in the upper and internal part 
 of the right leg. 
 
 Rossignol, M. D. 
 Favaur, Aug. 25, 1871, 
 
58 
 
 appp:ndix. 
 
 Francis Macary, sixty years of age, cabinet¬ 
 maker at Lavaur, member of the Society of 
 St. Louis, consulted us, about twenty years 
 ago, in regard to varicose veins, which 
 affected the popliteal space, the internal por¬ 
 tion of the knee, and the calf of the left leg. 
 In the lower part of the limb, there was a 
 varicose ulcer hard to the touch, unusually 
 enlarged, and its tissues very painful. Be¬ 
 sides these there were two old scars, which 
 had nothing to do with the present malady— 
 being the effects of a severe burn received 
 some twenty years before. In the present 
 case, the dilated veins were so many and the 
 enlargement so great, that, so far as we 
 could judge, surgical remedies were literally 
 and formally contradictory. 
 
 Macarv appeared to us as one doomed to a 
 perpetual infirmity — and all that we could 
 do was to prescribe palliative remedies, as 
 our medical brethren had done before us. 
 
 Eighteen years later, that is to say two 
 years ago, Macary came again to consult us. 
 The condition of his leg was much worse. 
 We repeated our first declaration, and in¬ 
 sisted that the patient should, as the only 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 59 
 
 remedy, submit to absolute rest and to the 
 application of bandages. To-day, Aug. 15, 
 1871, Macary came a third time. The ulcer 
 is perfectly healed—no appliances compress 
 the limb — and withal there exists not the 
 slightest trace of an enlargement. What 
 strikes us particularly is that these varicose 
 nodes have entirely disappeared, palpation 
 presents in the stead minute cords, hard, 
 bloodless and rolling under the fingers. The 
 internal saphena vein has its normal size and 
 direction. The most attentive examination 
 can not discover any trace of a surgical 
 operation. 
 
 According to the story of Macary, this 
 radical cure was effected in one night, and 
 solely by the application of compresses of 
 water from the Grotto of Lourdes. In con¬ 
 clusion, we say that science can not explain 
 this fact: for no author cites a fact similar 
 or analogous thereto. All are agreed upon 
 these points, that varices if left to themselves 
 are incurable; that they are not cured except 
 by palliative means , and still less do they 
 heal spontaneously; that they constantly 
 become worse; in fine, that no radical cure 
 
60 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 can be boped for except by surgical opera¬ 
 tions which are not without grave danger 
 to the patient. And so, were the fact af¬ 
 firmed by Macary not supported by authen¬ 
 tic testimony other than his own, it would 
 still be, at least for us, the most extraordi¬ 
 nary of facts , nay, a supernatural fact . 
 
 Signed, Bernet, 
 
 Doctor of the Faculty of Paris . 
 
 Lavaur, Aug. 15, 1871. 
 
 Witnessed for the legalization of the above 
 signatures: 
 
 Et. De Yoisin, Mayor. 
 Lavaur, Sept. 3, 1871. 
 
 Countersigned: 
 
 Cellieres, Sub-Prefect. 
 Layaur, Sept. 4, 1871. 
 
 
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