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Chapter Eight
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"I found the children happy, and their parents tell me that they sleep like logs; they are especially sweet-natured, are still obedient and show a spirit of unlimited submission. So, in my view, they are still as normal as ever."
The same doctor drew up a long medical report in October, 1962. We shall not quote it in full owing to its length and highly technical nature, but the report ends with the following conclusions:
"1. From the pediatric and psychiatric viewpoints, the four girls have always been, and still are, quite normal.
2. Their ecstatic trances can not be classified in any of the physiological or psychopathological patterns known today.
3. Given the length of time that these phenomena have been occurring, if they had been due to pathological causes of any kind, easily proven symptoms would have made their appearance.
4. Within the field of both normal and pathological child psychology, I can find no explanation whatsoever that might throw some natural light on a series of phenomena that clearly escape the bounds of the natural order."
He sums up his opinion as follows: "Our enormous pride collapses when God confronts us with one of these dilemmas to show us how limited the possibilities of medicine are. Any attempt to explain away a phenomenon that is largely 'irrational' by purely rational means is both absurd and doomed to failure."
In the December 1962 issue of "Gaceta Medica Espanola", the magazine of the Spanish medical profession. Dr. Antonio Castillo Lucas published an article called "Memories of last summer in the mountains of Santander, from a medical point of view". In this article, after studying everything he had seen, he wound up by saying: "I feel that we doctors should undertake a scientific study of the phenomenon, and of the attendant circumstances of isolation, heredity, consanguinity and other elements, for we consider the mental health of these little girls to be in jeopardy, what with the present atmosphere of expectation and curiosity, complicated interrogation, theorising and other psychological factors that tend to disturb their peace of mind and that of their relatives; and we consider that this situation could end in collective neurosis."
I find this attitude quite reasonable, although the fact is that the girls live peacefully in spite of everything, and daily show their perfect mental balance.
On February 25th, 1965, Dr. Ricardo Puncernau, a neuropsychiatrist from Barcelona, gave a lecture on "The facts of Garabandal, as seen by a doctor". In his talk, he tackled the subject from a doctor's angle.
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Dr. Puncernau knows the case well, having studied it very thoroughly, spending long periods with the children and paying the closest attention to the analysis of all their reactions. At the end of his lecture, he declared: "I believe these happenings are of the greatest scientific interest and consequently deserve further, serious investigation. The truth of the matter is that no natural explanation can be found to cover them as a whole, so that, thus far, from a strictly scientific point of view, there is no denying the possibility of a supernatural cause behind all these phenomena. In the light of this possibility, it would be illogical from a Christian point of view to adopt a disdainful attitude." *
In his lecture, Dr. Puncernau merely ratified his thorough report of November 10th, 1962, which we cannot quote in full here owing to its length and technical nature. However, it ends as follows: "With the facts standing as they are, it is difficult for a doctor to find a purely natural explanation; one that would be easily understandable in itself, fully satisfactory and cover all the facts. Hence, as men of science, we must continue our examination of the extraordinary phenomena at Garabandal and hope to collect fresh data."
Finally, we have Dr. Alejandro Gasca Ruiz, who was working in Santander at the time of the apparitions. He was present during a great many of these inexplicable events, and has drawn up a cautious report signed jointly by himself and Dr. Ortiz Gonzalez. The main points made in the document are the following:
"Although we realize how little our modest knowledge can contribute to clarifying matters, our having followed and studied the events closely puts us under the obligation to express our opinion, for not to do so would be an act of rank scientific cowardice.
"For three consecutive years, we have personally kept an eye on the ecstatic phenomena at San Sebastian de Garabandal and their protagonists. Two features have struck us as members of the medical profession: 1. The total psychosomatic normality of the children, both then and now, in spite of having been subjected for long hours to a state of unconsciousness. 2. The fact that the four children's ecstatic trances have been accompanied by a series of parapsychological phenomena such as telepathy, premonitions, clairvoyance, retrovisions, hierognosis, falls while in ecstatic walks, levitation in the case of one child; namely, a great number of phenomena that are today classified as extra sensory perception.
"Consequently, we should have to admit, in all four children, such a degree of parapsychological ability that it would embrace
* Quoted from the newspaper report on Dr. Puncernau's lecture.
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"Consequently, we should have to admit, in all four children, such a degree of parapsychological ability that it would embrace most forms of extra sensory perception. Is this not a veritable scientific miracle? Let us remember the study undertaken in this respect by the London Institute of Parapsychology in cooperation with the radio and television networks. Out of eight million inhabitants tested, how few subjects showed signs of any of these faculties! In no case did the subject possess more than one faculty.
"Today, man cannot subject, control and implement the unconscious zone of his mental faculties in the same way that he can make use of his conscious zone.
"We cannot find any convincing scientific solution to explain such phenomena.
"Other doctors prefer to wait, in the light of the miracle announced by the children, shielded by their attitude of doubt and their impotence to explain the prodigies; but, let it not be forgotten that, more often than not, doubts imply a tragic form of belief."
A Newspaper Article on Garabandal
54.—The "Pensamiento Alaves", in its number of April 27th,
1962, ran an interesting article by Dr. Jose de la Vega, telling of his visit
to San Sebastian de Garabandal. I think it is only appropriate to quote a
newspaper report in this chapter devoted to the testimony written by others. It
reads as follows:
"Since June 18th last, the Blessed Virgin has been walking almost daily through the twisting streets of a little village way up among the Cantabrian peaks. This is the claim of four little girls between the ages of ten and twelve, born and bred in the heart of the Santander uplands and devoid of any schooling other than the lessons taught them by the parish priest."
"The entire village, with its bare seventy families, has been in a state of confusion for months. Once, or even several times, each day, at pre-arranged hours, the children pray with, talk and blow kisses to the Virgin Mary, while lost in a deep ecstatic trance. The poor families of these children are frightened.
"The Church has prudently refrained from giving an opinion. Even the most incredulous doctors finally admit that the goings-on defy logical explanation. But, day after day, thousands of believers hailing from distant parts arrive at the hamlet, fervent in their faith and tears of emotion in their eyes; and in their faith they find the sole explanation of this extraordinary series of occurrences that is lived over and over, night after night, in San Sebastian de Garabandal.
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"I spent Holy Week among these people. I lent an ear to villagers and visitors alike; I chatted with the children before and after their visions. Since, professionally speaking, I can find no explanation for what I saw, I feel bound to believe in a prodigy.
" 'Did you see the Blessed Virgin,' people ask me.
" 'No, I didn't,' I confess, 'but I did feel her presence in my heart and soul.'
"Doctor, I find you most skeptical," remarked a Jesuit Father who accompanied me.
"No, Father. It's not that," I responded. "I'm utterly disconcerted. My dearest wish would be to feel just as the children and everybody else feel about it. But, you know far better than I do that faith is a gift that God doesn't give us all in the same measure."
"A few hours later, I found myself watching the second apparition at close quarters. It was before dawn on Holy Saturday. The rain was pouring down, and the whole village looked like a rock-strewn mud-pie. Armed with torches, we followed one of the visionaries at a great pace as she went round the village streets in ecstasy. Clasped between her hands was a crucifix. Her head was thrown back, her smiling eyes staring up at the heavens . . . From time to time, she would drop to her knees, pray and kiss the Cross. Half the locals and all the strangers, even visiting children, followed her, open-mouthed in wonder. Only shortly beforehand, in her humble peasant kitchen—where she had spoken to us rather drowsily, for it was 4 a.m.—we had seen her suddenly fall into an.ecstatic trance, falling to her knees without burning herself on the searing stones of the blazing hearth. As though uplifted by angels' wings, she rose to her feet and commenced her tour of the village. Stumbling in the pitch blackness of the night, spattering one another with mud up to our eyebrows, we pursued her, never pausing for breath.
"Fervently, I begged God to grant me the grace of faith.
"In the little visionary's wake, we plunged down practically every lane and alley in the hamlet; we visited the church porch, the cemetery, and the mountainside where the Virgin Mary had appeared for the first time.
"The unevenness of the ground underfoot, the darkness and my city-dweller's innate clumsiness caused me to trip up on every stone that lay in my path. Bit by bit, I was left behind. I could go no farther and decided to await the return of the others. My wife could not bear to stop, despite the fact that she was already panting for breath. On she went, drawing courage from my own incredulity.
"All of a sudden, before she reached the brow, the ecstatic child halted in her tracks and started to run downhill backwards, scarcely
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brushing the steep stony ground in her passage, her smiling gaze never leaving the night sky. Reaching the spot where I was waiting, she stopped. With a resounding thud, she fell to her bare knees on the sharp stones, as though they were a feather cushion. Then, she raised her crucifix heavenwards, paused, and proffered it to me to kiss. Around her neck were hanging medals and rosaries belonging to nearly all those present. Her fingers sought a particular chain, while she whispered rather than talked to her invisible apparition:
" 'Tell me which one it is. Is this it?' She held the medal up for the Virgin in her vision to kiss. 'Now, tell me whose it is,' we all heard her murmur huskily.
"Without a moment's hesitation, she turned to my wife, opened the gold catch of the chain and fastened it round her neck. My wife fell to her knees, moved to tears like myself and others who saw that strange scene. The child made her kiss the medal blessed by the Virgin Mary's lips and helped her to her feet with an angelic smile that we shall never forget.
"In like fashion, with roughly the same words, she placed round my neck my own medal kissed by Our Blessed Lady. I could no longer contain my emotion and dropped to my knees, too, with the sting of tears on my cheeks.
"At that instant, I discovered the explanation of all that I had thus far not understood. In the heavenly expression on that child's face, I saw reflected the invisible presence of Our Lady of Mount Carmel overhead. I wept unashamedly on my knees, and begged God's forgiveness for my incredulity.
"Like everybody else who goes there for a first time, I must go back to San Sebastian de Garabandal. With me I shall take doctors and friends, and I shall ask them to try to explain the prodigy of those four little girls from the uplands of Santander. But, with all my heart, I beg God never to let them take away from me the emotion I experienced that night. It is so beautiful to believe in the miracle!"
An Authoress's Account
55.—We cannot overlook Spanish literary circles in this chapter written by others.
Here is an extract from the moving pages about her visit to Garabandal by the brilliant Catalonian authoress, Mercedes Salisachs.
"Holy Saturday, April 21st, 1962.
I must confess, although I do not consider myself especially gullible where prodigies are concerned, no more do I feel bound to discount them simply on ethical grounds or on established principle.
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Many have been the 'gifts' that God has sent mankind in the course of the centuries. True enough, our faith should not be based on such 'gifts', but, if they are genuine, there is nothing to prevent our making use of them to nourish our religious life.
And this was really what I was looking for when I first set out for the village of Garabandal. I wanted to come closer to God and render homage to the Virgin Mary, although, naturally enough, I still had doubts as to the authenticity of the alleged apparitions.
The fact is that my religious life had undergone a considerable change some three and a half years earlier, as a result of the death of my son Miguel, and following an inner crisis that had entirely swept aside the deep-rooted habits and theories of a life-time.
Although I was a practicing Catholic, it was from force of habit and a sense of duty rather than from love of God.
My son, Miguel, on the other hand, was religious in the "spiritual" sense. The firmness of his faith was astonishing; especially the maturity of his reasoning. Without being a mystic, everything he did and thought had an underlying religious purpose, perhaps in contrast with the human effort that any of his ventures entailed.
His artistic work, praised by all the Spanish press following posthumous exhibitions in Madrid and Barcelona, give only a glimpse of the quasi-mystical spirituality which was reflected in his conversation and habits. The final result of his life, however, fully confirmed the greatness of his soul.
He was engaged when he died, and had intended getting married when he was twenty-two. With this in mind, he had done his military service earlier than usual. There was nothing in him to suggest the end he was to meet. Bursting with health, ever making new plans, he was the living embodiment of the future. Yet, on more than one occasion I had heard him exclaim forlornly: 'I'm wasting my time. The years are catching up with me . . .' He seemed goaded to these outbursts by something that neither he nor anyone comprehended. Seeing his disquietment, I would do what I could to calm him: 'But, you've got your whole life before you.' But, his 'fear' of not accomplishing what he planned to do was stronger than any reasoning: 'I haven't a minute to lose ... I must gain time . . .'
All the same, I think his sense of urgency was unconscious. At any rate, I never heard him mention the slightest suspicion of what fate had in store for him. Yet, his maturity was becoming increasingly apparent. The last year of his life was marvelous. The metaphysical evolution he was undergoing was very noticeable. He had succeeded in correcting his own inclination to rebelliousness to such a degree that, if ever it rose to the surface through ill-humor, he
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at once burst out laughing. 'There's nothing so grotesque as a rage', he used to say. Consequently, his company was a tonic to everybody, and conversation with him was a blessing.
About a month before he died, he and his fiancee decided (I think in fulfillment of a thanksgiving resolution) to receive Holy Communion every day. This new habit, which he never mentioned to me, but which I suspected, accentuated to an even greater degree the signs of his self-control; he had acquired an enviable calm, and his stoicism in adversity was uncommon at his age.
Indeed, adversity crossed his path on not a few occasions. In spite of the apparent ease of his life, year after year, difficulties beset him at every step. It is incredible how many of his ventures were doomed by adversity.
Towards the end, however, he no longer seemed to care about the mounting obstacles that barred his path. He gave the impression that, as far as he was concerned, nothing could really be adverse again. Shortly before his death, he exclaimed to a friend of his: 'I've been to Communion twenty days running. What a fool I am for not having done it before!' And he slapped his hand to his head in exasperation.
On October 30th, 1958, after going to Communion as usual, he set off for France with four fellow artists. Ten kilometers from their goal, they had an accident. Two of them were killed instantaneously. Two survived.
Miguel died at six o'clock the following morning, the 31st. I do not think he would have recovered consciousness.
I have given this short account, because the things that happened to me at San Sebastian de Garabandal are closely connected with it.
I have no idea what other mothers can have felt at the loss of a son like Miguel. But, I doubt whether they can have overcome the same sort of emptiness and horror that engulfed me. Our understanding of each other was such that, when speaking of him to me before his death, even his brothers and sisters (to say nothing of his friends) did not bother to mention him by name. They simply said 'our son', as though he were the only one.
Everyone considered Miguel as my alter ego, my real confidant and inseparable companion. They were not mistaken.
In our spare time, the three of us (his fiancée, he and I) were wont to get together. We went out together, or else stayed at home, chatting. His whims were always the same as mine and our plans were always made together. For my part, having him at my side was like owning a piece of cosmos. On him I focused all my good aspirations, and I believe he had the same attitude towards me. In fact, he was not just my son, but my best friend, too.
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So, it is hardly surprising that his death should have snuffed out the main point in my life, and that, on losing him, I should have felt overwhelmed by the most horrifying, stygian gloom.
People told me that I would get over it in time; that, although I would not manage to forget him, memory of him would gradually fade until he became a pleasant recollection. People said that, little by little, I would get used to not seeing him, not hearing his voice, and that I would eventually accept matters without such a wrench.
But, time went by, and I was still desperate. Although I attempted to hide my sadness, especially so as not to hurt the feelings of my other four children, the more time passed the emptier, sadder and more lost I felt.
Some resorted to religious reasoning. They spoke to me of Christian resignation, reminded me of Miguel's great faith, of his exemplary death, and said I should praise God for having taken him from me with his soul in such happy circumstances. But, resignation would not come, and all their persuasion struck me as empty, thoughtless arguments.
There even came a time when doubts about my faith became my obsession. Religion took on the appearance of a repair-patch on a burst tire, and everything that I had hitherto admitted without undue effort now started to crumble, plunging me into greater and greater depression. In this fashion, I finally turned into an empty shell with no horizon but the past, and no hope for the future but death.
The collapse of my morale was shattering. The temptation to 'doubt' continually assailed me. I got the impression that after death everything was over, that hope was nothing but a great lie, and that faith was a childish myth invented to keep us in order.
My doubts, however, did not win completely. Sometimes, for some unknown reason, hope returned. 'What if Miguel can see me? What if the dogma of the Communion of Saints is true . . . ?' It was as if Miguel were tugging at me; as if he were screaming out to me to arouse me from my apathy.
At that period, I could not even pray. I always ran into a blank wall of doubt. On one occasion, I remember, my mother suggested we should all say the rosary together, and (I still feel ashamed at my retort) I refused because I considered it 'vulgar'.
The fact was, I needed some proof; something to make me realize that, beyond death's threshold, life continued. But proof was not forthcoming, and, to tell the truth, I did not do anything to seek it out either. My devotion to Our Blessed Lady was practically non-existent.
One day, shortly before the feast of the Immaculate Conception,
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almost instinctively I found myself before a statue of Our Lady of Sorrows, begging the Blessed Virgin to give me proof that Miguel indeed existed still.
Proof was not long in coming. It was indisputable evidence. So incontestable was it that, even if someone were now to explain it away with normal arguments, I should still be convinced that what happened was nevertheless an answer from Our Lady.
From that day onwards, I had no other obsession than to return to God. Five months later (on May 4th, 1959, to be exact), I made a general confession and my peace with God, once and for all, resolving never to part from Him for a single second of my remaining life.
From that moment, everything began to change for me. Though I still missed Miguel greatly, and loneliness continued to torment me, my inward peace was now a great balm.
Reciting the rosary ceased to strike me as 'vulgar', and my devotion to the Virgin Mary grew day by day.
So it was that, when I heard of the children of Garabandal, I made up my mind to visit their little village, not just out of curiosity, but with the idea of rendering homage to the Virgin, even though the authenticity of the phenomena might be debatable.
My First Trip
Taking advantage of the fact that the family was away in Switzerland at the time, I left Barcelona on Maundy Thursday (1962), accompanied by our chauffeur, Jose, and his wife, Mercedes. We reached Cosio at noon on Good Friday.
In Cosio, I met the parish priest of Garabandal, Don Valentin Marichalar. While waiting for the car that was to drive us up to the village, I had an opportunity of speaking to him. He struck me as a kindly man, intelligent yet simple. As far as I could make out, his position was a very awkward one. Obedience to his superiors obliged him to be stern about the prodigies, and this severity was not always taken with good grace by his parishioners.
Despite his caution, he ended up by confessing that, at heart, he was convinced that the phenomenon occurring there was supernatural, and that their innocence made the little girls worthy to receive the visits of the Virgin.
He also spoke to me of the outstanding moral uprightness of the villagers, their religious fervor and a long-standing custom of saying the rosary in the village church every evening, even when he himself was away.
This chat with the village priest heightened my curiosity to meet
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the children. It was 2 p.m. when the car that was to take us turned up. Fidel, the driver, informed us that Fr. Corta, a Jesuit who had come to help Fr. Marichalar with the Holy Week ceremonies, was then about to give Holy Communion. The village en masse had congregated in the church.
From time to time, the children passed close to us. They appeared to be on very friendly terms with the Santa Marias, through whom I managed to get introduced to the private circle of each one.
That afternoon, I entrusted Jacinta with some pious objects to give to the Virgin to kiss. I made her and her fellow visionaries the same request: 'Ask the Virgin for news of my son.' I think it was Jacinta who inquired: 'What's wrong with your son?' I told her he had died.
This done, I made my way to Mary Loly's, where everyone was waiting for her next apparition. I gave Mary Loly a sheet of paper written on both sides. On handing it to her, I told her that I did not expect an answer. 'The only thing I should like to know is where my son is.' I did not mention his name. The one who might have known it was Jacinta, since I had left a commemoration card of his on the table for the Virgin to kiss. Jacinta might quite feasibly have informed Mary Loly secretly, but it does not seem in keeping for Mary Loly to lie when she told me that the name 'Miguel' was given her by the Virgin.
I still did not know how the visions occurred. Though they had been explained to me, I found it difficult to visualize them. I have now been to Garabandal three times and have seen many ecstasies, yet I still think there is no way of describing, not just the visionaries' "fall", their facial expressions and movements, but the atmosphere of respect that always reigns supreme when 'the apparitions arrive', in spite of the background of some of the tourists and the villagers' familiarity with these events.
A few days ago, I asked the children whether they had got accustomed to the idea of seeing the Blessed Virgin. Mary Loly came out with a very subtle reply. 'At this minute, I feel as if I have got accustomed now; but, when I see her again, it's as if it was something new.'
Well, that is in fact precisely the case with those of us who are present during an ecstasy. We feel as if we were already used to them; but, on seeing them afresh, we are still overcome with surprise.
At first sight, nothing that the children do appears to have any point to it. Their movements, their swaying motions, their headlong running, their conversations in an undertone, their insistence when proffering the crucifix in their hands for people to kiss . . . All
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these factors at first leave the onlooker open-mouthed in wonder at their incongruence and apparent inconsistence. (There is a priest who stated in his report that the goings-on at Garabandal were 'hardly dignified', most likely overlooking the scant dignity at Lourdes). Even admitting the undignified appearance of events, nothing that occurs there occurs without a purpose. The trouble is that, to grasp this, you have to stay in the village at least three days. Once you are acquainted with the apparent incongruence, everything is clear. Whether instantaneously or belatedly, the explanation is always forthcoming.
I, for my part, ought to add that, although my yearning was great, my hope was weak. I had approached my trip the same way one does a pilgrimage. I was prepared to put up with any discomforts or obstacles.
It was not long before we heard the characteristic thud of Mary Loly falling to her knees. It came from upstairs. Silence fell and only a short time had elapsed when we saw Mary Loly descending the stairs, her eyes staring heavenwards and her face transfigured, holding hands with another little girl.
I do not think the greatest actress could imitate that expression.
Mary Loly went to the table on which lay the objects to be presented to the Virgin. She began to hold them aloft to be kissed. I saw her pick up my sheet of paper, raise it on high, turn it round and deposit it on the table once more.
Then, clutching her crucifix, she went out into the street.Her regular strides were light and easy. It was as though she were walking on a smooth, flat surface. She was unaware of the quagmires, puddles, rubble and stones underfoot ...
Somehow or other, I grabbed the arm of the child to whom she was clinging, but, after a halt at the church door, Mary Loly started up the mountainside and I was forced to relinquish my hold. Exhaustion prevented my following them any farther. I felt as though my galloping heart beats would give out at any moment, so steep was the slope leading up to the pine grove.
Thus far, the evening had been none too pleasant as far as I was concerned. Often though the child had given the Cross to be kissed, she had overlooked me. I was deeply pained by the suspicion that, if all this was true, the Virgin Mary was deliberately evading my kiss.
When Mary Loly at last started down the mountainside, I saw her running backwards, her gaze piercing the gloom overhead, avoiding obstacles and pot holes as if she had eyes in the back of her head. When she reached the village, she was joined by Jacinta; they laughed as they met. . . Both of them proffered their crucifixes
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for people to kiss and walked on arm in arm.
At the church door, Jacinta emerged from her trance. Mary Loly returned home, still in a state of ecstasy.
I called Jacinta to me and asked for news of Miguel. The child replied that the Virgin had not answered her query. Downcast, I tackled Mary Loly next. Her response was identical. "Did she read my sheet of paper?" I urged. "Yes, she read it."
Realizing my disappointment, Fr. Corta inquired when she would see Our Lady again. "From two o'clock to half past two," she said. Fr. Corta suggested that she should once more ask the Virgin for news of my son when she saw her again.
That same night, when Mary Loly fell into an ecstatic trance for the second time, she was joined at once by Jacinta who was walking around the streets in a trance, too. Again, they gave all the onlookers their crucifixes to kiss; again, when they came my way, they passed my lips by.
But the worst of all was what they told me on re-emerging. Both Jacinta and Mary Loly told me the same story. "The Blessed Virgin gave me her answer, but I can't tell you what it is."
That reply was far worse than the previous one. There was no escaping the obvious conclusions. Either I did not deserve to be answered by the Virgin, or else, despite every supposition to the contrary, Miguel was in a place of which it was "better to remain in ignorance".
I goaded Mary Loly to tell me whether the Virgin's answer was pleasant or otherwise. "I can't say, I can't say . . ." she evaded my questioning. Her face was quite inscrutable.
Fr. Corta again tried to come to my rescue. He saw I was upset, and doubtless felt sorry for me. "Can you tell her tomorrow?" The child shrugged. "Perhaps ..."
Going to bed that night, I felt as if I had been turned into a block of ice. The suspicion that neither God nor Our Blessed Mother wanted to have anything to do with me depressed me as much as my assumption that Miguel might be suffering punishment. But, somehow it seemed out of the question to doubt Miguel's salvation ..
I wondered whether my conscience was, perhaps, not as clear as it might be. Yet, much as I tried to probe it and discover some grievous sin, I could recall nothing. I told myself that maybe the Virgin wanted me to show greater piety, more care when reciting the rosary, more humility . . .
One by one, I re-examined the phenomena that I had witnessed throughout that day and night. I desired with all my heart to discover a "flaw", grounds to disprove their authenticity . . . something
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that would make me see clearly that what was happening in Garabandal was sheer mumbo-jumbo. But, the more I went over the facts in my mind, the more authentic everything seemed. The only flaw in the whole set-up was myself. That was undoubtedly why the Virgin did not want me to kiss the crucifix.
Holy Saturday was a barren day, too. Notwithstanding the kindness shown me by the Santa Marias, Fr. Corta, Fr. Marichalar, the sergeant-major of the Civil Guard and even the mothers of the visionaries, everything in the village seemed hostile to me. Their kindness was no doubt due to the pity and distrust awakened in them by the isolation to which the Virgin had sentenced me. To me, it was of no importance at all what people might be thinking. What hurt me most was that continual disdain.
It was then that I first began to have a presentiment that everything that was happening to me was sheer trickery, a sort of trap ... I remembered that it was Holy Week. Could all this have something to do with the liturgy? I hardly dared think so; it seemed too subtle, too easy a way out. . .
But, the fact is, with the coming of that presentiment, I lost all notion of fear. I accepted everything and submitted to God's will.
That night, I had supper alone in the tavern. Afterwards, the sergeant-major of the Civil Guard took me round to Conchita's house.
Conchita's mother welcomed me kindly and offered me a seat next to her daughter. The heat of the fire on the hearth was bothersome, and I began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. But, as the hours passed, my morale gradually revived.
We chatted of this and that, of things that were not particularly closely connected with the visions. The most striking thing about those children is their naturalness in everyday life. They accept the supernatural with almost incredible simplicity. They feel that anyone can "see the Virgin", and that what is happening to them is perfectly normal.
What really worries them is to see people's disbelief. Over and over again, they ask people, "Do you believe? Do you really believe I see the Virgin?" They probably think that it depends on that belief whether or not the Virgin works the great miracle that she has been announcing from the very first. Conchita is particularly prone to this worry. When least expected, there she is asking, "Do you believe?"
Apart from this, they are always very sure of themselves when it comes to theological matters. Notwithstanding their obvious innocence, the perspicacity in their remarks is astounding.
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(On my second trip, when Conchita gave me in writing the messages that the Virgin had given her for me, I was overcome by what I was reading, and told her I did not deserve such generosity because I was not good enough and did not make sufficient sacrifices, and Conchita answered with a firmness that is uncommon in an ignorant, uneducated child. "It's enough to do our duty; Our Lady asks no more!")
That night, Conchita gave free reign to her tongue. Between them, she and Aniceta, her mother, recounted with a great sense of humor all the past events: the vision of St. Michael the Archangel; the colloquies they had had with the late Fr. Andreu; Conchita's trip to Santander and the story of her visit to the hairdresser's, where they cut off her plaits. Bit by bit, the house began to fill up. The blazing kitchen fire was too much for me and the air was becoming unbearable.
I was out of the room when Conchita fell to her knees in an ecstasy, and unable to see exactly what occurred.
After kneeling down, she arched over backwards until she was reclining on the floor. All at once, it was as if she was lifted upwards. People round her claimed that not a single part of her was touching the floor, but I cannot testify to this case of levitation because, from where I stood, I could not be certain. When she went out, however, I was able to see what happened to a newcomer to Garabandal, Señor Mandoli.
Although a practicing Catholic, he did not believe in visions. I suddenly saw Conchita turn in mid-stride and come straight towards us (Señor Mandoli was beside me) to offer him the crucifix. But, either out of shyness, or perhaps to put her to the test, he evaded her. Her head flung back, never once looking to see where she was stepping, Conchita pursued him relentlessly until she managed to get him to kiss the crucifix.
Much moved, Señor Mandoli confessed to me that he had just asked the Blessed Virgin, if all this business was true, to make Conchita seek him out and give him her crucifix to kiss.
If my memory serves me right, I was not given the crucifix to kiss that night either. If I did manage to kiss it at any particular point, it was purely by chance in passing as it was offered to someone else.
Walking on, Conchita joined the other three children, who were likewise in a trance. Light of step as usual, they linked arms as they proceeded up the street followed by the crowd.
I recalled that the other apparitions (Lourdes and Fatima) had been local and ecstatic, and it struck me that the ones I was witnessing could perhaps be explained by the ways of our modern times. It
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was as though the Virgin Mary, like Pope John XXIII, wished to adapt her mercy to the restless seeking of those in need of it.
When you come to think of it, it would look somewhat out of place in these days to see ecstatic trances of the same ilk as those at Fatima and Lourdes. People need another kind of tonic, other methods, another approach. And the methods in the case of these children were perfectly suited to our needs. The apparitions had become "approachable"; everybody could take part in them at a distance; anybody who wished could participate indirectly in the conversations between the visionaries and the apparition. According to the children, from the very first, the Blessed Virgin showed every sign of "desiring to close the gap" between herself and the onlookers. She allowed them to ask her questions; she suggested they give her pebbles to kiss. All together, the impression was that she wanted to break down all barriers.
At that moment, however, I was so depressed by the apparent "disdain" that the Apparition was showing me that, without stopping to think of the undoubted generosity she was showing the others, I firmly resolved not to ask any more questions or to expect the slightest sign through the children.
Following a long-standing local custom, in the early hours of Easter Sunday, the village women started to sing the rosary. Despite my weariness, I felt impelled to join them. The devoutness of that scene was truly impressive; I cannot remember ever having spent an Easter of such profound religious fervor as that one.
As we advanced, the night sky cleared. The rooftops shone almost as brightly as the moon and stars.
We must have been mid-way through the third mystery when the unexpected happened.
All at once, I felt someone prodding me in the back. Turning, I saw the Marquesa de Santa Maria arm in arm with Mary Loly. "Mary Loly says she has something to say to you," she confided.
At that moment, I could not think what she was referring to. I remembered that, following her ecstasy that evening (before midnight Mass, of course), I had spoken to the child and she had been as secretive as ever. Just as I had resolved, I had asked her no further questions, and she, for her part, had shown no signs of wishing to talk either. So, I could not grasp what she could possibly want to tell me.
But Rosario Santa Maria added: "It's something to do with what the Virgin told her yesterday, but it seems she was commanded to keep it quiet until after one o'clock today . . ."
Rather abashed, Mary Loly was saying: "Later on; I'll tell her afterwards . . ." We were walking along in procession reciting the
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rosary, and it was hardly proper to halt for a mere message.
Confused, I did not know whose side to take. But Rosario, who had seen the time I had been having, insisted: "Not on your life; you're to tell her this minute. You can't leave this poor lady with such a worry on her mind."
Mary Loly and I drew slightly away from the procession. Disconcerted, and still fearful of what might be in store for me, I bent down for the little girl to whisper in my ear.
In a clear voice she gave me the message. "Our Lady says your son is in Heaven."
I cannot say precisely what happened after that. Everything about me seemed in such a whirl that it is no easy matter to reconstruct the scene. Everything, absolutely everything, was as nought beside that one sentence.
The only thing I remember clearly was hugging Mary Loly as if I were embracing Miguel. Then, I found myself hugging Rosario. She, too, was crying. She was saying so many things at the same time that I could not hear her. People were milling round about us; it was like being on a roller-coaster with more and more people joining us as we spun round. I could see Fr. Marichalar, Fr. Corta, Eduardo Santa Maria, the sergeant-major of the Civil Guard . . . They were all looking at me, fright mingling with emotion in their faces. Alarmed at this interruption, Conchita's mother came over to comfort me. "If she's crying because they haven't given her the crucifix to kiss, tell the lady that they haven't given it to me tonight, either."
They told her mine were tears of joy; the good woman looked relieved. The rest of that rosary was like winging up to Heaven. All my earlier depression had disappeared; I recollect handing Rosario Santa Maria my walking-stick and clinging to Mary Loly's arm. Never in my life had I felt so light-hearted or so secure. Tears still stinging my eyes, we rejoined the procession through the streets in those early hours before dawn. I think I prayed more with my eyes than with my lips. Mary Loly was saying over and over: "Don't cry, don't cry . . ." But, there was no taking any notice of her plea. There was so much to cry about! She insisted: "You ought to be very happy."
Now, I did not bother to look where I was going. I no longer needed a torch; Mary Loly's arm was firm in mine. Full of confidence in her guidance and trust in the Blessed Virgin, I walked the rest of the way gazing up at the heavens. I have never seen the sky so clear and studded with stars; every twinkle was a smile.
It was 3 a.m. when we reached the tavern. Mary Loly's visions had been announced for 4:30 a.m. Still stunned by what had happened
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to me, I saw Rosario whispering to Mary Loly. "But, my dear child," she exclaimed, "don't keep it to yourself . . .! Tell her now." Coming over to me, Rosario added: "Mary Loly says the message she gave you is incomplete, but as you started to cry she couldn't go on telling you the rest of it."
What the child had to tell me this time left me still more overcome. "She also told me that your son is very happy, extremely happy, and he's at your side 'every day'."
She at once went on to confirm what Rosario had already intimated. "I already knew your son was in Heaven; Our Lady told me so yesterday. But she also said, "Don't tell the lady until tomorrow, after Sunday Mass,' That's why I kept quiet about it until now."
Such subtlety could not be the work of a child. Moved, I enjoined Mary Loly time and again to tell the Virgin, when next she saw her, to ask anything she wished of me, for, whatever it was, I would gladly give it to her. Afterwards, however, whenever I inquired whether she had conveyed my request to the Virgin, she replied that she had "forgotten." I told myself, by this "forgetfulness," she wished to give me to understand that when the Virgin gave something, she gave it unconditionally.
From the moment of that crisis, everything changed for me. No sooner had the child fallen to her knees in a trance that I had proof that my earlier "ostracism" had ended. She came straight to me. She held the crucifix to my lips once, twice, thrice . . .; then, making the Sign" of the Cross over my forehead, lips and heart, she held the crucifix up for the Virgin to kiss once more and, as if in final confirmation of all she had just told me, she held it out to me again.
Thereupon, without proffering it to anyone else, she went out into the night.
Outside, Mary Loly's father, Ceferino, beckoned us over. "She's talking to the Virgin about you," he said. Sure enough, she was undoubtedly speaking about me. "I told her not to cry, and that she ought to be happy, but she took no notice . . ." After a brief pause, she asked: "And what if she starts crying again when I tell her?"
From that night onwards, they never failed to proffer me the crucifix.
As soon as she emerged from her trance, Mary Loly came over and informed me in a low voice that Our Lady had given her another message. She waited until we were alone. "While I was speaking to the Virgin," she began, "I noticed she was laughing a lot and looking upwards; and, when I asked her why she was laughing so, she replied that, at the very moment she was talking to me, 'he' was looking at you and was very happy ..."
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"Who do you mean, Mary Loly? M ..... .?" I could not get his name out.
But she forestalled me. "That's right, Miguel. She said to me: 'Above all, tell the lady that this very minute while I am speaking to you, Miguel is watching her, and that he is full of joy, that he is very happy; very, very happy . . . indeed."
"Tell me, Mary Loly. How do you know his name is Miguel?"
The little girl was quite unperturbed. Very simply, she replied: "Because I asked her: 'Who is Miguel?' And she said to me: 'That lady's son'."
I have confirmation of all this recorded on tape. The following day, I begged Mary Loly to record that passage so my husband could hear it. Naturally, the flow of our conversation was less spontaneous than the previous night, but the general lines and atmosphere of it were the same. The little girl seemed bashful about speaking into a microphone. Nevertheless, on my second trip, when she recounted what had happened for my daughter's benefit, in spite of the time that had elapsed, she told the whole story without omitting the minutest detail.
Unfortunately, when he heard the tape, my husband seemed not to be convinced. He had to go to Garabandal before he would admit that what Mary Loly claimed might be true.
Conchita was the last to have an ecstasy that night. It lasted almost two hours. Dawn had already broken when she came to. She was surprised; she fondly imagined only a "short moment" had passed.
I returned to the house where I was lodging, as if I was walking on air. The village was tinged with blue under a sky in which the stars still shone. The first rays of the rising sun were peeping over the mountains.
"She
held the crucifix
up for the Virgin to kiss. .
."
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The Message of October 18, 1961 signed by the four little visionaries
"We must
make many sacrifices, do much penance
We must visit the Blessed Sacrament frequently;
but first, we must be good
and unless we do this,
a punishment will befall us.
The Cup is already filling
and unless we change,
a very great punishment will befall us."
The Virgin wants us to do this,
so that God will not punish us."
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October 18, 1961: an expectant crowd gathers
and waits in the rain for the Message to be read.
56.—Conchita announced that the Virgin had given them a message. At the express command of Our Blessed Lady, they would make this message known on October 18th (1961).
The news spread all over Spain. On the day, pilgrims arrived in the hundreds, prepared to hear a sensational revelation. Most expected a spectacular miracle. Some even hoped to see the Blessed Virgin. As at Fatima on the day of the miracle of the sun, there was a downpour. Drenched to the skin and up to their eyes in mud, the public waited patiently. The visionaries had been instructed to read the message in church. Some members of the Commission intervened, however, and it was decided to make the announcement up in the pine grove, at 10 p.m. Submissive and obedient, but soaking wet, a very large crowd trudged their way up the steep mountainside at the appointed hour.
In the dim light of a torch, one of the little girls drew from her pocket a piece of paper signed by all four of them. In a weak voice, she proceeded to read the document. She could not make her reedy voice heard clearly, and the message was re-read afterwards by one of the people present. There was nothing very extraordinary about it, nothing spectacular. No miracle was forthcoming. The works of God are always simple, and sometimes even elementary.
The exact text drawn up by the children was couched in the following terms: "People must make many sacrifices and do much penance, and we must pay many visits to the Blessed Sacrament. But, first of all, we must be very good. And if we do not do this, a
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October 18, 1961: an expectant crowd gathers
and waits in the rain for the Message to be read.
very great punishment will befall us. The cup is already filling up, and if we do not change, a punishment will come."
At the foot of this message were the signatures of the four children, with their respective ages beside their names.
People's disappointment was quite understandable. Many had been without sleep since the previous day. They had borne with the rain. They had built their dreams around this day, and now, when the time came, all they found was a grubby, crumpled scrap of paper in which four small children asked them to make sacrifices and visit the Blessed Sacrament, all in their atrocious spelling and even worse syntax.
"This is the end of Garabandal," groaned the majority.
Even Fr. Luis Andreu's brother, Fr. Ramon, who had been fortunate enough to see so many wonders in the past few months, began to have his doubts. It was all over as far as he was concerned, too. But, then, a very odd thing occurred. Let us hear his own account of it, taken from a report written at the time.
"I stayed up there, on the mountainside, for about an hour, watching torches descending like a nightmare; at length, I wended my way down to the village. I entered a house to keep dry, but I was feeling so discouraged that everything irritated me. I left, and made for another house in the hopes of seeing familiar faces and not feeling so lonely. A few minutes after I arrived, someone came running to look for me, saying that the children wanted to see me urgently. I was conducted to Maria Dolores' house. There, the little
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girl took me aside and said: "Father, we've been with the Virgin and we cried awfully, because the Virgin told us that when you went up to the pines you were very happy, but when you came down you were very sad and full of doubts. She told Conchita everything you were thinking and the reasons why you doubted. And she told us to tell you this at once, so you'll cheer up and be at ease, because it really is the Virgin who appears to us."
I went round to Conchita's house. Her only greeting on seeing me enter was: "Are you still sad?" She then proceeded to give me a concise yet exact resume of all my inner thought processes and the reasons for my discouragement. "She told me lots of things about you, and charged me not to tell you for the time being," she added. "Was Our Lady sad? I asked. And she responded: "No, she was smiling."
The general disappointment was hardly surprising in the light of a message that clearly told us nothing new, a message, what is more, that was made known at a late hour on a day that ended in an impressive display of lightning, rolling thunder, rain, hail, pitch darkness and cold.
Nevertheless, overlooking the literary efforts of these children, who barely knew how to write, the meaning of the message is truly in keeping with what the world needs today. It speaks of a punishment which has been announced for a long time. And, to avert this, it demands repentance, sacrifices and penance. The message also mentions devotion to the Blessed Sacrament as a means of reparation, and employs an expression whose meaning was unknown to the children, but which happens to be a piece of Marian terminology, used by the Blessed Virgin on another occasion: "The cup is already filling up . . ."
At Fatima, in their early apparitions, the visionaries likewise saw a large cup in the shape of a chalice into which were falling drops
Mystical Communion. The Host is invisible.
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of blood. This is precisely the same symbolism the children at Garabandal saw enacted in one of their ecstasies. They later drew a sketch of it to give us.
In this case, it turned out that the little girls were unaware of the meaning of the expression, for they asked several people to give them the right explanation of it, next day.
In the vision of the 20th, Jacinta, who was in an ecstasy, was heard to comment: "Nobody believes us any longer, you know . . . So you must do a great big, big miracle so they'll believe again . . ." But, at this request. Our Lady always smiled and simply answered: "They'll believe . . ."
The Miracle of the Holy Communion
57.—"Here are a few lines with the best of the impressions I have received on this, my third trip, although for me personally, as a priest, it has not been a pleasant one at all because I was not allowed to say Mass or receive Holy Communion, a thing that the children likewise complain about, for they have not received the Lord in their clean little hearts for days on end." *
The appearance of a new mystical phenomenon was no doubt due to this prudent situation brought about by superior ecclesiastical orders. This was the administration of Holy Communion by the Angel. The phenomenon is not. a new one in itself. On several occasions, the visionaries at Fatima also received Holy Communion administered by "the Angel of Peace," the shining figure who first appeared to the little children and prepared them for the Blessed Virgin's visits. The same prodigy was frequent in the case of Theresa Neumann and other mystics in the past.
The little girls at Garabandal were often seen to fall to their knees in ecstasy, pray, take up the customary attitude for receiving Communion, open their mouths, and swallow something. A priest once remarked to Conchita: "What you say cannot be true, because angels cannot consecrate." Conchita merely shrugged. But, a few days later, she explained: "I asked the Virgin and you're right. She told me the Angel takes the Hosts from the tabernacles on earth . . ."
Doctors have verified the authenticity of the state of ecstasy when the children take up this attitude and they go through the motions of really receiving Communion. One day, on coming to, Conchita remarked that she was hungry. Her mother offered her a sandwich, and, not daring to taste it, the child said: "But, you see, I've still got a taste of the Host in my mouth."
In her diary, Conchita writes that, at first, St. Michael the Archangel
* From a letter by a priest whose name we consider it discreet to conceal.
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used to give them unconsecrated hosts to teach them how to receive Holy Communion devoutly. One day, he told them to fast the following day, and to bring a little girl up to the pines with them. When they arrived at the pines, the Angel appeared to them "with a cup that looked like gold." He indicated that they should prepare to receive Holy Communion, and that the Hosts were consecrated. He made them say the "I confess . . ." and afterwards they made their thanksgiving and said the "Soul of Christ, sanctify me" in Spanish. Conchita ends her description saying: "And then we told people about it, and some of them made fun of us. And when he gave us Holy Communion, he stayed a long time."
Further on, Conchita's diary reads as follows: "Since we insisted so much with the Blessed Virgin and the Angel that they should work a miracle, on June 22nd, when I was about to receive Holy Communion, he said to me: "I am going to work a miracle; not me, God; but through my intercession and yours." And I asked him: "And what's it going to be?" And he said: "When I give you the Sacred Host, people will see It on your tongue." I reflected a bit. Then I said to him: "But, when you give me Holy Communion, the Host can be seen on my tongue anyway!" And he told me this was not so, that the people round about could not see It. But, the day he performed the miracle. It would, be seen. And I said to him: "But, that is only a little miracle." And he laughed . . . And that day, after telling me this, he went away."
Next day, she again received Communion from the hands of the Angel, and asked him when the miracle would take place. The Angel replied that the Blessed Virgin would tell her the date. When she asked the Virgin the same question, Conchita recounts in her diary that Our Lady revealed that the following Friday she would hear a voice, and the voice would tell her the date.
Her diary goes on: "Friday came, and as the Virgin had told me, while I was in the pines I noticed a voice telling me that July 18th was the day when the miracle would be performed. The voice I heard said to me: 'the little miracle, as you call it'."
In obedience to the instructions she had been given, from July 3rd onwards, Conchita commenced to announce the prodigy of the visible Communion with the same calm and self-assurance that she now shows in foretelling the great miracle which is to come "so everyone will believe."
She wrote the Bishop a letter which was delivered to him personally by Don Placido Ruiloba Arias of Santander, who has seen a great many of the wonders at Garabandal and has shown the utmost prudence and insight in the close check he has kept on the events we are relating.
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