Prologue to Our Journey
It was the early death and martyring of St. Bernadette that led the travelers to Lourdes, France. The saint of Lourdes, the saint of penance, the saint of poverty, and the child visionary is to many the saint of family. No particular feature or product of this little pocket town was worthy of great prominence; it was merely a stopping point for mountaineers or travelers. Lourdes had seen its share of hardship in previous years. Droughts had killed the wheat harvest, the industrial revolution threatened the mills, and a cholera epidemic swept through the area, killing many and almost claiming the life of our beloved Bernadette. By the nineteenth century, Lourdes had only dreams of past glories. But it was these words spoken by the Virgin Mary to Bernadette on February 18, 1858 that became a prophecy of Bernadette's life: "I do not promise to make you happy in this world, but in the next." This was the promise in return for Bernadette's total compliance with the will of the Holy Mother.
Perhaps it was late spring; the days seemed longer, and the nights much warmer than previous nights. Yes, it had to have been spring, for the oaks stood mountainous and emerald green over the parade of travelers that passed through the city of Barcelona, Spain – sea port to the world. This procession of town citizens consisted of characters from every home and alley of Barcelona and beyond. Excited and awaiting the long journey ahead, infants were hoisted upon their father's broad shoulders, elderly women stepped onto wooden carriages pulled by mules, mothers held the hands of eager children, and young lovers embraced before the great departure of the city folk. This great mass of inhabitants were of French or Spanish descent, however five other individuals came to Barcelona to start the journey to praise St. Bernadette.
The first of these individuals was the Egyptian. The Egyptian was the daughter of the Captain of the Nile's greatest ship, the Isis. She stood tall amongst her fellow company. Her eyes of black pearl gave every intention that she knew the ways of the world, for she was wise indeed. Her father taught her skills of navigation and her mother taught her to love God. Her sleek hair of ebony would lightly stir on occasion in the mild breeze. Her dark flesh was indeed eye-catching from the crowd of white. Her steed was darker than her own flesh, with a black mane that danced in the wind. The Egyptian was cloaked and dressed in fine, warm linens from her native land, decorated with trinkets and ornaments. A particular piece of jewelry was a lotus blossom made of stones - one could not tell if they were of any value by a mere glance - which she proudly wore around her neck. She was noble in her behavior, acting like she was the child of Pharaoh herself, yet she never was known to be ill-hearted or vain. The Egyptian, as her suitors claim, was a wild woman: never wanting marriage - for she never seemed content. But that was of no matter, for any man would do anything for her, especially to be the husband of the great Captain's daughter. But the Egyptian was not pleased with any man, for in her unbridled heart she knew it would take more than a man to tame her. Despite her wild heart, she loved children. It was commonly known that the Egyptian would splash with the children in the Nile, as well as chase them through the city right in front of her father and the Pharaoh! Another time, she let a poor blind boy touch her face, and the boy could feel the light. She made her father proud and her mother worried (heaven forbid - should she ever break her neck!), but most of all herself she made strongest and most splendid of anyone individual in the land of Egypt. Yet, still she was rebellious.
A few yards down followed the Russian. Yes, a lovely and handsome man he was. With hair of mahogany and rough white skin he was indeed intriguing. He was glanced over by every maiden eye. Indeed, he was a hard laborer, for his body showed his every day's work. A strong back from lifting massive loads, powerful arms from smithing a horseshoe or two, hearty legs from running messages from council to council, and skilled fingers from peeling potatoes for a sweet lady or two. Since the war had ended, he vagabonded from town to town, seeking work where he could for a place to rest his head and a bit to eat. The bed didn't necessarily have to be warm and the food didn't have to taste at all, for he was a good hearted man and accepted whatever the good Lord granted him. He wore on his shoulders a light cloak trimmed in fur; some tales say the fur was of a bear he killed with his own hands. He wore well kept trousers that tucked into soft leather boots. The Russian's cream-colored tunic displayed the faultless outline of his chest. Slung over his shoulder, he carried a dark brown sack. The sack appeared fairly unimportant, but it contained several dried biscuits and other tidbits for his journey. Similar to the Egyptian, the Russian never seemed content and therefore never made the commitment to settle down with a wife and family. A good-hearted vagabond was the life he made for himself, and he decided that if ever he wanted a change in lifestyle, a woman was not going to make that decision for him - he would choose when the time or company was right in coming.
Not ten yards away from the Russian traveled an old Spanish man and his wife. The Spaniard, as he was known, was a stocky man with silver hair and beard of snow. His eyes were jet and his skin tan like buckskin. The Spaniard was the local miller in his village of Aragon. His wheat mill and home rested on the banks of a river, which was the power to his business. He enjoyed music and puffing on his pipe, but he stayed away from children. He believed children to be a bother with their hungry mouths and their seeking constant attention. His wife continually reminded him that it was not attention the children sought, but love. Still, he did not let himself be pestered by youth. The Spaniard led a chestnut mule by a harness, and that mule pulled a wooden cart stocked with assorted types of foods, warm clothing, and quilted blankets. Atop the cart sat the Spaniard's wife. She was a plump, large bosomed woman of an elderly age with stripes of silver hair covering her once black locks. To her acquaintances she fit the perfect description of a kindly, aging, mother hen. She always had a flame in the fireplace with some sort of morsel cooking in her black kettle. Her home smelled of gardens and lovely things to eat. Once in a while, she would give the children of the village cookies or small cakes, and the children loved her greatly. Like her husband, she was content without housing children, for the village children were very much hers. Yet, she always longed for a daughter to sew pretty dresses for or a son to sit at her feet. But she abided by her husband's wishes, as should every good wife she felt, and kept hush about the matter.
Trotting along in the procession, the Persian kept with the pace, but barely. Goodness, the Persian was a tiny girl. She was skinny in waist and terribly lank, as if she scrounged for a meal when she possibly could. She appeared to have very little muscle to her at all; indeed if wolves ever were famished, they most certainly would not choose her to hunt, for they would starve anyhow. Her eyes showed no emotion and were empty. Of black locks and red tints was her hair; one could not tell if her skin was naturally dark or if it were the smudges of dirt that tanned her skin. Oh, such a wretch was she! Sadly, the girl possessed no mother or father, for both were in service to the Shah in Persia. Her parents seemed happy with their duties to the Shah, but the Persian thought this awful enslavement and fled one night. For many months she had been on her own; stealing a mouthful of bread here, sleeping in barns there, picking a pocket or two... Miserable was this child of Persia, but she was free. She carried over her shoulder a makeshift pack containing one half of a loaf of bread she had found and several buttons and shiny bobbles that were of value to only her.
And off to Lourdes the procession of pilgrims headed. Out of Barcelona, into the country, and to the shores of the Gave de Pau the pilgrims traveled. Horses, wagons, mules, and pilgrims moved slowly to the Spanish-French border, which was nearly a full day's journey from Barcelona. Dust was kicked up from the paths and the sun shown down upon them, with a cool breeze in the air. They passed over brooks, through other villages and farms, adding more pilgrims to their number as they passed, and through glens and wooded areas to more open fields. The chattering of excited voices never diminished throughout the day.
Once at the shores of the mighty river, the people stopped and rested for a few moments contemplating how to wade through to the other side. The tiny Persian girl sat with exhaustion on the back of the Spaniards' cart, scrounging in her pack for a bit to eat. The Spaniards waited for a sign from the priest as to which direction was to be taken to the shrine. The Russian studied the land carefully and once nodded a 'Good Day' to the old Spaniard and his wife. And impatiently the Egyptian sat atop her horse, waiting for some word as to why the procession had stopped. For many hours the pilgrims sat and chatted, but soon dusk fell and fires started to be built.
The Spaniard decided he should start a fire for his wife to cook supper over. He thought it terribly unwise of the priest to stop and consult whether to cross the unexpected river or to sit. He traveled to the back of his cart to retrieve cut logs, when he noticed a little bundle in the corner. The Spaniard thought it nothing at first, yet he saw the bundle shiver. He pulled away the blankets and found himself face to face with the starving Persian girl who wrapped herself in the Spaniard's blankets to keep warm.
"What are you doing here?" he questioned angrily. The Persian sat with her startled mouth open. She started to flee, but the Spaniard grabbed her arm, and dragged her to his wife. The wife had begun setting stones for the fire, but she turned to see her husband holding a squirming, frightened child.
"Husband, what is this?" asked the wife in a startled tone.
"This is a stow away - looking for a free ride! I found her in our blankets asleep. What shall we do with her?" the Spaniard accused angrily.
"We shall feed her and let her sleep by our fire," the wife said gently. "Now, husband, be kind enough to fetch our logs. Little girl, make sure my husband does as he is asked and aide him in his task." The Persian looked up to the Spaniard's wife in joy and then to the Spaniard who appeared annoyed, and she ran like wind to the back of the cart.
The Spaniard loaded the Persian with two logs, but her tiny body could not hold the weight. As she wobbled uncertainly back to the Spaniards' camp, the Russian came to her rescue and relieved her of the load. The Spaniard's wife thanked him and asked him to stay at their camp for supper. With much persuading he agreed to stay.
To a supper of rabbit, corn bread, and cabbage the Russian, the Persian, and the two Spaniards sat and enjoyed around the blazing fire. The Persian snatched a piece of corn bread and devoured it without a trace of crumbs. The Spaniard's wife chuckled and thought kindly of the famished girl. However, as soon as the girl had swallowed the piece of bread, the Persian immediately stood, ran a few paces and vomited it into the bushes. The Spaniards sat bewildered, but the Russian muttered, "She ate too much too fast." He went to the Persian girl, cleaned her up and took her back to the fire, where he instructed her to eat a bit more slowly. A great hush fell over the crowd, as the priest made a motion for everyone to be silenced, as he had something to say.
"We must travel around to the other end of the river to continue our journey!" announced the priest. The Spaniards nodded in agreement, the Russian looked to the stars, and Persian girl groaned with the thought of more walking on her poor, ripped feet.
The Egyptian noticed everyone's discomfort, dismounted her horse, and began to wade into the water. The priest called to the Egyptian to come onto shore at once, but the Egyptian continued to wade into the water. When she was bust deep, she called to the priest.
"Father, it is fine to forge our wagons and travel across the river to the other shore! It will be a quicker way of travel."
"To make pilgrimage to the Saint means making sacrifices for ourselves!" shouted the priest, having no word of what the Egyptian was saying. Many people gathered on the shores to gaze at the Egyptian in the water and wonder what in St. Bernadette's name she was doing contradicting the priest? "We will travel east and around the river!" announced the priest. Disgusted, the Egyptian returned back to the shore, soaking from the chilled water. She trampled to her dark horse and began to mount, but the Spaniard's wife took hold of her arm and led her to the fire to warm her shivering body. The Egyptian thanked her and she too ate a warm supper with the Persian, the Russian, and the two Spaniards.
Afterwards, they all thanked the Spaniard's wife for the delicious meal and the donation of her generosity. As the Spaniard's wife laid the Persian girl down to sleep with a full belly, the Egyptian made an announcement to her new friends.
"I will take leave from the pilgrims tomorrow morning and travel across the river to Lourdes."
"You must be mad!" stated the Spaniard. "To stay with the pilgrims is protection; alone you will have none!"
"Tomorrow I am taking leave from this protection and traveling across the river. To travel east is ludicrous and time consuming. There may be bandits on the road or dense woods."
"You are stubborn and fiery!" laughed the Russian, sitting back to enjoy the warmth and light of the fire.
The Egyptian paused for a moment collecting her thoughts, and then spoke again. "Would you like to hear a story?"
A story? thought the three.
"What type of story?" inquired the Russian, somewhat intrigued.
"Is it a story relating to your insanity?" questioned the Spaniard.
"Husband, you shall treat our guest with respect and courtesy," gently spoke the Spaniard's wife. She turned to the Egyptian. "On what occasion is your story to be shared?"
"I never have an occasion, Madam. However, my story is about the first Pharaoh, or ruler, of my native Egypt."
"Is that where you're from?" noted the Russian. "By all means then, tell your tale."