第 26 页

love you? Why did you shut yourself up here with your sorrow?"

The doctor made a gesture which embraced the horizon. "I could not go

away, they are here and keep me with them. It is all over, I am merely

waiting till my time comes to join them again."

Then silence fell. Birds were fluttering among the shrubs on the bank

behind them, and in front they heard the loud murmur of the Gave. The sun

rays were falling more heavily in a slow, golden dust, upon the

hillsides; but on that retired bench under the beautiful trees, the

coolness was still delightful. And although the crowd was but a couple of

hundred yards distant, they were, so to say, in a desert, for nobody tore

himself away from the Grotto to stray as far as the spot which they had

chosen.

They talked together for a long time, and Pierre related under what

circumstances he had reached Lourdes that morning with M. de Guersaint

and his daughter, all three forming part of the national pilgrimage. Then

all at once he gave a start of astonishment and exclaimed: "What! doctor,

so you now believe that miracles are possible? You, good heavens! whom I

knew as an unbeliever, or at least as one altogether indifferent to these

matters?"

He was gazing at M. Chassaigne quite stupefied by something which he had

just heard him say of the Grotto and Bernadette. It was amazing, coming

from a man with so strong a mind, a _savant_ of such intelligence, whose

powerful analytical faculties he had formerly so much admired! How was it

that a lofty, clear mind, nourished by experience and method, had become

so changed as to acknowledge the miraculous cures effected by that divine

fountain which the Blessed Virgin had caused to spurt forth under the

pressure of a child's fingers?

"But just think a little, my dear doctor," he resumed. "It was you

yourself who supplied my father with memoranda about Bernadette, your

little fellow-villager as you used to call her; and it was you, too, who

spoke to me at such length about her, when, later on, I took a momentary

interest in her story. In your eyes she was simply an ailing child, prone

to hallucinations, infantile, but self-conscious of her acts, deficient

of will-power. Recollect our chats together, my doubts, and the healthy

reason which you again enabled me, to acquire!"

Pierre was feeling very moved, for was not this the strangest of

adventures? He a priest, who in a spirit of resignation had formerly

endeavoured to believe, had ended by completely losing all faith through

intercourse with this same doctor, who was then an unbeliever, but whom

he now found converted, conquered by the supernatural, whilst he himself

was racked by the torture of no longer believing.

"You who would only rely on accurate facts," he said, "you who based

everything on observation! Do you renounce science then?"

Chassaigne, hitherto quiet, with a sorrowful smile playing on his lips,

now made a violent gesture expressive of sovereign contempt. "Science

indeed!" he exclaimed. "Do I know anything? Can I accomplish anything?

You asked me just now what malady it was that killed my poor Marguerite.

But I do not know! I, whom people think so learned, so well armed against

death, I understood nothing of it, and I could do nothing--not even

prolong my daughter's life for a single hour! And my wife, whom I found

in bed already cold, when on the previous evening she had lain down in

much better health and quite gay--was I even capable of foreseeing what

ought to have been done in her case? No, no! for me at all events,

science has become bankrupt. I wish to know nothing; I am but a fool and

a poor old man!"

He spoke like this in a furious revolt against all his past life of pride

and happiness. Then, having become calm again, he added: "And now I only

feel a frightful remorse. Yes, a remorse which haunts me, which ever

brings me here, prowling around the people who are praying. It is remorse

for not having in the first instance come and humbled myself at that

Grotto, bringing my two dear ones with me. They would have knelt there

like those women whom you see, I should have knelt beside them, and

perhaps the Blessed Virgin would have cured and preserved them. But, fool

that I was, I only knew how to lose them! It is my fault."

Tears were now streaming from his eyes. "I remember," he continued, "that

in my childhood at Bartres, my mother, a peasant woman, made me join my

hands and implore God's help each morning. The prayer she taught me came

back to my mind, word for word, when I again found myself alone, as weak,

as lost, as a little child. What would you have, my friend? I joined my

hands as in my younger days, I felt too wretched, too forsaken, I had too

keen a need of a superhuman help, of a divine power which should think

and determine for me, which should lull me and carry me on with its

eternal prescience. How great at first was the confusion, the aberration

of my poor brain, under the frightful, heavy blow which fell upon it! I

spent a score of nights without being able to sleep, thinking that I

should surely go mad. All sorts of ideas warred within me; I passed

through periods of revolt when I shook my fist at Heaven, and then I

lapsed into humility, entreating God to take me in my turn. And it was at

last a conviction that there must be justice, a conviction that there

must be love, which calmed me by restoring me my faith. You knew my

daughter, so tall and strong, so beautiful, so brimful of life. Would it

not be the most monstrous injustice if for her, who did not know life,

there should be nothing beyond the tomb? She will live again, I am

absolutely convinced of it, for I still hear her at times, she tells me

that we shall meet, that we shall see one another again. Oh! the dear

beings whom one has lost, my dear daughter, my dear wife, to see them

once more, to live with them elsewhere, that is the one hope, the one

consolation for all the sorrows of this world! I have given myself to

God, since God alone can restore them to me!"

He was shaking with a slight tremor, like the weak old man he had become;

and Pierre was at last able to understand and explain the conversion of

this _savant_, this man of intellect who, growing old, had reverted to

belief under the influence of sentiment. First of all, and this he had

previously suspected, he discovered a kind of atavism of faith in this

Pyrenean, this son of peasant mountaineers, who had been brought up in

belief of the legend, and whom the legend had again mastered even when

fifty years, of positive study had rolled over it. Then, too, there was

human weariness; this man, to whom science had not brought happiness,

revolted against science on the day when it seemed to him shallow,

powerless to prevent him from shedding tears. And finally there was

discouragement, a doubt of all things, ending in a need of certainty on

the part of one whom age had softened, and who felt happy at being able

to fall asleep in credulity.

Pierre did not protest, however; he did not jeer, for his heart was rent

at sight of this tall, stricken old man, with his woeful senility. Is it

not indeed pitiful to see the strongest, the clearest-minded become mere

children again under such blows of fate? "Ah!" he faintly sighed, "if I

could only suffer enough to be able to silence my reason, and kneel

yonder and believe in all those fine stories."

The pale smile, which at times still passed over Doctor Chassaigne's

lips, reappeared on them. "You mean the miracles?" said he. "You are a

priest, my child, and I know what your misfortune is. The miracles seem

impossible to you. But what do you know of them? Admit that you know

nothing, and that what to our senses seems impossible is every minute

taking place. And now we have been talking together for a long time, and

eleven o'clock will soon strike, so that you must return to the Grotto.

However, I shall expect you, at half-past three, when I will take you to

the Medical Verification Office, where I hope I shall be able to show you

some surprising things. Don't forget, at half-past three."

Thereupon he sent him off, and remained on the bench alone. The heat had

yet increased, and the distant hills were burning in the furnace-like

glow of the sun. However, he lingered there forgetfully, dreaming in the

greeny half-light amidst the foliage, and listening to the continuous

murmur of the Gave, as if a voice, a dear voice from the realms beyond,

were speaking to him.

Pierre meantime hastened back to Marie. He was able to join her without

much difficulty, for the crowd was thinning, a good many people having

already gone off to _dejeuner_. And on arriving he perceived the girl's

father, who was quietly seated beside her, and who at once wished to

explain to him the reason of his long absence. For more than a couple of

hours that morning he had scoured Lourdes in all directions, applying at

twenty hotels in turn without being able to find the smallest closet

where they might sleep. Even the servants' rooms were let and you could

not have even secured a mattress on which to stretch yourself in some

passage. However, all at once, just as he was despairing, he had

discovered two rooms, small ones, it is true, and just under the roof,

but in a very good hotel, that of the Apparitions, one of the best

patronised in the town. The persons who had retained these rooms had just

telegraphed that the patient whom they had meant to bring with them was

dead. Briefly, it was a piece of rare good luck, and seemed to make M. de

Guersaint quite gay.

Eleven o'clock was now striking and the woeful procession of sufferers

started off again through the sunlit streets and squares. When it reached

the hospital Marie begged her father and Pierre to go to the hotel, lunch

and rest there awhile, and return to fetch her at two o'clock, when the

patients would again be conducted to the Grotto. But when, after

lunching, the two men went up to the rooms which they were to occupy at

the Hotel of the Apparitions, M. de Guersaint, overcome by fatigue, fell

so soundly asleep that Pierre had not the heart to awaken him. What would

have been the use of it? His presence was not indispensable. And so the

young priest returned to the hospital alone. Then the _cortege_ again

descended the Avenue de la Grotte, again wended its way over the Plateau

de la Merlasse, again crossed the Place du Rosaire, past an ever-growing

crowd which shuddered and crossed itself amid all the joyousness of that

splendid August day. It was now the most glorious hour of a lovely

afternoon.

When Marie was again installed in front of the Grotto she inquired if her

father were coming. "Yes," answered Pierre; "he is only taking a little

rest."

She waved her hand as though to say that he was acting rightly, and then

in a sorely troubled voice she added: "Listen, Pierre; don't take me to

the piscina for another hour. I am not yet in a state to find favour from

Heaven, I wish to pray, to keep on praying."

After evincing such an ardent desire to come to Lourdes, terror was

agitating her now that the moment for attempting the miracle was at hand.

In fact, she began to relate that she had been unable to eat anything,

and a girl who overheard her at once approached saying: "If you feel too

weak, my dear young lady, remember we have some broth here."

Marie looked at her and recognised Raymonde. Several young girls were in

this wise employed at the Grotto to distribute cups of broth and milk

among the sufferers. Some of them, indeed, in previous years had

displayed so much coquetry in the matter of silk, aprons trimmed with

lace, that a uniform apron, of modest linen, with a small check pattern,

blue and white, had been imposed on them. Nevertheless, in spite of this

enforced simplicity, Raymonde, thanks to her freshness and her active,

good-natured, housewifely air, had succeeded in making herself look quite

charming.

"You will remember, won't you?" she added; "you have only to make me a

sign and I will serve you."

Marie thanked her, saying, however, that she felt sure she would not be

able to take anything; and then, turning towards the young priest, she

resumed: "One hour--you must allow me one more hour, my friend."

Pierre wished at any rate to remain near her, but the entire space was

reserved to the sufferers, the bearers not being allowed there. So he had

to retire, and, caught in the rolling waves of the crowd, he found

himself carried towards the piscinas, where he came upon an extraordinary

spectacle which stayed his steps. In front of the low buildings where the

baths were, three by three, six for the women and three for the men, he

perceived under the trees a long stretch of ground enclosed by a rope

fastened to the tree-trunks; and here, various sufferers, some sitting in

their bath-chairs and others lying on the mattresses of their litters,

were drawn up in line, waiting to be bathed, whilst outside the rope, a

huge, excited throng was ever pressing and surging. A Capuchin, erect in

the centre of the reserved space, was at that moment conducting the

prayers. "Aves" followed one after the other, repeated by the crowd in a

loud confused murmur. Then, all at once, as Madame Vincent, who, pale

with agony, had long been waiting, was admitted to the baths, carrying

her dear burden, her little girl who looked like a waxen image of the

child Christ, the Capuchin let himself fall upon his knees with his arms

extended, and cried aloud: "Lord, heal our sick!" He raised this cry a

dozen, twenty times, with a growing fury, and each time the crowd

repeated it, growing more and more excited at each shout, till it sobbed

and kissed the ground in a state of frenzy. It was like a hurricane of

delirium rushing by and laying every head in the dust. Pierre was utterly

distracted by the sob of suffering which arose from the very bowels of