第 35 页

believe in the apparitions; he had a loftier, more intellectual idea of

the manifestations of the Divinity. Only would he not be showing true

pity and mercy in silencing the scruples of his reason, the noble

prejudices of his faith, in presence of the necessity of granting that

bread of falsehood which poor humanity requires in order to be happy?

Doubtless, he begged the pardon of Heaven for allowing it to be mixed up

in what he regarded as childish pastime, for exposing it to ridicule in

connection with an affair in which there was only sickliness and

dementia. But his flock suffered so much, hungered so ravenously for the

marvellous, for fairy stories with which to lull the pains of life. And

thus, in tears, the Bishop at last sacrificed his respect for the dignity

of Providence to his sensitive pastoral charity for the woeful human

flock.

Then the Emperor in his turn gave way. He was at Biarritz at the time,

and was kept regularly informed of everything connected with this affair

of the apparitions, with which the entire Parisian press was also

occupying itself, for the persecutions would not have been complete if

the pens of Voltairean newspaper-men had not meddled in them. And whilst

his Minister, his Prefect, and his Commissary of Police were fighting for

common sense and public order, the Emperor preserved his wonted

silence--the deep silence of a day-dreamer which nobody ever penetrated.

Petitions arrived day by day, yet he held his tongue. Bishops came, great

personages, great ladies of his circle watched and drew him on one side,

and still he held his tongue. A truceless warfare was being waged around

him: on one side the believers and the men of fanciful minds whom the

Mysterious strongly interested; on the other the unbelievers and the

statesmen who distrusted the disturbances of the imagination;--and still

and ever he held his tongue. Then, all at once, with the sudden decision

of a naturally timid man, he spoke out. The rumour spread that he had

yielded to the entreaties of his wife Eugenie. No doubt she did

intervene, but the Emperor was more deeply influenced by a revival of his

old humanitarian dreams, his genuine compassion for the disinherited.*

Like the Bishop, he did not wish to close the portals of illusion to the

wretched by upholding the unpopular decree which forbade despairing

sufferers to go and drink life at the holy source. So he sent a telegram,

a curt order to remove the palisade, so as to allow everybody free access

to the Grotto.

* I think this view of the matter the right one, for, as all who

know the history of the Second Empire are aware, it was about

this time that the Emperor began taking great interest in the

erection of model dwellings for the working classes, and the

plantation and transformation of the sandy wastes of the

Landes.--Trans.

Then came a shout of joy and triumph. The decree annulling the previous

one was read at Lourdes to the sound of drum and trumpet. The Commissary

of Police had to come in person to superintend the removal of the

palisade. He was afterwards transferred elsewhere like the Prefect.*

People flocked to Lourdes from all parts, the new _cultus_ was organised

at the Grotto, and a cry of joy ascended: God had won the victory!

God?--alas, no! It was human wretchedness which had won the battle, human

wretchedness with its eternal need of falsehood, its hunger for the

marvellous, its everlasting hope akin to that of some condemned man who,

for salvation's sake, surrenders himself into the hands of an invisible

Omnipotence, mightier than nature, and alone capable, should it be

willing, of annulling nature's laws. And that which had also conquered

was the sovereign compassion of those pastors, the merciful Bishop and

merciful Emperor who allowed those big sick children to retain the fetich

which consoled some of them and at times even cured others.

* The Prefect was transferred to Grenoble, and curiously enough his

new jurisdiction extended over the hills and valleys of La

Salette, whither pilgrims likewise flocked to drink, pray, and

wash themselves at a miraculous fountain. Warned by experience,

however, Baron Massy (such was the Prefect's name) was careful to

avoid any further interference in religious matters.--Trans.

In the middle of November the episcopal commission came to Lourdes to

prosecute the inquiry which had been entrusted to it. It questioned

Bernadette yet once again, and studied a large number of miracles.

However, in order that the evidence might be absolute, it only registered

some thirty cases of cure. And Monseigneur Laurence declared himself

convinced. Nevertheless, he gave a final proof of his prudence, by

continuing to wait another three years before declaring in a pastoral

letter that the Blessed Virgin had in truth appeared at the Grotto of

Massabielle and that numerous miracles had subsequently taken place

there. Meantime, he had purchased the Grotto itself, with all the land

around it, from the municipality of Lourdes, on behalf of his see. Work

was then begun, modestly at first, but soon on a larger and larger scale

as money began to flow in from all parts of Christendom. The Grotto was

cleared and enclosed with an iron railing. The Gave was thrown back into

a new bed, so as to allow of spacious approaches to the shrine, with

lawns, paths, and walks. At last, too, the church which the Virgin had

asked for, the Basilica, began to rise on the summit of the rock itself.

From the very first stroke of the pick, Abbe Peyramale, the parish priest

of Lourdes, went on directing everything with even excessive zeal, for

the struggle had made him the most ardent and most sincere of all

believers in the work that was to be accomplished. With his somewhat

rough but truly fatherly nature, he had begun to adore Bernadette, making

her mission his own, and devoting himself, soul and body, to realising

the orders which he had received from Heaven through her innocent mouth.

And he exhausted himself in mighty efforts; he wished everything to be

very beautiful and very grand, worthy of the Queen of the Angels who had

deigned to visit this mountain nook. The first religious ceremony did not

take place till six years after the apparitions. A marble statue of the

Virgin was installed with great pomp on the very spot where she had

appeared. It was a magnificent day, all Lourdes was gay with flags, and

every bell rang joyously. Five years later, in 1869, the first mass was

celebrated in the crypt of the Basilica, whose spire was not yet

finished. Meantime, gifts flowed in without a pause, a river of gold was

streaming towards the Grotto, a whole town was about to spring up from

the soil. It was the new religion completing its foundations. The desire

to be healed did heal; the thirst for a miracle worked the miracle. A

Deity of pity and hope was evolved from man's sufferings, from that

longing for falsehood and relief which, in every age of humanity, has

created the marvellous palaces of the realms beyond, where an almighty

Power renders justice and distributes eternal happiness.

And thus the ailing ones of the Sainte-Honorine Ward only beheld in the

victory of the Grotto the triumph of their hopes of cure. Along the rows

of beds there was a quiver of joy when, with his heart stirred by all

those poor faces turned towards him, eager for certainty, Pierre

repeated: "God had conquered. Since that day the miracles have never

ceased, and it is the most humble who are the most frequently relieved."

Then he laid down the little book. Abbe Judaine was coming in, and the

Sacrament was about to be administered. Marie, however, again penetrated

by the fever of faith, her hands burning, leant towards Pierre. "Oh, my

friend!" said she, "I pray you hear me confess my fault and absolve me. I

have blasphemed, and have been guilty of mortal sin. If you do not

succour me, I shall be unable to receive the Blessed Sacrament, and yet I

so greatly need to be consoled and strengthened."

The young priest refused her request with a wave of the hand. He had

never been willing to act as confessor to this friend, the only woman he

had loved in the healthy, smiling days of youth. However, she insisted.

"I beg you to do so," said she; "you will help to work the miracle of my

cure."

Then he gave way and received the avowal of her fault, that impious

rebellion induced by suffering, that rebellion against the Virgin who had

remained deaf to her prayers. And afterwards he granted her absolution in

the sacramental form.

Meanwhile Abbe Judaine had already deposited the ciborium on a little

table, between two lighted tapers, which looked like woeful stars in the

semi-obscurity of the ward. Madame de Jonquiere had just decided to open

one of the windows quite wide, for the odour emanating from all the

suffering bodies and heaped-up rags had become unbearable. But no air

came in from the narrow courtyard into which the window opened; though

black with night, it seemed like a well of fire. Having offered to act as

server, Pierre repeated the "Confiteor." Then, after responding with the

"Misereatur" and the "Indulgentiam," the chaplain, who wore his alb,

raised the pyx, saying, "Behold the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins

of the world." All the women who, writhing in agony, were impatiently

awaiting the communion, like dying creatures who await life from some

fresh medicine which is a long time coming, thereupon thrice repeated, in

all humility, and with lips almost closed: "Lord, I am not worthy that

Thou shouldst enter under my roof; but only say the word and my soul

shall be healed."

Abbe Judaine had begun to make the round of those woeful beds,

accompanied by Pierre, and followed by Madame de Jonquiere and Sister

Hyacinthe, each of whom carried one of the lighted tapers. The Sister

designated those who were to communicate; and, murmuring the customary

Latin words, the priest leant forward and placed the Host somewhat at

random on the sufferer's tongue. Almost all were waiting for him with

widely opened, glittering eyes, amidst the disorder of that hastily

pitched camp. Two were found to be sound asleep, however, and had to be

awakened. Several were moaning without being conscious of it, and

continued moaning even after they had received the sacrament. At the far

end of the ward, the rattle of the poor creature who could not be seen

still resounded. And nothing could have been more mournful than the

appearance of that little _cortege_ in the semi-darkness, amidst which

the yellow flames of the tapers gleamed like stars.

But Marie's face, to which an expression of ecstasy had returned, was

like a divine apparition. Although La Grivotte was hungering for the

bread of life, they had refused her the sacrament on this occasion, as it

was to be administered to her in the morning at the Rosary; Madame Vetu,

however, had received the Host on her black tongue in a hiccough. And now

Marie was lying there under the pale light of the tapers, looking so

beautiful amidst her fair hair, with her eyes dilated and her features

transfigured by faith, that everyone admired her. She received the

sacrament with rapture; Heaven visibly descended into her poor, youthful

frame, reduced to such physical wretchedness. And, clasping Pierre's

hand, she detained him for a moment, saying: "Oh! she will heal me, my

friend, she has just promised me that she will do so. Go and take some

rest. I shall sleep so soundly now!"

As he withdrew in company with Abbe Judaine, Pierre caught sight of

little Madame Desagneaux stretched out in the arm-chair in which

weariness had overpowered her. Nothing could awaken her. It was now

half-past one in the morning; and Madame de Jonquiere and her assistant,

Sister Hyacinthe, were still going backwards and forwards, turning the

patients over, cleansing them, and dressing their sores. However, the

ward was becoming more peaceful, its heavy darkness had grown less

oppressive since Bernadette with her charm had passed through it. The

visionary's little shadow was now flitting in triumph from bed to bed,

completing its work, bringing a little of heaven to each of the

despairing ones, each of the disinherited ones of this world; and as they

all at last sank to sleep they could see the little shepherdess, so

young, so ill herself, leaning over them and kissing them with a kindly

smile.

THE THIRD DAY

I. BED AND BOARD

AT seven o'clock on the morning of that fine, bright, warm August Sunday,

M. de Guersaint was already up and dressed in one of the two little rooms

which he had fortunately been able to secure on the third floor of the

Hotel of the Apparitions. He had gone to bed at eleven o'clock the night

before and had awoke feeling quite fresh and gay. As soon as he was

dressed he entered the adjoining room which Pierre occupied; but the

young priest, who had not returned to the hotel until past one in the

morning, with his blood heated by insomnia, had been unable to doze off

until daybreak and was now still slumbering. His cassock flung across a

chair, his other garments scattered here and there, testified to his

great weariness and agitation of mind.

"Come, come, you lazybones!" cried M. de Guersaint gaily; "can't you hear

the bells ringing?"

Pierre awoke with a start, quite surprised to find himself in that little

hotel room into which the sunlight was streaming. All the joyous peals of

the bells, the music of the chiming, happy town, moreover, came in

through the window which he had left open.

"We shall never have time to get to the hospital before eight o'clock to

fetch Marie," resumed M. de Guersaint, "for we must have some breakfast,

eh?"

"Of course, make haste and order two cups of chocolate. I will get up at

once, I sha'n't be long," replied Pierre.

In spite of the fatigue which had already stiffened his joints, he sprang

out of bed as soon as he was alone, and made all haste with his toilet.