第 40 页

again, Madame Desagneaux still between the architect and the priest,

whilst Raymonde and Gerard brought up the rear. The crowd in the burning

sunlight was increasing; the Place du Rosaire was now overflowing with an

idle sauntering mob resembling some concourse of sight-seers on a day of

public rejoicing.

The bottling and packing shops were situated under one of the arches on

the left-hand side of the Place. They formed a suite of three apartments

of very simple aspect. In the first one the bottles were filled in the

most ordinary of fashions. A little green-painted zinc barrel, not unlike

a watering-cask, was dragged by a man from the Grotto, and the

light-coloured bottles were then simply filled at its tap, one by one;

the blouse-clad workman entrusted with the duty exercising no particular

watchfulness to prevent the water from overflowing. In fact there was

quite a puddle of it upon the ground. There were no labels on the

bottles; the little leaden capsules placed over the corks alone bore an

inscription, and they were coated with a kind of ceruse, doubtless to

ensure preservation. Then came two other rooms which formed regular

packing shops, with carpenters' benches, tools, and heaps of shavings.

The boxes, most frequently made for one bottle or for two, were put

together with great care, and the bottles were deposited inside them, on

beds of fine wood parings. The scene reminded one in some degree of the

packing halls for flowers at Nice and for preserved fruits at Grasse.

Gerard went on giving explanations with a quiet, satisfied air. "The

water," he said, "really comes from the Grotto, as you can yourselves

see, so that all the foolish jokes which one hears really have no basis.

And everything is perfectly simple, natural, and goes on in the broad

daylight. I would also point out to you that the Fathers don't sell the

water as they are accused of doing. For instance, a bottle of water here

costs twenty centimes,* which is only the price of the bottle itself. If

you wish to have it sent to anybody you naturally have to pay for the

packing and the carriage, and then it costs you one franc and seventy

centimes.** However, you are perfectly at liberty to go to the source and

fill the flasks and cans and other receptacles that you may choose to

bring with you."

* Four cents, U.S.A.

** About 32 cents, U.S.A.

Pierre reflected that the profits of the reverend Fathers in this respect

could not be very large ones, for their gains were limited to what they

made by manufacturing the boxes and supplying the bottles, which latter,

purchased by the thousand, certainly did not cost them so much as twenty

centimes apiece. However, Raymonde and Madame Desagneaux, as well as M.

de Guersaint, who had such a lively imagination, experienced deep

disappointment at sight of the little green barrel, the capsules, sticky

with ceruse, and the piles of shavings lying around the benches. They had

doubtless imagined all sorts of ceremonies, the observance of certain

rites in bottling the miraculous water, priests in vestments pronouncing

blessings, and choir-boys singing hymns of praise in pure crystalline

voices. For his part, Pierre, in presence of all this vulgar bottling and

packing, ended by thinking of the active power of faith. When one of

those bottles reaches some far-away sick-room, and is unpacked there, and

the sufferer falls upon his knees, and so excites himself by

contemplating and drinking the pure water that he actually brings about

the cure of his ailment, there must truly be a most extraordinary plunge

into all-powerful illusion.

"Ah!" exclaimed Gerard as they came out, "would you like to see the

storehouse where the tapers are kept, before going to the offices? It is

only a couple of steps away."

And then, not even waiting for their answer, he led them to the opposite

side of the Place du Rosaire. His one desire was to amuse Raymonde, but,

in point of fact, the aspect of the place where the tapers were stored

was even less entertaining than that of the packing-rooms which they had

just left. This storehouse, a kind of deep vault under one of the

right-hand arches of the Place, was divided by timber into a number of

spacious compartments, in which lay an extraordinary collection of

tapers, classified according to size. The overplus of all the tapers

offered to the Grotto was deposited here; and such was the number of

these superfluous candles that the little conveyances stationed near the

Grotto railing, ready to receive the pilgrims' offerings, had to be

brought to the storehouse several times a day in order to be emptied

there, after which they were returned to the Grotto, and were promptly

filled again. In theory, each taper that was offered ought to have been

burnt at the feet of the Virgin's statue; but so great was the number of

these offerings, that, although a couple of hundred tapers of all sizes

were kept burning by day and night, it was impossible to exhaust the

supply, which went on increasing and increasing. There was a rumour that

the Fathers could not even find room to store all this wax, but had to

sell it over and over again; and, indeed, certain friends of the Grotto

confessed, with a touch of pride, that the profit on the tapers alone

would have sufficed to defray all the expenses of the business.

The quantity of these votive candles quite stupefied Raymonde and Madame

Desagneaux. How many, how many there were! The smaller ones, costing from

fifty centimes to a franc apiece, were piled up in fabulous numbers. M.

de Guersaint, desirous of getting at the exact figures, quite lost

himself in the puzzling calculation he attempted. As for Pierre, it was

in silence that he gazed upon this mass of wax, destined to be burnt in

open daylight to the glory of God; and although he was by no means a

rigid utilitarian, and could well understand that some apparent acts of

extravagance yield an illusive enjoyment and satisfaction which provide

humanity with as much sustenance as bread, he could not, on the other

hand, refrain from reflecting on the many benefits which might have been

conferred on the poor and the ailing with the money represented by all

that wax, which would fly away in smoke.

"But come, what about that bottle which I am to send off?" abruptly asked

Madame Desagneaux.

"We will go to the office," replied Gerard. "In five minutes everything

will be settled."

They had to cross the Place du Rosaire once more and ascend the stone

stairway leading to the Basilica. The office was up above, on the left

hand, at the corner of the path leading to the Calvary. The building was

a paltry one, a hut of lath and plaster which the wind and the rain had

reduced to a state of ruin. On a board outside was the inscription:

"Apply here with reference to Masses, Offerings, and Brotherhoods.

Forwarding office for Lourdes water. Subscriptions to the 'Annals of O.

L. of Lourdes.'" How many millions of people must have already passed

through this wretched shanty, which seemed to date from the innocent days

when the foundations of the adjacent Basilica had scarcely been laid!

The whole party went in, eager to see what might be inside. But they

simply found a wicket at which Madame Desagneaux had to stop in order to

give her friend's name and address; and when she had paid one franc and

seventy centimes, a small printed receipt was handed her, such as you

receive on registering luggage at a railway station.

As soon as they were outside again Gerard pointed to a large building

standing two or three hundred yards away, and resumed: "There, that is

where the Fathers reside."

"But we see nothing of them," remarked Pierre.

This observation so astonished the young man that he remained for a

moment without replying. "It's true," he at last said, "we do not see

them, but then they give up the custody of everything--the Grotto and all

the rest--to the Fathers of the Assumption during the national

pilgrimage."

Pierre looked at the building which had been pointed out to him, and

noticed that it was a massive stone pile resembling a fortress. The

windows were closed, and the whole edifice looked lifeless. Yet

everything at Lourdes came from it, and to it also everything returned.

It seemed, in fact, to the young priest that he could hear the silent,

formidable rake-stroke which extended over the entire valley, which

caught hold of all who had come to the spot, and placed both the gold and

the blood of the throng in the clutches of those reverend Fathers!

However, Gerard just then resumed in a low voice "But come, they do show

themselves, for here is the reverend superior, Father Capdebarthe

himself."

An ecclesiastic was indeed just passing, a man with the appearance of a

peasant, a knotty frame, and a large head which looked as though carved

with a billhook. His opaque eyes were quite expressionless, and his face,

with its worn features, had retained a loamy tint, a gloomy, russet

reflection of the earth. Monseigneur Laurence had really made a politic

selection in confiding the organisation and management of the Grotto to

those Garaison missionaries, who were so tenacious and covetous, for the

most part sons of mountain peasants and passionately attached to the

soil.

However, the little party now slowly retraced its steps by way of the

Plateau de la Merlasse, the broad boulevard which skirts the inclined way

on the left hand and leads to the Avenue de la Grotte. It was already

past one o'clock, but people were still eating their _dejeuners_ from one

to the other end of the overflowing town. Many of the fifty thousand

pilgrims and sight-seers collected within it had not yet been able to sit

down and eat; and Pierre, who had left the _table d'hote_ still crowded,

who had just seen the hospitallers squeezing together so gaily at the

"ordinary," found more and more tables at each step he took. On all sides

people were eating, eating without a pause. Hereabouts, however, in the

open air, on either side of the broad road, the hungry ones were humble

folk who had rushed upon the tables set up on either footway--tables

formed of a couple of long boards, flanked by two forms, and shaded from

the sun by narrow linen awnings. Broth and coffee were sold at these

places at a penny a cup. The little loaves heaped up in high baskets also

cost a penny apiece. Hanging from the poles which upheld the awnings were

sausages, chitterlings, and hams. Some of the open-air _restaurateurs_

were frying potatoes, and others were concocting more or less savoury

messes of inferior meat and onions. A pungent smoke, a violent odour,

arose into the sunlight, mingling with the dust which was raised by the

continuous tramp of the promenaders. Rows of people, moreover, were

waiting at each cantine, so that each time a party rose from table fresh

customers took possession of the benches ranged beside the

oilcloth-covered planks, which were so narrow that there was scarcely

room for two bowls of soup to be placed side by side. And one and all

made haste, and devoured with the ravenous hunger born of their fatigue,

that insatiable appetite which so often follows upon great moral shocks.

In fact, when the mind had exhausted itself in prayer, when everything

physical had been forgotten amidst the mental flight into the legendary

heavens, the human animal suddenly appeared, again asserted itself, and

began to gorge. Moreover, under that dazzling Sunday sky, the scene was

like that of a fair-field with all the gluttony of a merrymaking

community, a display of the delight which they felt in living, despite

the multiplicity of their abominable ailments and the dearth of the

miracles they hoped for.

"They eat, they amuse themselves; what else can one expect?" remarked

Gerard, guessing the thoughts of his amiable companions.

"Ah! poor people!" murmured Pierre, "they have a perfect right to do so."

He was greatly touched to see human nature reassert itself in this

fashion. However, when they had got to the lower part of the boulevard

near the Grotto, his feelings were hurt at sight of the desperate

eagerness displayed by the female vendors of tapers and bouquets, who

with the rough fierceness of conquerors assailed the passers-by in bands.

They were mostly young women, with bare heads, or with kerchiefs tied

over their hair, and they displayed extraordinary effrontery. Even the

old ones were scarcely more discreet. With parcels of tapers under their

arms, they brandished the one which they offered for sale and even thrust

it into the hand of the promenader. "Monsieur," "madame," they called,

"buy a taper, buy a taper, it will bring you luck!" One gentleman, who

was surrounded and shaken by three of the youngest of these harpies,

almost lost the skirts of his frock-coat in attempting to escape their

clutches. Then the scene began afresh with the bouquets--large round

bouquets they were, carelessly fastened together and looking like

cabbages. "A bouquet, madame!" was the cry. "A bouquet for the Blessed

Virgin!" If the lady escaped, she heard muttered insults behind her.

Trafficking, impudent trafficking, pursued the pilgrims to the very

outskirts of the Grotto. Trade was not merely triumphantly installed in

every one of the shops, standing close together and transforming each

street into a bazaar, but it overran the footways and barred the road

with hand-carts full of chaplets, medals, statuettes, and religious

prints. On all sides people were buying almost to the same extent as they

ate, in order that they might take away with them some souvenir of this

holy Kermesse. And the bright gay note of this commercial eagerness, this

scramble of hawkers, was supplied by the urchins who rushed about through

the crowd, crying the "Journal de la Grotte." Their sharp, shrill voices

pierced the ear: "The 'Journal de la Grotte,' this morning's number, two