第 43 页

fragrant with the perfumes from the mountains. Many pilgrims were

hurrying along the street, all bending their steps towards the Grotto,

but they formed a discreet, pensive crowd, with naught of the fair-field,

lounging character of the daytime throng. And, as soon as the Plateau de

la Merlasse was reached, the darkness spread out, you entered into a

great lake of shadows formed by the stretching lawns and lofty trees, and

saw nothing rising on high save the black, tapering spire of the

Basilica.

Pierre grew rather anxious on finding that the crowd became more and more

compact as he advanced. Already on reaching the Place du Rosaire it was

difficult to take another forward step. "There is no hope of getting to

the Grotto yet awhile," he said. "The best course would be to turn into

one of the pathways behind the pilgrims' shelter-house and wait there."

Marie, however, greatly desired to see the procession start. "Oh! pray

try to go as far as the Gave," said she. "I shall then see everything

from a distance; I don't want to go near."

M. de Guersaint, who was equally inquisitive, seconded this proposal.

"Don't be uneasy," he said to Pierre. "I am here behind, and will take

care to let nobody jostle her."

Pierre had to begin pulling the little vehicle again. It took him a

quarter of an hour to pass under one of the arches of the inclined way on

the left hand, so great was the crush of pilgrims at that point. Then,

taking a somewhat oblique course, he ended by reaching the quay beside

the Gave, where there were only some spectators standing on the sidewalk,

so that he was able to advance another fifty yards. At last he halted,

and backed the little car against the quay parapet, in full view of the

Grotto. "Will you be all right here?" he asked.

"Oh yes, thank you. Only you must sit me up; I shall then be able to see

much better."

M. de Guersaint raised her into a sitting posture, and then for his part

climbed upon the stonework running from one to the other end of the quay.

A mob of inquisitive people had already scaled it in part, like

sight-seers waiting for a display of fireworks; and they were all raising

themselves on tiptoe, and craning their necks to get a better view.

Pierre himself at last grew interested, although there was, so far,

little to see.

Some thirty thousand people were assembled, and, every moment there were

fresh arrivals. All carried candles, the lower parts of which were

wrapped in white paper, on which a picture of Our Lady of Lourdes was

printed in blue ink. However, these candles were not yet lighted, and the

only illumination that you perceived above the billowy sea of heads was

the bright, forge-like glow of the taper-lighted Grotto. A great buzzing

arose, whiffs of human breath blew hither and thither, and these alone

enabled you to realise that thousands of serried, stifling creatures were

gathered together in the black depths, like a living sea that was ever

eddying and spreading. There were even people hidden away under the trees

beyond the Grotto, in distant recesses of the darkness of which one had

no suspicion.

At last a few tapers began to shine forth here and there, like sudden

sparks of light spangling the obscurity at random. Their number rapidly

increased, eyots of stars were formed, whilst at other points there were

meteoric trails, milky ways, so to say, flowing midst the constellations.

The thirty thousand tapers were being lighted one by one, their beams

gradually increasing in number till they obscured the bright glow of the

Grotto and spread, from one to the other end of the promenade, the small

yellow flames of a gigantic brasier.

"Oh! how beautiful it is, Pierre!" murmured Marie; "it is like the

resurrection of the humble, the bright awakening of the souls of the

poor."

"It is superb, superb!" repeated M. de Guersaint, with impassioned

artistic satisfaction. "Do you see those two trails of light yonder,

which intersect one another and form a cross?"

Pierre's feelings, however, had been touched by what Marie had just said.

He was reflecting upon her words. There was truth in them. Taken singly,

those slender flames, those mere specks of light, were modest and

unobtrusive, like the lowly; it was only their great number that supplied

the effulgence, the sun-like resplendency. Fresh ones were continually

appearing, farther and farther away, like waifs and strays. "Ah!"

murmured the young priest, "do you see that one which has just begun to

flicker, all by itself, far away--do you see it, Marie? Do you see how it

floats and slowly approaches until it is merged in the great lake of

light?"

In the vicinity of the Grotto one could see now as clearly as in the

daytime. The trees, illumined from below, were intensely green, like the

painted trees in stage scenery. Above the moving brasier were some

motionless banners, whose embroidered saints and silken cords showed with

vivid distinctness. And the great reflection ascended to the rock, even

to the Basilica, whose spire now shone out, quite white, against the

black sky; whilst the hillsides across the Gave were likewise brightened,

and displayed the pale fronts of their convents amidst their sombre

foliage.

There came yet another moment of uncertainty. The flaming lake, in which

each burning wick was like a little wave, rolled its starry sparkling as

though it were about to burst from its bed and flow away in a river. Then

the banners began to oscillate, and soon a regular motion set in.

"Oh! so they won't pass this way!" exclaimed M. de Guersaint in a tone of

disappointment.

Pierre, who had informed himself on the matter, thereupon explained that

the procession would first of all ascend the serpentine road--constructed

at great cost up the hillside--and that it would afterwards pass behind

the Basilica, descend by the inclined way on the right hand, and then

spread out through the gardens.

"Look!" said he; "you can see the foremost tapers ascending amidst the

greenery."

Then came an enchanting spectacle. Little flickering lights detached

themselves from the great bed of fire, and began gently rising, without

it being possible for one to tell at that distance what connected them

with the earth. They moved upward, looking in the darkness like golden

particles of the sun. And soon they formed an oblique streak, a streak

which suddenly twisted, then extended again until it curved once more. At

last the whole hillside was streaked by a flaming zigzag, resembling

those lightning flashes which you see falling from black skies in cheap

engravings. But, unlike the lightning, the luminous trail did not fade

away; the little lights still went onward in the same slow, gentle,

gliding manner. Only for a moment, at rare intervals, was there a sudden

eclipse; the procession, no doubt, was then passing behind some clump of

trees. But, farther on, the tapers beamed forth afresh, rising heavenward

by an intricate path, which incessantly diverged and then started upward

again. At last, however, the time came when the lights no longer

ascended, for they had reached the summit of the hill and had begun to

disappear at the last turn of the road.

Exclamations were rising from the crowd. "They are passing behind the

Basilica," said one. "Oh! it will take them twenty minutes before they

begin coming down on the other side," remarked another. "Yes, madame,"

said a third, "there are thirty thousand of them, and an hour will go by

before the last of them leaves the Grotto."

Ever since the start a sound of chanting had risen above the low rumbling

of the crowd. The hymn of Bernadette was being sung, those sixty couplets

between which the Angelic Salutation, with its all-besetting rhythm, was

ever returning as a refrain. When the sixty couplets were finished they

were sung again; and that lullaby of "Ave, ave, ave Maria!" came back

incessantly, stupefying the mind, and gradually transporting those

thousands of beings into a kind of wide-awake dream, with a vision of

Paradise before their eyes. And, indeed, at night-time when they were

asleep, their beds would rock to the eternal tune, which they still and

ever continued singing.

"Are we going to stop here?" asked M. de Guersaint, who speedily got

tired of remaining in any one spot. "We see nothing but the same thing

over and over again."

Marie, who had informed herself by listening to what was said in the

crowd, thereupon exclaimed: "You were quite right, Pierre; it would be

much better to go back yonder under the trees. I so much wish to see

everything."

"Yes, certainly; we will seek a spot whence you may see it all," replied

the priest. "The only difficulty lies in getting away from here."

Indeed, they were now inclosed within the mob of sight-seers; and, in

order to secure a passage, Pierre with stubborn perseverance had to keep

on begging a little room for a suffering girl.

M. de Guersaint meantime brought up the rear, screening the little

conveyance so that it might not be upset by the jostling; whilst Marie

turned her head, still endeavouring to see the sheet of flame spread out

before the Grotto, that lake of little sparkling waves which never seemed

to diminish, although the procession continued to flow from it without a

pause.

At last they all three found themselves out of the crowd, near one of the

arches, on a deserted spot where they were able to breathe for a moment.

They now heard nothing but the distant canticle with its besetting

refrain, and they only saw the reflection of the tapers, hovering like a

luminous cloud in the neighbourhood of the Basilica.

"The best plan would be to climb to the Calvary," said M. de Guersaint.

"The servant at the hotel told me so this morning. From up there, it

seems, the scene is fairy-like."

But they could not think of making the ascent. Pierre at once enumerated

the difficulties. "How could we hoist ourselves to such a height with

Marie's conveyance?" he asked. "Besides, we should have to come down

again, and that would be dangerous work in the darkness amidst all the

scrambling."

Marie herself preferred to remain under the trees in the gardens, where

it was very mild. So they started off, and reached the esplanade in front

of the great crowned statue of the Virgin. It was illuminated by means of

blue and yellow globes which encompassed it with a gaudy splendour; and

despite all his piety M. de Guersaint could not help finding these

decorations in execrable taste.

"There!" exclaimed Marie, "a good place would be near those shrubs

yonder."

She was pointing to a shrubbery near the pilgrims' shelter-house; and the

spot was indeed an excellent one for their purpose, as it enabled them to

see the procession come down by the gradient way on the left, and watch

it as it passed between the lawns to the new bridge and back again.

Moreover, a delightful freshness prevailed there by reason of the

vicinity of the Gave. There was nobody there as yet, and one could enjoy

deep peacefulness in the dense shade which fell from the big plane-trees

bordering the path.

In his impatience to see the first tapers reappear as soon as they should

have passed behind the Basilica, M. de Guersaint had risen on tiptoe. "I

see nothing as yet," he muttered, "so whatever the regulations may be I

shall sit on the grass for a moment. I've no strength left in my legs."

Then, growing anxious about his daughter, he inquired: "Shall I cover you

up? It is very cool here."

"Oh, no! I'm not cold, father!" answered Marie; "I feel so happy. It is

long since I breathed such sweet air. There must be some roses

about--can't you smell that delicious perfume?" And turning to Pierre she

asked: "Where are the roses, my friend? Can you see them?"

When M. de Guersaint had seated himself on the grass near the little

vehicle, it occurred to Pierre to see if there was not some bed of roses

near at hand. But is was in vain that he explored the dark lawns; he

could only distinguish sundry clumps of evergreens. And, as he passed in

front of the pilgrims' shelter-house on his way back, curiosity prompted

him to enter it.

This building formed a long and lofty hall, lighted by large windows upon

two sides. With bare walls and a stone pavement, it contained no other

furniture than a number of benches, which stood here and there in

haphazard fashion. There was neither table nor shelf, so that the

homeless pilgrims who had sought refuge there had piled up their baskets,

parcels, and valises in the window embrasures. Moreover, the place was

apparently empty; the poor folk that it sheltered had no doubt joined the

procession. Nevertheless, although the door stood wide open, an almost

unbearable smell reigned inside. The very walls seemed impregnated with

an odour of poverty, and in spite of the bright sunshine which had

prevailed during the day, the flagstones were quite damp, soiled and

soaked with expectorations, spilt wine, and grease. This mess had been

made by the poorer pilgrims, who with their dirty skins and wretched rags

lived in the hall, eating and sleeping in heaps on the benches. Pierre

speedily came to the conclusion that the pleasant smell of roses must

emanate from some other spot; still, he was making the round of the hall,

which was lighted by four smoky lanterns, and which he believed to be

altogether unoccupied, when, against the left-hand wall, he was surprised

to espy the vague figure of a woman in black, with what seemed to be a

white parcel lying on her lap. She was all alone in that solitude, and

did not stir; however, her eyes were wide open.

He drew near and recognised Madame Vincent. She addressed him in a deep,

broken voice: "Rose has suffered so dreadfully to-day! Since daybreak she