第 61 页

again, however, had Doctor Bonamy leant over Father Dargeles, who was

finishing his note, a brief but fairly complete account of the affair.

They exchanged a few words in low tones, consulting together, and the

doctor ended by saying: "You have witnessed these marvels, Monsieur

l'Abbe, so you will not refuse to sign the careful report which the

reverend Father has drawn up for publication in the 'Journal de la

Grotte.'"

He--Pierre--sign that page of error and falsehood! A revolt roused him,

and he was on the point of shouting out the truth. But he felt the weight

of his cassock on his shoulders; and, above all, Marie's divine joy

filled his heart. He was penetrated with deep happiness at seeing her

saved. Since they had ceased questioning her she had come and leant on

his arm, and remained smiling at him with eyes full of enthusiasm.

"Oh, my, friend, thank the Blessed Virgin!" she murmured in a low voice.

"She has been so good to me; I am now so well, so beautiful, so young!

And how pleased my father, my poor father, will be!"

Then Pierre signed. Everything was collapsing within him, but it was

enough that she should be saved; he would have thought it sacrilegious to

interfere with the faith of that child, the great pure faith which had

healed her.

When Marie reappeared outside the office, the applause began afresh, the

crowd clapped their hands. It now seemed that the miracle was official.

However, certain charitable persons, fearing that she might again fatigue

herself and again require her little car, which she had abandoned before

the Grotto, had brought it to the office, and when she found it there she

felt deeply moved. Ah! that box in which she had lived so many years,

that rolling coffin in which she had sometimes imagined herself buried

alive, how many tears, how much despair, how many bad days it had

witnessed! And, all at once, the idea occurred to her that it had so long

been linked with her sufferings, it ought also to share her triumph. It

was a sudden inspiration, a kind of holy folly, that made her seize the

handle.

At that moment the procession passed by, returning from the Grotto, where

Abbe Judaine had pronounced the Benediction. And thereupon Marie,

dragging the little car, placed herself behind the canopy. And, in her

slippers, her head covered with a strip of lace, her bosom heaving, her

face erect, glowing, and superb, she walked on behind the clergy,

dragging after her that car of misery, that rolling coffin, in which she

had endured so much agony. And the crowd which acclaimed her, the frantic

crowd, followed in her wake.

IV. TRIUMPH--DESPAIR

PIERRE also had followed Marie, and like her was behind the canopy,

carried along as it were by the blast of glory which made her drag her

little car along in triumph. Every moment, however, there was so much

tempestuous pushing that the young priest would assuredly have fallen if

a rough hand had not upheld him.

"Don't be alarmed," said a voice; "give me your arm, otherwise you won't

be able to remain on your feet."

Pierre turned round, and was surprised to recognise Father Massias, who

had left Father Fourcade in the pulpit in order to accompany the

procession. An extraordinary fever was sustaining him, throwing him

forward, as solid as a rock, with eyes glowing like live coals, and an

excited face covered with perspiration.

"Take care, then!" he again exclaimed; "give me your arm."

A fresh human wave had almost swept them away. And Pierre now yielded to

the support of this terrible enthusiast, whom he remembered as a

fellow-student at the seminary. What a singular meeting it was, and how

greatly he would have liked to possess that violent faith, that mad

faith, which was making Massias pant, with his throat full of sobs,

whilst he continued giving vent to the ardent entreaty "Lord Jesus, heal

our sick! Lord Jesus, heal our sick!"

There was no cessation of this cry behind the canopy, where there was

always a crier whose duty it was to accord no respite to the slow

clemency of Heaven. At times a thick voice full of anguish, and at others

a shrill and piercing voice, would arise. The Father's, which was an

imperious one, was now at last breaking through sheer emotion.

"Lord Jesus, heal our sick! Lord Jesus, heal our sick!"

The rumour of Marie's wondrous cure, of the miracle whose fame would

speedily fill all Christendom, had already spread from one to the other

end of Lourdes; and from this had come the increased vertigo of the

multitude, the attack of contagious delirium which now caused it to whirl

and rush toward the Blessed Sacrament like the resistless flux of a

rising tide. One and all yielded to the desire of beholding the Sacrament

and touching it, of being cured and becoming happy. The Divinity was

passing; and now it was not merely a question of ailing beings glowing

with a desire for life, but a longing for happiness which consumed all

present and raised them up with bleeding, open hearts and eager hands.

Berthaud, who feared the excesses of this religious adoration, had

decided to accompany his men. He commanded them, carefully watching over

the double chain of bearers beside the canopy in order that it might not

be broken.

"Close your ranks--closer--closer!" he called, "and keep your arms firmly

linked!"

These young men, chosen from among the most vigorous of the bearers, had

an extremely difficult duty to discharge. The wall which they formed,

shoulder to shoulder, with arms linked at the waist and the neck, kept on

giving way under the involuntary assaults of the throng. Nobody,

certainly, fancied that he was pushing, but there was constant eddying,

and deep waves of people rolled towards the procession from afar and

threatened to submerge it.

When the canopy had reached the middle of the Place du Rosaire, Abbe

Judaine really thought that he would be unable to go any farther.

Numerous conflicting currents had set in over the vast expanse, and were

whirling, assailing him from all sides, so that he had to halt under the

swaying canopy, which shook like a sail in a sudden squall on the open

sea. He held the Blessed Sacrament aloft with his numbed hands, each

moment fearing that a final push would throw him over; for he fully

realised that the golden monstrance, radiant like a sun, was the one

passion of all that multitude, the Divinity they demanded to kiss, in

order that they might lose themselves in it, even though they should

annihilate it in doing so. Accordingly, while standing there, the priest

anxiously turned his eyes on Berthaud.

"Let nobody pass!" called the latter to the bearers--"nobody! The orders

are precise; you hear me?"

Voices, however, were rising in supplication on all sides, wretched

beings were sobbing with arms outstretched and lips protruding, in the

wild desire that they might be allowed to approach and kneel at the

priest's feet. What divine grace it would be to be thrown upon the ground

and trampled under foot by the whole procession!* An infirm old man

displayed his withered hand in the conviction that it would be made sound

again were he only allowed to touch the monstrance. A dumb woman wildly

pushed her way through the throng with her broad shoulders, in order that

she might loosen her tongue by a kiss. Others were shouting, imploring,

and even clenching their fists in their rage with those cruel men who

denied cure to their bodily sufferings and their mental wretchedness. The

orders to keep them back were rigidly enforced, however, for the most

serious accidents were feared.

* One is here irresistibly reminded of the car of Juggernaut, and

of the Hindoo fanatics throwing themselves beneath its wheels

in the belief that they would thus obtain an entrance into

Paradise.--Trans.

"Nobody, nobody!" repeated Berthaud; "let nobody whatever pass!"

There was a woman there, however, who touched every heart with

compassion. Clad in wretched garments, bareheaded, her face wet with

tears, she was holding in her arms a little boy of ten years or so, whose

limp, paralysed legs hung down inertly. The lad's weight was too great

for one so weak as herself, still she did not seem to feel it. She had

brought the boy there, and was now entreating the bearers with an

invincible obstinacy which neither words nor hustling could conquer.

At last, as Abbe Judaine, who felt deeply moved, beckoned to her to

approach, two of the bearers, in deference to his compassion, drew apart,

despite all the danger of opening a breach, and the woman then rushed

forward with her burden, and fell in a heap before the priest. For a

moment he rested the foot of the monstrance on the child's head, and the

mother herself pressed her eager, longing lips to it; and, as they

started off again, she wished to remain behind the canopy, and followed

the procession, with streaming hair and panting breast, staggering the

while under the heavy burden, which was fast exhausting her strength.

They managed, with great difficulty, to cross the remainder of the Place

du Rosaire, and then the ascent began, the glorious ascent by way of the

monumental incline; whilst upon high, on the fringe of heaven, the

Basilica reared its slim spire, whence pealing bells were winging their

flight, sounding the triumphs of Our Lady of Lourdes. And now it was

towards an apotheosis that the canopy slowly climbed, towards the lofty

portal of the high-perched sanctuary which stood open, face to face with

the Infinite, high above the huge multitude whose waves continued soaring

across the valley's squares and avenues. Preceding the processional

cross, the magnificent beadle, all blue and silver, was already rearing

the level of the Rosary cupola, the spacious esplanade formed by the roof

of the lower church, across which the pilgrimage deputations began to

wind, with their bright-coloured silk and velvet banners waving in the

ruddy glow of the sunset. Then came the clergy, the priests in snowy

surplices, and the priests in golden chasubles, likewise shining out like

a procession of stars. And the censers swung, and the canopy continued

climbing, without anything of its bearers being seen, so that it seemed

as though a mysterious power, some troop of invisible angels, were

carrying it off in this glorious ascension towards the open portal of

heaven.

A sound of chanting had burst forth; the voices in the procession no

longer called for the healing of the sick, now that the _cortege_ had

extricated itself from amidst the crowd. The miracle had been worked, and

they were celebrating it with the full power of their lungs, amidst the

pealing of the bells and the quivering gaiety of the atmosphere.

"_Magnificat anima mea Dominum_"--they began. "My soul doth magnify the

Lord."

'Twas the song of gratitude, already chanted at the Grotto, and again

springing from every heart: "_Et exsultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari

meo_." "And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour."

Meantime it was with increasing, overflowing joy that Marie took part in

that radiant ascent, by the colossal gradient way, towards the glowing

Basilica. It seemed to her, as she continued climbing, that she was

growing stronger and stronger, that her legs, so long lifeless, became

firmer at each step. The little car which she victoriously dragged behind

her was like the earthly tenement of her illness, the _inferno_ whence

the Blessed Virgin had extricated her, and although its handle was making

her hands sore, she nevertheless wished to pull it up yonder with her, in

order that she might cast it at last at the feet of the Almighty. No

obstacle could stay her course, she laughed through the big tears which

were falling on her cheeks, her bosom was swelling, her demeanour

becoming warlike. One of her slippers had become unfastened, and the

strip of lace had fallen from her head to her shoulders. Nevertheless,

with her lovely fair hair crowning her like a helmet and her face beaming

brightly, she still marched on and on with such an awakening of will and

strength that, behind her, you could hear her car leap and rattle over

the rough slope of the flagstones, as though it had been a mere toy.

Near Marie was Pierre, still leaning on the arm of Father Massias, who

had not relinquished his hold. Lost amidst the far-spreading emotion, the

young priest was unable to reflect. Moreover his companion's sonorous

voice quite deafened him.

"_Deposuit potentes de sede et exaltavit humiles_." "He hath put down the

mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble."

On Pierre's other side, the right, Berthaud, who no longer had any cause

for anxiety, was now also following the canopy. He had given his bearers

orders to break their chain, and was gazing with an expression of delight

on the human sea through which the procession had lately passed. The

higher they the incline, the more did the Place du Rosaire and the

avenues and paths of the gardens expand below them, black with the

swarming multitude. It was a bird's-eye view of a whole nation, an

ant-hill which ever increased in size, spreading farther and farther

away. "Look!" Berthaud at last exclaimed to Pierre. "How vast and how

beautiful it is! Ah! well, the year won't have been a bad one after all."

Looking upon Lourdes as a centre of propaganda, where his political

rancour found satisfaction, he always rejoiced when there was a numerous

pilgrimage, as in his mind it was bound to prove unpleasant to the

Government. Ah! thought he, if they had only been able to bring the

working classes of the towns thither, and create a Catholic democracy.

"Last year we scarcely reached the figure of two hundred thousand

pilgrims," he continued, "but we shall exceed it this year, I hope." And

then, with the gay air of the jolly fellow that he was, despite his

sectarian passions, he added: "Well, 'pon my word, I was really pleased