第 74 页

their productions, just as M. de Guersaint said. But nowadays architects

built churches with the same practical tranquillity that they erected

five-storey houses, just as the religious articles, the chaplets, the

medals, and the statuettes were manufactured by the gross in the populous

quarters of Paris by merrymaking workmen who did not even follow their

religion. And thus what slopwork, what toymakers', ironmongers' stuff it

all was! of a prettiness fit to make you cry, a silly sentimentality fit

to make your heart turn with disgust! Lourdes was inundated, devastated,

disfigured by it all to such a point as to quite upset persons with any

delicacy of taste who happened to stray through its streets. It clashed

jarringly with the attempted resuscitation of the legends, ceremonies,

and processions of dead ages; and all at once it occurred to Pierre that

the social and historical condemnation of Lourdes lay in this, that faith

is forever dead among a people when it no longer introduces it into the

churches it builds or the chaplets it manufactures.

However, Marie had continued examining the shelves with the impatience of

a child, hesitating, and finding nothing which seemed to her worthy of

the great dream of ecstasy which she would ever keep within her.

"Father," she said, "it is getting late; you must take me back to the

hospital; and to make up my mind, look, I will give Blanche this medal

with the silver chain. After all it's the most simple and prettiest thing

here. She will wear it; it will make her a little piece of jewellery. As

for myself, I will take this statuette of Our Lady of Lourdes, this small

one, which is rather prettily painted. I shall place it in my room and

surround it with fresh flowers. It will be very nice, will it not?"

M. de Guersaint approved of her idea, and then busied himself with his

own choice. "O dear! oh dear! how embarrassed I am!" said he.

He was examining some ivory-handled penholders capped with pea-like

balls, in which were microscopic photographs, and while bringing one of

the little holes to his eye to look in it he raised an exclamation of

mingled surprise and pleasure. "Hallo! here's the Cirque de Gavarnie! Ah!

it's prodigious; everything is there; how can that colossal panorama have

been got into so small a space? Come, I'll take this penholder; it's

curious, and will remind me of my excursion."

Pierre had simply chosen a portrait of Bernadette, the large photograph

which represents her on her knees in a black gown, with a handkerchief

tied over her hair, and which is said to be the only one in existence

taken from life. He hastened to pay, and they were all three on the point

of leaving when Madame Majeste entered, protested, and positively

insisted on making Marie a little present, saying that it would bring her

establishment good-fortune. "I beg of you, mademoiselle, take a

scapulary," said she. "Look among those there. The Blessed Virgin who

chose you will repay me in good luck."

She raised her voice and made so much fuss that the purchasers filling

the shop were interested, and began gazing at the girl with envious eyes.

It was popularity bursting out again around her, a popularity which ended

even by reaching the street when the landlady went to the threshold of

the shop, making signs to the tradespeople opposite and putting all the

neighbourhood in a flutter.

"Let us go," repeated Marie, feeling more and more uncomfortable.

But her father, on noticing a priest come in, detained her. "Ah! Monsieur

l'Abbe des Hermoises!"

It was in fact the handsome Abbe, clad in a cassock of fine cloth

emitting a pleasant odour, and with an expression of soft gaiety on his

fresh-coloured face. He had not noticed his companion of the previous

day, but had gone straight to Apolline and taken her on one side. And

Pierre overheard him saying in a subdued tone: "Why didn't you bring me

my three-dozen chaplets this morning?"

Apolline again began laughing with the cooing notes of a dove, and looked

at him sideways, roguishly, without answering.

"They are for my little penitents at Toulouse. I wanted to place them at

the bottom of my trunk; and you offered to help me pack my linen."

She continued laughing, and her pretty eyes sparkled.

"However, I shall not leave before to-morrow. Bring them me to-night,

will you not? When you are at liberty. It's at the end of the street, at

Duchene's."

Thereupon, with a slight movement of her red lips, and in a somewhat

bantering way, which left him in doubt as to whether she would keep her

promise, she replied: "Certainly, Monsieur l'Abbe, I will go."

They were now interrupted by M. de Guersaint, who came forward to shake

the priest's hand. And the two men at once began talking again of the

Cirque de Gavarnie: they had had a delightful trip, a most pleasant time,

which they would never forget. Then they enjoyed a laugh at the expense

of their two companions, ecclesiastics of slender means, good-natured

fellows, who had much amused them. And the architect ended by reminding

his new friend that he had kindly promised to induce a personage at

Toulouse, who was ten times a millionaire, to interest himself in his

studies on navigable balloons. "A first advance of a hundred thousand

francs would be sufficient," he said.

"You can rely on me," answered Abbe des Hermoises. "You will not have

prayed to the Blessed Virgin in vain."

However, Pierre, who had kept Bernadette's portrait in his hand, had just

then been struck by the extraordinary likeness between Apolline and the

visionary. It was the same rather massive face, the same full thick

mouth, and the same magnificent eyes; and he recollected that Madame

Majeste had already pointed out to him this striking resemblance, which

was all the more peculiar as Apolline had passed through a similar

poverty-stricken childhood at Bartres before her aunt had taken her with

her to assist in keeping the shop. Bernadette! Apolline! What a strange

association, what an unexpected reincarnation at thirty years' distance!

And, all at once, with this Apolline, who was so flightily merry and

careless, and in regard to whom there were so many odd rumours, new

Lourdes rose before his eyes: the coachmen, the candle-girls, the persons

who let rooms and waylaid tenants at the railway station, the hundreds of

furnished houses with discreet little lodgings, the crowd of free

priests, the lady hospitallers, and the simple passers-by, who came there

to satisfy their appetites. Then, too, there was the trading mania

excited by the shower of millions, the entire town given up to lucre, the

shops transforming the streets into bazaars which devoured one another,

the hotels living gluttonously on the pilgrims, even to the Blue Sisters

who kept a _table d'hote_, and the Fathers of the Grotto who coined money

with their God! What a sad and frightful course of events, the vision of

pure Bernadette inflaming multitudes, making them rush to the illusion of

happiness, bringing a river of gold to the town, and from that moment

rotting everything. The breath of superstition had sufficed to make

humanity flock thither, to attract abundance of money, and to corrupt

this honest corner of the earth forever. Where the candid lily had

formerly bloomed there now grew the carnal rose, in the new loam of

cupidity and enjoyment. Bethlehem had become Sodom since an innocent

child had seen the Virgin.

"Eh? What did I tell you?" exclaimed Madame Majeste, perceiving that

Pierre was comparing her niece with the portrait. "Apolline is Bernadette

all over!"

The young girl approached with her amiable smile, flattered at first by

the comparison.

"Let's see, let's see!" said Abbe des Hermoises, with an air of lively

interest.

He took the photograph in his turn, compared it with the girl, and then

exclaimed in amazement: "It's wonderful; the same features. I had not

noticed it before. Really I'm delighted--"

"Still I fancy she had a larger nose," Apolline ended by remarking.

The Abbe then raised an exclamation of irresistible admiration: "Oh! you

are prettier, much prettier, that's evident. But that does not matter,

anyone would take you for two sisters."

Pierre could not refrain from laughing, he thought the remark so

peculiar. Ah! poor Bernadette was absolutely dead, and she had no sister.

She could not have been born again; it would have been impossible for her

to exist in the region of crowded life and passion which she had made.

At length Marie went off leaning on her father's arm, and it was agreed

that they would both call and fetch her at the hospital to go to the

station together. More than fifty people were awaiting her in the street

in a state of ecstasy. They bowed to her and followed her; and one woman

even made her infirm child, whom she was bringing back from the Grotto,

touch her gown.

III. DEPARTURE

At half-past two o'clock the white train, which was to leave Lourdes at

three-forty, was already in the station, alongside the second platform.

For three days it had been waiting on a siding, in the same state as when

it had come from Paris, and since it had been run into the station again

white flags had been waving from the foremost and hindmost of its

carriages, by way of preventing any mistakes on the part of the pilgrims,

whose entraining was usually a very long and troublesome affair.

Moreover, all the fourteen trains of the pilgrimage were timed to leave

that day. The green train had started off at ten o'clock, followed by the

pink and the yellow trains, and the others--the orange, the grey, and the

blue--would start in turn after the white train had taken its departure.

It was, indeed, another terrible day's work for the station staff, amidst

a tumult and a scramble which altogether distracted them.

However, the departure of the white train was always the event of the day

which provoked most interest and emotion, for it took away with it all

the more afflicted patients, amongst whom were naturally those loved by

the Virgin and chosen by her for the miraculous cures. Accordingly, a

large, serried crowd was collected under the roofing of the spacious

platform, a hundred yards in length, where all the benches were already

covered with waiting pilgrims and their parcels. In the refreshment-room,

at one end of the buildings, men were drinking beer and women ordering

lemonade at the little tables which had been taken by assault, whilst at

the other end bearers stood on guard at the goods entrance so as to keep

the way clear for the speedy passage of the patients, who would soon be

arriving. And all along the broad platform there was incessant coming and

going, poor people rushing hither and thither in bewilderment, priests

trotting along to render assistance, gentlemen in frock-coats looking on

with quiet inquisitiveness: indeed, all the jumbling and jostling of the

most mixed, most variegated throng ever elbowed in a railway station.

At three o'clock, however, the sick had not yet reached the station, and

Baron Suire was in despair, his anxiety arising from the dearth of

horses, for a number of unexpected tourists had arrived at Lourdes that

morning and hired conveyances for Bareges, Cauterets, and Gavarnie. At

last, however, the Baron espied Berthaud and Gerard arriving in all

haste, after scouring the town; and when he had rushed up to them they

soon pacified him by announcing that things were going splendidly. They

had been able to procure the needful animals, and the removal of the

patients from the hospital was now being carried out under the most

favorable circumstances. Squads of bearers with their stretchers and

little carts were already in the station yard, watching for the arrival

of the vans, breaks, and other vehicles which had been recruited. A

reserve supply of mattresses and cushions was, moreover, heaped up beside

a lamp-post. Nevertheless, just as the first patients arrived, Baron

Suire again lost his head, whilst Berthaud and Gerard hastened to the

platform from which the train would start. There they began to

superintend matters, and gave orders amidst an increasing scramble.

Father Fourcade was on this platform, walking up and down alongside the

train, on Father Massias's arm. Seeing Doctor Bonamy approach, he stopped

short to speak to him: "Ah, doctor," said he, "I am pleased to see you.

Father Massias, who is about to leave us, was again telling me just now

of the extraordinary favor granted by the Blessed Virgin to that

interesting young person, Mademoiselle Marie de Guersaint. There has not

been such a brilliant miracle for years! It is signal good-fortune for

us--a blessing which should render our labours fruitful. All Christendom

will be illumined, comforted, enriched by it."

He was radiant with pleasure, and forthwith the doctor with his

clean-shaven face, heavy, peaceful features, and usually tired eyes, also

began to exult: "Yes, your reverence, it is prodigious, prodigious! I

shall write a pamphlet about it. Never was cure produced by supernatural

means in a more authentic manner. Ah! what a stir it will create!"

Then, as they had begun walking to and fro again, all three together, he

noticed that Father Fourcade was dragging his leg with increased

difficulty, leaning heavily the while on his companion's arm. "Is your

attack of gout worse, your reverence?" he inquired. "You seem to be

suffering a great deal."

"Oh! don't speak of it; I wasn't able to close my eyes all night! It is

very annoying that this attack should have come on me the very day of my

arrival here! It might as well have waited. But there is nothing to be

done, so don't let us talk of it any more. I am, at all events, very

pleased with this year's result."

"Ah! yes, yes indeed," in his turn said Father Massias, in a voice which