heart. It grieved him to find the brother selling the Blessed Virgin whom
the sister had beheld. However, it was necessary to live, and he had
reason to believe that, beside the triumphant Basilica resplendent with
gold, the visionary's relatives were not making a fortune, the
competition being so terrible. If on the one hand the pilgrims left
millions behind them at Lourdes, on the other there were more than two
hundred dealers in religious articles, to say nothing of the hotel and
lodging-house keepers, to whom the largest part of the spoils fell; and
thus the gain, so eagerly disputed, ended by being moderate enough after
all. Along the Plateau on the right and left of the repository kept by
Bernadette's brother, other shops appeared, an uninterrupted row of them,
pressing one against the other, each occupying a division of a long
wooden structure, a sort of gallery erected by the town, which derived
from it some sixty thousand francs a year. It formed a regular bazaar of
open stalls, encroaching on the pavements so as to tempt people to stop
as they passed along. For more than three hundred yards no other trade
was plied: a river of chaplets, medals, and statuettes streamed without
end behind the windows; and in enormous letters on the boards above
appeared the venerated names of Saint Roch, Saint Joseph, Jerusalem, The
Immaculate Virgin, The Sacred Heart of Mary, all the names in Paradise
that were most likely to touch and attract customers.
"Really," said M. de Guersaint, "I think it's the same thing all over the
place. Let us go anywhere." He himself had had enough of it, this
interminable display was quite exhausting him.
"But as you promised to make the purchases at Majeste's," said Marie, who
was not, in the least tired, "the best thing will be to go back."
"That's it; let's return to Majeste's place."
But the rows of shops began again in the Avenue de la Grotte. They
swarmed on both sides; and among them here were jewellers, drapers, and
umbrella-makers, who also dealt in religious articles. There was even a
confectioner who sold boxes of pastilles /a l'eau de Lourdes/, with a
figure of the Virgin on the cover. A photographer's windows were crammed
with views of the Grotto and the Basilica, and portraits of Bishops and
reverend Fathers of all Orders, mixed up with views of famous sites in
the neighbouring mountains. A bookseller displayed the last Catholic
publications, volumes bearing devout titles, and among them the
innumerable works published on Lourdes during the last twenty years, some
of which had had a wonderful success, which was still fresh in memory. In
this broad, populous thoroughfare the crowd streamed along in more open
order; their cans jingled, everyone was in high spirits, amid the bright
sunrays which enfiladed the road from one end to the other. And it seemed
as if there would never be a finish to the statuettes, the medals, and
the chaplets; one display followed another; and, indeed, there were miles
of them running through the streets of the entire town, which was ever
the same bazaar selling the same articles.
In front of the Hotel of the Apparitions M. de Guersaint again hesitated.
"Then it's decided, we are going to make our purchases there?" he asked.
"Certainly," said Marie. "See what a beautiful shop it is!"
And she was the first to enter the establishment, which was, in fact, one
of the largest in the street, occupying the ground-floor of the hotel on
the left hand. M. de Guersaint and Pierre followed her.
Apolline, the niece of the Majestes, who was in charge of the place, was
standing on a stool, taking some holy-water vases from a top shelf to
show them to a young man, an elegant bearer, wearing beautiful yellow
gaiters. She was laughing with the cooing sound of a dove, and looked
charming with her thick black hair and her superb eyes, set in a somewhat
square face, which had a straight forehead, chubby cheeks, and full red
lips. Jumping lightly to the ground, she exclaimed: "Then you don't think
that this pattern would please madame, your aunt?"
"No, no," answered the bearer, as he went off. "Obtain the other pattern.
I shall not leave until to-morrow, and will come back."
When Apolline learnt that Marie was the young person visited by the
miracle of whom Madame Majeste had been talking ever since the previous
day, she became extremely attentive. She looked at her with her merry
smile, in which there was a dash of surprise and covert incredulity.
However, like the clever saleswoman that she was, she was profuse in
complimentary remarks. "Ah, mademoiselle, I shall be so happy to sell to
you! Your miracle is so beautiful! Look, the whole shop is at your
disposal. We have the largest choice."
Marie was ill at ease. "Thank you," she replied, "you are very good. But
we have only come to buy a few small things."
"If you will allow us," said M. de Guersaint, "we will choose ourselves."
"Very well. That's it, monsieur. Afterwards we will see!"
And as some other customers now came in, Apolline forgot them, returned
to her duties as a pretty saleswoman, with caressing words and seductive
glances, especially for the gentlemen, whom she never allowed to leave
until they had their pockets full of purchases.
M. de Guersaint had only two francs left of the louis which Blanche, his
eldest daughter, had slipped into his hand when he was leaving, as
pocket-money; and so he did not dare to make any large selection. But
Pierre declared that they would cause him great pain if they did not
allow him to offer them the few things which they would like to take away
with them from Lourdes. It was therefore understood that they would first
of all choose a present for Blanche, and then Marie and her father should
select the souvenirs that pleased them best.
"Don't let us hurry," repeated M. de Guersaint, who had become very gay.
"Come, Marie, have a good look. What would be most likely to please
Blanche?"
All three looked, searched, and rummaged. But their indecision increased
as they went from one object to another. With its counters, show-cases,
and nests of drawers, furnishing it from top to bottom, the spacious shop
was a sea of endless billows, overflowing with all the religious
knick-knacks imaginable. There were the chaplets: skeins of chaplets
hanging along the walls, and heaps of chaplets lying in the drawers, from
humble ones costing twenty sons a dozen, to those of sweet-scented wood,
agate, and lapis-lazuli, with chains of gold or silver; and some of them,
of immense length, made to go twice round the neck or waist, had carved
beads, as large as walnuts, separated by death's-heads. Then there were
the medals: a shower of medals, boxes full of medals, of all sizes, of
all metals, the cheapest and the most precious. They bore different
inscriptions, they represented the Basilica, the Grotto, or the
Immaculate Conception; they were engraved, /repoussees/, or enamelled,
executed with care, or made by the gross, according to the price. And
next there were the Blessed Virgins, great and small, in zinc, wood,
ivory, and especially plaster; some entirely white, others tinted in
bright colours, in accordance with the description given by Bernadette;
the amiable and smiling face, the extremely long veil, the blue sash, and
the golden roses on the feet, there being, however, some slight
modification in each model so as to guarantee the copyright. And there
was another flood of other religious objects: a hundred varieties of
scapularies, a thousand different sorts of sacred pictures: fine
engravings, large chromo-lithographs in glaring colours, submerged
beneath a mass of smaller pictures, which were coloured, gilded,
varnished, decorated with bouquets of flowers, and bordered with lace
paper. And there was also jewellery: rings, brooches, and bracelets,
loaded with stars and crosses, and ornamented with saintly figures.
Finally, there was the Paris article, which rose above and submerged all
the rest: pencil-holders, purses, cigar-holders, paperweights,
paper-knives, even snuff-boxes; and innumerable other objects on which
the Basilica, Grotto, and Blessed Virgin ever and ever appeared,
reproduced in every way, by every process that is known. Heaped together
pell-mell in one of the cases reserved to articles at fifty centimes
apiece were napkin-rings, egg-cups, and wooden pipes, on which was carved
the beaming apparition of Our Lady of Lourdes.
Little by little, M. de Guersaint, with the annoyance of a man who prides
himself on being an artist, became disgusted and quite sad. "But all this
is frightful, frightful!" he repeated at every new article he took up to
look at.
Then he relieved himself by reminding Pierre of the ruinous attempt which
he had made to improve the artistic quality of religious prints. The
remains of his fortune had been lost in that attempt, and the thought
made him all the more angry, in presence of the wretched productions with
which the shop was crammed. Had anyone ever seen things of such idiotic,
pretentious, and complicated ugliness! The vulgarity of the ideas and the
silliness of the expressions portrayed rivalled the commonplace character
of the composition. You were reminded of fashion-plates, the covers of
boxes of sweets, and the wax dolls' heads that revolve in hairdressers'
windows; it was an art abounding in false prettiness, painfully childish,
with no really human touch in it, no tone, and no sincerity. And the
architect, who was wound up, could not stop, but went on to express his
disgust with the buildings of new Lourdes, the pitiable disfigurement of
the Grotto, the colossal monstrosity of the inclined ways, the disastrous
lack of symmetry in the church of the Rosary and the Basilica, the former
looking too heavy, like a corn market, whilst the latter had an anaemical
structural leanness with no kind of style but the mongrel.
"Ah! one must really be very fond of God," he at last concluded, "to have
courage enough to come and adore Him amidst such horrors! They have
failed in everything, spoilt everything, as though out of pleasure. Not
one of them has experienced that moment of true feeling, of real
naturalness and sincere faith, which gives birth to masterpieces. They
are all clever people, but all plagiarists; not one has given his mind
and being to the undertaking. And what must they not require to inspire
them, since they have failed to produce anything grand even in this land
of miracles?"
Pierre did not reply, but he was very much struck by these reflections,
which at last gave him an explanation of a feeling of discomfort that he
had experienced ever since his arrival at Lourdes. This discomfort arose
from the difference between the modern surroundings and the faith of past
ages which it sought to resuscitate. He thought of the old cathedrals
where quivered that faith of nations; he pictured the former attributes
of worship--the images, the goldsmith's work, the saints in wood and
stone--all of admirable power and beauty of expression. The fact was that
in those ancient times the workmen had been true believers, had given
their whole souls and bodies and all the candour of their feelings to
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!"