The Trial of Truth and Simplicity

Book 2 - Part 8

The highly intelligent man who was about to interrogate Bernadette flattered himself with the idea of obtaining an easy triumph. He was one of those who obstinately refused the explanation given by the savants of the place. He had no faith either in catalepsy or hallucination, or the various illusions of a morbid ecstasy. The particularity of the statements attributed to the child, and the observations made by Dr. Dozons and many other witnesses of the scenes enacted at the Grotto, seemed to him irreconcilable with such a hypothesis. With regard to the fact itself of the Apparitions, he did not believe, they say, in the possibility of those visions from the other world, and his detective genius, however much it was adapted to track rogues in their breach of the laws, could scarcely perhaps reach so far as to discover God behind a supernatural fact. Being, therefore, fully convinced in his own mind that those apparitions could not but be false, he had resolved, by fair means or foul, to discover the clue to the error, and to render the Free-thinkers in authority at Lourdes or elsewhere, the signal service of branding as an imposture, a supernatural manifestation which had gained popular credit. He had there an admirable opportunity of striking a heavy blow at the pretended authority of all the Visions of past ages, more especially should he succeed in discovering and proving that the Clergy, who so studiously kept aloof in this affair, were secretly directing it and turning it to their own advantage.

Under the supposition that God was nothing and man everything in this event, the reasoning of M. Jacomet was excellent. On the contrary supposing that God was everything in it and man nothing, the unfortunate Commissary of Police was embarking on a most perilous voyage.

In this disposition of mind, M. Jacomet, from the very first day, had caused all the proceedings of Bernadette to be carefully watched, with the view of surprising, if possible, some mysterious communication between the youthful Seer and any member of the Clergy, whether of Lourdes itself or the neighborhood. He had even, it seems, extended his official zeal so far as to place one of his creatures in the church with orders to keep his eye on the confessional. However, the children who attended the Catechism, were in the habit of going to confession by rotation once a fortnight or once a month, and Bernadette’s turn, during those days, had not yet arrived. All his conscientious efforts had therefore failed to discover any complicity in the acts of imposture which were attributed by him to Bernadette. From this he drew the conclusion that she was acting probably alone, without altogether renouncing his suspicions, for the true agent of police is always suspicious, even when he has no proofs. It is this which constitutes his peculiar type and his proper genius.

When Bernadette entered he fixed on her for a moment his sharp and piercing eyes, which he had the wonderful art of impregnating all at once with good-humor and unconstrained. Habituated as he was to take a high tone with every one, he was more than polite with the poor girl of Soubirous, the miller: he was soft and insinuating. He made her take a seat and assumed at the commencement of his interrogatory the benevolent air of a real friend.

“It appears that you are in the habit of seeing a beautiful Lady at the Grotto of Massabielle, my poor child. Tell me all about her.”

Just as he had said these words, the door of the apartment had been gently opened and some one had entered. It was M. Estrade, Receveur des Contributions Indirectes, a man of importance at Lourdes and one of the most intelligent in the place. This functionary occupied a portion of the house in which M. Jacomet resided, and having been apprised, by the uproar of the crowd, of the arrival of Bernadette, had naturally felt curious to be present at the interrogatory. He concurred, besides, with M. Jacomet in his ideas on the subject of apparitions, and, like him, believed in some trickery on the part of the child. He used to shrug his shoulders on being offered any other explanation. He considered things of this nature as being so absurd, that he had not even condescended to go to the Grotto to witness the strange scenes reported as taking place there. This philosopher seated himself a little on one side, after having made signs to the Commissary not to interrupt his proceedings. All this passed without Bernadette appearing to pay it any particular attention.

Thus the scene and the dialogue of the two interlocutors obtained a witness.

On hearing the question of M. Jacomet, the child had directed her beautifully innocent glance towards the agent of police, and set about relating in her own language, that is to say in the patois of the country, and with a sort of personal timidity which added still more to the truthfulness of her accent, the extraordinary events, with which for some days past, her life had been filled.

M. Jacomet listened to her with deep attention, still affecting an air of good-humor and kindness. From time to time he took notes on a paper which lay before him.

This was remarked by the child but it did not cause her any uneasiness. When she had finished her relation, the Commissary, with increased earnestness and sweetness of manner, put to her innumerable questions as if his enthusiastic piety was interested beyond measure in such divine wonders. He shaped all his interrogations, one after the other, without any order, in short and hurried phrases, so as not to allow the child any time for reflection.

Bernadette replied to these various questions without any trouble or shadow of hesitation, and with the tranquil composure of a person who is questioned on the aspect of a landscape or a picture immediately under his eyes. Sometimes, in order to make herself understood, she added some imitative gesture, some expressive mimicry, to supply as it were the feebleness of her expressions.

The rapid pen of M. Jacomet had in the mean time noted, as she went along, all the answers which had been given to him.

Then it was that after having attempted in this manner to weary and perplex the mind of the child by entering into such a minute infinity of details—then it was that the formidable agent of police assumed, without passing through any intermediate stage, a menacing and terrible expression of countenance and suddenly changed his tone:

“You are a liar,” he exclaimed with violence and as if seized suddenly with rage; “you are deceiving everybody, and unless you confess the truth at once, I will have you arrested by the Gendarmes.”

Poor Bernadette was as much stupefied at the aspect of this sudden and formidable metamorphosis as if she had felt the icy rings of a serpent suddenly twisting itself among her fingers, instead of the harmless branch of a tree which she had fancied she had been carrying in her hand. She was stupefied with horror, but, contrary to the deep calculations of Jacomet, she was not agitated. She preserved her tranquillity as if her soul had been sustained by some invisible hand against so unexpected a shock.

The Commissary had risen to his feet with a glance at the door as if to hint that he had only to make a sign to call in the Gendarmes and send the visionary to prison.

“Sir,” said Bernadette, with a calm and peaceful firmness, which, in this wretched little peasant-girl had an incomparably simple grandeur, “you may have me arrested by the Gendarmes, but I can only say what I have already said. It is the truth.”

“We shall see about that,” said the Commissary resuming his seat and judging by a glance of his experienced eye that threats were absolutely powerless on this extraordinary child.

M. Estrade, who had been a silent and impartial witness of the scene described above, was divided between feelings of immense astonishment with which Bernadette’s accent of conviction had inspired him, and of admiration, in spite of himself, of the skilful strategy of Jacomet, the aim of which as it was unfolded before him, he thoroughly understood.

This struggle between such strength coupled with craft, and mere childish weakness with no other defensive weapon than simplicity, assumed a totally unexpected character.

Jacomet, however, armed with the notes which he had been taking for the last three quarters of an hour, applied himself to recommencing his interrogatory, but in a different order and in a thousand captious shapes, proceeding always, according to his method, with sudden and rapid questions and demanding immediate answers. He had no doubt of being able by such means to drive the little girl to contradict herself, at least in some of the minor details. Were this done, the imposture was exposed and the game was in his own hands. But he exhausted in vain all the dexterity of his mind in the multiplied evolutions of this subtle manoeuvre. In nothing did the child contradict herself, not even in that imperceptible point, that minute iota spoken of in the Gospel. To the same questions, in whatever terms proposed, she invariably replied, if not in the same words, at least with the same facts and in the same shade of meaning. M. Jacomet meanwhile held out, if it was only with the object of wearying still more this artless child whom he hoped to find at fault. He turned and twisted her account of the Apparitions into every possible shape, without being able to impair it. He was like a wild beast trying to make an impression with its fangs on a diamond.

“Well,” said he at length to Bernadette, “I am going to draw up the report of your examination, and you shall hear it read.”

He wrote rapidly two or three pages, frequently consulting his notes. He had designedly introduced into certain details some variations of slight importance, as, for instance, the form of the robe and the length or position of the Virgin’s veil. This was a new snare, but it was as useless as all the rest. While he was reading and saying, from time to time, “That is correct is it not?” Bernadette, as simple and meek as she was unshaken, replied humbly but firmly:

“No; I did not say so, but so.”

And she re-established the inexactly-stated particular in its original truth and shade of meaning. For the most part, Jacomet contested the point.

“But you did say so! I wrote it down at the time. You have said so-and-so to several persons in the town,” etc., etc.

“No,” answered Bernadette; “I did not say so, and could not have said so, for it is not true.”

And the Commissary was always obliged to yield to the child’s objections.

The modest and invincible self-possession of this little girl was, indeed, most remarkable, and the surprise of M. Estrade, on observing it, increased. Personally Bernadette was, and appeared to be, extremely timid, and her bearing was humble and even somewhat confused before strangers. And yet, in anything touching the reality of the Apparitions, she displayed uncommon force of mind and energy of affirmation. When her testimony to what she had seen was in question, she gave her replies without hesitation and with undisturbed composure. But even then it was easy to divine in her the virgin modesty of a soul which would gladly have concealed itself from the sight of every one.

It was plain to be seen that she triumphed over her habitual timidity solely from respect for the internal truth, of which she was the messenger to mankind, and from love for the “Lady” who had appeared to her at the Grotto. She needed all the feeling of her office to enable her to surmount the innate tendency of her nature, which, under any other circumstances, was timid and disliked anything like publicity.

The Commissary betook himself once more to threats.

“If you persist in going to the Grotto, I shall have you put in prison, and you shall not leave this place until you promise to go there no more.”

“I have promised to the Vision to go there,” observed the child. “And, besides, when the moment arrives, I am urged on by something which comes within me and calls me.”

The interrogatory, as we see, verged to a close. It had been long, and could not have lasted less than an hour, at least. Outside, the crowd, not without a feeling of restless impatience, awaited the coming out of the child whom they had seen that very morning transfigured in the light of a divine ecstasy. From the apartment, in which passed the scene which we have just described, might be heard confusedly the cries, words, questions and thousand different noises which serve to form the tumult of a crowd. The uproar seemed to increase and assume a menacing tone. At a certain moment there was a peculiar kind of agitation in the crowd as if some one, whose presence had been greatly desired and long expected, had arrived in the midst of it.

Almost immediately, repeated knocks at the door of the house were heard, but they did not appear to affect the Commissary. The blows became more violent. The man who struck them shook the door at the same time and endeavored to force it. Jacomet rose in a state of irritation and went to open it himself.

“You cannot come in here,” said he furiously. “What do you want?”

“I want my daughter,” answered the miller, Soubirous, effecting his entrance by force, and following the Commissary into the room in which Bernadette was.

The sight of the peaceful countenance of his daughter calmed the anxious agitation of her father, and he once more subsided into a poor man of the humbler class, who could not help trembling in presence of a personage who, notwithstanding his inferior position, was, owing to his activity and intelligence, the most important and formidable man in the district.

Francois Soubirous had taken off his Bearnois biret and was twirling it in his hands. As nothing escaped the notice of Jacomet, he saw, at a glance, that the miller was frightened. Resuming his air of good-humor and compassionate pity, he clapped him familiarly on the shoulder.

“Friend Soubirous,” said he to him, “take care, mind what you are about. Your daughter is on the eve of getting herself into trouble, and is on the straight road to prison. I am willing not to send her there this time, but only on condition of your forbidding her to return to the Grotto, where she is acting a farce. On the first repetition of the offence, I shall be inflexible, and, besides, you know that the Procureur Impérial treats such matters earnestly.”

“Since such is your wish, Monsieur Jacomet,” answered the poor father, panic-struck, “I will forbid her to go there and her mother likewise, and, as she has always obeyed us, she will certainly not go there.”

“At any rate, if she goes there, and this scandal continues, I shall call you to account as well as her,” said the formidable Commissary, resuming his tone of menace and dismissing them by a gesture.

Cries of satisfaction were uttered by the crowd at the moment Bernadette and her father came out. The child then returned home, and the multitude dispersed through the town.

The Commissary of Police and the Receveur being left alone, communicated to each other the impressions made on them by this strange interrogatory.

“What firm resolution in her depositions!” exclaimed M. Estrade, who had been struck with profound astonishment.

“What invincible persistence in her falsehood!” replied Jacomet, stupefied at having been vanquished.

“What truth in her accents!” continued the Receveur. “Nothing in her language or bearing bore the slightest appearance of contradiction. It is clear she believes she has seen something.”

“What artful cunning!” rejoined the Commissary. “In spite of my efforts she never fell into any discrepancy. She has her story at her fingers’ ends.”

Both the Commissary and M. Estrade persisted in their incredulity regarding the actual fact of the Apparition. But a shade of difference already separated their two negations, and this shade of difference was as a gulf between them. The one supposed Bernadette to be dexterous in falsehood, the other set her down as sincere in her illusion.

“She is artful,” said the former.

“She is sincere,” observed the latter.

Bernadette Before the Authorities

Book 2 — Part 7

A threatening murmur went through the multitude. Many of those who were there had, the same morning, seen the humble child transfigured by the divine ecstasy and illuminated by rays from on high.

For them, this little girl blessed by God had about her something sacred. They thrilled with indignation on seeing the agent of police lay hands on her, and would have interfered on her behalf had not a priest, who at that moment came out of the church, made signs to the crowd to remain quiet. “Let,” he said, “the authorities act as they will.” By a wonderful coincidence, such as is often to be met with in the history of supernatural events, where any one gives himself the trouble, or rather the pleasure of sifting them, the Universal Church had sung that very day, the first Sunday in Lent, those immortal words destined to comfort and console the innocent and the weak in the presence of persecution. “God hath confided thee to the care of His Angels, that they may watch over thee in thy way. They will bear thee up in their hands, lest thy feet should be dashed against, and wounded by the stones in thy path. Trust in him: He will protect thee under the shadow of his wings. His almighty Power shall encompass thee as with an invisible shield. Go boldly! thou shalt crush the Asp and the Serpent under thy feet; the lion and the dragon shall be brought low by thee. ‘Because he hath hoped in me,’ says the Lord, ‘I will deliver him—I will protect him because he hath confessed my name. He shall call on me and I will graciously hear him. I am with him in the day of trouble.’”

The Gospel for the day related how the Saviour of men, eternal type of the just upon earth, had to undergo His temptations; and it gave all the details of his famous struggles against, and victory over the Evil Spirit, in the solitude of the desert: Ductus est Jesus in desertum, ut tentaretur a Diabolo.

Such were the texts so replete with consolation for innocent and persecuted weakness, which the Church had proclaimed; such were the mighty souvenirs which she had revived and the memory of which she celebrated the very day on which, in the depth of an obscure town among the mountains, an agent of the civil power arrested, in the name of the law, an ignorant little girl, in order to conduct her into the presence of the most crafty of the representatives of Authority.

The multitude had followed Bernadette as she was carried off by the official agent, in a great state of excitement and grief. The office of the Commissary of Police was not far off. The Sergent entered with the child, and leaving her by herself in the passage, returned to lock and bolt the door.

A moment afterwards, Bernadette was ushered into the presence of M. Jacomet.

An immense crowd remained standing outside.

The Arrest of Bernadette

Book 2 — Part 6

During the whole morning after the Mass, and up to the hour of Vespers, nothing was bruited abroad at Lourdes but these strange events, of which, as might be expected, the most opposite interpretations were given. To those who had seen Bernadette in her state of ecstasy, proof had appeared in a form which they asserted to be irresistible. Some of them illustrated their convictions with not inappropriate comparisons.

“In our valleys the Sun displays itself late, concealed as it is towards the East, by the Peak and the mountain of Ger. But, long before we can see it, we can remark in the West, the reflection of its rays on the sides of the mountains of Batsurguères, which become resplendent, while we are still in the shade; and then, although we do not actually see the sun, but only the reflection of its rays on the declivities, we boldly assert its presence behind the huge masses of the Ger. ‘Batsurguères sees the sun,’ we say, ‘and, were we on the same level as Batsurguères, we should see it also.’ Well it is precisely the same thing when we gaze on Bernadette lighted up by this invisible Apparition: the certainty is the same, the evidence altogether similar. The countenance of the youthful Seer appears all at once so clear, so transfigured, so dazzling, so impregnated with divine rays, that this marvelous reflection which we perceive gives us full assurance of the existence of the luminous centre which we do not perceive. And, if we had not in ourselves to conceal it from us, a whole mountain of faults, wretchedness, material pre-occupations, and carnal opacity,—if we, also, were on a level with the innocence of childhood, this eternal snow never trodden by human foot, we should see actually, and not merely reflected, the object contemplated by the ravished Bernadette, which, in her state of ecstasy, sheds its rays over her features.”

Reasoning such as this, excellent perhaps in itself, and conclusive for those who had witnessed this unheard-of spectacle, could not satisfy those who had not seen anything. Providence—supposing it really to have taken a part in these proceedings—must it would appear, confirm its agency by proofs, which, if not better (for scarcely any one resisted these after having experienced them), should at least be more material, continuous, and, in some measure, more palpable to the senses.

It may be, the profound design of God tended that way; and that His object in calling together such vast multitudes was to have, at the necessary moment, a host of unobjectionable witnesses.

At the conclusion of Vespers, Bernadette left the church with the rest of the congregation. She was, as you may well imagine, the object of general attention. She was surrounded and overwhelmed with questions. The poor child was distressed by this concourse of people, and, having returned simple answers, endeavored to get through in order to return home.

At that moment, a man in the uniform of the police, a Sergent de Ville, or officer of the police, approached her and touched her on the shoulder.

“In the name of the law,” said he.

“What do you want with me?” inquired the child.

“I have orders to arrest you and take you with me.”

“And where?”

“To the Commissary of Police. Follow me!”

Pray for Sinners

Book 2 — Part 5

It was the third day of the Quinzaine, the twenty-first of February, the first Sunday in Lent. Before sunrise, an immense crowd, consisting of several thousand persons, had assembled in front of and all around the Grotto, on the banks of the Gave and in the meadow-island. It was the hour when Bernadette usually came. She arrived enveloped in her white capulet, followed by some of her family, her mother or her sister. Her parents had attended during her ecstasy the day before; they had seen her transfigured, and now they believed.

The child passed through the crowd, which respectfully made way for her, simply in a composed and unembarrassed manner; and, without appearing to be conscious of the universal attention she excited, she proceeded, as if she was doing the simplest thing in the world, to kneel down and pray beneath the niche around which the wild rose festooned its branches.

A few moments afterwards, you might have seen her brow light up and become radiant. The blood, however, did not mantle her visage; on the contrary, she grew slightly pale, as if nature somewhat succumbed in presence of the Apparition which manifested itself to her. All her features assumed a lofty and still more lofty expression, and entered, as it were, a superior region, a country of glory, significant of sentiments and things which are not found here below. Her mouth, half-open, was gasping with admiration, and seemed to aspire to heaven. Her eyes, fixed and blissful, contemplated an invisible beauty, which no one else perceived but whose presence was felt by all, seen by all, so to say, by reverberation on the countenance of the child. This poor little peasant girl, so ordinary in her habitual state, seemed to have ceased to belong to this earth.

It was the Angel of Innocence, leaving the world for a moment behind and falling in adoration at the moment the eternal gates are opened and the first view of Paradise flashes on the sight.

All those who have seen Bernadette in this state of ecstacy, speak of the sight as of something entirely unparalleled on earth. The impression made upon them is as strong now, after the lapse of ten years, as on the first day.

What is also remarkable, although her attention was entirely absorbed by the contemplation of the Virgin, full of Grace, she was, to a certain degree, conscious of what was passing around her.

At a certain moment her taper went out; she stretched out her hand that the person nearest to her might relight it.

Some one having wished to touch the wild rose with a stick, she eagerly made him a sign to desist, and an expression of fear passed over her countenance.

“I was afraid,” she said, afterwards, with simplicity, “that he might have touched the ‘Lady’ and done her harm.”

One of the observers, whose name we have already mentioned, Doctor Dozons, was at her side.

“There is nothing here,” he thought, “either of the rigidity of catalepsy or of the unconscious ecstacy of hallucination; it is an extraordinary fact, of a class entirely unknown to Medical Science.”

He took the child’s arm and felt her pulse. To this she did not appear to pay any attention. Her pulse was perfectly calm, and beat as regularly as when she was in her ordinary state.

“There is, consequently, no morbid excitement,” observed the learned Doctor to himself, more and more unsettled in his views.

At that moment the youthful Seer advanced, on her knees, a few paces forward into the Grotto. The Apparition had removed from her original place, and it was now through the interior opening that Bernadette was able to perceive her.

The glance of the Blessed Virgin seemed, in a moment, to run over the whole earth, after which she fixed it, impregnated with sorrow, on Bernadette, who still remained kneeling.

“What is the matter with you? What must be done?” murmured the child.

“Pray for sinners,” replied the Mother of the human race.

On perceiving the eternal serenity of the Blessed Virgin thus veiled with sorrow as with a cloud, the heart of the poor shepherd-girl experienced all at once a feeling of cruel suffering. An inexpressible sorrow spread itself over her features. From her eyes, which remained wide open and constantly fixed on the Apparition, two tears rolled upon her cheeks and staid there without falling.

A ray of joy returned at length to light up her countenance, for the Virgin had herself doubtless turned her glance in the direction of Hope, and had contemplated, in the heart of the Father, the inexhaustible source of infinite mercy which descends on the world in the name of Jesus, and by the hands of the Church.

It was at this moment that the Apparition disappeared. The Queen of Heaven had just re-entered her kingdom.

The aureole, as was its wont, lingered a few moments, and then became gradually obliterated like a luminous mist which melts and disappears in the air.

The features of Bernadette lost by degrees their lofty expression. It seemed as if she passed from the land of sunshine into that of shade, and the ordinary type of earth resumed possession of that countenance which, but a moment before, had been transfigured.

She was now nothing more than a humble shepherd-girl,—a little peasant,—with nothing outwardly to distinguish her from other children.

The crowd pressed around her, panting for breath, and in an extraordinary state of anxiety, emotion, and pious recollection. We shall have, elsewhere, an opportunity of describing their bearing.

The Civil Authorities Take Alarm

Book 2 - Part 4

HOWEVER, this was not sufficient. Truth requires to pass through another crucible. It behoves her, without any external support, relying on herself, and herself alone, to resist the great human forces let loose upon her. It is necessary for her to have persecutors, furious enemies and adversaries skilled in laying snares. When Truth passes through such trials, the weak tremble and fear lest the work of God should be overthrown. Quid timetis, modicæ fidei. The very men who menace her now are her bulwarks hereafter.

Such furious opponents attest to the eyes of ages, that such a belief has not been established clandestinely or in the shade, but rather in the face of enemies, whose interest it was to see and control everything; they attest to the eyes of ages that its foundations are solid, since so many united efforts were not able to shake them even at the moment when they arose in their original weakness: they attest that its basis is pure, since after examining everything through the magnifying glass of malevolence and hatred, they failed in detecting in it any vice or stain. Enemies are witnesses above suspicion, who in spite of themselves depose, before posterity, in favor of the very thing they would willingly have hindered or destroyed. Consequently, if the Apparitions of the Grotto were the starting-point of a divine work, the hostility of the mighty ones of the world, must necessarily go side by side with the withdrawal of the Clergy.

God had equally provided for this. While the ecclesiastical authority, personified in the Clergy, maintained the wise reserve advised by the Curé of Lourdes, the civil authority was equally preoccupied with the extraordinary movement which was in course of arising in the town and its vicinity, and which, pervading by degrees the whole Department, had already crossed its limits in the direction of Béarn.

Although no disorder had occurred, this class, so prone to take umbrage, was rendered uneasy by these pilgrimages, these crowds in a state of pious recollection, and this child in a state of ecstacy.

In the name of liberty of conscience, was there no means of preventing these persons from praying, and above all from praying where they liked? Such was the problem which official liberalism began to propose to itself.

The different degrees, M. Dutour, Procureur Imperial, M. Duprat, Juge de Paix; the Mayor, the Substitute, the Commissary of Police and many others besides, took and gave the alarm. A miracle in the midst of the 19th Century, going forth all at once without asking permission and without any preliminary authorization, was viewed by some as an intolerable outrage on civilization, a blow against the safety of the state; and it was necessary for the honor of our enlightened epoch that this should be set to rights. The majority of these gentlemen besides, did not believe in the possibility of supernatural manifestations and could not be induced to see anything in it but an imposture or the effects of a malady. At all events, several of them felt themselves instinctively opposed to any event, of whatever nature which could directly or indirectly tend to increase the influence of Religion, against which they were actuated either by blind prejudices or avowed hatred.

Without returning to the reflections which we made a short time since, it is truly a remarkable thing to see that the Supernatural, whenever it appears in the world, constantly encounters, though under different names and aspects, the same opposition, the same indifference, the same hostility.

With certain shades of distinction, Herod, Caïaphas, Pilate, Joseph of Arimathea, Peter, Thomas, the Holy Women, the open enemy, the coward, the weak, the feeble, the devoted, the sceptic, the timid, the hero, belong to all times.

The Supernatural, more especially, never escapes the hostility of a party more or less considerable of the official world. Only this opposition proceeds sometimes from the master, sometimes from his underlings.

The most intelligent of the little band of the functionaries of Lourdes, at that time, was undoubtedly M. Jacomet, although, in a hierarchic point of view, M. Jacomet was the lowest of all, inasmuch as he filled the humble post of Commissary of Police. He was young, of great sagacity in certain circumstances, and gifted with a facility of speaking not found generally among his peers. His shrewdness was extreme. No one ever more thoroughly understood the genus “Scoundrel.” He was wonderfully apt in foiling their tricks, and the anecdotes, on this head, recorded of him are astonishing. He did not understand so well the ways of honest men. Quite at ease in complicated affairs, anything simple troubled him. Truth disconcerted him and excited his suspicions—anything disinterested was an object of distrust to him, and sincerity was a torture to his mind, always on the watch to discover duplicity and evasion. In consequence of this monomania, Sanctity would, doubtless, have appeared to him the most monstrous of impostures, and would have met no mercy at his hands. Such whims are frequently found among men of this profession, their employment habituating them to ferret out offences and detect crimes. They acquire, in the long run, a remarkably restless and suspicious turn of mind, which inspires them with strokes of genius when they have to do with rogues, and enormous blunders when they have to do with honest people. Though young, M. Jacomet had contracted this strange malady of old police-officers. In fact, he was like those horses of the Pyrenees, which are sure-footed in the winding and stony mountain-paths, but which stumble every two hundred paces on broad, level roads; like those night-birds which can only see in the dark, and which, in broad daylight, dash themselves against the walls and trees.

Perfectly satisfied with himself, he was discontented with his position, to which his intelligence rendered him superior. Hence arose a certain restless pride and an ardent wish to signalize himself. He had more than influence, he had an ascendancy over his superiors, and he affected to treat the Procureur Imperial and all the other legal functionaries on a footing of perfect equality. He mixed himself up with everything, domineered everybody, and almost entirely managed the affairs of the town. In all matters regarding the canton of Lourdes, the Prefect of the Department, Baron Massy, only saw through the eyes of Jacomet.

Such was the Commissary of Police, such was the really important personage of Lourdes when the Apparitions at the Grotto of Massabielle took place.

The Prudence of the Clergy at Lourdes

Book 2 Part 3

All these facts had naturally made a strong impression on the Clergy of the town; but, with wonderful tact and good sense, they had from the very first assumed the most prudent and reserved attitude.

The Clergy, surprised, like all around them, at the singular event which had so suddenly taken possession of public opinion, were busily engaged in endeavoring to determine its nature. Whereas the Voltaireanism of the place, in the largeness of its ideas, admitted only one solution as possible, the Clergy perceived several. The fact might be natural, in which case it was the result of a fine piece of acting or of a most singular malady, but it might be supernatural, and the question to be solved was whether this Supernatural was diabolical or divine. God has his miracles, but the Demon has his prestiges. The clergy were fully aware of all these things, and determined to study extremely carefully the most trifling circumstances of the event in progress. They had, besides, from the first moment, received the rumor of so surprising a fact with the greatest distrust. However, it might possibly be of a divine nature, and ought not therefore to be pronounced upon lightly.

The child, whose name had suddenly become so celebrated in the whole country, was entirely unknown to the priests of the town. Since her return to the house of her parents at Lourdes, a period of fifteen days, she had attended the Catechism, but had not been remarked by the Abbé Pomian, who was employed this year in instructing the children of the parish. He had, however, once or twice asked her questions, but without knowing her name or paying any attention to her outward appearance, lost, as she was, among a crowd of children, and quite unknown, as those who come last generally are.

When the whole population were rushing to the Grotto towards the third day of the Quinzaine, demanded by the mysterious Apparition, the Abbé Pomian, wishing to know by sight the extraordinary child of whom every one was talking, called her by name, to take part in the Catechism, as was his custom, when he wished to put questions to any of his little charges. At the name of Bernadette Soubirous, a little girl, fragile in appearance, and meanly dressed, rose from her seat. The ecclesiastic remarked in her only two things—her simplicity and extreme ignorance in all religious matters.

The parish was presided over at that moment by a priest of whom we must furnish a portrait.

The Abbé Peyramale, then verging on his fiftieth year, had been, for the last two years, curé doyen of the town and canton of Lourdes. He was, by nature, rough, perhaps somewhat extreme in his love of what was good, but softened by Grace, which still, however, now and then suffered glimpses to escape of the primitive stock, knotty, but in the main good, on which the delicate but powerful hand of God had engrafted the christian and the priest. His natural impetuosity entirely calmed, as far as he was himself concerned, had turned into pure zeal for the house of God.

In the pulpit, his preaching was always apostolical, sometimes harsh; it persecuted everything of an evil tendency, and no abuse, no moral disorder, from whatever quarter it might proceed, was treated by him with indifference or weakness. Sometimes the society of the place, whose vices or caprices had been lashed by the burning words of its pastor, had exclaimed loudly against him. This had never disturbed him, and, with God’s assistance, he had almost always issued victorious from the struggle.

These men with strict ideas of duty are a source of annoyance to many, and they are seldom pardoned for the independence and sincerity of their language. However, the one in question was forgiven; for when he was seen trudging through the town with his patched and darned cassock, his coarsely-mended shoes and his old, shapeless, three-cornered hat, every one knew that the money which might have been devoted to his wardrobe was employed in succoring the unfortunate. This priest, austere though he was in morals and severe in doctrine, possessed an inexpressible kindness of heart, and he expended his patrimony in doing good as secretly as he could. But his humility had not succeeded, as he would have wished, in concealing his life of devotedness. The gratitude of the poor had found a voice: besides, in small towns, the private life of an individual is soon exposed to the light of day, and he had become an object of general veneration. You had only to see the way in which his parishioners took off their hats to him as he passed in the street; only to hear the familiar, affectionate and pleased accent with which the poor, sitting on the steps of their door, said, “Good morning Monsieur le Curé!” to divine that a sacred bond, that of good modestly done, united the pastor to his flock. The Free-thinkers said of him, “He is not always agreeable, but he is charitable and does not care for money. He is one of the best of men, in spite of his cassock.” Entirely unrestrained in manner, and overflowing with good-humor in private life, never suspecting any evil, and suffering himself even sometimes to be deceived by people who took advantage of his kindness, he was, in his capacity of priest, prudent even to the verge of distrust in whatever regarded the things of his ministry and the eternal interest of Religion. The man might sometimes be encroached upon—the priest never. There are graces attached to a particular state of life.

This eminent priest combined with the heart of an Apostle good sense of rare strength and a firmness of character which nothing could bend when the Truth was in question. The events of the day could not fail of bringing to light these first-rate qualities. Providence had not acted without design in placing him at this epoch at Lourdes.

The Abbé Peyramale, placing a strong check on his own somewhat sanguine nature, before permitting his Clergy to take a single step or to show themselves at the Grotto, which he did not even visit himself, determined to wait until these events had assumed some definite character—until proofs had been produced one way or other and judgment had been pronounced by ecclesiastical authority. He appointed some intelligent laymen, on whom he could depend, to repair to the Rocks of Massabielle every time Bernadette and the multitude proceeded thither, and to keep him, day by day and hour by hour, thoroughly acquainted with what was going on. But at the same time that he took proper measures to be informed of every particular, he neglected nothing which might prevent the Clergy from being compromised in this affair, the true nature of which was still a matter of doubt.

“Let us remain quiet,” he said to those who were impatient. “If, on the one hand, we are strictly obliged to examine with extreme attention what is now going on, on the other, common prudence forbids us to mix ourselves up with the crowd which rushes to the grotto chaunting canticles. Let us refrain from appearing there, nor expose ourselves to the risk of consecrating by our presence an imposture or an illusion, or of opposing by a premature decision and hostile attitude, a work which possibly may come from God.

“As for our going there as mere spectators, the peculiar costume we wear makes that impossible. The people of the neighborhood, seeing a priest in their midst, would naturally form a group around him, in order that he might walk at their head and intone the prayers. Now, should he give way to the pressure of the public, or to his own inconsiderate enthusiasm, and it should be discovered later on that these Apparitions were illusions or lies, it is clear to every one to what extent Religion would be compromised in the person of the Clergy. If they resisted, on the contrary, and later on the work of God became manifest, would not that opposition be attended with the same evil consequences?

“Let us then take no part at present, since we could but compromise God, either in the works which he intends to accomplish or in the sacred Ministry which he has vouchsafed to confide to us.”

Some, in the ardor of their zeal, urged some course of action.

“No,” he answered them firmly, “we should only be warranted in interfering in the case that some manifest heresy, some superstition or disorder should arise from that quarter. Then only our duty would be clearly traced out by the facts themselves. The fruits proving bad we should judge the tree to be bad, and we ought to hasten to the rescue of our flock on the first symptom of evil. Up to the present moment, nothing of the kind has arisen; on the contrary, the crowd, perfectly recollected, confines itself to praying to the Blessed Virgin, and the piety of the faithful seems ever on the increase.

“Let us then endeavor to wait for the supreme decision which the wisdom of the Bishop shall promulgate touching these events, while we submit ourselves, apart, to a necessary examination.

“If these facts proceed from God, they are in no need of us, and the Almighty will well be able, without our puny aid, to surmount all obstacles and turn every thing to suit his designs.

“If, on the other hand, this work is not from God, He will Himself mark the moment when we ought to interfere and combat in his name. In a word let providence act.”

Such were the profound reasons and considerations of deep wisdom which determined the Abbé Peyramale formally to prohibit all the priests in his jurisdiction from appearing at the Grotto of Massabielle, as also to abstain from going there himself. Monseigneur Laurence, Bishop of Tarbes, approved highly of this prudent reserve, and extended even to all the priests of his diocese the prohibition of mixing themselves up in any way in the events at Lourdes. When any question respecting the pilgrimage of the Grotto was put to a priest, either at the tribunal of Penance or elsewhere, the answer was determined on beforehand:

“We do not go there ourselves, and are consequently unable to pronounce on these facts with which we are not sufficiently acquainted. But it is plainly allowable for any of the faithful to go there, if such is their pleasure, and examine facts on which the Church has not yet pronounced any decision. Go, or stay away: it is not our business to advise you or dissuade you from doing so—neither to authorize nor to forbid you.”

It was, we must allow, very difficult to maintain such an attitude of strict neutrality; for each priest had to struggle on this occasion not only against the force of public opinion, but further against his own individual desire—and that certainly a legitimate one—to assist in person at the extraordinary things, which were, perhaps, on the point of being accomplished.

This line of conduct, however difficult it might be to keep, was nevertheless observed.

In the midst of whole populations, stirred up all at once like an ocean by a strange unknown blast, and driven towards the mysterious rock where a supernatural Apparition conversed with a child, the entire body of the Clergy, without one single exception, kept aloof and did not make their appearance. God, who was invisibly directing all things, gave his priests the strength necessary not to give way to this unheard of current, and to remain immovable in the bosom of this prodigious movement. This immense withdrawal on the part of the Clergy ought to show manifestly that the head and action of men went for nothing in these events, and that we must seek their cause elsewhere, or to speak more correctly, higher.

The Skeptics and the First Investiators

Second Book - Part 2

Such were the observations which were exchanged from morning to night among the sagacious intellects which then represented Medicine and Philosophy at Lourdes. The greater part of these thinkers had seen enough of Bernadette to establish the fact that she was not acting a part. This satisfied their spirit of inquiry. From the fact of her evident sincerity they concluded that she must be either mad or cataleptic. Their strength of mind did not permit them to admit even the possibility of any other explanation. When it was suggested to them to study the fact, to see the child, to go to or to revisit the Grotto, to follow in all their details these surprising phenomena, they shrugged their shoulders, laughed as the so-called philosophers only can laugh, and observed, “We know all this by heart. A crisis of this kind is by no means rare. Before a month is over, this child will be raving mad and probably paralyzed.”

There were some, however, who were not satisfied with such superficial reasoning.

“Phenomena of this nature are rare,” observed Doctor Dozons, one of the most eminent physicians in the town; “and for my own part I shall not allow this opportunity of examining them carefully to escape. The advocates of the Supernatural cast them so often in the teeth of men of our profession, that I should be wanting in curiosity were I not to study attentively and go to the bottom of this much-vexed question, de visu and by personal experience, now that they are produced at the present moment under my very eyes.”

M. Dufo, an advocate, and several members of the bar; M. Pougat, president of the Tribunal, and a great number of other persons, determined to devote themselves, during the fifteen days announced beforehand, to the most scrupulous investigation, and to be as much as possible in the first ranks. The number of observers increased in proportion to the interest excited by the facts.

Some of the medical profession, some autochthon Socrates’, some local Philosophers, terming themselves Voltairians to induce others to believe that they had read Voltaire, firmly resisted their own curiosity, and held it a point of honor not to figure among the stupid crowd which was increasing daily in number. As it almost always happens, the grand principle of these fanatics of Free-thinking was not to examine at all. In their view, no fact deserved attention which deranged the inflexible dogmas which they had learned in the Credo of their newspaper. From the heights of their infallible wisdom, at their shop-doors, in front of the cafés, or at the windows of the club, these intellects of the highest order smiled with ineffable disdain as they saw pass by the innumerable stream of humanity which was borne along—by I know not what wild spirit of enthusiasm—toward the Grotto.