LOURDES

 BY

 THE VERY REV. MONSIGNOR ROBERT HUGH BENSON

 WITH EIGHT FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS

 ST. LOUIS MO. : B. HERDER, PUBLISHER 17, S. BROADWAY

 LONDON: MANRESA PRESS ROEHAMPTON, S. W. 

 1914

Nihil Obstat:

 S. GEORGIUS KIERAN HYLAND, S. T. D. , CENSOR DEPUTATUS

Imprimatur:

 GULIELMUS F. BROWN, VICARIUS GENERALIS, SOUTHWARCENSI. 

_15 Maii, 1914. _

PREFACE. 

Since writing the following pages six years ago, I have had theprivilege of meeting a famous French scientist--to whom we owe one ofthe greatest discoveries of recent years--who has made a special studyof Lourdes and its phenomena, and of hearing him comment upon what takesplace there. He is, himself, at present, not a practising Catholic; andthis fact lends peculiar interest to his opinions. His conclusions, sofar as he has formulated them, are as follows:

(1) That no scientific hypothesis up to the present accountssatisfactorily for the phenomena. Upon his saying this to me I breathedthe word "suggestion"; and his answer was to laugh in my face, and totell me, practically, that this is the most ludicrous hypothesis of all. 

(2) That, so far as he can see, the one thing necessary for such curesas he himself has witnessed or verified, is the atmosphere of prayer. Where this rises to intensity the number of cures rises with it; wherethis sinks, the cures sink too. 

(3) That he is inclined to think that there is a transference ofvitalizing force either from the energetic faith of the sufferer, orfrom that of the bystanders. He instanced an example in which his wife, herself a qualified physician, took part. She held in her arms a child, aged two and a half years, blind from birth, during the procession ofthe Blessed Sacrament. As the monstrance came opposite, tears began tostream from the child's eyes, hitherto closed. When it had passed, thechild's eyes were open and seeing. This Mme. ---- tested by dangling herbracelet before the child, who immediately clutched at it, but, from thefact that she had never learned to calculate distance, at first failedto seize it. At the close of the procession Mme. ----, who herselfrelated to me the story, was conscious of an extraordinary exhaustionfor which there was no ordinary explanation. I give this suggestion asthe scientist gave it to me--the suggestion of some kind of_transference_ of vitality; and make no comment upon it, beyond sayingthat, superficially at any rate, it does not appear to me to conflictwith the various accounts of miracles given in the Gospel in which thefaith of the bystanders, as well as of sufferers, appeared to be asintegral an element in the miracle as the virtue which worked it. 

Owing to the time that has elapsed since the following pages werewritten for the _Ave Maria_--by the kindness of whose editor they arereprinted now--it is impossible for me to verify the spelling of all thenames that occur in the course of the narrative. I made notes while atLourdes, and from those notes wrote my account; it is thereforeextremely probable that small errors of spelling may have crept in, which I am now unable to correct. 

 ROBERT HUGH BENSON. 

 _Church of our Lady of Lourdes, New York, Lent, 1914_

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

 THE BASILICA. FRONT VIEW _Frontispiece_

 DR. BOISSARIE _to face p. _ 16

 BUREAU DES CONSTATATIONS " 26

 THE GROTTO IN 1858 " 36

 THE GROTTO IN 1914 " 46

 THE BLESSING OF THE SICK " 56

 THE BASILICA. SIDE VIEW " 66

 BERNADETTE " 78

I. 

The first sign of our approach to Lourdes was a vast wooden cross, crowning a pointed hill. We had been travelling all day, through theAugust sunlight, humming along the straight French roads beneath theendless avenues; now across a rich plain, with the road banked on eitherside to avert the spring torrents from the Pyrenees; now again mountingand descending a sudden shoulder of hill. A few minutes ago we hadpassed into Tarbes, the cathedral city of the diocese in which Lourdeslies; and there, owing to a little accident, we had been obliged tohalt, while the wheels of the car were lifted, with incredibleingenuity, from the deep gutter into which the chauffeur had, with thebest intentions, steered them. It was here, in the black eyes, thedominant profiles, the bright colours, the absorbed childish interest ofthe crowd, in their comments, their laughter, their seriousness, andtheir accent, that the South showed itself almost unmixed. It wasmarket-day in Tarbes; and when once more we were on our way, we stillwent slowly; passing, almost all the way into Lourdes itself, along-drawn procession--carts and foot passengers, oxen, horses, dogs, and children--drawing nearer every minute toward that ring of solemnblue hills that barred the view to Spain. 

It is difficult to describe with what sensations I came to Lourdes. As aChristian man, I did not dare to deny that miracles happened; as areasonably humble man, I did not dare to deny that they happened atLourdes; yet, I suppose, my attitude even up to now had been that of areverent agnostic--the attitude, in fact, of a majority of Christians onthis particular point--Christians, that is, who resemble the ApostleThomas in his less agreeable aspect. I had heard and read a good dealabout psychology, about the effect of mind on matter and of nerves ontissue; I had reflected upon the infection of an ardent crowd; I hadread Zola's dishonest book;[1] and these things, coupled with theextreme difficulty which the imagination finds in realizing what it hasnever experienced--since, after all, miracles are confessedlymiraculous, and therefore unusual--the effect of all this was to rendermy mental state a singularly detached one. I believed? Yes, I supposeso; but it was a halting act of faith pure and simple; it was not yeteither sight or real conviction. 

The cross, then, was the first glimpse of Lourdes' presence; and tenminutes later we were in the town itself. 

Lourdes is not beautiful, though it must once have been. It was once alittle Franco-Spanish town, set in the lap of the hills, with a swift, broad, shallow stream, the Gave, flowing beneath it. It is nowcosmopolitan, and therefore undistinguished. As we passed slowly throughthe crowded streets--for the National Pilgrimage was but nowarriving--we saw endless rows of shops and booths sheltering beneathtall white blank houses, as correct and as expressionless as abrainless, well-bred man. Here and there we passed a great hotel. Thecrowd about our wheels was almost as cosmopolitan as a Roman crowd. Itwas largely French, as that is largely Italian; but the Spaniards werethere, vivid-faced men and women, severe Britons, solemn Teutons; and, Ihave no doubt, Italians, Belgians, Flemish and Austrians as well. Atleast I heard during my three days' stay all the languages that I couldrecognize, and many that I could not. There were many motor-cars therebesides our own, carriages, carts, bell-clanging trams, and the littersof the sick. Presently we dismounted in a side street, and set out towalk to the Grotto, through the hot evening sunshine. 

The first sign of sanctity that we saw, as we came out at the end of astreet, was the mass of churches built on the rising ground above theriver. Imagine first a great oval of open ground, perhaps two hundred bythree hundred yards in area, crowded now with groups as busy as ants, partly embraced by two long white curving arms of masonry risingsteadily to their junction; at the point on this side where the endsshould meet if they were prolonged, stands a white stone image of OurLady upon a pedestal, crowned, and half surrounded from beneath by somekind of metallic garland arching upward. At the farther end the twocurves of masonry of which I have spoken, rising all the way by steps, meet upon a terrace. This terrace is, so to speak, the centre of gravityof the whole. 

For just above it stands the flattened dome of the Rosary Church, ofwhich the doors are beneath the terrace, placed upon broad flights ofsteps. Immediately above the dome is the entrance to the crypt of thebasilica; and, above that again, reached by further flights of steps, are the doors of the basilica; and, above it, the roof of the churchitself, with its soaring white spire high over all. 

Let me be frank. These buildings are not really beautiful. They areenormous, but they are not impressive; they are elaborate and fine andwhite, but they are not graceful. I am not sure what is the matter withthem; but I think it is that they appear to be turned out of a machine. They are too trim; they are like a well-dressed man who is not quite agentleman; they are like a wedding guest; they are _haute-bourgeoise_, they are not the nobility. It is a terrible pity, but I suppose it couldnot be helped, since they were allowed so little time to grow. There isno sense of reflectiveness about them, no patient growth of character, as in those glorious cathedrals, Amiens, Chartres, Beauvais, which I hadso lately seen. There is nothing in reserve; they say everything, theysuggest nothing. They have no imaginative vista. 

We said not one word to one another. We threaded our way across theground, diagonally, seeing as we went the Bureau de Constatations (orthe office where the doctors sit), contrived near the left arm of theterraced steps; and passed out under the archway, to find ourselves withthe churches on our left, and on our right the flowing Gave, confined onthis side by a terraced walk, with broad fields beyond the stream. 

The first thing I noticed were the three roofs of the _piscines_, on theleft side of the road, built under the cliff on which the churchesstand. I shall have more to say of them presently, but now it is enoughto remark that they resemble three little chapels, joined in one, eachwith its own doorway; an open paved space lies across the entrances, where the doctors and the priests attend upon the sick. This open spaceis fenced in all about, to keep out the crowd that perpetually seethesthere. We went a few steps farther, worked our way in among the people, and fell on our knees. 

Overhead, the cliff towered up, bare hanging rock beneath, grass andsoaring trees above; and at the foot of the cliff a tall, irregularcave. There are two openings of this cave; the one, the larger, is likea cage of railings, with the gleam of an altar in the gloom beyond, ahundred burning candles, and sheaves and stacks of crutches clinging tothe broken roofs of rock; the other, and smaller, and that farther fromus, is an opening in the cliff, shaped somewhat like a _vesica_. Thegrass still grows there, with ferns and the famous climbing shrub; andwithin the entrance, framed in it, stands Mary, in white and blue, asshe stood fifty years ago, raised perhaps twenty feet above the ground. 

Ah, that image!. .. I said, "As she stood there!" Yet it could not havebeen so; for surely even simple Bernadette would not have fallen on herknees. It is too white, it is too blue; it is, like the three churches, placed magnificently, yet not impressive; fine and slender, yet notgraceful. 

But we knelt there without unreality, with the river running swiftbehind us; for we knelt where a holy child had once knelt before aradiant vision, and with even more reason; for even if the one, as somesay, had been an hallucination, were those sick folk an hallucination?Was Pierre de Rudder's mended leg an hallucination, or the healed woundsof Marie Borel? Or were those hundreds upon hundreds of disused crutchesan illusion? Did subjectivity create all these? If so, what greatermiracle can be demanded?

And there was more than that. For when later, at Argelès, I looked overthe day, I was able to formulate for the first time the extraordinaryimpressions that Lourdes had given me. There was everything hostile tomy peace--an incalculable crowd, an oppressive heat, dust, noise, weariness; there was the disappointment of the churches and the image;there was the sour unfamiliarity of the place and the experience; andyet I was neither troubled nor depressed nor irritated nor disappointed. It appeared to me as if some great benign influence were abroad, soothing and satisfying; lying like a great summer air over all, toquiet and to stimulate. I cannot describe this further; I can only saythat it never really left me during those three days, I saw sights thatwould have saddened me elsewhere--apparent injustices, certaindisappointments, dashed hopes that would almost have broken my heart;and yet that great Power was over all, to reconcile, to quiet and toreassure. To leave Lourdes at the end was like leaving home. 

After a few minutes before the Grotto, we climbed the hill behind, madean appointment for my Mass on the morrow; and, taking the car again, moved slowly through the crowded streets, and swiftly along the countryroads, up to Argelès, nearly a dozen miles away. 

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The epithet is deliberate. He relates in his book, "Lourdes, " thestory of an imaginary case of a girl, suffering from tuberculosis, whogoes to Lourdes as a pilgrim, and is, apparently, cured of her disease. It breaks out, however, again during her return home; and the case wouldappear therefore to be one of those in which, owing to fierce excitementand the mere power of suggestion, there is a temporary amelioration, butno permanent, or supernatural, cure. Will it be believed that thedetails of this story, all of which are related with greatparticularity, and observed by Zola himself, were taken from an actualcase that occurred during one of his visits--all the details except therelapse? There was no relapse: the cure was complete and permanent. WhenDr. Boissarie later questioned the author as to the honesty of thisliterary device, saying that he had understood him to have stated thathe had come to Lourdes for the purpose of an impartial investigation, Zola answered that the characters in the book were his own, and that hecould make them do what he liked. It is on these principles that thebook is constructed. It must be added that Zola followed up the case, and had communications with the _miraculée_ long after her cure had beenshown to be permanent, and before his book appeared. 

II. 

We were in Lourdes again next morning a little after six o'clock; andalready it might have been high noon, for the streets were one movingmass of pilgrims. From every corner came gusts of singing; and here andthere through the crowd already moved the _brancardiers_--men of everynation with shoulder-straps and cross--bearing the litters with theirpiteous burdens. 

I was to say Mass in the crypt; and when I arrived there at last, thechurch was full from end to end. The interior was not so disappointingas I had feared. It had a certain solid catacombic gloom beneath its lowcurved roof, which, if it had not been for the colours and some of thedetails, might very nearly have come from the hand of a good architect. The arrangements for the pilgrims were as bad as possible; there was noorder, no marshalling; they moved crowd against crowd like herds ofbewildered sheep. Some were for Communion, some for Mass only, some forconfession; and they pushed patiently this way and that in everydirection. It was a struggle before I got my vestments; I produced aletter from the Bishop of Rodez, with whom I had lunched a few daysbefore; I argued, I deprecated, I persuaded, I quoted. Everything oncemore was against my peace of mind; yet I have seldom said Mass with moreconsolations than in that tiny sanctuary of the high Altar. .. . Anecclesiastic served, and an old priest knelt devoutly at a prie-Dieu. 

When the time for Communion came, I turned about and saw but one sea offaces stretching from the altar rail into as much of the darkness as Icould discern. For a quarter of an hour I gave Communion rapidly; then, as soon as another priest could force his way through the crowd, Icontinued Mass; he had not nearly finished giving Communion when I hadended my thanksgiving. This, too, was the same everywhere--in the crypt, in the basilica, in the Rosary Church, and above all in the Grotto. Theaverage number of Communions every day throughout the year in Lourdesis, I am told, four thousand. In that year of Jubilee, however, Dr. Boissarie informed me, in round numbers, one million Communions weremade, sixty thousand Masses were said, with two thousand Communions ateach midnight Mass. .. . Does Jesus Christ go out when Mary comes in? Weare told so by non-Catholics. Rather, it seems as if, like the Wise Menof old, men still find the Child with Mary His Mother. 

At the close of my Mass, the old priest rose from his place and began toprepare the vessels and arrange the Missal. As soon as I took off thevestments he put them on. I assented passively, supposing him to be thenext on the list; I even answered his _Kyrie_. But at the Collect afrantic sacristan burst through the crowd; and from remarks made to thedevout old priest and myself, I learned that the next on the list wasstill waiting in the sacristy, and that this old man was an adroitthough pious interloper who had determined not to take "No" for ananswer. He finished his Mass. I forbear from comment. 

For a while afterward we stood on the terrace above the _piscines_; and, indeed, after breakfast I returned here again alone, and remained duringall the morning. It was an extraordinary sight. From the terrace, thecliff fell straight away down to the roofs of the three chapel-likebuildings, fifty or sixty feet beneath. Beyond that I could see thepaved space, sprinkled with a few moving figures; and, beyond thebarrier, the crowd stretching across the roadway and far on either side. Behind them was the clean river and the green meadows, all delicious inthe early sunlight. 

During that morning I must have seen many hundreds of the sick carriedinto the baths; for there were almost two thousand sick in Lourdes onthat day. I could even watch their faces, white and drawn with pain, orhorribly scarred, as they lay directly beneath me, "waiting for some manto put them into the water. " I saw men and women of all nations and allranks attending upon them, carrying them tenderly, fanning their faces, wiping their lips, giving them to drink of the Grotto water. A murmur ofthousands of footsteps came up from beneath (this National Pilgrimage ofFrance numbered between eighty and an hundred thousand persons); andloud above the footsteps came the cries of the priests, as they stood ina long row facing the people, with arms extended in the form of a cross. Now and again came a far-off roar of singing from the Grotto to my left, where Masses were said continuously by bishops and favoured priests; orfrom my right, from the great oval space beneath the steps; and then, ona sudden a great chorus of sound from beneath, as the _Gloria Patri_burst out when the end of some decade was reached. All about us was thewheeling earth, the Pyrenees behind, the meadows in front; and over usheaven, with Mary looking down. 

Once from beneath during that long morning I heard terrible shrieks, asof a demoniac, that died into moans and ceased. And once I saw a littleprocession go past from the Grotto, with the Blessed Sacrament in themidst. There was no sensation, no singing. The Lord of all went simplyby on some errand of mercy, and men fell on their knees and crossedthemselves as He went. 

After _déjeûner_ at the Hotel Moderne, where now it was decided that weshould stay until the Monday, we went down to the Bureau. At first therewere difficulties made, as the doctors were not come; and I occupied alittle while in watching the litters unloaded from the wagonettes thatbrought them gently down to within a hundred yards of the Grotto. Onceindeed I was happy to be able to fit a _brancardier's_ straps into thepoles that supported a sick woman. It was all most terrible and mostbeautiful. Figure after figure was passed along the seats--livingcrucifixes of pain--and lowered tenderly to the ground, to lie there amoment or two, with the body horribly flat and, as it seemed, almostnon-existent beneath the coverlet; and the white face with blazing eyesof anguish, or passive and half dead, to show alone that a humancreature lay there. Then one by one each was lifted and swung gentlydown to the gate of the _piscines_. 

At about three o'clock, after an hour's waiting, I succeeded in gettinga certain card passed through the window, and immediately a message cameout from Dr. Cox that I was to be admitted. I passed through a barrier, through a couple of rooms, and found myself in the Holy Place ofScience, as the Grotto is the Holy Place of Grace. 

It is a little room in which perhaps twenty persons can stand withcomfort. Again and again I saw more than sixty there. Down one side runsa table, at one end of which sits Dr. Cox; in the centre, facing theroom, is the presiding doctor's chair, where, as a rule, Dr. Boissarieis to be found. Dr. Cox set me between him and the president, and Ibegan to observe. 

At the farther end of the room is a long glazed case of photographs hungagainst the wall. Here are photographs of many of the most famouspatients. The wounds of Marie Borel are shown there; Marie Borel herselfhad been present in the Bureau that morning to report upon her excellenthealth. (She was cured last year instantaneously, in the _piscine_, of anumber of running wounds, so deep that they penetrated the intestines. )On the table lay some curious brass objects, which I learned later weremodels of the bones of Pierre de Rudder's legs. (This man had for eightyears suffered from a broken leg and two running wounds--one at thefracture, the other on the foot. These were gangrenous. The ends of thebroken bones were seen immediately before the cure, which took placeinstantaneously at the shrine of Our Lady of Lourdes at Oostacker. Pierre lived rather over twenty years after his sudden and completerestoration to health). For the rest, the room is simple enough. Thereare a few chairs. Another door leads into a little compartment where thesick can be examined privately; a third and a fourth lead into the openair on either side. There are two windows, looking out respectively onthis side and that. 

Now I spent a great deal of my time in the Bureau. (I was givenpresently a "doctor's cross" to wear--consisting of a kind of cardboardwith a white upright and red cross-bar--so that I could pass in and outas I wished). I may as well, then, sum up once and for all theimpressions I received from observing the methods of the doctors. Therewere all kinds of doctors there continually--Catholics andfree-thinkers, old, young, middle-aged. The cases were discussed withthe utmost freedom. Any could ask questions of the _miraculés_ or of theother doctors. The certificates of the sick were read aloud. I mayobserve, too, that if there was any doubt as to the certificates, ifthere was any question of a merely nervous malady, any conceivablepossibility of a mistake, the case was dismissed abruptly. Thesecertificates, then, given by the doctor attending the sick person, datedand signed, are of the utmost importance; for without them no cure isregistered. Yet, in spite of these demands, I saw again and again sixtyor seventy men, dead silent, staring, listening with all their ears, while some poor uneducated man or woman, smiling radiantly, gave alittle history or answered the abrupt kindly questions of the presidingdoctor. 

Again, and again, too, it seemed to me that all this had been enactedbefore. There was once upon a time a man born blind who received hissight, and round him there gathered keen-eyed doctors of another kind. They tried to pose him with questions. It was unheard of, they cried, that a man born blind should receive his sight; at least it could nothave been as he said. Yet there stood the man in the midst, seeing themas they saw him, and giving his witness. "This, " he said, "was the wayit was done. Such and such is the name of the Man who cured me. And lookfor yourselves! I was blind; now I see. "

After I had looked and made notes and asked questions of Dr. Cox, Dr. Boissarie came in. I was made known to him; and presently he took measide, with a Scottish priest (who all through my stay showed me greatkindness), and began to ask me questions. It seemed that, since therewas no physical _miraculé_ present just now, a spiritual _miraculé_would do as well; for he asked me a hundred questions as to myconversion and its causes, and what part prayer played in it; and thedoctors crowded round and listened to my halting French. 

"It was the need of a divine Leader--an authority--then, that broughtyou in?"

"Yes, it was that; it was the position of St. Peter in the Scripturesand in history; it was the supernatural unity of the Church. It isimpossible to say exactly which argument predominated. "

"It was, in fact, the grace of God, " smiled the Doctor. 

Dr. Boissarie, as also Dr. Cox, was extremely good to me. He is anoldish man, with a keen, clever, wrinkled face; he is of middle-size, and walks very slowly and deliberately; he is a fervent Catholic. He isvery sharp and businesslike, but there is an air of wonderful goodnessand kindness about him; he takes one by the arm in a very pleasantmanner; I have seen dilatory, rambling patients called to their sensesin an instant, yet never frightened. 

Dr. Cox, who has been at Lourdes for fourteen years, is a typicalEnglishman, ruddy, with a white moustache. His part is mostlysecretarial, it seems; though he too asks questions now and again. Itwas he who gave me the "doctor's cross, " and who later obtained for mean even more exceptional favour, of which I shall speak in the properplace. I heard a tale that he himself had been cured of some illness atLourdes, but I cannot vouch for it as true. I did not like to ask himoutright. 

Presently from outside came the sound of organized singing, and the roombegan to empty. The afternoon procession was coming. I ran to the windowthat looks toward the Grotto; and there, sitting by an AssumptionistFather--one of that Order who once had, officially, charge of theGrotto, and now unofficially assists at it--I saw the procession gopast. 

I have no idea of its numbers. I saw only beyond the single line ofheads outside the window, an interminable double stream of men go past, each bearing a burning taper and singing as he came. There were personsof every kind in that stream--groups of boys and young men, with theirpriest beating time in the midst; middle-aged men and old men. I sawagain and again that kind of face which a foolish Briton is accustomedto regard as absurd--a military, musketeer profile, immense moustachesand imperial, and hair _en brosse_. Yet indeed there was nothing absurd. It was terribly moving, and a lump rose in my throat, as I watched sucha sanguine bristling face as one of these, all alight with passion andadoration. Such a man might be a grocer, or a local mayor, or a duke; itwas all one; he was a child of Mary; and he loved her with all hisheart, and Gabriel's salute was on his lips. Then the priests began tocome; long lines of them in black; then white cottas; then gleams ofpurple; then a pectoral cross or two; and last the great canopy swayingwith all its bells and tassels. 

III. 

Now, it is at the close of the afternoon procession that the sick moreusually are healed. I crossed the Bureau to the other window that lookson to what I will call the square, and began to watch for thereappearance of the procession on that side. In front of me was a densecrowd of heads, growing more dense every step up to the barriers thatenclose the open space in the midst. It was beyond those barriers, as Iknew, that the sick were laid ready for the passing by of Jesus ofNazareth. On the right rose the wide sweep of steps and terraces leadingup to the basilica, and every line of stone was crowned with heads. Evenon the cliffs beyond, I could see figures coming and going and watching. In all, about eighty thousand persons were present. 

Presently the singing grew loud again; the procession had turned thecorner and entered the square; and I could see the canopy moving quicklydown the middle toward the Rosary Church, for its work was done. TheBlessed Sacrament was now to be carried round the lines of the sick, beneath an _ombrellino_. 

I shall describe all this later, and more in detail; it is enough justnow to say that the Blessed Sacrament went round, that It was carried atlast to the steps of the Rosary Church, and that, after the singing ofthe _Tantum Ergo_ by that enormous crowd, Benediction was given. Thenthe Bureau began to fill, and I turned round for the scientific aspectof the affair. 

The first thing that I saw was a little girl, seeming eight or nineyears old, who walked in and stood at the other side of the table, to beexamined. Her name was Marguerite Vandenabeele--so I read on thecertificate--and she had suffered since birth from infantile paralysis, with such a result that she was unable to put her heels to the ground. That morning in the _piscine_ she had found herself able to walkproperly though her heels were tender from disuse. We looked at her--thedoctors who had begun again to fill the room, and myself, with three orfour more amateurs. There she stood, very quiet and unexcited, with aslightly flushed face. Some elder person in charge of her gave in thecertificate and answered the questions. Then she went away. [2]

Now, I must premise that the cures that took place while I was atLourdes that August cannot yet be regarded as finally established, sincenot sufficient time has elapsed for their test and verification. [3]Occasionally there is a relapse soon after the apparent cure, in thecase of certain diseases that may be more or less affected by a nervouscondition; occasionally claimants are found not to be cured at all. Forscientific certainty, therefore, it is better to rely upon cures thathave taken place a year, or at least some months previously, in whichthe restored health is preserved. There are, of course a large number ofsuch cases; I shall come to them presently. [4]

The next patient to enter the room was one Mlle. Bardou. I learned laterfrom her lips that she was a secularized Carmelite nun, expelled fromher convent by the French Government. There was the further pathos inher case in the fact that her cure, when I left Lourdes, was believed tobe at least doubtful. But now she took her seat, with a radiantly happyface, to hand in her certificate and answer the questions. She hadsuffered from renal tuberculosis; her certificate proved that. She washere herself, without pain or discomfort, to prove that she no longersuffered. Relief had come during the procession. A question or two wasput to her; an arrangement was made for her return after examination;and she went out. 

The room was rapidly filling now; there were forty or fifty personspresent. There was a sudden stir; those who sat rose up; and there cameinto the room three bishops in purple--from St. Paul in Brazil, theBishop of Beauvais, and the famous orator, Monseigneur Touchet, ofOrléans--all of whom had taken part in the procession. These sat down, and the examination went on. 

The next to enter was Juliette Gosset, aged twenty-five, from Paris. Shehad a darkish plain face, and was of middle size. She answered thequestions quietly enough, though there was evident a suppressedexcitement beneath. She had been cured during the procession, she said;she had stood up and walked. And her illness? She showed a certificate, dated in the previous March, asserting that she suffered gravely fromtuberculosis, especially in the right lung; she added herself that hipdisease had developed since that time, that one leg had become sevencentimetres shorter than the other, and that she had been for somemonths unable to sit or kneel. Yet here she walked and sat without thesmallest apparent discomfort. When she had finished her tale, a doctorpointed out that the certificate said nothing of any hip disease. Sheassented, explaining again the reason; but added that the hospital whereshe lodged in Lourdes would corroborate what she said. Then shedisappeared into the little private room to be examined. 

There followed a nun, pale and black-eyed, who made gestures as shestood by Dr. Boissarie and told her story. She spoke very rapidly. Ilearned that she had been suffering from a severe internal malady, andthat she had been cured instantaneously in the _piscine_. She handed inher certificate, and then she, too, vanished. 

After a few minutes there returned the doctor who had examined JulietteGosset. Now, I think it should impress the incredulous that this casewas pronounced unsatisfactory, and will not, probably, appear upon theregisters. It was perfectly true that the girl had had tuberculosis, andthat now nothing was to be detected except the very faintest symptom--sofaint as to be negligible--in the right lung. It appeared to be truealso that she had had hip disease, since there were upon her bodycertain marks of treatment by burning; and that her legs were now of anexactly equal length. But, firstly, the certificate was five months old, secondly, it made no mention of hip disease; thirdly, seven centimetreswas almost too large a measure to be believed. The case then wasreferred back for further investigation; and there it stood when I leftLourdes. The doctors shook their heads considerably over the sevencentimetres. 

There followed next one of the most curious instances of all. It was anold _miraculée_ who came back to report; her case is reported at lengthin Dr. Boissarie's _Œuvre de Lourdes_, on pages 299-308. [5] Her namewas Marie Cools, and she came from Anvers, suffering apparently from_mal de Pott_, and paralysis and anæsthesia of the legs. This state hadlasted for about three years. The doctors consulted differed as to hercase: two diagnosing it as mentioned above, two as hysteria. For tenmonths she had suffered, moreover, from constant feverishness; she wascontinually sick, and the work of digestion was painful and difficult. There was a marked lateral deviation of the spinal column, with atrophyof the leg muscles. At the second bath she began to improve, and thepains in the back ceased; at the fourth bath the paralysis vanished, herappetite came steadily back, and the sickness ceased. Now she came in toannounce her continued good health. 

There are a number of interesting facts as to this case; and the firstis the witness of the infidel doctor who sent her to Lourdes, since itseemed to him that "religious suggestion, " was the only hope left. He, by the way, had diagnosed her case as one of hysteria. "It had aresult, " he writes, "which I, though an unbeliever, can characterizeonly as marvellous. Marie Cools returned completely, absolutely cured. No trace of paralysis or anæsthesia. She is actually on her feet; and, two hospital servants having been stricken by typhoid, she is taking theplace of one of them. " Another interesting fact is that a positive stormraged at Anvers over her cure, and that Dr. Van de Vorst was at theensuing election dismissed from the hospital, with at least a suspicionthat the cause of his dismissal lay in his having advised the girl to goto Lourdes at all. 

Dr. Boissarie makes an interesting comment or two on the case, allowingthat it may perhaps have been hysteria, though this is not at allcertain. "When we have to do with nervous maladies, we must alwaysremember the rules of Benedict XIV. : 'The miracle cannot consist in thecessation of the crises, but in the cessation of the nervous state whichproduces them. '" It is this that has been accomplished in the case ofMarie Cools. And again: "Either Marie Cools is not cured, or there is inher cure something other than suggestion, even religious. It is high timeto leave that tale alone, and to cease to class under the title ofreligious suggestion two orders of facts completely distinct--superficialand momentary modifications, and constitutional modifications so profoundthat science cannot explain them. I repeat: to make of an hystericalpatient one whose equilibrium is perfect . .. Is a thing more difficultthan the cure of a wound. "

So he wrote at the time of her apparent cure, hesitating still as to itspermanence. And here, before my eyes and his, she stood again, healthyand well. 

And so at last I went back to dinner. A very different scene followed. For a couple of hours we had been materialists, concerning ourselves notwith what Mary had done by grace--at least not in that aspect--but withwhat nature showed to have been done, by whatever agency, in itself. Nowonce more we turned to Mary. 

It was dark when we arrived at the square, but the whole place was alivewith earthly lights. High up to our left hung the church, outlined infire--tawdry, I dare say, with its fairy lights of electricity, yetspeaking to three-quarters of this crowd in the highest language theyknew. Light, after all, is the most heavenly thing we possess. Does itmatter so very much if it is decked out and arranged in what to superiorpersons appears a finikin fashion?

The crowd itself had become a serpent of fire, writhing here below inendlessly intricate coils; up there along the steps and parapets, along-drawn, slow-moving line; and from the whole incalculable numbercame gusts and roars of singing, for each carried a burning torch andsang with his group. The music was of all kinds. Now and again came the_Laudate Mariam_ from one company, following to some degree the generalmovement of the procession, and singing from little paper-books whicheach read by the light of his wind-blown lantern; now the _GloriaPatri_, as a band came past reciting the Rosary; but above all pealedthe ballad of Bernadette, describing how the little child went one dayby the banks of the Gave, how she heard the thunderous sound, and, turning, saw the Lady, with all the rest of the sweet story, each stanzaending with that

 Ave, Ave, Ave Maria!

that I think will ring in my ears till I die. 

It was an astounding sight to see that crowd and to hear that singing, and to watch each group as it came past--now girls, now boys, nowstalwart young men, now old veteran pilgrims, now a bent old woman; eachface illumined by the soft paper-shrouded candle, and each mouth singingto Mary. Hardly one in a thousand of those came to be cured of anysickness; perhaps not one in five hundred had any friend among thepatients; yet here they were, drawn across miles of hot France, to give, not to get. Can France, then, be so rotten?

As I dropped off to sleep that night, the last sound of which I wasconscious was, still that cannon-like chorus, coming from the directionof the square:

 Ave, Ave, Ave Maria! Ave, Ave, Ave Maria!

FOOTNOTES:

[2] _La Voix de Lourdes_, a semi-official paper, gives the followingaccount of her, in its issue of the 23rd: ". .. Marguerite Vandenabeele, 10 ans, de Nieurlet, hameau de Hedezeele, (Nord), est arrivée avec undes trains de Paris, portant un certificat du Docteur Dantois, daté deSt. Momeleu (Nord) le 25 mai, 1908, la déclarant atteinte _d'atrophie dela jambe gauche_ avec _pied-bot équin_. Elle ne marchait que trèsdifficilement et très péniblement. A la sortie de la piscine, vendredisoir, elle a pu marcher facilement. Amenée au Bureau Médical, on l'adébarrassée de l'appareil dans lequel était enfermé son pied. Depuis, elle marche bien, et parait guérie. "

[3] This was written in the autumn of the year 1908, in which this visitof mine took place. 

[4] Since 1888 the registered cures are estimated as follows: '88, 57;'89, 44; '90, 80; '91, 53; '92, 99; '93, 91; '94, 127; '95, 163; '96, 145; '97, 163; '98, 243; '99, 174; 1900, 160; '01, 171; '02, 164; '03, 161; '04, 140; '05, 157; '06, 148; '07, 109. 

[5] My notes are rather illegible at this point, but I make no doubtthat this was Marie Cools. 

IV. 

I awoke to that singing again, in my room above the door of the hotel;and went down presently to say my Mass in the Rosary Church, where, bythe kindness of the Scottish priest of whom I have spoken, an altar hadbeen reserved for me. The Rosary Church is tolerably fine within. It hasan immense flattened dome, beyond which stands the high altar; and roundabout are fifteen chapels dedicated to the Fifteen Mysteries, which arepainted above their respective altars. 

But I was to say Mass in a little temporary chapel to the left of theentrance, formed, I suppose, out of what usually serves as some kind ofa sacristy. The place was hardly forty feet long; its high altar, atwhich I both vested and said Mass, was at the farther end; but eachside, too, was occupied by three priests, celebrating simultaneouslyupon altar-stones laid on long, continuous boards that ran the length ofthe chapel. The whole of the rest of the space was crammed tooverflowing; indeed it had been scarcely possible to get entrance to thechapel at all, so vast was the crowd in the great church outside. 

After breakfast I went down to the Bureau once more, and found businessalready begun. The first case, which was proceeding as I entered, wasthat of a woman (whose name I could not catch) who had been cured ofconsumption in the previous year, and who now came back to report astate of continued good health. Her brother-in-law came with her, andshe remarked with pleasure that the whole family was now returning tothe practice of religion. During this investigation I noticed alsoJuliette Gosset seated at the table, apparently in robust health. 

There followed Natalie Audivin, a young woman who declared that she hadbeen cured in the previous year, and that she supposed her case had beenentered in the books; but at the moment, at any rate, her name could notbe found, and for the present the case was dismissed. 

I now saw a Capuchin priest in the room--a small, rosy, bearded man--andsupposed that he was present merely as a spectator; but a minute or twolater Dr. Boissarie caught sight of him, and presently was showing himoff to me, much to his smiling embarrassment. He had caught consumptionof the intestines, it seemed, some years before, from attending upon twoof his dying brethren, and had come to Lourdes almost at his last gaspin the year 1900 A. D. Here he stood, smiling and rosy. 

There followed Mademoiselle Madeleine Laure, cured of severe internaltroubles (I did not catch the details) in the previous year. 

Presently the Bishop of Dalmatia came in, and sat in his chair oppositeme, while we heard the account of Miss Noemie Nightingale, of UpperNorwood, cured in the previous June of deafness, rising, in the case ofone ear at least, from a perforation of the drum. She was present at the_piscines_, when on a sudden she had felt excruciating pains in theears. The next she knew was that she heard the _Magnificat_ being sungin honour of her cure. 

Mademoiselle Marie Bardou came in about this time, and passed through tothe inner room to be examined; while we received from a doctor a reportof the lame child whom we had seen on the previous day. All was as hadbeen said. She could now put her heels to the ground and walk. It seemedshe had been conscious of a sensation of hammering in her feet at themoment of the cure, followed by a feeling of relief. 

And so they went on. Next came Mademoiselle Eugénie Meunier, cured twomonths before of fistula. She had given her certificate into the care ofher _curé_, who could not at this moment be found--naturally enough, asshe had made no appointment with him!--but she was allowed to tell herstory, and to show a copy of her parish magazine in which her story wasgiven. She had had in her body one wound of ten centimetres in size. After bathing one evening she had experienced relief; by the nextmorning the wound, which had flowed for six months, was completelyclosed, and had remained so. Her strength and appetite had returned. This cure had taken place in her own lodging, since her state was suchthat she was forbidden to go to the Grotto. 

The next case was that of a woman with paralysis, who was enteredprovisionally as one of the "ameliorations. " She was now able to walk, but the use of her hand was not yet fully restored. She was sent back tothe _piscines_, and ordered to report again later. 

The next was a boy of about twelve years old, Hilaire Ferraud, cured ofa terrible disease of the bone three years before. Until that time hewas unable to walk without support. He had been cured in the _piscines_. He had been well ever since. He followed the trade of a carpenter. Andnow he hopped solemnly, first on one leg and then on the other, to thedoor and back, to show his complete recovery. Further, he had hadrunning wounds on one leg, now healed. His statements were verified. 

The next was an oldish man, who came accompanied by his tall, black-bearded son, to report on his continued good health since hisrecovery, eight years previously, from neurasthenia and insanity. He hadhad the illusion of being persecuted, with suicidal tendencies; he hadbeen told he could not travel twenty miles, and he had travelled overeight hundred kilometres, after four years' isolation. He had stayed afew months in Lourdes, bathing in the _piscines_, and the obsession hadleft him. His statements were verified; he was congratulated anddismissed. 

There followed Emma Mourat to report; and then Madame Simonet, curedeight years ago of a cystic tumour in the abdomen. She had been sittingin one of the churches, I think, when there was a sudden discharge ofmatter, and a sense of relief. On the morrow, after another bath, thesense of discomfort had finally disappeared. During Madame Simonet'sexamination, as the crowd was great, several persons were dismissed tilla later hour. 

There followed another old patient to report. She had been cured twoyears before of myelitis and an enormous tumour that, after twenty-twoyears of suffering, had been declared "incurable" in her certificate. The cure had taken place during the procession, in the course of whichshe suddenly felt herself, she said, impelled to rise from her litter. Her appetite had returned and she had enjoyed admirable health eversince. Her name was looked up, and the details verified. 

There followed Madame François and some doctor's evidence. Nine yearsago she had been cured of fistula in the arm. She had been operated uponfive times; finally, as her arm measured a circumference of seventy-twocentimetres, amputation had been declared necessary. She had refused, and had come to Lourdes. Her cure occupied three days, at the end ofwhich her arm had resumed its normal size of twenty-five centimetres. She showed her arm, with faint scars visible upon it; it was againmeasured and found normal. 

It was an amazing morning. Here I had sat for nearly three hours, seeingwith my own eyes persons of all ages and both sexes, suffering fromevery variety of disease, present themselves before sixty or seventydoctors, saying that they had been cured miraculously by the Mother ofGod. Various periods had elapsed since their cures--a day, two or threemonths, one year, eight years, nine years. These persons had beenoperated upon, treated, subjected to agonizing remedies; one or two hadbeen declared actually incurable; and then, either in an instant, orduring the lapse of two or three days, or two or three months, had beenrestored to health by prayer and the application of a little water inno way remarkable for physical qualities. 

What do the doctors say to this? Some confess frankly that it ismiraculous in the literal sense of the term, and join with the patientsin praising Mary and her Divine Son. Some say nothing; some are contentto say that science at its present stage cannot account for it all, butthat in a few years, no doubt . .. And the rest of it. I did not hear anysay that: "He casteth out devils by Beelzebub, the prince of devils";but that is accounted for by the fact that those who might wish to sayit do not believe in Beelzebub. 

But will science ever account for it all? That I leave to God. All thatI can say is that, if so, it is surely as wonderful as any miracle, thatthe Church should have hit upon a secret that the scientists havemissed. But is there not a simpler way of accounting for it? For readand consider the human evidence as regards Bernadette--her age, hersimplicity, her appearance of ecstasy. She said that she saw this Ladyeighteen times; on one of these occasions, in the presence ofbystanders. She was bidden, she said, to go to the water. She turned togo down to the Gave, but was recalled and bidden to dig in the earth ofthe Grotto. She did so, and a little muddy water appeared where no soulin the village knew that there was water. Hour by hour this water waxedin volume; to-day it pours out in an endless stream, is conductedthrough the _piscines_; and it is after washing in this water thatbodies are healed in a fashion for which "science cannot account. "Perhaps it cannot. Perhaps it is not intended. But there are thingsbesides science, and one of them is religion. Is not the evidencetolerably strong? Or is it a series of coincidences that the child hadan hallucination, devised some trick with the water, and that this waterhappens to be an occasion of healing people declared incurable by knownmeans?

What is the good of these miracles? If so many are cured, why are notall? Are the _miraculés_ especially distinguished for piety? Is itto be expected that unbelievers will be convinced? Is it claimed that theevidence is irresistible? Let us go back to the Gospels. It used to besaid by doubters that the "miraculous element" must have been addedlater by the piety of the disciples, because all the world knew now that"miracles" did not happen. That _a priori_ argument is surelysilenced by Lourdes. "Miracles" in that sense undoubtedly do happen, ifpresent-day evidence is worth anything whatever. What, then, is theChristian theory?

It is this. Our Blessed Lord appears to have worked miracles of such anature that their significance was not, historically speaking, absolutely evident to those who, for other reasons, did not "believe inHim. " It is known how some asked for a "sign from heaven" and wererefused it; how He Himself said that even if one rose from the dead, they would not believe; yet, further, how He begged them to believe Himeven for His work's sake, if for nothing else. We know, finally, how, when confronted with one particular miracle, His enemies cried out thatit must have been done by diabolical agency. 

Very good, then. It would seem that the miracles of Our Lord were of anature that strongly disposed to belief those that witnessed them, andhelped vastly in the confirmation of the faith of those who alreadybelieved; but that miracles, as such, cannot absolutely compel thebelief of those who for moral reasons refuse it. If they could, faithwould cease to be faith. 

Now, this seems precisely the state of affairs at Lourdes. Evenunbelieving scientists are bound to admit that science at present cannotaccount for the facts, which is surely the modern equivalent for theBeelzebub theory. We have seen, too, how severely scientific personssuch as Dr. Boissarie and Dr. Cox--if they will permit me to quote theirnames--knowing as well as anyone what medicine and surgery and hypnotismand suggestion can and cannot do, corroborate this evidence, and see inthe facts a simple illustration of the truth of that Catholic Faithwhich they both hold and practise. 

Is not the parallel a fair one? What more, then, do the adversarieswant? There is no arguing with people who say that, since there isnothing but Nature, no process can be other than natural. There is nosign, even from heaven, that could break down the intellectual prejudiceof such people. If they saw Jesus Christ Himself in glory, they couldalways say that "at present science cannot account for the phenomenon ofa luminous body apparently seated upon a throne, but no doubt it will doso in the course of time. " If they saw a dead and corrupting man risefrom the grave, they could always argue that he could not have been deadand corrupting, or he could not have risen from the grave. Nothing butthe Last Judgment could convince such persons. Even when the trumpetsounds, I believe that some of them, when they have recovered from theirfirst astonishment, will make remarks about aural phenomena. 

But for the rest of us, who believe in God and His Son and the Mother ofGod on quite other grounds--because our intellect is satisfied, ourheart kindled, our will braced by the belief; and because without thatbelief all life falls into chaos, and human evidence is nullified, andall noble motive and emotion cease--for us, who have received the giftof faith, in however small a measure, Lourdes is enough. Christ and HisMother are with us. Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, to-day, and forever. Is not that, after all, the simplest theory?

V. 

After _déjeûner_ I set out again to find the Scottish priest, who hopedto be able to take me to a certain window in the Rosary Church, whereonly a few were admitted, from which we might view the procession andthe Blessing of the Sick. But we were disappointed; and, after a certainamount of scheming, we managed to get a position at the back of thecrowd on the top of the church steps. I was able to climb up a fewinches above the others, and secured a very tolerable view of the wholescene. 

The crowd was beyond describing. Here about us was a vast concourse ofmen; and as far as the eye could reach down the huge oval, and far awaybeyond the crowned statue, and on either side back to the Bureau on theleft, and on the slopes on the right, stretched an inconceivablepavement of heads. Above us, too, on every terrace and step, back to thedoors of the great basilica, we knew very well, was one seething, singing mob. A great space was kept open on the level ground beneathus--I should say one hundred by two hundred yards in area--and theinside fringe of this was composed of the sick, in litters, in chairs, standing, sitting, lying and kneeling. It was at the farther end thatthe procession would enter. 

After perhaps half an hour's waiting, during which one incessant gust ofsinging rolled this way and that through the crowd, the leaders of theprocession appeared far away--little white or black figures, small asdolls--and the singing became general. But as the endless files rolledout, the singing ceased, and a moment later a priest, standing solitaryin the great space began to pray aloud in a voice like a silver trumpet. 

I have never heard such passion in my life. I began to watch presently, almost mechanically, the little group beneath the _ombrellino_, in whiteand gold, and the movements of the monstrance blessing the sick; butagain and again my eyes wandered back to the little figure in the midst, and I cried out with the crowd, sentence after sentence, following thatpassionate voice:

"_Seigneur, nous vous adorons!_"

"_Seigneur, _" came the huge response, "_nous vous adorons!_"

"_Seigneur, nous vous aimons!_" cried the priest. 

"_Seigneur, nous vous aimons!_" answered the people. 

"_Sauvez-nous, Jésus; nous périssons!_"

"_Sauvez-nous, Jésus; nous périssons!_"

"_Jésus, Fils de Marie, ayez pitié de nous!_"

"_Jésus, Fils de Marie, ayez pitié de nous!_"

Then with a surge rose up the plainsong melody. 

"_Parce, Domine!_" sang the people. "_Parce populo tuo! Ne in aeternumirascaris nobis. _"

Again:

"_Gloria Patri et Filio et Spiritui Sancto. _"

"_Sicut erat in principio et nunc et semper, et in sæcula sæculorum. Amen. _"

Then again the single voice and the multitudinous answer:

"_Vous êtes la Résurrection et la Vie!_"

And then an adjuration to her whom He gave to be our Mother. 

"_Mère du Sauveur, priez pour nous!_"

"_Salut des Infirmes, priez pour nous!_"

Then once more the singing; then the cry, more touching than all:

"_Seigneur, guérissez nos malades!_"

"_Seigneur, guérissez nos malades!_"

Then the kindling shout that brought the blood to ten thousand faces:

"_Hosanna! Hosanna au Fils de David!_" (I shook to hear it). 

"_Hosanna!_" cried the priest, rising from his knees with arms flungwide. 

"_Hosanna!_" roared the people, swift as an echo. 

"_Hosanna! Hosanna!_" crashed out again and again, like greatartillery. 

Yet there was no movement among those piteous prostrate lines. TheBishop, the _ombrellino_ over him, passed on slowly round the circle;and the people cried to Him whom he bore, as they cried two thousandyears ago on the road to the city of David. Surely He will be pitifulupon this day--the Jubilee Year of His Mother's graciousness, the octaveof her assumption to sit with Him on His throne!

"_Mère du Sauveur, priez pour nous!_"

"_Jésus, vous êtes mon Seigneur et mon Dieu!_"

Yet there was no movement. 

If ever "suggestion" could work a miracle, it must work it now. "Weexpect the miracles during the procession to-morrow and on Sunday, " apriest had said to me on the previous day. And there I stood, one of ahundred thousand, confident in expectation, thrilled by that voice, nothing doubting or fearing; there were the sick beneath me, answeringweakly and wildly to the crying of the priest; and yet there was nomovement, no sudden leap of a sick man from his bed as Jesus went by, novibrating scream of joy--"_Je suis guéri! Je suis guéri!_"--notumultuous rush to the place, and the roar of the _Magnificat_, as wehad been led to expect. 

The end was coming near now. The monstrance had reached the image onceagain, and was advancing down the middle. The voice of the priest grewmore passionate still, as he tossed his arms and cried for mercy

"_Jésus, ayez pitié de nous!--ayez pitié[Transcriber's Note: originalhad "pitiê"] de nous!_"

And the people, frantic with ardour and desire, answered him in a voiceof thunder:

"_Ayez pitié de nous!--ayez pitié de nous!_"

And now up the steps came the grave group to where Jesus would at leastbless His own, though He would not heal them; and the priest in themidst, with one last cry, gave glory to Him who must be served throughwhatever misery:

"_Hosanna! Hosanna au Fils de David!_"

Surely that must touch the Sacred Heart! Will not His Mother say oneword?

"_Hosanna! Hosanna au Fils de David!_"

"_Hosanna!_" cried the priest. 

"_Hosanna!_" cried the people. 

"_Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna!. .. _"

One articulate roar of disappointed praise, and then--_Tantum ergoSacramentum!_ rose in its solemnity. 

When Benediction was over, I went back to the Bureau; but there waslittle to be seen there. No, there were no miracles to-day, I wastold--or hardly one. Perhaps one in the morning. It was not known. 

Several Bishops were there again, listening to the talk of the doctors, and the description of certain cases on previous days. Père Salvator, the Capuchin, was there again; as also the tall bearded AssumptionistFather of whom I have spoken. But there was not a great deal of interestor excitement. I had the pleasure of talking a while with the Bishop ofTarbes, who introduced me again to the Capuchin, and retold his story. 

But I was a little unhappy. The miracle was that I was not more so. Ihad expected so much: I had seen nothing. 

I talked to Dr. Cox also before leaving. 

"No, " he told me, "there is hardly one miracle to-day. We are doubtful, too, about that leg that was seven centimetres too short. "

"And is it true that Mademoiselle Bardou is not cured?" (A doctor hadbeen giving us certain evidence a few minutes before). 

"I am afraid so. It was probably a case of intense subjectiveexcitement. But it may be an amelioration. We do not know yet. The realwork of investigating comes afterwards. "

How arbitrary it all seemed, I thought, as I walked home to dinner. Thatmorning, on my way from the Bureau, I had seen a great company of whitebanners moving together; and, on inquiry, had found that these were the_miraculés_ chiefly of previous years--about three hundred and fifty innumber. [6] They formed a considerably large procession. I had looked attheir faces: there were many more women than men (as there were uponCalvary). But as I watched them I could not conceive upon what principlethe Supernatural had suddenly descended on this and not on that. "Twomen in one bed. .. . Two women grinding at the mill. .. . One is taken andthe other left. " Here were persons of all ages--from six to eighty, Ishould guess--of all characters, ranks, experiences; of both sexes. Somewere religious, some grocers, some of the nobility, a retired soldier ortwo, and so on. They were not distinguished for holiness, it seemed. Ihad heard heartbreaking little stories of the ten lepers over again--onegrateful, nine selfish. One or two of the girls, I heard, had had theirheads turned by flattery and congratulation; they had begun to givethemselves airs. 

And, now again, here was this day, this almost obvious occasion. It wasthe Jubilee Year; everything was about on a double scale. And nothinghad happened! Further, five of the sick had actually died at Lourdesduring their first night there. To come so far and to die!

On what principle, then, did God act? Then I suddenly understood, notGod's principles, but my own; and I went home both ashamed andcomforted. 

FOOTNOTES:

[6] The official numbers of those at the afternoon procession were 341. 

VI. 

I said a midnight Mass that night in the same chapel of the RosaryChurch as on the previous morning. Again the crush was terrific. On thesteps of the church I saw a friar hearing a confession; and on enteringI found High Mass proceeding in the body of the church itself, with acongregation so large and so worn-out that many were sleeping inconstrained attitudes among the seats. In fact, I was informed, sincethe sleeping accommodation of Lourdes could not possibly provide for solarge a pilgrimage, there were many hundreds, at least, who slept wherethey could--on the steps of churches, under trees and rocks, and by thebanks of the river. 

I was served at my Mass by a Scottish priest, immediately afterwards Iserved his at the same altar. While vesting, I noticed a priest at thehigh altar of this little chapel reading out acts of prayer, to whichthe congregation responded; and learned that two persons who had beenreceived into the Church on that day were to make their First Communion. As midnight struck, simultaneously from the seven altars came sevenvoices:

"_In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen. _"

Once more, on returning home and going to bed a little after one o'clockin the morning, the last sound that I heard was of the "_Gloria Patri_"being sung by other pilgrims also returning to their lodging. 

After coffee, a few hours later, I went down again to the square. It wasSunday, and a Pontifical High Mass was being sung on the steps of theRosary Church. As usual, the crowd filled the square, and I could hardlypenetrate for a while beyond the fringe; but it was a new experience tohear that vast congregation in the open air responding with one giantvoice to the plain-song of the Mass. It was astonishing what expressionshowed itself in the singing. The _Sanctus_ was one of the mostimpressive peals of worship and adoration that I have ever heard. At theclose of the Mass, all the bishops present near the altar--I counted sixor seven--turned and gave the blessing simultaneously. On the two greatcurves that led up to the basilica were grouped the white banners of the_miraculés_. 

Soon after arriving at the Bureau a very strange and quiet littleincident happened. A woman with a yellowish face, to which the colourwas slowly returning, came in and sat down to give her evidence. Shedeclared to us that during the procession yesterday she had been curedof a tumour on the liver. She had suddenly experienced an overwhelmingsense of relief, and had walked home completely restored to health. Onbeing asked why she did not present herself at the Bureau, she answeredthat she did not think of it: she had just gone home. I have not yetheard whether this was a true cure or not; all I can say at present is Iwas as much impressed by her simple and natural bearing, her entireself-possession, and the absence of excitement, as by anything I saw atLourdes. I cannot conceive such a woman suffering from an illusion. 

A few minutes later Dr. Cox called to me, and writing on a card, handedit to me, telling me it would admit me to the _piscines_ for a bath. Ihad asked for this previously; but had been told it was not certain, owing to the crush of patients, whether it could be granted. I set outimmediately to the _piscines_. 

There are, as I have said, three compartments in the building called the_piscines_. That on the left is for women; in the middle, for childrenand for those who do not undergo complete immersion; on the right, formen. It was into this last, then, that I went, when I had forced my waythrough the crowd, and passed the open court where the priests prayed. It was a little paved place like a chapel, with a curtain hungimmediately before the door. When I had passed this, I saw at thefarther end, three or four yards away, was a deepish trough, wide andlong enough to hold one person. Steps went down on either side of it, for the attendants. Immediately above the bath, on the wall, was astatue of Our Lady; and beneath it a placard of prayers, large enough tobe read at a little distance. 

There were about half a dozen people in the place--two or three priestsand three or four patients. One of the priests, I was relieved to see, was the Scotsman whose Mass I had served the previous midnight. He wasin his soutane, with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He gave me mydirections, and while I made ready I watched the patients. There was onelame man, just beside me, beginning to dress; two tiny boys, and a youngman who touched me more than I can say. He was standing by the head ofthe bath, holding a basin in one hand and a little image of our Lady inthe other, and was splashing water ingeniously with his fingers into hiseyes; these were horribly inflamed, and I could see that he was blind. Icannot describe the passion with which he did this, seeming to stare allthe while towards the image he held, and whispering out prayers in aquick undertone--hoping, no doubt, that his first sight would be theimage of his Mother. Then I looked at the boys. One of them had horriblyprolonged and thin legs; I could not see what was wrong with the other, except that he looked ill and worn out. Close beside me, on the wet, muddy paving, lay an indescribable bandage that had been unrolled fromthe lame man's leg. 

When my turn came, I went wrapped in a soaking apron, down a step or sointo the water; and then, with a priest holding either hand, lay down atfull length so that my head only emerged. That water had better not bedescribed. It is enough to say that people suffering from most of thediseases known to man had bathed in it without ceasing for at least fiveor six hours. Yet I can say, with entire sincerity, that I did not haveeven the faintest physical repulsion, though commonly I hate dirt atleast as much as sin. It is said, too, that never in the history ofLourdes has there been one case of disease traceable to infection fromthe baths. The water was cold, but not unpleasantly. I lay there, Isuppose, about one minute, while the two priests and myself repeated offthe placard the prayers inscribed there. These were, for the most part, petitions to Mary to pray. "_O Marie, _" they ended, "_conçue sans péché, priez pour nous qui avons recours a vous!_"

As I dressed again after the bath, I had one more sight of the youngman. He was being led out by a kindly attendant, but his face was alldistorted with crying, and from his blind eyes ran down a stream ofterrible tears. It is unnecessary to say that I said a "Hail Mary" forhis soul at least. 

As soon as I was ready, I went out and sat down for a while among therecently bathed, and began to remind myself why _I_ had bathed. Certainly I was not suffering from anything except a negligible ailmentor two. Neither did I do it out of curiosity, because I could have seenwithout difficulty all the details without descending into thatappalling trough. I suppose it was just an act of devotion. Here waswater with a history behind it; water that was as undoubtedly used byAlmighty God for giving benefits to man as was the clay laid upon blindeyes long ago near Siloe, or the water of Bethesda itself. And it is anatural instinct to come as close as possible to things used by theheavenly powers. I was extraordinarily glad I had bathed, and I havebeen equally glad ever since. I am afraid it is of no use as evidence tosay that until I came to Lourdes I was tired out, body and mind; andthat since my return I have been unusually robust. Yet that is a fact, and I leave it there. 

As I sat there a procession went past to the Grotto, and I walked tothe railings to look at it. I do not know at all what it was all about, but it was as impressive as all things are in Lourdes. The _miraculés_came first with their banners--file after file of them--then a number ofprelates, then _brancardiers_ with their shoulder-harness, then nuns, then more _brancardiers_. I think perhaps they may have been taking arecent _miraculé_ to give thanks; for when I arrived presently at theBureau again, I heard that, after all, several appeared to have beencured at the procession on the previous day. 

I was sitting in the hall of the hotel a few minutes later when I heardthe roar of the _Magnificat_ from the street, and ran out to see whatwas forward. As I came to the door, the heart of the procession went by. A group of _brancardiers_ formed an irregular square, holding cords tokeep back the crowd; and in the middle walked a group of three, followedby an empty litter. The three were a white-haired man on this side, astalwart _brancardier_ on the other, and between them a girl with aradiant face, singing with all her heart. She had been carried down fromher lodging that morning to the _piscines_; she was returning on her ownfeet, by the power of Him who said to the lame man, "Take up thy bed andgo into thy house. " I followed them a little way, then I went back tothe hotel. 

VII. 

In the afternoon we went down to meet a priest who had promised a placeto one of our party in the window of which I have spoken before. But thecrowd was so great that we could not find him, so presently we dispersedas best we could. Two other priests and myself went completely round theoutside of the churches, in order, if possible, to join in theprocession, since to cross the square was a simple impossibility. In theterrible crush near the Bureau, I became separated from the others, andfought my way back, and into the Bureau, as the best place open to menow for seeing the Blessing of the Sick. 

It was now at last that I had my supreme wish. Within a minute or two ofmy coming to look through the window, the Blessed Sacrament entered thereserved space among the countless litters. The crowd between me and theopen space was simply one pack of heads; but I could observe themovements of what was going forward by the white top of the _ombrellino_as it passed slowly down the farther side of the square. 

The crowd was very still, answering as before the passionate voice inthe midst; but watching, watching, as I watched. Beside me sat Dr. Cox, and our Rosaries were in our hands. The white spot moved on and on, andall else was motionless. I knew that beyond it lay the sick. "Lord, ifit be possible--if it be possible! Nevertheless, not my will but Thinebe done. " It had reached now the end of the first line. 

"_Seigneur, guérissez nos malades!_" cried the priest. 

"_Seigneur, guérissez nos malades!_" answered the people. 

"_Vous êtes mon Seigneur et mon Dieu!_"

And then on a sudden it came. 

Overhead lay the quiet summer air, charged with the Supernatural as acloud with thunder--electric, vibrating with power. Here beneath laysouls thirsting for its touch of fire--patient, desirous, infinitelypathetic; and in the midst that Power, incarnate for us men and oursalvation. Then it descended, swift and mighty. 

I saw a sudden swirl in the crowd of heads beneath the church steps, andthen a great shaking ran through the crowd; but there for a few instantsit boiled like a pot. A sudden cry had broken out, and it ran throughthe whole space; waxing in volume as it ran, till the heads beneath mywindow shook with it also; hands clapped, voices shouted: "_Un miracle!Un miracle!_"

I was on my feet, staring and crying out. Then quietly the shakingceased, and the shouting died to a murmur; and the _ombrellino_ movedon; and again the voice of the priest thrilled thin and clear, with atouch of triumphant thankfulness: "_Vous êtes la Résurrection et laVie!_" And again, with entreaty once more--since there still were twothousand sick untouched by that Power, and time pressed--that infinitelymoving plea: "_Seigneur, celui qui vous aime est malade!_" And:"_Seigneur, faites que je marche! Seigneur, faites que j'entende!_"

And then again the finger of God flashed down, and again and again; andeach time a sick and broken body sprang from its bed of pain and stoodupright; and the crowd smiled and roared and sobbed. Five times I sawthat swirl and rush; the last when the _Te Deum_ pealed out from thechurch steps as Jesus in His Sacrament came home again. And there weretwo that I did not see. There were seven in all that afternoon. 

Now, is it of any use to comment on all this? I am not sure; and yet, for my own satisfaction if for no one else's, I wish to set down some ofthe thoughts that came to me both then and after I had sat at the windowand seen God's loving-kindness with my own eyes. 

The first overwhelming impression that remained with me is this--that Ihad been present, in my own body, in the twentieth century, and seenJesus pass along by the sick folk, as He passed two thousand yearsbefore. That, in a word, is the supreme fact of Lourdes. More than onceas I sat there that afternoon I contrasted the manner in which I wasspending it with that in which the average believing Christian spendsSunday afternoon. As a child, I used to walk with my father, and he usedto read and talk on religious subjects; on our return we used to have ashort Bible-class in his study. As an Anglican clergyman, I used toteach in Sunday schools or preach to children. As a Catholic priest, Iused occasionally to attend at catechism. At all these times themiraculous seemed singularly far away; we looked at it across twentycenturies; it was something from which lessons might be drawn, uponwhich the imagination might feed, but it was a state of affairs asremote as the life of prehistoric man; one assented to it, and that wasall. And here at Lourdes it was a present, vivid event. I sat at anordinary glass window, in a soutane made by an English tailor, withanother Englishman beside me, and saw the miraculous happen. Time andspace disappeared; the centuries shrank and vanished; and behold we sawthat which "prophets and kings have desired to see and have not seen!"

Of course "scientific" arguments, of the sort which I have related, canbe brought forward in an attempt to explain Lourdes; but they are thesame arguments that can be, and are, brought forward against themiracles of Jesus Christ Himself. I say nothing to those here; I leavethat to scientists such as Dr. Boissarie; but what I cannot understandis that professing Christians are able to bring _a priori_ argumentsagainst the fact that Our Lord is the same yesterday, to-day, and forever--the same in Galilee and in France. "These signs shall follow themthat believe, " He said Himself; and the history of the Catholic Churchis an exact fulfilment of the words. It was so, St. Augustine tells us, at the tombs of the martyrs; five hundred miracles were reported atCanterbury within a few years of St. Thomas' martyrdom. And now here isLourdes, as it has been for fifty years, in this little corner of poorFrance!

I have been asked since my return: "Why cannot miracles be done inEngland?" My answer is, firstly, that they are done in England, inLiverpool, and at Holywell, for example; secondly, I answer by anotherquestion as to why Jesus Christ was not born in Rome; and if He had beenborn in Rome, why not in Nineveh and Jerusalem? Thirdly, I answer thatperhaps more would be done in England, if there were more faith there. It is surely a little unreasonable to ask that, in a country whichthree hundred and fifty years ago deliberately repudiated Christ'sRevelation of Himself, banished the Blessed Sacrament and tore downMary's shrines, Christ and His Mother should cooperate supernaturally inmarvels that are rather the rewards of the faithful. "It is not meet totake the children's bread and to cast it to the dogs"--these are thewords of our Lord Himself. If London is not yet tolerant enough to allowan Eucharistic Procession in her streets, she is scarcely justified indemanding that our Eucharistic Lord should manifest His power. "He coulddo no mighty work there, " says the Evangelist, of Capharnaum, "becauseof their unbelief. "

This, then, is the supreme fact of Lourdes: that Jesus Christ in HisSacrament passes along that open square, with the sick laid in beds oneither side; and that at His word the lame walk and lepers are cleansedand deaf hear--that they are seen leaping and dancing for joy. 

Even now, writing within ten days of my return, all seems like a dream;and yet I know that I saw it. For over thirty years I had beenaccustomed to repeat the silly formula that "the age of miracles ispast"; that they were necessary for the establishment of Christianity, but that they are no longer necessary now, except on extremely rareoccasions perhaps; and in my heart I knew my foolishness. Why, for thosethirty years Lourdes had been in existence! And if I spoke of it at all, I spoke only of hysteria and auto-suggestion and French imaginativeness, and the rest of the nonsense. It is impossible for a Christian who hasbeen at Lourdes to speak like that again. 

And as for the unreality, that does not trouble me. I have no doubt thatthose who saw the bandages torn from the leper's limbs and the soundflesh shown beneath, or the once blind man, his eyes now dripping withwater of Siloe, looking on Him who had made him whole, or heard themarvellous talk of "men like trees walking, " and the rest--I have nodoubt that ten days later they sat themselves with unseeing eyes, andwondered whether it was indeed they who had witnessed those things. Human nature, like a Leyden jar, cannot hold beyond a fixed quantity;and this human nature, with experience, instincts, education, commontalk, public opinion, and all the rest of it, echoing round it; theassumption that miracles _do not happen_; that laws are laws; in otherwords, that Deism is the best that can be hoped--well, it is littlewonder that the visible contradiction of all this conventionalism findsbut little room in the soul. 

Then there is another point that I should like to make in the presenceof "Evangelical" Christians who shake their heads over Mary's part inthe matter. It is this--that for every miracle that takes place in the_piscines_, I should guess that a dozen take place while That which webelieve to be Jesus Christ goes by. Catholics, naturally, need no suchreassurance; they know well enough from interior experience that whenMary comes forward Jesus does not retire! But for those who think assome Christians do, it is necessary to point out the facts. And again. Ihave before me as I write the little card of ejaculations that are usedin the procession. There are twenty-four in all. Of these, twenty-oneare addressed to Jesus Christ; in two more we ask the "Mother of theSaviour" and the "Health of the Sick" to pray for us; in the last we askher to "show herself a Mother. " If people will talk of "proportion" in amatter in which there is no such thing--since there can be nocomparison, without grave irreverence, between the Creator and acreature--I would ask, Is there "disproportion" here?

In fact, Lourdes, as a whole, is an excellent little compendium ofCatholic theology and Gospel-truth. There was once a marriage feast, andthe Mother of Jesus was there with her Son. There was no wine. She toldher Son what He already knew; He seemed to deprecate her words; but Heobeyed them, and the water became wine. 

There is at Lourdes not a marriage feast, but something very like adeathbed. The Mother of Jesus is there with her Son. It is she again whotakes the initiative. "Here is water, " she seems to say; "dig, Bernadette, and you will find it. " But it is no more than water. Thenshe turns to her Son. "They have water, " she says, "but no more. " Andthen He comes forth in His power. "Draw out now from all the sick bedsof the world and bear them to the Governor of the Feast. Use thecommonest things in the world--physical pain and common water. Bringthem together, and wait until I pass by. " Then Jesus of Nazareth passesby; and the sick leap from their beds, and the blind see, and the lepersare cleansed, and devils are cast out. 

Oh, yes! the parallel halts; but is it not near enough?

_Seigneur, guérissez nos malades!_

_Salut des Infirmes, priez pour nous!_

VIII. 

The moment Benediction was given, the room began rapidly to fill; but Istill watched the singing crowd outside. Among others I noticed a woman, placid and happy--such a woman as you would see a hundred times a day inLondon streets, with jet ornaments in her hat, middle-aged, almoststartlingly commonplace. No, nothing dramatic happened to her; that wasthe point. But there she was, taking it all for granted, joining in the_Magnificat_ with a roving eye, pleased as she would have been pleasedat a circus; interrupting herself to talk to her neighbour; and all thewhile gripping in a capable hand, on which shone a wedding ring, thebars of the Bureau window behind which I sat, that she might make thebest of both worlds--Grace without and Science within. She, as I, hadseen what God had done; now she proposed to see what the doctors wouldmake of it all; and have, besides, a good view of the _miraculés_ whenthey appeared. 

I suppose it was her astonishing ordinariness that impressed me. It wassurprising to see such a one during such a scene; it was as incongruousas a man riding a bicycle on the judgment Day. Yet she, too, served tomake it all real. She was like the real tree in the foreground of apanorama. She served the same purpose as the _Voix de Lourdes_, abriskly written French newspaper that gives the lists of the miracles. 

When I turned round at last, the room was full. Among the people presentI remember an Hungarian canon, and the Brazilian Bishop with six others. Dr. Deschamps, late of Lille, now of Paris, was in the chair; and I satnext him. 

The first patient to enter was Euphrasie Bosc, a dark girl oftwenty-seven. She rolled a little in her walk as she came in; then shesat down and described the "white swellings" on her knee, with otherdetails; she told how she had been impelled to rise during theprocession just now. She was made to walk round the room to show herstate, and was then sent off, and told to return at another time. 

Next came Emma Sansen, a pale girl of twenty-five. She had suffered fromendo-pericarditis for five years, as her certificate showed; she hadbeen confined to her room for two years. She told her story quickly andwent out. 

There followed Sister Marguérite Emilie, an Assumptionist, agedthirty-nine, a brisk, brown-faced, tall woman, in her religious habit. Her malady had been _mal de Pott_, a severe spinal affliction, accompanied by abscesses and other horrors. She, too, appeared in thebest of health. 

We began then to hear a doctor give news of a certain Irish Religious, cured that morning in the _piscines_; but we were interrupted by theentry of Emile Lansman, a solid artisan of twenty-five who came inwalking cheerfully, carrying a crutch and a stick which he no longerneeded. Paralysis of the right leg and traumatism of the spine had beenhis, up to that day. Now he carried his crutch. 

He was followed by another man whose name I did not catch, and on whosecase I wrote so rapidly that I am scarcely able to read all my notes. His story, in brief, was as follows. He had had some while ago a severeaccident, which involved a kind of appalling disembowelment. For thelast year or two he had had gastric troubles of all kinds, includingcomplete loss of appetite. His certificate showed too, that he sufferedfrom partial paralysis (he himself showed us how little he had been ableto open his fingers), and anæsthesia of the right arm. (I looked overDr. Deschamps' shoulder and read on the paper the words _lésionincurable_). It was certified further that he was incapable of manualwork. Then he described to us how yesterday in the _piscine_, uponcoming out of the bath, he had been aware of a curious sensation ofwarmth in the stomach; he had then found that, for the first time formany months, he wished for food; he was given it, and he enjoyed it. Hemoved his fingers in a normal manner, raised his arm and let it fall. 

Then for the first time in the Bureau I heard a sharp controversy. Onedoctor suddenly broke out, saying that there was no actual proof that itwas not all "hysterical simulation. " Another answered him; an appeal wasmade to the certificate. Then the first doctor delivered a littlespeech, in excellent taste, though casting doubt upon the case; and thematter was then set aside for investigation with the rest. I heard Dr. Boissarie afterwards thank him for his admirable little discourse. 

Finally, though it was getting late, Honorie Gras, aged thirty-five, came in to give her evidence. She had suffered till to-day from"purulent arthritis" and "white swellings" on the left knee. To-day shewalked. Her certificate confirmed her, and she was dismissed. 

It was all very matter-of-fact. There is no reason to fear that Lourdesis all hymn-singing and adjurations. It is a pleasure to think that, onthe right of the Rosary Church, and within a hundred yards of theGrotto, there is this little room, filled with keen-eyed doctors fromevery school of faith and science, who have only to present their cardsand be made free of all that Lourdes has to show. They are keen-brainedas well as keen-eyed. I heard one of them say quietly that if the Motherof God, as it appeared, cured incurable cases, it was hard to deny toher the power of curing curable cases also. It does not prove, that isto say, that a cure is not miraculous, if it might have been cured byhuman aid. And it is interesting and suggestive to remember that of suchcases one hears little or nothing. For every startling miracle that isverified in the Bureau, I wonder how many persons go home quietly, freedfrom some maddening little illness by the mercy of Mary--some illnessthat is worthless as a "case" in scientific eyes, yet none the less asreal as is its cure?

Of course one element that tends to keep from the grasp of theimagination all the miracles of the place is all this scientificphraseology. In the simple story of the Gospel, it seems almostsupernaturally natural that a man should have "lain with an infirmityfor forty years, " and should, at the word of Jesus Christ, have taken uphis bed and walked; or that, as in the "Acts, " another's "feet andankle-bones should receive strength" by the power of the Holy Name. Butwhen we come to tuberculosis and _mal de Pott_ and _lésion incurable_and "hysterical simulation, " in some manner we seem to find ourselves inrather a breathless and stuffy room, where the white flower of thesupernatural appears strangely languid to the eye of the imagination. 

That, however, is all as it should be. We are bound to have thesethings. Perhaps the most startling miracle of all is that the Bureau andthe Grotto stand side by side, and that neither stifles the other. Is itpossible that here at last Science and Religion will come to terms, andeach confess with wonder the capacities of the other, and, with awe, that divine power that makes them what they are, and has "set them theirbounds which they shall not pass?" It would be remarkable if France, ofall countries, should be the scene of that reconciliation between theseestranged sisters. 

That night, after dinner, I went out once more to see the processionwith torches; and this time my friend and I each took a candle, that wemight join in that act of worship. First, however, I went down to the_robinets_--the taps which flow between the Grotto and the_piscines_--and, after a heartcrushing struggle, succeeded in filling mybottle with the holy water. It was astonishing how selfish one feltwhile still in the battle, and how magnanimous when one had gained thevictory. I filled also the bottle of a voluble French priest, whodespairingly extended it toward me as he still fought in the turmoil. "_Eh, bien!_" cried a stalwart Frenchwoman at my side, who had filledher bottle and could not extricate herself. "If you will not permit meto depart, I remain!" The argument was irresistible; the crowd laughedchildishly and let her out. 

Now, I regret to say that once more the churches were outlined in fairyelectric lamps, that the metallic garlands round our Mother's statueblazed with them; that, even worse, the old castle on the hill and thefar away Calvary were also illuminated; and, worst of all, that theprocession concluded with fireworks--rockets and bombs. Miracles in theafternoon; fireworks in the evening!

Yet the more I think of it, the less am I displeased. When one reflectsthat more than half of the enormous crowd came, probably, from tinyvillages in France--where a rocket is as rare as an angelic visitation;and, on the carnal side, as beautiful in their eyes--it seems a verynarrow-minded thing to object. It is true that you and I connectfireworks with Mafeking night or Queen Victoria's Jubilee; and that theyseem therefore incongruous when used to celebrate a visitation of God. But it is not so with these people. For them it is a natural andbeautiful way of telling the glory of Him who is the Dayspring from onhigh, who is the Light to lighten the Gentiles, whose Mother is the_Stella Matutina_, whose people once walked in darkness and now haveseen a great Light. It is their answer--the reflection in the depths oftheir sea--to the myriad lights of that heaven which shines overLourdes. Therefore let us leave the fireworks in peace. 

It was a very moving thing to walk in that procession, with a candle inone hand and a little paper book in the other, and help to sing thestory of Bernadette, with the unforgettable _Aves_ at the end of eachverse, and the _Laudate Mariam_, and the Nicene Creed. _Credo in . .. Unam sanctam Catholicam et Apostolicam Ecclesiam. _ My heart leaped atthat. For where else but in the Catholic Church do such things happen asthese that I had seen? Imagine, if you please, miracles in Manchester!Certainly they might happen there, if there were sufficient Catholicsgathered in His Name; but put for Manchester, Exeter Hall or St. Paul'sCathedral! The thought is blindingly absurd. No; the Christianity ofJesus Christ lives only in the Catholic Church. 

There alone in the whole round world do you find that combination oflofty doctrine, magnificent moral teaching, the frank recognition of theCross; sacramentalism logically carried out, yet gripping the heart asno amateur mysticism can do; and miracles. "Mercy and Truth have mettogether. " "These signs shall follow them that believe. .. . Faith canremove mountains. .. . All things are possible to him that believes. .. . Whatsoever you shall ask of the Father in My Name. .. . Where two or threeare gathered together in My Name, there am I in the midst of them. "There alone, where souls are built upon Peter, do these things reallyhappen. 

I have been asked lately whether I am "happy" in the Catholic Church. Happy! What can one say to a question like that? Does one ask a man whowakes up from a foolish dream to sunshine in his room, and to life andreality, whether he is happy? Of course many non-Catholics are happy. Iwas happy myself as an Anglican; but as a Catholic one does not use theword; one does not think about it. The whole of life is different; thatis all that can be said. Faith is faith, not hope; God is Light, nottwilight; eternity, heaven, hell, purgatory, sin and itsconsequences--these things are facts, not guesses and conjectures andsuspicions desperately clung to. "How hard it is to be a Christian!"moans the persevering non-Catholic. "How impossible it is to be anythingelse!" cries the Catholic. 

We went round, then, singing. The procession was so huge that it seemedto have no head and no tail. It involved itself a hundred times over; itswirled in the square, it humped itself over the Rosary Church; itelongated itself half a mile away up beyond our Mother's garlandedstatue; it eddied round the Grotto. It was one immense pool and river oflights and song. Each group sang by itself till it was overpowered byanother; men and women and children strolled along patiently singing andwalking, knowing nothing of where they went, nothing of what they wouldbe singing five minutes hence. It depended on the voice-power of theirneighbours. 

For myself, I found myself in a dozen groups, before, at last, after anhour or so, I fell out of the procession and went home. Now I walkedcheek by jowl with a retired officer; now with an artisan; once therecame swiftly up behind a company of "Noelites"--those vast organizationsof boys and girls in France--singing the _Laudate Mariam_ to my _AveMaria_; now in the middle of a group of shop-girls who exchanged remarkswith one another whenever they could fetch breath. I think it was allthe most joyous and the most spontaneous (as it was certainly thelargest) human function in which I have ever taken part. I have no ideawhether there were any organizers of it all--at least I saw none. Onceor twice a solitary priest in the midst, walking backward and wavinghis arms, attempted to reconcile conflicting melodies; once a very oldpriest; with a voice like the tuba stop on the organ, turned ahumorously furious face over his shoulder to quell some mistake--fromhis mouth, the while issuing this amazingly pungent volume of sound. ButI think these were the only attempts at organization that I saw. 

And so at last I dropped out and went home, hoarse but very wellcontent. I had walked for more than an hour--from the statue, over thelower church and down again, up the long avenue, and back again to thestatue. The fireworks were over, the illuminations died, and the day wasdone; yet still the crowds went round and the voice of conflictingmelody went up without cessation. As I went home the sound was still inmy ears. As I dropped off to sleep, I still heard it. 

IX. 

Next morning I awoke with a heavy heart, for we were to leave in themotor at half-past eight, I had still a few errands to do, and had madeno arrangements for saying Mass; so I went out quickly, a little afterseven, and up to the Rosary Church to get some pious objects blessed. Itwas useless: I could not find the priest of whom I had been told, whosebusiness it is perpetually to bless such things. I went to the basilica, then round by the hill-path down to the Grotto, where I became wedgedsuddenly and inextricably into a silent crowd. 

For a while I did not understand what they were doing beyond hearingMass; for I knew that, of course, a Mass was proceeding just round thecorner in the cave. But presently I perceived that these were intendingcommunicants. So I made what preparation I could, standing there; andthanked God and His Mother for this unexpected opportunity of sayinggood-bye in the best way--for I was as sad as a school-boy going therounds of the house on Black Monday--and after a quarter of an hour orso I was kneeling at the grill, beneath the very image of Mary. Aftermaking my thanksgiving, still standing on the other side, I blessed theobjects myself--strictly against all rules, I imagine--and came home tobreakfast; and before nine we were on our way. 

We were all silent as we progressed slowly and carefully through thecrowded streets, seeing once more the patient _brancardiers_ and thepitiful litters on their way to the _piscines_. I could not havebelieved that I could have become so much attached to a place in threesummer days. As I have said before, everything was against it. There wasno leisure, no room to move, no silence, no sense of familiarity. Allwas hot and noisy and crowded and dusty and unknown. Yet I felt that itwas such a home of the soul as I never visited before--of course it is ahome, for it is the Mother that makes the home. 

We saw no more of the Grotto nor the churches nor the square nor thestatue. Our road led out in such a direction that, after leaving thehotel, we had only commonplace streets, white houses, shops, hotels andcrowds; and soon we had passed from the very outskirts of the town, andwere beginning with quickening speed to move out along one of thoseendless straight roads that are the glory of France's locomotion. 

Yet I turned round in my seat, sick at heart, and pulled the blind thathung over the rear window of the car. No, Lourdes was gone! There wasthe ring of the eternal hills, blue against the blue summer sky, withtheir shades of green beneath sloping to the valleys, and the roundedbastions that hold them up. The Gave was gone, the churches gone, theGrotto--all was gone. Lourdes might be a dream of the night. 

No, Lourdes was not gone. For there, high on a hill, above where theholy city lay, stood the cross we had seen first upon our entrance, telling us that if health is a gift of God, it is not the greatest; thatthe Physician of souls, who healed the sick, and without whom not onesparrow falls to the ground, and not one pang is suffered, Himself hadnot where to lay His head, and died in pain upon the Tree. 

And even as I looked we wheeled a corner, and the cross was gone. 

 * * * * *

How is it possible to end such a story without bathos? I think it is notpossible, yet I must end it. An old French priest said one day atLourdes, to one of those with whom I travelled, that he feared that inthese times the pilgrims did not pray so much as they once did, and thatthis was a bad sign. He spoke also of France as a whole, and its fall. My friend said to him that, in her opinion, if these pilgrims could butbe led as an army to Paris--an army, that is, with no weapons excepttheir Rosaries--the country could be retaken in a day. 

Now, I do not know whether the pilgrims once prayed more than they donow; I only know that I never saw any one pray so much; and I cannothelp agreeing with my friend that, if this power could be organized, weshould hear little more of the apostasy of France. Even as it is, Icannot understand the superior attitude that Christian Englishmen takeup with regard to France. It is true that in many districts religion ison a downward course, that the churches are neglected, and that eveninfidelity is becoming a fashion;[7] but I wonder very much whether, onthe whole, taking Lourdes into account, the average piety of France, isnot on a very much higher level than the piety of England. Thegovernment, as all the world now knows, is not in the leastrepresentative of the country; but, sad to relate, the Frenchman is aptto extend his respect for the law into an assumption of its morality. When a law is passed, there is an end of it. 

Yet, judging by the intensity of faith and love and resignation that isevident at Lourdes, and indeed by the numbers of those present, itwould seem as if Mary, driven from the towns with her Divine Son, haschosen Lourdes--the very farthest point from Paris--as her earthly home, and draws her children after her, standing there with her back to thewall. I do not think this is fanciful. That which is beyond time andspace must communicate with us in those terms; and we can only speak ofthese things in the same terms. Huysmans expresses the same thing inother words. Even if Bernadette were deceived, he says, at any ratethese pilgrims are not; even if Mary did not come in 1858 to the banksof the Gave, she has certainly come there since, drawn by the thousandsof souls that have gone to seek her there. 

This, then, is the last thing I can say about Lourdes. It is quiteuseless as evidence--indeed it would be almost impertinent to dare tooffer further evidence at all--yet I may as well hand it in as mycontribution. It is this, _that Lourdes is soaked, saturated and kindledby the all but sensible presence of the Mother of God_. I am quite awareof all that can be said about subjectivity and auto-suggestion, and therest; but there comes a point in all arguments when nothing is worthanything except an assertion of a personal conviction. Such, then, ismine. 

First, it was borne in upon me what a mutilated Christianity that iswhich practically takes no account of Mary. This fragmentary, lopsidedfaith was that in which I myself had been brought up, and which to-daystill is the faith of the majority of my fellow-countrymen. The Motherof God--the Second Eve, the Immaculate Maiden Mother, who, as if tobalance Eve at the Tree of Death, stood by the Tree of Life--in popularnon-Catholic theology is banished, with the rest of those who havepassed away, to a position of complete insignificance. This arrangement, I had become accustomed to believe, was that of Primitive Christianityand of the Christianity of all sensible men: Romanism had added to thesimple Gospel, and had treated the Mother of God with an honour whichshe would have been the first to deprecate. 

Well, I think that at Lourdes the startling contrast between facts andhuman inventions was, in this respect, first made vivid to myimagination. I understood how puzzling it must be for "old Catholics, "to whom Mary is as real and active as her Divine Son, to understand thesincerity of those to whom she is no more than a phantom, and who yetprofess and call themselves Christians. Why, at Lourdes Mary is seen tostand, to all but outward eyes, in exactly that position in which atNazareth, at Cana, in the Acts of the Apostles, in the Catacombs, andin the whole history of Christendom, true lovers of her Son have alwaysseen her--a Mother of God and man, tender, authoritative, silent, andeffective!

Yet, strangely enough, it is not at all the ordinary and conventionalcharacter of a merely tender mother that reveals itself at Lourdes--onewho is simply desirous of relieving pain and giving what is asked. Therecomes upon one instead the sense of a tremendous personage--_ReginaCœli_ as well as _Consolatrix Afflictorum_--one who says "No" as wellas "Yes, " and with the same serenity; yet with the "No" gives strengthto receive it. I have heard it said that the greatest miracle of all atLourdes is the peace and resignation, even the happiness, of those who, after expectation has been wrought to the highest, go disappointed away, as sick as they came. Certainly that is an amazing fact. The tears ofthe young man in the _piscine_ were the only tears of sorrow I saw atLourdes. 

Mary, then, has appeared to me in a new light since I have visitedLourdes. I shall in future not only hate to offend her, but fear italso. It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of that Mother whoallows the broken sufferer to crawl across France to her feet--and thento crawl back again. She is one of the Maries of Chartres, that revealsherself here, dark, mighty, dominant, and all but inexorable; not theMary of an ecclesiastical shop, who dwells amid tinsel and tuberoses. She is _Sedes Sapientiæ_, _Turris Eburnea_, _Virgo Paritura_, strong andtall and glorious, pierced by seven swords, yet serene as she looks toher Son. 

Yet, at the same time, the tenderness of her great heart shows itself atLourdes almost beyond bearing. She is so great and so loving! It affectsthose to whom one speaks--the quiet doctors, even those who, throughsome confusion of mind or some sin, find it hard to believe; the strong_brancardiers_, who carry their quivering burdens with such infinitecare; the very sick themselves, coming back from the _piscines_ inagony, yet with the faces of those who come down from the altar afterHoly Communion. The whole place is alive with Mary and the love ofGod--from the inadequate statue at the Grotto to the brazen garlands inthe square, even as far as the illuminated castle and the rockets thatburst and bang against the steady stars. If I were sick of some deadlydisease, and it were revealed to me that I must die, yet none the less Ishould go to Lourdes; for if I should not be healed by Mary, I could atleast learn how to suffer as a Christian ought. God has chosen thisplace--He only knows why, as He, too, alone chooses which man shallsuffer and which be glad--He has chosen this place to show His power;and therefore has sent His Mother there, that we may look through her toHim. 

Is this, then, all subjectivity and romantic dreaming? Well, but thereare the miracles!

FOOTNOTES:

[7] It must be remembered that this was written six years ago, and is nolonger true.