Book 2 - Part 11 - page 97
Shortly before Bernadette’s arrival at the Grotto, the mysterious power which had borne her along seemed to be diminished, if not to have altogether ceased. She walked slower, and felt a degree of fatigue which was unusual to her; for this was precisely the spot where, on other days, an invisible power seemed at one and the same time to draw her towards the Grotto and support her in the exertion of walking. On that day, she did not experience either this secret attraction or mysterious support. She had been driven towards the Grotto, but she had not been attracted towards it. The power, which had seized her, had marked out to her the path of duty and shown that, above all things, she must obey and keep the promise she had given to the Apparition; but, she had not, as on former occasions, heard the interior Voice and experienced the all-powerful attraction. Any one accustomed to the analysis of mental feelings will appreciate these shades of difference which are more easily understood than expressed.
Although the vast majority of the multitude which had remained all the morning in the vain expectation of seeing Bernadette arrive had dispersed, there was still at that moment a considerable crowd assembled in front of the Rocks of Massabielle. Some had come there to pray—others actuated by mere curiosity. Many of these, having from a distance observed Bernadette walking in that direction, had rushed to the spot and reached it simultaneously with her.
The child, according to her usual habit, knelt down humbly and began to recite her chaplet, keeping her eyes fixed on the opening festooned with moss and wild branches where the celestial Vision had, already six times, deigned to appear.
The crowd wrapped in attention, curious, collected and breathing thick with the intensity of their feelings, expected every moment to see the countenance of the child become radiant and indicate by its lustre that the superhuman Being was standing before her.
A considerable period of time elapsed in this way.
Bernadette prayed fervently, but no portion of her motionless features was lighted up from the divine reflection. The marvelous Vision did not manifest herself to her eyes, and the child was not heard when she earnestly besought the realization of her hopes.
Heaven, like earth, seemed to abandon her and to remain as hard to her prayer and her tears, as the rocks of marble before which her knees were bent.
Of all the trials to which she had been exposed since the previous evening this was the most cruel, and her cup of bitterness was full to overflowing.
“Why hast thou disappeared?” thought the child, “and why dost thou abandon me?”
The marvelous Being seemed herself in fact to reject her also, and by ceasing to manifest herself to her, to justify those who opposed her and leave the victory in the hands of her enemies.
The crowd was disconcerted and interrogated poor Bernadette. Those around her asked her a thousand questions.
“To-day,” replied the child, her eyes red with tears, “the ‘Lady’ has not appeared to me. I have not seen any thing.”
“You must now be convinced,” said some, “that it was an illusion, my poor little girl, and that there has never been anything; it was merely your fancy.”
“In fact,” added others, “if the Lady appeared yesterday, why should she not have appeared to-day?”
“On the other days, I saw her as plainly as I now see you,” said the child; “and we conversed together. But to-day, she is no longer there, and why it is so, I know not.”
“Pshaw!” rejoined a Sceptic, “the Commissary of Police has succeeded, and you will see an end of all this.”
De par le roi, défense à Dieu
De faire miracle en ce lieu.
Believers who happened to be there were troubled in heart, and did not know what to say. As to Bernadette, sure as she was of herself and of the past, not a shadow of doubt flitted across her mind. She was, however, profoundly mournful, and shed tears and prayed on regaining her father’s house.
She attributed the absence of the Apparition to some feeling of dissatisfaction. “Could I have committed any fault?” she asked herself. But her conscience did not reply to her with any reproach. Meanwhile, her feeling of enthusiasm towards the divine Vision, whom she evidently longed to contemplate, was one of redoubled fervor. She sought in the simplicity of her soul what measure she could take to see her again, and she discovered none. She felt her utter absence of power to evoke this immaculate Beauty which had appeared to her, and turning her heart to God, she wept, not knowing that to weep is to pray.
There remained, however, a secret hope in the innermost depths of her sorrowing soul, and some rare rays of joys, piercing here and there all these sombre clouds, passed at intervals over her heart, strengthening her faith in the divine Apparition, which she never ceased to love and in which she believed, although it was no longer presented to her sight. And yet, doubtless, the poor and ignorant child did not and could not know the meaning of the words which were being chanted at that moment in the Epistle of the Mass: “Ye shall rejoice in God, should it be necessary for you to be grieved with divers trials, to the end that, thus strengthened, your faith infinitely more precious than gold (which is also tried by fire), may turn into praise, into glory, and into honor for the manifestation of Jesus Christ, Him whom ye love always, although ye have not seen Him; Him, in whom ye believe, although ye see him not now; and, for the very reason that ye thus believe, ye shall be crowned with indescribable and glorious joy.”
In the same way she had no presentiment of the event which was on the eve of being accomplished, and she was unable, humble peasant girl as she was, either to know or to apply to the Rock of Massabielle those words which the Priests of the entire Universe pronounced that very day in the Gospel for the Mass,—“Super hanc petram ædificabo Ecclesiam meam,” “On this rock I will build my Church.” She did not divine that very shortly, that is to say, on the morrow of these hours passed in bitter tears, she would herself announce prophetically, and demand, in the name of the Apparition, the erection of a temple on those lonely rocks.
All these things were hidden in the unfathomable obscurity of the future.
“Where do you come from?” said her father to her, the moment she came in.
She related to them what had just happened.
“And you say,” continued her parents, “that some power carried you along in spite of yourself?”
“Yes,” answered Bernadette.
“That is true,” they thought to themselves, “for this child has never told a falsehood.”
Bernadette’s father reflected for some moments. It seemed as if there was a kind of struggle going on within his mind. At length he raised his head and seemed to arrive at a definite resolution.
“Well,” he rejoined, “since it is so, since some superior power has dragged you there, I no longer forbid you to go to the Grotto, and leave you free to do as you like.”
An expression of joy of the purest and most lovely kind lighted up Bernadette’s countenance.
Neither the miller nor his wife had taken any objection to the absence of the Apparition on that day. Perhaps, in the bottom of their hearts, they attributed its cause to the opposition they had offered, from fear of the civil power, to superhuman commands.
Monday, March 23, 2026
Friday, March 20, 2026
Drawn by an Invisible Hand
The next morning, Monday the 22nd of February, when the usual hour for the Apparition arrived, the crowd waiting for the youthful Seer on the banks of the Gave saw no signs of her coming. Her parents had sent her at sunrise to the school, and Bernadette deeming it her duty to obey, had repaired thither with a heavy heart. The Sisters, whose duties combining charity and instruction, had rendered them somewhat callous by long acquaintance with human suffering.
Towards the middle of the day the children returned home for a few moments to partake of their frugal meal.
Bernadette, her soul crushed between the two alternatives presented by her irremediable situation, walked slowly towards her home. From the tower of the Church at Lourdes the mid-day Angelus had just sounded.
At that moment an unaccountable power took possession of her all at once, acting not on her mind but her body, as an invisible arm might have done, and, driving her out of the road she was taking, forced her irresistibly in the direction of the path which lay on her right. She was impelled by it, seemingly, in the same way as a leaf, lying on the ground, is hurried along by the imperious blast of the wind. She could no more prevent herself advancing than if she had been placed suddenly on a most rapid descent. Her whole physical being was dragged towards the Grotto, to which this path led. She could not but walk, she was even obliged to run.
And yet the movement by which she was carried along was neither violent nor rough. It was irresistible; but it had nothing in it harsh or shocking to her who was under its control; on the contrary, it was supreme force co-existing with supreme mildness. The almighty hand rendered itself as soft as that of a mother, as if it had feared to injure so frail a child.
Providence, therefore, which directs all things, had solved the insoluble problem. The child, submitting to the will of her father, was not going to the Grotto, where her heart yearned to be; and yet carried away forcibly by the Angel of the Lord, she arrived there notwithstanding, thus fulfilling her promise to the Virgin without having wilfully disobeyed the paternal command.
Such phenomena have been remarked more than once in the life of certain souls, whose deep purity has been pleasing to the heart of God. Saint Philip Neri, Saint Ida of Louvain, Saint Joseph of Cupertino, Saint Rose of Lima experienced impulses of a similar or analogous nature.
The humble heart of the child, bruised and deserted, began already to smile with hope in proportion as her steps approached the Grotto. “There,” said she to herself “I shall see the beloved Apparition once more; there I shall be consoled for everything—there I shall contemplate that beautiful countenance, the sight of which ravishes me with happiness. Boundless joy will ere long succeed these cruel sorrows, for the Lady will never desert me.”
Owing to her inexperience she was not aware that the Spirit of God breathes where it wills.
Wednesday, March 18, 2026
A Father's Fear and a Daughter's Obedience
Book 2 - Part 9 - page 96
A Father’s Fear and a Daughter’s Obedience
Although M. Jacomet had been powerless against the simple, precise and uncontradictory answers of Bernadette, he had, nevertheless, gained a decided advantage at the close of this long struggle. He had exceedingly terrified the father of the youthful Seer, and he knew that in that quarter, at least for the time, the odds were in his favor.
François Soubirous was a very good kind of a man, but by no means a hero. Opposed to official authority, he was timid, as the lower classes and the poor usually are. To such, the least embroilment with the law is, owing to their poverty, a terrible misfortune, and they feel themselves utterly powerless to cope with arbitrary power and persecution. He believed, it is true, in the reality of the Apparitions; but as he neither comprehended their nature nor measured their importance, and even felt a certain amount of terror in connection with these extraordinary events, he saw no great inconvenience in setting his face against Bernadette’s revisiting the Grotto. He had perhaps some vague fear of displeasing the invisible Lady who was in the habit of manifesting herself to his child, but the fear of irritating a man of flesh and blood, of engaging in a struggle with so formidable a personage as the Commissary came nearer home to him and acted much more powerfully on his mind.
“You see that all these gentlemen of the place are against us,” he observed to Bernadette, “and if you return to the Grotto, M. Jacomet, who is master here, will put both of us in prison. Do not go there any more.”
“Father,” said Bernadette, “when I go there, it is not altogether of myself. At a certain moment there is something in me which calls me and attracts me to the place.”
“Be this as it may,” rejoined her Father, “I forbid you positively to go there again. You will surely not disobey me for the first time in your life.”
The poor child, thus placed in a dilemma between the promise she had made to the Apparition and the express prohibition of her father’s authority, replied: “I will in that case do all in my power to prevent myself going there and to resist the attraction which summons me to the place.”
So passed sadly away the evening of the same Sunday which had arisen in the blessed and glorious splendor of ecstasy.
A Father’s Fear and a Daughter’s Obedience
Although M. Jacomet had been powerless against the simple, precise and uncontradictory answers of Bernadette, he had, nevertheless, gained a decided advantage at the close of this long struggle. He had exceedingly terrified the father of the youthful Seer, and he knew that in that quarter, at least for the time, the odds were in his favor.
François Soubirous was a very good kind of a man, but by no means a hero. Opposed to official authority, he was timid, as the lower classes and the poor usually are. To such, the least embroilment with the law is, owing to their poverty, a terrible misfortune, and they feel themselves utterly powerless to cope with arbitrary power and persecution. He believed, it is true, in the reality of the Apparitions; but as he neither comprehended their nature nor measured their importance, and even felt a certain amount of terror in connection with these extraordinary events, he saw no great inconvenience in setting his face against Bernadette’s revisiting the Grotto. He had perhaps some vague fear of displeasing the invisible Lady who was in the habit of manifesting herself to his child, but the fear of irritating a man of flesh and blood, of engaging in a struggle with so formidable a personage as the Commissary came nearer home to him and acted much more powerfully on his mind.
“You see that all these gentlemen of the place are against us,” he observed to Bernadette, “and if you return to the Grotto, M. Jacomet, who is master here, will put both of us in prison. Do not go there any more.”
“Father,” said Bernadette, “when I go there, it is not altogether of myself. At a certain moment there is something in me which calls me and attracts me to the place.”
“Be this as it may,” rejoined her Father, “I forbid you positively to go there again. You will surely not disobey me for the first time in your life.”
The poor child, thus placed in a dilemma between the promise she had made to the Apparition and the express prohibition of her father’s authority, replied: “I will in that case do all in my power to prevent myself going there and to resist the attraction which summons me to the place.”
So passed sadly away the evening of the same Sunday which had arisen in the blessed and glorious splendor of ecstasy.
Tuesday, March 17, 2026
The Trial of Truth and Simplicity
Book 2 - Part 8 - page 85
The highly intelligent man who was about to interrogate Bernadette flattered himself with the idea of obtaining an easy triumph. He was one of those who obstinately refused the explanation given by the savants of the place. He had no faith either in catalepsy or hallucination, or the various illusions of a morbid ecstasy. The particularity of the statements attributed to the child, and the observations made by Dr. Dozons and many other witnesses of the scenes enacted at the Grotto, seemed to him irreconcilable with such a hypothesis. With regard to the fact itself of the Apparitions, he did not believe, they say, in the possibility of those visions from the other world, and his detective genius, however much it was adapted to track rogues in their breach of the laws, could scarcely perhaps reach so far as to discover God behind a supernatural fact. Being, therefore, fully convinced in his own mind that those apparitions could not but be false, he had resolved, by fair means or foul, to discover the clue to the error, and to render the Free-thinkers in authority at Lourdes or elsewhere, the signal service of branding as an imposture, a supernatural manifestation which had gained popular credit. He had there an admirable opportunity of striking a heavy blow at the pretended authority of all the Visions of past ages, more especially should he succeed in discovering and proving that the Clergy, who so studiously kept aloof in this affair, were secretly directing it and turning it to their own advantage.
Under the supposition that God was nothing and man everything in this event, the reasoning of M. Jacomet was excellent. On the contrary supposing that God was everything in it and man nothing, the unfortunate Commissary of Police was embarking on a most perilous voyage.
In this disposition of mind, M. Jacomet, from the very first day, had caused all the proceedings of Bernadette to be carefully watched, with the view of surprising, if possible, some mysterious communication between the youthful Seer and any member of the Clergy, whether of Lourdes itself or the neighborhood. He had even, it seems, extended his official zeal so far as to place one of his creatures in the church with orders to keep his eye on the confessional. However, the children who attended the Catechism, were in the habit of going to confession by rotation once a fortnight or once a month, and Bernadette’s turn, during those days, had not yet arrived. All his conscientious efforts had therefore failed to discover any complicity in the acts of imposture which were attributed by him to Bernadette. From this he drew the conclusion that she was acting probably alone, without altogether renouncing his suspicions, for the true agent of police is always suspicious, even when he has no proofs. It is this which constitutes his peculiar type and his proper genius.
When Bernadette entered he fixed on her for a moment his sharp and piercing eyes, which he had the wonderful art of impregnating all at once with good-humor and unconstrained. Habituated as he was to take a high tone with every one, he was more than polite with the poor girl of Soubirous, the miller: he was soft and insinuating. He made her take a seat and assumed at the commencement of his interrogatory the benevolent air of a real friend.
“It appears that you are in the habit of seeing a beautiful Lady at the Grotto of Massabielle, my poor child. Tell me all about her.”
Just as he had said these words, the door of the apartment had been gently opened and some one had entered. It was M. Estrade, Receveur des Contributions Indirectes, a man of importance at Lourdes and one of the most intelligent in the place. This functionary occupied a portion of the house in which M. Jacomet resided, and having been apprised, by the uproar of the crowd, of the arrival of Bernadette, had naturally felt curious to be present at the interrogatory. He concurred, besides, with M. Jacomet in his ideas on the subject of apparitions, and, like him, believed in some trickery on the part of the child. He used to shrug his shoulders on being offered any other explanation. He considered things of this nature as being so absurd, that he had not even condescended to go to the Grotto to witness the strange scenes reported as taking place there. This philosopher seated himself a little on one side, after having made signs to the Commissary not to interrupt his proceedings. All this passed without Bernadette appearing to pay it any particular attention.
Thus the scene and the dialogue of the two interlocutors obtained a witness.
On hearing the question of M. Jacomet, the child had directed her beautifully innocent glance towards the agent of police, and set about relating in her own language, that is to say in the patois of the country, and with a sort of personal timidity which added still more to the truthfulness of her accent, the extraordinary events, with which for some days past, her life had been filled.
M. Jacomet listened to her with deep attention, still affecting an air of good-humor and kindness. From time to time he took notes on a paper which lay before him.
This was remarked by the child but it did not cause her any uneasiness. When she had finished her relation, the Commissary, with increased earnestness and sweetness of manner, put to her innumerable questions as if his enthusiastic piety was interested beyond measure in such divine wonders. He shaped all his interrogations, one after the other, without any order, in short and hurried phrases, so as not to allow the child any time for reflection.
Bernadette replied to these various questions without any trouble or shadow of hesitation, and with the tranquil composure of a person who is questioned on the aspect of a landscape or a picture immediately under his eyes. Sometimes, in order to make herself understood, she added some imitative gesture, some expressive mimicry, to supply as it were the feebleness of her expressions.
The rapid pen of M. Jacomet had in the mean time noted, as she went along, all the answers which had been given to him.
Then it was that after having attempted in this manner to weary and perplex the mind of the child by entering into such a minute infinity of details—then it was that the formidable agent of police assumed, without passing through any intermediate stage, a menacing and terrible expression of countenance and suddenly changed his tone:
“You are a liar,” he exclaimed with violence and as if seized suddenly with rage; “you are deceiving everybody, and unless you confess the truth at once, I will have you arrested by the Gendarmes.”
Poor Bernadette was as much stupefied at the aspect of this sudden and formidable metamorphosis as if she had felt the icy rings of a serpent suddenly twisting itself among her fingers, instead of the harmless branch of a tree which she had fancied she had been carrying in her hand. She was stupefied with horror, but, contrary to the deep calculations of Jacomet, she was not agitated. She preserved her tranquillity as if her soul had been sustained by some invisible hand against so unexpected a shock.
The Commissary had risen to his feet with a glance at the door as if to hint that he had only to make a sign to call in the Gendarmes and send the visionary to prison.
“Sir,” said Bernadette, with a calm and peaceful firmness, which, in this wretched little peasant-girl had an incomparably simple grandeur, “you may have me arrested by the Gendarmes, but I can only say what I have already said. It is the truth.”
“We shall see about that,” said the Commissary resuming his seat and judging by a glance of his experienced eye that threats were absolutely powerless on this extraordinary child.
M. Estrade, who had been a silent and impartial witness of the scene described above, was divided between feelings of immense astonishment with which Bernadette’s accent of conviction had inspired him, and of admiration, in spite of himself, of the skilful strategy of Jacomet, the aim of which as it was unfolded before him, he thoroughly understood.
This struggle between such strength coupled with craft, and mere childish weakness with no other defensive weapon than simplicity, assumed a totally unexpected character.
Jacomet, however, armed with the notes which he had been taking for the last three quarters of an hour, applied himself to recommencing his interrogatory, but in a different order and in a thousand captious shapes, proceeding always, according to his method, with sudden and rapid questions and demanding immediate answers. He had no doubt of being able by such means to drive the little girl to contradict herself, at least in some of the minor details. Were this done, the imposture was exposed and the game was in his own hands. But he exhausted in vain all the dexterity of his mind in the multiplied evolutions of this subtle manoeuvre. In nothing did the child contradict herself, not even in that imperceptible point, that minute iota spoken of in the Gospel. To the same questions, in whatever terms proposed, she invariably replied, if not in the same words, at least with the same facts and in the same shade of meaning. M. Jacomet meanwhile held out, if it was only with the object of wearying still more this artless child whom he hoped to find at fault. He turned and twisted her account of the Apparitions into every possible shape, without being able to impair it. He was like a wild beast trying to make an impression with its fangs on a diamond.
“Well,” said he at length to Bernadette, “I am going to draw up the report of your examination, and you shall hear it read.”
The highly intelligent man who was about to interrogate Bernadette flattered himself with the idea of obtaining an easy triumph. He was one of those who obstinately refused the explanation given by the savants of the place. He had no faith either in catalepsy or hallucination, or the various illusions of a morbid ecstasy. The particularity of the statements attributed to the child, and the observations made by Dr. Dozons and many other witnesses of the scenes enacted at the Grotto, seemed to him irreconcilable with such a hypothesis. With regard to the fact itself of the Apparitions, he did not believe, they say, in the possibility of those visions from the other world, and his detective genius, however much it was adapted to track rogues in their breach of the laws, could scarcely perhaps reach so far as to discover God behind a supernatural fact. Being, therefore, fully convinced in his own mind that those apparitions could not but be false, he had resolved, by fair means or foul, to discover the clue to the error, and to render the Free-thinkers in authority at Lourdes or elsewhere, the signal service of branding as an imposture, a supernatural manifestation which had gained popular credit. He had there an admirable opportunity of striking a heavy blow at the pretended authority of all the Visions of past ages, more especially should he succeed in discovering and proving that the Clergy, who so studiously kept aloof in this affair, were secretly directing it and turning it to their own advantage.
Under the supposition that God was nothing and man everything in this event, the reasoning of M. Jacomet was excellent. On the contrary supposing that God was everything in it and man nothing, the unfortunate Commissary of Police was embarking on a most perilous voyage.
In this disposition of mind, M. Jacomet, from the very first day, had caused all the proceedings of Bernadette to be carefully watched, with the view of surprising, if possible, some mysterious communication between the youthful Seer and any member of the Clergy, whether of Lourdes itself or the neighborhood. He had even, it seems, extended his official zeal so far as to place one of his creatures in the church with orders to keep his eye on the confessional. However, the children who attended the Catechism, were in the habit of going to confession by rotation once a fortnight or once a month, and Bernadette’s turn, during those days, had not yet arrived. All his conscientious efforts had therefore failed to discover any complicity in the acts of imposture which were attributed by him to Bernadette. From this he drew the conclusion that she was acting probably alone, without altogether renouncing his suspicions, for the true agent of police is always suspicious, even when he has no proofs. It is this which constitutes his peculiar type and his proper genius.
When Bernadette entered he fixed on her for a moment his sharp and piercing eyes, which he had the wonderful art of impregnating all at once with good-humor and unconstrained. Habituated as he was to take a high tone with every one, he was more than polite with the poor girl of Soubirous, the miller: he was soft and insinuating. He made her take a seat and assumed at the commencement of his interrogatory the benevolent air of a real friend.
“It appears that you are in the habit of seeing a beautiful Lady at the Grotto of Massabielle, my poor child. Tell me all about her.”
Just as he had said these words, the door of the apartment had been gently opened and some one had entered. It was M. Estrade, Receveur des Contributions Indirectes, a man of importance at Lourdes and one of the most intelligent in the place. This functionary occupied a portion of the house in which M. Jacomet resided, and having been apprised, by the uproar of the crowd, of the arrival of Bernadette, had naturally felt curious to be present at the interrogatory. He concurred, besides, with M. Jacomet in his ideas on the subject of apparitions, and, like him, believed in some trickery on the part of the child. He used to shrug his shoulders on being offered any other explanation. He considered things of this nature as being so absurd, that he had not even condescended to go to the Grotto to witness the strange scenes reported as taking place there. This philosopher seated himself a little on one side, after having made signs to the Commissary not to interrupt his proceedings. All this passed without Bernadette appearing to pay it any particular attention.
Thus the scene and the dialogue of the two interlocutors obtained a witness.
On hearing the question of M. Jacomet, the child had directed her beautifully innocent glance towards the agent of police, and set about relating in her own language, that is to say in the patois of the country, and with a sort of personal timidity which added still more to the truthfulness of her accent, the extraordinary events, with which for some days past, her life had been filled.
M. Jacomet listened to her with deep attention, still affecting an air of good-humor and kindness. From time to time he took notes on a paper which lay before him.
This was remarked by the child but it did not cause her any uneasiness. When she had finished her relation, the Commissary, with increased earnestness and sweetness of manner, put to her innumerable questions as if his enthusiastic piety was interested beyond measure in such divine wonders. He shaped all his interrogations, one after the other, without any order, in short and hurried phrases, so as not to allow the child any time for reflection.
Bernadette replied to these various questions without any trouble or shadow of hesitation, and with the tranquil composure of a person who is questioned on the aspect of a landscape or a picture immediately under his eyes. Sometimes, in order to make herself understood, she added some imitative gesture, some expressive mimicry, to supply as it were the feebleness of her expressions.
The rapid pen of M. Jacomet had in the mean time noted, as she went along, all the answers which had been given to him.
Then it was that after having attempted in this manner to weary and perplex the mind of the child by entering into such a minute infinity of details—then it was that the formidable agent of police assumed, without passing through any intermediate stage, a menacing and terrible expression of countenance and suddenly changed his tone:
“You are a liar,” he exclaimed with violence and as if seized suddenly with rage; “you are deceiving everybody, and unless you confess the truth at once, I will have you arrested by the Gendarmes.”
Poor Bernadette was as much stupefied at the aspect of this sudden and formidable metamorphosis as if she had felt the icy rings of a serpent suddenly twisting itself among her fingers, instead of the harmless branch of a tree which she had fancied she had been carrying in her hand. She was stupefied with horror, but, contrary to the deep calculations of Jacomet, she was not agitated. She preserved her tranquillity as if her soul had been sustained by some invisible hand against so unexpected a shock.
The Commissary had risen to his feet with a glance at the door as if to hint that he had only to make a sign to call in the Gendarmes and send the visionary to prison.
“Sir,” said Bernadette, with a calm and peaceful firmness, which, in this wretched little peasant-girl had an incomparably simple grandeur, “you may have me arrested by the Gendarmes, but I can only say what I have already said. It is the truth.”
“We shall see about that,” said the Commissary resuming his seat and judging by a glance of his experienced eye that threats were absolutely powerless on this extraordinary child.
M. Estrade, who had been a silent and impartial witness of the scene described above, was divided between feelings of immense astonishment with which Bernadette’s accent of conviction had inspired him, and of admiration, in spite of himself, of the skilful strategy of Jacomet, the aim of which as it was unfolded before him, he thoroughly understood.
This struggle between such strength coupled with craft, and mere childish weakness with no other defensive weapon than simplicity, assumed a totally unexpected character.
Jacomet, however, armed with the notes which he had been taking for the last three quarters of an hour, applied himself to recommencing his interrogatory, but in a different order and in a thousand captious shapes, proceeding always, according to his method, with sudden and rapid questions and demanding immediate answers. He had no doubt of being able by such means to drive the little girl to contradict herself, at least in some of the minor details. Were this done, the imposture was exposed and the game was in his own hands. But he exhausted in vain all the dexterity of his mind in the multiplied evolutions of this subtle manoeuvre. In nothing did the child contradict herself, not even in that imperceptible point, that minute iota spoken of in the Gospel. To the same questions, in whatever terms proposed, she invariably replied, if not in the same words, at least with the same facts and in the same shade of meaning. M. Jacomet meanwhile held out, if it was only with the object of wearying still more this artless child whom he hoped to find at fault. He turned and twisted her account of the Apparitions into every possible shape, without being able to impair it. He was like a wild beast trying to make an impression with its fangs on a diamond.
“Well,” said he at length to Bernadette, “I am going to draw up the report of your examination, and you shall hear it read.”
He wrote rapidly two or three pages, frequently consulting his notes. He had designedly introduced into certain details some variations of slight importance, as, for instance, the form of the robe and the length or position of the Virgin’s veil. This was a new snare, but it was as useless as all the rest. While he was reading and saying, from time to time, “That is correct is it not?” Bernadette, as simple and meek as she was unshaken, replied humbly but firmly:
“No; I did not say so, but so.”
And she re-established the inexactly-stated particular in its original truth and shade of meaning. For the most part, Jacomet contested the point.
“But you did say so! I wrote it down at the time. You have said so-and-so to several persons in the town,” etc., etc.
“No,” answered Bernadette; “I did not say so, and could not have said so, for it is not true.”
And the Commissary was always obliged to yield to the child’s objections.
The modest and invincible self-possession of this little girl was, indeed, most remarkable, and the surprise of M. Estrade, on observing it, increased. Personally Bernadette was, and appeared to be, extremely timid, and her bearing was humble and even somewhat confused before strangers. And yet, in anything touching the reality of the Apparitions, she displayed uncommon force of mind and energy of affirmation. When her testimony to what she had seen was in question, she gave her replies without hesitation and with undisturbed composure. But even then it was easy to divine in her the virgin modesty of a soul which would gladly have concealed itself from the sight of every one.
It was plain to be seen that she triumphed over her habitual timidity solely from respect for the internal truth, of which she was the messenger to mankind, and from love for the “Lady” who had appeared to her at the Grotto. She needed all the feeling of her office to enable her to surmount the innate tendency of her nature, which, under any other circumstances, was timid and disliked anything like publicity.
The Commissary betook himself once more to threats.
“If you persist in going to the Grotto, I shall have you put in prison, and you shall not leave this place until you promise to go there no more.”
“I have promised to the Vision to go there,” observed the child. “And, besides, when the moment arrives, I am urged on by something which comes within me and calls me.”
The interrogatory, as we see, verged to a close. It had been long, and could not have lasted less than an hour, at least. Outside, the crowd, not without a feeling of restless impatience, awaited the coming out of the child whom they had seen that very morning transfigured in the light of a divine ecstasy. From the apartment, in which passed the scene which we have just described, might be heard confusedly the cries, words, questions and thousand different noises which serve to form the tumult of a crowd. The uproar seemed to increase and assume a menacing tone. At a certain moment there was a peculiar kind of agitation in the crowd as if some one, whose presence had been greatly desired and long expected, had arrived in the midst of it.
Almost immediately, repeated knocks at the door of the house were heard, but they did not appear to affect the Commissary. The blows became more violent. The man who struck them shook the door at the same time and endeavored to force it. Jacomet rose in a state of irritation and went to open it himself.
“You cannot come in here,” said he furiously. “What do you want?”
“I want my daughter,” answered the miller, Soubirous, effecting his entrance by force, and following the Commissary into the room in which Bernadette was.
The sight of the peaceful countenance of his daughter calmed the anxious agitation of her father, and he once more subsided into a poor man of the humbler class, who could not help trembling in presence of a personage who, notwithstanding his inferior position, was, owing to his activity and intelligence, the most important and formidable man in the district.
Francois Soubirous had taken off his Bearnois biret and was twirling it in his hands. As nothing escaped the notice of Jacomet, he saw, at a glance, that the miller was frightened. Resuming his air of good-humor and compassionate pity, he clapped him familiarly on the shoulder.
“Friend Soubirous,” said he to him, “take care, mind what you are about. Your daughter is on the eve of getting herself into trouble, and is on the straight road to prison. I am willing not to send her there this time, but only on condition of your forbidding her to return to the Grotto, where she is acting a farce. On the first repetition of the offence, I shall be inflexible, and, besides, you know that the Procureur Impérial treats such matters earnestly.”
“No; I did not say so, but so.”
And she re-established the inexactly-stated particular in its original truth and shade of meaning. For the most part, Jacomet contested the point.
“But you did say so! I wrote it down at the time. You have said so-and-so to several persons in the town,” etc., etc.
“No,” answered Bernadette; “I did not say so, and could not have said so, for it is not true.”
And the Commissary was always obliged to yield to the child’s objections.
The modest and invincible self-possession of this little girl was, indeed, most remarkable, and the surprise of M. Estrade, on observing it, increased. Personally Bernadette was, and appeared to be, extremely timid, and her bearing was humble and even somewhat confused before strangers. And yet, in anything touching the reality of the Apparitions, she displayed uncommon force of mind and energy of affirmation. When her testimony to what she had seen was in question, she gave her replies without hesitation and with undisturbed composure. But even then it was easy to divine in her the virgin modesty of a soul which would gladly have concealed itself from the sight of every one.
It was plain to be seen that she triumphed over her habitual timidity solely from respect for the internal truth, of which she was the messenger to mankind, and from love for the “Lady” who had appeared to her at the Grotto. She needed all the feeling of her office to enable her to surmount the innate tendency of her nature, which, under any other circumstances, was timid and disliked anything like publicity.
The Commissary betook himself once more to threats.
“If you persist in going to the Grotto, I shall have you put in prison, and you shall not leave this place until you promise to go there no more.”
“I have promised to the Vision to go there,” observed the child. “And, besides, when the moment arrives, I am urged on by something which comes within me and calls me.”
The interrogatory, as we see, verged to a close. It had been long, and could not have lasted less than an hour, at least. Outside, the crowd, not without a feeling of restless impatience, awaited the coming out of the child whom they had seen that very morning transfigured in the light of a divine ecstasy. From the apartment, in which passed the scene which we have just described, might be heard confusedly the cries, words, questions and thousand different noises which serve to form the tumult of a crowd. The uproar seemed to increase and assume a menacing tone. At a certain moment there was a peculiar kind of agitation in the crowd as if some one, whose presence had been greatly desired and long expected, had arrived in the midst of it.
Almost immediately, repeated knocks at the door of the house were heard, but they did not appear to affect the Commissary. The blows became more violent. The man who struck them shook the door at the same time and endeavored to force it. Jacomet rose in a state of irritation and went to open it himself.
“You cannot come in here,” said he furiously. “What do you want?”
“I want my daughter,” answered the miller, Soubirous, effecting his entrance by force, and following the Commissary into the room in which Bernadette was.
The sight of the peaceful countenance of his daughter calmed the anxious agitation of her father, and he once more subsided into a poor man of the humbler class, who could not help trembling in presence of a personage who, notwithstanding his inferior position, was, owing to his activity and intelligence, the most important and formidable man in the district.
Francois Soubirous had taken off his Bearnois biret and was twirling it in his hands. As nothing escaped the notice of Jacomet, he saw, at a glance, that the miller was frightened. Resuming his air of good-humor and compassionate pity, he clapped him familiarly on the shoulder.
“Friend Soubirous,” said he to him, “take care, mind what you are about. Your daughter is on the eve of getting herself into trouble, and is on the straight road to prison. I am willing not to send her there this time, but only on condition of your forbidding her to return to the Grotto, where she is acting a farce. On the first repetition of the offence, I shall be inflexible, and, besides, you know that the Procureur Impérial treats such matters earnestly.”
“Since such is your wish, Monsieur Jacomet,” answered the poor father, panic-struck, “I will forbid her to go there and her mother likewise, and, as she has always obeyed us, she will certainly not go there.”
“At any rate, if she goes there, and this scandal continues, I shall call you to account as well as her,” said the formidable Commissary, resuming his tone of menace and dismissing them by a gesture.
Cries of satisfaction were uttered by the crowd at the moment Bernadette and her father came out. The child then returned home, and the multitude dispersed through the town.
The Commissary of Police and the Receveur being left alone, communicated to each other the impressions made on them by this strange interrogatory.
“What firm resolution in her depositions!” exclaimed M. Estrade, who had been struck with profound astonishment.
“What invincible persistence in her falsehood!” replied Jacomet, stupefied at having been vanquished.
“What truth in her accents!” continued the Receveur. “Nothing in her language or bearing bore the slightest appearance of contradiction. It is clear she believes she has seen something.”
“What artful cunning!” rejoined the Commissary. “In spite of my efforts she never fell into any discrepancy. She has her story at her fingers’ ends.”
Both the Commissary and M. Estrade persisted in their incredulity regarding the actual fact of the Apparition. But a shade of difference already separated their two negations, and this shade of difference was as a gulf between them. The one supposed Bernadette to be dexterous in falsehood, the other set her down as sincere in her illusion.
“She is artful,” said the former.
“She is sincere,” observed the latter.
“At any rate, if she goes there, and this scandal continues, I shall call you to account as well as her,” said the formidable Commissary, resuming his tone of menace and dismissing them by a gesture.
Cries of satisfaction were uttered by the crowd at the moment Bernadette and her father came out. The child then returned home, and the multitude dispersed through the town.
The Commissary of Police and the Receveur being left alone, communicated to each other the impressions made on them by this strange interrogatory.
“What firm resolution in her depositions!” exclaimed M. Estrade, who had been struck with profound astonishment.
“What invincible persistence in her falsehood!” replied Jacomet, stupefied at having been vanquished.
“What truth in her accents!” continued the Receveur. “Nothing in her language or bearing bore the slightest appearance of contradiction. It is clear she believes she has seen something.”
“What artful cunning!” rejoined the Commissary. “In spite of my efforts she never fell into any discrepancy. She has her story at her fingers’ ends.”
Both the Commissary and M. Estrade persisted in their incredulity regarding the actual fact of the Apparition. But a shade of difference already separated their two negations, and this shade of difference was as a gulf between them. The one supposed Bernadette to be dexterous in falsehood, the other set her down as sincere in her illusion.
“She is artful,” said the former.
“She is sincere,” observed the latter.
Monday, March 16, 2026
Bernadette Before the Authorities
Book 2 — Part 7 - page 83
A threatening murmur went through the multitude. Many of those who were there had, the same morning, seen the humble child transfigured by the divine ecstasy and illuminated by rays from on high.
For them, this little girl blessed by God had about her something sacred. They thrilled with indignation on seeing the agent of police lay hands on her, and would have interfered on her behalf had not a priest, who at that moment came out of the church, made signs to the crowd to remain quiet. “Let,” he said, “the authorities act as they will.” By a wonderful coincidence, such as is often to be met with in the history of supernatural events, where any one gives himself the trouble, or rather the pleasure of sifting them, the Universal Church had sung that very day, the first Sunday in Lent, those immortal words destined to comfort and console the innocent and the weak in the presence of persecution. “God hath confided thee to the care of His Angels, that they may watch over thee in thy way. They will bear thee up in their hands, lest thy feet should be dashed against, and wounded by the stones in thy path. Trust in him: He will protect thee under the shadow of his wings. His almighty Power shall encompass thee as with an invisible shield. Go boldly! thou shalt crush the Asp and the Serpent under thy feet; the lion and the dragon shall be brought low by thee. ‘Because he hath hoped in me,’ says the Lord, ‘I will deliver him—I will protect him because he hath confessed my name. He shall call on me and I will graciously hear him. I am with him in the day of trouble.’”
The Gospel for the day related how the Saviour of men, eternal type of the just upon earth, had to undergo His temptations; and it gave all the details of his famous struggles against, and victory over the Evil Spirit, in the solitude of the desert: Ductus est Jesus in desertum, ut tentaretur a Diabolo.
Such were the texts so replete with consolation for innocent and persecuted weakness, which the Church had proclaimed; such were the mighty souvenirs which she had revived and the memory of which she celebrated the very day on which, in the depth of an obscure town among the mountains, an agent of the civil power arrested, in the name of the law, an ignorant little girl, in order to conduct her into the presence of the most crafty of the representatives of Authority.
The multitude had followed Bernadette as she was carried off by the official agent, in a great state of excitement and grief. The office of the Commissary of Police was not far off. The Sergent entered with the child, and leaving her by herself in the passage, returned to lock and bolt the door.
A moment afterwards, Bernadette was ushered into the presence of M. Jacomet.
An immense crowd remained standing outside.
Sunday, March 15, 2026
The Arrest of Bernadette
Book 2 — Part 6 - page 81
During the whole morning after the Mass, and up to the hour of Vespers, nothing was bruited abroad at Lourdes but these strange events, of which, as might be expected, the most opposite interpretations were given. To those who had seen Bernadette in her state of ecstasy, proof had appeared in a form which they asserted to be irresistible. Some of them illustrated their convictions with not inappropriate comparisons.
During the whole morning after the Mass, and up to the hour of Vespers, nothing was bruited abroad at Lourdes but these strange events, of which, as might be expected, the most opposite interpretations were given. To those who had seen Bernadette in her state of ecstasy, proof had appeared in a form which they asserted to be irresistible. Some of them illustrated their convictions with not inappropriate comparisons.
“In our valleys the Sun displays itself late, concealed as it is towards the East, by the Peak and the mountain of Ger. But, long before we can see it, we can remark in the West, the reflection of its rays on the sides of the mountains of Batsurguères, which become resplendent, while we are still in the shade; and then, although we do not actually see the sun, but only the reflection of its rays on the declivities, we boldly assert its presence behind the huge masses of the Ger. ‘Batsurguères sees the sun,’ we say, ‘and, were we on the same level as Batsurguères, we should see it also.’ Well it is precisely the same thing when we gaze on Bernadette lighted up by this invisible Apparition: the certainty is the same, the evidence altogether similar. The countenance of the youthful Seer appears all at once so clear, so transfigured, so dazzling, so impregnated with divine rays, that this marvelous reflection which we perceive gives us full assurance of the existence of the luminous centre which we do not perceive. And, if we had not in ourselves to conceal it from us, a whole mountain of faults, wretchedness, material pre-occupations, and carnal opacity,—if we, also, were on a level with the innocence of childhood, this eternal snow never trodden by human foot, we should see actually, and not merely reflected, the object contemplated by the ravished Bernadette, which, in her state of ecstasy, sheds its rays over her features.”
Reasoning such as this, excellent perhaps in itself, and conclusive for those who had witnessed this unheard-of spectacle, could not satisfy those who had not seen anything. Providence—supposing it really to have taken a part in these proceedings—must it would appear, confirm its agency by proofs, which, if not better (for scarcely any one resisted these after having experienced them), should at least be more material, continuous, and, in some measure, more palpable to the senses.
It may be, the profound design of God tended that way; and that His object in calling together such vast multitudes was to have, at the necessary moment, a host of unobjectionable witnesses.
At the conclusion of Vespers, Bernadette left the church with the rest of the congregation. She was, as you may well imagine, the object of general attention. She was surrounded and overwhelmed with questions. The poor child was distressed by this concourse of people, and, having returned simple answers, endeavored to get through in order to return home.
At that moment, a man in the uniform of the police, a Sergent de Ville, or officer of the police, approached her and touched her on the shoulder.
“In the name of the law,” said he.
“What do you want with me?” inquired the child.
“I have orders to arrest you and take you with me.”
“And where?”
“To the Commissary of Police. Follow me!”
Saturday, March 14, 2026
Pray for Sinners
Book 2 — Part 5 - page 78
It was the third day of the Quinzaine, the twenty-first of February, the first Sunday in Lent. Before sunrise, an immense crowd, consisting of several thousand persons, had assembled in front of and all around the Grotto, on the banks of the Gave and in the meadow-island. It was the hour when Bernadette usually came. She arrived enveloped in her white capulet, followed by some of her family, her mother or her sister. Her parents had attended during her ecstasy the day before; they had seen her transfigured, and now they believed.
The child passed through the crowd, which respectfully made way for her, simply in a composed and unembarrassed manner; and, without appearing to be conscious of the universal attention she excited, she proceeded, as if she was doing the simplest thing in the world, to kneel down and pray beneath the niche around which the wild rose festooned its branches.
A few moments afterwards, you might have seen her brow light up and become radiant. The blood, however, did not mantle her visage; on the contrary, she grew slightly pale, as if nature somewhat succumbed in presence of the Apparition which manifested itself to her. All her features assumed a lofty and still more lofty expression, and entered, as it were, a superior region, a country of glory, significant of sentiments and things which are not found here below. Her mouth, half-open, was gasping with admiration, and seemed to aspire to heaven. Her eyes, fixed and blissful, contemplated an invisible beauty, which no one else perceived but whose presence was felt by all, seen by all, so to say, by reverberation on the countenance of the child. This poor little peasant girl, so ordinary in her habitual state, seemed to have ceased to belong to this earth.
It was the Angel of Innocence, leaving the world for a moment behind and falling in adoration at the moment the eternal gates are opened and the first view of Paradise flashes on the sight.
All those who have seen Bernadette in this state of ecstacy, speak of the sight as of something entirely unparalleled on earth. The impression made upon them is as strong now, after the lapse of ten years, as on the first day.
What is also remarkable, although her attention was entirely absorbed by the contemplation of the Virgin, full of Grace, she was, to a certain degree, conscious of what was passing around her.
At a certain moment her taper went out; she stretched out her hand that the person nearest to her might relight it.
Some one having wished to touch the wild rose with a stick, she eagerly made him a sign to desist, and an expression of fear passed over her countenance.
“I was afraid,” she said, afterwards, with simplicity, “that he might have touched the ‘Lady’ and done her harm.”
One of the observers, whose name we have already mentioned, Doctor Dozons, was at her side.
“There is nothing here,” he thought, “either of the rigidity of catalepsy or of the unconscious ecstacy of hallucination; it is an extraordinary fact, of a class entirely unknown to Medical Science.”
He took the child’s arm and felt her pulse. To this she did not appear to pay any attention. Her pulse was perfectly calm, and beat as regularly as when she was in her ordinary state.
“There is, consequently, no morbid excitement,” observed the learned Doctor to himself, more and more unsettled in his views.
At that moment the youthful Seer advanced, on her knees, a few paces forward into the Grotto. The Apparition had removed from her original place, and it was now through the interior opening that Bernadette was able to perceive her.
The glance of the Blessed Virgin seemed, in a moment, to run over the whole earth, after which she fixed it, impregnated with sorrow, on Bernadette, who still remained kneeling.
“What is the matter with you? What must be done?” murmured the child.
“Pray for sinners,” replied the Mother of the human race.
On perceiving the eternal serenity of the Blessed Virgin thus veiled with sorrow as with a cloud, the heart of the poor shepherd-girl experienced all at once a feeling of cruel suffering. An inexpressible sorrow spread itself over her features. From her eyes, which remained wide open and constantly fixed on the Apparition, two tears rolled upon her cheeks and staid there without falling.
A ray of joy returned at length to light up her countenance, for the Virgin had herself doubtless turned her glance in the direction of Hope, and had contemplated, in the heart of the Father, the inexhaustible source of infinite mercy which descends on the world in the name of Jesus, and by the hands of the Church.
It was at this moment that the Apparition disappeared. The Queen of Heaven had just re-entered her kingdom.
The aureole, as was its wont, lingered a few moments, and then became gradually obliterated like a luminous mist which melts and disappears in the air.
The features of Bernadette lost by degrees their lofty expression. It seemed as if she passed from the land of sunshine into that of shade, and the ordinary type of earth resumed possession of that countenance which, but a moment before, had been transfigured.
She was now nothing more than a humble shepherd-girl,—a little peasant,—with nothing outwardly to distinguish her from other children.
The crowd pressed around her, panting for breath, and in an extraordinary state of anxiety, emotion, and pious recollection. We shall have, elsewhere, an opportunity of describing their bearing.
It was the third day of the Quinzaine, the twenty-first of February, the first Sunday in Lent. Before sunrise, an immense crowd, consisting of several thousand persons, had assembled in front of and all around the Grotto, on the banks of the Gave and in the meadow-island. It was the hour when Bernadette usually came. She arrived enveloped in her white capulet, followed by some of her family, her mother or her sister. Her parents had attended during her ecstasy the day before; they had seen her transfigured, and now they believed.
The child passed through the crowd, which respectfully made way for her, simply in a composed and unembarrassed manner; and, without appearing to be conscious of the universal attention she excited, she proceeded, as if she was doing the simplest thing in the world, to kneel down and pray beneath the niche around which the wild rose festooned its branches.
A few moments afterwards, you might have seen her brow light up and become radiant. The blood, however, did not mantle her visage; on the contrary, she grew slightly pale, as if nature somewhat succumbed in presence of the Apparition which manifested itself to her. All her features assumed a lofty and still more lofty expression, and entered, as it were, a superior region, a country of glory, significant of sentiments and things which are not found here below. Her mouth, half-open, was gasping with admiration, and seemed to aspire to heaven. Her eyes, fixed and blissful, contemplated an invisible beauty, which no one else perceived but whose presence was felt by all, seen by all, so to say, by reverberation on the countenance of the child. This poor little peasant girl, so ordinary in her habitual state, seemed to have ceased to belong to this earth.
It was the Angel of Innocence, leaving the world for a moment behind and falling in adoration at the moment the eternal gates are opened and the first view of Paradise flashes on the sight.
All those who have seen Bernadette in this state of ecstacy, speak of the sight as of something entirely unparalleled on earth. The impression made upon them is as strong now, after the lapse of ten years, as on the first day.
What is also remarkable, although her attention was entirely absorbed by the contemplation of the Virgin, full of Grace, she was, to a certain degree, conscious of what was passing around her.
At a certain moment her taper went out; she stretched out her hand that the person nearest to her might relight it.
Some one having wished to touch the wild rose with a stick, she eagerly made him a sign to desist, and an expression of fear passed over her countenance.
“I was afraid,” she said, afterwards, with simplicity, “that he might have touched the ‘Lady’ and done her harm.”
One of the observers, whose name we have already mentioned, Doctor Dozons, was at her side.
“There is nothing here,” he thought, “either of the rigidity of catalepsy or of the unconscious ecstacy of hallucination; it is an extraordinary fact, of a class entirely unknown to Medical Science.”
He took the child’s arm and felt her pulse. To this she did not appear to pay any attention. Her pulse was perfectly calm, and beat as regularly as when she was in her ordinary state.
“There is, consequently, no morbid excitement,” observed the learned Doctor to himself, more and more unsettled in his views.
At that moment the youthful Seer advanced, on her knees, a few paces forward into the Grotto. The Apparition had removed from her original place, and it was now through the interior opening that Bernadette was able to perceive her.
The glance of the Blessed Virgin seemed, in a moment, to run over the whole earth, after which she fixed it, impregnated with sorrow, on Bernadette, who still remained kneeling.
“What is the matter with you? What must be done?” murmured the child.
“Pray for sinners,” replied the Mother of the human race.
On perceiving the eternal serenity of the Blessed Virgin thus veiled with sorrow as with a cloud, the heart of the poor shepherd-girl experienced all at once a feeling of cruel suffering. An inexpressible sorrow spread itself over her features. From her eyes, which remained wide open and constantly fixed on the Apparition, two tears rolled upon her cheeks and staid there without falling.
A ray of joy returned at length to light up her countenance, for the Virgin had herself doubtless turned her glance in the direction of Hope, and had contemplated, in the heart of the Father, the inexhaustible source of infinite mercy which descends on the world in the name of Jesus, and by the hands of the Church.
It was at this moment that the Apparition disappeared. The Queen of Heaven had just re-entered her kingdom.
The aureole, as was its wont, lingered a few moments, and then became gradually obliterated like a luminous mist which melts and disappears in the air.
The features of Bernadette lost by degrees their lofty expression. It seemed as if she passed from the land of sunshine into that of shade, and the ordinary type of earth resumed possession of that countenance which, but a moment before, had been transfigured.
She was now nothing more than a humble shepherd-girl,—a little peasant,—with nothing outwardly to distinguish her from other children.
The crowd pressed around her, panting for breath, and in an extraordinary state of anxiety, emotion, and pious recollection. We shall have, elsewhere, an opportunity of describing their bearing.
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