X.
The child, in her first movement of fear, had instinctively seized her rosary; and, holding it in her hands, endeavored to make the sign of the cross. But she trembled so violently as to render this impossible. "Fear not," said Jesus to his disciples, when he came walking on the waves of the sea of Tiberias. The look and smile of the Blessed Virgin appeared to say the same thing to this frightened little shepherdess.
With a sweet, grave gesture, which seemed like a benediction to earth and heaven, she, as if to encourage the child, made the sign of the cross. And the hand of Bernadette, raised, as it were, by her hand who is called the Help of Christians, repeated the sacred sign.
"Fear not, it is I," Jesus said to his disciples.
The child felt no more fear. Astonished, charmed, scarcely trusting her senses, and wiping her eyes, whose glance was riveted by the heavenly vision, no longer knowing what to think, she humbly recited her rosary: "I believe in God"—"Hail, Mary! full of grace!"
When she had finished saying the last "Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost," the bright Virgin suddenly disappeared, reëntering that eternal paradise, the dwelling of the Holy Trinity, whence she had come.
Bernadette felt like one who has suddenly fallen from a great height. She stared vacantly around. The Gave still flowed on, moaning over the pebbles and broken rocks; but the noise seemed to her more sorrowful than before; the waters themselves seemed more gloomy, the landscape and sunlight less bright than formerly. In front the cliffs of Massabielle extended, and beneath them her companions were still engaged in collecting the sticks of wood. Above the grotto were still the niche and the arch of eglantine; but nothing unusual appeared there; no trace remained of the celestial visitor. They were no longer the gate of heaven.
The scene which we have just related must have lasted for a quarter of an hour; not that Bernadette was conscious of the lapse of time; but it may be measured by the circumstance that she had been able to recite five decades of the rosary.
Completely restored to herself, Bernadette finished removing her shoes and stockings, and rejoined her companions. Absorbed by what she had seen, she did not dread the cold of the water. All her childish powers were concentrated in recalling the facts of this strange apparition.
Jeanne and Marie had seen her fall upon her knees and betake herself to prayer; but as this, thank God, is not a rare occurrence with these mountaineers, and as they were occupied at their task, they had paid no further attention.
Bernadette was surprised at the perfect calmness which her sister and Jeanne evinced. They had just finished their work and, entering the grotto, began to play as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
"Have you seen nothing?" asked the child.
They then noticed that she seemed disturbed and agitated. "No," they replied; "have you seen any thing?"
Was it that Bernadette feared to tell what filled her soul, for fear of profanation? Did she wish to enjoy it in silence? Or was she restrained by a bashful timidity? Nevertheless, she did obey that instinct which prompts humble souls to conceal as a treasure the special graces with which God favors them.
"If you have seen nothing," said she, "I have nothing to tell you."
The little fagots were bound up. The three children began to retrace the road to Lourdes. But Bernadette could not conceal her trouble. On the way, Marie and Jeanne teased her, to find out what she had seen.
The little shepherdess yielded to their entreaties and their promise of eternal secrecy.
"I saw," she began, "something dressed in white." And she went on to describe her marvellous vision. "This is what I saw," said she in conclusion; "but do not, for the world, say anything about it."
Marie and Jeanne did not doubt a syllable. The soul in its first innocence is naturally believing. Doubt is not the besetting sin of childhood. And even were they disposed to be sceptical, the earnest accents of Bernadette, still agitated and full of what she had seen, would have irresistibly led them to believe. Marie and Jeanne did not doubt, but they were frightened. The children of the poor are naturally timid. Nor is it strange, since sufferings come to them from every side.
"It is, perhaps, something that will do us harm," said they. "Let us never go there again, Bernadette."
Scarcely had the confidants of the little shepherdess reached the house, when the secret fairly boiled over. Marie told it all to her mother. "What is all this stuff, Bernadette, that your sister has been telling me?" The little girl repeated her story. Marie Soubirous shrugged her shoulders.
"You have been deceived, child. It was nothing at all. You thought that you saw something, but you did not. This is all fancy and imagination."
Bernadette still adhered to her story.
"At any rate," said her mother, "never go near that place again. I forbid it."
This prohibition wounded Bernadette to the heart. For, ever since the apparition had vanished, she had felt the greatest desire to see it once more.
Nevertheless, she was resigned, and said nothing.