Above and to the right of the spectator, are found two openings in the rock, which seem like adjoining caves. Seen from without, the principal one of these openings has an oval form, and is about the size of an ordinary house window or niche in a church wall. It pierces the rock above, and at a depth of two metres divides, descending on one side to the interior of the grotto and ascending on the other toward the outside of the rock, where its orifice forms the second cave of which we have spoken, which is of use to let in light upon the others. An eglantine growing from a cleft in the rock extends its long branches around the base of this orifice, in the form of a niche. At the foot of this system of caves, so easy to comprehend to one who looks upon it, but complicated enough for one who tries to give merely a word-sketch, the water of the canal rushes over a chaos of enormous stones to meet the Gave, a few steps farther on. The grotto, then, is close by the lower point of the Ile du Châlet, formed, as we have said, by the Gave and the canal. The caverns are called the Grotte de Massabielle, from the cliffs in which they are situated. "Massabielle" signifies in the patois of the place, "old cliffs." On the river banks, below, a steep and uncultivated slope, belonging to the commune, extends for some distance. Here the swineherds of Lourdes frequently bring their animals to feed. When a storm arises, these poor people shelter themselves in the grotto, as do likewise a few fishermen who cast their lines in the Gave. Like other caves of this kind, the rock is dry in ordinary weather, and slightly damp in times of rain. But this dampness and dripping of the rainy season can be noticed only on the right side of the entrance. This is the side on which the storms always beat, driven by the west wind; and the phenomena here take place which can be noticed on the honey-combed walls of stone houses, similarly exposed, and built with bad mortar. The left side and floor, however, are always as dry as the walls of a parlor. The accidental dampness of the west side even sets off the dryness of the other parts of the grotto.
Above this triple cavern the cliffs of Massabielle rise almost into peaks, draped with masses of ivy and boxwood, and folds of heather and moss. Tangled briers, hazel shoots, eglantines, and a few trees, whose branches the winds often break, have struck root in clefts of the rock, wherever the crumbling mountain has produced or the wings of the storm have borne a few handfuls of soil. The eternal Sower, whose invisible hand fills with stars and planets the immensity of space, who has drawn from nothing the ground which we tread, and its plants and animals, the Creator of the millions of men who people the earth, and the myriads of angels who dwell in heaven, this God, whose wealth and power know no bounds, takes care that no atom shall be lost in the vast regions of his handiwork. He leaves barren no spot which is capable of producing any thing. Throughout the extent of our globe, countless germs float in the air, covering the earth with verdure, where there seemed before no chance of life for even a single herb, or tuft of moss. Thus, O Divine Sower! thy graces, like invisible but fruitful motes, float about and rest upon our souls. And, if we are barren, it is because we present hearts harder and more arid than the rocky and the beaten highway, or covered with tangled thorns that prevent the up-growing of thy heavenly seed.
IV.
It was requisite to the ensuing narrative to describe first the scene where its events took place. But it is of no less importance to point out in advance that profound moral truth, which is the starting-point from which this history begins, in the course of which, as we shall see, God manifested his power in a visible manner. These reflections will, moreover, delay only for an instant the commencement of our narrative.
Every one has noticed the striking contrasts presented by the various conditions of men who live on this earth, where wicked and good, rich and needy, are mingled together, and where a thin wall often separates the hovel from the palace. On one side are all the pleasures of life, softly arranged in the midst of rare delicacies, comfort, and the elegance of luxury; on the other, the horrors of want, cold, hunger, sickness, and all the sad train of human woes. For the former, adulation, joyous visits, charming friendships. For the latter, indifference, loneliness, and neglect. Whether it fears the importunity of his spoken or his mute appeals, or shrinks from the rebuke of his wretched nakedness, the world avoids the poor man, and makes its arrangements without regard to him. The rich form an exclusive circle, which they call "good society," and they regard as unworthy of serious attention the existence of those secondary but "indispensable" beings. When they hire the services of one of the latter—even when they are good people and accustomed to succor the needy—it is always in a patronizing way. They never use, in this case, the language and tone which they apply to one of their own kind. Except a few rare Christians, no one treats the poor man as an equal and a brother. Except the saint—alas! too rare in these days—who follows out the idea of looking upon the wretched as representing Christ! In the world, properly so called, the vast world, the poor are absolutely forsaken. Weighed down beneath the burden of toil and care, despised and abandoned, does it not seem as if they were cursed by their Maker? And, yet, it is just the contrary; they are the best beloved of the Father. While the world has been pronounced accursed by the infallible word of Christ, on the other hand, the poor, the suffering, the humble, are God's "good society." "Ye are my friends," he has said to them in his Gospel. He has done more; he has identified himself with them. "What you have done to the least of these, you have done also to me."
Moreover, when the Son of God came upon the earth, he chose to be born, and to live and die, among the poor, and to be a poor man. From the poor he selected his apostles and his principal disciples, the first-born of his church. And, in the long history of that same church, it is upon the poor that he lavishes his greatest spiritual favors. In every age, and with few exceptions, apparitions, visions, and particular revelations have been the privilege of those whom the world disdains. When, in his wisdom, God sees fit to manifest himself sensibly to men, by these mysterious phenomena, he descends into the dwellings of his servants and particular friends. And mark why he prefers the houses of the poor and humble. Two thousand years have only served to verify that saying of the apostle, "The weak things of the world hath God chosen, that he may confound the strong." (1 Cor. i. 27.)
The facts which we are about to state will perhaps furnish further proof of this truth.
V.
In 1858, the eleventh of February opened the week of profane rejoicing which from time immemorial has preceded the austerities of Lent. It was the Jeudi-Gras, or Thursday before Quinquagesima. The weather was cold and slightly overcast, but very calm. The clouds hung motionless in the heavens; there was no breeze abroad; and the atmosphere was perfectly still. At times a few drops of rain fell from the skies. This day is celebrated by special privilege in the diocese of Tarbes as the feast of the illustrious shepherdess of France, St. Genevieve.[288]
Eleven o'clock in the morning had already sounded from the church tower of Lourdes.