There is so much to distract one in the strangeness and novelty of foreign places, so much disturbance of order in one’s manner of life, that, as a rule, one is likely to come home less single-minded and less edifying than when he set out. However, I must bear witness to an exception, though it is not calculated to be an example for any one here. It is that of a Frenchman, a youth of twenty, dressed in the national blouse (as a duster in the cars over a decent suit of black), whom I met on the way to the famous shrine of Lourdes. His faith was so simple, his modesty so perfect, his tongue so straight (to use an Indian idiom), that I felt that the true Christian is gentlemanly no matter to what class of society he may belong. I was confounded and ashamed when I compared my faith and hope with his, and knew that for the first time I addressed a man who had never breathed the atmosphere of heresy and unbelief, who had never felt a doubt or recognized a difficulty regarding the truths of religion or the pious beliefs of Catholics. Reflecting on the difference between what is termed “the world” in all the conceitedness of its ignorance, and the class whom he represented, I could not wonder that God should show his preference for the simple, truthful people even by the most stupendous miracles. However, he was still in France. Were he on an American railroad-car, he might have allowed some of the mire of the world to adhere to his garments.
I will not rest long on the subject of the Lourdes pilgrimage, as the entire press has been forced to notice it, and has given full reports of the appearance of the shrine, the gatherings of pilgrims, and the wondrous works. Although the people of the village are said to be gradually losing their simple, amiable qualities, on account of the enlivened trade and the continual distraction consequent on the arrival and departure of perhaps a thousand strangers daily in a village of 2,000 inhabitants, yet we could not help remarking the piety of the matrons, the modesty of the maidens, and the straightforwardness of the men—characteristics more refreshing to us than the breezes coming down from the passes of the Pyrenees. It is delightful to get out of an artificial state of society, and to see men and women as God made them. I will have occasion to refer to this subsequently when I speak of the Irish people. The peasantry of Lourdes, whom God chose for this manifestation, are poor but not slovenly, simple but not uncouth, comparatively illiterate but not ignorant. Education is not at all incompatible with ignorance of reading and writing; while barbarism is not seldom found united with these accidental accomplishments.
One evening, having prayed at the famous grotto, which was most exquisitely decorated with candles supplied by the pilgrims, we strolled toward a farm-house, and, seeing some peasants just finishing their day’s labor, stopped and addressed them. Lord Chesterfield would have been charmed to see the ease and grace with which the farmer rose from his task, and inquired our pleasure. His conversation was pure, straight, and full of faith. He spoke of things miraculous just as he did of other events, evidently not thinking how people can question God’s power, or wonder at his goodness. He had been one of that 20,000 who at times witnessed the ecstasies of Bernadette; and, after describing what he saw, he concluded: “Ah! sirs, who ever visits that grotto treads blessed earth.” My friend complimented him on the purity of his language, and the politeness he had shown us, and which, indeed, we strangers scarce expected from one in his dress and employment. “Why,” said he, “gentlemen, if you take kindness and good grace out of the world, after all, what is there worth living for?” We were charmed. There spoke a Frenchman—one of those who made some one say: “They are a nation of gentlemen.” We visited his poor habitation, and were still more pleased with his filial and conjugal affection, as evidenced by his regard for his wife, and care of his bedridden mother.
A propos of this subject of travelling for pleasure, it was very beautiful to watch from a height the pilgrims, 1,500 in number, winding around the road, crossing the bridge, and going down the hillside to the grotto. First came the cross-bearer with the crucifix shining in the sun, then the women and children in the dark dresses which distinguish the inhabitants of the region. Some of them bore lighted candles; others carried baskets on their arms and heads; others had jars containing wine for their lunch, or intended to be filled with the miraculous water. They sang the Litany of Loretto, some priests along the ranks directing, as they walked in double file. After these came the men; then the altar boys in full dress, and thirty or forty in number; then the clerics, priests, and canons in their robes; and finally the Bishop of Perpignan, in sacred vestments, who had thus come with his people to visit the spot favored by the Immaculate Virgin. I never before saw the expression, “The bishop and his flock,” more perfectly illustrated.
We were particularly struck by the behavior of these people in the church—a beautiful marble structure built on the rock, under the side of which the waves of the passing river had formed the grotto. They had none of the superstitious reverence of Mahometans nor the cold decency of Protestants; but acted with that quiet respect, alike remote from fear and levity, which characterizes well-reared children in their father’s house and presence. After performing their devotions with intense faith and childlike fervor, they sat down before the grotto, on the sweet level bank of the river which skirts the rock, and, in a spirit of Christian recreation, began their frugal lunch.
So familiar are fervent Catholics with the wonderful works of God that they who can talk and laugh when the communion thanksgiving is ended found no difficulty in innocent relaxation after paying their respects and perhaps witnessing miracles at the shrine consecrated by the apparition of Mary. They reminded me of the αγαπη of the first Christians, and of the feast we school-boys used to have long ago, after closing our retreat with receiving the body of Jesus Christ; and I could not but acknowledge that these people were most likely to be favored with supernatural manifestations by him who said: “Unless you become as little children, you shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.”
TO BE CONCLUDED IN OUR NEXT NUMBER.