The Miracle (29 page)

"Insane?" said Liz with surprise.

"Oh, yes. So in due course three well-known doctors in Lourdes were asked to examine Bernadette. They did so. They found her nervous and, of course, asthmatic, but anything but insane, in fact quite normal mentally. The doctors wrote off her visions as a not-uncommon childish hallucination. Speaking of Bernadette's first vision, the doctors reported, 'A reflection of light, no doubt, caught her attention at the side of the grotto; her imagination, under the influence of a mental predisposition, gave it a form which impresses children, that of the statues of the Virgin that are seen on altars.' The three doctors concluded that once the crowds ceased giving her attention and following her, Bernadette would forget the illusion and settle down into her normal way of life and routine." Father Ruland smiled. "Which tells us something about how wrong doctors can be, or could be in those days. But the most important resistance to Bernadette's story came from the leading priest in Lourdes—"

"Father Peyramale," interjected Liz, to let Ruland know that she had done some homework and was not entirely uninformed.

"Yes, Peyramale," said Father Ruland. "From the first, he was the strongest doubter. He simply would not take Bernadette's visions seriously. He was a powerfully built man, mid-fifties, impatient, short-tempered although decent and kindly undemeath. It was after the thirteenth time that Bernadette had seen the apparition that she came before Father Peyramale, accompanied by two aunts. She had a message from the lady in the grotto. The lady's message was, 'Go and tell the priests that people are to come here in procession and build a chapel

here.' Father Peyramale was not charmed. He addressed Bernadette sarcastically. 'You're the one who goes to the grotto? And you say you see the Holy Virgin?' Bernadette would not buckle under. 'I did not say that it is the Holy Virgin.' Peyramale demanded, "Then who is the lady?' Bernadette replied, 'I don't know.' Peyramale lost his temper. 'So, you don't know! Liar! Yet those you get to run after you and the newspapers say that you claim to see the Holy Virgin. Well, then, what do you see?' Bernadette answered, 'Something that resembles a lady." Peyramale roared, 'Something! So, then! A lady! A procession!' He glared at her aunts, whom he had thrown out of a church society for becoming pregnant while unmarried, and spoke savagely to them. 'It is unfortunate to have a family like this, which creates disorder in the town. Keep her in check and don't let her budge again. Get out of here!"

"What disorder was Bernadette responsible for?" Liz wanted to know.

"The crowds at the grotto were growing. At first a few had watched Bernadette's trances, then 150, then 400, and soon 1,500 people gathered to witness her visions, and finally as many as 10,000."

"Did she ever see Father Peyramale again?"

"Frequently," said Ruland. "In fact, the very evening after he had thrown her out, she retumed to see him once more. He had cahned down somewhat, and he asked Bernadette about the lady once more. 'You still don't know what her name is?' Bernadette replied, 'No, Reverend Father.' Peyramale advised Bernadette, 'Well, then, you must ask her.' After the fourteenth apparition, Bernadette retumed to the rectory and said to Peyramale, 'Reverend Father, the lady still wants the chapel.' Peyramale said, 'Did you ask her for her name?' Bernadette said, 'Yes, but she only smiled.' Probably, Peyramale smiled, too. 'She is having a lot of fun with you! ... If she wants the chapel, let her tell you her name.' When Bernadette saw the lady for the sixteenth time, she boldly asked the lady, 'Madame, will you be so kind as to tell me who you are?' According to Bernadette, the lady bowed, smiled, clasped her hands at her breast and replied, 'I am the Immaculate Conception." Bernadette raced to the rectory and repeated what she had heard. Peyramale was thunderstmck. 'A woman cannot have that name,' he gasped. 'You are mistaken! Do you know what that means?' Bernadette had no idea what it meant. Actually, the dogma of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary—that Christ's purity at birth extended to his mother Mary at birth -- was a highly sophisticated dogma announced by the Pope only four years earlier to help create a religious revival. That anyone as unschooled and ignorant as Bernadette

could know about it seemed impossible. Father Peyramale was stumied. In my opinion, from that moment on, Peyramale was no longer a doubter. He believed everything that Bernadette had reported to him and would continue to tell him. From that moment on, he was on her side, one of her main backers."

"And that's what did it," said Liz.

"Not quite, but Peyramale's conversion was indeed a turning point," said Father Ruland. "But there were other factors, too, that dissipated doubt, and weighed the scales in favor of Bernadette's honesty. There was the cynical Dr. Dozous, who went to the grotto to watch her, saw her hold a burning candle in her hands while the flame crept down to her fingers. Afterward, when the doctor examined her hands, they showed no bums. There was the highly respected tax inspector, Jean-Baptiste Estrade, who mocked Bernadette until he saw her at the grotto, and who thought her performance was greater than any by the French actress Rachel, and that convinced him she was honest. Estrade came away saying, 'That child has a supematural being in front of her.' Then the whole succession of early miracles."

"What miracles?" Liz wondered.

"The son of a tobacco seller who had sight in only one eye. He drank some of the water from the spring Bernadette had discovered and was able to see with both eyes. There was Catherine Latapie, who had fallen from a tree and partially paralyzed her right hand. At the grotto, after she dipped the hand in the stream, her paralysis disappeared. There was Eugenie Troy, whose vision was impaired and whose eyes were bandaged. She embraced Bernadette and was cured. Perhaps the most publicized cure was that of Napoleon Ill's two-year-old son, heir to the French throne, who had suffered a serious sunstroke in Biarritz. There was fear that the sunstroke might lead to meningitis. His govem-ess traveled to Lourdes, spoke to Bernadette, filled a bottle with the spring water, and sprinkled it on the suffering prince. With that, his sunstroke vanished. And with that the Emperor ordered Lourdes and the grotto opened freely to the pubUc. From then on, it became the most attended religious shrine in the Westem world."

"Sounds to me like the cures really did it," said Liz.

Father Ruland hiked his shoulders, and said casually, "Make what you want of the cures, but Bernadette herself never thought too much of them. She was a very sick little girl, as you know, suffering ft-om severe asthma and undemourishment. When she was extremely ill, she did not go to the grotto. She had no faith in its curative powers. Instead, she traveled to the village of Cauterets, thirty kilometers from here. It was a

spa and she went there for the thermal baths. But they did not cure her."

"Still, Bernadette went there."

"Because the spa was highly spoken of in her day."

"I might look in on it, if I have time."

"It's not very interesting, but if you go there have a look at the church, Notre-Dame de Cauterets, and especially the modern chapel inside the church, the Chapelle Sainte Bernadette. Request the local priest to show you around—I forget his name—Father Cayoux, I think, I'm not sure. But, I repeat, there's not much else to see." He took out his box of cigarillos, and sought a fresh one. "Anyway, there it is, the whole series of events that made Lourdes what it is, the succession of events that happened and, of course, the cures for so many except Bernadette."

Liz had been jotting something. She put her pencil and notebook away, slowly, allowing a few seconds of silence to elapse, and then she inquired innocently, "Wasn't there something more that made the grotto notable?"

"Something more?"

"I read that politics played a major role in its fame."

"Poltics—" repeated Father Ruland, knitting his brow. "Ah, you mean the showdown for control between Peyramale and Father Sempe. Is that what you mean?"

"I think so. What happened?"

"Well, to put it in a nutshell, after the area's bishop, Laurence by name, had appointed a commission of inquiry, and the commission had declared that Bernadette's visions had been authentic, the bishop felt that Father Peyramale was too local and provincial to be the promoter of Lourdes. The bishop appointed four members of the nearby Garaison order, led by Father Sempe, to take over Lourdes and the shrine. Whereas Peyramale's plans were limited to building a basilica above the grotto. Father Sempe envisioned Lourdes as the world's center for pilgrimages. It was he and his order who obliterated Peyramale in their rush for bigness. They created, at the edge of Lourdes, the Domain of Our Lady. There they funded the vast esplanades, staged real processions, completed the basilicas. They fought Peyramale to the ground, eventually obliterated his reputation, and in effect made the shrine what it has become today. Is that what you mean by politics?"

Liz Finch could not fault Ruland for lack of frankness. He apparently had covered everything for her, yet had not confessed to any real chicanery and hype. A little, but not much. A bone of contention to nibble at, but nothing to take a real bite out of. Smart man, clever man.

"I suppose -- yes, I suppose that is what I meant by politics."

"Well, there you have it all." Ruland pushed himself to his feet. "Now I must be on my way, but if there is ever anything else you wish to inquire about, feel free to call upon me."

Five minutes later, when Liz stood in the morning sunlight before the Palais des Congr, she realized that she had scribbled only three useful lines in her notebook, and those at the very end of the session. She read what she had scribbled:

"Bernadette did not believe in the cures at the grotto, and for her own cure she went to the village of Cauterets. Be sure to go to Cauterets and check that out, and ask for Father Cayoux."

She stuffed the notebook into her purse. You're damn right she was going to Cauterets, in fact this very afternoon.

Following the address on the shp given to her by Yvonne, the hotel receptionist, Amanda Spenser at last came upon the Marian Car Rental, a side-street front office with a small automobile lot behind it.

Going inside, Amanda found one customer ahead of her, a weird-looking woman with orangish hair, studying a map spread on the counter. The clerk, a Frenchman too young to grow a fiill mustache, was drawing a red line on the map to give his customer directions to somewhere.

The young clerk straightened up. "There you are. Miss Finch. Just be certain you get on highway N21 going south. After that you'll have no trouble. It is not much of a drive, merely thirty kilometers."

'Thank you," said the customer, accepting car keys from the clerk. "Let me go over the route once more. No, you needn't do it with me. You can attend to the other lady."

The clerk moved sideways, and greeted Amanda questioningly, as she stepped closer to the counter.

"Can I help you, madame?" the clerk inquired.

"Yes, you can," said Amanda, setting the slip in front of him. "The receptionist at my hotel suggested I come here. She thought you might have a car available for rental this afternoon."

The clerk took on a mournful expression. "I am sorry, madame, so sorry. Our last available vehicle was just taken minutes ago."

"Danunit," muttered Amanda.

This was frustrating. She had spent much of the morning bored to tears at the grotto, while Ken had silently given himself over to prayer before the stupid hole in the hill. After lunch she had decided she couldn't do a repeat visit, and had sent Ken off to the domain alone. She had determined to use the afternoon better by resuming her pursuit of

Bernadette. She had to prove, the sooner the better, that the peasant girl from Lourdes was more fit to be a patient of a clinical psychologist than to be a saint whose visions could save people. Then, remembering the bit of historical gossip that the taxi driver from Eugenie-les-Bains had given her, Amanda had made up her mind to spend the afternoon driving to the village where Bernadette had actually gone for her cure. And now, no car.

"Dammit," she repeated aloud, "and all I wanted to do was to go to some little town near here called Cauterets. Sure you couldn't find a car somewhere for a few hours if I gave you something extra?"

"Madame, in a week like this one, no cars no matter for how much money."

Crestfallen, about to leave, Amanda heard the rustle of another person beside her. It was Miss Orange Hair.

The other one was asking her something. "Did I hear you say you wanted to go to Cauterets?"

"That's right."

"Fm Liz Finch, the lady who hired the last car, the one you wanted. And I'm about to drive to Cauterets." She hesitated. "Are you, by any chance, a member of the press?"

Amanda dismissed the notion with a short laugh. "Press? Me? Anything but. I'm Amanda Clayton, here from Chicago. I'm visiting Lourdes with my husband, who's hoping for a cure. I wanted to do some—some sightseeing in my time off, and I heard that Cauterets is worth a short visit."

"Well, in that case," said Liz Finch, "be my guest. I've got the BMW, and we're both headed for the same spot, so come along, if you want to. I could stand some company on the road."

Amanda was delighted. "Do you mean it? That's very kind of you. I'll be glad to share your expenses."

"You heard me say be my guest. I have no expenses. I'm here on an expense account." She folded her map. "Come on, let's get the show on the road."

They settled into the slick and clean BMW sedan. The women strapped themselves into their seats, and Liz nimbly took the car through the traffic. About a half mile from the main square, they drove past the Palais des Congres and Les Halles on the Avenue du Marechal Foch, and then swung left and merged into the highway labeled N21 and headed south.

Liz, who had been concentrating on her directions, now relaxed. "Here we go," she said. "Thirty kilometers to Cauterets. That's eighteen miles or so. Shouldn't take long, except the clerk back there said