"Very nice, but very nothing," Liz said to Amanda. She put her hand on the boy"s shoulder. "Take me to your leader." When the boy looked puzzled, she added, "Let"s see Father Cayoux."
A few minutes later, they entered the presbytery and found the priest on his feet, at a table that served as his desk. He was pouring hot tea into three Limoges cups.
Liz went to him, extending her hand and addressing him in French. "I"m Liz Finch from the American syndicate in Paris. And, Father Cayoux, this is my friend who has accompanied me, Amanda Clayton, also an American visiting Lourdes. Her husband is ill."
Having welcomed them both. Father Cayoux waved them to two of the three straight-backed chairs near his table. As he pa.s.sed out the cups of tea, and a plate of cookies, Amanda took him in. Father Cayoux was quite fat in his black clerical robe, rotund and short. A fringe of black hair detracted from his partial baldness, and he had a carbuncle of a face dominated by protruding yellow teeth. Amanda guessed that the frown he wore was perpetual. Although friendly enough. Father Cayoux gave her the impression of someone who might be irritable and fussy. Setting the plate of cookies on the table, he selected one, and balancing his own cup of tea, he settled with an exhalation in the chair beside Amanda, with Liz next to her.
"So," he said to Amanda, now speaking in English, "you are in Lourdes to see your husband cured. How do you like Lourdes?"
Amanda was at a loss. "I-I haven"t had time to find out. Well, it is rather unusual."
Father Cayoux snorted. "It is awful. I dislike it. I rarely go there."
He had an abrupt manner, and seeing Liz beaming at him, he addressed her. "On the telephone, Miss Finch, you said that Father Ruland had told you that the pet.i.te Bernadette had gone not to her grotto but came to our thermal baths hoping for her cure. You wondered if the story was true. That you could speak of this interested me, that you could wonder even for a moment whether our well-known Ruland was being truthful."
"As a newspaperwoman, I had to be-"
"No, no, I understand," said Father Cayoux. "And every abbe cannot be trusted, to be sure, and you would have a right to wonder about a salesman like Ruland. When you questioned that story of his, I decided to see you. As to Bernadette and her visit here, you will recall I said come here and see for yourself. Now you have seen?"
Liz bobbed her head. "We have seen the Vierge, Father, and the inscription below."
Father Cayoux tasted his tea, then blew on it, and spoke. "In Bernadette"s time our Cauterets was a fashionable spa, with the best of healing springs. You have seen the thermal baths?"
"Yes," said Amanda.
"They are less of an attraction today, but in Bernadette"s time they made our town a resori of importance. In contrast, Lourdes was a minor impoverished village. But that pet.i.te peasant girl changed it all, made the world turn upside down. She made Lourdes an international center, and reduced us to a half-forgotten way station. Actually, her own role in this was innocent, perhaps -- perhaps. Her promoters saw the opportunity and took advantage." He blew on his tea once more, sipped, nibbled his cookie thoughtfully. "No, Bernadette did not believc in the curative value of her grotto. She was always ill from the start, touched by a cholera epidemic that had taken others, a pitiful child with secondhand clothes, underfed and weakened by chronic asthma. She could not imagme, I suppose, that she could be healed by her own creation, the holy grotto, so in a period between her last two visions, after sufferimg a serious and lingering cold, she came here to Cauterets for treatments, to bathe in the water, to pray. In fact later that year, when the apparitions had finally ended, she came here a second time still hoping to be healed." He snorted, placed his empty cup on the table. "The inventor did not believe in her invention."
"What do you mean by "her invention"?" Amanda quickly asked. "Are you being literal, Father?"
"I"m not sure," Father Cayoux mused. "I"m not quite sure," he repeated, staring into s.p.a.ce. "I am a devout priest, a Marianist, perhaps closer to my faith than some of those ringmasters and publicity seekers who wear the cloth in Lourdes. I believe in G.o.d, His Son, His Holy Mother, and all the rites of our church, beyond question. I am less certain about miracles. They exist, have happened, I would imagine, but I have yet to see one in my time, and I wonder if Bernadette saw one or any m her time. You see-" His voice drifted off, and he was silent, lost in thought.
Amanda was excited, and a glance told her that Liz was, also. During Father Cayoux"s recital, Amanda had perceived what was responsible for his crustiness and skepticism. He resented Lourdes, the big show, the bra.s.sy big time, the success, that overshadowed his parish and caused his good works to be overlooked. He was jealous of Lourdes, and he was angry with its high-riding hierarchy. All because of a httle girl"s fancies. His own obscurity, the changed character of his parish, was due to a -- possibly-unbelievable little scamp, and the machinations of a cabal of church promoters.
There might be much here, Amanda thought, indeed everything that she and Liz wished for, if Father Cayoux could be persuaded to continue. Perhaps, what he had been saying, had been about to say, had firightened him, made him think that he had better cease and desist. But no, Amanda told herself, this was a man who did not frighten easily.
She determined to encourage him to go on. She broke the silence. "You were saying. Father? This is all so fascinating. You were wondering about Bernadette and her visions."
Father Cayoux"s head bobbed up and down. "I was thinking about it, the miracles," he said. His eyes focused on his visitors, and he addressed them directly. "You see, visions and miracles come cheaply to the villages of these Pyrenees valleys, as they do to so many young visionaries in Portugal and in remote parts of Italy."
"Do you mean that others like Bernadette had entertained similar visions?" asked Amanda.
Since Father Cayoux was apparently incapable of laughing, he met the question with a familiar snort. "Others like Bernadette? Countless others like Bernadette before she came along and in the years since. I have heard that between the years 1928 and 1975 there were at least eighty-three persons, in Italy alone, who claimed to have seen the Virgin Mary. You have heard about the incident at La Salette near Gren.o.ble?"
"I think I read about it in pa.s.sing," said Liz.
"I haven"t," Amanda told the priest.
"La Salette was one of your typical rustic villages," began Father Cayoux with relish. "On September 19, 1846, two children of the village, shepherd children, Melanie Calvet, fifteen, and a boy of eleven, Maximin Girand, saw the Virgin Mary and heard prophetic secrets from Her. The boy was manhandled by the police, but refused to reveal the secrets. Both of the youngsters were interrogated for fifteen consecutive hours, but would not reveal the secrets. Instead, four years later, they sent the secrets that the Blessed Virgin had given them to Pope Pius IX, who did not reveal them. The authenticity of the vision seen by the pair was hotly debated. Melanie was abnormal in some ways, ignorant, and even Catholic apologists admitted that she was lazy and careless. Maximin was worse, a known liar, but clever and vulgar. Both were characterized as repulsive young people. Nevertheless, the Ul-tramontanes, the conservative church-over-state Catholics, bought their stories completely. After forcing the children out of sight-the girl was placed in a convent in England, the boy with the Jesuits-the good Fathers promoted the La Salette miracle, put it over, and the pilgrimages began and the community prospered. Sound familiar?"
"Incredible," said Amanda.
"La Salette was before Lourdes. The miracle at Fdtima in Portugal came after. Three shepherd children, Lucia dos Santos, ten, Francisco, nine, and his sister, Jacinta Marto, seven, on May 13, 1917, saw the Virgin Mary in a bush and once a month for six months thereafter. As usual, they heard secrets, and there was skepticism among the clergy and the children were even put on trial. But the children and their visions prevailed and Fdtima became a miracle shrine second only to Lourdes."
"The Fdtima youngsters must have known about Bernadette," said Liz, "as Bernadette probably knew about La Salette."
"Very likely," agreed Father Cayoux. "In Bernadette"s case, however, she must have drawn her scenario, if such it was, from Betharram."
"Betharram?" said Amanda blankly.
"It is a town on the Gave de Pau, not far from Lourdes. It is a place where miracles supposedly occurred for many centuries. The Virgin Mary in white materialized there a number of times. The most dramatic apparition took place when a little girl fell into the river, and was certain to drown. The Virgin Mary appeared on the bank, held out a st.u.r.dy branch for the sinking girl to grasp, and she was pulled ash.o.r.e and saved. Betharram had its own wonder worker in Michael Garacoits, who became Father Superior at the local seminary and was a splendid teacher. He also had the abihty to levitate. He died in 1863, and was canonized as a saint in 1947. Anyway, it was from Betharram that Bernadette may have fashioned her own Lourdes scenario."
Amanda was intrigued. "How?" she wanted to know.
"Bernadette was attracted by Betharram and used to visit the church there often. The Betharram church acknowledged that Bernadette was there praying for a number of days, four or five, before she had seen her first apparition. The very rosary Bernadette used at the grotto was the one she had purchased in Betharram. Michael Garacoits was still alive during and after Bernadette"s apparitions. She was sent to see him and he believed her story from the start. When someone told him, "This Lourdes may overshadow your Betharram," Garacoits was alleged to have replied, "What does it matter, if Our Lady is honored?" He visited the grotto many times before his death." Father Cayoux paused. "Well, the obvious point is that Bernadette could easily have picked up the Virgin Mary apparition idea at Betharram and imported it to Lourdes."
Liz leaned forward. "We appreciate your forthrightness. Father. Many priests might not be as reahstic and candid. Clearly, you are a man of faith yet one who holds the Bernadette story suspect."
"I"m afraid that is my feeling," said Father Cayoux.
"Bernadette"s frequent visits to Betharram certainly give reason for holding Bernadette suspect," said Liz. "I wonder if you have any other evidence that might indict Bernadette?"
Father Cayoux backed off" slightly. "That might indict hef? No, I have no proven evidence against her or her honesty. Just suspicions, just circ.u.mstantial evidence that makes her story questionable."
"Any of this you wish to speak about?" pressed Liz.
"There is too much, far too much," said Father Cayoux. "For one thing, Bernadette"s parents. Francois and Louise Soubirous are portrayed, in those pretty color booklets they sell you in Lourdes, as impoverished, stmggling, but industrious parents, perhaps too generous and charitable. Nonsense. They were both terrible drunks. I do not mean to visit the sins of the parents on the children, but just to show you what an unstable background Bernadette had. Nor did she have a decent home or a decent meal in all the years before she saw the apparitions. Her father was not fit to make a living. Bernadette was famished most of the time. The food she ate was mostly commeal porridge, watered-down vegetable soup, commeal and wheat bread sometimes mixed with rye. She often threw up her food. She might have suffered from ergotic poisoning as well."
"Which can make people hallucinate," interjected Amanda.
"It can," said Father Cayoux. "But even without such poisoning, her stomach was empty and her head was light. All the family starved. Bernadette"s brother was seen sc.r.a.ping candle wax from the church floor for food. Bernadette, unlearned, constantly hungry, constantly ill with asthma, and without dependable love was certainly a candidate for -- as you suggested, Mrs. Clayton-hallucinations."
"Yet," said Liz, "Bernadette was so exact in what she saw and what she heard. And this made a favorable impression on most believers."
Father Cayoux nodded. "Well, let"s examine how our heroine might have come to what she saw and heard. The Virgin Mary that Bernadette saw was very young, too young, skeptics thought, for a Mother of Christ. As one English skeptic, Edith Saunders, explained-" Father Cayoux reached for a folder on his desk, and located a sheet of paper inside. He began to read from it. " "Bernadette looked into the grotto and saw hard reahty. She was despised and rejected and had no way of making herself admirable. Life had cast her disarmed into its compet.i.tive arena. She was fourteen years old, but so small and young-looking that she appeared to be only eleven. . . . The ideal of a little girl is naturally a little girl, and the apparition had the form of a girl of dazzling charm and beauty. She appeared to be about ten years old, and in being even smaller than Bernadette she consolingly proved that one could be very small and yet be perfection itself." "
To Amanda"s a.n.a.lytical mind, this was all insightful. Bernadette had been suffering from reactive psychosis, the obvious result of real environmental pressure. Bernadette had undergone a total flight from reahty. In order to escape the problems of living, she had lost herself in imaginary satisfactions that made her existence more endurable.
Father Cayoux deserved praise. "That information, that"s very good," Amanda told him.
"There is more, much more," Father Cayoux promised. "The Virgin that Bernadette saw was wearing a pure white dress. Well, that"s more or less traditional. And Bernadette herself admitted that the Virgin was dressed much like the Children of Mary, a group of young Catholic women volunteers in the village who were very beloved and were often attired in pure white dresses."
"What about the Immaculate Conception bit?" Liz intemipted. "The Virgin infonning Bernadette that she was the Immaculate Conception, a concept that Bernadette could not have known about."
Father Cayoux uttered one of his characteristic snorts. "Bernadette knew about the Immaculate Conception, that I guarantee you. She may not have understood the concept, but she knew about it. After all, when Bernadette was staying in the town of Bartres a few months before her visions, she attended or saw the Feast of the Immaculate Conception celebrated there as a holy day. The Feast of the Immaculate Conception was also a holy day in Lourdes itself. Bernadette certainly absorbed this."
"Yet, Bernadette carried it off, presented it all as something new to her," Liz said.
"Possibly with some help," Father Cayoux added mysteriously. He proceeded to clarify and expand on his remark. "There may have been a degree of stage management."
"Meaning?" Liz prodded.
"While Father Peyramale would not allow his fellow priests to attend Bernadette"s exercises at the grotto," said Father Cayoux, "he did permit Bernadette to have constant contact with these clergymen in the confessional. These clergymen, in Lourdes and Bartres, were Marians, strongly pro Mary and in favor of the Immaculate Conception dogma, and one of them once pointed to Bernadette, saying, "If the Blessed Virgin were to appear to anyone, that"s the sort of a child She would choose." Furthermore, her Lourdes confessor constantly advised Bernadette, despite all restrictions, to continue to go to the grotto. In short, there were members of the church pushing for the acceptance of the visions. Nor were Bernadette"s parents as far removed and as innocent of the happenings as has been made out. Once, when Bernadette came down to the grotto, with a great crowd on hand, perhaps four thousand people, Madame Jacomet overheard Frangois, Bernadette"s father, whisper to her, "Don"t make any mistake today. Do it well." "
"Wow," said Liz. "Is that really tme?"
"It was noted firsthand," Father Cayoux a.s.sured her.
Amanda, whose mind was on her Ken, went to something else. "But the original cures, like the Troy girl," she said to the priest, "what about them?"
"Many of the cures were not ascertained," said Father Cayoux. "You"ve cited a perfect example. Eugenie Troy. Twelve years old. She had been blind for nine years. She WMit to Lourdes, to the grotto, from Luz, and was embraced by Bernadette, and came away with her sight fully restored. Shortly after, her priest in Luz revealed that Eugenia had never been totally blind, had always been able to see and to work at her job. There had been no cure at all, and besides, the doctors in 1858 were very limited in their knowledge, and unscientific."
"But they are scientific today," Liz challenged him, "and cures supposedly occur."
Amanda turned to Liz. "There is wish fulfillment, self-hypnosis, and there are so many diseases that physicians still don"t know enough about, and many are eventually-especially under certain stimuli-self-curing."
"Precisely," agreed Father Cayoux. "There can be cures, but they need not be regarded as miraculous." With a grunt, he lifted his bulk out of the chair and stood over the two women. "After the cures began, and Lourdes had its foothold in fame, there was a problem. The problem was the young Bernadette, who was growing up as a legend What to do with her? Continual exposure to the public, long after the visions had ceased, might lead her to contradictions, unvisionary behavior, might erode her legend. The masters of Lourdes encouraged her to remove herself from the public eye, become a relatively faceless nun. To this end, her masters encouraged her to leave Lourdes forever. She decided to go to Nevers, enter the convent of Saint-Gildard, become a cloistered nun. Before Bernadette was removed to Nevers, an eligible young man, an aristocrat and medical student, who had fallen in love with her, came to Lourdes to propose marriage. Bernadette was never told about that. The young man was rejected by her guardians, and she was spirited out of sight to the convent."
The women had come to their feet. "Might there be anything of interest for us in Nevers?" Liz wondered.
"I don"t know," said Father Cayoux. "It is true that Bernadette"s novice mistress in Nevers, Mother Vauzou, did not believe in Bernadette"s visions. Mother Vauzou also treated her little nun harshly, almost s.a.d.i.s.tically, because she considered Bernadette too self-important and vain. However, this may have been Mother Vauzou"s problem and not Bernadette"s. At any rate, that was in the old days. I have no idea how the sisters up there regard Bernadette today, probably highly since she was elevated to sainthood after her death in 1879." He was ftissing about his tabletop now, obviously eager to retum to his duties. "You might go up there and see for yourself."
"We just might," said Liz. "Father, I don"t know how I can thank you enough, for Mrs. Clayton and myself, for the time you"ve given us and for the balanced picture you"ve given us of Bernadette."
"My pleasure, I"ve tried my best to help," said Father Cayoux grumpily. "Good luck to you both."
Aiter they had left the presbytery, exiting from the front entrance into the waning afternoon, they paused to light cigarettes and then looked at each other.
"Well, what do you think?" Amanda wanted to know.
"What do you think?" countered Liz.
"For me, fascinating stuff, a healthier view of the Lourdes matter," said Amanda. "Maybe I"ll try to repeat some of it to Ken. Only-"
"Only what?"
"Only I"m not perfectly sure about our fat priest friend," said Amanda. "It crossed my mind that much of his cynicism, backbiting, might have been caused by pique and jealousy of Lourdes, and the way it has outstripped Cauterets as an attraction."
"No doubt about that," agreed Liz. "Still, it doesn"t make what he gave us any less true."
"But you haven"t told me what you really think," said Amanda.
"True or not-and I"d guess most of what Cayoux told us has some basis in fact -- it"s mainly a conversation piece, peripheral material," said Liz. "None of it adds up to an API expose story. I still need some piece of hard central evidence that shows Bernadette up as a charlatan or an adolescent nut. Unless I have that piece of provable evidence, I can"t file a story."
"Maybe you"re right," said Amanda.
Liz started down the steps to the Place Jean Moulin and its parked cars, with Amanda falling in beside her. "Let"s head back to Lourdes before it gets dark," Liz said. "Once we"re there, I"ll find out how to get to Nevers. I believe it is nearer to Paris than Lourdes. If we want to spend tomorrow there, we may have to leave tonight. You game?"
"Why not?"
"We can"t miss a bet," said Liz. "Nevers may give us the key -- the key that"ll open up the grotto and show us Bernadette"s big secret."
"If there is a secret," said Amanda.
"Are you kidding?" said Liz.
Rarely in his life had Mikel Hurtado felt more frustrated and puzzled than he felt this evening as he once more trudged back to the Hotel Gallia & Londres.
For the third time this day, he had been blocked in his efforts to plant the dynamite and detonator beside the grotto.
Retreating slowly to the hotel, Hurtado reviewed his forays and failures and tried to make sense out of them. Early in the afternoon.
anned with his shopping bag of explosives, he had confidently undertaken his first efibrt of the day. He had wended his way down the crowded Avenue Bernadette Soubirous to the corner, intent on following the stream of pilgrims crossing the street to the head of the ramp, and going down the ramp into the domain.
Stepping ofi" the curb, he had stopped dead in his tracks. Past the pedestrian traffic, across the way, at the top of the ramp, were the police and one of the white-and-red squad cars with a blue light on its roof. The police were strung out, barring access to the ramp and the domain, observing visitors, apparently halting and questioning some. Hurtado could not make out clearly what the police were up to, but they were there all right, exactly where he had seen them gathered last night. Realizing that he did not dare go closer, considering the contents of his shopping bag, he had backed off yet again and returned to the hotel.
In his hotel room, he had taken a deck of cards from his suitcase and devoted himself to endless games of solitaire. Tiring of this pasteboard masturbation, he had picked up a paperback novel by Kafka, flung himself on the bed, and read until he had dozed off. Awakened by the sound of singing outside the window, the late afternoon procession, he had squinted at his bedside clock. Five-thirty. By now, he had hoped, the police would be done with whatever they were doing. He had washed his face and hands, retrieved the shopping bag, and for the second time this day had strolled over to the Boulevard de la Grotte. Across the thoroughfare, the hub of the scene had been a rephca of what he had witnessed four hours or so before. There was the milling crowd, vocally annoyed by the slowdown while going into the domain, and the uniformed pohce apparently examining each worshipper and tourist pa.s.sing through a temporary barrier at the ramp entrance. Once more, Hurtado knew that he dared not risk it, until he was certain that the police had left.
Returning to his hotel room, he had disposed of the shopping bag and, feeling a pang of hunger, he had taken the elevator down to the dining room for dinner. At the table for eight where a place was reserved for him, he had seen that his neighbor and new friend, Natale Rinaldi, was already there, eating, and that the chair next to her was unoccupied. He had taken his place, greeting Natale and the other guests, all French, apologized for being late and ordered his dinner. The guests, along with Natale, had been deeply engaged in discussing some of the more dramatic cures that had occurred in the last ten years at the grotto and baths. Disinterested, Hurtado had not deigned to be drawn into the conversation, but consumed his meal moodily, his mind constantly intent on getting into the domain.
Not until the dinner was over, and the others were rising to leave and go to the nightly procession, had Hurtado attempted to speak to Natale. He had offered to escort her to her room, and she had thanked him and accepted. In the elevator, going to the second floor, Natale had asked him what he had done with himself this day. He had invented a he about hours of shopping to find a suitable gift for his mother in San Sebastian. Leaving the elevator, he had inquired politely how she had spent her day. At the grotto, of course, she had told him, at the grotto, praying. He had seen an opportunity of finding out about the swarm of police there and inquired if she had run into any trouble getting to the grotto. She had told him she"d had no trouble and wondered why he had asked. He had told her about the police at the ramp, and the long delay in reaching the domain, and was curious about the sudden gathering of gendarmes. At the door to her room, Natale had remembered that this had been briefly discussed at the beginning of dinner by several of their dinner partners. Yes, there had been some police, and those who had discussed it a.s.sumed that the police had been trying to spot veteran pickpockets and prost.i.tutes. While the table speculation had proved nothing, still Hurtado felt it was something, and after seeing Natale into her room, bidding her good-night, and going back to his own quarters next door, he had felt encouraged.
Once in his room, he had decided to try again, and felt that he would make it. Certainly by now, by nightfall, the police would have found their petty criminals and dispersed so that the pilgrim traffic could resume at a normal pace. Preparing for a third advance on the domain, meaning to take the shopping bag with him, Hurtado had hesitated about carrying it, had felt unaccountably cautious. He had decided that he would examine the terrain, just to be sure that the path was clear, and once a.s.sured that it was clear, he would hasten back for his shopping bag and once more go to the domain and the grotto, and lose himself there, and do his preparatory job.
For the third time he had walked to the comer, and for the third time the scene had not changed. He could see the delayed lines of visitors pushing toward the ramp, and the bulwark of uniformed Lourdes policemen at the head of the ramp. Dismayed, but unenc.u.mbered by his explosives and feeling safer, Hurtado had determined that this time he would have a closer look and see what this was all about He had strolled into the street to the cafe Le Royale, found a seat and table near the curb, ordered a Cacolac, and fixed his sight on the activity directly across the street. Pulling at the straw in his drink, he had finally been able to make out something of what was going on. The pohce, he could observe, were stopping only those pilgrims and tourists with packages and shopping bags, unwrapping the packages and searching the bags, then pa.s.sing the people through to the ramp. Odd, Hurtado had told himself. What in the devil were they looking for? One thing for certain, he had been glad he had not attempted to enter the domain with his own shopping bag.
Now, still puzzled, he was returning to the hotel.
Inside the entrance, calling for the key to 206 from the special key desk, taking it, going into the reception lobby, he became aware of the lone receptionist, the plump French lady known as Yvonne, behind the desk busy as ever with some kind of ledger. The moment he saw her, he knew what to do. She would know what was going on-most hotel personnel like this one knew everything, all the town news and gossip- and she would tell him.
Hurtado detoured from the elevator and strode to the reception desk with a cheerful smile.
"h.e.l.lo, Yvonne," he said to her.
She raised her head from the ledger and smiled back. "Good evening, Mr. Hurtado. Why aren"t you down at the procession?"
It was a perfect opening, and he took it. "Too hard to get down there. Police at every entrance. What"s going on?"
"Well ..." But she was reluctant to answer.
He summoned up his most flirtatious smile. "Aw, come on, Yvonne, you know everything."
"Not quite everything -- but some things."
"So you"re not going to give a poor pilgrim a break?"
"Well, it"s confidential-if it could be strictly between us-"
"You have my promise on the head of the Virgin."