The fascinating portrayal of "How the News Spread" within thirty-six hours after the Apparition is here related by the facile pen of a young French writer, Fr. Yves Ferec, M.S.. The English translation of his report reads like a chapter out of Franz Weafel's, “Song of Bernadette.”“If what you say is true, you must go and tell it to Monsieur le Curé." Baptiste Pra's voice betrayed a spark of irony which lit tiny laughing flames in his eyes: “Tomorrow is Sunday! He will tell it at Mass.”
Back from the Mountaintop to a Different World
Pra’s house Interior where Apparition was first retold
It was not her fault, this timid shepherd girl, if before sending her to bed her master assigned her such a task for the morrow. In that late afternoon of September 19, 1846, when she returned with her flock from the summit of Mount Gargas, she had sought refuge in the stable to milk her cows. Innocent Melanie! She quite forgot about her turbulent companion of that great day, little Maximin. Too long the hours he had spent on the quiet mountainside. The urge to cackle and rabble brooked no restraint: “Hey, Mother Caron, didn't you see a Lady on fire pass over the valley?” Thus from afar, as soon as he had sighted her, did the boy Maximin, upon returning to Ablandins, hail the shepherd girl's elderly mistress.
Soon after, the Pra household learned from his lips the great secret of that day – the most ravishing marvel of his whole life! That very afternoon, at about three o'clock, a “Beautiful Lady” had appeared up yonder, to both himself and little Melanie. This Lady was all fair, all dazzling, just as if the sun had dropped into the ravine, and she was so sweet and so alluring when she spoke to them, her eyes filled with tears, about her Son whom people on earth offended grievously.
Little did the shepherd girl surmise this swift indiscretion on the part of Maximin. “Well, now, Melanie, won't you come and tell us what you saw on the mountain with Maximin?” This from good Mother Caron looming suddenly in the dark of the stable. In her house, the giddy lad had just finished relating his wonderful adventure and had then scampered off to his master, Peter Selme, and to the neighbors' homes.
Pra’s house exterior in Les Ablandins, near hamlet of La Salette
It took quite some time to drag the shepherd girl out of her shelter. At long last, willy-nilly, she appeared before the household and there it was her turn to relate, as Maximin had done, the story of the extraordinary apparition. “Sure, 'tis the Blessed Virgin these little ones have seen,” sighed Mother Caron.
Night had fallen. In Maximin's footsteps the “great news” had entered under many a roof in town – news so weighty and so mysterious that no one could take it lightly. Something must be done. Should not the two shepherds be sent right off to Monsieur le Curé? He'd see into this matter... The children's masters spoke their decision. The timid girl felt great alarm at the prospect before her; she would be exposed to the eyes of the whole parish! “After all,” she said to herself, “there'll be no men at the Mass; they'll be out diverting themselves in the town square during the sermon.”

Dawn was breaking and casting tremulous waves of white and pink light above the dreamy Alpine crests. “You must go and tell it to Monsieur le Curé." God only knows whether the shepherd boy, in deep and blissful slumber, gave it a waking thought. Lulled to dreams, and fists closed tight, Maximin was sleeping soundly when his master's voice shook him rudely. Melanie was up already. In her startled slumber, twice, at two and at four o'clock, she had called out to Mother Caron: “Is it not time to go yet?” The parting injunction of the Beautiful Lady haunted her sleep: “Well, my children, you will make this known to all my people.” The girl was anxious to obey that voice.
“Here, children, where are you going at this early hour?” asked the local Constable.
Ever impatient, she passed by the drowsy cottage of Peter Selme and took her young companion along. Silently they walked in the cool, dank morning air. To spy these two children trudging along, each on the opposite side of the road, like perfect strangers, no one would have thought they even knew each other. They followed the stony path for nearly a mile and then skirted the cemetery of La Salette, a small hamlet built, as it were, on shelves up the flank of the mountain... But who comes near?... In the grey shadows of early day a form appears. It is one of the La Salette Constabulary making the rounds. The man's curiosity is roused at meeting two children out on the road so early in the morning. “Here, children, where are you going at this hour?”
“We are going to tell Monsieur le Cure what we have seen on the mountain.”
“Now, what did you see on the mountain?”
Little Maximin was quick to satisfy the inquisitive Constabulary, who, as Constabularies go, was none too curious, since he soon was off on his accustomed beat.
Arriving at the Rectory step, our two travelers pause a while before knocking. What will Monsieur le Curé say. Good Father Perrin, who will soon be eighty rears old. He does not know these little parishioners of his. The little boy has been in his parish only one week, since the day his father “sold” him to replace a friend's sick shepherd. Melanie really “belongs” to his flock but what a poor record she holds as a parishioner! She's not to blame, however, since even on Sundays and holy days it is her appointed task to lead to pasture the meagre flock of none-too-devout a master.
They knock. Françoise, the old housekeeper, opens to them.
“My children, what is all this you are telling Françoise?” asked the housekeeper.
“Is Monsieur le Curé in?”
“What business have you with Monsieur le Curé?”
And the rude domestic gestures them away, adding: “He is busy and has no time to see you. You could very well tell me what you wish to communicate to him and I will tell it to him later.” There is authority in her invitation but the role of delegate which the good Françoise assumes does not please the children: “We must speak to Monsieur le Curé – to Monsieur le Curé alone; that is the wish of our masters.”
All in vain! Indiscreet curiosity holds Françoise... with main force of insistence she triumphs. Always the more forward, Maximin recites the story of the Apparition almost in a single breath. His voice gains animation, rises warm and eloquent. Monsieur le Curé at work on his Sunday sermon in his study is quite disturbed. He listens, then lays down his pen. The child's burning words ring in his ears... My God, what words are these?
“If my people will not submit, I shall be forced to let fall the arm of my Son... Six days have I given you to labor, the seventh I have kept for myself and they will not grant it to me... If they become converted, the rocks and stones will be changed into heaps of, wheat... Do you say your prayers well, my children?... Only a few aged women go to Mass on Sunday, the others work all summer and in winter when they know not what to do they go to Mass only to mock at religion...”This recital upsets him greatly. He is deeply moved and comes forth: “My children, what is this you are telling Françoise? Repeat it all to me... everything” The lad goes through it all most willingly. True, he had never been able to learn one page of catechism, but as for the long discourse of the Beautiful Lady he knows it all at his fingertips... and delights in telling it. Listening to it all, the good old priest can hardly restrain his tears: “Oh, my children, you have been very fortunate. It is the Blessed Virgin that you have seen on the mountain.”
“Didn't I tell you yesterday it was the Blessed Virgin?” exclaims the little girl, turning sharply toward her companion.
The Curé said that the Queen of Heaven has come down upon our mountain.
On the spot, the good Curé hurriedly transcribes the main part of the Lady's discourse. Before sending the children away, he bids Maximin to go and see his own Curé without delay. Light as the morning breeze, the boy returns to Ablandins. His master is waiting for him to take him back to his father at the county seat of Corps. Giddy sort of lad! Even on this Sunday he misses Mass again!
Up the sunny mountain slope reverberates the silver clang of the church bell. Little by little the pews begin to fill. Melanie is there in the rear of the church, shrinking behind the congregation, dreading at every moment the fixed gaze of the faithful. Monsieur le Curé goes up the pulpit. What seems to trouble him? Never did his parishioners find him with features so unsettled.. He seems to constrain the tears that flood his soul. Yes, the venerable old man is on the verge of breaking down. All the prudent rules of Holy Mother Church which forbid him to speak out of due time on new apparitions go by the board. He drops the instruction he had previously scribbled in the light of his morning lamp and, consulting his heart only, entertains his flock on the visitation of the Queen of Heaven in their midst – up yonder, so near. He speaks of her complaints; his voice broken with sobs stammers on. All eyes are upon him. But who could understand?
And so, the Mass over, how fast the village tongues wag around the old church steeple! “Could you tell me what Monsieur le Curé was driving at?” “Why those constant sobs – and that strong emotion?” Mystery! Melanie hears all these troubled queries. They upset her and bring a blush to her cheeks. Despite her timidity, she must speak out. Soon enough the circle of curious folks surround her to ply her with a thousand questions. At last the light is gleaming.
Was ever a Municipal Council more embarrassed?
Was ever a Municipal Council more embarrassed? Shortly after Mass, about ten o'clock, a meeting was held at the Town Hall. “Is there any one among you who happens to know what Monsieur le Cure spoke about in his sermon?” The honorable Mr. Peytard, wily Mayor of La Salette, did not let out that he was playing dumb. He knew right well what strange enigma kept his colleagues baffled. Quite early that morning one of the Constabularies had come to his house: “I've just met Maximin and Melanie,” he had reported; “they're on their way to tell Monsieur le Curé what they saw yesterday on the mountain.” “Bah!” returned the Mayor, after listening to the brave man's incredible story; “sheer nonsense and childish pranks!”
However, here at the Town Hall meeting his assumed tone of philosophical disbelief concealed little of his suspicious curiosity. Let's be prudent, he said to himself. Let's sound off our friends in the Council. “I hardly know why our excellent Father Perrin told us this tale,” he resumed. “No doubt some woman or other planted it in the children's heads. What do you think, Moussier? Did you see these children?”
Moussier had just ambled into the room. “No, but last night I heard from the neighbors that the children had seen on the mountain a lady, most unusually attired, and that she had told them such and such things. It is said that the two children came to see Monsieur le Curé this morning. The affair is perhaps more serious that we suspect!”
“Shepherds’ tales! Children's prattle!” murmured the members of the Council. “Are we to be taken up with these trifling matters?” And all the eminent members of the high assembly settled down to routine business. But the Mayor pondered grimly: “This villainous tale will be our ruin. The town is all agog. The words attributed to the Beautiful Lady are full of threats. Did she not predict the harvest will fail, the grapes will rot, and even little children will die suddenly? Should these disturbing voices reach the county seat – and they'll soon be there –then I, the Mayor of this troubled hamlet, shall be thrown in the midst of strange adventures!”
Melanie is Interrogated
Mr. Peytard was Mayor of a small town lost in the mountains. Like many another colleague of his day, he began to fret and chafe lest the Mayoral robes be stripped off him by order of the high Prefect of Corps. “I shall investigate on my own,” he resolved. “I shall uncover this trickery, if it be a fraud!”
Melanie near her home in Corps
No sooner said than done. At about four o'clock the Mayor arrived on the held of battle – Peter Selme's house. But there was no Maximin around. At Pra's house he met Melanie. In order to conceal from her the real motive of his visit, the newcomer, in accepted peasant fashion, took a seat at the kitchen table and, as was customary among the country folk, engaged in idle talk with his friend Pra, beguiling the leisurely Sunday evening over a bottle of wine. The shepherd girl stood before them in the center of the kitchen. On request she related her story. Feigning indifference and unconcern, the Mayor avoided interrupting her. “Be careful, my girl,” he said, when she was through – “be careful not to say anything more or anything less.”
"I have said all that the Lady recommended me to tell," replied Melanie. Then the adversary threw off his mask. His questions rained down in torrents. If he could trap her into some sign of self-contradiction! Quips and objections flew at the girl like arrows. Meantime the Mayor's malicious eyes scanned the effect of his stratagem on the poor girl's features. She remained calm, immovable, alert and agile as an expert lawyer as she untangled the web of his cunning ordeal.
“Your master,” snapped the Mayor, “has told me that you confessed to him that all this was not true.” Retorted Melanie: “Whether it be you or any master, it isn't true that I said that!” – and then almost out of temper she added: “You're an old gossip!”
“If you persist in telling such a fib,” threatened the Mayor, “I'll have you arrested by the police and thrown in jail at Corps!” These scarecrow tactics leave the child unperturbed. Shifting devices, the sly gentleman attempted to win her over with sweetness: “Come, now, my child, if you carry on like this all the neighboring towns will poke fun at the hamlet of La Salette. You must not lie like this. God will punish you. Trust me. I'm giving you these twenty francs on condition that you speak of these things no more. I'll give to Maximin also twenty francs to have him keep mum like you.”
Twenty francs! To that poor girl the sum represented a real treasure, a fortune such as she had never set her eyes on. What a terrible temptation! The Mayor insists, entreats – even flashes these beautiful golden coins before her eyes. The child turns away. Is there any other scheme to tempt her? He seizes her hands and in spite of her protest, lays the money in them. The little shepherdess burns with wounded indignation. High and proud, she casts the gift aside and bravely rebukes him: “Even if you gave me this house full of golden crowns, you shall never prevent me from saying what I have seen and heard!” Her triumph is complete. The Mayor had been far from expecting this defeat. He, too, now believes.
Someone else felt but a slight longing to smile – it was Master Baptiste Pra. That morning he had laughed quite heartily when good Mother Caron, his own mother, had ventured to speak to him of the Apparition. The Mayor had by this time decamped from the house. Why not immediately put down in writing the very touching discourse of the Beautiful Lady? He called two of his neighbors over to his house, Peter Selme and Jean Moussier. The latter was named secretary of the improvised committee. Melanie dictated, and slowly, very slowly, the farmer's heavy hand wrote down – for the first time! – the very poignant words that had dropped from the lips of the Mother of God. It was past ten o'clock when the valiant shepherd girl retired to rest.

Since morning we have lost track of the giddy little Maximin. So let's go back on his trail. He returned from the rectory, gulped a hearty breakfast of warm soup, and then in Peter Selme's company, took the road to Corps, since this was the day Selme must return the young shepherd to his father, according to the promise made. The lad's happiness was all in the little basket slung over his arm – butter, fragrant with mountain flowers, and good fresh cheese. The dog, too, the inseparable companion of his long solitary wanderings in the mountains, was of the party – this brave mongrel, so quarrelsome as a rule, had nevertheless behaved quite sensibly during all the time of the Apparition, since he had remained sleeping a few steps away from his young master.
Maximin near his home in Corps
One hour's trek was no strain for the lad's sprightly limbs, which asked for nothing more than a gambol in the open and a skip over the mountains like a spring butterfly. It was nearly eleven o'clock when the town of Corps came into sight, with its grey houses huddled around the church belfry. The crowd was coming out of High Mass. However, at the wheelwright Giraud's house, there was no one to greet the travelers except the mother – or rather the stepmother, since the real mother of little Maximin was, alas, no longer of this world. The father loved his orphan child well enough, but in his own gruff and at times rude fashion.
Where was the father at this moment? The man had one weakness which he treated with indulgence, and it had just led him this time again to the neighboring cabaret. “Well, I'll be over to find him,” said Peter Selme. “In the meantime,” he tells the matron, “have Maximin tell you what he saw yesterday. He is very lucky – he saw the Blessed Virgin!”
Peter Selme discovered the wheelwright in merry company indeed. “I’ll bet you can't guess what happened to your boy,” he taunts the jovial parent behind his grog. “What misfortune do you mean?” asks Giraud. “Anything happen to him? Did a cow trample over him? Did he fall off a cliff? Did he lose a head of cattle?”
“No, no,” says Selme, reassuringly, “your child is rather fortunate. He has had the happiness of seeing the Blessed Virgin, he and little Melanie Matthieu.” “Oh, is that so?” Giraud rejoins. “What nonsense! My child has seen the Blessed Virgin! Well, now, would you believe it? It must be the Curé's housekeeper was having a little fun!” And the jolly company burst out in loud roars of laughter.
Maximin Again Shares His Experience of the Apparition
Meanwhile, alone with Maximin, the stepmother, deeply moved, listened to his recital. How these past eight days had changed the lad. Formerly his tattle had been unbearable; but now he was able to repeat without trouble a long, very long, discourse, drawing tears from her eyes. She takes the boy over to his grandmother, whose affection for the child held his candid trust.
She, too, upon her grandson's touching narrative, experiences a strange tenseness of soul and sheds tears of mingled joy and sadness.
The boys taunted, “There goes the Blessed Virgin’s pet!”
From then on, little by little, the “great news” wends its way up and down the narrow streets of the town. Where is the one who relates this wonder? Everyone wants to see him. The old grandmother's hovel is invaded by visitors; the whole town seems to gather at her doorstep. Unlucky Maximin! All that evening he is harried by the growing crowd of curious folk. The lad was only spying for a chance to take to his legs and join his comrades at play in the town square, but he has become a prisoner, constrained to relate his story over and over again to every newcomer. Farewell for the special word to his sportive amusement with the “gang”! Hardly has he crossed the threshold of his grandmother's house to return home when a group of playful comrades assail him with rather flattering jibes: “Hey,” they cry as he passes on, “look at the Blessed Virgin's little boy! There goes the Blessed Virgin's pet!”
That day, Giraud the wheelwright was in no special hurry to get back home. It was now pitch dark. Maximin, worn out with the day's adventures, was already fast asleep. Even so, his father made straight for the lad's couch, shook the dormant form vigorously, and ordered the boy out of bed. Giraud insisted on hearing the strange report on the Beautiful Lady. Half-dressed and half-asleep, perched on the edge of his bed, the boy repeats, perhaps for the hundredth time, the matchless discourse of Our Lady:
“So long a time have I suffered for you! If I would not have my Son abandon you I am compelled to pray to him without ceasing…. and as for you, you take no heed of it... Those who drive the carts cannot swear without introducing the name of my Son... If the harvest is spoilt, it is only on your account...”
In their dreams that night the two witnesses saw the Beautiful Lady again but with a smiling countenance.
The lad's voice trips on and on. Soon enough the grumpy parent can bear no more; he calls a halt to the recital: “Who is the rascal that taught you all this in so little time? Two years have I slaved to teach you your “Our Father” and “Hail Mary” and you can't recite them yet... You have but a rabbit’s memory! When I send you on an errand to buy me tobacco or nails, you can't remember an item, and you streak back to the door seven times a day to ask what the errand is for.. What on earth has happened up there?”
But enough... Giraud does not care to hear the rest and grumbles off to bed… The clock has just struck ten. Thus, at the close of September 20th, 1846, the curtain falls for little Maximin, a bit frightened by this last scene of his surly father.

Valiant and wonderful little shepherds! Theirs had been a day of faithful labor. Thus on the night of the first day after the Apparition the “great news” was no longer their sole possession. Bravely and simply they have communicated it to everyone that came along – like the farmer casting in the furrow the grain that will rise in splendid summer harvest – as did the Apostles of old, broadcasting the good word shortly after they came down from the Mount of the Ascension...
During their innocent slumber on that night we may whimsically fancy that our two brave witnesses saw once more leaning over them – this time with smiling countenance — the Beautiful Lady who had entrusted them with this fair message:
“Well, my children, you will make this known to all my people!”
(Reprinted from the La Salette publication, Our Lady’s Missionary, 1944, September, pgs. 229-235-254)