[5] All numerals relate to stories told herein--not to chapters in the
book.
"PRIESTS IN THE FIRING LINE"--THE CROSS AND CRUCIFIX
_A Reverend Father in the French Army_
_By Réné Gaell--Translated by H. Hamilton Gibbs and Madame Berton_
This is the revelation of the soul of a priest, who heard "the call
to duty" and went to the battle lines to fight for his country and
to relieve the suffering. He tells about his experiences at "A
Soldier's Death Bed"; "Mass Under Shell Fire"; "Absolution Before
the Battle"; "The Blood of Priests"; "How They Die"; "Confession
on a Parapet"; "The Blessed Sacrament"; and "The Last Blessing."
The chapters here given on "His Call to Duty" and "The Story of a
Wounded Man" is by permission of his publishers, _Longmans, Green
and Company_.
[6] I--STORY OF A PRIEST'S "CALL TO DUTY"
"It's no joke, this time," said my old friend the General.
These words were uttered on the evening of the International Congress
at Lourdes.
Hearts and voices were raised in prayer.
I, too, was filled with the thought of a peace which seemed as though
it could have no end.
But the General was filled with quite other thoughts. "No," he said,
with that fine strength which is capable of facing the saddest
emergencies and of stilling the fever which the thought of the dreaded
future sends rushing to the brain. "No, it's no joke this time.... War
is upon us."
And he began to explain the international complications, the appalling
pride of Germany faced by two alternatives, to expand or to perish.
He showed me the uselessness of diplomacy--the treachery of
international peace-parties--the rush of events towards the inevitable
yet outrageous catastrophe.
In a week or perhaps less, millions of men would receive marching
orders, and Europe would be bathed in blood.
Five days later, I left a deserted Lourdes. I read on the cover of
my military certificate my destination for the first time ... my
destination ... my orders to rejoin my unit ... and that simple piece
of paper suddenly spoke to me with formidable eloquence.
I was a soldier, and this time it was "no joke." I was going to fight.
The citizen in me shuddered, as every one shuddered in those first
terrible hours whose emotion still prolongs itself and is not likely to
end soon.
But the priest in me felt bigger, more human. To every one who asked
if I were going too, I replied, "Yes, but not to kill--to heal, to
succour, to absolve."
I felt those tear-filled eyes gaze wistfully at me, and that in
passing, I left behind me a feeling of trust, of comfort.
A mother, whose five sons were going to the front, and who was seated
near me in the train, said in a strong voice, but with the tears
streaming down her cheeks: "They have scattered priests in all the
regiments. You will be everywhere.... It is God's revenge!"
How much anguish has been soothed, how many sacrifices have been
accepted more bravely, at the thought, "they will be there."
It was at the headquarters of a certain division of the Medical
Service, during the first days of mobilisation.
There, as everywhere, feverish preparation was going on--a tumultuous
activity. Through the big town, the first regiment passed on their way
to the firing line.
How the fine fellows were acclaimed, how they were embraced!
There were a thousand of us already, and we were the first to be called
up. Half of us were priests, and our clerical garb attracted a lot of
sympathy. The love of our country and the love of God so long separated
were now as one. It is no longer time to scoff or to be indifferent to
religion. People now wrung us by the hand, and came close up to us.
An officer came up to us and before that enormous assembly of men,
said: "Gentlemen, I should like to embrace each one of you in the name
of every mother in France.... If only you knew how they count on you,
those women, and how they bless you for what you are going to be to
their sons. _We_ don't know the words that bring strength and healing,
and we are ignorant of the prayers that solace the last agony ... but
you...." And at the words, he wept, without attempting to hide his
feelings. He already realised the immensity of the sacrifice, and the
powerlessness of man to bring consolation to those struck down in their
first manhood.
No, it was no longer "a joke" this time, and every one felt it and
showed it by their respectful looks and manner.
The others, those millions of men on their way to the front, were
starting for the unknown.
We, on the other hand, knew well what lay before us ... we should have
to succour the wounded and throw wide the Gates of Heaven for them to
enter in--we should have to dress their wounds and arouse courage in
those crushed, by the burden too heavy for mere flesh and blood to bear.
Never had we felt such apostles ... never had our hearts dilated with
such brotherly feeling.