THE PROCESSION
Sunday within the octave of Corpus Christi was a beautiful day. Just
before I began Mass for the Thirteenth at Bailleul-aux-Cornailles the
father of M. le Curé came in to see me. The usual great procession
of the Blessed Sacrament had been planned, but word had come from
the parish priest that he could not be present for Mass, and that
very likely he would not be able to reach the church in time for the
procession, which was to start at half-past three in the afternoon. If
M. le Curé could not come, would M. l’Aumonier have the goodness, if
it would not inconvenience him too much, to carry _le Bon Dieu_ in the
procession?
I assured the good people that I would be only too pleased to have the
great honor of carrying the Blessed Sacrament in their procession. They
promised to send a messenger to let me know whether or not the curé
would come for the procession, as they would have definite word by
twelve o’clock.
At one o’clock, while I was taking lunch, a messenger arrived from
Bailleul-aux-Cornailles saying that M. le Curé could not come for the
procession, and that the whole parish respectfully requested me to
carry the Blessed Sacrament.
When I reached the village for a second time that day, I found all
along the way evidences of great preparations. On each side of the
road approaching the church, for a long distance, at intervals of
about twenty feet, saplings of different trees had been placed so
that they appeared to be growing there. Little girls, robed in
white, were flitting along the road, some carrying banners, others
holding decorated baskets of cut flowers. From one side of the road a
narrow lane, arched darkly by old trees, led to a brightly decorated
altar under a large Calvary. Just opposite the orderly room of the
Thirteenth, where the road turned down to the village church, a high
green arch had been erected, and on either side appeared in silver
letters the words, “Panis Angelicus.” Alongside the arch was built
another repository. While I was admiring this, for there was yet much
time, the adjutant of the Thirteenth came down from the orderly room
and asked me the meaning of all the great preparations.
When I explained as briefly as possible what was going to take place,
he seemed surprised that I was going to take part in the procession.
He wondered how it happened that I should know what to do among these
strange people.
The people were strange, but the religion was not.
At half-past three, sharp, the procession left the church. It was
led by a white-surpliced, red-cinctured sanctuary boy, carrying the
processional cross. Behind him walked about a dozen confrères similarly
clad; then came the young boys of the parish, with white ribbons on
their arms. A lad perhaps eleven years of age followed, clad in the
skins of animals and carrying a small cross on which were the words
“Ecce Agnus Dei.” The little girls, in snow-white dresses, came next,
and a few feet behind the column walked a young girl of perhaps
fifteen or sixteen, wearing a long cream-colored dress with white,
gold-bordered wings coming out from her shoulders; a band of gold
encircled her head, to which was attached a gold star which shone above
her forehead; her right hand was raised and the index finger pointed
always towards the sky. Then came four young girls in white carrying
on a pedestal the statue of Our Lady, and four others, bearing on high
the statue of the Sacred Heart. The women of the parish, most of them
wearing a kind of light-blue badge, were next, followed by the men of
the parish, with here and there the blue uniform of a French soldier
home on leave. A few khaki-clad lads also walked, but I think they were
strangers. (I wondered where my lads of the Thirteenth were.) Then came
the choir of middle-aged men singing hymns that today were being sung
over all the world, “Lauda Sion Salvatoris,” “Pange Lingua” and “Panis
Angelicus.” Behind these walked six little girls strewing flowers in
the way and two sanctuary boys swinging censers. Lastly, came four old
men, no caps on their venerable heads, bearing on high the white and
gold canopy over Jesus Host in the great gold monstrance, carried by a
Canadian priest in the beautiful Benediction vestments.
The vari-colored procession went slowly down the village street,
banners carried aloft and the beautiful old Eucharistic hymns sounding
on the summer air, while very old people and others who for one reason
or another could not take part in the procession knelt reverently in
the dust on the roadside, as Jesus passed.
Then something happened that had never before happened in that little
village during a procession of the Blessed Sacrament. Lining each side
of the road for quite a distance were men of the Thirteenth Battalion,
Catholic and Protestant, and as the procession moved slowly along in
all the sweet simplicity of the deep faith of these French peasants,
the soldiers stood reverently to attention.
I felt proud of these lads. We had met together in many strange places;
but I am sure I shall never forget those gay, light-hearted lads
standing so quietly and reverently as we passed--Jesus and I!