Just beyond where I was billeted stood a large wooden structure that was being used by the Y. M. C. A. as a moving-picture theatre. In the army the name given to these places of amusement was “cinema.” During the day the concert party of the Sixteenth was practicing a play, entitled “A Little Bit of Shamrock,” one of the chief characters of which was a priest. George had spoken to me of the play, for he had seen one or two practices. Now, I had seen a play staged by this very cast some time before in which was portrayed a minister, a most effeminate character, whose chief mission, it seemed, was to display a very great ignorance of life in general. The amusement for the audience was furnished by him as often as he was shocked or scandalized. The actor who had taken the part of the minister was now to take the part of the priest.
I went to the director of the company, who was an officer from the Second Division, and told him quietly that I had seen the play his company had put on before, and that I had not admired his clergyman, though I thought the actor had done excellent work. I hoped the character of the priest in the forthcoming play would not be like that.
The director looked at me, and I liked the bright smile that spread over his pleasant face. “Don’t worry, Padre,” he said. “I think you will like Father O’Flynn. I have a lot of friends who are priests. I like them. I always like to talk to priests of your church, Padre. They are—they are—oh,—so human, Padre.” And then he smiled a guileless smile, so that I understood that by ‘human’ the young officer had meant something complimentary.
Many days were to pass before I should see the play.
Chapter LXVIII
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.