“That matters nothing; it is my pleasure, I would say, duty. But you—you who have come from America to help my poor France, you who walk so much farther. I, I have legs trained for walking by long marches, by a soldier’s life——”
But I knew something of the duties of a military chaplain. Had I not seen the bare, dark infirmary where he comforted his invalided companions? Had I not visited the baraque called the Soldiers’ Library which was more or less in his charge; that cheerless hut with the books locked out of sight in one corner, and the directions for rifle practice confronting one on the wall? Could not one divine the battle charges when M. l’Aumônier went forward in the ranks with his comrades, or stopped only to give them the sacrament as they fell? Did I not know the calls made upon him by the civilians also, now that he was en repos? A soldier’s life, indeed, has inured the military chaplains of the French army to hardships by contrast greater perhaps than any endured by the other soldiers of France.
Sans l’officier, les soldats nous auraient peut-être rien fait?
[If it hadn’t been for the officer, I don’t think the soldiers would have done anything to us.]
I strove to stop him, to express to him something of my deep appreciation of this added burden he had taken on his shoulders in the spiritual care of the children of Canizy.
But he waved away all implied sacrifice. “It is a pleasure,” he repeated, “and the children are so good.”
Thereafter, M. l’Aumônier became my most disinterested ally in our village. Did a mass seem desirable, the time was set late enough for me to reach it from the Château. What mattered it that thereby Monsieur did not breakfast till noon? When Mme. Gabrielle was still undecided over her distribution, he consented to lend his presence to the function, and thereby insured its success. He even undertook the responsibility of such a mundane matter as the cutting of the glass. Day after day, I met him in one family circle or another, making pastoral calls. Very different were those happy weeks to the villagers from the months preceding, when spiritual consolation came only with death. He seemed to find entrance into the hearts of the people, and they responded to his care as flowers to the sun.