The Broken Soldier and the Maid of France | Page 8

the soldier, with a peasant's obstinacy. "This is
something very big and dreadful. It has no shape, but a dead-white face
and red, blazing eyes full of hate and scorn. I have seen it in the dark. It
is stronger than I am. Since something is broken inside of me, I know I
can never conquer it. No, it would wrap its shapeless arms around me
and stab me to the heart with its fiery eyes. I should turn and run in the
middle of the battle. I should trample on my wounded comrades. I
should be shot in the back and die in disgrace. O my God! my God!
who can save me from this? It is horrible. I cannot bear it."
The priest laid his hand gently on Pierre's quivering shoulder. "Courage,
my son!"
"I have none."
"Then say to yourself that fear is nothing."
"It would be a lie. This fear is real."
"Then cease to tremble at it; kill it."
"Impossible. I am afraid of fear."
"Then carry it as your burden, your cross. Take it back to Verdun with
you."
"I dare not. It would poison the others. It would bring me dishonor."
"Pray to God for help."
"He will not answer me. I am a wicked man. Father, I have made my
confession. Will you give me a penance and absolve me?"
"Promise to go back to the army and fight as well as you can."
"Alas! that is what I cannot do. My mind is shaken to pieces. Whither
shall I turn? I can decide nothing. I am broken. I repent of my great sin.
Father, for the love of God, speak the word of absolution."

Pierre lay on his face, motionless, his arms stretched out. The priest
rose and went to the spring. He scooped up a few drops in the hollow of
his hand. He sprinkled it like holy water upon the soldier's head. A
couple of tears fell with it.
"God have pity on you, my son, and bring you back to yourself. The
word of absolution is not for me to speak while you think of forsaking
France. Put that thought away from you, do penance for it, and you will
be absolved from your great sin."
Pierre turned over and lay looking up at the priest's face and at the blue
sky with white clouds drifting across it. He sighed. "Ah, if that could
only be! But I have not the strength. It is impossible."
"All things are possible to him that believeth. Strength will come.
Perhaps Jeanne d'Arc herself will help you."
"She would never speak to a man like me. She is a great saint, very
high in heaven."
"She was a farmer's lass, a peasant like yourself. She would speak to
you, gladly and kindly, if you saw her, and in your own language, too.
Trust her."
"But I do not know enough about her."
"Listen, Pierre. I have thought for you. I will appoint the first part of
your penance. You shall take the risk of being recognized and caught.
You shall go down to that village there and visit the places that belong
to her--her basilica, her house, her church. Then you shall come back
here and wait until you know--until you surely know what you must do.
Will you promise this?"
Pierre had risen and looked up at the priest with tear-stained face. But
his eyes were quieter. "Yes, Father, I can promise you this much
faithfully."
"Now I must go my way. Farewell, my son. Peace in war be with you."

He held out his hand.
Pierre took it reverently. "And with you, Father," he murmured.

The Absolving Dream
Antoine Courcy was one of those who are fitted and trained by nature
for the cure of souls. If you had spoken to him of psychiatry he would
not have understood you. The long word would have been Greek to
him. But the thing itself he knew well. The preliminary penance which
he laid upon Pierre Duval was remedial. It belonged to the true healing
art, which works first in the spirit.
When the broken soldier went down the hill, in the blaze of the
mid-morning sunlight, towards Domremey, there was much misgiving
and confusion in his thoughts. He did not comprehend why he was
going, except that he had promised. He was not sure that some one
might not know him, or perhaps out of mere curiosity stop him and
question him. It was a reluctant journey.
Yet it was in effect an unconscious pilgrimage to the one health-resort
that his soul needed. For Domremy and the region round about are
saturated with the most beautiful story of France. The life of Jeanne
d'Arc, simple and mysterious, humble and glorious, most human