From day to day, through those terrible weeks of fighting on the Aisne
and the Marne, with Paris itself in danger, the good abbe wrote brief
records of his hopes and fears regarding his wounded friends, and set
down in living words the more heroic or touching phases of their simple
stories. Let me translate a few of them for the reader.
Take, for instance, the case of Charles Maree, a blue-eyed, red-bearded
hero of thirty years, an only son who had taken the place of his invalid
father at the head of their factory, and who had responded to the first
call to arms. During his months of suffering his parents were held in
territory occupied by the enemy and could not be reached. The abbe goes
on to tell his story:
Let us not be deceived by the calm smile on his face. For six
weeks Charles Maree has been undergoing an almost continual
martyrdom, his pelvis fractured, with all the consequences one
divines, weakened by hemorrhage, his back broken, capable only
of moving his head and arms.... He is one of our most fervent
Christians: I bring him the communion twice a week, and he
never complains of suffering. He is also one of our bravest
soldiers; he has received the military medal, and when I asked
him how it came about he told me the following in a firm tone
and with his hand in mine, for we are great friends:
"It was given to me the 8th of October.
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