Strange Duality of Soul

Levin Daily Chronicle, 20 April 1918, Page 4

Strange Duality of Soul

A PHENOMENON OF BATTLE.

The weird effect of war upon the mind of the individual combatant has been frequently alluded to in stories from the front, but an unusually gripping description of the psychologica phenomena is given by a young lieutenant on the French front in an article entitled '' The Soul of a Combatant, printed in 'Lit Revue Franco-Mucedom-enne,' one'of the French newspapers, lie writes: — . "How are we to describe the soul ot the combatant during the attack, in the battle'? The minutes are so intense, the preoccupation of the aim to attain so •ib«orbiiig that even the man most inclined to self-analysis abandons all thought for action. The atmosphere is -o ixeeptionnl that even immediately after some ditlicult phases one does not recover his soul. There is first a period of preparation; building of trenches in! shelters, of ammunition stores and posts for the command; the men work day and night. The pre-occupations alio at comfort become attenuated; out of the enormous efforts, results of which we see daily, confidence is born; a kind 0 f cheerfulness, vague, not much talked about—the instinct of a bee in a hive, the sentiment of complete solidarity, the -Joy of being artisans on a formidable' work which shall be perfect only iC every one gives nil his strength, nil his life. The acceptance of the sacrifice insinuates, then imposes itself on all. I shall perhaps never see again such a prodigious moral spectacle as the one given by our bivouacs during the three davs preceding the attack of September 25." In the orders given since long weeks the mysterious day of the attack was designated by the letter N. On September 22 we learned suddenly that this was the day, N-3. Everybody prepared himself. Letters to the loved ones, letters of business and different interests filled the bags of the postmen. Weapons were carefully oiled, the big guns prepared, the men affecting unconcern, and laughing loudly at the slightest provocation. The artillery of the enemy thundered loudly. And then: "When, at 10 o'clock in the evening of the 24 th, we started forward toward the furnace, wo loft behind in the bivouacs, with the ashes of the letters burned before our departure, our oldsoul, made of troubles, fear, and love, and we put on at the same time as our equipment our soul of combat. From that moment on we do not live in the present. The probability of death ecplises the past and forbids the future. Sucli a state, lasting days and days, would be inconceivable and also unbearable if the circumstances did not make it easier by lessening greatly the sensibility. First, there is the noise. Then after the noise the fatigue which breaks our limbs, the hunger, the thirst, the want of warm food which provokes a kind of contraction* of the stomach, really painful. But, above all, that which enables a man to remain in the fight without being demoralised by the losses, by certain sights, rest, and an inicnse expense of physical and especially moral strength; then, after a certain time ,all disappears before an irrestible need of sleep. Every minute of quiet, under the rain, in a hole, in an open field, under a violent bombardment we lie down and sleep! Don't think it is a painful sleep; it is delicious. As soon as you allow your nerves to relax a soft warmth penetrates you, flows in your veins; you squat in your ditch with little childish gestures, and rio-ht away ,in a second, like a stone in a pit you fall in the most profound, the most blissful sleep." With the waking the dream continue". ■i >i.-l here, according to the lieutenant. t!ie strange ~xpcvi.-nce Vie tjinn wlien on.» seems to witness, as another individuality, the acts of onevU'. tin- writer. ".There is a uiality in you—the physical jvivvn v.iio creeps, falls in the mud, lies ilni.vi! under the .fire of the mitrailleuses. ; fi'oi.i one tree to another, and : :■!' :■•.( person who observes these •fnuitre proceedings, orders them, and ..ii ;.;-= an astmiisluiig luciilness. Dream ;,! ic !>: !)!•!•(. nl'e two W<:l''ls wllK'J" the ein.iba 'e.iil. Dyeum. this small' wood, rli'.ippod by the /ire, and through whi'-h in a hellish noise, pale men glide, creeping on their knee:' and elbows. this continual bombardment, which • ha!;;-:; flic jjrouml, erur.liCs men and throws ethers 0:1 the earih, the'r faces H.VH. And in that dream what clear-:>.-w of i!ioa«!.t! This you must do, just r',i< and nothing else. Xo hesitation. Responsibility, far from hindering the ofiicer, sustains him, raises him up; what could ho fear, when he is suround>d by his poihis, ready to act without hesitation on a gesture, on a word? "What tenderness he feels for these men of all ages whom he calls 'my children,' unforgetable minutes which create between all a total and definite solidarity! One idea alone haunts the brain, where it tinkles like a bell. 'You must advance! You must advance!' imposes itself not as a duty, but as an evidence. And we advance, and we fall. The goal is that tree over there, or that lump of earth. I do not see anything beyond; I must reach it, and nothing nothing, nothing, nothing shall keep me away from that tree or that lump! All fighting has an end; at night it calms down; silence and shadow shroud and still everything. The wounded, the dead are taken up; on the conquered ground guarded by a few sentinels, everyone sleeps—a sleep without dream; the soldiers have the immobility of corpses. Sleep and sleep well; the task has been accomplished. One thought of the fallen comrade, then the total oblivion of sleep! After the offensive wo come back to the hospital trenches; we wake ip again to normal life, to all the small preoccupations of old. The days of fever and fight are already far away; all the details are minutely engraved in our minds, but our soul still wanders; we can't recover it. A kind of depression subsists after the return to ■"he physical plenitude."