STRANGE DUALITY OF. SOUL.

Greymouth Evening Star, 11 April 1918, Page 8

STRANGE DUALITY OF. SOUL.

'A PHENOMENON OF BATTLE

The weird effect of war xvpon the mind of the individual combatant has been frequently alluded to ,in stories from the front, but an unusually gripping description of the psychological phenomena is given by a young lieutenant on the French front in an article entitled, "The Soul of a Combatant,'.' printed in "La Itevue Franco-Macedonienne,' one of the> trench newspapers. He writes : .

"How are. we to describe the soul of the combatant during the attack, in the battle The minutes are so intense, the preoccupation of the aim to attain so absorbing that even the man most inclined to self-analysis abandons all thought for action- The atmosphere is so exceptional that even immediately after some difficult phases one does not recover his soul. There is first a period of preparation; building of trenches and shelters, of ammunition stores and posts for the command; the men work day and night. The pre-ocupation about comfort became attenuated; out of the enormous efforts, results of which we see daily, confidence is born; a , kind of cheerfulness, vague, not much talked about — the instinct of a bee in a hive, the sentiment of complete solidarity, the joy of being artisans of a formidable work which shall be. perfect only if everv one gives all his strength, all his life. The acceptance of the sacrifice insinuates, then imposes itself upon all. I shall perhaps never se,e again such a prodigious moral spectacle as the one given by our bivouacs during the three days preceding the attack of September 25. In the orders given since long weeks the mysterious clay of the attack was designated by the letter ISTOn September 22nd 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 24th, we started forward toward the furnace, we. left behind in the bivouacs, with the ashes of the letters burned before, our departure, our old soul, made of troubles, hope, fear, and love, and we put on at the same time as our equipment our soul of combat. Erom that moment on Ave do not live in the present. The probability of death eclipses the past and forbids the future. Such a state, lasting' days and days, would be inconceivable and almost 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, is sleep; in the first hours there is no rest, and an immense expense of physical and especially moral strength; then, after a certain time, all disappears before an irresistible need of Every minute of quiet, under the rain, in a hole, in an open field, under a violent bombardment, Ave 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, floAvs in your A-eins; you squat in ydur ditch with little childish gestures, and right 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 continues, and here, according to the lieutenant, the strange psychological experience begins when one seems to witness, as anoth >r individuality, the acts of oneself. Says the writer: "There is a kind of duality in you—the physical person avlio creeps, falls in the mud, lies down under the fire of the mitrailleuses, sneaks from one tree to another, and the moral person avlio observes these strange proceedings, orders them, and enjoys an astonising luckinessDream and lucidness here are two words which seem to me to express best the soul of the combatant. Dream, this small wood, chopped by the fire, and through wni*h, in a hellish noise, pale men glide, creeping on their knees and elbows. Dream, this continual bombardment, which shakes the, ground, crushes men and thows others on the earth, their faces down. And in that dream what

clearness of thought! This you must do, just this and nothing else. No hesitation. Responsibility, far from hindering the officer, sustains him, raises him up; what could he fear, Avhen he is surrounded by his poilus, ready to act without hesitation on a gesture, on a "word? What tenderness lie feels for these men of all ages Avhom he calls 'my children,' unforgettable minutes which create between all a total and definite solidarity! One idea alone haunts the brain, where it tinkles like a bell. 'You must adA-ance.! You must adA-ance!' It imposes itself not as a duty, but as an eA-idence. And Ave and Ave 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 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 to the fallen comrade, then the total oblivion of sleep! After the offensive avh come back to the hospital trenches; Ave wake up again to the 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 the physical plenitude."