ing much yet, but everything has to have a beginning)— which strengthens my confidence in myself and in my inner calm. Added to this, there is the satisfaction of knowing that one is in one's right place and for a splendid cause.

Courage! my dearest parents, no fear, no anxiety. Everything goes well and will go well. Give yourselves up simply to the happiness of knowing that I am at last in a place of service, and to confidence and faith. . . . Hurrah for the battle for the sake of Peace and Justice!

April 8th.

I feel as happy and calm here as at drill; the only difference is that we are quieter.

April 9th. At this moment the shells are whistling and bursting in the communication trenches after passing over our heads. I have grown so used to this kind of noise that it rarely disturbs my sleep.

April 10th.

Yesterday afternoon a heavy bombardment began: shells, mines. Everyone was at his post in case the enemy should come out of his trenches, thirty metres away. It was a sort of a hurricane, whistling, howling, followed by explosions and smoke, without a moment's interruption. In my loophole we were quite ready; in case of an enemy attack one was to fire, the other to throw grenades.

Would you believe it? Without the slightest boasting, I can say that not for a single moment did I feel the least sensation of fear. I was completely cool, full of sangfroid and confidence, at my job and ready to act if the enemy should attempt a sortie. Not a trace of anxiety or nervousness. It is true that I did not feel alone.

At one moment I heard a light blow on my helmet, and this morning I found a mark scarcely visible, made evidently by a spent bullet.

All this allows me to augur well for the future and to look ahead to it without apprehension.

Thanks for your dear letters, which confirm me in my understanding of your state of mind.

April 11th.

I have enormous leisure. Gaiety, spirits, an easy life and a restful one.

April 12th. Yesterday I received your dear letter. This time it was raining, for the moment.

April 15th. This week of trench life has passed with astonishing rapidity.

As regards agitation-I may say, with absolute sincerity, that I have, so to speak, not felt any. That does not mean that the first explosions of shells and mines when they are near-by create a very pleasant impression. But I did not feel the slightest fear of them, and everything seemed perfectly natural. Moreover, everyone soon grows accustomed to the different kinds of noise. Just think, you hear the shells whizzing overhead all the time, sleeping, eating, and talking.

To add to my knowledge of life at the front, I should like to get an idea of the second line trenches, and even of the third. In addition to the satisfaction of making oneself useful, there is a pleasure in informing oneself in regard to so absorbing a subject.

My friends have remarked on my joyous and calm air after these first days in the trenches.

Thanks for your solicitude and for the good opinion you have of me, and of which I hope to make myself worthy. Always excelsior!

I have been much interested in what you say about hatred of the enemy; I feel a great satisfaction that your reflections are the same as mine.

Those who talk of hate, vengeance, and revenge are rarely to be found at the front; they are generally seated in the corner of the hearth. I have talked with a great number of men at the front, and I have never heard such words from them.

Just now we are, I feel, constrained to meet violence with violence. But that is no reason for hating every German individually. I believe that the best thing is to do the duty that is forced upon one without hate or desire for vengeance, and not to burst out in vain outcries about the tragedy of the situation.

SENTRY DUTY

From six in the morning to midnight seems long the first day, a little less long the next day, and after a short while it

passes very rapidly. . . . Every night there is a magnificent starry sky and fireworks from the blazing rockets.

The only slight danger there is comes from the bombs and the trench mortars.

Yesterday evening at the outpost I heard the characteristic hissing of a German trench mortar and we saw the sparks it threw out when it burst. I learned that unfortunately it killed one of our corporals, a fine fellow, father of four children, a territorial of forty, who was seated at the entrance of his shelter. A sergeant behind him inside the shelter was seriously wounded and died later.

A sad result of chance! It was the only trench mortar that the Germans fired during a day which was otherwise perfectly quiet.

Not everyone dies in action during an attack, and many will miss the roll-call after the war who were killed in no contest, at a moment when nothing could have been foreseen. . . . Those, too, will have given their lives, though in the most obscure way, and will have died at their post for the same Cause.

Last night, between eleven o'clock and midnight, we had a slight alarm: musket shots, grenades, some men slightly wounded. I did not receive the least scratch, but that doesn't prevent the German "bottles" from being unpleasant missiles. Though I was at a critical post, I was in luck; moreover, I had a firm intuition that I should not be touched.

The more I am in it, the more interest I take in this war and the more I desire to do my part in it. My spirits are always high, and I am perfectly happy here. I wish you all courage!

IN RESERVE

We are here in safety; only shells can reach this region. Last night, fatigue-party-a little bag of cement weighing fifty kilos to carry on the back through the communication trenches. Truly, one learns all sorts of trades here.

All goes well, and I have grown so accustomed to looking at things from this angle since I joined the regiment that it is now a constant and normal state of mind, and requires no effort.

I am writing you from a large,, quiet, cool field. The sky is blue; there are some little grey clouds, and the yellow

moon is surrounded by a mist. There are the last colors of the setting sun, pale red and gold, which merge into the pale blue and make the sky a color that cannot be defined. . Trees with tender green leaves, trees in blossom . breath.

not a

Above a copse a star is shining. A peaceful and restful scene: what a contrast to the noise of night before last!

If you knew how happy I am to be here! One feels oneself breathe; one feels oneself live, and we are far from the suffocating odors of the depot.

I have come across, in the letters of Roger Cahen,' more than one familiar expression, and more especially the joy of seeing day triumph little by little over the darkness.

In this season it is about two o'clock that the first glow appears, and with this light the songs of the birds beginin spite of everything!

Unluckily I am not living in a region as rich as that of the forest of Argonne, and the three big twisted walnut trees, shorn of their leaves, lifting their mutilated branches towards the sky like hands in a menacing gesture, make one think of skeletons, sprung suddenly from I don't know where.

But the inæsthetic wires which I see everywhere and these tragic walnut trees do not prevent my seeing higher up the immense canopy of azure. And the little star which shone this night far away represented as much poetry as the richest landscape-a little luminous point sunk in the dark sea of the night which is fleeing, clouds of morning freshness that one feels in advance.

The man who will take the trouble to see and to think will never be bored.

UNDER THE SHELLS OF VERDUN

(July-August, 1916)

July 5th.

Here we are at X, a famous fortified place where the fate of the war and the future of civilization is being decided. I beg you with all my heart to be happy, calm and hopeful, as I am. Your first duty is to be calm.

1A Hebrew, former student of l'Ecole Normale Supérieure, killed in the war. His letters have been published in a pamphlet of the Bulletin of L'Union pour la Vérité.

July 6th. We shan't leave until to-morrow for our "shell holes." I ask of you absolute confidence and calm, and the principal requisite for this is complete frankness between a son and his parents. I, on my side, will give you no equivocations and no mental reservations-nothing but the truth. In exchange, you will promise me calm, confidence, and even gaiety.

Our commanding officer has just made us a speech, simple and loyal in tone, which pleased me much. "To-morrow we leave for the 'shell holes' of Thiaumont. Verdun is one of the conditions of victory, and Thiaumont is one of the most important points in the defense of Verdun. If our regiment has been chosen to defend this point, that means that it has proved itself.

Everyone wants victory; so everyone will have the spirit to bring his desire to pass.

"In addition to moral means must be added physical resources. Rest before the departure; take a quantity of provisions (biscuits, jams, chocolate) because there will not be any way of getting food to you. Take something to drink: two canteens (with wine and water or coffee). Be careful in saving your provisions, for we are leaving for four or five days which may run into ten days. That means, we don't know for how long we are going. Carry arms to defend yourself (grenades and cartridges) and be sparing with your ammunition.

"We are going to meet fatigues and frightful strain; being prepared for them, we shall know how to stand up against them. Our commander has confidence in us; let us have confidence in him."

Now that you know all, I count on you to take everything calmly and without apprehension, to learn to wait, it may be a long while.

You will be able to do this better than others, because you believe a fact which allows me to make use of a frankness that is almost brutal. One can say all things to those who have faith. I know that even in case something should happen to me, and even if it were that which the world in general considers as an irreparable misfortune, you would be capable of accepting all with calm and without sadness.

I speak of this not in the least because I have any premonition of bad luck; on the contrary, I feel that things will