“A hero! But there are real heroes and make-believe heroes; and they
are not always easily distinguishable. I do not hide from myself that
I belong to the make-believes. And yet, it is remarkable that I did
not find the second week at the front as terrible as the first. It is
not as bad there as it seems. When once you get accustomed to the idea
that you may be dead in a day, or in an hour, or in a minute, and when
you are clear as to your future, your mood is relieved from constant
depression. Involuntarily you become kind and helpful to those about
you, you do not get vexed over trifles, you are ready to make all
sorts of sacrifices. Of course, if, in the midst of such a condition,
a grenade suddenly drops into your trench, if you see three or four of
your comrades getting killed, your misery returns, no matter how good
an outward appearance you may keep up. At least, for a while. But then
again the thought comes that getting wounded means rest and safety,
and good care. And death? that is still less terrible. One boasts of
reaching one’s destination along the shortest road! Is not death every
one’s final destination?...
“It is peculiar that one can get so accustomed to danger.
“I have tried to account for it, and it appears to be like this: at
first our thoughts are almost incessantly occupied with the frightful
things that are about to happen. Then moments come—only a single one at
first—in which our thoughts wander away, involuntarily, and dwell on
something else. Suddenly fear returns. But the periods of repose become
more frequent and of longer duration. And when they are disturbed by
fear the painful shock becomes gradually less violent. Neither does
fear itself ache so hard. And then the time approaches when one is
conscious of fear only on occasions when there is a violent fire,
or when men fall. That is my present condition. There seems to be a
further stage in which one is rid of fear for good. So far I shall not
get.”
One day he got a wound in the hip and was sent to the hospital. The
nurses have gotten the idea that he is a hero. He accounts for it thus:
“A friend of Gaston’s is a distant cousin of one of the nurses. Gaston
inquired after me, and apparently used that occasion to do a good
deal of boasting. At any rate, some greatly embellished stories of my
_sangfroid_ have been going the rounds here. Without having to lie, I
could say that all this was invented, or at least highly exaggerated.
The consequence was that I was looked upon, not only as a hero, but as
a giant of modesty as well. It is very annoying. However, to be honest,
I must confess that now and then this undeserved praise gives me a
feeling of satisfaction; I have always known that I was weak-minded.”