that I left last month. Nothing has been done while I was away; a
formidable attack was attempted, but it failed. The regiments ordered to
engage had neither our dash nor our perfect steadiness under fire. They
succeeded only in getting themselves cut to pieces, and in bringing upon
us the most atrocious bombardment that ever was. It seems the action
before this was nothing to be compared with it. My company lost a great
many men by the aerial bombs. These projectiles measure a metre in
height and twenty-seven centimetres in diameter; they describe a high
curve, and fall vertically, exploding in the narrowest passages. We are
several metres deep underground. Pleasant weather. At night we go to the
surface for our hard work.
Dearest, I wanted to say a heap of things about our joys, but some of
them are best left quiet, unawakened. All coarse, common pleasure would
frighten them away--they might die.
I am writing again after a sleep. We get all the sleep we can in our
dug-outs.
I had a pile of thoughts that fatigue prevents my putting in order; but
I remember that I evoked Beethoven. I am now precisely at the age he had
reached when disaster came upon him; and I admired his great example,
his energies at work in spite of suffering. The impediment must have
seemed to him as grave as what is before me seems to us; but he
conquered. To my mind Beethoven is the most magnificent of human
translations of the creative Power.
I am writing badly, for I am still asleep.
How easy, how kind were all the circumstances of my return! I left the
house alone, but passing a battery of artillery I was accosted by the
non-commissioned officers with offers of the most friendly hospitality.
The artillery are devoted to the Tenth, for we defend them; and as the
good fellows are not even exposed to the rain they pity us exceedingly.
I must close abruptly, loving you for your courage that so sustains me.
Whatever happens, I have recovered joy. The night I came was so lovely!
_March 26._
DEARLY BELOVED MOTHER,--Nothing new in our position; the organising goes
on. Interesting but not easy work. The fine weather prospers it. Now and
again our pickaxes come upon a poor dead man whom the war harasses even
in his grave.
_March 28_ (on the heights; a grey
Sunday; weather broken by
yesterday's bombardment).
We are again in full fight. A great attack from our side has repeated
the carnage of last week. My company, which was cut up in the last
assault, was spared this time; we had nothing to do but occupy a sector
of the defence. So we got only the splashes of the fighting.
On the loveliest Saturday of this spring I had a distant view of the
battle; I saw the crawling beast that a battalion looks like, twisting
as it advances under the smoke of the guns. The _chasseurs à pied_ go
forward in spite of the machine-guns and of the bombardment, French and
German. These fine fellows did what they had to do in spite of all, and
have made amends for the check we had last week when our attack was a
failure.
For a month past I have been living Raffet's lithographs, with this
difference, that in his time one could be an eyewitness in comparative
safety at the distance where I stood, for the guns of those days did not
shoot far. But I saw fine things in that great plain beneath our
heights; a hundred thousand fires of bursting shells. And the
_chasseurs_ climbing, climbing.
_Sunday, March 28_ (2nd letter).
DEAR MOTHER,--Radiant weather rose this morning. I have been a long way
over our sector, and now the bombardment begins again, and grows.
And still I turn my thoughts to hope. Whatever happens, I pray for
wisdom for you and for me.
Dearest, I feel at times how easy it would be to turn again to those
pursuits that were once the charm and the interest of my life. At times
I catch myself, in this lovely spring, so bent upon painting that I
could mourn because I paint no more. But I compel myself to master all
the resources of my will and to keep them to the difficult straits of
this life.
_April 1._
A sun that lays bare the lovely youth of the spring. The stream of the
Meuse runs through this rich and comely village, which the echoes of the
cannonade reach only as a dull thud, their meaning lost.
We have had to change again, as the reinforcements are arriving in such
numbers that our places are wanted; and it is always our regiment that
has to turn out.
But to-day all is freshness and light. The great rich plain that is
edged by the Meuse uplands has its distance all invested in the
tenderest silver tones.
I am pleased with Gabrielle's letter; it shows me what things will be
laid upon the heart of France when these events are at an end. A
touching letter from Pierre, cured at last of his terrible wound. A
splendid letter from Grandmother. How she longs for our meeting again! I
cannot speak of it.
* * * * *
I finish this letter by the waterside, recalling with delight the joys I
used to have in painting. Before me are the sparkling rays of spring.
_April 3_ (post-card).
Only a word from the second line. We are in the spring woods. Sun and
rain at play in the sky. Courage through all.
_April 3_ (2nd letter).
I wish I had written you better letters in these days, every minute of
which has been sweet to me, even when we were in the front line. But I
confess that I was satisfied just to let myself live in the beauty of
the days, serene days in spite of the clamours of war. We know nothing
of what is to happen. But there is more movement--coming and going.
Shall we have to bear the shock again?
Think what it was for us when we were last in the front line, to have to
spend whole days in the dug-out that the odious bombardment had
compelled us to hollow out of the hillside ten metres deep. There, in
complete darkness, night was awaited for the chance to get out. But once
my fellow non-commissioned officers and I began humming the nine
symphonies of Beethoven. I cannot tell what thrill woke those notes
within us. They seemed to kindle great lights in the cave. We forgot the
Chinese torture of being unable to lie, or sit, or stand.
The life of a sergeant in billets is really quite pleasant. But I take
no advantage. As to the front, I hope Providence will give me strength
of heart to do my duty there to the very end. A good friend of mine, who
was my section-chief, has been appointed adjutant to our company. This
is all trivial enough; but, dearest, I am in a rather feeble state; I
was not well after the events of last month. So I let myself glide over
the gentle slopes of my life. Suppose one comes to skirt a precipice?
May Providence keep us away from the edge!
_April 4._
DARLING MOTHER,--A time of anxious waiting, big with the menace of near
things. Meanwhile, however, idleness and quiet. I am not able to think,
and I give myself up to my fate. Beloved, don't find fault with me if
for a month past I have been below the mark. Love me, and tell our
friends to love me.
Did you get my photograph? It was taken at the fortunate time of our
position here, when we were having peaceful days, with no immediate
enemy except the cold. A few days later I was made corporal, and my life
became hard enough, burdened with very ungrateful labours. After that,
the storm; and the lights of that storm are still bright in my life.
_April 4, evening of Easter Sunday._
DEAR MOTHER,--We are again in the immediate care of God. At two o'clock
we march towards the storm. Beloved, I think of you, I think of you
both. I love you, and I entrust the three of us to the Providence of
God. May everything that happens find us ready! In the full power of my
soul, I pray for this, on your behalf, on mine: hope through all; but,
before all else, Wisdom and Love.
I kiss you, without more words. All my mind is now set upon the hard
work to be done.
_April 5, 1 o'clock A.M._
DEAR MOTHER AND DEAR GRANDMOTHER,--We are off. Courage. Wisdom and Love.
Perhaps all this is ordained for the good of all. I can but send you my
whole love. My life is lived in you alone.
_April 5, towards noon._
DEAR MOTHER,--We are now to be put to the proof. Up to this moment there
has been no sign that mercy was failing us. It is for us to strive to
deserve it. This afternoon we shall need all our resolution, and we
shall have to call upon the supreme Wisdom for help.
Dear beloved Mother, dear Grandmother, I wish I could still have the
delight of getting your letters. Let us pray that we may be strengthened
even in what is before us now.
Dear Darling, once more all my love for you both.
YOUR SON.
_April 6, noon._
DEAR BELOVED MOTHER,--It is mid-day, and we are at the forward position,
in readiness. I send you my whole love. Whatever comes to pass, life has
had its beauty.
_It was in the fight of this day, April 6, that the writer of these
letters disappeared._
* * * * *
Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty at the Edinburgh
University Press
* * * * *
Transcriber's notes:
Periods added to a few date-lines to conform to rest of text.
Page 95, A space in the text was replaced with "us as". This has been
surmised. "moves us as a Breughel . . ."