Eugáene Emmanuel Lemercier

The Argonne, France

The Argonne, France

morning.

Do not think that I ever deprive myself of sleep. In that matter our regiment is very fitful: one time we sleep for three days and three nights; another time, the opposite.

Now Nature gives me her support once more. The frightful spell of rain is interrupted by fine cold days. We live in the midst of beautiful frost and snow; the hard earth gives us a firm footing.

My little grade gets me some solitude. I no longer have my happy walks by night, but I have them in the day; my exemption from the hardest work gives me time to realise the beauty of things.

Yesterday, an unspeakable sunset. A filmy atmosphere, with shreds of tender colour; underneath, the blue cold of the snow.

Dear mother, it is a night of home-sickness. These familiar verses came to me in the peace:

‘Mon enfant, ma sœur,
Songe à la douceur
D’aller là-bas vivre ensemble
Au pays qui te ressemble.’

Yes, Beaudelaire’s Invitation au voyage seemed to take wing in the exquisite sky. Oh, I was far from war. Well, to return to earthly things: in coming back I nearly missed my dinner.

evening.

Acceptation always. Adaptation to the life which goes on and on, taking no notice of our little postulations.

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