Pierre’s regiment went covered with flowers, and singing.  It was a deep consolation to be together till the end.

It is fine of Andre[1] to have saved his drowning comrade.  We don’t realise the reserve of heroism there is in France, and among the young intellectual Parisians.

In regard to our losses, I may tell you that whole divisions have been wiped out.  Certain regiments have not an officer left.

As for my state of mind, my first letter will perhaps tell you better what I believe to be my duty.  Know that it would be shameful to think for one instant of holding back when the race demands the sacrifice.  My only part is to carry an undefiled conscience as far as my feet may lead.

[Footnote 1:  Second Lieutenant Andre Cadoux, who died gloriously in battle on April 13, 1915.]

August 26.

MY VERY DEAR MOTHER,—­I was made happy by Maurice Barres’s fine article, ‘l’Aigle et le Rossignol,’ which corresponds in every detail with what I feel.

The depots contain some failures, but also men of fine energy, among whom I dare not yet count myself, but with whom I hope to set out.  The major had dispensed me from carrying a knapsack, but I carry it for practice and manage quite well.

The only assurance which I can give you concerns my own moral and physical state, which is excellent.  The true death would be to live in a conquered country, above all for me, whose art would perish.

I isolate myself as much as I can, and I am really unaffected, from the intellectual point of view.  Besides, the atmosphere of the mess is well above that of normal times:  the trouble is that the constant moving and changing drags us about from place to place, and growing confidence falters before the perpetually recurring unknown.

August 30.

. . .  My little mother, it is certain that though we did not leave yesterday, it is yet only a question of hours.  I won’t say to you anything that I have already said, content only that I have from you the approval of which I was certain.

. . .  In the very hard march yesterday only one man fell out, really ill.  France will come out of this bad pass.

I can only repeat to you how well I am prepared for all eventualities, and that nothing can undo our twenty-seven years of happiness.  I am resolved not to consider myself foredoomed, and I fancy the joy of returning, but I am ready to go to the end of my strength.  If you knew the shame I should endure to think that I might have done something more!

In the midst of all this sadness we live through magnificent hours, when the things that used to be most strange take on an august significance.

September 4, 6 o’clock (on the way, in the train).

We have had forty hours of a journey in which the picturesque outdoes even the extreme discomfort.  The great problem is sleep, and the solution is not easy when there are forty in a cattle-truck.