n the horror-zone.

The rainy twilight shadows the road, and suddenly, in a ditch--the dead!
They have dragged themselves here from the battlefield--they are all
corrupt now. The coming of darkness makes it difficult to distinguish
their nationality, but the same great pity envelops them all. Only one
word for them: poor boy! The night for these ignominies--and then again
the morning. The day rises upon the swollen bodies of dead horses. In
the corner of a wood, carnage, long cold.

One sees only open sacks, ripped nose-bags. Nothing that looks like life
remains.

Among them some civilians, whose presence is due to the German
proceeding of making French hostages march under our fire.

If these notes should reach any one, may they give rise in an honest
heart to horror of the foul crime of those responsible for this war.
There will never be enough glory to cover all the blood and all the
mud.

_September 21, 1914._

War in rain.

It is suffering beyond what can be imagined. Three days and three nights
without being able to do anything but tremble and moan, and yet, in
spite of all, perfect service must be rendered.

To sleep in a ditch full of water has no equivalent in Dante, but what
can be said of the awakening, when one must watch for the moment to kill
or to be killed!

Above, the roar of the shells drowns the whistling of the wind. Every
instant, firing. Then one crouches in the mud, and despair takes
possession of one's soul.

When this torment came to an end I had such a nervous collapse that I
wept without knowing why--late, useless tears.

_September 25._

Hell in so calm and pastoral a place. The autumnal country pitted and
torn by cannon!

_September 27._

If, apart from the greater lessons of the war, there are small immediate
benefits to be had, the one that means most to me is the contemplation
of the night sky. Never has the majesty of the night brought me so much
consolation as during this accumulation of trials. Venus, sparkling, is
a friend to me. . . .

I am now familiar with the constellations. Some of them make great
curves in the sky as if to encircle the throne of God. What glory! And
how one evokes the Chaldean shepherds!

O constellations! first alphabet!. . .

_October 1._

I can say that, as far as the mind goes, I have lived through great days
when all vain preoccupations were swept away by a new spirit.

If there should ever be any lapse so that only one of