"Tell me of Verdi's music instead of this German melody outside. I'm a lover of the arts!"
EPARGES CEMETERY.
January, 1916.
Eparges Cemetery with its symmetrically aligned graves is touching. The Bavarians bombard it systematically, their hearts set upon destroying it, and the shells churn these sacred little plots from top to bottom——
The poilus, on the board path, shake their heads and say:
"There! again they're murdering our dead."
LOST IN THE DARK, CALONNE TRENCH.
January, 1916.
Night black—night without moon—rifle shots resound like in a cave—we can't see more than a yard in front of us. My friend and I must rejoin a squad of poilus at work.
We have taken a short cut and stumble into shell-holes. We bump into tree stumps—climb hills. Yes, we are lost. We retrace our steps—tired and hungry.
We fall against something—it's a mound! I flash my electric torch on it, masking the glare with the flat of my hand. It's a grave! There is a small wooden cross on which is written: "Here lies an unknown soldier."