FEAR, CUMIÈRES.
February 25, 1916.
Fear ... Oh! terrible thing! It is a contagious malady that has to be watched. All of us have inside a cowardly beast that awakens sometimes at the approach of danger——
Very violent bombardment to-day. The two chauffeurs who brought me here this morning left the machine at the entrance to the village. On returning from Côte-de-l'Oie I found them in a sappers' bombardment shelter where they sought refuge.
These men are green and grumble about things. Around them are some poilus and a captain. The explosions outside redouble and I feel as if the whole world was ill at ease.
The two automobilists, to put on a bold front, speak of their machine "which must be demolished by this time" or "which must have been torn to pieces long ago," and by the trembling of their voices I divine that they are thinking of themselves in speaking of the "automobile."
Little by little the others chatted about the effect of the bombardment and they discovered that the dugout was not very solid and that an accident could easily happen. The captain appeared to me nervous and at once I felt that strange thing burning within me——
This anguish that grew inside is perhaps the result of these last days of fatigue during which we had not been able to rest an instant, day or night. It is, perhaps, the result of my wound of last night which still bleeds and makes my shirt stick to my body——
No, it is these two cowards, these two birds of bad luck that make us shiver——
At such times "you have got to kill fear," or one is lost. The means? Get out of this hole! the pretext——