The Somme! We thought this phrase was simply a local canard, that by a typographical error the word Somme had replaced the word Sambre. We imagined that fighting was still going on in Belgium. And the communiqué of the 30th states that the Imperial Guard received a check at Guise....
We read, without any great interest, details upon the constitution of the new ministry. No doubt the situation is serious. There is no infatuation here. We are still in quarters, with just the ordinary drill.
Thursday, 3rd September.
We muster. The 27th is drawn up for marching, so we shall not be here long.
Three from the 28th pass into our squadron: Varlet, an electrician, a short, dark fellow with a large, pointed nose and faithful, intelligent eyes; Jacquard, a little man who vainly tries to shout as loudly as Varlet, whose voice is that of a mob orator; lastly, Charensac, who comes from Auvergne, and resembles Sancho Panza in being as broad as he is tall. The latter man has a roguish little dark moustache, and a beard that covers his neck. He wears his képi on the back of his head, over his neck. His paunch protrudes in the same extravagant fashion. The fellow seems determined to treat the war as a huge joke. These three march in the second rank; Reymond and I in the first, along with Corporal Bernier and a Doctor of Law named Maxence.
The latter four have rather long legs, whereas Varlet, Jacquard, and Charensac have short ones.
The result is that we hear them grumbling as they march—
"Not so fast; we cannot follow you. One would think you had been feeding on gazelle's flesh!"
The tall ones take longer strides than ever. When we halt for a moment words are bandied about, and a quarrel seems imminent.
Friday, 4th September.