The group dispersed. Guillaumin went on talking to the lieutenant. I stayed with them, without taking part in their conversation. I was depressed again. Why? Good God, what did I want? I envied the delirious delight betrayed by every look and word and deed in my companions. I should have liked to vibrate in communion with those tens of thousands of men, my brothers by race, who covered the surrounding country; and I caught a glimpse behind them of the enormous mass, my nation, in whom the news of our success would have let loose such a frenzy of joy.
What did I lack to raise me to the desired pitch of excitement? I appealed to other considerations of an equally exalting nature: the renewal of our greatness, the virtue of our proud blood. We were overthrowing the greatest enemy in the world, at the first encounter. Revenge was a fine thing after all...! The pride of fulfilling this hope of our fathers. It was thus that I succeeded in fanning myself into a semblance of enthusiasm.
My companions left me, eager to walk and talk, to enjoy to the full this triumph which each of them felt was his own particular property. Left alone I soon proved that the entirely artificial fervour to which I had raised myself was subsiding by degrees. The springs of my mind were stagnant.
We were certain to start again, and starting again would mean pushing forward, following them up—Guillaumin had been quite right—re-entering Lorraine, with flags flying to be saluted as her liberators. Heavens! Surely that was enough to make a soldier's heart beat high. What would have been my father's and my brother's exaltation! To think that I was not a whit moved by it. I stripped the exploits to come of their prestige. What awaited us was simply new fatigues and torturing privations.
And I was terrified above all else, far above all else, by the spectre of the future battles. Could one risk one's life twice with impunity! I had escaped the first time by a miracle. Let me profit by it! I had been wrested from repose and security. Had I not already drawn from this campaign more than the benefit anticipated! I had my share of memories which would last me all my life. I had ascertained that I, even I, was capable of a kind of heroism. What a gain! And a boon that was more precious still, I had regained consciousness of the ties which bound me to a small number of human beings. I longed to be with them again. I would bring them a man infinitely more worthy of them. I had two cards in my pocket. A third had gone to a girl.... Would that one ever reach its destination? Would it be answered ... soon?
Lulled by these dreams, I discovered in them an excuse for the drowsiness which enfolded me. What I experienced was only human. Why a Roman rigour? If I did not burn to risk everything blindly in an adventure of regeneration, if I let myself be touched by the idea of a calm life spent among companions of my choice, if, in order that such a desire might be fulfilled, I caught myself wishing for a cessation of hostilities, an armistice, or an "honourable" peace of some kind, good God, was it anything to be ashamed of? What right had all the great sentiments in the world to suppress my humble wish to be happy?
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