_January 3, 1915._

. . . Yesterday, after the first satisfaction of finding myself freed
from manual work, I contemplated my stripes, and I felt some
humiliation, because instead of the great anonymous superiority of the
ordinary soldier which had put me beyond all military valuation, I had
now the distinction of being a low number in military rank!

But then I felt that each time I looked at my little bits of red wool I
should remember my social duty, a duty which my leaning towards
individualism makes me forget only too often. So I knew I was still free
to cultivate my soul, having this final effort to demand of it.


_January 4, despatched on the 7th_
(in a mine).

I am writing to you at the entrance to an underground passage which
leads under the enemy emplacement. My little job is to look out for the
safety of the sappers, who are hollowing out and supporting and
consolidating an excavation about twelve metres deep already. To get to
this place we have to plunge into mud up to our thighs, but during the
eight hours we spend here we are sheltered by earthworks several metres
thick.

I have six men, with whom I have led an existence of sleeplessness and
privation for three days: this is the benefit I derive from the joyful
event of my new status; but as a matter of fact I am glad to take part
in these trials again.