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With a great pile of packets in front of him like a peddler's pack, the harassed quartermaster was calling out the post in the middle of a regular mob of soldiers, who were all plying their elbows and trampling on one another's feet. It was just at our door, between the communal washhouse -- so tiny that there would hardly have been room for three washerwomen under its sloping shelter roof -- and the notary's house, which wore a red scarf of virginia creeper crosswise on its front. We had clambered up on the stone seat and were listening attentively. "Maurice Duclou, first section." -- "Killed at Courcy," cried somebody. -- "Are you sure?" -- "Yes, his mates saw him fall in front of the church. . . . He'd caught a bullet. Now, . . well, I wasn't there myself." On the corner of the envelope the quartermaster wrote in pencil, "Killed." -- "Edouard Marquette." -- "He must be killed too," said a voice.… (altro)
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> Par Adrian (Laculturegenerale.com) : Les 150 classiques de la littérature française qu’il faut avoir lus ! 07/05/2017 - L’autre grand roman français de la Première Guerre, qui livre un témoignage des horreurs cachées de la guerre et qui, de fait, est un plaidoyer pacifiste.
Dati dalle informazioni generali francesi.Modifica per tradurlo nella tua lingua.
Les fleurs, à cette époque de l'année, étaient déjà rares ; pourtant on en avait trouvé pour décorer tous les fusils du renfort et, la clique en tête, entre deux haies muettes de curieux, le bataillon, fleuri comme un grand cimetière, avait traversé la ville à la débandade.
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Dati dalle informazioni generali francesi.Modifica per tradurlo nella tua lingua.
Et maintenant, arrivé à la dernière étape, il me vient un remords d'avoir osé rire de vos peines, comme si j'avais taillé un pipeau dans le bois de vos croix.
With a great pile of packets in front of him like a peddler's pack, the harassed quartermaster was calling out the post in the middle of a regular mob of soldiers, who were all plying their elbows and trampling on one another's feet. It was just at our door, between the communal washhouse -- so tiny that there would hardly have been room for three washerwomen under its sloping shelter roof -- and the notary's house, which wore a red scarf of virginia creeper crosswise on its front. We had clambered up on the stone seat and were listening attentively. "Maurice Duclou, first section." -- "Killed at Courcy," cried somebody. -- "Are you sure?" -- "Yes, his mates saw him fall in front of the church. . . . He'd caught a bullet. Now, . . well, I wasn't there myself." On the corner of the envelope the quartermaster wrote in pencil, "Killed." -- "Edouard Marquette." -- "He must be killed too," said a voice.
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07/05/2017 - L’autre grand roman français de la Première Guerre, qui livre un témoignage des horreurs cachées de la guerre et qui, de fait, est un plaidoyer pacifiste.