Null Louis-Ferdinand CÉLINE. L.A.S. "Dest", [August 7, 1914], to his parents; 4p…
Description

Louis-Ferdinand CÉLINE. L.A.S. "Dest", [August 7, 1914], to his parents; 4pages small in-8 on a bifeuillet torn from a notebook (the beginning may be missing). Early in the war. "Our Lt. Colonel has been evacuated for varicose veins. I believe that he will be promoted. We have great confidence in gl Joffre, and he seems to be taking precautions. We're all sleeping in the same barn. The existing distances between officers and troops have shrunk considerably - they don't even exist any more. Everyone has his or her Colonel's bowl, and there are only a few eggs left, as hens always lay eggs, even in wartime. But the rush is so great that when they start to sing to announce the event, 50 poilus rush to gobble them up. I'd like it to be over before winter if we're still alive, because only then will it be very hard, they must have taken something in '70 [...] There's a highly organized ambulance service, and I'm assuming that it will have work to do before long [...] It seems that amputations are rare, but the Germans have already employed the dum-dum bullet, which ravages without recourse. Let's hope we don't run into them, because I won't see the Rue de la Paix again, which would be the worst thing in the world for me"... Enclosed is a small L.A.S. in pencil on a Correspondance des Armées de la République card (1p. obl. in-12, address on back), [August 3, 1914], to his parents: "After a few days of crushing fatigue let's take a little rest, am safe and sound but exhausted few losses. Heading in totally opposite direction probably tonight"... Letters (Pléiade), 14-7 and 14-4.

349 

Louis-Ferdinand CÉLINE. L.A.S. "Dest", [August 7, 1914], to his parents; 4pages small in-8 on a bifeuillet torn from a notebook (the beginning may be missing). Early in the war. "Our Lt. Colonel has been evacuated for varicose veins. I believe that he will be promoted. We have great confidence in gl Joffre, and he seems to be taking precautions. We're all sleeping in the same barn. The existing distances between officers and troops have shrunk considerably - they don't even exist any more. Everyone has his or her Colonel's bowl, and there are only a few eggs left, as hens always lay eggs, even in wartime. But the rush is so great that when they start to sing to announce the event, 50 poilus rush to gobble them up. I'd like it to be over before winter if we're still alive, because only then will it be very hard, they must have taken something in '70 [...] There's a highly organized ambulance service, and I'm assuming that it will have work to do before long [...] It seems that amputations are rare, but the Germans have already employed the dum-dum bullet, which ravages without recourse. Let's hope we don't run into them, because I won't see the Rue de la Paix again, which would be the worst thing in the world for me"... Enclosed is a small L.A.S. in pencil on a Correspondance des Armées de la République card (1p. obl. in-12, address on back), [August 3, 1914], to his parents: "After a few days of crushing fatigue let's take a little rest, am safe and sound but exhausted few losses. Heading in totally opposite direction probably tonight"... Letters (Pléiade), 14-7 and 14-4.

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