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need?’
    ‘Nothing at all, sir.’
    ‘Very good. Off you go then!’
    Smiling, he watched me leave. I was furious at this clumsy meddling in my life, and at the thought that anyone could think I had encouraged my grandmother to intervene on my behalf. ‘She’s always been the same, always scared of everything!’ I muttered. I remembered all the warnings she used to give me when I stayed with her in the holidays, how anxious she was when I fired my little pistol at the bottom of the garden, or when I went across the river in a boat. I had to hide in order to go swimming, and also to avoid going to Mass. ‘When will they leave me alone?’ I asked myself, thus confusing her with the rest of the family, something I did not usually do, for I was grateful for her gentle, heartfelt affection, however anxious it may have been.
    Today I am ashamed of my anger. Writing as she did, my grandmother was certainly far from being a true Spartan, and no doubt her confessor could have chided her for a lack of Christian resignation. But now I can appreciate that her nervousness in the face of what was going on was more human, closer to the truth, than all the fine poses of people for whom courage cost precious little, since they exercised it at others’ expense. Her faltering heart allowed her to imagine what war would be like for me, while I had no idea, and she dreaded to think of those she loved suffering or being in danger. She put my safety above all vanity, my life above all conventions. And her letter, which my ignorance had made appear ridiculous, now seems to me to be the best reason that this dear old woman has given me to cherish her.
    I am always either happy or bored: there is nothing in between. The only things I can do well are those that I enjoy and I can only enjoy things where I use my brain. Army life makes fewer demands on the brain than any other activity. Necessarily so, because it allows the army to swell its ranks with more and more soldiers, and because it can easily reconstitute itself once they’ve been decimated. ‘Atten-shun!’ – the army’s entire strength rests on that command, on silent obedience which destroys the capacity for rational thought. You can see why it is vital. What would become of the army if soldiers had the idea of asking generals where they were leading them and then started arguing? It would be an embarrassing question for a general, for no leader should ever have to answer an inferior with ‘I don’t know any more than you do’.
    After a year of army life, I have come to the conclusion that I’m a bad soldier and I regret it, just as I once regretted being a bad pupil. I am simply unable to submit to any rule. Should I blame myself? Is the fact that I have never accepted the principles that I’ve been taught a serious failing? I usually think that it is something good, and that it is the principles that are terribly wrong. But when I see so many people lined up against me, certain of their convictions, I sometimes have my doubts: I have my weaknesses just like everyone else and I give way to public opinion . . . I am afraid of being unfit for a war which asks for nothing save passivity and endurance. Would I not feel easier if I was a wholehearted combatant, like all the others (but have I ever actually met any?), fighting fiercely for his nation and certain that his god will reward him with indulgences for the death of each enemy he kills? Unfortunately I am quite unable to do something if it does not make sense to me, and the rules that various guardians have tried to impose on me never make sense. My former schoolmasters took me to task for my independence; later I understood that they feared my judgement and that my adolescent logic was raising questions that they had chosen to avoid. But today the guardians are more powerful, and the people in that role may have me killed.
    Back at the base our initial training was complete and we had been made privates first class