- EAN13
- 9782357287945
- Éditeur
- Alicia Éditions
- Date de publication
- 20/04/2021
- Langue
- anglais
- Fiches UNIMARC
- S'identifier
Livre numérique
-
Aide EAN13 : 9782357287945
- Fichier EPUB, libre d'utilisation
- Fichier Mobipocket, libre d'utilisation
- Lecture en ligne, lecture en ligne
Mise en Forme
- Aucune information
Fonctionnalités
- Navigation dans la table des matières
- Navigation suivant/précédent
Normes et Réglementations
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1.99
Henri Barbusse spent 22 months in the trench warfare during World War I. He
gives us, from the inside, an instructive testimony of what was this horrible
war. But it is also a major literary work that shows us that in some cases,
the poetry of words is the only way to describe reality.
Sample :
RUDELY awakened in the dark, I open my eyes: "What? What's up?"
"Your turn on guard—it's two o'clock in the morning," says Corporal Bertrand
at the opening into the hole where I am prostrate on the floor. I hear him
without seeing him.
"I'm coming," I growl, and shake myself, and yawn in the little sepulchral
shelter. I stretch my arms, and my hands touch the soft and cold clay. Then I
cleave the heavy odor that fills the dug-out and crawl out in the middle of
the dense gloom between the collapsed bodies of the sleepers. After several
stumbles and entanglements among accouterments, knapsacks and limbs stretched
out in all directions, I put my hand on my rifle and find myself upright in
the open air, half awake and dubiously balanced, assailed by the black and
bitter breeze.
Shivering, I follow the corporal; he plunges in between the dark embankments
whose lower ends press strangely and closely on our march. He stops; the place
is here. I make out a heavy mass half-way up the ghostly wall which comes
loose and descends from it with a whinnying yawn, and I hoist myself into the
niche which it had occupied.
The moon is hidden by mist, but a very weak and uncertain light overspreads
the scene, and one's sight gropes its way. Then a wide strip of darkness,
hovering and gliding up aloft, puts it out. Even after touching the breastwork
and the loophole in front of my face I can hardly make them out, and my
inquiring hand discovers, among an ordered deposit of things, a mass of
grenade handles.
gives us, from the inside, an instructive testimony of what was this horrible
war. But it is also a major literary work that shows us that in some cases,
the poetry of words is the only way to describe reality.
Sample :
RUDELY awakened in the dark, I open my eyes: "What? What's up?"
"Your turn on guard—it's two o'clock in the morning," says Corporal Bertrand
at the opening into the hole where I am prostrate on the floor. I hear him
without seeing him.
"I'm coming," I growl, and shake myself, and yawn in the little sepulchral
shelter. I stretch my arms, and my hands touch the soft and cold clay. Then I
cleave the heavy odor that fills the dug-out and crawl out in the middle of
the dense gloom between the collapsed bodies of the sleepers. After several
stumbles and entanglements among accouterments, knapsacks and limbs stretched
out in all directions, I put my hand on my rifle and find myself upright in
the open air, half awake and dubiously balanced, assailed by the black and
bitter breeze.
Shivering, I follow the corporal; he plunges in between the dark embankments
whose lower ends press strangely and closely on our march. He stops; the place
is here. I make out a heavy mass half-way up the ghostly wall which comes
loose and descends from it with a whinnying yawn, and I hoist myself into the
niche which it had occupied.
The moon is hidden by mist, but a very weak and uncertain light overspreads
the scene, and one's sight gropes its way. Then a wide strip of darkness,
hovering and gliding up aloft, puts it out. Even after touching the breastwork
and the loophole in front of my face I can hardly make them out, and my
inquiring hand discovers, among an ordered deposit of things, a mass of
grenade handles.
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