Beurey-sur-Saulx, June 25, 1916
Dear Marg,
we have been camping for two days in a delightful, though partially burned (in 1914) village near Bar-le-Duc. In the evening, I go for a walk along the stream with smooth but powerful waters, flowing quietly and strongly between the forests and tall grass in the meadows. The sunsets here are raw gold over even rawer green. The countryside smells like it did when I was a child. After Verdun, this is truly a respite. The only thing missing here – the main thing – is someone with whom I could speak openly and take a break from many things. In this regard, I am dependent – if that can be said – on our Lord and on correspondents like you.
I promised you some details about my life in Verdun (1). In fact, I have very little to say, as our stay there was ordinary. Our regiment occupied a privileged position between Hill 304 and the Avocourt forest, where there was no attack. We were bombarded only once with heavy artillery; fortunately, without any damages. Most of the time I spent in a dark shelter dug into the Avocourt plateau. I only emerged to circle around the front lines or the rear in Esnes. The view from above was breathtaking and enchanting (I could see from Argonne to Vaux), but how sad! The ridges where we fight are completely shot up and appear as if they are afflicted: they resemble the burned shores along the richly green bends of the Meuse, surrounded by forests. Beyond that horror, there is a picturesque beauty. The vast rolling landscape, partially embedded in high forests, where supply routes intersect and countless mysterious telephone wires run, has a peculiar captivating quality. Everywhere are visible “traces of war.” The war has completely covered this land.
The villages near the front line are like nests of shells, to which one can only approach with a tremor. I mentioned Esnes, where the center of field hospitals for this sector is located (2): artillery shells hit here almost continuously, smashing debris into pieces and very often crushing someone alive. Imagine, I observed from above the sharp fire on the target, the shelling of our ambulances, with calibers of 77 and 105. Since the escape route was visible to the Germans at one point, any vehicle that appeared came under fire and a hail of shells, on the way there and back. After two hours of this game, they finally hit the mark (fortunately, we were able to save most of the wounded). In the region where we were, the danger, apart from the shelling, lay in the amount of small grenades that basically fell randomly onto the sparsely placed poor trenches connecting the trenches with the rear. In the end, we hardly paid attention to the whistling of large or small grenades – unless one of them flew too close.
In short, I did not face any particularly serious danger, but perhaps due to physical or moral indisposition, this stay in Verdun (which I do not regret) has worn me out significantly. In such a case, one must learn to say along with Saint Paul: “For when I am weak, then I am strong.” It is not bad to feel how we are losing ground under our feet: the more sincerely we will grasp the hand of our Lord. This Friday, I will try to come as close as possible (together with you, of course) to the Heart of our Lord. I have a great need to immerse my soul in Him again, to have more faith, more devotion, more kindness. (…)
Goodbye. I will write to you again from here.
Pierre
(Pierre Teilhard de Chardin SJ /1881–1955/, letter from the front, to his cousin, June 25, 1916;
quoted from the book Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, The Birth of Thought. Letters 1914–1919, 2021)
(1) The Battle of Verdun lasted for a long ten months in 1916; the number of dead exceeded 300,000 soldiers, with approximately 500,000 more left severely wounded or missing.
(2) As a priest, Teilhard de Chardin was not allowed to fight, but he participated in World War I for a full four years as a stretcher bearer.
