Les lettres [English translation]

April 1912, my wife, my love

One year is spent since this bad day

where I left my land.

I went as a soldier as it is said now.

I will return to see you, firstly from time to time

Then for the entire life.

I could not come without doubt before the summer

Routes are long when one does them walking.

Have you hoed the vineyard ?

Do not leave it «eaten» by the thistles. (invaded)

The neighbour will lend his horse at the harvest.

Write me a few lines.

Winter 1913, my husband, my love

You do not often come without doubt they are too short

the discharge one gives you

But I know that is difficult, fifty leagues walking

To spend the day to work in the fields,

So I forgive you.

The old people say that here the winter will be cold.

I do not feel strength to cut wood

I asked the father.

He did enough to go to April

But do you really think, you who are in the town

we will have war?

August 1914, my wife, my love

In the autumn at the latest, I will be returned

To celebrate victory.

We are the strongest, harvest the wheat without me.

The cow did the veal, wait I would be there

To sale it to the fear.

The father is getting old, the father is tired.

I will cut the wood, take care of your health

I am going to change of address.

Do not write any more, wait me, my wife, my love

In the autumn at the latest, I will be returned

To celebrate tenderness.

Winter 1915, my husband, my love

The time was too long, I went to the burg

In the old cart.

The veal was too old, so I sold it

And I saw the Old Jack, and I gave him back

the rest of our.debts.

We are penniless (1), the father do not walk any more.

I will manage and I will know to be

more and more thrifty

But when you will return to manage your house,

if we have nothing, at least we will not owe

No money to no one.

April 1916, my wife, my love

You are too much generous, and you fly to the rescue

of a thief of miseries

Much richer than us. Give him the half.

Return what you owe, nowadays is pouring

money to the cemetery. (2)

One says that all this may last much time.

War would be done still for two years,

Probably even three years.

We have to prepare us to spend all this time.

You do nothing for that, I am not satisfied,

I do not matter, I love you.

In this way finished this slice of life,

In this way finished on paper turned yellow

This exchange of letters

I discovered at the bend of a summer

Under the vanished tiles of a faded house

In the corner of a window.

Tel me so why this finished so early.

Tell me so why in the upper village

Passing again by car

I did not look to the war Memorial

To fear to find there, from a friend still young

like a signature.

• Artist:Maxime Le Forestier
• Album:Saltimbanque