La route étroite vers hier (FICTION) (French Edition)

Free download. Book file PDF easily for everyone and every device. You can download and read online La route étroite vers hier (FICTION) (French Edition) file PDF Book only if you are registered here. And also you can download or read online all Book PDF file that related with La route étroite vers hier (FICTION) (French Edition) book. Happy reading La route étroite vers hier (FICTION) (French Edition) Bookeveryone. Download file Free Book PDF La route étroite vers hier (FICTION) (French Edition) at Complete PDF Library. This Book have some digital formats such us :paperbook, ebook, kindle, epub, fb2 and another formats. Here is The CompletePDF Book Library. It's free to register here to get Book file PDF La route étroite vers hier (FICTION) (French Edition) Pocket Guide.

If you think this is a technical error, you can contact our customer service. Otherwise, we invite you to continue your visit. Aquatic and aquacultural resources Aquaculture, fish farming Freshwater ecosystems Fisheries technology Fish ecosystems Popular science Science in my daily life Natural landscapes and environment Atlases, maps, GIS Biodiversity, flora and fauna Climate Continental waters Engineering and technology Sea Hydraulic installations Pollution, waste management Natural hazards Soils Territories and rural areas Society Development, sustainable development Economics, advice and management Ethics and epistemology History and sociology Policy.

Expertise Regulations, legislation. Series Large public. Scientists and professionals. Home The resource does not exist. The resource does not exist. Safety payment. Eine junge Francisi kam zu uns, die uns zeichnen wollte. Ihre Mutter lief mit einer Kamera herum, aber die Fotos wurden leider nichts.

Besitzen sie keine Religion und wissen sie nicht, was Unreinheit bedeutet? Ach, warum haben die Sahibs in Indien an so etwas nicht gedacht? Man muss zugeben, dass sie in aller Eile aufbrechen mussten, sogar warme Kleidung haben sie vergessen. Manche Regimenter zittern und bibbern immer noch in ihrem Baumwollzeugs. An einem Abend haben sie uns zu einem Denkmal einer tapferen weiblichen Reiterin mitgeschleppt.

Jindac , sagten sie und lachten stolz. Wahrscheinlich gibt es deshalb keine Karten, denke ich. Wir sind weiter in den Norden gefahren. Nach einiger Zeit hielt der Zug an einem kleinen Bahnhof. Ein durchdringender Geruch nach Medikamenten und geronnenem Blut hing in der Luft. Als wir das Meer erreichten, ging einer Welle der Erleichterung durch die Mannschaften. Anscheinend liegt Vilayat auf der anderen Seite des Wassers. Laut dem Jemadar sind die Menschen hier sehr klug.

Mitten in der Nacht erreichten wir unser Ziel. Die ganze Gegend schien verlassen. In einem kleinen Dorf hielten wir an. Nachdem die Befehle ausgegeben wurden, brach Panik aus. Das 1. Auch die Rifles unter Karnel Green Sahib ging nach Wolvaga, aber sie sollten die 2. Nie zuvor wurden wir voneinander getrennt. Mannhaft haben wir manchen Feind ausgeschaltet. Wie die Ratten sind wir gefangen in seichten Grachten, voller Modder und Wasser. Wir sehen eher wie Streuner aus als wie Soldaten. Nachts schlafen wir nicht und am Tag stecken wir in Schwierigkeiten. Sie haben den Hunnen unbeschreibliche Macht gegeben.

Helles Licht und Kugeln, die das Blut der Helden trinken. Kein Fleck ist noch frei. Wie gewaltig der Kampf auch ist, nichts an ihm kann mit diesem verglichen werden. Dies ist kein Krieg, dies ist das Ende der Welt. Man musste sie zermahlen und auf brennende Kohlen ausstreuen. Die Wirkung soll drei Tage anhalten. Ach, es bleibt fauler Zauber.

Da gab es diesen Balochi, vom Feind getroffen an seiner guten Hand, am Finger. Das letzte Fingerglied war ab. Aber man glaubte ihm nicht. Der Jemadar hat immer ein Auge auf uns. Niemand geht, wenn nicht seine Stunde geschlagen hat. Mache dir wegen mir keine Sorgen. Sie haben mit jedem Verwundeten einzeln gesprochen.

Letter 1: Laurence Binyon to Olivier-Georges Destrée

Sie waschen uns mit warmem Wasser und geben uns gutes Essen, vier Mal am Tag. Sie essen jeden Tag Ziegenfleisch, das macht ihnen nichts aus. Das ist ein fantastischer Ort, der viele Millionen Pfund gekostet haben muss. Ich habe keine Ahnung, warum die Angrez so schlecht werden, wenn sie einmal in Indien sind. Ram Jhandar ist hier bei mir. Sag es bitte seiner Familie. Jedoch hat er vor ein paar Tagen sein Amulett verloren.

Mein Vater hat getan, was in seiner Macht lag. Sechs oder sieben Mal war er an einem Angriff beteiligt. Wenn er geheilt ist, kann er Rekruten trainieren oder anwerben, wenn er denn zumindest wieder laufen kann. Die Francisi und die Angrez brauchen uns. Ich selbst bin unversehrt, mache dir keine Gedanken.

Die Versorgung hier ist hervorragend. Aber niemand kann uns sagen, wie lange der Krieg noch dauern wird. Was sein muss, muss sein. Seite Mitte April liege ich wieder in Vilayat. Drei Schusswunden diesmal, schlimmer als letztes Mal. Darum habe ich die ganze Zeit nicht geschrieben. Das ist Betrug und Scharlatanerie. Als ich abreiste, gab ich meinem Vater und meinem Bruder einen guten Rat. Nur er sagt die Wahrheit. Statt die Wunde in Augenschein zu nehmen, laufen sie dem Hund hinterher.

Wie die Narren. April den Befehl, augenblicklich nach Ypern aufzubrechen. Die Soldaten waren kaum angekommen, da mussten sie auch schon an einem gemeinschaftlichen Angriff teilnehmen. Sie hatten nicht die Spur einer Chance. Und das Schlimmste kam erst noch. Zum zweiten Mal bediente sich der Hunne dieses teuflischen Mittels.


  • Table of contents?
  • Letter 2: Olivier-Georges Destrée to Laurence Binyon.
  • Poste Restante (English version).
  • Community 1re - Livre de l'élève.
  • Downloadable Content?

Aber ob das wirklich etwas nutzte? Jemadar Mir Dast, von den Der Jemadar brachte sie in Sicherheit. Das ganze Krankenhaus war bei der Auszeichnung des Jemadars zugegen. Ich bin sein Kind. Dieser Mir Mast von der Frontier Force hat die Ehre des Indischen Armeekorps besudelt. In der Nacht vom 2. Hat Mir Mast darum das Undenkbare getan?

Ich wette, dass er inzwischen eine eigene Mauser hat. Ich kann es kaum noch erwarten, endlich werde ich mein geliebtes Land wiedersehen. Ich habe meine Chance verpasst, jetzt bin ich zu alt. Wenn Gott mir Kinder schenkt, werde ich ihr Leben nach meinen neuen Ideen gestalten. Jetzt, wo ich selbst hier bin, begreife ich, wie ich mich irrte.

In unserem Land ist eine Frau nicht mehr wert als ein Paar Schuhe. So lange sie nicht handeln, kann Indien nicht aus dem Traum erwachen. Mir ist klar, dass es schwierig werden wird. Und darum kann ich ihnen vergeben. Ypern ist der Friedhof vieler Geschichten. Auch 1,2 Millionen Inder wurden in den I.

Weltkrieg geschickt, Ihre Briefe hat er wohl nicht gelesen? Das citybook Poste restante ist aus den Briefen eines fiktiven indischen Soldaten aufgebaut, die zwischen und geschrieben worden sind. Stefan Wieczorek geb. Marsels Marseille 1 , la ville au bout de sept semaines de mer. Le gros de notre troupe se compose de sikhs et de musulmans du Pendjab, mais nous comptons aussi dans nos rangs des Ghurkas, des Baloutches, des Garhwalis, des Jats et des Pachtounes.

Mais maintenant, les Angrez 2 et les Francisi ont besoin de nous pour combattre le Kaiser des Huns. Elles nous souriaient comme si nous faisions partie de la famille. Viveleshindous , criaient-elles. Nous avons poursuivi notre voyage en train vers le nord. Ils font travailler les animaux pour eux. Et ils ont aussi des machines qui font toutes sortes de choses pour eux. Nous avons fait halte dans un petit village.

Comme un fermier escalade un prunier et le secoue pour en faire tomber les fruits, les hommes tombent ici. Des cadavres partout. Et ce qui se passe ici est trop grand pour des mots. Tu te souviens du Mahabharata, la grande geste sur la bataille entre cinq Pandava et les cent Kaurava? Les effets devaient durer trois jours. Ne te fais pas de soucis pour moi.

Lui et la Reine. En outre, on a constamment des visiteurs. Ram Jhandar est ici avec moi. Il va bien et est toujours de bonne humeur. Mais il y a quelques jours, il a perdu son amulette. Les Francisi et les Angrez ont besoin de nous. Ce serait bien si mon esprit pouvait quitter mon corps. Quand les Huns exposent leur force, nos fusils les fauchent. Advienne que pourra. Comme des fous. Ils tombaient comme des mouches, que les dieux permettent des choses pareilles! Il en sortait une sorte de gaz, que le vent du nord-est poussa vers nos lignes.

Et dire que le grand Roi-Empereur viendrait me serrer la main et me louer? Je suis son enfant.


  • 12 (Spanish Edition);
  • The resource does not exist..
  • The Deerslayer (Collins Classics).
  • 14 Tips That Make Your Baby Smart;

Je ne le sais pas. Mais je suis devenu un autre homme, mes yeux se sont ouverts depuis que je suis venu en Europe. Maintenant que je suis ici, je me rends compte de ma grande erreur. Je me rends compte que ce sera difficile. Traduire et peindre www. Some said that we would be guarding the Suez Canal, others spoke of Malta.

The order came very suddenly; half of the officers were still on leave. As sepoys in the Indian Army we are specialised in the art of the bayonet. With our Lee Enfields we have kept a good many mutinous clans in the north-west of the country in check. We held off many of the Afghan attacks expertly, too. I did not discover this for myself, these are the words of the learned Sahibs. We joined the Indian Army because, as the second, third or fourth sons of farming families with large debts, we needed the money urgently. Of the monthly salary of eleven rupees we sent half home, hoping that it would keep our families out of the jaws of the loan sharks.

Never before had the Indian Army crossed the black waters. Now the Angrez and the Francisi need us to fight the Kaiser of the Hun. It is a barbaric people. The Hun murder all women and children without shame, and their appetite for territory knows no bounds. All of India supports the war.

It is rumoured that the monarch of Hyderabad has donated six million rupees and that the monarch of Bagli has donated socks, vests, tobacco, chocolate and cigarettes. I will never forget the day that we disembarked the ship in Marsels. The seagulls swarmed to meet us and the cannons of the Francisi warships welcomed us into harbour. Crowds awaited us on the side of the quay in rows upon festive rows.

xuxixutiqevy.gq: litt - Children's & Young Adult / Kindle eBooks: Kindle Store

Children handed us flowers. Pale, unveiled women waved white handkerchiefs. They smiled at us as if we were relatives. Viveleshindous , they called. We did not understand a word of it. I heard that the newspapers reported our arrival and that everybody believes the Hun will soon be defeated.

Marsels is a fairy-tale place. The narrow streets near the quay lead to stately boulevards. Following a march of honour through the streets, we set up camp in Parc Boorli. You should have seen the trees and the flowers: they were such a fresh green and so well-maintained. A young Francisi came by and wanted to make sketches of us.

Both women looked with awe at the white turbans above our British uniforms and pointed and laughed at the bowls of dhal. Most of the sepoys felt honoured by the attention, but one cursed when their shadow fell across the food, and threw his chapatti into the bushes. When we went into the city, we saw how road sweepers drank wine with Tommies, and even, here and there, women putting glasses to their lips without shame.

Have they no religion? Do they not know what is unclean? I would have liked to stay for longer in Marsels, but yesterday we took the train to the north. Here in Orleans we will be given new weapons. This makes us nervous. Is there enough time to practice with them before we have to confront the Hun? It is said that this war is unlike any other. That there is fighting with grenads and mortas , and a rumour runs that the Germans have invented a gun which can shoot over a range of seventy miles. Of course, they had had to leave the cantonments in a hurry, they had not even provided warm clothes.

Some of the regiments are still walking about shaking and shivering in their cotton togs. Orleans is smaller and colder than Marsels, but at least as beautiful. In the day there are drill exercises and in the evening we drink cognac with friendly Francisi soldiers. One evening they took us along to the statue of a brave horsewoman.

Jindac , they said, and laughed proudly. Before I leave I would like to buy postcards, but I cannot find any of that beautiful, spirited, young woman, even though I have searched in scores of shops. One of our British officers told how Jindac became very famous four hundred years ago because of a remarkable victory against the Angrez. Despite this, she was captured and paid for her courage with her life. I think that that might be why there are no postcards.

People are afraid that she would embitter the friendship between the Francisi and Angrez. After all, who wants to be reminded of how a blessed, pretty girl was burned alive? We have made tracks further to the north. Rolling hills made way for a flat, green expanse. After some time, the train stopped at a small station. There was a penetrating smell of medicines and clotted blood. We wanted to get out, but the Jemadar in command called us to silence: we were not to disturb the injured men in the wagons on the opposite track.

An hour later our train started to move again. When we reached the sea, a wave of excitement overcame the troops. It seems that Vilayat lies just across the water.


  • A Brief History of French Literature;
  • L'épopée de la terre de France?
  • EUR-Lex Access to European Union law.
  • A brief History of French Literature.
  • Letter 2: Olivier-Georges Destrée to Laurence Binyon?

We would have loved to go there, to the land of the Angrez. Vilayat, Vilayat: our forefathers had told us that it was a place thickly sown with rubies. The next time that we came to a stop, the platform was full of Francisi soldiers, behind whom stood sombre, elderly men and women, children calling out, and frail women being kissed goodbye. Some wept openly, others stared ahead dejectedly. According to the Jemadar the people here are very clever. They let the animals work for them.

Dogs lead the herds and churn the butter, horses are burdened with ploughing the fields. They also have all kinds of machines that do all manner of things for them. In the middle of the night we reached our destination. A battered station, a bullet-riddled church tower behind it, and a cluster of houses with large, make-shift gun ports. The whole area was abandoned. We unloaded our materials and began to march, with gunfire audible in the distance.

In a small village we came to rest. Once the orders were given, panic broke out. I know that a sepoy must hold his tongue and obey. But why do they not let us fight side-by-side? Never before have we been separated from one another, and bravely we have disabled a great many enemies. It gives me a bad feeling. He who wrenches us apart violates a law of nature.

Franco-British Cultural Exchanges, 1880–1940

Like rats, we are imprisoned in shallow trenches full of mud and water. We are constantly cold, as if the sun has left us forever. Even with our blankets we cannot warm ourselves. We look more like vagabonds than soldiers. At night we do not sleep, and in the day we suffer. There may be no snakes or scorpions here, but the lice and fleas have a terrible bite. It is sad that the mighty Gods have condemned us to this fate. They have given the Hun indescribably great power.

They have made them into birds in the sky, into dragons on the earth, and into poisonous crocodiles in the sea. They posses infinitely more machine guns than the Angrez, who have to make do with two per battalion. At night the Hun fire their mortars into the sky like stars and they use electric lights. It is a formidable sight, war by night. Clear light and bullets that drink the blood of heroes. The world has never seen a war like this, and there will never be another.

Just as a farmer climbs into his plum tree and shakes it until the fruit falls, so the men fall here. No place is outside of gunshot. Corpses lie everywhere. We are compelled to walk over them, even sleep on top of them. Attacking means tackling the enemy with bayonets and being mowed down by machine-gun fire.

We make our own explosives by filling jam jars with dynamite. Of one company, only sixty of the soldiers are still alive. Because an order to retreat was not received, many were needlessly lost. And what is happening here is too huge for words. Remind yourself of the Mahabharata, the great conflict between the five Pandavas and the hundred Kauravas. Regardless of how colossal that conflict might have been, it cannot be compared in any way with this fight. They say that soon there will be two women for every one man in the world, and I believe it.

This is not a war, this is the end of the world. Only those chosen by an extraordinary turn of fate will return home. Some say that it is already too late, that we should have negotiated our positions in Marsels. Gone to the doctor, said that we were too weak. The best option, many agree, is an illness of the mind. The relatives of Dhannoo and Subash sent a letter containing the dried leaves of a plant. These had to be ground up and scattered over burning coals.

After that, the smoke can do its work on the part of your body where an infection is desired, but the rest should be carefully sealed off with clothes.

Letter 1: Laurence Binyon to Olivier-Georges Destrée

The effect would remain for three days. Although we followed the instructions to the letter, absolutely nothing happened. It is also said that you can rub earwax into your eyes with a blunt needle. If God wills it, no harm will come to your eyes, but they will first appear very infected. But it remains a risky business.

LA JEUNESSE :

A Balochi sepoy was hit in his good hand by the enemy, and he lost half of his trigger-finger. He hoped that this would mean the end of his war. The Jemadar keeps an eye on us endlessly. We are all children of God, he says, and death is no business of mortals. No man goes before his bell has tolled.

I was shot in the thigh, but if the Gods have mercy I will make a full recovery. In the meantime, we have arrived in Vilayat and the hospital is on the coast, in a tremendous palace where the King once had his throne. We were told how the King visited here a month ago. He and the Queen. They spoke with every wounded individual.

The King has declared that we must want for nothing, and we are cared for like flowers. White soldiers sit by our bedsides, day and night. They wash us with warm water and feed us well, four times per day. There are nine different kitchens, in which everything is cooked exactly as prescribed. Everything is imported from India: dal, flour, ghee and spices.

Everybody is given milk to drink, Muslims and Hindus have separate water taps, and there are separate butchers for Sikhs and Muslims. They eat goat every day, to which they have no objections. But the Sikhs slaughter their animals with a gash in the neck, while the Muslims ritually cut the throat. Soldiers on the mend can relax in the afternoons in an armchair in the garden. And there are even excursions by bus. It is a fantastical place that must have cost millions of pounds.

Some come all the way from London, simply to wish us a swift recovery. Of course, this applies only to those that have never visited our country. Those who have been to India grind their teeth in rage and laugh at us. I do not know why the Angrez become so bad once they have been in India. Ram Jhandar is here with me. He is doing well and is in high spirits. Tell his family. A few days ago he did lose his amulet, though.

Since then he has been visited by spirits and is troubled by sudden panic attacks. Although I was injured, I am not among those that will return to India. Only those who have lost a leg, an arm or an eye are so lucky. My father has done all that lay within his powers. Six or seven times he has taken part in offensives.

I depend on your honour and goodness to send him home. After his recovery, he can train recruits or enlist soldiers, assuming he is able to walk. Since she heard of his condition, she has been bed-bound. Tomorrow we return to the trenches. The Francisi and the Angrez need us. It would be good if my spirit could leave my body. How long, how long can we bear this? I could go on naming the dead of our company. I myself am unharmed, do not worry. The provisions here are excellent.

The food is brought to the trenches, large portions and many cigarettes. The enemy is weakening. In the battles between the 10th and 12th of March, I estimate we took 5, Hun prisoners, and 25 machine guns. I counted them myself. If the Hun tries to show off its power, our guns mow him down. We have no doubt that the heroism of our King will eventually be crowned with success and glory. But nobody can tell us how long the war will yet last. What will be, will be. Since the middle of April I have been staying in Vilayat again.

Three bullet wounds, worse than last time. That is why I have not written in all this time. I hear that it is rumoured that I was killed. Fortune-tellers across the country claim that they know what happens in places thousands of miles from India. It is deception and a swindle. When I left, I gave my father and brother good advice.

If disaster should befall us, then the commanding officer will personally inform the family. Only he speaks the truth. How could my family listen to the words of Godless men and needlessly take on expenses for my burial rite? In this way the enemy will defeat us. It is almost as if somebody went to them and convinced them that a dog had bitten off their ears. Instead of inspecting their wounds, they chased after the dog. Like fools. Yesterday was the most beautiful day of my life.

The King visited us and he pinned the highest medal of honour on the chest of one of our ranks. The Victoria Cross, for events that took place near Ypres. I had been taken away wounded from the fighting only days before, for which I praise the Gods. Our division, or what remains of it, received the order on April 24th to leave for Ypres immediately. A march of more than a day from Neuve-Chapelle, with heavy packs over muddy roads.

The soldiers had only just arrived when they had to take part in a joint offensive. They did not stand a chance. In the very first few seconds hundreds of men died. They fell like flies, and it is incredible that the Gods permit such a thing. The worst was still to come. Some type of gas came out of them, and it was pushed by the north-easterly wind towards our positions. It was the second time that the Hun used this demonic means. Our soldiers knew that they had to soak their turbans in urine and hold them to their mouths.

But did it help? Those who survived it, said it was worse than all of the torment described in the Ramayana. The gas strikes like lightning and sets your whole body on fire. A lean, hardened Pashtun with a long record of service. He spoke courage into his troops and promised that they would return to the trenches after dark. The Jemadar brought them to safety. Despite his injuries, he risked his life by returning to the battlefield over and over again to rescue eight British and Indian officers. He sat in a wheelchair but insisted on standing to attention to receive the cross.

And then to think that the great King-emperor should shake my hand and commend me… I am his child. Any request he should make would be honoured. The Jemadar has no sons for whom to ask military rank for. In the night of the 2nd to the 3rd of March, he left with ten or so soldiers from the region he was born in. Defected to the Hun. The brother of the war hero is a traitor, it is almost unbelievable. Some think that it was due to his faith. The Hun fights alongside the Ottoman sultan, the caliph of Islam.

He calls all Muslims on earth to jihad against the Angrez and the Francisi. Could that be why Mir Mast did the unthinkable? Some claim that he admired the Hun for their superior weapons. I bet he has his own Mauser by now. The Jemadar did not ask for any of his relatives to be promoted.

As a true hero he only thought of the interests of the Indian Army and asked the king to no longer send injured men back to the trenches. The doctors say that I can soon leave to return to Hindustan. I cannot wait: finally I will see my beloved land again. But I have become a different man, my eyes have opened since I arrived in Europe. The people here lead an easy, comfortable life thanks to the education that both men and women have enjoyed. Here rich and poor, high and low, all attend church together: there are no distinctions drawn.

And the very best thing is that a man chooses his wife, and a woman her husband, and in doing so many difficulties are avoided. I have entirely revised my old outlooks.

Poste Restante

It pains me to think of all the knowledge that I allowed to pass me by. I have missed my chance to learn and am now too old. If God gives me children, I will organize their lives according to new ideas.

admin