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Les carnets de guerre de Louis Barthas, tonnelier 1914-1918
Along with millions of other Frenchmen, Louis Barthas, a thirty-five-year-old barrelmaker from a small wine-growing town, was conscripted to fight the Germans in the opening days of World War I. Corporal Barthas spent the next four years in near-ceaseless combat, wherever the French army fought its fiercest battles: Artois, Flanders, Champagne, Verdun, the Somme, the Argonne. Barthas’ riveting wartime narrative, first published in France in 1978, presents the vivid, immediate experiences of a frontline soldier.
This excellent new translation brings Barthas’ wartime writings to English-language readers for the first time. His notebooks and letters represent the quintessential memoir of a “poilu,” or “hairy one,” as the untidy, unshaven French infantryman of the fighting trenches was familiarly known. Upon Barthas’ return home in 1919, he painstakingly transcribed his day-to-day writings into nineteen notebooks, preserving not only his own story but also the larger story of the unnumbered soldiers who never returned. Recounting bloody battles and endless exhaustion, the deaths of comrades, the infuriating incompetence and tyranny of his own officers, Barthas also describes spontaneous acts of camaraderie between French poilus and their German foes in trenches just a few paces apart. An eloquent witness and keen observer, Barthas takes his readers directly into the heart of the Great War.
This excellent new translation brings Barthas’ wartime writings to English-language readers for the first time. His notebooks and letters represent the quintessential memoir of a “poilu,” or “hairy one,” as the untidy, unshaven French infantryman of the fighting trenches was familiarly known. Upon Barthas’ return home in 1919, he painstakingly transcribed his day-to-day writings into nineteen notebooks, preserving not only his own story but also the larger story of the unnumbered soldiers who never returned. Recounting bloody battles and endless exhaustion, the deaths of comrades, the infuriating incompetence and tyranny of his own officers, Barthas also describes spontaneous acts of camaraderie between French poilus and their German foes in trenches just a few paces apart. An eloquent witness and keen observer, Barthas takes his readers directly into the heart of the Great War.
600 pages, Pocket Book
First published January 1, 1978
About the author
Louis Barthas
3 books6 followersLouis Barthas was born to Jean, a cooper (i.e., barrel maker), and Louise Barthas, a seamstress.
At the outbreak of the First World War, Louis Barthas was a cooper in Peyriac-Minervois, a job he returned to after the armistice. A socialist activist, he participated in the creation of the union of agricultural workers and shared the peaceful ideas of Jean Jaurès. He was mobilised to the 280th Infantry Regiment of Narbonne with the rank of corporal, a rank he held for the duration of the conflict. In December 1915 he joined the 296th Infantry Regiment and then the 248th Infantry Regiment in November 1917. For four years he fought in the most dangerous sectors of the front: Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, Verdun, the Somme, and the Chemin des Dames.
After the war, Barthas transcribed his diaries and letters into nineteen notebooks, pasting in picture postcards, illustrations, and maps clipped from newspapers and magazines. The notebooks remained unpublished in the family armoire for more than fifty years.
In 1978, the notebooks, discovered and edited by Professor Rémy Cazals of the University of Toulouse, were published as "Les carnets de guerre de Louis Barthas, tonnelier, 1914-1918," by Librairie François Maspero, and in subsequent editions by Éditions La Découverte (ISBN 9782707177520).
An annotated English-language translation by Edward M. Strauss was published by Yale University Press in 2014 (ISBN 978-0-300-191592), and in paperback in 2015 (ISBN 978-0-300-21248-8), entitled "Poilu: The World War I Notebooks of Corporal Louis Barthas, Barrelmaker, 1914-1918."
At the outbreak of the First World War, Louis Barthas was a cooper in Peyriac-Minervois, a job he returned to after the armistice. A socialist activist, he participated in the creation of the union of agricultural workers and shared the peaceful ideas of Jean Jaurès. He was mobilised to the 280th Infantry Regiment of Narbonne with the rank of corporal, a rank he held for the duration of the conflict. In December 1915 he joined the 296th Infantry Regiment and then the 248th Infantry Regiment in November 1917. For four years he fought in the most dangerous sectors of the front: Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, Verdun, the Somme, and the Chemin des Dames.
After the war, Barthas transcribed his diaries and letters into nineteen notebooks, pasting in picture postcards, illustrations, and maps clipped from newspapers and magazines. The notebooks remained unpublished in the family armoire for more than fifty years.
In 1978, the notebooks, discovered and edited by Professor Rémy Cazals of the University of Toulouse, were published as "Les carnets de guerre de Louis Barthas, tonnelier, 1914-1918," by Librairie François Maspero, and in subsequent editions by Éditions La Découverte (ISBN 9782707177520).
An annotated English-language translation by Edward M. Strauss was published by Yale University Press in 2014 (ISBN 978-0-300-191592), and in paperback in 2015 (ISBN 978-0-300-21248-8), entitled "Poilu: The World War I Notebooks of Corporal Louis Barthas, Barrelmaker, 1914-1918."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 76 reviews
October 22, 2021
This is a great memoir out of World War 1, and what makes it more remarkable is that it was written by a French soldier (a Poilu, meaning hairy one). Louis Barthas was an ordinary man that did his conscription in the French Army more than a decade before the outbreak of the Great War and was recalled from the reserves to serve. At first these reserves were not intended to go to the front, but with high casualties in that new modern war, they were rushed to the front to do battle. He was not a fighter at heart, but did his duty bravely and well through the war, despite not being well lead or looked after by the superiors in the French Army.
This book was composed out of notebooks written during his time at the front, where he survived the entire war, which is remarkable. The book is not filled with heroism and chest beating, but of merely survival and men sharing these hardships and horrors in the trenches and relaxing during times behind the front and just enjoying what might be your last hours alive.
A must to complete any Great War bookshelf.
This book was composed out of notebooks written during his time at the front, where he survived the entire war, which is remarkable. The book is not filled with heroism and chest beating, but of merely survival and men sharing these hardships and horrors in the trenches and relaxing during times behind the front and just enjoying what might be your last hours alive.
A must to complete any Great War bookshelf.
December 22, 2018
Poilu: a French term meaning “the hairy ones.” It became a common term for French troops during WWI.
I’ve read a handful of first-person accounts of the Great War lately, but this one was different. It wasn’t published until the 1970s, so unlike accounts published during the war, it wasn’t trying to boost patriotism or garner support from neutral nations, and it wasn’t affected by censorship. Another nice change was that this one didn’t end with the author disappearing or getting shot and dying in a hospital or dying in a plane crash. By some miracle, Louis Barthas survived the war. After the war, he felt it his duty to tell, for all those who hadn’t survived, what it was really like.
The general picture of the outbreak of WWI is that the nations involved were excited to go to war, eager to right real or perceived wrongs. They were all planning on a quick victory. If parts of Europe was excited to go to war, Barthas was not. At all. He had a wife and two children and an established job. He was also recovering from a serious illness, but even illness couldn’t stall the call-up.
When WWI broke out, France had a universal conscription system. Men served three years of active duty, then eleven years in the reserves. Even then, they weren’t done. Two additional levels of reserve status came next, each lasting seven years. Barthas was in his thirties during the war, in the third group of men. Before the war began, the plan was for members of these two older groups to maintain garrisons, guard prisoners, and dig graves, freeing up younger men for duty at the front. Unfortunately, France suffered so many casualties that by the end of 1914, Barthas’s initial assignment guarding German POWs ended and he was sent to the trenches. He stayed on front-line duty, either in the trenches or nearby in reserve, with only brief furloughs home, until 1918.
Life in the trenches was awful. Barthas spent several winters there, with wet feet and no shelter for long stretches of time. Even when they were given “rest” duty, their shelters were usually infested with lice, or crowded with too many men, or in barns with damaged roofs, or on floors softened only by manure-soaked hay. In describing the alternation between rest duty and trench duty, Barthas says “We were going from Purgatory to Hell and from Hell back to Purgatory.” When it wasn’t freezing, it was usually dusty, hot, and smelly. The water and food situation was often poor, so going a few days without a meal was common.
Later in the war, Barthas was assigned to lead a squad of young men given the chance to get out of prison if they joined the army. He says, “It was a strange deal: to pardon them for stealing, they sent them out to kill.” Barthas became a father figure to many of these boys, but most of them didn’t survive the war.
Eventually Barthas moved to a 37mm mortar crew. By 1918, he was so worn out that his physical strength was gone. A kind officer (more on officers later—but kind ones were rare) finally realized he needed some serious rest. Barthas spent time in a few hospitals, then ended the war as an instructor.
Barthas saw action in many different fronts, so this book offers insight into multiple campaigns and battles. His unit was reorganized during the 1917 mutinies, so the book offers insight into those events as well. His book shows how soldiers were treated during the war, on the front and when they interacted with civilians. Early in the war, some local farmers padlocked their well so the soldiers wouldn’t drink it dry. They were also stingy with sharing their hay for bedding material. In contrast, in Paris late in the war, anyone in uniform was allowed to skip to the front of the line, and tram conductors told them to keep their money when it was time to collect fares.
One thing that surprised me was information on French medical care. I’m used to reading about US Navy Corpsmen serving with Marines in WWII’s Pacific theater. They generally went into danger without hesitation and were generally willing to risk their lives for those they tried to help. That’s not the experience Barthas had. French stretcher-bearers might go to the front line trenches, if it was dark, and if a high-ranking officer was injured. For the average soldier, if he was wounded, he better hope he had some friends to take him to the field station, or that his injury was minor enough that he could make it there under his own power. And if he was wounded in no-man’s land? Well, he better not get his hopes up. No stretcher-bearers would come to his aid. The doctors themselves were usually cold and uninterested in their patients. Barthas did interact with better medical personnel as the war progressed, but his initial experiences left me hoping that he just had really bad luck, that not all the doctors were as horrible as the ones he met.
Another shock was the overall mindset of French officers. I’ve grown up in a country founded on liberal ideals (note: when I say liberal ideals, I am referring not to left-wing politics, but to classical liberalism, such as John Locke’s theories on contract government). For the French soldier, his life was not his own. When called up, he became the property of the state, usually treated no better than an animal. Barthas summarized his opinion best in his own words: “The best leader wasn’t the cleverest tactician, but rather the one who knew best how to keep his men alive.” and “Real courage, for a leader, isn’t blindly executing every order that’s given to him. It’s refusing to execute that order when his conscience tells him to, to save human lives from being sacrificed uselessly.” Barthas did have a few decent officers, but most of them were despicable. I read someone once describe how in the US Army, there were officers and men. In the British Army, there were gods and slaves. The French Army was similar to that—Barthas and the other soldiers were slaves until the war was over.
Barthas was a critic of the Kaiser, but not of the German soldier. He realized they were just like him—stuck under a militaristic government and forced into a war. There were times when his squad, at the front trench, reached reciprocal agreements with the opposing troops not to fire at each other, to keep a calm section quiet.
Barthas was at war for a long time. There were a few times when I found myself thinking “I’m only on 1916? I feel like I’ve been reading this for a long time to only be halfway through the war.” But my only real complaint is that sometimes I don’t think Barthas gave his officers the benefit of a doubt. True, most of the officers he served under didn’t deserve much respect, but it’s also true that they were in difficult situations. At one point, he condemns Petain for gaining glory at Verdun on the backs of dead poilus, but he doesn’t suggest what Petain should have done instead. Would he have preferred the French Armies retreat from Verdun? Had Petain allowed that, he would have been relieved, and the new commander might have made things even worse. At other times too, I felt Barthas assumed those over him were trying to be vindictive. In reality, I think the French Army was often overwhelmed and under-prepared. Problems, yes, but not usually the result of an intentional desire to make life miserable for the average soldier. Then there is that phenomenon called “the fog of war.” Sometimes the officers were just as confused and in the dark as the men they command.
If you only read one book on the Great War, you may want to pick something that will provide a bigger picture from the top rather than this detailed account from the bottom. But for readers interested in the common soldier’s experience, I very much recommend this one. 4.5+ stars, rounding up to 5 for goodreads.
I’ve read a handful of first-person accounts of the Great War lately, but this one was different. It wasn’t published until the 1970s, so unlike accounts published during the war, it wasn’t trying to boost patriotism or garner support from neutral nations, and it wasn’t affected by censorship. Another nice change was that this one didn’t end with the author disappearing or getting shot and dying in a hospital or dying in a plane crash. By some miracle, Louis Barthas survived the war. After the war, he felt it his duty to tell, for all those who hadn’t survived, what it was really like.
The general picture of the outbreak of WWI is that the nations involved were excited to go to war, eager to right real or perceived wrongs. They were all planning on a quick victory. If parts of Europe was excited to go to war, Barthas was not. At all. He had a wife and two children and an established job. He was also recovering from a serious illness, but even illness couldn’t stall the call-up.
When WWI broke out, France had a universal conscription system. Men served three years of active duty, then eleven years in the reserves. Even then, they weren’t done. Two additional levels of reserve status came next, each lasting seven years. Barthas was in his thirties during the war, in the third group of men. Before the war began, the plan was for members of these two older groups to maintain garrisons, guard prisoners, and dig graves, freeing up younger men for duty at the front. Unfortunately, France suffered so many casualties that by the end of 1914, Barthas’s initial assignment guarding German POWs ended and he was sent to the trenches. He stayed on front-line duty, either in the trenches or nearby in reserve, with only brief furloughs home, until 1918.
Life in the trenches was awful. Barthas spent several winters there, with wet feet and no shelter for long stretches of time. Even when they were given “rest” duty, their shelters were usually infested with lice, or crowded with too many men, or in barns with damaged roofs, or on floors softened only by manure-soaked hay. In describing the alternation between rest duty and trench duty, Barthas says “We were going from Purgatory to Hell and from Hell back to Purgatory.” When it wasn’t freezing, it was usually dusty, hot, and smelly. The water and food situation was often poor, so going a few days without a meal was common.
Later in the war, Barthas was assigned to lead a squad of young men given the chance to get out of prison if they joined the army. He says, “It was a strange deal: to pardon them for stealing, they sent them out to kill.” Barthas became a father figure to many of these boys, but most of them didn’t survive the war.
Eventually Barthas moved to a 37mm mortar crew. By 1918, he was so worn out that his physical strength was gone. A kind officer (more on officers later—but kind ones were rare) finally realized he needed some serious rest. Barthas spent time in a few hospitals, then ended the war as an instructor.
Barthas saw action in many different fronts, so this book offers insight into multiple campaigns and battles. His unit was reorganized during the 1917 mutinies, so the book offers insight into those events as well. His book shows how soldiers were treated during the war, on the front and when they interacted with civilians. Early in the war, some local farmers padlocked their well so the soldiers wouldn’t drink it dry. They were also stingy with sharing their hay for bedding material. In contrast, in Paris late in the war, anyone in uniform was allowed to skip to the front of the line, and tram conductors told them to keep their money when it was time to collect fares.
One thing that surprised me was information on French medical care. I’m used to reading about US Navy Corpsmen serving with Marines in WWII’s Pacific theater. They generally went into danger without hesitation and were generally willing to risk their lives for those they tried to help. That’s not the experience Barthas had. French stretcher-bearers might go to the front line trenches, if it was dark, and if a high-ranking officer was injured. For the average soldier, if he was wounded, he better hope he had some friends to take him to the field station, or that his injury was minor enough that he could make it there under his own power. And if he was wounded in no-man’s land? Well, he better not get his hopes up. No stretcher-bearers would come to his aid. The doctors themselves were usually cold and uninterested in their patients. Barthas did interact with better medical personnel as the war progressed, but his initial experiences left me hoping that he just had really bad luck, that not all the doctors were as horrible as the ones he met.
Another shock was the overall mindset of French officers. I’ve grown up in a country founded on liberal ideals (note: when I say liberal ideals, I am referring not to left-wing politics, but to classical liberalism, such as John Locke’s theories on contract government). For the French soldier, his life was not his own. When called up, he became the property of the state, usually treated no better than an animal. Barthas summarized his opinion best in his own words: “The best leader wasn’t the cleverest tactician, but rather the one who knew best how to keep his men alive.” and “Real courage, for a leader, isn’t blindly executing every order that’s given to him. It’s refusing to execute that order when his conscience tells him to, to save human lives from being sacrificed uselessly.” Barthas did have a few decent officers, but most of them were despicable. I read someone once describe how in the US Army, there were officers and men. In the British Army, there were gods and slaves. The French Army was similar to that—Barthas and the other soldiers were slaves until the war was over.
Barthas was a critic of the Kaiser, but not of the German soldier. He realized they were just like him—stuck under a militaristic government and forced into a war. There were times when his squad, at the front trench, reached reciprocal agreements with the opposing troops not to fire at each other, to keep a calm section quiet.
Barthas was at war for a long time. There were a few times when I found myself thinking “I’m only on 1916? I feel like I’ve been reading this for a long time to only be halfway through the war.” But my only real complaint is that sometimes I don’t think Barthas gave his officers the benefit of a doubt. True, most of the officers he served under didn’t deserve much respect, but it’s also true that they were in difficult situations. At one point, he condemns Petain for gaining glory at Verdun on the backs of dead poilus, but he doesn’t suggest what Petain should have done instead. Would he have preferred the French Armies retreat from Verdun? Had Petain allowed that, he would have been relieved, and the new commander might have made things even worse. At other times too, I felt Barthas assumed those over him were trying to be vindictive. In reality, I think the French Army was often overwhelmed and under-prepared. Problems, yes, but not usually the result of an intentional desire to make life miserable for the average soldier. Then there is that phenomenon called “the fog of war.” Sometimes the officers were just as confused and in the dark as the men they command.
If you only read one book on the Great War, you may want to pick something that will provide a bigger picture from the top rather than this detailed account from the bottom. But for readers interested in the common soldier’s experience, I very much recommend this one. 4.5+ stars, rounding up to 5 for goodreads.
July 11, 2020
And then there was the alcoholism, the screaming fits and the crying, to say nothing of the suicides. Coming back from the war mutilated, coming back to happy normal people with mundane blatherings, was for many an impossible adjustment to make.
And when murder strikes...?
That was the basis for The Bad Canadian, a mystery about a disfigured veteran of the western front who returns, does twenty years of city policing, retires to a small town only to find a second world war (there can be two!?) and murders in his intended sanctuary. With nothing but a crippled rich kid as Wartime Special Constable, he has to face the unfaceable all over again.
To make it authentic required enormous amounts of research. I started reading contemporary diaries, letters and memoirs by the people who lived through it.
Poilu is one of those survivor's accounts. Louis Barthas tells it from his own experiences, drafted into the French army that will reel and nearly buckle into mutiny under the unfathomable nightmare of trench warfare.
It's an excellent insiders vantage. The war feels so long. Unending. Bleak and pointless. Rats. Lice. Stupidity. The bitterness deepens, the exhaustion supersedes what any man can give and give and give.
This was a very honest account. Many of the memoirs I read to write The Bad Canadian are more self conscious. They pose for posterity, they pretend to cheer, they downplay. Not Barthas.
Well illustrated, too.
And when murder strikes...?
That was the basis for The Bad Canadian, a mystery about a disfigured veteran of the western front who returns, does twenty years of city policing, retires to a small town only to find a second world war (there can be two!?) and murders in his intended sanctuary. With nothing but a crippled rich kid as Wartime Special Constable, he has to face the unfaceable all over again.
To make it authentic required enormous amounts of research. I started reading contemporary diaries, letters and memoirs by the people who lived through it.
Poilu is one of those survivor's accounts. Louis Barthas tells it from his own experiences, drafted into the French army that will reel and nearly buckle into mutiny under the unfathomable nightmare of trench warfare.
It's an excellent insiders vantage. The war feels so long. Unending. Bleak and pointless. Rats. Lice. Stupidity. The bitterness deepens, the exhaustion supersedes what any man can give and give and give.
This was a very honest account. Many of the memoirs I read to write The Bad Canadian are more self conscious. They pose for posterity, they pretend to cheer, they downplay. Not Barthas.
Well illustrated, too.
February 25, 2020
I have read many, many books on World War I, but this is the first by a French front-line foot soldier. And this book is a mesmerizing read. Louis Barthas, an otherwise ordinary soldier in the French army, of no particular education or distinction, magnificently accomplished two things in World War I that few of his contemporaries did: he survived nearly the entire war in the front-line trenches, and he kept a series of notebooks which were compiled into this fascinating book, unlike any other I have read. More than anything, this book is a tale of survival, under horrible trench warfare conditions unlike anything encountered before or since. The sheer brutality of the trench warfare in World War I is what makes such a deep impression reading this book. Page after page repeatedly reinforces, without any sense of repetition, the cold, the lice, the fleas, the endless rain, the snow, the death and mangling, all while under bombardment of heavy artillery in a volume almost incomprehensible.
Barthas is a socialist and a pacifist, but what comes through strongly is that he does his duty and does it well. What also comes across is what I have read in many other books-- the French army was poorly led, with officers hiding in shelters not leading their men, and focusing on insane regulations that dis-spirited instead of inspiring their men. When the book turns to the time of French mutinies, there is little surprise.
For a man little educated and otherwise unremarkable, these notebooks are well-written and contain the occasional dramatic depiction, reflection or phrase. It is a shame they were not found and made into a book until after Barthas' death.
This book is a unique and important read for any student of World War I. Highly recommended.
Barthas is a socialist and a pacifist, but what comes through strongly is that he does his duty and does it well. What also comes across is what I have read in many other books-- the French army was poorly led, with officers hiding in shelters not leading their men, and focusing on insane regulations that dis-spirited instead of inspiring their men. When the book turns to the time of French mutinies, there is little surprise.
For a man little educated and otherwise unremarkable, these notebooks are well-written and contain the occasional dramatic depiction, reflection or phrase. It is a shame they were not found and made into a book until after Barthas' death.
This book is a unique and important read for any student of World War I. Highly recommended.
November 10, 2021
This book is probably a 3.5 because it is rather unique in WWI reading because the number of ordinary French soldiers who left their memories in print are not excessive. Barthas, who never ranked higher than corporal, has left his testimonial to the hell that is the Great War in a number of journals. These journals cover the ordinary life of a poilu, in camp and in the field. He served the entire four years of war with barely a scratch, but endured close calls and illnesses from the wretched conditions he and his comrades enperienced. Ironically, he experienced many of the worst battles, such as the Somme and Verdun, but not in their worst days.
I probably could have given the book 4 stars, but there was something about it that bothered me. First of all, he was an extremely articulate writer. It just seemed out-of-place to be so polished when you are surrounded by dirt, blood and war. Where did he keep these notebooks? The living conditions were appalling, and yet he wrote as if he was at home in front of his fire. Secondly, his protests about the inhumanity of war, his socialism, and anti-militarism are repeated over and over, and yet when given the chance to be relieved of his corporal's stripes, he fights tooth and nail to keep them. Was it pride or something else? He also ranted continuously about the officers. No doubt many deserved it for their pettiness and brutality, however, you can only read so much of it without the point being dulled. Finally Barthas did get into trouble at times for his outspoken convictions, but he always seemed to talk his way out or a higher-up officer came to his rescue. He even managed to get his stripes back.
I appreciate what the Poilu went through, what they suffered, but somehow the continual complaints, with just occasional praise for the few, made me wonder what this barrelmaker was like in peacetime. Whatever he was, he didn't get his wish that his fellow citizens learned their lesson. Twenty years later France was at war again.
I probably could have given the book 4 stars, but there was something about it that bothered me. First of all, he was an extremely articulate writer. It just seemed out-of-place to be so polished when you are surrounded by dirt, blood and war. Where did he keep these notebooks? The living conditions were appalling, and yet he wrote as if he was at home in front of his fire. Secondly, his protests about the inhumanity of war, his socialism, and anti-militarism are repeated over and over, and yet when given the chance to be relieved of his corporal's stripes, he fights tooth and nail to keep them. Was it pride or something else? He also ranted continuously about the officers. No doubt many deserved it for their pettiness and brutality, however, you can only read so much of it without the point being dulled. Finally Barthas did get into trouble at times for his outspoken convictions, but he always seemed to talk his way out or a higher-up officer came to his rescue. He even managed to get his stripes back.
I appreciate what the Poilu went through, what they suffered, but somehow the continual complaints, with just occasional praise for the few, made me wonder what this barrelmaker was like in peacetime. Whatever he was, he didn't get his wish that his fellow citizens learned their lesson. Twenty years later France was at war again.
January 4, 2022
To be honest, I just wanted to finish this and not really interested in a review. If you want WWI without any embellishment, this is the one. So dark, depressing, snarky and yet honest. He lived in the trenches for almost the entire war. Some of the imagery is just so stark. Thinking about all the bodies on the battlefield turned to "marmalade" by shellfire is just one. The cold, the mud, the rain, the dust, the heat...all seasons are related as he experienced them. A must-read but don't expect any perspective above a soldier in a trench. 3 Stars
August 7, 2014
This is a must read for anyone interested in WWI.
A French barrelmaker in the French army kept a diary and when he had a chance to get home, he would leave the parts he had. When the war was over (he obviously survived), he sat down and wrote his story. It's an amazing one.
Barthas shows us, not a French patriotic army ready to die for France, but an army of regular people, who, when their commanders give them really stupid commands, usually don't obey. Barthas has no kind words for the commanders who stay in fine houses, eat well, sleep in real beds, while their soldiers sleep, when they can, in mud and pouring rain. At one point, men who were complaining of cold on the Front Line were put to work digging out muddy trenches while the rain kept pouring down. Marches to towns that should have taken an hour took 3-4 because some of the leaders weren't capable of reading maps, so led the soldiers in circles. Many times, Barthas and his group were marched to the front line and then almost immediately back again because they were "no longer needed." During the active phase of the war, they were brought to the front and told to attack the Germans by pouring out of the trenches - straight into German artillery, a bit like storming the beaches on D-Day. The troops refused and rightly so. Their immediate commanders had to make up something to tell the General, and they did. None of the common soldiers were ever disciplined.
This is the war as it was, not novelized, not remembered sentimentally, but as seen from the point of view of just one of the soldiers sent to war, unwillingly, by politicians who had no idea what they were doing.
A French barrelmaker in the French army kept a diary and when he had a chance to get home, he would leave the parts he had. When the war was over (he obviously survived), he sat down and wrote his story. It's an amazing one.
Barthas shows us, not a French patriotic army ready to die for France, but an army of regular people, who, when their commanders give them really stupid commands, usually don't obey. Barthas has no kind words for the commanders who stay in fine houses, eat well, sleep in real beds, while their soldiers sleep, when they can, in mud and pouring rain. At one point, men who were complaining of cold on the Front Line were put to work digging out muddy trenches while the rain kept pouring down. Marches to towns that should have taken an hour took 3-4 because some of the leaders weren't capable of reading maps, so led the soldiers in circles. Many times, Barthas and his group were marched to the front line and then almost immediately back again because they were "no longer needed." During the active phase of the war, they were brought to the front and told to attack the Germans by pouring out of the trenches - straight into German artillery, a bit like storming the beaches on D-Day. The troops refused and rightly so. Their immediate commanders had to make up something to tell the General, and they did. None of the common soldiers were ever disciplined.
This is the war as it was, not novelized, not remembered sentimentally, but as seen from the point of view of just one of the soldiers sent to war, unwillingly, by politicians who had no idea what they were doing.
December 23, 2018
The great memoirs of World War I are well known: Graves, Blunden, Sassoon, Remarque, but thousands of men – and some women, notably Vera Britten – published their stories, and even more kept private diaries. Among the diaries brought to light decades after the war the most acclaimed in English is probably Edwin Campion Vaughn’s Some Desperate Glory, but this one, by Louis Barthas, is also well worth reading.
The problem with memoirs is that most of them were written long after the war. The most famous ones came out in the 30s, when time and circumstance had started to dim memories. There were also the problems of how to describe the indescribable, to find the words that could convey the cold, wet, stinking misery of the trenches, or the terror of artillery barrages. There was also the issue that not everything that could be described could be printed. Some remembered scenes were too grotesque or too brutal for publication. Philip Gibb’s Now It Can Be Told was heavily criticized when it came out, not because it was untruthful but because it was remorselessly truthful about the gruesomeness of the war. Finally, even with diaries there is sometimes the sneaking suspicion that some of the author’s original words and sentiments were smoothed over or omitted altogether in the name of stitching together a coherent, publishable work.
With those considerations in mind we come to Barthas’s Poilu, and I would argue that, more than most books of its kind, it does not suffer from the the aforementioned problems of memory, editing, and presentation. It is based on his diary, and retains the feeling of intensity that comes from writing about incidents while they were still fresh in his mind. It was not published until 1978, long after anyone with an ax to grind or reputation to maintain was long gone, at a time when no one cared about glossing over the horrors of war, and when the publishing environment allowed authors to say things that decades before would have been suppressed. For these reasons this book is about as close as we can get to the thoughts and feelings of the men who were there, knee deep in mud and madness.
The accepted memory of the start of the war is of crowds of young men eager to enlist in the great adventure of their lives, worried that it would be over before they could get into the show. Barthas was not one of those. He was already thirty-five years old, which is ancient for the wearying life of a foot soldier. He was also a socialist, and a clear-eyed cynic of politicians and promises. He recognized that as a working man he had far more in common with the average German soldier than he did with his own officers, whom he held in low regard, frequently in contempt, for their incompetence and casual disregard for the lives of the men under them.
So much for glory, for courage, for honor. This was mechanized war, the meat grinder. Barthas’s diary entries tell of the dismal life that soldiers led even when they weren’t directly in the line: terrible food, wretched living conditions, and arbitrary discipline. Barthas was once busted from corporal to private because of his political beliefs. The officer responsible remembered him from before the war and reduced him in rank simply because he could.
Barthas was in many of the major battles on the Western Front, but as a common soldier he knew nothing of grand strategy, and realized that the explanations that he was given for them were pure lying propaganda. One stretch of poisoned ground was as good as another to die on.
He fought at Verdun, and his diary entries from there capture the nightmare in all its horror. One interesting thing is how closely his descriptions mirror those of other writers who were there. For a time I wondered if memoirists were simply cribbing off each other’s notes. It would not be surprising; if an author was struggling to describe a scene that is almost beyond description, he might repeat the words of someone else who had written about a similar situation. For instance, there is Verdun’s moonscape of blasted earth, where units had no idea where they were or the location of their own front lines as they lay for days in muddy shell holes under intense bombardment. This setting was described in very similar terms in Arnold Zweig’s Education Before Verdun and William Hermann’s The Holocaust. Barthas too describes his time at Verdun in eerily similar language, but his diaries were transcribed shortly after the war, before the other books were published, so he could not have known them. We can only suppose that the similarities result from the fact that vocabularies are limited in their ability to comprehend, much less describe, the shrieking hell and tortured earth of Verdun, where armies went to die.
The only other French memoir of the Great War that is widely known (to English speaking audiences) is Henri Barbusse’s Under Fire, which is itself excellent. Barthas’s book has many similarities to Barbusse’s descriptions of the life of the average poilu, and both are highly recommended for anyone with an interest in the war.
The problem with memoirs is that most of them were written long after the war. The most famous ones came out in the 30s, when time and circumstance had started to dim memories. There were also the problems of how to describe the indescribable, to find the words that could convey the cold, wet, stinking misery of the trenches, or the terror of artillery barrages. There was also the issue that not everything that could be described could be printed. Some remembered scenes were too grotesque or too brutal for publication. Philip Gibb’s Now It Can Be Told was heavily criticized when it came out, not because it was untruthful but because it was remorselessly truthful about the gruesomeness of the war. Finally, even with diaries there is sometimes the sneaking suspicion that some of the author’s original words and sentiments were smoothed over or omitted altogether in the name of stitching together a coherent, publishable work.
With those considerations in mind we come to Barthas’s Poilu, and I would argue that, more than most books of its kind, it does not suffer from the the aforementioned problems of memory, editing, and presentation. It is based on his diary, and retains the feeling of intensity that comes from writing about incidents while they were still fresh in his mind. It was not published until 1978, long after anyone with an ax to grind or reputation to maintain was long gone, at a time when no one cared about glossing over the horrors of war, and when the publishing environment allowed authors to say things that decades before would have been suppressed. For these reasons this book is about as close as we can get to the thoughts and feelings of the men who were there, knee deep in mud and madness.
The accepted memory of the start of the war is of crowds of young men eager to enlist in the great adventure of their lives, worried that it would be over before they could get into the show. Barthas was not one of those. He was already thirty-five years old, which is ancient for the wearying life of a foot soldier. He was also a socialist, and a clear-eyed cynic of politicians and promises. He recognized that as a working man he had far more in common with the average German soldier than he did with his own officers, whom he held in low regard, frequently in contempt, for their incompetence and casual disregard for the lives of the men under them.
So much for glory, for courage, for honor. This was mechanized war, the meat grinder. Barthas’s diary entries tell of the dismal life that soldiers led even when they weren’t directly in the line: terrible food, wretched living conditions, and arbitrary discipline. Barthas was once busted from corporal to private because of his political beliefs. The officer responsible remembered him from before the war and reduced him in rank simply because he could.
Barthas was in many of the major battles on the Western Front, but as a common soldier he knew nothing of grand strategy, and realized that the explanations that he was given for them were pure lying propaganda. One stretch of poisoned ground was as good as another to die on.
He fought at Verdun, and his diary entries from there capture the nightmare in all its horror. One interesting thing is how closely his descriptions mirror those of other writers who were there. For a time I wondered if memoirists were simply cribbing off each other’s notes. It would not be surprising; if an author was struggling to describe a scene that is almost beyond description, he might repeat the words of someone else who had written about a similar situation. For instance, there is Verdun’s moonscape of blasted earth, where units had no idea where they were or the location of their own front lines as they lay for days in muddy shell holes under intense bombardment. This setting was described in very similar terms in Arnold Zweig’s Education Before Verdun and William Hermann’s The Holocaust. Barthas too describes his time at Verdun in eerily similar language, but his diaries were transcribed shortly after the war, before the other books were published, so he could not have known them. We can only suppose that the similarities result from the fact that vocabularies are limited in their ability to comprehend, much less describe, the shrieking hell and tortured earth of Verdun, where armies went to die.
The only other French memoir of the Great War that is widely known (to English speaking audiences) is Henri Barbusse’s Under Fire, which is itself excellent. Barthas’s book has many similarities to Barbusse’s descriptions of the life of the average poilu, and both are highly recommended for anyone with an interest in the war.
June 13, 2018
while a fascinating memoir of serving through the entire war, the aggressive anti-militarism can wear thin across a few hundred pages and the grass roots level means you will hardly ever come across a familiar sight from 'mainstream' histories: Barthas takes part in one of those forgotten divisionary attacks on the edge of Neuve Chapelle and wanders the slopes between the Mort Homme & Côte 304 in Verdun, but always just around the bend.
September 24, 2021
The first-hand account of four years of a horrible war that hardly anyone can even remember why it was fought. Fought with tactics from the time of our Civil War, it introduced mass slaughter by advanced indirect fire artillery and the machinegun and foreshadowed maneuver warfare with the tank.
Most importantly, it tells the story of the Lost Generation.
Most importantly, it tells the story of the Lost Generation.
July 30, 2014
Celebrating 100 years of the idiocy of war
This is a light, lively, infuriating and ultimately depressing look at a particularly brutal and pointless war: WWI. It’s a first-person account of trench warfare that ranges from the mundane – battling boredom and endless marches and small-minded officers and horrible food – to the grotesque: people having their heads sheared off by shrapnel, slogging through rancid corpse water, being feasted upon by rats and lice, bombs unearthing stacks of bodies tossed from the trenches and poison gas.
Barthas was, by his own description, an unremarkable French pacifist, socialist and barrel-maker who laboriously, painstakingly chronicled his experiences in the trenches. In any other time, he would have likely come and gone from the world mostly unnoticed – a loss, because he was a naturally talented writer – but he had the misfortune of reluctantly participating in World War I.
Reading this book, one can’t shake the utter hopelessness, psychological damage and despair that must have gripped a generation drawn into the war. Along with riveting and at times almost comical descriptions of the daily routine of the infantryman, he pursues some radical lines of thought, pointing out the vast hypocrisy of war, media spin to gin up support and the utter disregard the military leaders had for human life. What kind of insane mind can knowingly send tens of thousands of men into meat grinders of machine gun fire under a hail of rockets and across fields of barbed wire, all to gain or regain a few inches of worthless territory? Generals, safe and sound and well behind the lines, that’s who.
It’s no wonder, as he ably illustrates, so many French and German soldiers maintained an uneasy truce mere yards apart from each other. It’s the height of irony that those who resisted the urge to kill were threatened with death from their own officers. In other words, "you must defend against those who would kill us, or we will kill you."
Luckily, we’ve learned so much in the last hundred years, like how violence can never solve the challenges of co-existence.
This is a fine read, only recently translated into English, that provides an invaluable perspective on the (not so) Great War.
This is a light, lively, infuriating and ultimately depressing look at a particularly brutal and pointless war: WWI. It’s a first-person account of trench warfare that ranges from the mundane – battling boredom and endless marches and small-minded officers and horrible food – to the grotesque: people having their heads sheared off by shrapnel, slogging through rancid corpse water, being feasted upon by rats and lice, bombs unearthing stacks of bodies tossed from the trenches and poison gas.
Barthas was, by his own description, an unremarkable French pacifist, socialist and barrel-maker who laboriously, painstakingly chronicled his experiences in the trenches. In any other time, he would have likely come and gone from the world mostly unnoticed – a loss, because he was a naturally talented writer – but he had the misfortune of reluctantly participating in World War I.
Reading this book, one can’t shake the utter hopelessness, psychological damage and despair that must have gripped a generation drawn into the war. Along with riveting and at times almost comical descriptions of the daily routine of the infantryman, he pursues some radical lines of thought, pointing out the vast hypocrisy of war, media spin to gin up support and the utter disregard the military leaders had for human life. What kind of insane mind can knowingly send tens of thousands of men into meat grinders of machine gun fire under a hail of rockets and across fields of barbed wire, all to gain or regain a few inches of worthless territory? Generals, safe and sound and well behind the lines, that’s who.
It’s no wonder, as he ably illustrates, so many French and German soldiers maintained an uneasy truce mere yards apart from each other. It’s the height of irony that those who resisted the urge to kill were threatened with death from their own officers. In other words, "you must defend against those who would kill us, or we will kill you."
Luckily, we’ve learned so much in the last hundred years, like how violence can never solve the challenges of co-existence.
This is a fine read, only recently translated into English, that provides an invaluable perspective on the (not so) Great War.
January 27, 2022
It’s so important to understand that human cost and suffering that occurred during WW1
May 16, 2014
Superb--heartbreaking--fascinating. This journal of a middle-aged, pacifist, socialist barrel maker in the hell of the trenches is astounding. A clear eyed, tart tongued, angry chronicle of the imbecility of the officers' chickenshit, incompetence and thoughtlessness to the human beings they force toward almost certain maiming or death.
March 21, 2022
Louis Barthas was a Barrel Maker from the southern French town of Peyriac-Minervois, a socialist, an intellectual, a lover of wine and good food , and a keeper of diaries. He was also a Corporal in the French Army from 1914-1918, a survivor of the front lines for all 5 years of the war, and possibly the greatest writer and observer of his day. His memoirs, so ably kept in a series of children's school notebooks are simply one of the best most informative and moving documents to come out of WWI- considered in France to be a key contemporary resource for all Historians of the conflict. I can only agree- being kept spellbound by this simple and honest record of one man's war. This is truly one of the best memoirs I have ever read- and possibly the best book on the French WWI experience for the novice reader. The simple fact is- military history buff or newb to the genre- this is a book you sort of have to read...
I don't want to ruin it for anyone by spouting the many anecdotes that will add the touches of veracity in this book- but suffice it to say all phases of the war are discussed- and the French Army and its many foibles. The men are cattle- walking in miles of mud and rain to each event or battle. Changes in equipment and tactics are noted- and discussed- as Barthas become leader of the 37mm Trench gun team at mid war. Throughout, he battles the cold, the wet, the haughty bougie officers , and occasionally the Germans as well. Bill Mauldins's Willy and Joe GIs, Good Soldier Schweik and George McDonald Frasers McAuslan are all echoed in this work that precedes them by decades- the hapless Poilu (French GI) a cork on the wave of war, destruction , militarism, and the insane ironies of industrial war. Barthas sees all- comments on all - but keeps going and fulfils his obligations. His survival, after those years of horror ends up being more uplifting than one might think. A tour de force that everyone should read...
The book is all about adult themes and graphic passages of horror, so this is really a High School/College level book (especially in the original French) or for a Junior Reader over 13/14 years. For the Gamer and Modeler- not really that useful- although there might be a few diorama/scenario ideas in there- I think it's more about how the war was lived- not that much about the actual combats. The Military Enthusiast gets a soldier's eye view of the French Army at war- French soldiers at war- and a reliable witness (the book has been extensively researched and rings true) to the Great War at its most basic levels. I do not share political views with Barthas- but his self -educated proletarian socialism did give him a clarity of view and voice that is refreshing and keenly appreciated all these years later. I cannot tout this book enough for the well read WWI reader or the novice to the period. It's just great stuff -on a really tough topic.
I don't want to ruin it for anyone by spouting the many anecdotes that will add the touches of veracity in this book- but suffice it to say all phases of the war are discussed- and the French Army and its many foibles. The men are cattle- walking in miles of mud and rain to each event or battle. Changes in equipment and tactics are noted- and discussed- as Barthas become leader of the 37mm Trench gun team at mid war. Throughout, he battles the cold, the wet, the haughty bougie officers , and occasionally the Germans as well. Bill Mauldins's Willy and Joe GIs, Good Soldier Schweik and George McDonald Frasers McAuslan are all echoed in this work that precedes them by decades- the hapless Poilu (French GI) a cork on the wave of war, destruction , militarism, and the insane ironies of industrial war. Barthas sees all- comments on all - but keeps going and fulfils his obligations. His survival, after those years of horror ends up being more uplifting than one might think. A tour de force that everyone should read...
The book is all about adult themes and graphic passages of horror, so this is really a High School/College level book (especially in the original French) or for a Junior Reader over 13/14 years. For the Gamer and Modeler- not really that useful- although there might be a few diorama/scenario ideas in there- I think it's more about how the war was lived- not that much about the actual combats. The Military Enthusiast gets a soldier's eye view of the French Army at war- French soldiers at war- and a reliable witness (the book has been extensively researched and rings true) to the Great War at its most basic levels. I do not share political views with Barthas- but his self -educated proletarian socialism did give him a clarity of view and voice that is refreshing and keenly appreciated all these years later. I cannot tout this book enough for the well read WWI reader or the novice to the period. It's just great stuff -on a really tough topic.
September 23, 2017
When I was in Boy Scouts, I always felt like I did not belong. I enjoyed the actual Scout activities; pinewood derbies, Klondike races, wilderness survival, hiking, volunteer work, etc. Thanks to Boy Scouts, I can tie several different knots, I know how to swim, I can start a fire using batteries and steel wool, and I know how to splint a broken limb.
My lack of sense of belonging stemmed not from the activities, or from the other scouts themselves, but from the leaders. Boy Scout leaders seemed to have the mentality that suffering built character, that misery was a virtue, and comfort was a sin. While camping in the middle of winter in Ohio, the scouts would sleep in tents wrapped up in blankets, shivering, while the scoutmaster slept in a heated RV. When morning time came, we'd all get woken up by the scoutmaster's son, who would shake the tents, pull the blankets off, call us humiliating names and make us cook their breakfast.
To some, this seemed to build a sense of discipline, obedience and humility. To me, it all seemed like complete and total BS. Who did these scoutmasters think they were, I wondered, that they can torture us all while they live in comfort? Why do they systematically abuse us and humiliate us, like the nominal guards of the infamous Stanford Prison experiment? And why was I the only one who seemed to have a problem with their authoritarian rule?
As I read Louis Barthas' notebooks from the French front lines of World War I, memories of Boy Scouts kept flooding back to me. There is a scene where the commandant orders 20 men on a work detail to chop down trees in the middle of winter, so that he can have firewood for his comfortable shelter behind the front lines. The men rotate shifts, completing their work and then returning to the front to sleep under thin blankets, surrounded by rats, freezing water and disease. Who ever thought they might feel empathy with the author of a book written 100 years ago in a country thousands and thousands of miles away?
Louis Barthas has nothing but scorn for the "bosses" who seem to enjoy making his life and the lives of his fellow soldiers miserable. He sees no glory in war, only death; the tragic irony of glory exemplified by the officers who, after a successful operation, hand each other the Croix de Guerre and commemorate one another for a job well done, writing their own names in the history books. "I look on heroes with horror," Barthas says at one point. "Their hands are stained with blood."
Barthas' notebooks are a worthwhile, fulfilling, essential read, not only for anyone searching for a firsthand account of warfare during WWI, but for the point of view of the common soldiers in that conflict. This element was missing from Ernst Junger's excellent "Storm of Steel," written by an soldier of the officer class who saw war as noble and manly. I would encourage everyone to read this book, regardless of their interest in history. The war scenes are gruesome, the descriptions of trench life are grim, and the military politics get the blood boiling. What more could you want from history?
And who, in your personal life or in the world 100 years later, are the "bosses"?
My lack of sense of belonging stemmed not from the activities, or from the other scouts themselves, but from the leaders. Boy Scout leaders seemed to have the mentality that suffering built character, that misery was a virtue, and comfort was a sin. While camping in the middle of winter in Ohio, the scouts would sleep in tents wrapped up in blankets, shivering, while the scoutmaster slept in a heated RV. When morning time came, we'd all get woken up by the scoutmaster's son, who would shake the tents, pull the blankets off, call us humiliating names and make us cook their breakfast.
To some, this seemed to build a sense of discipline, obedience and humility. To me, it all seemed like complete and total BS. Who did these scoutmasters think they were, I wondered, that they can torture us all while they live in comfort? Why do they systematically abuse us and humiliate us, like the nominal guards of the infamous Stanford Prison experiment? And why was I the only one who seemed to have a problem with their authoritarian rule?
As I read Louis Barthas' notebooks from the French front lines of World War I, memories of Boy Scouts kept flooding back to me. There is a scene where the commandant orders 20 men on a work detail to chop down trees in the middle of winter, so that he can have firewood for his comfortable shelter behind the front lines. The men rotate shifts, completing their work and then returning to the front to sleep under thin blankets, surrounded by rats, freezing water and disease. Who ever thought they might feel empathy with the author of a book written 100 years ago in a country thousands and thousands of miles away?
Louis Barthas has nothing but scorn for the "bosses" who seem to enjoy making his life and the lives of his fellow soldiers miserable. He sees no glory in war, only death; the tragic irony of glory exemplified by the officers who, after a successful operation, hand each other the Croix de Guerre and commemorate one another for a job well done, writing their own names in the history books. "I look on heroes with horror," Barthas says at one point. "Their hands are stained with blood."
Barthas' notebooks are a worthwhile, fulfilling, essential read, not only for anyone searching for a firsthand account of warfare during WWI, but for the point of view of the common soldiers in that conflict. This element was missing from Ernst Junger's excellent "Storm of Steel," written by an soldier of the officer class who saw war as noble and manly. I would encourage everyone to read this book, regardless of their interest in history. The war scenes are gruesome, the descriptions of trench life are grim, and the military politics get the blood boiling. What more could you want from history?
And who, in your personal life or in the world 100 years later, are the "bosses"?
April 28, 2024
In Storm of Steel, Ernst Junger seemed to find meaning in something that was so obviously pointless. He reveled in the violence and nihilism of the war. Here, Barthas was a pacifist and hated militarism. For him, if anything, the war served as a warning to future generations about the horrors of war and the warrior spirit. How he survived for four years in the trenches is remarkable. His story clearly defines the conflict between the officer class and the poilu, the ineptitude and the willingness of the leadership to sacrifice so many, and the unfortunate who died not because they wanted to sacrifice their lives but because they could not have chosen to do otherwise.
June 28, 2021
It was a tough read for me, taught me a lot. Specifically about the perseverance of the folks of this generation. They live through horrible conditions, of the likes I hope we never see again.
April 11, 2022
An primary account of the Great War from a French infantryman fully revealing the futility and horrors of the conflict. Reminiscent of “Generals Die in Bed” by Charles Yale Harrison which was required reading in a number of my English courses at uni.
September 10, 2017
The lion's share of Great War accounts I've read seem to be from the English or the German side. Occasionally there are some French accounts thrown in (i.e. Barbusse's "Under Fire") but for the most part (I don't know why) the French soldiers are usually treated as distant, somehow at a remove from a lot of the actions and campaigns that took place between Tom and Jerry.
Barthas's account of the life of a "poilu" (I believe it literally translates as something like "hairy one" but means "grunt") is the firsthand account of a cooper-turned corporal, who reluctantly but steadfastly fought for several years straight in the charnel house that was Europe in the First World War. Like Herbert Sulzbach ("With the German Guns") it's a miracle that Barthes even lived long enough to write the diary entries that comprise this book. And like Ernst Junger ("Copse 125," "Storms of Steel" et. al.) Barthas' descriptions of battle are at once of an unquestionable veracity (to paraphrase Gide on Junger) and yet somehow achieve the tenor of ghastly, surrealistic poetry. Some of the entries are truly breathtaking to read.
That said, I would be lying if I said I didn't find some of the book to be a slog. Because the French (unlike the Germans) didn't fight primarily with units comprised of men they knew from their towns and villages, and because they were constantly shifted, it is hard to get a bead on any of the other characters in Barthas' orbit. Yes, this is a series of diary entries, which makes it more an interior rumination rather than a traditional narrative, but the men with whom Barthas shares the trenches congeal into one mass of undifferentiated ciphers. The old saying is that war is long stretches of boredom punctuated by short bursts of sheer terror, and it's certainly true in this book as Barthas marches, camps, prepares for a fight that doesn't occur, and then marches off again. Also, I don't fault any man for having strong political convictions (especially when they've been born out by such a mountain of empirical evidence in the form of what essentially was state-sanctioned genocide), but the relentless didactic tone (Barthas was a socialist) sometimes becomes a bit wearing. It is, in its own way, as rigid, reflexive, and blinkered as unbridled and unthinking patriotism.
All that said, there's no disputing that this is an important book, a candid and harrowing piece of history from an enlisted Frenchman, a species from whom we who are curious about the Great War haven't heard nearly enough.
Barthas's account of the life of a "poilu" (I believe it literally translates as something like "hairy one" but means "grunt") is the firsthand account of a cooper-turned corporal, who reluctantly but steadfastly fought for several years straight in the charnel house that was Europe in the First World War. Like Herbert Sulzbach ("With the German Guns") it's a miracle that Barthes even lived long enough to write the diary entries that comprise this book. And like Ernst Junger ("Copse 125," "Storms of Steel" et. al.) Barthas' descriptions of battle are at once of an unquestionable veracity (to paraphrase Gide on Junger) and yet somehow achieve the tenor of ghastly, surrealistic poetry. Some of the entries are truly breathtaking to read.
That said, I would be lying if I said I didn't find some of the book to be a slog. Because the French (unlike the Germans) didn't fight primarily with units comprised of men they knew from their towns and villages, and because they were constantly shifted, it is hard to get a bead on any of the other characters in Barthas' orbit. Yes, this is a series of diary entries, which makes it more an interior rumination rather than a traditional narrative, but the men with whom Barthas shares the trenches congeal into one mass of undifferentiated ciphers. The old saying is that war is long stretches of boredom punctuated by short bursts of sheer terror, and it's certainly true in this book as Barthas marches, camps, prepares for a fight that doesn't occur, and then marches off again. Also, I don't fault any man for having strong political convictions (especially when they've been born out by such a mountain of empirical evidence in the form of what essentially was state-sanctioned genocide), but the relentless didactic tone (Barthas was a socialist) sometimes becomes a bit wearing. It is, in its own way, as rigid, reflexive, and blinkered as unbridled and unthinking patriotism.
All that said, there's no disputing that this is an important book, a candid and harrowing piece of history from an enlisted Frenchman, a species from whom we who are curious about the Great War haven't heard nearly enough.
November 9, 2015
One of the few books I've read that left me nearly dazed and breathless. A close-up view of a war characterized by grotesque suffering, small acts of personal heroism, bad and even abusive leadership (although slightly relieved by the intelligence of some officers), boredom, drudgery, small acts of rebellion or cunning ruses, incomprehension. This is the book that makes you feel you're there.
Robert Graves's Goodbye to All That was almost equally stunning but was filtered through a consciously literary sensibility and was the reminiscence of an officer. Ernst Junger's Storm of Steel was equally a view of the war from the officer ranks, and was the work of someone who apparently had a youthful appetite for conflict and danger. Barthas was about 40 and a corporal. He was also a socialist who did his duty but somehow remained a pacifist while on the front lines for more than three years.
And despite his relative lack of formal education, he was a natural, instinctive writer whose sharp insights and frustrated complaints were combined with an ability to make a reader see what he was describing. It's all too real. Yet the reality, the tangible presence of what Barthas chose to write about, is what makes this reworked collection of his on-the-spot notebooks one of the great documents of humanity. No wonder his trench mates urged him to write it all down so that others could see what they experienced.
Robert Graves's Goodbye to All That was almost equally stunning but was filtered through a consciously literary sensibility and was the reminiscence of an officer. Ernst Junger's Storm of Steel was equally a view of the war from the officer ranks, and was the work of someone who apparently had a youthful appetite for conflict and danger. Barthas was about 40 and a corporal. He was also a socialist who did his duty but somehow remained a pacifist while on the front lines for more than three years.
And despite his relative lack of formal education, he was a natural, instinctive writer whose sharp insights and frustrated complaints were combined with an ability to make a reader see what he was describing. It's all too real. Yet the reality, the tangible presence of what Barthas chose to write about, is what makes this reworked collection of his on-the-spot notebooks one of the great documents of humanity. No wonder his trench mates urged him to write it all down so that others could see what they experienced.
May 14, 2014
Fascinating perspective from the trenches. Barthas perspective, in a socialist tone, details the continual failure of leadership on both sides of the trenches.
Grim and gritty, repetitive at times but I highly recommend to those who want to balance the high level view of most history books with one at eye level.
Grim and gritty, repetitive at times but I highly recommend to those who want to balance the high level view of most history books with one at eye level.
December 27, 2016
Great book - all the horrors of the trenches you suspected, compounded by thoughtless, petty commanders and inefficient (if not inept) bureaucracy. Amazint that this man lived through it and then had the strength to live another 34 years after this frightful experience.
April 30, 2017
Poignant memoir of a French Soldier's experience during the Great War. The writer paints a very moving portrait of life and survival on the western front from 1914 until the end of the war. I would give it 10 stars if I could! A must read for any military history fan.
December 26, 2016
It took me awhile to get into this book but now I am glad I stuck with the author. His attention to detail is wonderful.
March 17, 2017
Relentless.
October 18, 2020
Click here for a video version of this review: https://youtu.be/0cNbsx_yXqY
The grand-daddy of historical podcasts is Hardcore History hosted by Dan Carlin, and it was on his recommendation that I read Poilu - The World War I Notebooks of Corporal Louis Barthas, Barrelmaker. The title is quite a mouthful and the book is quite a read. "Poilu" is French for “hairy ones” which was a nickname for the French soldiers probably not dissimilar to the modern term "grunt" as a way to refer to certain soldiers.
Barthas was a man that was a soldier all the way through The Great War. I often wondered if there was anyone that began fighting at the start of the war who made it all the way to the end. Now I know there’s at least one! It’s quite incredible when you think about what a meat grinder the war was and the massive toll it took.
A couple of sections really stood out to me while reading this. One was how Barthas described how he was on duty at a train station in Narbonne just after the war broke out. The first time a train full of wounded soldiers arrived, the whole town turned out. They cried, they cheered, they volunteered to help and house the wounded. Soon though, it was a different story, as he says:
“Oh, the inconstancy of enthusiasm, the fickleness of the mob. Barely a week after the first train arrived, indifference had already set in, hearts became blasé. There was no longer anyone curious enough to witness the arrival of wounded men, ever more numerous...”
I thought this gave an interesting insight into the human psyche, and how quickly unusual and horrible things can, to observers, become boring and normal.
At times the book reminded me of All Quiet on the Western Front, but I had to keep reminding myself that this was non-fiction. The trials and tribulations of the soldiers are simply awful and what these guys had to live through was mindblowing. An example of this was how they were often forced, through lack of supply, to drink trench water. This was the water that flowed at the bottom of the trenches where men walked, died, bled out and were shelled into mince. The descriptions of trench life make your skin crawl.
Barthas doesn’t hold back when discussing the very real division between the Poilus and the officers and you can see this feeling rise as the book progresses. At the start it’s like “well here we are, let’s get on with” but by the middle portion of the book he and his fellows develop a real bitterness toward the officers. When describing the Poilus feelings about once more being tasked with running into a hail of hot metal he says:
“We felt revolt rising in our whole beings before such a fate, such cruelty on the part of those who disposed of our existence so indifferently.” There’s no glory for King and country type attitude, just the stark reality that they were well aware that to the brass they were just pieces on a game board.
From a technical perspective, there are no section breaks in the notebooks so from one paragraph to the next Barthas can take you to very different places. One paragraph he’s in the trenches and the next he’s billeted in a village, so you have pay attention to keep up. Once you get used to the style it’s a good flowing narrative, although, that said, there were some things here and there that I would have liked more detail on. He has so much to tell that he fails to dwell on anything for much more than a paragraph or two on many occasions. I would describe the book as high on information, low on detail.
The book is long and bleak - much like the wars - and serves well as not a birds eye view from the top, but most certainly a view from the bottom. The bottom of a trench, the bottom of a bomb crater, the bottom of a sludge pool made up of smashed up men, horses, and machinery.
It’s a heavy read but if you want a first hand account of the horror that soldiers faced on all sides, this is worth the investment.
The grand-daddy of historical podcasts is Hardcore History hosted by Dan Carlin, and it was on his recommendation that I read Poilu - The World War I Notebooks of Corporal Louis Barthas, Barrelmaker. The title is quite a mouthful and the book is quite a read. "Poilu" is French for “hairy ones” which was a nickname for the French soldiers probably not dissimilar to the modern term "grunt" as a way to refer to certain soldiers.
Barthas was a man that was a soldier all the way through The Great War. I often wondered if there was anyone that began fighting at the start of the war who made it all the way to the end. Now I know there’s at least one! It’s quite incredible when you think about what a meat grinder the war was and the massive toll it took.
A couple of sections really stood out to me while reading this. One was how Barthas described how he was on duty at a train station in Narbonne just after the war broke out. The first time a train full of wounded soldiers arrived, the whole town turned out. They cried, they cheered, they volunteered to help and house the wounded. Soon though, it was a different story, as he says:
“Oh, the inconstancy of enthusiasm, the fickleness of the mob. Barely a week after the first train arrived, indifference had already set in, hearts became blasé. There was no longer anyone curious enough to witness the arrival of wounded men, ever more numerous...”
I thought this gave an interesting insight into the human psyche, and how quickly unusual and horrible things can, to observers, become boring and normal.
At times the book reminded me of All Quiet on the Western Front, but I had to keep reminding myself that this was non-fiction. The trials and tribulations of the soldiers are simply awful and what these guys had to live through was mindblowing. An example of this was how they were often forced, through lack of supply, to drink trench water. This was the water that flowed at the bottom of the trenches where men walked, died, bled out and were shelled into mince. The descriptions of trench life make your skin crawl.
Barthas doesn’t hold back when discussing the very real division between the Poilus and the officers and you can see this feeling rise as the book progresses. At the start it’s like “well here we are, let’s get on with” but by the middle portion of the book he and his fellows develop a real bitterness toward the officers. When describing the Poilus feelings about once more being tasked with running into a hail of hot metal he says:
“We felt revolt rising in our whole beings before such a fate, such cruelty on the part of those who disposed of our existence so indifferently.” There’s no glory for King and country type attitude, just the stark reality that they were well aware that to the brass they were just pieces on a game board.
From a technical perspective, there are no section breaks in the notebooks so from one paragraph to the next Barthas can take you to very different places. One paragraph he’s in the trenches and the next he’s billeted in a village, so you have pay attention to keep up. Once you get used to the style it’s a good flowing narrative, although, that said, there were some things here and there that I would have liked more detail on. He has so much to tell that he fails to dwell on anything for much more than a paragraph or two on many occasions. I would describe the book as high on information, low on detail.
The book is long and bleak - much like the wars - and serves well as not a birds eye view from the top, but most certainly a view from the bottom. The bottom of a trench, the bottom of a bomb crater, the bottom of a sludge pool made up of smashed up men, horses, and machinery.
It’s a heavy read but if you want a first hand account of the horror that soldiers faced on all sides, this is worth the investment.
July 19, 2024
"Often I think about my many comrades fallen by my side. I heard their curses against the war and it's authors, the revolt of their whole beings against their tragic fate, against their murder. And I, as a survivor, believe that I am inspired by their will to struggle without cease-fire nor mercy, to my last breath, for the idea of peace and human fraternity."
Corporal Louis Barthas, a poilu (French for "hairy one"), maintained copious and quite detailed notes--noteBOOKS, actually--during his time fighting in the "war to end all wars." Being a confirmed socialist and an avowed pacifist--averse to committing any violence against those whom he perceived to be more like comrades than enemies--Barthas recorded very little of actual combat (i.e. violence) against the Germans, such as one might see in a movie about the war, but did write extensively about living in and around the trenches of the Western Front. In truth, the vast majority of a soldier's life during the First World War consisted of walking hither and thither in seemingly endless midnight marches, drilling in preparation for assaults which were often postponed or sometimes cancelled altogether, or sitting in a flooded, half-collapsed trench at the front, soaked, freezing, starving, and hoping simply not to be blown apart by an exploding artillery shell. As it turns out, one was as likely to die, if not even moreso, from exhaustion, exposure, and disease as a bullet or blade. As one who reads this book will see, Barthas has a way with words--a morbid eloquence with splashes of sarcasm and gallows humor--that leaves readers with a number of memorable, and often moving, quotes that very remarkably capture the abject misery experienced by the French poilus through fifty-four horrid months of war.
Despite being a socialist and his vows to visit no violence on the "enemy," Barthas was, by all other accounts, a good soldier. He generally followed orders and made himself known as someone who always did what was expected of him. He was popular among his squad mates, making every effort to keep them alive, and even volunteering for dangerous missions in the stead of others; it seems only fair to suggest that his good nature and (sometimes dark) sense of humor also played a part in his likeability among the poilus. Barthas' disdain for all but a few officers is obvious and explicit on just about every page. His socialist leanings certainly contributed to this disgust, but even if only half of what Barthas wrote is true concerning the actions of the officers he had the displeasure of serving under, they deserve every ounce of his vitriol.
Poilu is simply phenomenal; I cannot recommend it highly enough. While I don't agree with every opinion and perspective he presents, Barthas preaches loudly the futility or war, as well as the atrocious cost it demands, something which more people today must understand if we are to avoid such horrific global conflicts in the future. Whether you are an avid reader of history or not, the perspective this book provides is profoundly eye-opening and an excellent reminder of just how terrible total war is.
Corporal Louis Barthas, a poilu (French for "hairy one"), maintained copious and quite detailed notes--noteBOOKS, actually--during his time fighting in the "war to end all wars." Being a confirmed socialist and an avowed pacifist--averse to committing any violence against those whom he perceived to be more like comrades than enemies--Barthas recorded very little of actual combat (i.e. violence) against the Germans, such as one might see in a movie about the war, but did write extensively about living in and around the trenches of the Western Front. In truth, the vast majority of a soldier's life during the First World War consisted of walking hither and thither in seemingly endless midnight marches, drilling in preparation for assaults which were often postponed or sometimes cancelled altogether, or sitting in a flooded, half-collapsed trench at the front, soaked, freezing, starving, and hoping simply not to be blown apart by an exploding artillery shell. As it turns out, one was as likely to die, if not even moreso, from exhaustion, exposure, and disease as a bullet or blade. As one who reads this book will see, Barthas has a way with words--a morbid eloquence with splashes of sarcasm and gallows humor--that leaves readers with a number of memorable, and often moving, quotes that very remarkably capture the abject misery experienced by the French poilus through fifty-four horrid months of war.
Despite being a socialist and his vows to visit no violence on the "enemy," Barthas was, by all other accounts, a good soldier. He generally followed orders and made himself known as someone who always did what was expected of him. He was popular among his squad mates, making every effort to keep them alive, and even volunteering for dangerous missions in the stead of others; it seems only fair to suggest that his good nature and (sometimes dark) sense of humor also played a part in his likeability among the poilus. Barthas' disdain for all but a few officers is obvious and explicit on just about every page. His socialist leanings certainly contributed to this disgust, but even if only half of what Barthas wrote is true concerning the actions of the officers he had the displeasure of serving under, they deserve every ounce of his vitriol.
Poilu is simply phenomenal; I cannot recommend it highly enough. While I don't agree with every opinion and perspective he presents, Barthas preaches loudly the futility or war, as well as the atrocious cost it demands, something which more people today must understand if we are to avoid such horrific global conflicts in the future. Whether you are an avid reader of history or not, the perspective this book provides is profoundly eye-opening and an excellent reminder of just how terrible total war is.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 4, 2020
Louis Barthas... pacifist... Socialist... barrelmaker... old man (35+ at the time of his writing)... was called up in the early days of WWI after it became apparent that the standing French army was about to be bled white just in the initial combats. These notebooks cover his time in the mud and the blood and the misery of front-lines through 4 years of terrible, mindless destruction.
Barthas was no soldier and his time in the army, which spanned almost the entirety of the conflict, was no tale of glory... it was merely a tale of survival against all the odds. Constantly battling the elements, indifferent and/or abusive officers, the military machine and lastly, but not leastly, the enemy; Barthas... through luck, wisdom and prudence... managed to live to see the Armistice.
This is a true story of, what Americans came to call "the grunt", a man who... not privy to, nor in sympathy for, the bigger picture... just tries to make it though to the end of the next day; and hopefully stay relatively dry and decently fed in the process.
Recent historians had tried to steer the narrative of WWI away from the "lions led by donkeys" paradigm, opting instead for "lions led by a knowledgeable and pragmatic leadership that eventually innovated their way to victory"... Barthas' notebooks put the lie to both portrayals instead showing a front-line reality that has more in common with in the words of Konstantin Jireček, “We, the unwilling, led by the unknowing, are doing the impossible for the ungrateful.”
Thanks to Indy Neidell and his excellent youtube series The Great War for this recommendation!
Barthas was no soldier and his time in the army, which spanned almost the entirety of the conflict, was no tale of glory... it was merely a tale of survival against all the odds. Constantly battling the elements, indifferent and/or abusive officers, the military machine and lastly, but not leastly, the enemy; Barthas... through luck, wisdom and prudence... managed to live to see the Armistice.
This is a true story of, what Americans came to call "the grunt", a man who... not privy to, nor in sympathy for, the bigger picture... just tries to make it though to the end of the next day; and hopefully stay relatively dry and decently fed in the process.
Recent historians had tried to steer the narrative of WWI away from the "lions led by donkeys" paradigm, opting instead for "lions led by a knowledgeable and pragmatic leadership that eventually innovated their way to victory"... Barthas' notebooks put the lie to both portrayals instead showing a front-line reality that has more in common with in the words of Konstantin Jireček, “We, the unwilling, led by the unknowing, are doing the impossible for the ungrateful.”
Thanks to Indy Neidell and his excellent youtube series The Great War for this recommendation!
December 15, 2021
Not far from this trench you could see what the English called a tank broken down in the middle of a field. A squad of lucky fellows had found shelter under its carapace. A big howitzer shell had penetrated it without exploding, and the hole served as a chimney for the soldiers who warmed themselves alongside.
The uncensored journals of a French corporal who fought in WWI. Barthas is funny, his entire book is dripping with sarcasm and disdain for the war effort and officers. From my reading, these journals helped him stay sane through the monotony and tragedy. Barthas fought at Verdun as well as the Somme.
As a primary source, Barthas brings the callous horrors of the trenches to life. He tries to keep himself and his men alive. He is opposed to violence and fraternizes with Germans. He took part in the mutiny of the French army. Under his pen, the larger-than-life moments of that time take on a cynical, world-weary air as he sees airplanes and tanks for the first time. Much like the Great War, his notebooks plod along. I needed to take breaks from his narrative. This book is interesting, but it is not a pleasant read. I recommend it in the hope that no one relives Louis Barthas' experience.
October 10, 2022
One of the only WWI memoirs by a line soldier. These are his 19 notebooks from the war. He sent them home, not really expecting to survive, he served the entire war 1914-1918 in the trenches. He did expand details in the notebooks after the war. The books then went into a drawer and were found by descendants decades later. Discovered and translated they are a treasure trove of the war from the view of the common soldier, the “Poilu.”
An older man, he was a socialist, activist, pacifist, and peer leader. Highest rank was corporal, sought neither promotion nor military awards. At the Somme, Verdun, etc.
You would think you would tire of the details of this existence, but you do not. In its continuation you feel the war, the numbness, the horror, and resignation as it erodes humanity. You feel the compartmentalization of emotion and humanity necessary for survival. I did a year in Iraq, nowhere near CPL Barthes’ experience, but he captures what you do to cope exactly.
If you want to know how war feels, this is it. No jingoism, recognizing that your enemy is no different than you, and that your inevitable presence there is neither necessary nor towards any good end. That the only good war is no war.
An older man, he was a socialist, activist, pacifist, and peer leader. Highest rank was corporal, sought neither promotion nor military awards. At the Somme, Verdun, etc.
You would think you would tire of the details of this existence, but you do not. In its continuation you feel the war, the numbness, the horror, and resignation as it erodes humanity. You feel the compartmentalization of emotion and humanity necessary for survival. I did a year in Iraq, nowhere near CPL Barthes’ experience, but he captures what you do to cope exactly.
If you want to know how war feels, this is it. No jingoism, recognizing that your enemy is no different than you, and that your inevitable presence there is neither necessary nor towards any good end. That the only good war is no war.
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