PRIDE OF Hrtsw?'* GUSTAF JANSON 1 PLEAf^ DO NOT REMOVE THIS BOOK CARD! p _ u O s- B O X OS a University Research Library 01 i t_ This book is DUE on the last date stamped below APR 6 , f-; DEC 7 i 7 1924 OCT 2 1924 I . MAIN LOA^ DESK SEP A.M 'ED 1964 P.M. 7ji9'10lllll2 H2I3I4I5I6.I 3-mlO,'19 PRIDE OF WAR PRIDE OF WAR BY GUSTAF JANSON 3 o TRANSLATED FROM THE SWEDISH ORIGINAL " LOGNERNA " BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY 1912 PT 91 5? CONTENTS PACE I. THE ANARCHIST .... 1 II. HAMZA AND HANIFA . 61 III. THE VICTOR'S MEED . , . .97 IV. THE FANTASIA . . . . .121 V. FEVER . . . . . .239 VI. LIES . . . . .250 VII. A VISION OF THE FUTURE . . . 338 PRIDE OF WAR THE ANARCHIST 2: 3 3 O ' ANARCHIST ! ' replied Alfonso Zirilli to the question of the non-commissioned officer. All the men in the ranks stretched their necks and stared at their bold comrade. Those who knew Alfonso already, smiled approvingly ; the rest shook their heads or opened their mouths in astonishment. All of them silently wondered what punishment would be meted out to the conscript. The expression on the face of the sergeant scarcely changed. He had heard the same answer often before, although never, perhaps, given with such open malignity. His glance lingered a moment longer than necessary on Alfonso Zirilli. If there were anything to be read there, it was a mingling of contempt and pity. Alfonso stood before him stooping, his whole bearing as unsoldierly as possible. He felt a little afraid of this cold tranquillity ; but rage and anger still held in him the upper hand. ' I did not ask for your opinions/ said the sergeant 2 PRIDE OF WAR with ironical distinctness, ' but for your occupation.' And then he added sharply, ' What are you ? ' ' From to-day apprentice to Murder,' came Alfonso's answer quickly, in a tone of obstinate defiance. He hated war and the soldier's vocation, and by Heaven, he would make no secret of his feelings. But now that the longed-for opportunity had arrived openly to express his abhorrence, he felt no joy. In place of any satisfaction in the execution of this deed of heroism round which his thoughts for weeks had revolved, he felt only a cowardly dread. His knees shook with fear of the awful consequences of his temerity. The sergeant merely nodded. But he invested this simple movement with such a threatening air that Alfonso's blood ran cold. The non-commissioned officer then turned to the next conscript and renewed his questions. But so long as the inspection lasted he threw occasional glances at Alfonso. His mien and bearing expressed more clearly than words : ' We have means for making people of this sort more tractable ! Just wait, my lad ! . . .' One by one he went down the line of the recruits ; asked questions and compared the answers with the list he held in his hand. They were poor stuff to make soldiers of, as they always were in this district. Untameable, violent, and cunning when they first served with the colours : suitable treatment and a firm hand had usually changed them into tolerable soldiers. The officers and non- commissioned officers of this company were chosen with particular care ; they had handled this same raw material for ten years and knew what was to be made of it. Again the sergeant looked at Alfonso, and, although he stood more than ten paces away, his THE ANARCHIST 3 glance told like a lash, and wakened a feeling of uncertainty and anxiety in more than one of those who saw it. Alfonso Zirilli stood at the extremity of the right wing, surly and morose, his head sunk between his shoulders. He had been stupid to answer so unre- servedly : he saw it now. But had they not all of them sworn to answer in a loud, distinct voice, ' Anarchist ' ? When they left the town they swore a solemn oath to stand by each other. No cowardly evasions, no false compromise, only the pure strong truth. How their eyes had shone, how their cheeks had glowed, as through their clenched teeth they made their vows ! ' Anarchist ' shall ring from mouth to mouth. ' Anar- chist ' and nothing further. Thus they would declare war on war. And there stood that fat dumpling, Ambrogio Lorte, and said, quite peaceably, ' Printer ' ! Giovanni Feretto almost whispered his ' Factory- hand ' ! His fellows in the printing-works shall learri what a miserable worm their Ambrogio is. In the factory they would know how to treat Giovanni. . . . The sergeant's eye glanced quietly and meditatively over Alfonso, and the latter thought bitterly what a fool he had been to volunteer to be the first. The others had all followed the example of Ambrogio and Gio- vanni. Their opinions were not worth a centesimo, and whoever paid as much for their strength of character made a bad bargain. ' Wretched creatures ! cowards ! ' thought Alfonso, disgusted. Well, he would find a spare moment in which to talk to these weaklings face to face. He would give it to them. . . . B 2 4 PRIDE OF WAR The sergeant turned his eyes again in his direc- tion, and Alfonso's head drooped thoughtfully. What did the fellow mean by continually looking at him ? Had he become angry, had he scolded, or, as Alfonso hoped, let himself into an argument with him, it would have been an easy matter to demonstrate how misguided were the other's preconceived notions and ideas. But he was silent, shrugged his shoulders, and passed on. Alfonso's thoughts took a new turn. Perhaps it would not be so easy, after all, to make a propaganda of his ideas. And now he had drawn attention to himself, had stuck his head in a noose, and awakened the suspicion of the enemy. Alfonso Zirilli bit his lips in perplexity. Had he, the cunning one, behaved like a fool ? The voice of the sergeant rang out, short, sharp, and penetrating, over the parade-ground. The men in the squad "obeyed involuntarily and held themselves straighten ' Right turn ! ' Alfonso stubbornly made a left turn. He would show the cowards that he had not yet given up the game. The sergeant controlled his vexation ; went quietly up to Alfonso, took him by the arm and led him along the lines. His comrades stole a glance at him as he passed. Most of their eyes expressed sympathy, but at the back of some of them fear could be read. ' You are stupid ! ' said the sergeant, loud enough for all to hear; ' you shall go behind.' He flung him, without consideration, to the rear, and left him to his fate. To a corporal, who had kept pace with him on the other side of the ranks and who now advanced, he said : THE ANARCHIST 5 ' Keep an eye on this fellow ! he is good for nothing ! ' Alfonso ground his teeth. He was humiliated before his comrades ; snatched from the position that was his by right. He, Alfonso the clever, was over- thrown and brought to shame. The colour came and went in his cheeks ; the sweat stood in drops on his forehead. Alfonso began to perceive how difficult it was to resist the force in whose power he was. ' By the right ! quick march ! ' commanded the sergeant. The forty men set themselves simultaneously in motion. Giovanni Feretto, who led, now that Alfonso had lost his place, held himself erect and marched like a soldier. Alfonso desired more than ever to expose their perfidy. He bit his teeth together so sharply that it hurt, and as the others began with the left foot he put out his right. Alfonso Zirilli is not so easily overcome ! But in an instant the corporal was at his side. A gentle kick reminded Alfonso of his mistake. He stared at the corporal. If they called him stupid, why should he not take the advantage this gave him ? The corporal shook his head. His faithful dog-like eyes looked at Alfonso with genuine sympathy. ' The other foot ! ' he whispered. Alfonso pretended to be deaf. ' The other foot ! ' again this time somewhat im- patiently. And, as Alfonso would not yet understand, he added : ' It is not good to be too stupid ! ' A secret threat sounded in these words, so that Alfonso deemed it wiser at last to obey. The troop marched into the barrack-yard and drew 6 PRIDE OF WAR up at one side. Several such groups were already standing there, each led by a non-commissioned officer. Upon and at the foot of the steps which led to the main building were gathered the officers. At the top stood the colonel ; next him, the commanders of battalions and companies ; while the officers of lower ranks formed a wide circle around these. They laughed and chatted, without taking any notice of the conscripts. Alfonso looked at them from where he stood. These, then, were the gentlemen who held his fate in their hands. They governed his actions, his time, his speech. . . . ' Yes ! ' growled Alfonso, lowering his head defiantly, ' we will see who gets the best of it.' The officers separated themselves into groups and distributed themselves over the courtyard. A tall captain and two lieutenants approached the troop in which Alfonso had the last place. ' Our commander ! ' thought Alfonso, and stole a glance at him. Beneath the plumed hat he saw a hard, rigid face that might have been carved in wood, a very short, blunt nose, and a heavy pitch-black moustache whose ends were elegantly curled. The ears stood out like bats' wings from a head which in proportion to the body was ridiculously small. But the eyes interested Alfonso most of all. He observed as the captain came nearer that they were large, almost perfectly circular and without a trace of expression. They reminded one of clean-washed china, so bright and shiny were they. This, then, was the man to whom his military education was entrusted. Alfonso wished for some surer token than the cold, indifferent glance of these dead eyes. THE ANARCHIST 7 ' Anything special to report ? ' asked the captain in a soft voice as he came up to the sergeant. With his right hand fixed to the rim of his cap, the subordinate made his report. He spoke so softly that Alfonso could not understand a word. But the captain, whose gaze wandered indifferently along the lines, suddenly fixed his attention on the end of the outside wing, and Alfonso knew that now he was being spoken of. Involuntarily he pulled himself up like the others and, imitating the upright carriage of the sergeant, stood to attention. The captain nodded, raised his hand to his hat, and commanded a turn. Alfonso responded smartly to the command, and at the word ' march ' he began with the left foot first. The corporal, who had paid particular attention to him, smiled approvingly. After a little while they were drawn up in two lines. Alfonso stood behind a farmer, whose clothes still diffused the pungent odour of the homely cow-stall. On his left he had a little undersized man he had never seen before ; on his right stood the comrades in whose company he had that day arrived. As he stood squeezed in between these people, all taking pains to listen and understand properly, Alfonso noticed that he lost a part of his will-power. His stubbornness became uncertainty. He squinted first to one side and then to the other, to read the faces of his com- panions. He on the left was stupidly attentive ; he on the right, likewise. A new thought came into his head : Would it not be better to climb down now right at the beginning ? The next instant he clenched his teeth again. Little did they know Alfonso Zirilli. Did not the anarchist prefer imprisonment to submission ? 8 PRIDE OF WAR To be sure, he would rather avoid them both. He had already perceived that here a little foresight was necessary. Apparent obedience and secret revolt was his programme for the present. When the articles of clothing belonging to the uni- form were distributed, Alfonso happened to be on the spot and was lucky enough to obtain clothes that were new and clean. As soon as he had changed, he examined his appearance with pleasure. His tunic sat on him as if it had been poured on his body, and his trousers fell in innumerable folds over his gaiters. ' Corpo di Bacco ! ' he grunted, well pleased. He was a well-built fellow and the uniform became him. Alfonso already began to think of the impression it would make on a visit home ; he knew how the girls appreciated the glitter and colour of a uniform. In- voluntarily he gave his hat a slight push so that it sat a little on one side, and then a further adjustment brought it well over one ear. Alfonso smiled, and imagined already a meeting with the graceful Anarella. If he were to approach her now, surely she would no longer threaten him with her nails ! That night Alfonso Zirilli slept with a feeling of insecurity till then unknown to him ; as if a sort of change was going on in him. . . . Waking next morning, strengthened in mind and body, it was clear to him that he must be reasonable. Any attempt to obtain converts to his ideas was here out of place, and his hatred for the rottenness of Society would be best kept to himself. It would pay to keep his mouth shut, to sham submission, and make the best of what could not be avoided. A year is soon over ; and, while it lasted, he was a soldier ; afterwards, an THE ANARCHIST 9 anarchist once more. Alfonso was pleased with himself. But the mistake he had already made brought its own punishment. The commander of his company, Captain Manlio Vitale, was a soldier to his finger-tips. He embraced his vocation with a truly religious enthusiasm ; he loved his soldiers as if they were his own children, and fostered the firm resolve to bring them up as veritable warriors. When Alfonso Zirilli's answer was reported to him, he smacked his lips and smiled. ' Ha ! . . . Anarchist . . . indeed ? Excellent, Ser- geant Lucinello ! excellent ! ' In the china-bright eyes there was no expression; but the mighty moustache bristled like the whiskers of a lion who scents his prey in the distance. ' I will talk to Lieutenant Bianchelli about it. You, for your part, give Corporal Lantori a hint. He must not let the fellow out of his sight. Ha ! Anarchist ! . . . Excellent ! I say. Excellent ! . . . ' The stout little sergeant gazed in admiration at his gigantic superior. He knew what it meant when the captain's moustache bristled. Alfonso, too, found out soon enough. Although he did his drills in every way as well as the others, Corporal Lantori was always at hand to find some fault in him. He was ordered out of the ranks to march up and down the sunny barrack-yard ; was tormented with fatigue duties and punishment drills. Alfonso was strong enough to stand it. But, as he was the only one in the company who was baited in this way, he began to lose patience. Did they refuse to see the proffered hand ? Were they playing with his good intentions ? However firmly he had io PRIDE OF WAR resolved to suppress his animosity, it surged up again ; and, when the corporal one day called him a donkey, he could no longer contain himself. He answered back, and was told to hold his tongue. The next instant the quarrel was at its height. Half an hour later Alfonso was given the opportunity to set in order his meditations on the subject of his experiences. With his head on his hand he sat in the dark on a wooden form and pondered until his head ached. The deliberate manner in which his wordy defence was cut short right at the beginning pointed his way unmis- takably. Alfonso bit his lips till they bled. But his pliant southern nature soon overcame both rage and spite. He saw his powerlessness, and shrugged his shoulders. He must endure and wait, and keep his mouth shut. Alfonso became docile. He even tried what lip- service and flattery could achieve. This made an impression on Lieutenant Bianchelli. He often had a friendly smile or an approving nod for the most im- possible soldier. His comrades, on the other hand, treated him with a superiority that wounded him. ' Alfonso is really a fool ! ' was the opinion of the somewhat limited Giovanni, who for years had looked up to the person named with admiration. He shrugged his shoulders and whistled contemptuously. Ambrogio shook his head and declared that he had long since noticed it. And Sergeant Lucinello and Corporal Lantori had often asserted the same thing. They were men of experience who could judge a man's worth. Alfonso restrained his impetuosity. He sweated in the barrack-yard, and performed all the exercises THE ANARCHIST u smarter than anyone else. Behind his back, the lieu- tenant in charge of the section smiled doubtfully this Zirilli was as pliant as wax ; Sergeant Lucinello had exaggerated. The lieutenant straightened himself and went up to Captain Vitale. The tall captain stood right in the heat of the sun and watched the different squads around him. Nothing escaped his piercing eye. The harsh clamour of the words of command was a joy to him ; with pleasure his little round nostrils breathed in this atmosphere laden with dust and sweat. When the lieutenant imparted to him his opinion of Zirilli, the captain laughed noisily. ' Anarchist ! listen ! I know the tribe ; I've studied them. Nowadays, unfortunately, only too frequent. But I will knock the nonsense out of them. Perhaps you think I did not know that there are several of the same sort in the company ? Yes, my dear Bianchelli, several . . . seven or eight. But I will hammer them flat ; I will squeeze their brains dry. And when that is attained, I will cram them with military ideas/ His bearing became even stiffer ; his chest expanded, and he breathed deep. ' I will transform them into good soldiers ' he struck the open palm of his left hand with his clenched right ' do you hear ? good soldiers ! ' The lieutenant looked up at his superior. He could not stand up to these shining but expressionless eyes ; involuntarily he felt himself impressed by the weight and power of this gigantic figure. If anyone was in a position to transform men, this was the man to do it. ' You are not military enough, Bianchelli,' the 12 PRIDE OF WAR captain continued, wrinkling his brows. ' You imagine I don't know what ! Yes, my dear Bianchelli, you think too much ! It is a bad habit ; get rid of it, or you'll never be a good officer. You busy yourself with yes, what do you busy yourself with ? No need to answer, none required. But think of your pro- motion ! of the reputation of the regiment ! of your colours ! Everything else is no concern of a genuine officer. And cultivate a little reserve a little reserve, I say ! Apply yourself to everything that strengthens the military spirit . . . yes, that's it ... the military spirit. That is all-important ! ' From an immea- surable height Captain Vitale looked down on the lieutenant, whom he suspected of wasting his time with book-reading. And probably books, too, of whose contents the captain would not approve. Lieutenant Bianchelli was silent. It was useless to discuss such questions with the giant. One that boasted he never opened a book or looked at a news- paper. . . . ' I am a soldier and nothing else ! ' was a standing phrase of Captain Vitale's. ' Ask me anything about the Service and I will give you an answer. The rest doesn't concern me.' The lieutenant did not quite succeed in suppressing a slight sigh as he thought who the man was. ' As for this Zirilli, I have not picked him out, he has offered himself,' continued Captain Vitale ; ' when the others see how he is treated, they will soon lie down. So much sense they have got, although it is a pretty set of cattle this time for us to make men of. But Zirilli, I will work into into dough, into fine white dough.' The captain bent down to the lieutenant, blew his garlic-scented breath in his face, and THE ANARCHIST 13 added proudly : ' And when that is done, I will bake an excellent soldier out of this lump of dough. Eh ! Bianchelli, do you hear an excellent soldier ! ' Captain Vitale drew himself up to his full majestic height, and looked down triumphantly on the little and, in his opinion, sadly unmilitary lieutenant. From his place in the rank and file Alfonso had stolen an occasional look at the two officers. He surmised intuitively that they were talking of him. As he saw the lieutenant move away from the tall captain he sighed involuntarily. Captain Vitale was big and strong, and knew what he was about ; the lieutenant was helpless, weak, and irresolute. Alfonso forgot for an instant to pay strict attention. Corporal Lantori was at his side in a flash, calling Heaven and all the saints to witness that there never was such an impossible recruit. From the right came Sergeant Lucinello with elephantine strides. He held his hands clasped on his belly, and shook his head in distress. From the other side approached Lieutenant Bianchelli. His eyes were no longer kind : they stared gloomily and reproachfully at the offender. Farther away, like a bronze statue, stood Captain Vitale. His large eyes, that never reflected any internal excitement, shone like metal in the sunlight ; but the bulging muscles, the colossal figure, expressed threatening contempt. Captain Vitale passed down the lines with long strides. ' Method is everything, Bianchelli,' he said, half aloud. ' Method, corporal ! ' ' Yes, captain ! ' Lantori's right hand flew to his hat-brim. ' Take this man isn't his name Zirilli ? and drill 14 PRIDE OF WAR him in the rifle exercise. If he cannot learn, he must practise during the dinner-hour. Quick march ! ' Alfonso followed the corporal until they halted in the middle of the yard. There he stood upright and stiff in the heat of the sun, and ten, twenty, thirty times in succession he practised ' shoulder arms ' and ' order arms.' The corporal was untiring ; he shouted the words of command without a break, wiping every now and then the sweat from his forehead. He was furious with the blockhead who caused him this extra work, and by Heaven he would not spare him. ' Order arms ! smarter ! Shoulder arms ! hang it, get a move on ! Quicker ! . . . quicker ! Shoulder arms ! Order arms ! smarter ! Again ! ' Captain Vitale kept his back to them the whole time ; but they knew that he would turn as quick as lightning if the corporal had granted himself or the recruit a second's rest. On the night of such a day, Alfonso, as he drew the bed-cover over him, could have bitten his teeth like a madman in the hem of the coarse material. Had his comrades not been such servile creatures, he might have made an attempt to rouse them. But no, he did not dare. The arrest, the punishment drill, and the fatigue duty dismayed him. He could no longer avoid his fate; he would be crushed and pounded ; would be remoulded ; would become another being. ' I will not ! ' he cried ; ' I will not ! ... Will not ! . . .' He trembled with suppressed anger, threw himself restlessly from side to side, and then suddenly slept to dream of the Revolution, the necessity of which he now saw clearer than ever. He waded up to his knees in THE ANARCHIST 15 blood ; men, women, and children doubled up in death- agony before his eyes ; and a shiver ran down his back. He awoke perspiring, and looked around with eyes grown big with terror of the unavoidable. Was he on the point of going mad ? Or was he in hell ? In the prevailing darkness he could distinguish nothing. But he could hear. All around was the noise of heavy- breathing sleepers ; long drawn-out snores or broken smothered sounds ; . . . here and there one groaned in his sleep or babbled some incomprehensible words ; farther away he seemed to hear a faint sound of strangely broken lamentation, and quite close to him huddled a figure in unutterable torments. He was among the damned ; he was himself damned. A deep sigh fought its way out of his contracted breast. It almost seemed to him as if the unconscious sorrow of all these men was borne by him the only waker among the sleepers. But when day came and he was laid hold of by the Service this perfect machine that worked so well that every attempt to rise against it had crushed him without damaging the machine then Alfonso Zirilli was as wax, yielding, complaisant, and zealous in his duty. He fawned and waited on the sergeant, saluted the harmless corporal, and crouched with dog-like humility before the officers. From an endless distance Captain Vitale looked down on him ; his bright eyes said nothing, but the powerful muscles spoke. Lieutenant Bianchelli turned away and returned Alfonso's salute as if it were painful to him. The little lieutenant, with his girl-like, elegant hands and feet, was ashamed when he saw Alfonso's eye-service. The humility of recruits, in which he did not believe, was repugnant 16 PRIDE OF WAR to him, and he turned away in order to avoid showing open contempt for such transparent deceit. ' Captain Vitale ! this Zirilli ' He ! ' interrupted the captain with a warning laugh ; ' he will make an excellent soldier. Wait, my dear Bianchelli only wait, I tell you. Look ! the system that is everything. Well, you will see.' The lieutenant smiled a peculiar smile and looked away. It was no use discussing these things with Captain Vitale. His eminently military attitude forbade any close consideration of the moral constitu- tion of the soldier-material. The uniform levels them all ... then, full-stop. Thinking was a matter with which a soldier need not concern himself. Think- ing was done in the War Office and by the general's staff what little of that sort of thing was necessary was supplied by others ; the officers of the line did not trouble about such things, and the rank and file obeyed absolutely nothing else but obeyed. Lieutenant Bianchelli shook his head as he turned and left his superior. This Zirilli was a cunning creature ; his eyes sometimes flared up strangely. When one added to this what one knew of his convictions, the fellow was indeed an unpleasant, disagreeable spectacle. If the lieutenant in the first place sympathised with the recruit, he now began to look on him with mistrust. Alfonso, whom nothing escaped, marked the altera- tion in the behaviour of the lieutenant. He did not inquire into the cause ; he foresaw the consequences, and, suddenly, a savage hatred sprang up in him. ' This insignificant little chit this ladybird,' he thought, ' wants to make himself important ! It occurs THE ANARCHIST 17 to him to despise my honourable exertions, and he turns up his nose. But wait ; some day, there is an end even to this misery . . . only wait.' In order to be able to hold out, Alfonso needed some one to hate. This Someone was now found. Lieutenant Bianchelli was of an easy-going disposi- tion and willingly led. He shut his eyes to many a side slip of the rank and file, in so far as it could happen without risk to himself. As the peculiar sidelong glances of Alfonso struck him more frequently, he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. After all, what had this unsympathetic person to do with him ? Alfonso smiled, after he had observed the lieutenant for a time. He had already succeeded in making an impression. . . . Good ! But he was careful to avoid getting in any way into trouble. Later on . . . after . . . only wait ! It was a different matter with the company com- mander. He took his task in a manner that made it twice as hard both for himself and for the men. He was untiring and ever-present ; not the smallest detail escaped him. On the parade-ground you were never safe for a moment from that penetrating eye ; in the barracks he constantly turned up ; and if the men, after a strenuous day, sat somewhere chatting in the shadow, he would suddenly appear at their side. Stern and unapproachable, he would glide by, leaving behind him the impression that even one's most secret thoughts were known to him. The soldiers of the company went in fear of their commander. Alfonso felt that he was infected with this impersonal fear which Captain Manlio Vitale instilled in everybody. Many a time he dreamed that i8 PRIDE OF WAR his rifle went off by accident at target practice and the bullet struck the captain midway between those china- bright eyes. He was on his guard, however, not to let anytliing be heard of such fantasies. He was not such a fool as to throw away his whole life for a senseless revenge. ' Wait ! ' he murmured, ' only wait ! ' The declaration of war did not come altogether unexpected. Already, for some weeks, there had been rumours in the air. The rank and file were unmoved. Captain Vitale's maxim, that the soldier should not think, but obey, had got into their blood. Besides, it was not a serious war. One or two regiments, or perhaps a brigade, would be sent over the sea. The whole thing was a formality, and these precautionary measures were only undertaken to give more emphasis to the diplomatic negotiations. It was a case of acting quickly ; afterwards, Europe would complaisantly acquiesce in the fact, and wink an intelligent consent to Italy's action. All was made ready and put in order to the smallest detail. Alfonso cowered against the walls of the officers' mess, listening with all his ears. He had slipped out of his quarters, seen all the windows lighted up, and, urged by his curiosity, had ventured so far. The officers were laughing and talking noisily. They were all of the opinion that the war meant a pleasant change in the soldier's monotonous existence. The lieutenants pictured gallant adventures with fabulous Arabian beauties and the captains drank a glass of vino nero. They sat around a battalion commander, who never left off laughing. THE ANARCHIST 19 Alfonso's uneasiness about the war, which he hated on principle, shrank to contempt. Those on the other side of the sea had nothing with which to defend themselves, they . . . A powerful voice, with a familiar ring, now sounded above the others. In tones enthusiastic, glad and stately, Captain Vitale now took up the word. With chest expanded and moustache boldly bristling, he voiced the delight of his comrades in the turn affairs had taken in short military sentences, enlivened with many a forcible expression. When the diplomats got their threads in a tangle, the soldier came along to cut the knot. In this case . . . er . . . well, they would see. When the regiment assembled to-morrow, the seventh company would show what it was made of. Each man would answer the question whether he wished to go with an instan- taneous affirmative. It was really quite unnecessary, this calling for volunteers. A soldier should obey ; execute commands nothing more. But, at any rate, it made a good impression abroad; it was a reliable test of the nation's manner of thinking. The seventh company . . . well, you will see . . . what sort of temper . . . what enthusiasm. . . . Alfonso went back to his quarters. ' Nothing but humbug ! ' he muttered. The next morning the regiment formed a square on the parade-ground. From a distance that made it impossible to understand the words, the colonel addressed the soldiers. He closed with an appeal for volunteers to come forward. Captain Vitale had turned round. His shining eyes passed along the front. His glance struck each c a 20 PRIDE OF WAR individual in turn and passed on to the next, third, fourth, and fifth. Alfonso observed the captain through eyes half closed. An unconquerable aversion seized him ; he felt a repugnance towards the men around him, towards the life he led a loathing that made him sick. He would no longer stand it. Away at any price ! He thrust the man before him to one side and stepped impulsively forward. A quiver went through the ranks, all necks were stretched. Then Ambrogio Lorte came forward and after him Giovanni Feretto. Daniele Rapagnotti, the farmer whose goats they had smelt so long, was the next . . . then followed the whole squad. They stood there like one man, clicked their heels together so smartly that the dust rose, and stood to attention without being asked. The first and third sections followed their example and marched a few paces forward. Corporal Lantori stamped up behind, unable to comprehend anything. Sergeant Lucinello opened his mouth and eyes in astonishment. Lieutenant Bianchelli, who had pressed forward when the men put themselves in motion, smiled in surprise, and his friend Lieutenant Rivarato laughed aloud with joy. Above everything rang Captain Vitale's powerful voice trembling with emotion. ' Thank you, men ! That is what I expected of you, and I thank you ! ' The company heaved a sigh. The soldiers stuck out their chests and held up their heads. They were inspired and proud of the action which distinguished them over and above the others. But what was going on over there by the third and fourth companies ? THE ANARCHIST 21 The officers were talking together excitedly. Sergeants and corporals ran up from all sides. And then . . . ah ! ... a soldier, who screamed and struck out like a madman, was overpowered and borne away. ' What now ? ' asked Captain Vitale. And Lieutenant Rivarato, who stood nearest to. this scene of excitement, pointed to his forehead and said aloud : ' Gone off his head ! ' ' Hush ! ' Captain Vitale's eyes acquired a shadow of expression which made him almost unrecognisable. As if to wipe out the effect of the subaltern's indis- cretion, Captain Vitale bellowed to his company : ' Comrades ! . . . once more, my thanks ! You are heroes . . . I . . .' Emotion overcame him when he thought of the famous way his men had risen to the occasion. He went straight up to Alfonso. ' Your hand, comrade, . . . you were the ... er ... I thank you ! ' His left hand descended like a club on Alfonso's shoulder, as he offered his right to the recruit. The whole company saw their commander exchange a vigorous handshake with a private, and a buzz of pleasure went through tl^e ranks. The painful scene beyond was forgotten, and when he returned to his place Captain Vitale was heard to say : ' You see ... er ... method is everything. This very Zirilli . . . well, it has come off ... I am satisfied. Learn from me, young Bianchelli ! ' In the evening they all knew what had happened. A man had worried himself crazy about the war. More than a hundred men had heard him crying, unceasingly : 22 PRIDE OF WAR ' My wife ! . . . my little daughter ! . . . my wife ! . . . my little daughter ! . . . ' And not a man in the third or fourth company had come forward in reply to the colonel's appeal. For- tunately Captain Vitale had saved the honour of the regiment. It was also rumoured that a corporal had shown signs of madness and was locked up think of it, a corporal ! The hum and buzz of conversation in the barracks did not cease till very late that night. Alfonso Zirilli lay and listened. Again and again he asked himself what he had done. To be faithful to his creed he must hate war at any time. But . . . he could not help himself. A change he must have, at any cost, or he too would in the end ... no ... phew ! In the darkness some one sighed heavily, and'tjien a sound like praying. . . . Near him, Rapagnotti the farmer wept in his sleep. The crossing to Africa was stormy and trying. The transport steamer rolled incessantly ; the soldiers were seasick and longed for a sight of land. When the coast emerged above the horizon, all those who had strength enough broke out into a boisterous cheer. The colonel appeared on the bridge and nodded. Behind him loomed the gigantic figure of Captain Vitale, now the most popular officer in the regiment. After the colonel had rejoiced a while in the cheering, he went into the cabin to write on the spot a telegram about the good temper of the troops. That would be sure to make an impression at home. Captain Vitale followed, twirling his moustache. THE ANARCHIST 23 ' Everything is going splendidly ... er ... When I think of those Turks ... er ... poor devils ! ' The transport steamed past the colossal ironclads that lay at anchor in the roads. It was said that hundreds of volunteers had come forward for the fleet, but only a comparatively small number for the army. ' They don't know what it's like/ said Captain Vitale ; ' they ... er ... no idea. Anyhow, civil- ians ... er ... sooner be without them.' The disembarkation took place with incredible swiftness. The soldiers stamped with impatience, and tumbled over each other into the boats and pinnaces. If they could only get out of this floating inferno, where the smell was enough to turn the best sailors sick, they wanted nothing more. On the shore other soldiers were waiting. They examined the new-comers critically, laughing and passing remarks. By degrees the regiment got into order. With firm ground under their feet their courage came back to them. . . . Good ! the worst was over. ' Well, you there, where are the Turks ? ' ' Cleared out. Now and then a shot ; otherwise, quiet.' All around joined in a laugh. Santissima Madonna! what a crossing ! Waves as high as a house a small house, perhaps, but still . . . the others should thank Heaven they had not experienced such a sea- voyage. A staff-officer galloped up and asked for the colonel. He was not to be found ; had, presumably, immediately gone to see the commander-in-chief. The officer hurried away again. A group of bare-legged Arabs, in dirty burnouses 24 PRIDE OF WAR stood at a street corner and stared at the strangers. A little way farther on, a few negroes babbled. The soldiers laughed at the Arab's yellow slippers ; that's the right footwear for running away. As soon as the negroes heard the laughter, they joined in and showed their white teeth. One man stood alone with a red cap on his head. He wore what looked like a uniform and kept his eyes half closed. What sort of a man is that ? a Turk ? ' A policeman/ answered some one. ' Oh, is that all ? Well, he's nothing to be afraid of. Who takes any notice of what he says ? He belongs to the enemy. But most important matter of all where were the pretty women ? ' The staff-officer returned. What a business, riding about looking for some one who is nowhere to be found ! ' Number seven company ? Captain Vitale ? Number seven company ? ' The staff-officer galloped along the front calling his two questions. ' Here ! ' called Captain Vitale, and pierced the lieutenant, whose shouts annoyed him, with his eyes. The officer drew rein and delivered his message. ' At his own request, Captain Vitale is commanded to report himself with the seventh company at ... what's the name of the place ? It is a little village, about a mile south-west of the town. A battery of six guns and a detachment of sappers are already there.' Captain Vitale's eyes blinked slightly. He had, indeed, asked as a favour that he with his company should be among the first sent to the firing-line ; but ... so soon . . . well, well ! . . . ' Attention ! Dress ! By the right ! ' THE ANARCHIST 25 The staff-officer had clean forgotten the name of the village ; but it would be easy to find . . . the artillery, the sappers . . . well, then ! ' Over there, captain ! ' He pointed to a row of houses above the harbour. ' According to the order, there should be a guide at this spot ; but . . . well, good luck to you, captain ! Over there. Due south through the city and then over to the right.' Captain Vitale stroked his moustache with an evil-boding coolness. Lieutenant Rivarato clenched his teeth, and little Bianchelli shrugged his shoulders with vexation. With a mixture of astonishment and curiosity, the soldiers gazed at these windowless houses with their well-bolted doors. They felt as if innumerable eyes looked out from these apparently forsaken dwellings. There was something hostile in the silence of these narrow empty streets. They purposely made as much noise as possible, stamping firmly on the ground. After a quarter of an hour they were obliged to halt in a cul-de-sac. Captain Vitale was annoyed. He ground a curse in his teeth, and asked Lieutenant Bianchelli if he had a map of the city with him. The lieutenant shrugged his shoulders. ' About turn ! ' The company marched out of the cul-de-sac. ' Knock at some door, one of you ! There must be something besides dogs living in this damned town.' Alfonso was out of the ranks in an instant and knocked with the butt of his rifle at the nearest door. The echo resounded through the house, but none answered. The two lieutenants hurried up to the captain and 26 PRIDE OF WAR whispered officiously. Captain Vitale shrugged his shoulders and called to Alfonso : ' Cease knocking ! The house is empty.' Alfonso fell back into the ranks. He was aggrieved at the way his zeal had been received. A man in civilian dress, but with a military cap on his head, swung round the corner. He stopped suddenly, in astonishment at the long line of soldiers, and was about to turn back when Captain Vitale's voice rang out : ' Hi, you there ! Do you speak Italian ? ' ' Just what I thought ! ' With his hands in his trouser-pockets, the man came nearer ; ' lost your way, have you ? ' The captain did not deign to answer, but Lieutenant Bianchelli, to whom the ridiculous element in the situation was painful, explained. ' I see ! About turn, lieutenant ! I wondered what on earth you could be after in the Jews' quarter. . . .' ' By the right ! Quick march ! ' came the command, and the company set itself in motion. The captain kept next to the rear section, and left it to Bianchelli to walk with the guide chance had thrown in their way. ' Just arrived ? ' asked the man in the kepi, in- terested. The lieutenant nodded. ' Strange ! ' said the man, ' very strange ! Here are several thousand men who have nothing in the world to do, I tell you, lieutenant, absolutely nothing in the world. And they send a company to the front that is scarcely dry from its sea-voyage. Immediately . . . on the spot ... if I were in the general's shoes . . .' ' Is it this street here ? ' interrupted Bianchelli. THE ANARCHIST 27 ' Straight on ! ' declared the man officiously. ' You cannot miss the way. There is the citadel just beyond, and then you see the road . . . there is a whole battalion there. "See you again ! Good luck to you, comrades ! Your servant, captain ! ' The man attempted a military salute, nodded to the soldiers, bowed to the captain, and went on his way. The latter did not return his salute, but stared straight in front of him. He was furious with himself. How could he lead his men so astray ! To tramp about narrow streets in a circle, and then to depend on a doubtful subject, a sem\-civilian, in order to ... He pressed his lips together until they were white. But why was the promised guide not forthcoming ? Did they expect him to find his way by himself in this mousehole ? The captain snorted and gripped hold of the hilt of his sword. Where were the Turks ? He wished he had them here. The rage that boiled in him needed some one on whom it could vent itself. The exasperation of the captain infected the troops. There was something ludicrous in this wandering about ; they felt it was unworthy of the company's reputation. The soldiers looked around with angry eyes. The broad straight street through which they marched was not by any means empty, as were the streets in the Jewish quarter. Arabs stood talking here and there in groups ; one or two red fezzes were visible outside a cafe". ' Are those Turks ? ' It was Rapagnotti, the young farmer, who put the queston. Alfonso shrugged his shoulders. He was not sure. ' They are,' answered Rapagnotti ; and broke into a flood of curses. ' The devil take you all ! ' he threatened 28 PRIDE OF WAR with his rifle. ' To hell with you ! I'll send you to perdition, damned red-caps ! Get out of the way or I'll shoot you ! ' ' Quiet, there ! ' The captain stood on his toes to see who made the noise. ' Hold your tongue ! ' whispered Alfonso. ' They are Turks ! ' was Rapagnotti's excuse, and he almost put his neck out of joint looking back at the men who had roused his anger. Directly after, he cried plaintively : ' I am hungry ! ' ' Who isn't ? ' Before and behind there was a murmur in the ranks. The men were dissatisfied, hungry, and tired. Instead of giving them a little rest to regain their strength after the strain of the sea-voyage, they were immediately sent away . . . God knows where ! Before the gates of the town stood a sentry ; and scattered in all directions on the sand were soldiers of the line. A young lieutenant of artillery, almost a boy, waited by his horse. ' Captain Vitale ? Number seven company ? ' ' Are you the guide ? ' ' I have been waiting here two hours.' Captain Vitale drew himself up stiffly. ' Sir, we have marched here direct from the landing- stage.' ' I beg your pardon, captain ! My expression . . . I did not mean. . . .' ' Kindly lead the way ! ' Captain Vitale turned and took his place beside his company. The young lieutenant became crimson in the face and hurried to Rivarato's side. THE ANARCHIST 29 ' A bear ! what ? ' ' Well, not exactly, but . . .' Lieutenant Rivarato looked back to see how near the captain was. ' I understand.' With the quickness of youth to jump to conclusions, the artilleryman winked his comprehension. ' Always to the right. There, farther to the south, lies Bu-Meliana, where we get our water from when we get any.' He shrugged his shoulders and rode carelessly on. The company swung out of the town, crossed over an old half-broken-down bridge, and curved round to the right. Close up to the town the ground was hard and firm ; but scarcely a hundred paces farther their feet sank deep in the soft sand. It was slow progress they made, with never a firm bit of ground. The soldiers glanced sideways at their captain. Would he give them no rest ? But the captain held himself straighter than ever, and his long legs were stretched in even longer strides than usual. Difficulties are made to be overcome. He marched on as if he neither heard nor saw. The men looked at each other. What did it mean ? Were they to go on till they dropped ? A violent dissatisfaction grew among them and passed through invisible channels from man to man. Some- where in the rear a cough was heard, and soon half the company joined in. Captain Vitale turned his head and let his eye run over the rebels, who were silent at once. But now came a murmur from the front ranks. Lieutenant Bianchelli stole a glance at the captain. He had pushed a handkerchief under his hat, for the rim had made his forehead sore. It was also fearfully hot. The sweat poured from their faces ; their breath came in dry gasps. There was not a breath of wind, 30 PRIDE OF WAR and the hot oppressive air was heavy with the odour of perspiration from the steaming ranks. Captain Vitale went faster and reached the van. ' Lieutenant, where can we get some water ? ' ' Water ? You should have brought it with you. They say the Arabs have fouled the few springs that there are, and nobody will risk . . .' ' The Arabs ? They are our friends ? ' The artilleryman bent his head and looked at Captain Vitale. ' I hardly think . . . hem ! that we may call them friends.' ' Why not ? ' asked the captain ; ' it is the Turks with whom we are at war.' ' The Arabs will not give anything for the Turks, that's true. Nevertheless ... to say the truth, captain, hatred is a poor word for their feelings towards us.' Captain Vitale threw back his head, so that the feathers in his hat fluttered on all sides. ' I am glad/ he cried. ' I prefer a clean game. So they do us the honour of hating us ... really, I am sorry for them.' From the ranks, where these remarks could be heard, arose a threatening murmur. With burning eyes the soldiers looked around. Everything in this strange land held something hostile ; something inhospitable and repulsive. The yellow sand, dry and hot as ashes, the burning rays of the sun this they were used to the dense, prickly cactus-bushes and dark vegetation, with which some places were entirely overgrown, whilst others were left bare and dead. These contra- dictions, side by side, irritated them. Here and there THE ANARCHIST 31 fig-trees and grey-green olives reminded them of the land they had left. And then there were palms. Indeed, there were thousands of them ; but they were ragged and bristly, nothing like the pictures which had been shown them on the voyage. But what annoyed the soldiers more than all were these little barred huts behind their high walls. Why did the people everywhere lock themselves in so carefully when the troops marched by ? Why did they not show themselves ? Should they not rather have met them waving their hands in welcome ? Surely, the victors have a right to expect so much ! The soldiers felt instinctively that displeasure and distrust, as well as heat, streamed out from these white walls. The company drew themselves up as one man. With clenched teeth and burning eyes, silently vowing vengeance, the troops advanced, now on hard ground that echoed their steady steps, now on soft sand that sank and slipped aside. The sun scorched, the sweat streamed from their tired flabby faces, and a suffocating odour hung like a cloud over the ranks. The artilleryman in the van swung round a wall and disappeared. They were (thank Heaven !) on firm ground once more, and the soldiers quickened their steps. When they in turn reached the corner they discovered a battery of artillery behind a sand- hill that looked like a solidified wave. The young lieutenant spurred his horse and galloped up to a group of officers. ' Halt ! Lie down ! ' Captain Vitale signed to Lieutenant Rivarato to execute the order and hurried to meet the artillerymen. The word of command had scarcely sounded when 32 PRIDE OF WAR the men flung themselves on the ground. They lay just as they fell, and coughed aloud. The sand filled their eyes, noses and mouths opened to snatch a breath of air. Captain Vitale straightened himself. ' Here at last ! ' he cried out to a captain of artillery who hurriedly approached. He noticed that his own voice was dry and hoarse. ' Ah, Vitale ! Welcome ! ' He was an old acquaintance, and they shook hands heartily. ' Not a moment too soon. . . .' ' What ? ' Captain Vitale withdrew his hand quickly. ' I did not mean it as a reproach/ whispered the artilleryman, and led him to one side ; ' but you see, I have been here with my six guns for four-and-twenty hours alone ! Think of it, Vitale ! No other guard but fifty sappers who had been sent to prepare the ground ! They are there now to make things a little straight for you ' he pointed to the left. ' I am finished ; can't do any more. You can understand the responsibility . . . and for miles around not a solitary infantryman ! There was a gap here, and they filled it with my battery. Last night we never shut our eyes. But now we'll make up for it. In the meantime, I leave everything in your hands. The men are so nerve-strained that the slightest sound startles them. The nights are awful, Vitale. You can't see your hand before your eyes, but you can hear ... I don't know if it's Arabs or dogs or what. I have forbidden the troops to fire; but whether they have obeyed . . .' He shrugged his shoulders, and went on in the same breath : ' Farther to the south they have been hard at it, and any minute it may begin again. They glide by THE ANARCHIST 33 in the dark, alarming the sentries and tempt them to shoot. And at the first shot, all the men will wake out of their sleep and blaze away their cartridges .-'