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 i^
 
 NORWM SCHOOL,
 
 BY EDMONDO DE AMICIS. 
 
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 VI. Sketches of Military Life. Svo. (In press.) 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, NEW YORK.
 
 Ito Angeles. Cai. 
 
 MILITARY LIFE 
 
 ' IN ITALY 
 
 SKETCHES 
 
 BY 
 
 EDMONDO DE AMICIS 
 
 ARMY OFFICER 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 WILHELMINA W. CADY 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 27 & 2Q WEST 23D STREET 
 1882 

 
 COPYRIGHT BY 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 1882 
 
 Press of 
 
 G. P, Putnam's Sons 
 New York
 
 Two files inarched on the right and two on the left of the road." 
 
 (Page i.)
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 SOME time ago, in speaking of one of these sketches, two 
 readers, who were exceedingly emotional, unwittingly re- 
 vealed the double purpose I had in view when writing this 
 book. 
 
 A working man said : " When I had finished reading it, 
 I would have gladly pressed the hand of the first soldier 
 whom I happened to meet." 
 
 A soldier said : " It is a story full of consolation, which 
 inspires a man with good-will for his duties." 
 
 Let the one wish well to the soldier and the other be a 
 soldier from the heart. Should I succeed in obtaining 
 these two results in any of my readers, I should feel well 
 repaid for my pains, and my liveliest and most earnest 
 desire would be fulfilled.
 
 -3 
 
 TO MY MOTHER, 
 
 THERESA BUSSETTI DE AMICIS, 
 
 I DEDICATE THIS BOOK, 
 
 REGRETTING THAT I CANNOT UNITE HER DEAR NAME WITH 
 
 A WORK LOVELY AS HER HEART, CHOICE AS HER 
 
 VIRTUES, AND HOLY AS HER LIFE. 
 
 rii
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 1 Two files marched on the right and two on the left of the road. " 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 1 He rushed breathless to the door, opened it, looked around, and saw 
 
 the officer of the day, erect, immovable, and rigid." . . 28 
 
 Saying which, he sprang at him, seized him by the collar of his 
 jacket and shirt, pinned him with one dash against the wall, 
 raised his clenched and trembling fist," etc. .... 38 
 
 ' That was a large cafe, lighted and gleaming with mirrors, full of 
 
 staff-officers, aides-de-camp," etc. ...... 146 
 
 ' At the same moment she dashed with one spring upon the lieu- 
 tenant, seized him with superhuman force about the waist, and 
 began to kiss him furiously on his face, neck, chest," etc. . . 186 
 
 1 Apart from the others, and turned in the opposite direction from 
 the ship's course, were a young man and girl leaning on the rail- 
 ing, arm in arm," etc. ........ 188 
 
 ' Oh ! here is a door ; enter quickly with lowered bayonets ; a court- 
 yard, the enemy, a flag ; courage, on to them ! Around the flag 
 is a bulwark of breasts, bristling with motionless bayonets." . 200 
 
 ' Little by little the people, armed with scythes, picks, guns, as- 
 sembled," etc. .......... 378
 
 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 A MIDSUMMER MARCH. 
 
 IT was a beautiful day in August ; not a cloud was to be seen, 
 nor was there a breath of wind stirring ; the air was still and 
 burning. The road along which the regiment was marching was 
 broad, straight, long, and seemingly endless, and covered with 
 a very fine dust, which rose in clouds, forcing itself into the eyes, 
 mouth, and under one's clothes, and whitening the beard and 
 hair. On the right and left of the road were neither trees, bushes, 
 not a palm's breadth of shade, nor a drop of water. The 
 country was dry, bare, and deserted ; in the few houses scat- 
 tered here and there, reigned such absolute silence that they 
 seemed abandoned. We could not rest our eyes on the road, 
 the walls, or on the fields, the sun beat so strongly on them all. 
 We walked on with drooping head and half-closed eyes. In 
 short, a beautiful August day, but a very terrible one for a 
 march. 
 
 The regiment had been moving for more than an hour. 
 Despite the dust and suffocating heat, the soldiers were still as 
 fresh and gay as at the moment of their departure. Two files 
 marched on the right and two on the left of the road, and from
 
 2 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 one side to the other there was a continuous fire of jokes and 
 bon-mots, with an unceasing interchange of coarse but witty 
 remarks. From time to time there was a burst of laughter or a 
 noisy clapping of hands, that was always followed by a " To your 
 place, forward, order ! " which instantly restored quiet and si- 
 lence. Sometimes three, four, or five voices would break out at 
 once into some gay Tuscan stornello j further on was heard 
 a pathetic southern romance, or still beyond, the war song of the 
 Alps ; then some would leave off and others begin, and a thou- 
 sand different accents and dialects would succeed. arid mingle 
 with each other. The march continued according to regula- 
 tions the lines compact, the step free, the officers in their 
 places ; every thing in perfect order. On and on we went. . . . 
 
 But oh, look there ; the second man of the first line begins 
 to flag ! N"ow I will set him right. " Ho, there ! Will you 
 fall in or not ? " He falls in. 
 
 Another ten or twelve paces, another. " Ho, there ! Will 
 you march in your place or not ? Just look how that flank is 
 moving! Corpo di . Courage, let 's fall in ; quickstep." A 
 rapid run, a great bumping of canteens against the hips, a 
 noisy dancing of cartridges in their boxes, a confusion, a cloud 
 of dust which envelops and covers every thing. . . . The 
 rear falls in now. We must take breath ; there is no help for 
 it. One would really need a pair of iron-bound lungs for this 
 sort of thing. It is terrible marching to-day, the sun burns 
 the brain, the dust stifles us, this road will never end, and 
 these caps, if there were only a tree, a palm's breadth of 
 shade, a drop of water ! But there is nothing. This is really 
 a desert. 
 
 The songs we heard a little while ago have fallen off a
 
 A MIDSUMMER MARCH, 3 
 
 note ; the dialogues are less vivacious ; the lines a trifle less 
 compact. The commander of the first battalion is already at 
 the head of the second ; the commander of the second is at the 
 rear of the third. You can see now that the regiment has been 
 marching for three hours. 
 
 The straight road comes to an end and begins to curve. I 
 The eye can no longer follow the road and comfort itself with 
 the view of the roofs in a distant village, the bell-tower of a 
 little church, or any thing, in fact, that gives indication of habi- 
 tation and promises a halt, a short rest, a breathing-space a 
 moment of life. Heavens, what a road ! We cannot see a 
 hundred steps ahead. Courage forward ; five minutes more 
 and we shall reach a turn. Who knows but, in turning, 
 far away in the distance a little hamlet or clump of trees may 
 appear, where we shall make a halt ! Hope gives vigor ; we 
 steady our steps, have reached the turn, rush on to reach the 
 new direction, stretch our necks, glance quickly ahead houses ? 
 trees ? villages ? halts ? Nothing ! the road, and nothing but 
 the road, to be seen ! A feeling of desperation takes posses- 
 sion of all. The heads sink on the chest, the eyes seek the 
 ground, the backs bend beneath the knapsacks ; the lines, closed 
 up from the momentary pressure, fall apart ; the rear gives the 
 step ; the commander of the first battalion is already at the 
 head of the second, the commander of the second at that of the 
 company which follows ; the captain where can the captain be ? 
 
 The songs we heard two hours since have fallen off two 
 notes. The men sing because they began to do so : perhaps 
 they would not begin again. The conversation is forced ; the 
 jokes have lost their sharpness. Ah ! you can see that the 
 regiment has been four hours on its march.
 
 4 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 On on on we go. The foreheads, scorched by the sun, 
 dripping with perspiration, are black, contracted, and disfig- 
 ured ; the breathing is labored ; the lips hang down ; the tongue 
 has thickened ; the hands are swollen and heavy ; the soles very 
 painful ; there is a drowsiness and utter abandon throughout 
 the entire body ; the knapsacks have slipped over the loins, the 
 cartridge-boxes on to the thigh, the cloaks up around the 
 begrimed and soaking throats ; the cravats become loosened ; 
 the caps are shoved over the nape of the neck or, if the head 
 be bowed, on to the nose. The eyes, blinded by the strong 
 light, are either fixed motionless upon the road-side, or wander 
 here and there in search of a brook, a fountain, a puddle 
 even ; so that the frightful heat which is burning up the 
 body may be mitigated. Oh, what thirst ! At this point 
 varied and confused recollections of cafes formerly fre- 
 quented (when we were happy) spring up before the excited 
 imagination ; we see the usual habitue's of the place slowly 
 sipping great mugs of frothy, iced beer ; or springs of living 
 water burst foaming from a rock. We hear its murmur and 
 see it winding and losing itself in crystalline splendor amid the 
 grass. Oh, to reach it ! 
 
 " If I ever do reach a spout I will drink enough to kill me ! 
 I will fly to a cafe, empty a bottle in one breath, two, or if that 
 be not enough three." . . . 
 
 On and on we go. The songs have ceased ; conversa- 
 tion is dead. A forced joke falls occasionally from the lips 
 of the most vigorous, but in vain ; it is received with 
 arid silence. Silently we march. Many who were at the 
 head, now, limping, find themselves at the rear. The strong- 
 est who were at the rear, involuntarily take the lead. The
 
 A MIDSUMMER MARCH. 5 
 
 companies get mixed. " To your place, to your place ! Is 
 that the way to march ?" '-.- . . No one pays any atten- 
 tion ; we might as well preach to stone walls. " Ho, there 
 why do you stop ? Forward, courage." " Lieutenant, I can- 
 not go another step." "It's nothing, nothing, rouse yourself, 
 forward." . . . It 's useless, he is already sleeping. " Close 
 up there. Courage. There is only a short distance now." 
 " Ah, yes, only a little way ! That 's what they always 
 say, but meantime we don't come to a halt, and the soup this 
 morning was water, and they have n't given the loan yet. 
 With such a sun they might have allowed us to start 
 earlier. We don't halt at all, and the broth, and the loan " 
 
 " Make way there !" "What is it? Who is coming?" There is 
 the mad dashing by of a horse, a cloud of dust, he has passed. 
 It was a staff -officer. 
 
 " Yes, here is one of the people who make us run. It is 
 quite easy for him on horseback to shout out forward to us on 
 
 foot ! If he had the knapsack Oh, ho, lift up those 
 
 feet of yours ; is n't there enough dust already ? " 
 
 Many stop ; many, slackening their pace, let their own com- 
 pany pass on in order to stop unseen. The voices of their su- 
 perior officers sound more irritable than authoritative. The 
 orders come more and more rarely. The commander of the 
 first battalion Where is the commander of the first bat- 
 talion ? Ah, you can easily see that the regiment has been 
 marching for five hours ! 
 
 " Hullo ! what 's this ? " The blast of a trumpet is heard. A 
 prolonged oh ! resounds from one end of the column to the 
 other. All halt, and then begins a confusion, a hurly-burly, a
 
 6 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 tossing up of knapsacks, a falling of muskets, a rolling away of 
 caps into the ditches by the way-side, a running to right and 
 left. In two minutes the regiment has disappeared. In those 
 ditches on either side of the road, there is a pushing, a shout- 
 ing, a disputing with the elbows, and by well-aimed thrusts, for 
 a palm's breadth of shade, or a bit of turf. Through the fields 
 there is a coming and going of thirsty men in search of water. 
 Some are looking, some run into each other, while others come 
 to a standstill, like a procession of ants on the bark of a tree. 
 There is a begging for a drink in lamentable tones of voice, 
 refusals irritably uttered, or forced concessions, and pulling 
 away of the canteens in jealous fury. Little by little the 
 tumult subsides, the general movement diminishes, quiet re- 
 turns ; all, comfortably or uncomfortably, as the case may be, 
 lie stretched out on the ground, close their eyes, and rest. 
 One moment more, and the entire regiment will be sleeping. 
 " Make way, make way there, boys ! A little room only 
 Heigh, there ! lookout or the wheels will pass over you. 
 Take up that knapsack from the middle of the road A little 
 more room, so make way for me." " Ha, here's the bearer of 
 life, here 's the friend of brave men here 's Providence, 
 the sutler ! " The sleeping stir, rub their arms, rub their eyes, 
 raise themselves on their elbows up up here they all are on 
 their feet. They rush and gather round the cart, and dash 
 over it as waves do over a ship in a gale. Above that crowd 
 there is a raising of hands, a stretching out of arms, a giving 
 and receiving of money, angry complaints of having been there 
 an hour without getting a thing, a persistency both threatening 
 and supplicating. The poor man who is breathless, perspiring, 
 and puffing, begs for a little space, a little breathing-room.
 
 A MIDSUMMER MARCH. 7 
 
 Another blast of the trumpet ; it is the Attention ! which is 
 followed by a long murmur of surprise and discontent. " There 
 is n't time to swallow a mouthful ! It would have been better 
 not to have stopped at all ! They certainly want to kill us ! " 
 The crowd disperses slowly ; those lying down sit up wearily ; 
 some rise to their feet^ slowly ; others stand there and enjoy 
 the last moment, the last instant ; little by little all have sprung 
 from the ditches on the way-side, the knapsacks are on their 
 shoulders, the lines are formed. Another blast, the first company 
 moves, the second, the third the entire regiment is in motion. 
 " Fall in there, eh ! Don't let us have any repetition of the 
 former confusion." 
 
 For a half hour things go a trifle less badly than before, 
 though the entire body feels painfully the shortness of the rest, 
 and not all the men were able to quench their thirst. " But 
 look how that rear is marching ! Will you close up there ? " 
 For a half hour, as I said, things go a trifle less badly than 
 before; the lines are compact, the man who was behind has 
 caught up with his company, the officers are back at their posts. 
 " But how this sun burns ! This is African heat ! It 's impos- 
 sible to stand it ! " The feet have no longer strength enough to 
 raise themselves from the ground, they drag along ; the arms 
 hang at the side, the belt slides over the hips, the straps of the 
 knapsacks clasp the shoulders, the cloak weighs heavily on the 
 stomach. " And we don't reach our destination ! Where are 
 they taking us to ? " 
 
 " A fountain ! a fountain ! " A cry of joy greets this news. 
 The lines break up ; all run forward, by fives, sixes, and tens, 
 dashing breakneck fashion on the water ; then follow blows, 
 pushes, squabbles, shouts, and thrusts. "To your places, to
 
 8 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 your places, for Heaven's sake ! " shouts an indignant officer. 
 The throng breaks up and spreads in all directions ; many, 
 whose stomachs are loaded down with water, try in vain to 
 regain their places ; others reach theirs after a breathless run, 
 and are obliged to stop shortly thereafter ; some stop for an- 
 other moment, if only to give a last glance at the blessed water ! 
 Strength is failing, the vacant spaces grow larger, the ditches are 
 filled with the exhausted ; all are tottering and falling. Sud- 
 denly, at a turn of the road, a bell-tower and a village ap- 
 pear in sight. " It is the station ! it is the station ! " The cry 
 spreads in an instant from head to the rear ; the effect is mir- 
 aculous ; strength returns, the lines close up, the companies 
 re-form, the stragglers run forward, and every thing is changed. 
 The music starts up ; we are at the village ; we enter. The 
 doors of the factories, the openings of the streets, the windows 
 and balconies fill with inquisitive people ; here and there little 
 faces full of tender curiosity appear at the window-sills. 
 " Poor fellows, how tired they must be ! " Oh, the effect of 
 those eyes ! The man who was walking doubled up straight- 
 ens himself, with a supreme effort, for the last time ; he who 
 was limping assumes a resolute gait ; and he who was just 
 ready to drop, utterly worn out, takes courage and pulls 
 on. " Ho, there ! where are you going ? " "A swallow of 
 water, lieutenant." " Not a bit of it ! Back to your place ! " 
 "Oh, how cruel!" murmur the compassionate mammas who 
 happen to be standing around ; " how they do treat those poor 
 boys ! Not even a swallow of water ! " 
 
 The regiment has passed, stacked arms, pitched the tents. 
 Oh, what a gay and animated camp ! And are the fatigues 
 and trials of the marches remembered ? 
 
 Ah, not even in their dreams !
 
 THE ORDERLY. 
 
 They had been living together for four years ; nor had either 
 of them forgotten for a single moment that one was the officer, 
 the other the soldier. The former was austere as a soldier, the 
 latter correspondingly submissive. They loved each other ; 
 but with that hard, rough, silent affection, which never makes 
 any display, nor reveals itself, and which conceals a demonstra- 
 tion of tenderness under a rude action; is eloquent when si- 
 ent, embarrassed when speaking ; inimical to blandishments, 
 and accustomed, when feeling the desire to weep, to bite 
 the lips and withhold the tears for fear of appearing weak 
 and unmanly. They used a laconic language to one another ; 
 understood each other by monosyllables, glances, and signs. 
 Their common interpreter was the watch, which regulated 
 every thing, even their steps and words, with the strictest disci- 
 pline. " Lieutenant, do you wish any thing more ? " " Noth- 
 ing." "May I go?" "Go." This was the daily form of 
 dismissal. Not one word more. So days, months, and years 
 had passed four years in all in quarters, at home, in camp, 
 on the march, and in war, and little by little a deep, stern 
 sort of affection, almost unknown to them, had grown up in 
 their two hearts. There was in that invariable taciturnity, 
 that soldierly way of speaking, the fugitive exchange of 
 glances which meant on one side, " Do this," and on the 
 
 9
 
 I O MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 other, " I understand," for any one who knew the natures 
 of these two, as much courtesy, kindness, and warm feeling 
 as could be found in the most expansive interchange of ten- 
 derness. 
 
 They had stood side by side on the battle-field at solemn 
 moments, within a few paces of the enemy's cannon, and at 
 every whistle of the shot one had glanced quickly around in 
 search of the other, and on finding him had heaved a sigh 
 while thinking, " This, too, has passed." They had stood 
 guard together on the outposts more than one cold and rainy 
 night, with their feet in the mud, the wind blowing on their 
 faces, and in the morning, when the relief arrived, had ex- 
 changed smiles, as if to say : " Now we are going back to 
 camp ; keep up your spirits, for you can rest." Many times, 
 on a long summer's march, both had looked at the same 
 moment to count the mile-stones on the way-side, and often 
 found them to have numbered more than forty, exchanging, when 
 they reached the last, a glance full of comfort and pleasure, 
 which seemed to say : " There are two more one more here 
 we are ! " More than one evening in camp, when they were pre- 
 paring their minds for the musket-shot that was to wake them be- 
 fore morning, after one was stretched out under the tent and the 
 other had arranged his overcoat to protect him from the night 
 air, the soldier said in moving off, " Good-night, lieutenant," 
 and the officer, fancying that the voice trembled slightly, 
 and that the last word had not come out in full force, 
 returned the salute in the same tone. At other times, 
 while one handed the other a letter, and the latter put out 
 his hand impatiently to take it, a slight smile had passed 
 over their two faces : " It is a letter from home : I recognize
 
 THE ORDERLY. II 
 
 the writing ; it is from your mother." One meant to say, 
 " Thanks " ; the other had intended to reply, " You have an- 
 ticipated my pleasure." 
 
 After which they both returned to their customary silent 
 and severe modes of address. Not once, in presenting him- 
 self before, or upon leaving his superior, did the proud sol- 
 dier forget to put his hand to his cap in a resolute manner, 
 raising his head as he did so, and fixing his eyes upon his 
 face, and when he went away, his right-about-face was al- 
 ways performed according to regulations. 
 
 They had only been living together for four years ; but the 
 soldier, who had been made an orderly after the first year 
 of duty, was completing his term of service. 
 
 One day the commandant of the corps received orders to dis- 
 miss the class to which the orderly belonged. 
 
 That day, between the officer and the soldier, there passed 
 few more words than usual, but their two hearts talked at 
 length. "Do you require any thing more?" "Nothing." 
 ; ' The order to dismiss your class has arrived ; you will leave 
 in ten days." 
 
 A brief silence followed without their eyes meeting. 
 " May I go ? " " Yes, certainly." This time a certainly was 
 added, and this was a great step on the road to tenderness. 
 
 They were both sad at heart, but not to an equal degree. 
 One lost his friend in fact, more than a friend, a brother, 
 who loved him with an almost religious devotion. The other, 
 too, lost a friend, a brother ; but the former remained, the 
 latter returned to his home, and this was a great comfort. To 
 return home ! After so many years, so many perils after hav- 
 ing asked himself so often of an evening when the long, sad
 
 1 2 MI LIT A R Y LIFE. 
 
 notes of the bugle give the signal for extinguishing lights, and 
 under the tents they died out, and through the movable city 
 of linen spreads a deep quiet after having asked himself 
 so often of an evening, while leaning his head on his hand 
 in moments of melancholy, and, thinking of his mother : 
 " What is the poor woman doing now ? " After having heard 
 so many times in camp, here and there in the groups of 
 peasants, the notes of the rural ritornelli, the same that he 
 had listened to at home, in summer, when watching in the 
 fields where the bright moonlight fell, and among so many 
 voices of friends and relations he heard distinctly, one, clear, 
 silvery, and tremulous, which so well knew its way to his 
 heart ; to return ! after having so often blessed those songs as 
 a greeting from the absent mother. To return unexpectedly 
 and see once more the country and houses, recognize from 
 a distance the well-known roof, to hasten his steps, arrive 
 breathless in that dear meadow, see the little sister now grown 
 up, and the younger brother now quite a stripling, appear be- 
 fore his eyes. The others gather at their cry, and he dashes 
 into their midst, then breaks away from all, runs to the house, 
 calls the old mother, sees her come forward with outstretched 
 arms and eyes filled with tears, throws himself on her neck, 
 and feels the pressure of those beloved arms and experiences 
 the most profound of human joy these are things of which 
 the thought alone suffices to sweeten any bitterness and heal 
 any wound. 
 
 Yet the idea of being obliged to leave his officer cuts the poor 
 fellow to the quick. Then, too, a true soldier never takes off 
 the coat which has served so many years as a covering and a 
 pillow, and upon which he has expended so much labor with
 
 THE ORDERLY. 13 
 
 soap and brush, without feeling a certain sinking at the heart, 
 an anxious and scornful tenderness, like the separation from a 
 friend who has often offended us, and with whom we should 
 like to keep up the quarrel, but who has always been esteemed 
 and loved. Those pockets at the back, where in prison he con- 
 cealed his pipe at the appearance of the officer of the guard 
 and for which (until he has overcome the old habit) he still 
 searches with his hands. . . . What a nuisance not to 
 find it any longer there ! 
 
 The good officer had become pensive and had added not one 
 word to his usual formula. So it was with the soldier too. But 
 their glances were more frequent and longer, and they seemed 
 to say : " You are suffering, I know." The soldier performed 
 his duties more slowly, in order to remain longer in the house 
 and compensate himself, during those last days, for the ap- 
 proaching separation. At first he proceeded with a certain 
 slowness ; then with a sluggishness, apparently studied ; at last 
 pretended to dust the tables and chairs ; but more often 
 absorbed in his sad thoughts, he moved his cloth quite 
 blindly without touching anything. Meanwhile, the officer, 
 erect and immovable, with arms crossed before the mir- 
 ror, which reflected the figure of his soldier, followed his steps, 
 the movements of the face, and avoided the other's glances 
 by quickly raising his eyes to the ceiling in an abstracted man- 
 ner. " Lieutenant, may I go ? " " Yes, certainly." And the 
 soldier took his departure. He had not gone down two steps 
 when from within came a hurried : " Come here," and he 
 returned. " Do you require any thing else ?" "Nothing. I 
 wished to tell you." ..." Nothing nothing ; you can do 
 it to-moirow go now." Perhaps he had called him back to
 
 14 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 see him, and, on his moving off again, he continued to fasten 
 his eyes upon the door through which he had passed. 
 
 Finally, the day for departure came. The officer was at home 
 seated at the table opposite the half-closed door. Half an hour 
 later the soldier would be obliged to come, take leave, and go 
 away. He was smoking, blowing the clouds of smoke into the 
 air, and with his eye lazily followed its slow and tortuous course 
 until it melted into the atmosphere. The smoke which got into 
 his eyes made the tears gather, and he wiped them away from 
 time to time with the back of his hand, wondering why such 
 big tears should fall just as if he were crying. He attributed 
 it all to the smoke, wished to delude himself as to his emotion, 
 dissimulate to himself, and ascribe to the cigar that which really 
 belonged to the heart. He thought : Yes he might have ex- 
 pected it. So why should he take it so to heart ? Did n't I 
 know when I took him that I could not keep him always ? 
 Did I not know that the term of service was five years ? And 
 this man has a home, a family, where he was born and has 
 grown up, which he left with sorrow, and to which he will re- 
 turn with joy ? Could I expect that he would continue a sol- 
 dier out of affection for me ? I should be an egotist in fact 
 I am one. What tie of gratitude binds him to me ? What 
 have I done for him ! What does he owe me ? Oh, a great 
 deal certainly. I have never been other than harsh to him. 
 I have always been to him like a father of the inquisition. 
 It 's my temperament, to be sure, what can I do ? It is 
 useless. I cannot find words with which to. express certain 
 thoughts. And, then, . . . they must not be uttered. But 
 at least I can give a rather more human expression to my face. 
 . . . Now he is going away, is going back to work in
 
 THE ORDERLY. 1 5 
 
 the fields, to take up his old life again, and little by little he 
 will lose all his military habits and will forget everything, . . . 
 his regiment, comrades, and officers. Never mind, so long as 
 he is contented. But shall I be able to forget him ? How 
 much time will have to elapse before I become accustomed to 
 a new face ? Upon waking in the morning, shall I not seem 
 to see him hard at his work in a corner of the room, but so 
 quietly that he scarcely moves for fear of arousing me before 
 the time ? How many times, when half asleep, shall I not call 
 him by name. So many years of companionship, devoted at- 
 tachment, affectionate service, and then . . . To see him 
 go away . . . from one day to another. Bah ! it is our 
 profession, and there is nothing to be said. We must be re- 
 signed. . . . What a good fellow ! What a heart he has ! 
 If sometimes when marching, overcome by fatigue, burned 
 by the sun, choked with dust, I stopped a moment and glanced 
 around as if in search of a little water, a canteen instantly ap- 
 peared before me and a voice at my side said : " Do you wish 
 a drink, lieutenant ? " It was he. He had left the ranks, run 
 to fetch water * * * at a distance perhaps, who knows 
 where, had, in the twinkling of an eye, returned panting, drip- 
 ping with perspiration and exhausted, and came behind me to 
 wait until I had shown a desire to drink. In camp, if I fell 
 asleep under the shade of a tree, and the sun gradually began 
 to shine in my face, a careful hand raised a green bough at 
 the side, or stretched a tent, or placed three or four knap- 
 sacks on top of one another, or spread a cloak over a stack 
 of arms ; whose hand was it ? His always. Hardly had we 
 arrived at a station, after six, seven, or eight hours' march, 
 barely were the tents unfolded, when he disappeared ; and I
 
 1 6 MILITAR Y LIFE, 
 
 began to look for and call him at the top of my voice all over 
 the camp, then getting angry : where is he ? who knows where 
 he has hidden himself ? What a scamp he is. Is this 
 the way to do ? Just wait till he comes and I '11 fix him, 
 and so on in this tone. A moment later I saw him appear in 
 the distance bent under a great load of straw, with uncertain 
 steps and great bounds, shouting to right and left at the peo- 
 ple who wished to carry off a handful, tripping over tent 
 cords, leaping hedge and ditches, hitting the knapsacks and 
 shirts stretched out in the sun, stumbling into those sleeping, 
 and drawing down upon his devoted head a regular shower of 
 oaths and imprecations. He reached my side, threw down 
 the straw, heaved a great sigh, wiped his forehead and said : 
 " Lieutenant, I have kept you waiting, haven't I ? but you must 
 excuse me for I had to go so far ! " Then he would stretch the 
 straw on the grass the length of my body, pile it up on one 
 end, put his knapsack under it as a pillow, and turning to me, 
 would say : " Will that do, lieutenant ? " Good fellow, I thought, 
 I was wrong to get angry with you. " Go," I said then, "go 
 and rest, for you need it." " But is it all right ? " he insisted ; 
 "if not, I '11 go and fetch some more." "Yes, yes ; it 's all 
 right ; go and rest ; go ; do not lose any more time." And on 
 a march at night, if I were seized by sleep and walked, as one 
 is apt to do, staggering and tottering from one side of the road 
 to the other, and in doing so came too near .a ditch, a light 
 hand was placed on my arm and pushed me gently toward the 
 middle of the road, while a subdued and timid voice mur- 
 mured : " Look out, lieutenant, there is the ditch." It was 
 always he ! What have I done to this man that he should 
 overwhelm me with the care and tenderness of a mother?
 
 THE ORDERLY. 1 7 
 
 What am I that he should love me with so much devotion ? 
 What do I deserve that he should live only for me ? and I am 
 sure he would give his life for me. For what reason and in 
 what way has this poor young fellow with his rough features, 
 hands hardened by the spade, his frame toughened by discom- 
 forts and fatigue, without culture or education, born and 
 brought up in a humble hut in the country, quite unused to all 
 the ways of the city, become as bashful and gentle as a girl, so 
 that he holds his breath for fear of disturbing my slumbers, 
 and touches my clothes with his hand to ward off some danger 
 from me, hands me a letter holding it with his finger tips, as 
 if he feared to profane it, and feels happy at a kind smile, a 
 polite word, a sign, or a look that says, " All right." How is 
 this ? Ah ! one must confess that the human heart learns in 
 these garments new throbs unknown to him who is not or has 
 not been a soldier. People do not suppose that we are 
 stirred by other sentiments than those which fill the soul in 
 days of war. But people in truth know little of us. They do 
 not understand that in being a soldier the heart never grows 
 old, but is rejuvenated, and reopens to the lovely affections of 
 early life, and lives and exults in them much more than in the 
 stormy and terrible excitement of war. . . . Oh, no one 
 who is not a soldier will ever comprehend what a feeling of 
 affection binds me to this young fellow. It is impossible. You 
 must have passed many nights in camp, have made long 
 marches in the month of July, have been on picket duty in a 
 pouring rain, have suffered hunger and thirst until ready to 
 drop, and have had a friend at your side who has placed his 
 cloak over you to protect you from the cold, has dried your 
 clothes, has brought you a swallow of water, offered you a
 
 18 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 piece of bread, depriving himself of that which he offered you. 
 Servant, domestic, could any one call him this ? Oh, he ex- 
 claims (giving vent to a movement of scorn and repugnance), 
 it is libel ! Yes, . . . because when this man comes to 
 the doorway and salutes me, and gives that look full of timid 
 and affectionate submission, I feel that the sign I give in order 
 that he drops his hand, is as full of respect as the act which 
 he performs in raising it. ... This man is going away 
 from me leaves me alone and I shall see him no more. No, 
 that can't be ; I will go and look him up ; I will go and find 
 him when he is dismissed ; I know the name of his town, I 
 will ask that of his parish and little farm, and then I will sur- 
 prise him at work in the fields and call him by name. " Don't 
 you remember your officer ? " " Whom do I see ! lieutenant, 
 you here ! " he will say, overcome by emotion. "Yes, I wanted 
 to'see you. Come here my dear good soldier and embrace me ! " 
 
 At this point he hears a light, slow, unequal step on the 
 stairs, like that of a person who is lingering as if trying to delay 
 his ascent. He listens attentively without turning his head ; 
 the step approaches ; his heart strings tighten ; he turns ; here 
 he is it is he the orderly. 
 
 His face wore a disturbed expression and his eyes were red ; 
 he saluted ; took a step forward, and stood looking at the offi- 
 cer. The latter kept his face turned away. 
 
 " Lieutenant, I am going away." 
 
 "Good-by," replied the latter pressing his lips at every word, 
 and continuing to look in the other direction. " Good-by. A 
 pleasant journey . . . return home . . work . 
 continue to live like a good man, as you have lived up to this 
 time. Good-by."
 
 THE ORDERLY. 19 
 
 " Lieutenant ! " exclaimed the soldier in a trembling voice, 
 taking a step toward him. 
 
 " Go, go, or you will be too late ; go, it 's late already 
 hurry." 
 
 And he stretched out his hand the soldier pressed it 
 warmly. 
 
 " A pleasant journey to you, and remember me. Remember 
 your officer sometimes." 
 
 The poor fellow wished to reply ; tried to utter a word, and 
 gave a groan ; pressed the hand once more, turned, looked at 
 the door, glanced again at the officer who continued to keep 
 his head turned away, took a long step forward. " Ah, lieu- 
 tenant ! " he exclaimed with a sob, and fled. 
 
 The other left alone, looked around, remained for a short 
 time gazing at the door, then placed his elbows on the little 
 table, rested his head on his hands, and tears formed in the 
 corners of his eyes; shone there for a moment, and then 
 slipped quickly down his cheeks as if afraid of being seen. 
 He passed his hand over his eyes, looked at his cigar ; it had 
 gone out ; ah, this time they were real tears ; he buried his 
 face on one arm and let them flow, for he felt the need of 
 them.
 
 THE OFFICER OF THE GUARD. 
 
 AFTER having had the tattoo beaten, the officer of the guard 
 gave a glance at the court of the quarters ; there was no one 
 there ; he went to the staircase leading to the dormitories, no 
 one ; raised his eyes to the balconies ; no one there ; a look at 
 the door; closed; a peep into the guard-room; all correct there; 
 the lights on the landings and corridors were all right ; every 
 thing was in order ; all was quiet, and the regiment asleep. 
 What was left for the officer of the guard to do ? Nothing 
 but to sleep ; and this he thought he would do. He glanced 
 around once more, above and below, approached the cellar door, 
 tried it with his hand ; it was shut ; he listened attentively ; 
 not a sound was to be heard. " Now I can go to sleep," he 
 said to himself, as he moved off toward his room. He whis- 
 pered a few words in the ear of the sergeant of the guard : 
 " You understand, eh ? " and having received in reply a re- 
 spectful : " Trust me ! " accompanied by the placing of the 
 hand on his breast as an assurance of good faith, he entered, 
 closed his door, took off his cap, sword, sash, approached the 
 bed, arranged the sheet, carried his right hand to the first but- 
 ton of his jacket . . . " Bah, and the round ? " he thought, 
 making a slight motion of the head as if putting the question 
 to some one else. Then taking the light in an impatient way, 
 
 he went and planted himself as straight as a pole in front of 
 
 20
 
 THE OFFICER OF THE GUARD. 21 
 
 the orders for the day, fastened to the wall under the portrait 
 of the king. He placed his forefinger at the bottom of the sheet 
 and began to run it along under the lines, reading rapidly and 
 masticating the words in an angry and inarticulate way, until 
 he suddenly stopped and pronounced in a distinct voice : 
 " ' Round in the interior of the quarters at eleven o'clock' Sacre 
 . . . I " he added, turning instantly toward the bed and setting 
 down the candlestick with a bang on the little table, " I was 
 sure of it ! " And he stood there erect and immovable, with 
 his eyes fastened on the pillow and his hands in the act of un- 
 buttoning his jacket. 
 
 " The round ! the round ! " he began again, slipping the 
 buttons one by one from the button-holes ; " after having been 
 on your feet all day, after having run here and there, up and 
 down without a minute's rest, and being breathless from shout- 
 ing from morning till night, finally the hour comes when you 
 ought to rest your poor bones in bed, and enjoy a moment's 
 peace ; but, no, sir ! there 's the round, the round at eleven 
 o'clock. You ought to take your good lantern in hand and go 
 around again, poking and screaming about to see if they are all 
 in bed, that no one has slipped out of the window, and so on, 
 as long as necessary. Finally . . . 
 
 Meanwhile he had thrown his jacket over a chair near the 
 bed. 
 
 " Anyhow, I am made of flesh and blood like the rest, and I 
 do not intend killing myself in the service. No, not much ! 
 Really one cannot go on in this way, it 's out of the question. 
 Joking aside, there really is n't time to eat, and that order for 
 the day proves it too. There is nothing easier ..." 
 
 And the trousers had gone to keep company with the jacket.
 
 22 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 " Nothing easier than to arrange orders for the day, seated 
 at table after an excellent dinner, with a seven centime cigar in 
 the mouth ; nothing easier. The discomfort falls to the lot of 
 the poor devils who have to keep to them. It is always low down 
 in the ranks that the hard work falls. Can't a poor officer of 
 the guard have time to digest his food ? Oh, what difference 
 does it make to certain fine gentlemen ? Dig, dig ; and if a 
 mistake is made the punishment follows. " Well, in the 
 end ... " 
 
 And the rest of his raiment was thrown down with his other 
 garments. 
 
 " After all, who is likely to turn up here at ten o'clock ? Who 
 will take it into his head to come and see whether I am going 
 the round or not ? Outside it 's bitterly cold ; there is a wind 
 that fairly freezes the face ; then a road in which you could 
 break your neck. The colonel lives at the end of the town, 
 and then he is not in the habit of giving surprises. The 
 major . . Oh, he 's married, and there is no danger of his 
 making his appearance. The officer of the day is at this hour 
 taking a hand at Tarocchi? and he certainly won't be seized by 
 a caprice to drag himself over here. Then, if he did come, 
 he will have 
 
 Meantime he had dashed into bed, trembling with the cold, 
 and nestling and rolling himself up softly under the comfort- 
 ables, gave a little smile of indolent content. ' 
 
 " He will have to rap in order to be admitted ; and before 
 the corporal of the guard has heard him, stirred, found the key- 
 hole, and opened the door, five minutes will have elapsed, and 
 I '11 have had time to dress myself in some sort of fashion, 
 
 - A sort of chequered cards.
 
 THE OFFICER OF THE GUARD. 2$ 
 
 fly to the door, open it, seize the lantern in the guard-room, 
 and away through the dormitories to play my part . . . 
 
 Here he blew out the candle, drew the counterpane over his 
 head, turned on to his side, sought a comfortable position, and 
 closed his eyes, thinking : " And away through the dormitories 
 to play my part." 
 
 " Oh, it is a luxury to dash into bed after working all day ! 
 What a profession ! And to think that with all my efforts I 
 can never satisfy that old dotard of a captain. The meat is 
 underdone ! Whose fault is it ? Mine. The stairs are dirty ! 
 Who is to blame for it ? I ; the devil ! The dormitories are 
 in disorder ! Who gets hauled over the coals for it ? I, I, al- 
 ways I. No one but me. Whew ! What a good bed ! And 
 to hear certain people say that we have nothing to do but fill 
 the cafes with smoke and run after the girls. Let them try for 
 themselves, now that the whole world is looking on with ex- 
 pectancy . . . with that magnificent pay . . . and 
 the taxes . . . 
 
 Little by little, wandering along in this defence of himself, 
 his thoughts and ideas grew confused ; the captain, the major, 
 the wife, the expectation, the taxes, grew into a curious muddle, 
 which ended finally in profound slumber. 
 
 But he had not fallen asleep without a little anxiety and re- 
 morse. Every time the idea of the round came to his mind he 
 felt a slight twinge of conscience. The same thing happens to 
 the truant from school who goes off to make snow-balls with 
 his companions ; the image of his master and his mother assail 
 him from time to time, and the more he attempts to drive 
 them away the more they return to torment and bite him like 
 a fly.
 
 24 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 He dreamed. One after the other the ten or twelve most 
 wretched, undisciplined soldiers in the whole regiment, who 
 are noted for the nocturnal escapades, revelling in taverns, and 
 rascally adventures, which always end successfully, passed be- 
 fore his mind ; some noted for getting off scot-free ; others 
 famous, on the other hand, for assignments, imprisonment, and 
 so forth, to number eighteen j and it seemed as if each one 
 in passing whispered just above his breath : " Sleep, sleep, and 
 I '11 play you a trick." Then these melted away, and all the 
 most elegant and bedecked subalterns of the regiment, with 
 cigar in mouth and a bunch of flowers in the hand, those who 
 carry the cap-band under the lip, wear small high-heeled shoes, 
 have lady-loves in town, and when they can escape in the 
 moonlight do not wait for a second inspiration, seemed to pass 
 before him murmuring softly : " Sleep, sleep, and we will get 
 the better of you." The sergeant of the guard, who a short 
 time before had given him that respectful " trust to me ! " that 
 reassuring sign, now, in recollecting it, seemed to have eyes 
 gleaming with malice, and to have curled his lips under his 
 moustache, as much as to say : " Go to sleep, do, and I '11 play 
 you a trick ! " 
 
 Then came something else. He seemed to lie in the middle 
 of a road, back of the barracks, and to be looking around to 
 see if the sentinels were awake and at their posts. They were 
 all there. In fact, he discovered one not unknown to him, 
 a soldier belonging to his company, the roundest, laziest 
 conscript of all, and, to make matters worse, short-sighted and 
 deaf. " Just see," he thought, " does n't it look as if they had 
 put that stupid there just out of disrespect to me ? He is not 
 good for any thing ! " And he watched him. The sentinel
 
 THE OFFICER OF THE GUARD. 25 
 
 stretched his neck outside his box, looked to the right and left 
 to see if any one were coming, placed his musket in a corner, 
 wrapped himself in his cloak, sat down, put his head on his 
 knees, and went to sleep. The poor dreamer grew enraged at 
 the rascal, seized him by the shoulder, shook him, and opened 
 his mouth to utter some imprecation. 
 
 At that point he thought he heard a slight noise above his 
 head ; he raised his eyes to the windows. From one of the 
 sills there projects and moves with uncertainty something black, 
 which stretches out, descends very slowly, and reaches the 
 ground ; it is a rope. After having followed it with his eyes to 
 the ground, he raises them to the window, sees a head project, 
 two shoulders, and an entire body turn warily around, seize the 
 rope, descend, and disappear. He instantly dashes after him, 
 is close to him, comes up with him, stretches out his hand to 
 catch hold of him by his clothes . . . 
 
 At that moment he seems to be before a door, the door 
 of the cellar. He tries it lightly with his hand ; it gives. 
 Whew ! What an uproar ! Clattering of dishes, a clinking of 
 glasses, a shouting of hoarse and discordant voices, a confused 
 sound of oaths and songs, and an odor of pipes that drives one 
 backward. He stopped an instant, pushed the door again, 
 and threw it wide open. What a spectacle ! The room was 
 crowded with soldiers, some dressed, some in doublets, some 
 with the cape over the shoulders like a Spanish mantle, and 
 the cap thrown back, bravado fashion ; others seated on the 
 tables, some astride, others on their faces, some stretched in- 
 decently on the floor, their eyes shining glassy and stupefied, 
 their faces heated ; others tipsy, others still more intoxicated ; 
 some dozing, the rest sleeping soundly. A few tried to rise
 
 26 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 to their feet and fell back heavily on to their seats ; some, who 
 had, succeeded in getting up, staggered shouting around the 
 room and making the tables shake and the bottles and glasses 
 tremble. On every side there were piles of cards and money, 
 and a cutting of the air with hands in cabalistic signs, shouts, 
 laughter, and every thing was enveloped in a dense cloud of 
 smoke, enough to suffocate one in ten minutes. " Out of this ! 
 out of this ! " the poor dreamer seemed to shout ; " sergeant, 
 sergeant, take all their names, put them all in the guard-house, 
 in irons, all . . ." 
 
 Now he seemed to hear behind him a creaking like a large 
 door moving slowly on its hinges ; he turned, looked around, 
 and discovered that he was in the hall, near the door of the 
 quarters. A black shadow advanced suspiciously close to 
 the wall, like the figure of a perambulating bass-relief j it 
 moved two steps, paused, gazed about, began moving on 
 again, stopped once more, as if it were afraid ; reached the 
 door, laughed, dragged its feet, and behold ! on the sill of the 
 guard-room door another figure like the first, cautious and quiet 
 as possible. They exchanged a few words in an undertone, 
 the door opened, and one of them slowly disappeared. " Ah, 
 I recognized him !" thought the dreamer; "he is the sergeant 
 of the eighth." And he turned and saw another, behind this 
 one a third, then a fourth, the sergeant of the fifth, the com- 
 missary of the sixth, the commissary of the third. "Ah, 
 traitors ! " he dreams that he cries, " to the hall all of you ! 
 to the hall all of you ! sergeant of the guard ! sergeant . . -." 
 
 At this moment he seemed to strike his hand against some- 
 thing soft and woolly. He turns, it is a bed. Behind this 
 another, then another, another still, a long row of beds. He
 
 THE OFFICER OF THE GUARD. 2? 
 
 looks around and discovers that he is in a dormitory, a little 
 light at the end of the room dimly illumines all the objects 
 therein ; all are silent, one could hear a fly stirring. Suddenly 
 one of the sleepers begins to snore, lightly at first, then more 
 heavily, finally so as to be heard in the street. Some one 
 wakes. A man near by stretches his arms, yawns, rubs his eyes, 
 and exclaims : " Oh, there, could n't you sleep a little more like a 
 Christian ? " No change, he does not seem to have understood. 
 " Do you understand ? You are to sleep more like a Christian," 
 the man shouts louder still. It had no effect, one might as well 
 talk to a stone wall. "Body of a bomb shell ! " cries the infuri- 
 ated man springing out of bed. " I '11 fix you now ! " He ap- 
 proaches, seizes him by both his arms, gives him such a vigorous 
 shake that he makes his bed and all those around about trem- 
 ble. The snorer stirs, wakes, half sees and understands, gives a 
 kick to the counterpane, a shout, a spring, is on his feet in a 
 moment with a pillow in his hand, and down it comes on the 
 neck of the 'unfortunate aggressor with a blinding blow. The 
 latter gives as good as he takes ; the first one pursues him, a 
 third rushes to the assistance of the weaker ; a fourth to the 
 defense of the first, a regular scuffle ensues, all dash from their 
 beds, the uproar increases ; the light goes out ; the men get 
 mixed up ; a window pane is broken, another too, the knap- 
 sacks come down from the shelves, the sheets from the beds, 
 the muskets from the racks. . . . The poor dreamer dazed, 
 trembling, hardened by rage, is just about to give a loud shout 
 that will be heard above that infernal racket, and bends him- 
 self in order to dash into the thick of the fight. . . . 
 
 At that point he heard some one knocking vigorously at the 
 door, and it seemed as if a voice called his name. Trembling,
 
 28 MILH^ARY LIFE. 
 
 terrified, bathed with perspiration, he rose wearily to a sitting 
 posture, listened attentively, and held his breath. " Lieuten- 
 ant ! lieutenant ! the officer of the day," said the voice again. 
 
 " Heavens ! quick, my stockings, my stockings ; where 
 are those stockings ? Well, no matter. My trowsers . . . 
 where are they ? Ah, here they are ! . . . Quick, my jacket ! 
 one arm, the other . . . the jacket is on. My sword ! where 
 in heaven's name is my sword ? The scarf, now, the scarf ! 
 . . . Ah, here it is ! At last. . ." 
 
 And dressed thus carelessly, his jacket unbuttoned, without 
 stockings, cravat, or drawers, he rushed breathless to the door, 
 opened it, looked around, and saw . . . the officer of the day, 
 erect, immovable, and rigid, with his hands crossed on his 
 breast, and the visor of his cap over his eyes, and his eyes 
 flashing under his knitted brows like two burning coals. 
 
 " Have you gone the rounds ? " 
 
 For a moment the lieutenant hesitates, then says boldly, " I 
 have done them." 
 
 " I understand," mutters the captain to himself, " you have 
 done me." 
 
 Now I ask you : is it worse to have a dream of this kind, or 
 to catch an attack of pleurisy, or bark your shins against 
 some bed in the dark ? I go in for the bruised shins and in- 
 fluenza, and I fancy the majority of my readers would do the 
 same.
 
 "He rushed breathless to the door, opened it, looked around, and saw the 
 officer of the day, erect, immovable, and rigid." 
 
 (Page 28.)
 
 J
 
 THE WOUNDED SENTINEL. 
 
 IT was growing dark. The streets of the city were full of 
 people. Those shops which are generally open during the 
 evening were in great part closed, and the remainder were be- 
 ing shut one by one. Here and there, at the corners, on the 
 squares, in front of the cafes, on the steps of the churches, 
 were groups of men and boys, who were talking in low and 
 excited voices, turning from time to time to look around them 
 in order to see that no suspicious person was listening. There 
 was a continuous descent of people from the houses to the 
 street ; they stopped a moment on the door-way, looked to the 
 right and left as if uncertain which way to go, and then mingled 
 in the crowd. In the whispering of the crowd, although it was 
 much denser and more noisy than usual, there was perceptible a 
 suppressed and almost timid tone. Now and then a knot of 
 people crossed the street hurriedly, and behind them a long 
 train of gamins who made way for themselves between the 
 legs of the people with their elbows and shoulders, whist- 
 ling and shrieking as they did so. At the sound of any voice 
 which made itself heard above the general murmur, many 
 stopped and turned back to ask what was the matter. It was 
 only some one who had made use of an expression a little 
 stronger than the others that was all. After the people had 
 looked at him a moment and he at the people, every one went 
 
 29
 
 3O MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 on his way. A moment later a great blow was heard on one 
 side of the street ; every one turned in the direction of the 
 sound. Who is it ? What is it ? What 's happened ? It was 
 a shopkeeper who had closed and barred his door. The car- 
 riages passed slowly, and the coachmen begged the crowd to 
 make way, with an unusually polite smile, and a motion of the 
 whip that was excessively courteous. On the corners, by the 
 light of the lamps, were seen those poor newspaper venders 
 assailed by ten people at a time, who, holding out the sou 
 with one hand, seized the desired sheet with the other, drew 
 to one side, then unfolded it in haste, and searched with avid- 
 ity for some important news. Some of the passers-by stopped, 
 formed a circle around the possessor of the journal, and 
 the latter read in a low voice while the others listened at- 
 tentively. 
 
 Suddenly all the people are seen running toward the end of a 
 street ; there is instantly a great press, a loud shout, a tremen- 
 dous confusion ; above the heads can be seen four or five 
 muskets knocked here and there ; a clapping of hands is heard ; 
 the crowd vacillates, falls back, opens on one side ; four or five 
 dark figures appear with muskets in their hands, give a glance 
 about them with an air of triumph, turn into an alley, and off 
 they dash ; a troop of boys, howling and whistling, follow them. 
 What was it ? What 's happened ? Nothing, nothing. A 
 patrol of the national guard has been disarmed. A moment 
 later, the crowd opens on another side and four or five unfort- 
 unate fellows appear, with pale faces, bare heads, dishevelled 
 hair, and clothes torn and disordered. Round about them 
 there rises a murmur of compassion ; some sympathetic per- 
 son takes them by the arm, leads them out of the throng,
 
 THE WOUNDED SENTINEL. 3 1 
 
 and accompanies them home, exhorting them by word and 
 gesture to be courageous. 
 
 Meanwhile confusion, great excitement, and deafening noises 
 have sprung up in the multitude. " Give way there ! Make 
 way there ! " is suddenly shouted on one side of the street. 
 All turn in that direction. Who is it ? What is it ? What 's 
 happened ? " Make way there ! Make way there ! " The 
 crowd divides, falls back rapidly, forms a hedge on the sides 
 of the street, and a company of sharpshooters traverse it on a 
 run. A dirty, noisy troop of gamins follow them. The crowd 
 closes up again. 
 
 Suddenly a confused sound of angry menacing voices breaks 
 out on another side ; the crowd gathers and forms at this 
 point ; above the heads two or three carabineers' hats ap- 
 pear and disappear, then a burst of applause, the crowd 
 opens, a man breathless and disfigured runs out and disap- 
 pears. " They wanted to put handcuffs on him," some one 
 remarks in a tone of satisfaction, " but they did not succeed 
 in doing so ; there were some strong people who took his 
 part. We should like to see them ! " 
 
 The crowd proceeds slowly in one direction, and reaches 
 the corner of a street. Suddenly the people in front stop and 
 those behind press on to them ; the former recede a few steps, 
 the latter are violently forced back, then begin to push forward 
 again, and then recede once more ; all of which gives rise 
 to indescribable disorder. " What is the matter ? Who is 
 preventing our going on? Forward, forward! " "Oh, yes, it 
 is very fine to say forward ! There is a company of soldiers 
 with bayonets fixed who are barring the passage." Then fol- 
 low shouts, hisses, oaths, and imprecations. " Down with the
 
 32 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 oppressors ! We don't want oppression, down with those 
 muskets, give us a free passage out of the way ! '.' All at once 
 the crowd turn their backs on the soldiers and take flight, 
 leaving the pavement strewn with the fallen and invade in 
 less than a moment the side streets, cafe's, vestibules, and 
 courts of the neighboring houses. The soldiers have lowered 
 their bayonets. 
 
 " Make way there ! Make way there ! " they shriek, on 
 one side. From one of the side alleys comes the sound of 
 horses' tramp and the clinking of swords ; it is a squad of cav- 
 alry that is advancing ; the gleam of the first helmets is seen ; a 
 troop of horses break through the crowd, which spring to the 
 right and left against the walls of the houses ; the squad 
 passes in the midst of profound silence ; when it is almost by, 
 a voice or a hiss is heard here and there ; it has passed then 
 follow shouts, whistles, reproaches, and a shower of cabbage- 
 heads and lemon-peel on to the last horses. The squad stops, 
 the last horses back a few paces, the crowd turns and clears 
 the street for a hundred steps. 
 
 In the nearest group is heard from time to time a furious 
 outburst of oaths, a beating of sticks, a sharp cry, a feeble 
 moan, and then a long whisper followed by a timid silence. 
 " What has happened ? What was it ? Nothing, nothing ; 
 they have driven a few inches of steel into the back of a pub- 
 lic guard." The crowds draw back on the right and left, and 
 a carabineer, with bare head and both hands buried in his 
 hair, crosses the street tottering and staggering like a drunken 
 man. " What is the matter ? What have they done ? " " They 
 have given him a blow on the head." " To the square ! To 
 the square ! " suddenly shouts a powerful voice. " To the
 
 THE WOUNDED SENTINEL. 33 
 
 square ! " comes the unanimous response from all sides. And 
 the multitude burst tumultuously into the nearest street and 
 start toward the square. 
 
 All this occurred not many years since in one of the princi- 
 pal cities of Italy, while in a neighboring street in the midst of 
 the tumult a band of eight soldiers passed with a corporal and 
 sergeant, to relieve another body standing guard at a public 
 building in a little square near by. The squad moved slowly, 
 and the soldiers looked curiously on this side and that. Just 
 in this street the excitement seemed greatest and the conduct 
 of the people most resolute. 
 
 The patrol passed near a large group of those people who 
 are only seen on certain evenings, and who with surly and 
 heated faces hold forth loudly in the midst of roughs, around 
 whom there is always a group of gamins. One of the group 
 sees the patrol, turns, and pointing his finger at the soldiers, 
 exclaims, sotto voce : " Look at them ! " The whole circle 
 turns in that direction, and one after the other, gradually 
 raising his voice, begins to say : " Yes, look at the men who 
 never fail to come out when the people wish to make their 
 rights felt. They reason with the butt-end of their muskets ; 
 the bayonets are made to drive holes in the bodies of those who 
 are hungry. They don't lack bread, you understand, but 
 others starve ; what does it matter to them ? Powder and 
 lead for those who are hungry ! " 
 
 The soldiers went on without turning back. The group 
 moved forward, and, preceded by an advance guard of 
 gamins, followed them. In a moment they caught up 
 with them and accompanied them for a few paces. The 
 soldiers continued to march without turning their heads.
 
 34 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 One of the group begins to cough ; another sneezes ; a 
 third coughs harder ; a fourth makes ready to expectorate, 
 and, turning toward the band, spits with a rattling sound, 
 which ends in a burst of incontrollable laughter ; all the 
 others clap their hands. The small boys whistle, scream, and, 
 instigated by the larger ones, slowly approach the soldiers. 
 The latter continue to march without giving any sign of hav- 
 ing noticed any thing. The former approach nearer and walk 
 beside the soldiers, looking them in the face with an expres- 
 sion intended to say : " I defy you." One of them begins to 
 imitate quite grotesquely their regular step, crying in a nasal 
 tone, as he does : " One, two ! one, two ! " Another mimics 
 the gait of the soldiers bent and limping under the weight of 
 the knapsacks. A third, urged on by one of those at the rear, 
 seizes the hem of the corporal's cloak, gives a tug, and runs off. 
 The corporal turns and raises his hand as if to give him a box 
 on the ear. 
 
 " Eh ! eh ! " they shout all around. " Now we '11 see. 
 Give a blow to a boy ! Shame ! The time of the Croats has 
 passed ! You must try other methods now ! A blow to a 
 boy ! Try again ! " 
 
 One of the soldiers, on hearing these words, bites his finger, 
 planting his teeth well in, and uttering a groan of rage. At 
 that point he feels his canteen struck a hard blow ; the blood 
 rushes to his head ; he turns and gives a hit on the shoulder of 
 the gamins who had struck him, throwing him back several 
 paces. 
 
 " Here ! Here ! " breaks out menacingly from the crowd. 
 " Here are the ruffians ! Worse than the Croats ! Worse than 
 the bailiffs. Now we '11 give them a lesson ; we '11 make you pay,
 
 THE WOUNDED SENTINEL. 35 
 
 you dog ! Oppressors ! Worse than Croats ! For shame to beat 
 an unarmed boy ! " 
 
 The boys, emboldened by the anger of the mob and the 
 surety of impunity, went and stuck their heads between the 
 soldiers, whispering in a hoarse and aggravating voice : " Ugly 
 soldier ! Ugly hangman ! Traitorous, bread-eater ! Convict 
 officer ! Burst, you face of a dog ! " 
 
 And the throng all around : " Shame ! To beat an unarmed 
 boy ! " 
 
 " You cowards ! " said the poor soldier to himself, biting, 
 meanwhile his lips until he drew blood. " Cowards ! An un- 
 armed boy ! Don't you know that there are words which kill ? 
 Hangman ! Croat ! To me ! To me ! Oh ! " And he bit his 
 hand again, shaking his head in a desperate way. 
 
 After a few moments, followed always by the people, the squad 
 arrived at the square and entered the guard-house, which was a 
 little, low, squalid room, lighted by one lantern. The sentinel 
 at the door of the palace was instantly changed twenty or 
 thirty feet from the guard, the squad who had been there first 
 went off, and those newly arrived began arranging their knap- 
 sacks on the racks, and hanging their haversacks and canteens 
 on the hooks. 
 
 On arriving within fifty paces of the guard-room, the people 
 who had followed the squad stopped, and from there began 
 provoking the soldiers by words and deeds, but the latter paid 
 no attention to them. Seeing that there was no way of exciting 
 a riot, they were on the point of moving off, when one of them 
 observed that the soldier in the sentinel-box was the one who 
 a short time before had given the boy a blow on the shoulder. 
 " Is it really he ? " " Yes." " Really ? " " Yes, I tell you it is that 
 rascal," " You wretch. Now we '11 fix you. Just wait ! "
 
 36 M1LITAR Y LIFE, 
 
 And they all moved toward the sentinel. AT the distance of 
 about thirty paces they stopped, drew up in line, and began to 
 look at him out of the corner of their eyes. The soldier stood 
 there, near his box, motionless and firmly, with his head erect and 
 his eyes fixed on those provoking faces which were ranged before 
 him. Suddenly, out of the group steps a ragged youth, with a hat 
 crushed over one ear, the stump of a cigar in his mouth, moves 
 forward with his hands in his pockets, humming in a mocking 
 way, and comes and plants himself within fifteen paces of the 
 sentinel, looking insolently into his face, crossing his arms and 
 assuming an attitude of defiant impertinence. 
 
 The soldier looked at him. 
 
 Then the man whirled suddenly on his heel, turned his back, 
 bursting into a concerted laugh with the others, who stood 
 watching him and urging him on by signs. 
 
 The soldier shook his head two or three times, bit his lips, 
 uttered a sigh, tapping the ground impatiently with his foot as 
 if to say : " Ah, patience ! patience ! it is hard to bear ! " 
 
 The rough turned, facing the soldier once more, and, 
 after a moment's hesitation, took from his mouth the cigar 
 stump and threw it at his feet, retreating eight or ten paces to 
 place himself beyond the reach of a sudden assault. 
 
 The soldier turned pale, raised his eyes to heaven, clinched 
 his fists, and ground his teeth ; his mind was growing confused. 
 "Why do you do this to me ? " he then said sadly to himself, 
 turning his eyes and face toward those people as if he were 
 really speaking to them. " What have you against me ? Have 
 I done any thing to you ? I have done nothing. Why did I 
 give that boy a blow ? But why did he come and insult me ? 
 Who had provoked him ? Who was annoying you ? What do
 
 THE WOUNDED SENTINEL. 37 
 
 you wish of me ? I have offended no one, I do not know you 
 even ; I am a poor soldier and am doing my duty, and stand 
 here because I am ordered to do so. Yes, ridicule and hiss 
 at me, you do yourselves honor to treat your soldiers in such a 
 way . . . just as if they were brigands ! " 
 
 At that point, a stump of cabbage thrown with great force 
 grazed the ground, and bouncing and whistling fell at his feet. 
 " God ! God ! " he murmured in a desperate tone of voice, 
 covering his face with one hand and resting his forehead on 
 the other which was leaning on the mouth of his gun. " I 
 shall lose my head ! I cannot control myself much longer. 
 The blood is rushing to my head ! . . ." 
 
 " But it is quite useless," he added a moment latter in a 
 trembling and stifled voice ; " it is useless to make us wear 
 these "... and he gave a hard blow on the two medals that 
 he wore on his breast, making them hit each other and resound ; 
 " it is useless for them to give us medals because we have 
 fought for our country, if afterward they are to throw cigar 
 stumps and cabbage heads in our faces ! Oh, you wish to 
 make me abandon my post, do you ? You wish me to betray 
 my trust. If you were fifty, or even a hundred, you could not 
 force me to move from here ; if you should all spring upon 
 me at once, I would sooner be torn to pieces like a dog. 
 Come on, you cowards ! Don't insult me from a distance. 
 Yes, yes, I understand, it is useless for you to make signs at 
 me ; I know that you have knives in your pockets ; but you 
 won't quite dare to plant them in my stomach in broad day- 
 light. You would prefer sticking them into my back at night 
 . . . when . . ." 
 
 Suddenly he uttered a sharp cry, let his musket fall, covered
 
 38 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 his face with his hands, tottered, and fell at the foot of his 
 sentry box : a stone had hit him on the forehead. 
 
 All the soldiers rushed forward, the crowd dispersed and 
 disappeared ; the wounded man was carried into the guard- 
 room with his face and chest bleeding ; the wound was instantly 
 washed, his head bound up, he was given something to drink, 
 and a bed was prepared for him on the table with the camp 
 blankets of the other soldiers. While they were all gathering 
 around him, and overwhelming him with questions and words 
 of comfort, and the sergeant was scolding him for not having 
 asked assistance at the first insult of those people, an officer 
 suddenly entered, and behind him the first file of a squad of 
 soldiers. At the same moment, plunged forward by a vigorous 
 push, there dashed into the middle of the room a man with 
 distorted face, hair hanging over his -forehead, and clothes in 
 rags. He had been arrested on that same little square by the 
 soldiers of a squad who were passing, and to whom he had 
 offered a violent resistance. 
 
 At the first appearance of the prisoner the wounded soldier 
 sprang up from the table, made a dash at him, placed himself 
 face to face with him, looked at him a moment with flashing eyes, 
 uttered a cry, which came broken and hoarse from between his 
 clinched teeth, took a step backward, and resting proudly on 
 his right foot, and raising his left hand, with the first finger 
 pointing to the face of the man, who was watching him with fear : 
 " Ah, you are the one ! he shrieked in a tone that froze one's 
 blood ; " I recognize you ! You called me hangman in the 
 street and have broken my head with a stone on the square ; 
 now it 's your turn ! " Saying which, he sprang at him, seized 
 him by the collar of his jacket and shirt, pinned him with one
 
 Saying which, he sprang at him, seized him by the collar of his jacket and 
 shirt, pinned him with one dash against the wall, raised his 
 clenched and trembling fist," etc. 
 
 (Page 38.)
 
 THE WOUNDED SENTINEL. 39 
 
 dash against the wall, raised his clinched and trembling fist, 
 and aimed at his head with angry, bloodshot eyes. 
 All this took place in an instant, those present interfered, sepa- 
 rated them, held the wounded man by the arm, a corporal sup- 
 ported the other who was ready to drop, and both stood for a 
 moment looking into each other's eyes, panting and gasping ; 
 the one white from fear, his arms hanging and his head bowed ; 
 the other with his face flaming and haughty, his fists clinched, 
 and his whole body shaken by a violent tremor. Meanwhile a 
 crowd of inquisitive people had gathered before the guard-room 
 door. 
 
 The officer looked from one to the other, and asked the 
 sergeant the cause of the trouble. The latter related all that he 
 knew. The officer then turned toward the prisoner, who held 
 his chin down on his chest, and in the midst of a profound 
 silence, said in an extraordinarily quiet tone : 
 
 " I can understand that, from a barricade, a man may cast 
 things at a battalion, with some end or aim in view, but this 
 useless and stupid insult to an inoffensive soldier, who has 
 neither the responsibility or right to defend himself, is one of 
 the most disgusting pieces of cowardice that can stain a 
 citizen." 
 
 A murmur of approbation was heard among the crowd at 
 the door. 
 
 "Take that man away ! " added the officer, lighting the end 
 of a cigar in the flame of the lantern. 
 
 " And you," he said, turning toward the wounded soldier, 
 while the patrol lead the prisoner off, " forgive . . . and 
 forget." 
 
 The soldier gave a nod in the affirmative.
 
 4O MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 " And keep up your spirits," concluded the officer, putting 
 the cigar in his mouth. 
 
 "As for me," . . . replied the soldier, closing his teeth 
 on the cigar and taking it between his forefinger and thumb, 
 " I am always in good spirits ; but you must understand, lieu- 
 tenant, that these are things that try one." 
 
 So the drama ended with a laugh.
 
 THE MOTHER. 
 
 WHEN the winter sinks gradually into spring, on the evenings 
 of those clear, quiet days without any wind, in which we keep 
 the doors and windows open for the first time, stretch out of 
 the window sill summer clothing, and carry the flower-pots 
 on to the terraces ; on those beautiful clear, starry nights, even the 
 cities (not alone that everlasting country of the poets) offer a 
 lovely spectacle full of gaiety and poetry. In walking through 
 the streets we feel from time to time a soft, fragrant breath, 
 from what ? what flowers or grass ? who knows ? they are perfumes 
 quite vague and unknown, filled with the freshness of youth and 
 life. We inhale the air with delight, opening wide our mouths 
 and dilating our nostrils, and it seems to refresh body and soul. 
 " Oh, what a fine air ! " we exclaim from time to time, as almost 
 involuntarily, almost without being aware of it, from corner to 
 corner, street to street, on we go until we find ourselves outside 
 the walls, on the boulevards surrounding the city, in the gar- 
 dens, and we bare and raise our heads in order to feel that 
 soft air blowing over our faces and playing with our hair. 
 
 On these evenings it is impossible to stay at home, or if one 
 is obliged to do so, they will be spent in leaning out of the win- 
 dow, looking down into the unusual crowd, and feeling annoyed 
 that it is impossible to mingle with the people below ; for to go 
 to bed betimes, and not enjoy even from the window so beauti- 
 ful an evening, would seem a shame.
 
 42 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 In the principal streets there is a regular hive. The houses 
 are quite empty. The large families, even the most domestic, 
 decide to creep out of their shell ; the " papa " goes to the 
 window, looks down and then up at the sky, and exclaims : 
 " Fine weather ! " then turning to the family, who are behind 
 him, and only waiting a sign from him, he says gaily : " Let us 
 go out "; so after much shouting and running about hither and 
 yon from room to room, clapping their hands and turning the 
 house upside down, in search of wraps and hats in the dark, 
 the boys are ready, and the troop puts itself in motion. Even 
 the grandmamma, poor old lady, feels several years slip off 
 from her shoulders, and, despite her habitual complaints, goes 
 out too, leaning on the arm of her best-behaved grandson. The 
 party stretches along the street, two by two, the boys in front, 
 jumping and singing among themselves, and knocking with 
 heads and hands into the legs of the passers-by. The old peo- 
 ple behind, limping and coughing, try to keep out of the way 
 of the carriages and not lose sight of the children. The newly 
 married pairs and the betrothed couples wander about the 
 quietest streets and garden paths arm in arm, their heads nearly 
 touching, their fingers giving a furtive squeeze now and then, 
 close together, and talking, talking, talking, and exchanging fond 
 glances and long pressures of the hand, as they exclaim from time 
 to time, their eyes turned heavenward : " How beautiful the 
 moon is to-night ! " The little dressmaker is returning home 
 from the shop, swinging her small self along, close by the walls, 
 and pretending not to see the high hat which is keeping pace 
 with her behind, and will appear at the turning of a certain 
 dark corner in such a pleasant way. The poorest girls, who 
 have worked at home from sunrise to sunset, come dashing
 
 THE MOTHER. 43 
 
 down the stairs, meet at the door-way their neighbors who were 
 waiting for them, form a little circle, begin a vivacious conversa- 
 tion, and grouping their heads together, like flowers in a bouquet, 
 and swinging around their forefingers the ribbon which fastens 
 the scissors to their belt, reply to the words whispered by the 
 young fellows who pass : Charming ! in their hearts, and with 
 their mouths : Impudence ! then turn their backs in a scornful 
 manner, not so fully, however, that they are unable to measure 
 them from head to foot out of the corners of their eyes, to see 
 who they are and what they are like. Others, drawn up in 
 fours and fives, all arm-in-arm, bareheaded, arrive at the end 
 of the street, hitting each other with their elbows as they pass, 
 whispering in their ears, laughing aloud, and turning now and 
 then to chide with a maternal air the younger ones who are 
 rambling about. Meanwhile the young men are leaving the 
 factories and workshops with their hats pushed down over their 
 ears, their jackets slung carelessly over their shoulder, the 
 stump of a cigar in their mouths and twisted and turned in- 
 differently between their black lips. They come down the 
 street in shoals, moving their shoulders in a rough fashion, shout- 
 ing the latest stornello, meet the girls, approach them, hit them 
 with their elbows and knees, puffing a mouthful of smoke into 
 their faces ; and the latter scatter with a shriek, coughing, 
 and passing their hands over their tear-filled eyes. The 
 gamins loosen the theatre placards with their nails and 
 then tear them down from the walls ; the small children play 
 in the squares; and the mothers, standing in groups at the 
 door-ways, their babies in their arms, delay giving the usual 
 cry: "To bed ! " thanks to the softness of the air and the 
 clearness of the sky. Along the streets, from the shops on
 
 44 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 either side of the way, comes the continuous sound of the 
 closing of shutters, the loud noise of the bars, and a slip- 
 ping of bolts into rings, and the interchange of good-nights 
 among the clerks who are going home. The finest shops, 
 gleaming and well-lighted, remain open still, their door-ways 
 filled with curious people ; as do the book-stores, with their 
 tobacco-smelling literary habitue's, who sport long, untidy 
 locks and who gather in a corner at the back to grumble ovei 
 old politics and disinterred parchments ; and the cafes crowded 
 with customers enveloped in a cloud of smoke, from which) 
 at every opening of the door, there sweeps into the street in 
 waves a deep, full clamor of voices. 
 
 It was upon such an evening as this that my regimen*, 
 which had arrived that morning in one of the largest cities of 
 Italy, was scatterred through the streets waiting for the bar- 
 racks we were to occupy to be emptied and for the retreat to 
 sound. 
 
 The soldiers were still in full marching equipment, the gait- 
 ers buttoned over the trousers, the cartridge-box at the belt, 
 the flasks and knapsacks on the shoulder-straps. Weary from 
 the march, their clothes and hair white with dust, they stood 
 still in groups on the corners, their backs against the walls, 
 their arms crossed on the breast, one leg resting over the other, 
 or motionless before the jewellers' establishments, contemplat- 
 ing, open-mouthed, those show-windows filled with medals and 
 crosses of every form and color, at which old employe's and 
 well-advanced majors cast longing glances and sighs as they 
 pass. Many of them were seated in the hostelries reviving 
 themselves with a swallow of wine ; others, less exhausted, 
 wandered through the streets. All, or nearly all, however,
 
 THE MOTHER. 45 
 
 had serious faces, were silent, or talked in a low tone with an 
 effort ; a little from their extreme fatigue and sleepiness, and a 
 , little from that confusion one generally feels in finding himself 
 for the first time in an unknown and noisy city. 
 
 In the midst of the grave silence reigning in a small group 
 of soldiers who were seated on the steps of a church near the 
 barracks, was all the more noticeable the restless gaiety and in- 
 cessant chatter of one of them, short of stature, of slender 
 build, with beardless face, made most attractive by two great 
 blue eyes, who continually ran up and down the steps, jump- 
 ing about like a boy. Now he would stop near one, now beside 
 another, and fill their ears with gossip. Then he would pull 
 the hem of this one's coat, now take off the tassel from 
 another's fatigue cap and place it on his knee, or pass his 
 hands over the eyes of a third, crying out as he did so : 
 " Guess who it is ! " It seemed as if he were made of quick- 
 silver. In passing before the church I noticed him ; I 
 stopped on the other side of the street and stood looking 
 at him for some moments, wondering what could be the 
 reason of such strange gaiety. The frank and pleasing face 
 of that soldier was fixed upon my mind. I moved off. 
 
 The following day I learned, by the merest chance, what 
 I had asked myself the evening before. That soldier had been 
 four years in the service, and by a series of accidents which it 
 is not necessary to relate, from the day of his departure until 
 that time he had never been able to obtain leave, not even for 
 the shortest time, in order to return home and see his family. 
 Four years ! To a soldier, as I knew him to be, full of 
 heart, much attached to his relatives and the place where he 
 had been born and brought up, of a mild, gentle disposition,
 
 46 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 knowing nothing of the revels which dull the liveliest affections 
 and clearest memories ; to a soldier like this, four years passed 
 without seeing his family and his home must have seemed 
 long indeed ! And so they had been ; he had always ap- 
 peared a little melancholy and taciturn in the barracks, and 
 always alone when outside. In his hours of freedom, while his 
 comrades lounged around in the public gardens to bestow 
 hairy caresses on the children under the care of pretty girls, 
 he used to pace the parade ground in its length and breadth, 
 his chin resting on his chest ; or was seated on a stone bench 
 at the end of a solitary avenue, drawing puppets in the sand with 
 the end of his foot. He was always thinking of his relatives, 
 friends, and the places that he had not seen for four years, and 
 above all of his mother, who was a poor old, infirm peasant, but 
 with a genial and true-loving nature and the heart of an angel. 
 Of all her children, the one whom she loved with the greatest 
 tenderness, and also with a particular feeling of solicitude and 
 pity, was the soldier son ; which was also natural. He wrote, or 
 had some one write frequently ; and his letters, read and re-read, 
 kissed and re-kissed, then placed in her bosom like the relic of 
 a saint, mitigated much of the bitterness of their separation. 
 And such was the case with the son and his mother's letters ? 
 Yes, indeed. Paper, in the end, is paper, and loving mothers 
 wish to see them (their children), wish to have them under 
 their eyes, to touch them with their hands, and kiss them on 
 the forehead, twice, ten times in one breath ; and the children 
 are not satisfied with the knowledge that that dear head with 
 its white hair is at home and thinks of them ; they wish to take 
 that head in their arms, and place their lips on those white 
 locks. Yet the good old woman, like her dear soldier boy had
 
 THE MOTHER. 47 
 
 lived through those four years a life of continual hope and de- 
 luded expectations, melancholy, anxiety, and heart-beats. The 
 son, who left a little district in northern Italy, had been taken, 
 with his regiment, to Sicily, and detained there two years (in 
 Sicily, poor woman, with all that water between them) ; from 
 Sicily he had passed into Calabria, and spent a year there, and 
 then a year in central Italy. Finally, one fine day, the rumor of 
 departure spread through the regiment. " Where are we gq- 
 ing ? " asked our soldier of the sergeant of the squad, and he 
 waited with bated breath for the reply. " Into northern Italy," 
 was the answer. His heart gave a bound. "Where?" he 
 asked again, growing pale ; the sergeant named the city ; it was 
 the one nearest his home. " Ah ! " he cried, and a little more and 
 he would have kissed the sergeant and been put into prison. 
 That same night, when he found time to do so, he wrote 
 home. 
 
 This was the reason of his gaiety that evening ; that city was 
 within a few miles of his native village. 
 
 Now, with what I afterward learned, with what I saw, and 
 with what I could not help imagining, but which must have 
 taken place, I will tell you a story that may perhaps rouse in 
 you the desire to kiss your own mother more fervently. 
 
 Two days had elapsed since the return. Our soldier was 
 still talking about asking a few days' leave in order to fly home, 
 when, one fair evening, the quarter-master looks him up in the 
 dormitory of the company, and on finding him, says, while hand- 
 ing him a letter : " Come nearer." He had hardly taken it 
 before its seal was broken, and it was unfolded in the light of 
 a lantern in a corner of the room, by two trembling hands, 
 and under two dilated eyes, which were glistening with two big
 
 48 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 tears. He read the letter very rapidly, accompanying the 
 movements of his eyes with a motion of his head, and mutter- 
 ing the words quite hastily. When it was read he pressed it in 
 his hands, and let his arms drop, raising his great eyes to 
 heaven ; and the two drops, after trembling uncertain on the 
 lids, fell, ran down his cheeks without breaking, and dropped 
 quite warm upon his hands. The letter was from his mother, 
 and said : " To-morrow I shall come to town on foot. It is 
 four years since I have seen you. Oh, my son, I can contain 
 myself no longer, and I must throw my arms around your 
 neck ! " 
 
 That night he could not close his eyes. He dashed about 
 restlessly under the counterpane, and found no peace ; and there- 
 fore nothing but twist and turn, now upon one side, now upon 
 the other, now on his back, now on his face ; always quite in 
 vain, for the coverlid seemed so heavy, and he felt in such a 
 feverish state, a great weight on his chest, a restlessness, a de- 
 sire for motion, and a tormenting desire for fresh air. Every 
 moment he seized the hem of the coverlid and pushed it down 
 to his knees, sighing and gasping as if he had been in front of 
 a furnace. From time to time he sat up in bed and looked 
 around at his comrades who were all sleeping quietly and 
 soundly as one is accustomed to sleep in spring. Then he 
 looked at the bit of starry sky, which appeared through the 
 small window on the other side, and thought : " Oh if I were in 
 the country to breathe that air ! " He glanced at the lantern 
 placed in a distant corner, which gave a tremulous light that 
 appeared and disappeared in turn, and it seemed to him that 
 that light increased his anxiety and made time longer. Then he 
 stretched himself out in bed again, and began thinking of the
 
 THE MOTHER. 49 
 
 morrow, shutting his eyes and remaining immovable to try and 
 fall asleep with that sweet thought, but always in vain. Still 
 that sweet thought did not bring him peace ; his body was 
 motionless, his eyes closed, but his heart kept on beating as 
 if to say: "You shall not sleep; you shall not sleep!" so 
 that after a short time he was obliged to open his eyes and 
 look around again. So many long hours passed. Finally 
 weariness conquered ; the heart was silent, and the busy 
 fancy still. He slept ; dreamed of the morrow ; dreamed of his 
 mother. He seemed to see her there, erect and smiling beside 
 his pillow ; he seemed to feel her pass her hand over his brow, 
 and he dreamed that he seized and placed his lips upon it. 
 Then, suddenly, he felt that he had become a child again, at 
 home ; and, one by one, there came to his mind a hundred little 
 scenes from his early life, and in those scenes his mother was 
 always comforting him when weeping, or defending him when 
 threatened by his father, or nursing him if hurt by a fall, taking 
 care of him when ill ; and always full of pity and solicitude, 
 always loving, always the mother ! Then he dreamed he was 
 grown up ; recalled the day of his departure ; his mother's tears, 
 the long embraces, words of farewell, and comfort given and 
 received ; and he felt his heart-strings tighten just as they did 
 that day ; he felt around his waist the arms of his mother who 
 would not let him go ; tried to free himself, could not do so, 
 uttered a groan, and awoke. He looked around, thought, came 
 to himself, and that was a moment of joy which can be better 
 imagined than expressed. 
 
 Down in the court-yard of the barracks a noisy sound of drums 
 broke out. All dashed from their beds. He dressed in haste, 
 and with the others performed , all the duties of the morning
 
 $0 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 cheerfully and with a calm face, but with a burning fever and 
 agitated heart. He tapped the pavement with his feet, bit his 
 lips, passed and repassed his hand over his heated brow, asked 
 all around what the hour was, looked from his head to his 
 feet every moment to see if he was neat and had every thing in 
 order. Finally the desired mid-day arrived. Desired, because 
 his mother, in leaving home at nine o'clock as she had said in 
 her letter, ought to arrive in the city between noon and one 
 o'clock, taking into account the distance that she had to come 
 and the slowness with which, poor woman, she could accomplish 
 it. Just at that hour the soldiers had to leave their quarters and 
 go to the single-stick school. 1 Our good young fellow, by using 
 his mother's letter, obtained a release from that exercise. The 
 soldiers went out, the dormitories were deserted, he ran up the 
 stairs, flew to his bed, placed his hand upon it, stood still for a 
 moment, for he felt as if his legs refused to hold him, and 
 panted. 
 
 A little while thereafter he seated himself on the bed ; 
 planted his elbows on his knees, rested his face on his hands, 
 fixed his eyes on the floor, and thought : " She is coming ; she 
 is coming here to the barracks ! " And laughing hysterically 
 he rubbed his forehead with both hands. " It is four years 
 since I have seen her ! Four years ! " Then he counted four 
 on his fingers. " How long they have been ! " And then he 
 went over in his mind all his fits of melancholy, discouragement, 
 and past sufferings. " Oh ! " he exclaimed in a low tone full 
 of loving pity, clasping his hands, shaking his head gently, with 
 his eyes fixed upon a point on the wall, as if to say : " Poor 
 
 1 A species of fencing with sticks instead of foils, now no longer in vogue 
 in the Italian army.
 
 THE MOTHER, 51 
 
 mother ! '-' and " Poor mother ! " he did say in fact. " So you 
 are coming from such a distance to see me, quite alone too and 
 on foot ; you have to walk so many miles in the sun ; you will 
 arrive in this great city, among all these people, without know- 
 ing where I am ; and you will have to ask where my barracks 
 are ; then be on your feet for so long a time, alone, old, ill, 
 and exhausted ; and perhaps you will lose your way and wander 
 about, worrying that you cannot find me. . . . Ah, poor old 
 woman ! " He kept his hands clasped and his eyes fixed upon 
 the wall, biting one lip and then the other, and closing his eye- 
 lids to keep back the tears which were ready to fall. Then 
 repeated from time to time : " Poor old woman ! " 
 
 After which he passed both hands over his face, shook his 
 head, gave a sigh, sprang to his feet, and paced the room with 
 the hurried steps of a traveller. After a little he suddenly 
 stopped. " It must be time for her now ! " He ran to the 
 window on the street, leaned out, looked to the right and left, 
 once, twice, thrice, but no one was to be seen. The blood 
 rushed to his head. " Let me think of something else ! " he 
 said to himself ; and so tried to drive the image of his mother 
 from his mind in order to pass this season of anxious expec- 
 tation. Drive away that image ! Poor fellow ! It was out of 
 the question, so he abandoned the idea. 
 
 " Look, mother," he said aloud, shaking his two open hands 
 before his face, " I love you so well, so well ! " . . , He looked 
 around ; there was no one ; he continued : " More than any 
 thing else in the world ! " And letting his clasped hands fall 
 upon the bed, he continued to shake his head gently as if to 
 signify more clearly by act the meaning of his last words. 
 " More than any thing in the world." Then suddenly he.
 
 $2 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 roused himself : " It must be time now ! " he said, and again 
 he went to the window, then stopped suddenly, and turned his 
 back : " No," saying to himself as he did so, " you must not 
 look." He tapped the floor with his foot as if to repeat, No. 
 But smiled, and the smile meant : " Ah, I cannot help it ! " 
 and in fact, a moment later he again went to the window and 
 looked out. Still no one in sight. 
 
 He returned to the bedside and tried to invent some methoc. 
 for passing time. He bent one arm with his forefinger against 
 his chin, raised the elbow of that arm with the palm of the 
 other, and, fastening his eyes upon the bed while resting a knee 
 on the edge, he ran homeward in his mind, saw his mother 
 make up a bundle of shirts and handkerchiefs to bring him, 
 saw her take leave of the family and start, then accompanied 
 her along the road in his mind's eye, that long, long road ! un- 
 der the burning sun, in the midst of clouds of dust raised by 
 carts and carriages which were passing rapidly. He saw those 
 carts graze the poor woman's skirts, touch her, shake her, 
 She, so old, tired, and infirm had not the time to avoid them, 
 when another one rushes on, is near her, is about to hit her. 
 " Ah, move out of the way ! " the son exclaims above his breath ; 
 making, without being aware of it, a motion with his hand as 
 if to seize her by the arm and drag her to one side. He 
 pointed out the curbings she was to avoid, and the bits of the 
 road filled with stones, and the edges of the ditches. After 
 much walking he seemed to see the poor old woman totter, 
 bent under the weight of her bundle, quite exhausted, thirsty, 
 and he was worried, groaned, and said to himself : " Oh, poor 
 woman, give me that bundle ; let me carry it for you ; take my 
 arm." He moved his right elbow and seemed to feel between
 
 THE MOTHER. 53 
 
 his arm and body a trembling arm, and with his left hand, 
 keeping his eyes quite motionless all the time, he felt the air to 
 the right, as high as his side, in search of his mother's hand. 
 
 Then he came to himself ; the thought that within a few 
 moments he would embrace his mother returned clearly to his 
 mind, and he felt, as at first, all its sweetness ; his eyes 
 brightened, his lips trembled, all his features gleamed with joy. 
 A slight smile, then a broad one, then came a convulsive laugh ; 
 his chest and shoulders rose and fell as after a breathless race ; 
 and finally he threw himself upon the bed with his face in his 
 hands and gave way to a mixture of tears and laughter, still 
 shaking his head as if to say : " Poor mother ! " 
 
 " Are you going mad ? " shouted the corporal while crossing 
 the dormitory and stopping at the door-way through which he 
 was to pass out. 
 
 The soldier started, rose to his feet, turned, and looked at 
 him with his eyes full of tears, his lips parted with a smile ; 
 he had not understood him. The corporal disappeared mur- 
 muring : " He is mad ; he is mad ! " 
 
 When left alone, he stood meditatively for a moment ; then, 
 struck by a sudden thought, seized his knapsack leaning 
 against the bread-shelf, drew it down on to the bed, opened it 
 after having played for a time with the buckles of the straps, 
 dove into it with both hands, and drew out hurriedly brushes, 
 combs, boxes, and rags ; placed them all on the coverlid, seized 
 a brush, put his foot on the edge of one of the bed slats, leaned 
 over, and began to polish his boots with all his might, stopping 
 from time to time to see if they were shining well. 
 
 " I must be clean," he said to himself with a serious face, 
 continuing his work with the brush ; " I wish to shine like a
 
 54 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 mirror ; I wish to make a fair soldier of myself, for I want to 
 please her." When the boots were polished he seized his 
 clothes brush, then the comb, then dove into the knapsack 
 again, drew out a little round glass, opened it, and looked at 
 himself. . . . When the soul is deeply moved by a strong 
 and lovely affection, and the mind quite full of sunny thoughts 
 and fancies, the eyes and smile assume such an impress of the 
 sweetness of that affection and the serenity of those thoughts, 
 that even the plainest face, at such a moment, is lighted 
 up by a ray of beauty ; so the good soldier, in looking in the 
 glass and seeing his soul shining on his face, smiled with satis- 
 faction. 
 
 At that instant he heard a quick step on the stairs ; listened 
 attentively ; the sound was approaching ; it was the corporal 
 of the guard ; he entered, looked about, saw our young man. 
 " See here," he exclaimed, in catching sight of him, and calling 
 him by name, " there is a woman at the door who is looking 
 for you ! " 
 
 " My mother ! " shouted the son, running rapidly through 
 the dormitories ; he dashed down the stairs, across the court, into 
 the vestibule ; caught a glimpse of the woman, sprang toward 
 her. She opened her arms, he fell on her breast, and both of 
 them uttered a cry. The son placed his hands on his mother's 
 temples, passed them through her gray hair, bent back her head, 
 looked into her eyes, then pressed that dear head against his 
 shoulder, covered it with his arms, and fastened his lips upon 
 her hair, from which the handkerchief had fallen. The good 
 woman stifled her sobs against the shoulder of her son, and 
 seizing him around the waist, passed her thin hands over 
 the rough jacket, which for her, at that moment, was worth a
 
 THE MOTHER. 55 
 
 hundred times more than the most beautiful kingly mantle. 
 The soldiers of the guard grouped respectfully on one side, 
 looked motionless and silently upon that holy embrace, and I 
 looked too, as I was on guard duty that day, and stood near 
 in the door of my room. 
 
 " Come, compose yourself, mother ; be brave ; don't cry so. My 
 God ! why should you weep ? " the son kept saying in a cares- 
 sing tone, as he pushed back behind her ears with both hands 
 the hair which had been scattered over the forehead in the im- 
 pulse of the first embrace. The old woman continued to sob 
 hard, without weeping or without words ; until, in raising her 
 eyes to her son's face, she smiled, drew a long breath, as if 
 lifting a weight from her heart, and murmuring, " My son ! " 
 embraced him again. " Are you tired ? " asked the soldier 
 anxiously, tearing himself from her arms. " A little," replied 
 the woman, smiling. She glanced around in search of a place 
 where she could lay down the great bundle which she had 
 brought with her. " Come in here," I said, throwing open the 
 door of my room. " Oh, the officer ! " she said, turning tow- 
 ard me, and making a courtesy ; " thank you, sir." The 
 soldier was a trifle confused. " Come in." I repeated ; " come 
 in." They both entered timidly, and approached the little 
 table ; the old woman laid her bundle on it, and I moved to 
 one side. 
 
 " Let me see you, my son ; turn around ; let me look 
 at you," the woman began to say. The soldier, smiling, 
 turned to show himself on every side. And the mother draw- 
 ing back, glancing at him from head to foot, and clasping her 
 hands, exclaimed affectionately : " How handsome you are, 
 dressed like this ! " And the poor old woman felt herself re-
 
 $6 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 juvenated, and was almost seized with the desire to dance 
 around him. She approached him, then moved off, returned to 
 his side, and devoured him with her eyes. She placed her 
 hands on his shoulders, and let them fall down the arm until 
 they reached his hands ; put her face close to his breast in or- 
 der to see the buttons ; then noticing that she had dulled the 
 cross on his belt with her breath, she rubbed it with the hem of 
 her apron ; finally, after having looked and looked again at him 
 for some time, she threw her arms around him once more, calling 
 him lovingly by name as she did so. Then she suddenly let go 
 of him, and asked anxiously : " And the war ? " The son 
 smiled. She repeated : " And the war ? Tell me, my son, 
 when are you going to war ? " " Oh, heavens ! who has been 
 talking to you about the war, good woman that you are ? " 
 " Oh, there is n't any war, then ? " she asked, quite content. 
 " You will never go to war, will you ? Never again ? " "I 
 can't say never again, my dear." "Oh, then, you are going ! 
 tell me the truth, my son." " My good mother, what do you 
 suppose we soldiers know about it ? " " But if you who go 
 don't know," the mother replied in that tone of profound per- 
 suasion, " who can, then ? " 
 
 Having said which, she stood still awaiting his reply 
 with such a curious expression of face and form, with 
 such a charmingly pleasing smile on her lips, and a certain 
 ineffable light in her eyes, that her son, smiling too, was 
 almost entranced in looking at her ; and she pleased him 
 so much at that moment, he felt such a new and strong im- 
 pulse drawing him to her in his heart, that he sprang toward 
 her with one bound, pressed her head between his hands, kissed 
 her, shook her playfully as they do children, and placing his
 
 THE MOTHER. $7 
 
 lips on her forehead, murmured smiling : " My poor, dear old 
 mother ! " 
 
 And I, standing there with my back against the wall und 
 my arms crossed on my breast, thought : 
 
 " Here is a man who adores his mother ! He cannot help 
 being a good, respectful, well-disciplined soldier, full of amour 
 propre and courage. Yes, courage too, because the souls which 
 feel deeply and strongly can never be cowardly. That soldier 
 there, taken on to the battle-field, would allow himself to be 
 killed without fear, and he would die with the name of his 
 mother upon his lips. Teach him what his country is ; make | * 
 him understand that the country is a hundred thousand mothers I 
 and a hundred thousand families like his own, and he will love V 
 his country with enthusiasm. But one must begin with the 
 mother. Oh ! if we could discover the germ of all the lovely 
 affections and all the honest and generous actions of which we 
 are proud, we should almost always discover them in the heart 
 of our mothers. How many medals of military valor ought to 
 gleam on the breasts of the mothers instead of the sons ! and 
 how many wreaths of laurel ought to rest upon an old, bald 
 head instead of upon the brown one of youth ! Oh, mothers, 
 you should never die ! You should remain at the side of your 
 sons, and accompany them to the end of the journey of life. 
 Before you, even when we are old, we would always be children, 
 and love you ever with the same love. Instead, you leave us 
 alone . . . oh no ! no ! not alone ; your sweet memory re- 
 mains with us, your dear image is always before our eyes, your 
 loving counsels are everpresent to the spirit, and this is enough. 
 Every time that a weariness of life assails us, and some hard 
 disillusion raises in our hearts a feeling of hatred and aversion
 
 58 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 for men, we will call up your holy, benign, and peace-giving 
 image ; we shall feel that we hear your dear voice, which chided 
 us when children, calling us by name ; and we will bend our 
 knees irresistibly and clasp our hands before your image, asking 
 your pardon ! " 
 
 At that moment the major comes grumbling into the barracks : 
 "Where is the officer of the guard ? " he asks of some one out- 
 side the door. I here started to go out, and planting myself 
 pale before him, with my hand at my cap, and cry : " Present ! " 
 
 He looks at me fixedly and makes a sort of face, as if to say : 
 "What the devil is the matter with you ?"
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 
 
 I. 
 
 CHILDREN of the two sexes, until a decided difference in 
 form begins to become apparent, may have their playthings 
 and amusements in common : but when, while the softness and 
 gentleness of outline remain in the girl, in the boy the charac- 
 istics of the man begin to show themselves, the resemblance 
 changes little by little, and one sex turns and attaches itself 
 definitely to dolls, the other to guns, trumpets, and drums. 
 Together with the fancy for arms, there usually awakes in 
 boys a passion for soldiers : in some temperaments it is only 
 passing ; in others violent, irresistible, and lasting. And it is 
 exactly in this that the difference in the two natures mani- 
 fests itself first and most noticeably ; for while the woman 
 seeks and loves that which signifies peace, weakness, and love, 
 the man dashes with ardor toward that which represents 
 strength, power, and glory. 
 
 After the members of the family and household, our first 
 affection, our first outburst of enthusiasm is for the soldier. 
 Soldiers are the first figures which we draw on the school-room 
 walls and the book covers ; soldiers the first persons whom we 
 turn back to look after in the street, stopping and obliging 
 the person who is holding our hand to do the same. The first 
 
 59
 
 60 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 cent we receive is spent at a bookseller's for a sheet of colored 
 soldiers ; and all that which belongs to soldiers, weapons, uni- 
 forms, galloons, feathers, trinkets, and sash, becomes the object 
 of our most ardent desires and our dearest hopes ; so much so 
 that we feel that, despite any sacrifice or any opposition, we 
 shall enlist as soldiers when the proper time arrives ; yes, sol- 
 diers, soldiers, even if the world falls ; mamma will cry, papa 
 growl out in that deep voice which he reserves for the most 
 daring escapades : no matter ; the matter is decided, we will be 
 soldiers. 
 
 Here the mania for arms begins, and we search, prowl about, 
 dive into every thing to see if there is not even- a cane, stick, or 
 leg of a broken table in the house, which, having been shaped 
 by the blade of our penknife, may not serve, for a longer or 
 shorter length of time, as a rapier, dagger, or gun. Who of us 
 has not passed long hours astride a chair, with his breast against 
 the back, working his legs as if spurring on a horse, waving 
 aloft the handle of a broom, and holding forth in a certain 
 slow, deep, solemn tone, like a general who is commanding a 
 division ? Who does not remember the first sword which he 
 received from an uncle, godfather, or some retired officer, an 
 old friend of the family, on his birthday, or as a reward for 
 good conduct at school ? But let it be understood, not one of 
 those ordinary wooden swords, bound in silver paper, mere 
 playthings for children, which do not even frighten flies ; but a 
 real sword, a genuine blade, such as they use in war. . . . 
 Oh ! the first sword is a great source of delight ! 
 
 Then those beautiful spring mornings (which take away the 
 desire for books, and put a fever into one's legs, as Giusti says) 
 when, seated at the table, yawning and dozing over a fable of
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 6 1 
 
 Fedro to be turned into Italian, we suddenly hear a great 
 outburst of trumpets and drums down in the street. To the 
 devil with books and copy-books, and down the stairs, at a 
 break-neck pace, behind the soldiers, until we reach the parade 
 ground, and can contemplate with ecstasy that bright gleam- 
 ing of bayonets, appearing and disappearing like a flash above 
 the heads of the battalions, and hear that noisy and prolonged 
 hurrah of the besieged, which stirs our blood, and makes us 
 feel our strength doubled as we involuntarily clench our little 
 fists ; who does not remember those beautiful mornings ? It is 
 true that on returning home, we have to confront the angry 
 look of papa, or something worse ; but that being able to say : 
 " I have been on the parade ground," ah ! it is a great relief 
 to the conscience, an excuse which one can adduce, and 
 which in fact one does adduce without humility or fear. 
 
 How well, also, do we remember the first soldier with whom, 
 after a little persistency, we succeeded in making friends? 
 And again, the first time that, on the parade ground, or at 
 target-shooting, we have had the honor of going to fetch a little 
 water from a neighboring spring in our own broken bowl ? We 
 brought it so full that it would have overflowed at the slightest 
 movement ; yet not one drop was spilled, so careful were we 
 with eyes and arms, making every possible effort of body and 
 soul to discharge our honorable task worthily ! Then to be 
 seen on the promenade with a corporal of the sharp-shooters, 
 for instance ! It is one of those pleasures in thinking of 
 which I wish to be a boy again, in order to experience it once 
 more, or to experience it as a man, even at the cost of appearing 
 childish. Then in the evening, at the hour of retreat, when we 
 accompanied our young corporal to the door of the barracks
 
 62 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 and said good-night, or secured the promise of a meeting for the 
 following day in a loud voice, so that all the boys round about 
 might hear it ; and the next day we took a charming walk together 
 outside the city, and on reaching a solitary spot, begged our 
 friend to let us see his poniard ; to which he replied that it was 
 forbidden, and we continued teasing him ; he refusing, and 
 we saying : " Do me the favor for a moment only, only just one 
 moment"; until the poor corporal, after glancing around, drew 
 out the dagger from its sheath with a certain air of mystery, 
 and the sight of that beautiful, bare, gleaming blade sent a 
 shudder through our veins. Then we touched it lightly with 
 our finger, asking if it were sharp, and if one blow would kill 
 a man . . . Oh, the friendship of a corporal is a great 
 thing for you ! That, among others, of always having in your 
 pocket some beautiful new cartridges, sometimes powder too, 
 and, perhaps, even a beautiful cross of an old plate, or bruised 
 metal buttons, and even but these are fortunes which rarely 
 fall to one's lot. You may become the possessor of a couple 
 of bits of gold lace, a trifle worn perhaps, but always in such a 
 condition as to cut a stupendous figure on the sleeves of your 
 house- jacket. And all the boys in the neighborhood will 
 respect you. 
 
 The idea which one has, as a child, of the superiority of sol- 
 diers over other citizens, is something really marvellous. There 
 can be no soldiers who are not prodigies of courage. There 
 are absolutely no soldiers who are weaker than the strongest 
 civilian. No one in the world can run like a sharp-shooter ; the 
 handsomest beards in town belong to the sappers ; there is 
 nothing more terrible on earth than an officer with an un- 
 sheathed sword especially if it has just come from the hands
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 63 
 
 of a knife-grinder. And in fact, when we set the marionettes 
 dancing, and improvised comedies, there might be a fierce 
 struggle on the stage between ten armed characters, or there 
 might be even princes and kings to make a great deal of racket 
 with their swords in hand ; but at the appearance of two sol- 
 diers with muskets slung across their shoulders, all the other 
 wooden heads suddenly were quiet, and on their good be- 
 havior, and sometimes even the crowns bowed before the 
 fatigue caps. When late at evening, suddenly hearing down 
 in the street, before the door of a tavern, a confused sound of 
 angry and threatening voices, oaths, blows, and cudgels, and a 
 crying of women and children, and on going to the window 
 we could see the daggers gleam, we understood that there was 
 a fight between the soldiers and workmen, did n't we always 
 pray that the former should do all the killing, and the latter be 
 beaten ? And if the contrary occurred, how provoked were we ! 
 This intense affection of children is returned by the soldiers 
 with an affection naturally less enthusiastic, but not less strong. 
 Conscripts who have just come into the regiment, or even old 
 soldiers who have barely arrived from an unknown city, pray, 
 where do they seek and find their first friends ? In that crowd 
 of gamins who hang around the drummers when the regi- 
 ment goes to the parade ground. From them come the first 
 smiles, the first hand-shakings ; with them the first meetings, 
 the first genial and confidential conversations, the first solitary 
 walks in the country, the first outbursts of rage against their 
 all-powerful superiors, the first laments over the severity of the 
 discipline, and from them the first words of comfort and con- 
 solation. They let them write and read their letters from 
 home, and relate all the most insignificant particulars of their
 
 64 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 family life, and listen with pleasure, and sometimes with a cer- 
 tain tender melancholy, because, far as they are from their own 
 relatives, these conversations revive in their hearts thai affec- 
 tionate feeling for home which one never experiences in the 
 noisy rooms of the barracks. By means of these children, 
 they form, little by little, a friendship with the porter ; and 
 through the latter succeed in a short time in enlarging the 
 circle of their friendly relations, so that, in case of need, 
 they know to whom they can have recourse, and, in any case, 
 with whom they can exchange a little gossip, all the more if 
 among their friends there be some good woman who has a 
 soldier son. Thus, to the sympathy and affection in their 
 hearts for these children is added a feeling of gratitude ; and 
 by means of them their little friends, too, form new friend- 
 ships ; little by little, in such and such a company, in such and 
 such a battalion, there is no unknown or indifferent face, and 
 their affection, the first burst of enthusiasm past, takes deeper 
 and more lasting root. When the regiment goes away. . . . 
 I have experienced it, we seek our mother, go and sit down 
 beside her, and remain there with a serious face in order to 
 be asked some question that will provoke an outburst of our 
 grief. " What is the matter, child ? " And we do not reply. 
 " Don't keep me in suspense ; what has happened to you ? 
 what has occurred ? " Then we throw ourselves into her arms 
 and tell her what it is ; and our mother, quite moved, passes 
 her hand over our forehead, exclaiming as she does so : " Oh, 
 poor boy ! Be comforted, others will come." Then we re- 
 turn comforted to our swords and drums. 
 
 L' O mothers, let your boys come with us ; we will love them 
 like brothers, like sons ; and on leaving us they will return to
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 6$ 
 
 your bosom stronger and more loving, because among soldiers\ 
 one learns to love, and with a depth of affection that softens ' 
 both heart and soul. 
 
 In proof of which I will relate an incident that took place 
 some years ago in a regiment of our army, and which was 
 told me by a friend who played an important part in it. I 
 will try to recall to mind his own words. 
 
 II. 
 
 Upon one of the last evenings of 1866, our division, which 
 in the afternoon had left Battaglia (a large place on the east- 
 ern slopes of the Euganen Hills), entered the city of Padua by 
 the Porta Santa Croce, as they were to pass through it en route 
 to Venice. Although many other corps had passed through the 
 town, and the streets we crossed were farthest from the cen- 
 tre and the least frequented, yet the welcome accorded us by 
 the people was very warm. I, however, only remember it as I 
 would a dream ; I retain a faint recollection of it, as one does 
 of the first conversation with his inamorata, when he trem- 
 bles all over, becomes white in the face, and every thing 
 grows black around him. Yes, in approaching Padua, the 
 first great city in the Venetian district that we reached, my 
 heart beat wildly and my thoughts grew confused. When we 
 entered later, and an immense multitude, breaking out into a 
 loud cry, dashed into our ranks, broke them, surrounded and 
 scattered us in a few moments on every side, so that there was 
 no trace of order in the columns, then my sight as well as my 
 mind became clouded. I remember feeling myself squeezed 
 around the throat and waist several times by two convulsive 
 arms, and tapped on the shoulder and arms by two trembling
 
 66 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 hands ; of feeling myself kissed in the face by burning mouths, 
 with the same fury with which a mother would kiss her son on 
 first seeing him after a long absence ; of having felt the con- 
 tact of many gloves wet with tears ; of having stopped several 
 times to disengage my sword from the hands of some boy who 
 was shaking it violently in order to make me turn around and 
 take notice of his small " evviva " ; then of having walked quite 
 a distance with half a dozen bunches of flowers in my jacket, so 
 that I looked like a country bridegroom ; and, finally, of hear- 
 ing resound about me a continuous and very loud hurrah. . . . 
 But nonsense, they were not hurrahs, but inarticulate cries, 
 broken by sobs, stifled by embraces ; they were groans coming 
 from chests oppressed and exhausted by the depth of joy ; 
 voices with a tone that my ear had never heard before, but 
 which had sounded many times in my mind, when imagining 
 the expression of a joy greater than human strength. The 
 crowd mingled with a dizzy rapidity, and, flowing along, bore 
 the soldiers here and there, always, however, advancing in the 
 direction that the column had taken on its entrance ; and above 
 the heads of the multitude could be seen a great waving of arms, 
 muskets, and banners, and this one and that one rushing vio- 
 lently together and instantly separating, according to the impetu- 
 osity of the embrace and the rapid separation of the civilians 
 and soldiers. The boys seized the soldiers by the hems of 
 their coats or by the sheath of the bayonet, and jealously dis- 
 puted their hands in order to press their lips on them ; and 
 the women, too, young, old, of the people, or of rank, pressed 
 the hands of the soldiers and put flowers in the button-holes 
 of their coats, asking them gently if they had come from far 
 and felt tired. They handed them fruit and cigars, offered
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT, 67 
 
 their table and house, scorning with amiable affectation their 
 refusals, and warmly renewing invitations and prayers. There 
 was not one face in that multitude that was not transfigured by 
 emotion, eyes dilated and flaming, cheeks pale and tear- 
 stained, lips trembling ; and in every attitude, every gesture, 
 every cry, something feverish and convulsive, which stirred yourj 
 blood and made you tremble in every fibre, so much so that 
 you were tempted to reply to the salutations and benedic- 
 tions of those people, and yet could not utter one word. The 
 houses were covered with flags : at every window there was a 
 group of persons, one above the other ; the last erect on 
 chairs with their hands on the shoulders of the foremost, the 
 former so pressed against the sill as to be almost crushed. 
 Some were waving handkerchiefs, others their hands in the 
 way of a greeting, and some throwing down flowers ; all with 
 their necks outstretched and their mouths wide open like lit- 
 tle birds in a nest at the appearance of the mother. Some 
 children held in their mothers' arms waved their wee hands 
 toward us, and uttered a small cry which was lost mid-air in 
 the noise of the crowd. The openings of the streets, the 
 door-ways of the workshops and stores were full of people. I 
 saw many of those good operatives place a cigar in the hands 
 of one of the boys, point out a soldier, and push him to- 
 ward him. I saw some excellent women put their children 
 out to the officers so that they might kiss them, as if that em- 
 brace were a benediction from heaven. I saw tottering old men 
 pressing the heads of the soldiers against their breasts, and hold- 
 ing them fast as if they could never let them go. ... In the 
 midst of so many and such forcible demonstrations of gratitude 
 and affection, the soldiers, poor fellows, were quite stupefied,
 
 68 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 and laughed and cried at once, not being able to find words 
 with which to return thanks, or if they found them they could 
 not utter them, but tried by signs to say : " It is too much, 
 too much ! We do not deserve all this ! Our hearts cannot 
 bear it ! " 
 
 As we approached the gate by which we were to go out, the 
 crowd began to thin and the soldiers fell slowly into line. 
 
 The gate through which we were to pass is called by the 
 people of Padua the Portello. We were accompanied to the 
 limit by many citizens, the majority, gentlemen, mixed with the 
 soldiers, arm in arm with them, and all engaged in a lively, 
 noisy, rapid, and broken conversation ; for after the first out- 
 burst of enthusiasm, which had only found vent in tears and 
 cries, there had followed a great desire for words, a thousand 
 questions and protestations, they interrupting themselves from 
 time to time to look well in each other's faces, with a smile 
 that meant : " Is this really an Italian soldier whom I have 
 on my arm ! " " Are we really here in the midst of the blessed 
 Paduans ! " And here a long pressure of the hand and a re- 
 ciprocal shake of the arm, which signified : " You are here ; 
 I feel you ; I shall not let you escape." In that half hour 
 which was employed in crossing the city, many friendships 
 were made, many promises to write were exchanged, many 
 propositions to meet on the return were made, and meetings 
 arranged and noted down in the pocket-books with names and 
 addresses. " You will write me first ! " "I the first. As soon 
 as we arrive in camp." " You promise me ? " " Yes, I prom- 
 ise you." Then another warm pressure of the hand, another 
 shake of the arm, and the regiment approaches the gate, the 
 dialogues become warmer and noisier, the gestures more ex-
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 69 
 
 cited, and the expression of the faces more animated ; then 
 they repeat the cries and hurrahs which had ceased for a short 
 time, and the soldiers begin to get into disorder again, until 
 on arriving at the gate the greater portion of the crowd stop. 
 There, again, you can imagine a confusion and shouting that 
 is indescribable ; an embracing and kissing ; a loosening of 
 the arms from one in order to throw themselves into the arms 
 of another ; and so on, hurriedly exchanging good wishes, salu- 
 tations, and benedictions. Finally, the regiment was outside 
 of the gate and ranged in marching order, two files to the 
 right and two files to the left of the road. For a short time 
 the soldiers turned now and then toward the gate, where the 
 crowd, still stationary, went on waving handkerchiefs and ut- 
 tering cries of farewell ; but little by little, as it grew dark, 
 the crowd could no longer be seen, the cries ceased, the sol- 
 diers began marching in order, and the officers, who at first 
 had been walking in groups, fell into their proper places. 
 
 We had been on the march for many hours ; before arriv- 
 ing at Padua we were tired and had already begun to move 
 slowly and in disorder ; yet on coming out of the city we 
 marched as if we had just then started from the camp after a 
 long rest. The soldiers walked erect, separate, and quickly ; 
 the lines were closed up, and a chit-chat was heard on every 
 side. There were so many things to be said. 
 
 III. 
 
 Now that night had fallen the lanterns were lighted. The 
 appearance of the light brought me to myself, and showed me 
 that we had not even left Padua ; then looking here and there 
 with dilated eyes, as we do when we wake in the room of a
 
 7O MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 hotel and do not understand for a moment where we are 
 or why we are there, I saw by the light of a lantern two 
 small boys whom the soldiers were leading by the hand. I turned 
 in the opposite direction, and saw another ; looked farther 
 away, and saw two more : in fact, there were any number of 
 i them. They were all led by hand by the soldiers, and were 
 talking in a low voice, hiding themselves as much as possible 
 in the shade, so as not to be seen by the officers, who, per- 
 haps, might send them home, as that was not the hour to leave 
 the city and keep their families in suspense. The majority of 
 the boys, one could see from their clothes, were poor ; but 
 there were not a few who were in comfortable circumstances, as 
 their faces, timid manners, and clean clothing showed. At 
 every ten or twelve paces one stopped, and after shaking hands 
 and exchanging some affectionate salutation, turned back. It is 
 impossible to tell what an amount of sweetness, heartiness, and 
 delicate feeling of sadness lay in those leave-takings. Then, 
 the peculiar accent of the Paduan dialect which lends itself 
 so fully to the expression of warm affection, and the profound 
 emotion, and the night, and the silence that began to spread 
 through the ranks ; in fact, every word of those boys touched 
 me deeply. I shall always remember one of them who, in 
 taking leave and saying good-by to all the soldiers, exclaimed 
 in a sweet, trembling voice, in which one could hear the soul : 
 " God protect you all ! " 
 
 " Thanks, dear boy," I said to myself ; " may God bless 
 you with every good thing, may your mother never die, may 
 you enjoy every day of your life some happiness like that 
 which touches my soul this evening. Farewell, farewell ! " 
 
 Little by little all the boys turned homeward, first the small-
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT, 71 
 
 est and most timid, then the largest ; and over the regiment fell 
 a deep silence, broken only by the sound of weary, dragging 
 steps and the monotonous tic-tac of the points of the bayonets 
 against the ends of the poniards. We began to doze and stag- 
 gered here and there like drunken men who are walking arm in 
 arm, I dozing and staggering more than all the rest. 
 
 Suddenly I felt some one touch my arm ; I turned ; it was a 
 boy. " Who are you ? " I asked, stopping, in a very sleepy 
 voice. He hesitated to reply, because he was dozing too. 
 " Carluccio," he then said, in a low and trembling voice. 
 "Where do you come from?" "From Padua." "Where do 
 want to go ? " " With the soldiers." " With the soldiers ! And 
 do you know where the soldiers are going ? " 
 
 He did not reply ; so I began again : " Return home, go 
 home, you have got too far away. Who knows how anxious 
 your father and mother may be about you at this hour. Take 
 my advice and go home." He neither replied nor moved. 
 "Won't you go back?" "No." "Why not?" He did not 
 answer. "Are you sleepy ? " "A little." ..." Here, give 
 me your hand, then." 
 
 I took him by the hand, rejoined my company, which had 
 got quite a distance ahead, and, thinking that to send him back 
 to his home and make him go all the way alone at night would ex- 
 pose him to some great fright, I decided to take him with me 
 to the station. When we reached the station I knew I could 
 find some means of sending him back. 
 
 " We have a recruit," I said to one of my comrades, as I 
 passed him. He approached me, and after him several others 
 who had heard my words, and while they all were gathering 
 about the boy, and asking me who he was and where I had
 
 72 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 found him, we heard a blast of the trumpet and the regiment 
 stopped. While the ranks broke up and the soldiers threw 
 themselves down, I, dragging behind me the little fugitive, en- 
 tered a field on the right of the road, and the others followed 
 me. About ten paces from the ditch we stopped ; a soldier with 
 a lantern came up ; we gathered around the boy, and throwing 
 the light on to his face, bent down to look at him. He was 
 beautiful, but pale and exhausted, and had in his eyes two 
 beautiful, great dark eyes a very strange expression of sad- 
 ness for a child of his age, as he could not be more than 
 twelve. His old, worn, and ill-fitting garments were a strong 
 contrast to his delicate and gentle appearance. He wore an 
 old straw hat to which a great portion of the brim was lack- 
 ing, a blue handkerchief around his neck, a fustian jacket large 
 enough for a man, a pair of trousers that only reached his 
 ankles, and two old shoes laced with twine. But he was neat 
 and not ragged ; he had his handkerchief knotted with a certain 
 grace ; his hair arranged ; and face, hands, and shirt quite clean. 
 He looked first in the face of one and the other with wide- 
 stretched, motionless eyes. 
 
 "-But don't you know that you are alone ? " I asked. 
 
 He looked at me fixedly without replying. 
 
 " All the other boys have gone back," said one of my friends, 
 " and why did n't you go back with them ? " 
 
 Then another : " What do you wish to do here with us ? 
 Where do you wish to go ? " 
 
 He looked first at one and then at the other, with his eyes 
 always wide-stretched ; then dropped them and was silent. 
 
 " Speak up, now ; say something," said one of us, shaking 
 him lightly by the shoulder ; " have you lost your tongue ? "
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 73 
 
 But he never opened his mouth, and kept his eyes fastened 
 on the ground, so obstinate and immovable that it was really 
 provoking. I made another attempt : I took his chin between 
 my forefinger and thumb, and, raising his head gently, asked : 
 
 " What will your mother say when she sees that you do not 
 return ? " 
 
 He raised his eyes and looked at me, no longer with that 
 astonished, almost stupid expression that he had worn before, 
 but with brows knitted and his mouth open, as if only at this 
 point he had begun to understand our words, and were waiting 
 for us to interrogate him and make him tell what he had not 
 had the courage to say. 
 
 " Why did you run away from home ? " 
 
 He was silent a moment after that question, and then burst 
 out crying, and between his sobs he murmured : 
 
 " They beat me ! " 
 
 " Oh, poor boy ! " we all exclaimed, putting our hands on his 
 head and shoulders, and patting his cheeks and chin. " And 
 who is it that beats you ? " 
 
 "My mother." 
 
 " Your mother ? " we all asked at once, with astonishment 
 " How 's that ? " 
 
 " But she is not my own mother." Here the poor boy, 
 after being urged, told us that his father had been dead for 
 some time ; that he had no one left but his step-mother, who 
 only loved her own children and could not bear him ; and that 
 as he had been suffering for some time, he had run away from 
 home with us. He had not finished speaking, when we began 
 to pet and comfort him. " You shall come with us, good boy ; 
 don't worry about any thing. You will have as many fathers
 
 74 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 as there are officers, and as many brothers as there are soldiers. 
 Don't be anxious." Then wishing to quiet him and make him 
 smile, I said : " And if any one asks you whose son you are and 
 where you have come from, you must answer that you are the son 
 of the regiment, and that we found you in the folds of our 
 flag ; do you understand ? " 
 
 He smiled slightly, and made a sign in the affirmative. 
 
 " And meanwhile," I continued, " as soon as we start, you 
 shall come with me or with some one of us, and keep beside us, 
 and walk as long as your legs will permit ; then when you are 
 tired, you are to say so, do you understand ? and we will put 
 you in a wagon." 
 
 Poor Carluccio, who could not comprehend so many demon- 
 strations of kindness and feared he was dreaming, made a sign 
 in the affirmative by bowing and raising his head and looking 
 at us with his eyes full of surprise. 
 
 " How do you feel now ? Are you tired ? Are you thirsty ? Do 
 you want something to eat ? Do you wish a little coffee, or a 
 little rosolio ? " 
 
 " No, thank you, I am not thirsty"; and he tried to push 
 back the flask of rosolio which an officer held out to him. 
 
 " Drink, drink, it will do you good and make you strong ; 
 drink." 
 
 " Do you want something to eat ? There is nothing but 
 bread just now. Oh ! lantern there, give us a piece of bread ! " 
 
 The soldier holding the lantern drew quickly from his pocket 
 a bit of bread and handed it to him. 
 
 " No, thank you, I am not hungry." 
 
 " Eat, eat ; you have been walking for a long time, and 
 ought to refresh your stomach."
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. ?$ 
 
 He hesitated a moment, then seized the bread with both 
 hands, and bit into it with the avidity of a hungry animal. 
 
 At that moment we heard the sound of the trumpet, and 
 put ourselves en route. After a little more than a half hour 
 Carluccio was overcome with sleep. I took him by the hand 
 and led him to the rear of the column, where, after exchang- 
 ing a few words with the commissary, I had him placed in the 
 wagon, while he kept saying : " I am not really sleepy. . . . 
 I am not really sleepy." And off he dropped into a sound 
 slumber, murmuring that he did not need any sleep, and that 
 he wished to march. An hour afterward the regiment stopped 
 again for some moments. Hardly had the trumpet sounded, 
 when the soldiers of the last company, who had seen me take 
 Carluccio to the commissary, ran and gathered about the 
 wagon. One of them took the lantern from his musket and 
 put it at the boy's face, then they all bent over to look at him. 
 He continued to sleep peacefully, his head resting on a bag of 
 bread, and his eyes still red, and his cheeks wet with tears. 
 " What a beautiful little rascal ! " said a soldier, sotto voce. 
 " How well he is sleeping ! " murmured another. A third 
 stretched out his hand and pinched his cheek with two of 
 his fingers. " Down with that hand ! " shouted the corporal, 
 and all the others cried out : " Leave him alone ! Let him 
 sleep ! " Carluccio waked at that moment, and seeing himself 
 surrounded by the soldiers, was a trifle frightened, but was 
 instantly reassured and smiled. 
 
 "Whose son are you ? " asked one of the soldiers. 
 
 Carluccio hesitated for a moment and then, remembering 
 my advice, he replied seriously : " I am the son of the regi- 
 ment."
 
 76 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 All the soldiers began to laugh. " Who brought you to us ? 
 Where did they find you ? " 
 
 The boy replied with the greatest gravity : " They found me 
 in the folds of the flag ! " 
 
 The soldiers burst out laughing again. " Your hand here, 
 comrade ! " shouted the corporal, extending his hand. Car- 
 luccio put out his and clasped it. " Give it to me too," 
 said another soldier, and Carluccio pressed his also. Then 
 every one followed suit, and the boy shook hands with them 
 all. The last one said aloud : " We are firm friends, are we 
 not, child ? " and he replied : " Yes, firm friends." At that 
 moment the trumpet sounded, and the soldiers moved off laugh- 
 ing, and I, appearing suddenly before Carluccio, asked him : 
 "Well, what have you to tell me ?" He looked at me, and 
 replied smilingly, in a tone of perfect content : " The soldiers 
 
 like me." 
 
 IV. 
 
 We arrived in camp about midnight ; I do not remember 
 how many miles we made from Padua up, nor at what point 
 we pitched the tents. There must have been some village 
 near the camp ; but there was not the top of a steeple to be 
 seen in any direction. The sky, which had been dark and 
 cloudy so that we could not see the stars, had become clear. The 
 field where the regiment was to encamp was all lighted by the 
 moon, and surrounded by great thick trees, which cast a dense 
 shade all around. It was a spot full of dark, gloomy beauty, 
 and in it reigned a profound quiet ; so struck were we by it, 
 that we all entered the camp without speaking, and drew 
 up in line in silence, looking with amazement here and there, 
 as if we were in an enchanted garden.
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. fj 
 
 In a short time the camp was in order, the wagons were 
 taken to their places, the sentinels given their posts ; the 
 companies were re-arranged without arms, among their own 
 tents ; and the sixteen orderly-sergeants began the roll 
 call, each one standing in front of his company, with the 
 officers on one side, and a soldier with a lantern on the 
 other to light up the record book. Meanwhile Carluccio, 
 led back to me by the commissary, had run to hide him- 
 self between two tents, and stood there frightened and as- 
 tonished, contemplating the beautiful spectacle of the camp 
 lighted up by the moon. That multitude of tents gleaming 
 in long rows until they were lost to sight among the trees ; 
 those five hundred stacks of glistening bayonets; all those 
 people ; and the intense quiet, the monotonous voices of the 
 orderly-sergeants growing gradually fainter, from the com- 
 pany near by to the one farthest away, where the lantern 
 hardly appeared as large as a fire-fly ; and then the gradual 
 cessation of those voices, and the mysterious silence ; and, 
 at a stroke of the drum, the sudden breaking up of the 
 lines and the noisy scattering ; and under the tents, in the 
 darkness, that confused shouting and hurried preparation of 
 the beds with cloaks, covers, and knapsacks, until little by 
 little, throughout that immense camp quiet is re-established, 
 and an unseen bugle imposes silence with its lamenting 
 blasts . . . it is a spectacle that moves one. And it would 
 have been much more impressive if any one could have seen 
 inside those tents. How many tapers were secretly lighted 
 between two knapsacks, beside a piece of crushed letter-paper, 
 before a face in which appear from time to time the fatigue of 
 the long march and the fear of the officer of the guard
 
 78 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 God forbid that he should notice the light and the painful 
 struggle between the affection which breaks out impatiently 
 and the word that one cannot express ! That is the place 
 and the hour for melancholy recollections. There, under 
 those tents, when silence reigns all around, there the images 
 of distant relations and friends from home crowd in, images 
 so life-like and speaking ; and dear, above all others, are 
 those of the mothers who come to arrange the knapsack un- 
 der their sons' heads praying down in their hearts : " God 
 grant that this be not his last sleep ! " Who has not shed 
 tears at night under the tent in that hour? 
 
 When all the regiment had gone to sleep, I called Car- 
 luccio, and took him under the officers' tent of my company, 
 where the other two subaltern officers had preceded me (the 
 captain was ill), two of those young fellows, full of heart, 
 who under the appearance of an ordinary and gentle char- 
 acter hide a soul capable of great things ; two of those brave 
 soldiers who, unknown or undistinguished among the many in 
 the ordinary course of life, suddenly spring up giant-like on 
 the field of battle, show themselves heroes, and make peo- 
 ple say : " Who would ever have thought it ! " ; young men 
 who love a soldier's life for this reason, that when occasion 
 demands it they can sacrifice it to a good end. 
 
 The tent was lighted by a candle stuck in the ground, 
 and my two friends were seated one here and one there, 
 with their legs crossed over a stratum of straw that our or- 
 derlies had hurriedly gathered, during a scamper, from the 
 field. Hardly had we entered when we too sat down and 
 began to chat. 
 
 Carluccio kept his eyes down, and scarcely dared raise them
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 79 
 
 to our faces for a moment when he was questioned. His eyes 
 were still swollen and red from his severe fit of weeping ; his 
 voice trembled ; and he did not know how to move or where to 
 hold his hands, so embarrassed and confused was he. By dint 
 of questioning him and urging him to talk, we succeeded in 
 loosening his tongue and drawing from him some more par- 
 ticulars about his family. Then little by little he took courage 
 and warmed in his narration, comforted by the signs of assent, 
 and compassion that we constantly gave to his words. 
 
 " She is not my true mother," he said; "that is why she 
 does not love me. The other was my true mother, and is dead, 
 but she loved me very much ; the one I have now ... is 
 the same as if I were not in the house ; she gives me food to 
 eat and a place to sleep, but never looks at me as if I had 
 done something wrong ; and I don't do any one any harm ; 
 every one can say that. . . . The neighbors in the house 
 all like me better than she. . . . The other two boys are 
 smaller than I, and there is no danger of her making them 
 cry ! Then she never took me to walk with the other two. 
 They are always well dressed, while I seem like a beggar. 
 
 . . . Sometimes she left me shut up in the house, all 
 alone, those Sunday evenings when you . see so many people 
 pass in the street, and I stayed at the window waiting for 
 them to return, but they never came back, and I used to go 
 to sleep with my head on the window. Then when they did 
 return she scolded me ; I had been shut up alone in the 
 house, and they had gone to the theatre or cafe, and the 
 other two boys came and whispered in my ear : ' We went, 
 and you did not ' ; then they made gestures to provoke me, 
 and if I cried, they laughed at me, and mother never said
 
 80 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 any thing. These things made me unhappy, because I had 
 never done any thing to them, and every time either of them 
 teased me, and I wanted to do something, I always controlled 
 myself and had patience. There were times when they had 
 finished eating, that mother made me carry away the dishes, 
 and while I carried them the boys said : ' Scullion ! ' Oh, 
 heavens ! if they had given me a blow on the head I should 
 not have felt it as much as I did those words. . . . Once, 
 the evening of a fete day, she returned home late, and her face 
 was all red, her eyes shining ; she talked and laughed loudly with 
 the other. two, and they all began supper, and mother drank an 
 entire bottle of wine. After they had finished she called me, 
 put all the dishes in my hands, and said : ' Here, carry these 
 away ; that 's your duty ' ; she gave me a kick, and all three 
 began to laugh. I said nothing ; but when I was in the kitchen 
 I put down the dishes, threw myself on a chair, and began weep- 
 ing bitterly in the dark until they went to bed. If it had not 
 been for Giovannina, a young dressmaker who lived near us 
 arid was kind to me, I should have always been entirely in 
 rags. ..." 
 
 I then asked how he came to think of running away. 
 
 "At the beginning," he replied, " I wanted to go off with a 
 company of jugglers, those who play tricks, and when they find 
 boys whom no one wants, they take them with them ; but then I 
 was told that there were tricks for which, if they wished to be- 
 come jugglers, they must have their bones dislocated at the shoul- 
 ders, and this must be done when they are small, so as I was 
 big, I did not run away. Mother continued to ill-treat me, 
 and gave me little to eat. But one fine day the Italian soldiers 
 began to pass, and all the people welcomed them warmly, and
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 8 1 
 
 the boys accompanied them outside the city, and there were 
 some who went many miles with them. In fact, I heard that 
 two or three had run away from home, and then came back 
 saying they had eaten the soldiers' bread and slept under 
 their tents. I instantly thought I would run away. I tried 
 two or three times ; but when it began to grow dark, I got 
 frightened and went home. But yesterday morning my mother 
 beat me with a stick and hurt me very much ; here are the 
 marks on my hands, and then she struck me in the face, and all 
 because I had said : ' May you burst ! ' to one of the boys who 
 was making fun of my boots, saying they looked like boats. 
 They did not even give me a piece of bread, and then in the 
 evening they left me alone in the house. I stood at the win- 
 dow with tears in my eyes, and was really desperate, when 
 suddenly I heard the band play ; I instantly left the house, 
 and as soon as I saw that they were the soldiers of the king 
 who has come to liberate us, I threw myself into their midst, 
 and I have not left them. . . . Then you spoke to me (and 
 he looked at me). Then they told me not to be afraid ; they 
 gave me something to eat I was so hungry ! and told me 
 they would keep me with them. . . . But I don't wish to 
 stay here and eat my bread like a beggar. I want to work. 
 . . . I will brush your clothes (and he touched my jacket). 
 I will bring water to drink and get straw for the officers to 
 sleep on. . . ." 
 
 At this point one of my friends cut him short by taking his 
 head between his two hands, and pressing it to his breast with 
 all the pity and love of a father.
 
 82 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 V. 
 
 Toward daybreak, before the bugle sounded the reveille, we 
 were waked by the sound of a heavy rain and a violent clap of 
 thunder. I was the first to put my head out of the tent. Not 
 a soul was to be seen in the camp, except the sentinels ; but 
 almost all the soldiers were awake. In fact, at every flash 
 there came from all sides of the encampment a sharp b-r-r-r, 
 such as the puppet-man makes to announce the appearance or 
 disappearance of the devil ; and at every clap of thunder there 
 was a noisy and prolonged shout in imitation of the burst. A 
 short time thereafter the reveille was sounded, and the captain 
 of the guard called the officer of the week to announce that we 
 were to continue our march in three hours. The announce- 
 ment set me instantly thinking of Carluccio. I had not yet 
 asked myself what was to become of the boy in the end. The 
 son of the regiment ! Beautiful words, quickly said ; but had 
 we the right to keep him from home ? Who would shoulder 
 this responsibility ? I spoke of this to my friends, and they 
 all agreed that it was necessary to provide for the return of 
 Carluccio, by writing to the Syndic of Padua and having re- 
 course to the authorities of the neighboring village. It was a 
 most displeasing decision, but there was nothing else to be 
 done. The duty of writing to Padua I assumed myself, and I 
 did so ; but the other duty of taking Carluccio to the village and 
 giving him into the care of the authorities I would not under- 
 take. f< Let the others think of that," I said to myself. " I 
 have done my part," and I begged one of my friends to assume 
 the rest of the responsibility "What have I to do with it?" 
 one after the other replied. " And I ? " I asked in my turn.
 
 THE SO.V OF THE REGIMENT. 83 
 
 " Well, neither of us have any thing to do with it," and the 
 dialogue ended thus. I returned to the tent quite annoyed, 
 called Carluccio, and said to him : 
 
 "You must come as far as the village with me, it is only a 
 few steps away." 
 
 A suspicion crossed his mind ; he became serious and looked 
 fixedly at me. I had not known how to dissimulate my de- 
 sign by voice or face ; I turned the other way, and pretended to 
 look for something in my travelling-case. 
 
 11 You want to send me home ! " he cried suddenly ; then 
 broke out into a violent fit of weeping, threw himself on his 
 knees at my feet, and now clasping his hands, now seizing my 
 jacket, began to say, with all his strength : " Oh, no no, Mr. 
 Officer, don't send me home, for pity sake, for pity sake. I 
 cannot go home, I would rather die first ; keep me here, to do 
 any thing you wish. I '11 do every thing, and look after my 
 own food. . . . For mercy sake, Mr. Officer, don't make 
 me go home ! " 
 
 I felt my heart breaking. I controlled myself for a moment, 
 and then said : " No, don't worry, Carluccio ; don't cry or be 
 afraid. We won't send you home ; you shall always stay with us. 
 We will always love you. ... I promise you that, rest as- 
 sured of it ; dry your eyes and we won't say any thing more 
 about it." 
 
 Then Carluccio grew quiet. 
 
 " I was not born for great undertakings," I said to myself as I 
 left the tent ; " there is nothing else to do but wait for the reply 
 from Padua and then . . . then we will see what is to 
 be done."
 
 84 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Two days later we encamped in the neighborhood of Mestre, 
 where we remained for nearly a month, until the termination of 
 the last armistice, that is to say, until we returned back toward 
 Ferrara. 
 
 No reply came at any time from Padua, and Carluccio re- 
 mained on with the regiment. 
 
 From the very first day we thought of renewing his ward- 
 robe, because his clothes, already worn out, had been so spoiled 
 during the first march that they were literally falling in pieces. 
 We gave him a straw hat, a jacket, a pair of linen trousers, a 
 beautiful red cravat, and two little shoes that fitted his small 
 feet. Oh, how contented the poor boy was ! When we pre- 
 sented him with all these things, he did not seem able to be- 
 lieve his eyes ; he turned red, twisted his head the other way, 
 almost fancied they were playing a joke on him, tried to push 
 back the unhoped-for gift with his elbows several times, and 
 kept his chin down on his breast. But when he saw that we 
 began to grow angry at his obstinate incredulity, and pretended 
 to move off, saying : " We '11 dress another boy," he took a 
 step toward us, made a motion with his hand for us to stop, 
 and exclaimed in a tear-choked voice : " No ! no ! " but he was 
 instantly ashamed of that prayer, bowed his head again, and 
 stood motionless with his eyes lowered and full of tears. When 
 he had his clothes on, he was so much embarrassed that he did 
 not know how to walk, act, or speak. 
 
 " Cospetto, Carluccio ! " the soldiers said to him as they 
 made way for him to pass furtively into their midst : " cos- 
 Petto \ what luxury ! " and he blushed and ran away.
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 8$ 
 
 But at the end of little more than a week he became as quick 
 and full of life as a drummer ; he was the friend of all the sol- 
 diers in our company, of a great portion of the soldiers in the 
 others, and of all the officers in the regiment. Then he began 
 to lead a life both busy and useful to himself and others. He 
 slept in our tent. In the morning at the first roll of the drum 
 he was on his feet and disappeared. We were not well awake 
 when he had returned from the kitchen of our battalion with 
 coffee, rum, or rosolio, and "Mr. Officer," he said in a respect- 
 ful voice, " it is time . . ." "Time for what ? " we mut- 
 tered in a sharp, rough voice, rubbing our eyes. " Time for 
 you to get up." " Ah ! it 's you, is it, Carluccio ? Give your 
 hand," and we gave him a squeeze of the hand that put him in 
 good-humor for the rest of the day. 
 
 He disputed the work with our orderlies ; wished to brush 
 our clothes ; polish our buttons, swords, and boots ; wash shirts 
 and handkerchiefs ; he wished to do every thing himself, and 
 he humbly begged first one soldier and then the other to give 
 him something to do, that he would do it so gladly, and try 
 his utmost to do it well, and that it was necessary for him to 
 learn it at any cost. Sometimes we were obliged to take things 
 out of his hands, and say to him with some severity : " Do 
 what I tell you to do, and nothing more." And really we 
 were forced to be very severe, because we could not allow him 
 to play the servant to us. Why, poor boy ? Had we brought 
 him with us for this sole purpose ? He was afraid that gradu- 
 ally we should grow tired of him, although we did nothing but 
 overwhelm him with caresses, and surround him with care and 
 courtesy. It seemed to him that if he did not work we should 
 think him a useless appendage in the end, and for this reason
 
 86 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 he tried to show us that he was good for something, or that, if 
 for nothing else, good-will was not lacking on his part. He 
 was even assailed and worried by the fear that he should seem 
 to us importunate. From time to time, while eating with us, 
 seated on the ground around a tablecloth stretched on the 
 grass, becoming suddenly aware that he was being watched, 
 he was ashamed to eat, turned scarlet, dropped his eyes, took 
 small mouthfuls, and if we did not fill his glass he would not 
 dare do it, remaining with his mouth quite dry during the en- 
 tire meal. Sometimes, in the tent, while we were dropping 
 asleep, he would suddenly be ashamed that he occupied so 
 much space, and would sit up and spread the straw here and 
 there toward our places, reserving only a small portion for him- 
 self, then lie down all curled up in a bunch against the linen of 
 the tent, at the risk of catching some severe cold on account 
 of the draught. Not one of his acts escaped me, not one of 
 his thoughts either, and I always tried to dispel his shame, 
 either by addressing him gaily : " Well, Carluccio ? " or by 
 pinching his cheeks in a way that signifies : " Have no fear, I 
 am protecting you," and he instantly became reassured. Oh, 
 what a tender pity his delicate sense of shame aroused within 
 me ! " Poor Carluccio," I thought, when, the light still burn- 
 ing in the tent, I saw him quietly sleeping, all wrapped up in 
 my cloak, and his face half-hidden under a soldier's cap ; 
 "poor Carluccio ! why have you no longer a mother? You. 
 thought yourself alone on earth, and did not imagine that any 
 one could care for you ! No, Carluccio, for boys without 
 father and mother there are the soldiers ; they have only a 
 piece of bread in their pockets ; but as an offset they have 
 plenty of affection in their hearts, and dispense both freely to
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 87 
 
 any one in need. Sleep quietly, Carluccio, and dream of your 
 mother ; be assured that she is looking down upon you, and is 
 content that you are among us, because she knows that under 
 our rough cloaks beat hearts that resemble her own." 
 
 He was always busy during the day. He went out of the 
 camp to fetch water for the soldiers when they were prohibited 
 from leaving ; and one could see him moving around among 
 the tents laden with flasks and bowls, quite red in the face 
 and dripping with perspiration, accompanied by a crowd of 
 thirsty men who pressed around him, importuning him in 
 this wise : " Carluccio, my canteen " ; " my flask, Carluccio !" 
 " I want mine first " ; " no, mine " ; "I gave you mine before 
 he did," etc., etc. And making signs for them to keep quiet, 
 or pushing them back : " One at a time, like good fellows." 
 " Be kind enough to move off a little, and let me breathe." Then 
 he would wipe his brow and take breath, for he was really so ex- 
 hausted that he could do nothing more. From time to time 
 some soldier hunted him up to have a letter written home, or 
 to have him read and explain one received. He always did this 
 favor with much gravity. He would be quite pensive for a 
 moment, and then say, gravely : " Let us see." They seated 
 themselves in the tent, and with the forefinger stretched toward 
 the sheet already written, or to be written ; finally, Carluccio, 
 turning up his jacket sleeves, knitting his brows, would set to 
 work, pursing up his lips, and uttering an inarticulate sound that 
 signified : " It is a serious affair, but I will do what I can." 
 
 He would assist first one and then the other in arranging 
 the tents, and he had such taste in drawing the cords and 
 fastening the poles in the ground that one would have fancied 
 he had done nothing else all his life.
 
 88 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 When the men were drilling he would withdraw to a corner 
 of the camp, and from thence would watch in ecstacy all the 
 time the drill lasted. When all the regiment was drawn up 
 and handling their arms, the poor boy was greatly excited. 
 That striking on the ground of one thousand five hundred 
 muskets, in one blow, like a single musket ; that long and sharp 
 rattle of the thousand five hundred fixed bayonets, removed, 
 replaced, and sheathed in a moment ; that powerful tone of 
 command, and the profound silence of the lines, and all those 
 faces motionless and intent as statues ; the sight of those new 
 things fired his enthusiasm, filled him with restlessness, a desire 
 to shout, run, and jump ; but he never did this until after the 
 regiment had broken ranks, out of respect for it. At first 
 he contented himself with assuming heroic attitudes, and look- 
 ing at us with his head raised and a proud glance, without 
 being aware of it ; reproducing unconsciously the emotions 
 of his soul, like some one who, in relating us a story, so im- 
 presses us that we show by the movements of our intent faces 
 the sense and effect of his words. 
 
 When he heard the band he seemed quite crazy. The even- 
 ings when some one of us had to go to the outposts he was 
 less gay than usual. " Good-night, Mr. Officer ! " he would 
 say, with a long look, when we left, and outside the tent he 
 would watch us until we were lost to sight. 
 
 He had this gentle, affectionate way with all, officers and 
 soldiers ; and thus all loved him. When he passed among the 
 tents of any company, he was called on all sides ; arms were 
 stretched out to detain him ; there was a jumping up and run- 
 ning after him by soldiers with letters in their hands : " Car- 
 luccio, a moment, a word, only a word." He gave the officers
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 89 
 
 the military salute, and with an expression of more or less re- 
 spect, according to their grade, which he had learned to dis- 
 tinguish from the very first day. He held the colonel in great 
 fear. When he saw him in the distance he took to his heels or 
 hid behind a tent ; and even he himself could give no reason 
 for this. But one day, while he was standing chatting with 
 two or three soldiers near the tent of an adjutant, be- 
 hold the colonel suddenly appeared. He trembled from head 
 to foot ; there was no time to hide himself ; he was obliged to 
 look at and salute him ; he raised his eyes timidly, and put his 
 hand to his hat. The colonel looked at him, placed his hand 
 under his chin, and said : " Good-by, my good boy." Car- 
 luccio went nearly crazy ; flew instantly to us, and breathless 
 and stammering related this great adventure. 
 
 A strange thing in a boy of his age was that he never took 
 advantage in the slightest degree of the familiarity with which 
 we treated him. He was always docile, humble, and respect- 
 ful, as on the first day when we picked him up on the road. Of 
 that fortunate day he spoke often, and always with tears in his 
 eyes. He had his melancholy hours, too, especially on rainy 
 days, when all the soldiers were gathered under the tents, and 
 the camp was as silent as a desert. At those times he seated 
 himself under the tent with his face toward the open- 
 ing, and his eyes fastened motionless on the ground 
 as if he were counting the drops that fell inside. " Car- 
 luccio, of what are you thinking?" I asked. "I? Nothing." 
 " That is not true," I said. " Come here, poor Carluccio, 
 come here beside me ; I am only one of the many who are 
 fond of you ; but I love you for them all. Come and sit here 
 and we will talk together, and away with all melancholy." He
 
 QO MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 began to cry. Yet they were attacks of melancholy that van- 
 ished quickly. 
 
 VII. 
 
 In a corner of the camp there were two small houses, inhab- 
 ited by an excellent family of peasants, in which were estab- 
 lished the general quarters of the kitchens of all the officers of 
 the four battalions. Fancy the confusion ! There were six or 
 eight soldiers, between cooks and scullions, for every kitchen ; 
 and consequently a continual squabbling between the former 
 who did not know how to* do any thing and wished to teach 
 each other how to do every thing ; a continuous conflict be- 
 tween the others who were vying with each other in order to 
 become cooks ; an incessant coming and going of orderlies 
 to carry the dinner to the officers on the outposts ; and peasants, 
 vendors, and stupefied gamins of the neighborhood. 
 
 In one of the empty rooms of one of those houses Carluccio 
 was placed when seized by the fever, which had raged for 
 many days in the regiment to such a degree, that every day 
 from three to five and seven soldiers were taken down in every 
 company. Carluccio had it so badly that it was feared he 
 would die. The surgeon of the regiment took care of him, and 
 all the rest of us lent our assistance. 
 
 Between the curtains and door of his room was a constant 
 coming and going of soldiers. They entered on tiptoe ; ap- 
 proached his bed quite slowly ; looked into his eyes, which he 
 moved slowly around and half closed, or kept motionless for a 
 long time on the face of the persons without giving sign of rec- 
 ognition. They called him by name, placed their hands on 
 his forehead, made signs to one another in order to express
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 1 
 
 their opinion on the subject of the little invalid ; then went off 
 in silence, stopped in the door-way to look back again, and 
 went out shaking their heads as if to say : " Poor creature ! " 
 
 " Carluccio, how are you ? " I asked one day when he began 
 to improve. 
 
 " I am sorry . . ." he replied, but he left his reply un- 
 finished. 
 
 " What are you sorry about ? " 
 
 " I cannot ..." 
 
 "What can't you do?" 
 
 " Do something," and he lowered his eyes and looked at my 
 shoes and trousers, and added : " The others do every thing 
 
 M 
 
 He wished to say that the orderlies cleaned all our clothes 
 alone, without his being able to help them. 
 
 " And I am here," he said, in a voice full of tears ; 
 " I am here and do nothing am a burden I wish 
 ." Then he made an effort to sit up, but did not suc- 
 ceed, and his head sank back on his pillow, and he began to 
 cry, murmuring : " If I could only black yours . . . but I 
 cannot. It would really be better if I were dead." And it 
 took all our efforts to comfort him. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Several of us officers used to gather at evening, seating our- 
 selves near Carluccio's bed, and we chatted on sometimes un- 
 til midnight. There often came to us the communal counsellor 
 of a neighboring village, and the owner of the land which our 
 regiment was occupying. They were two little men of middle 
 age, very jovial, very corpulent, and very passionate, be it un-
 
 Q2 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 derstood, about the Italian cause, and quite anxious to make 
 friends with the "brave " officers of the Italian army, excellent 
 sort of people, whose goodness of heart showed in their faces, 
 and who every day, before taking leave, never neglected to re- 
 peat most emphatically that with soldiers like ours the fortress 
 of Malghera could be taken with an assault of bayonets. 
 " But believe us," we said, " the thing is not as easy as it 
 seems to you ! " " Oh," they replied, smiling with much dig- 
 nity, " the dash of the Italian soldjer . . ." And they fin- 
 ished the phrase with a gesture which signified : they could 
 perform many other miracles. 
 
 The conversation ended unfortunately by always falling upon 
 the battle of Custoza, regarding which these two gentlemen had 
 a most pitiless amount of curiosity. 
 
 " When you think of it, a retreat must be a very sad sight ! " 
 the counsellor was wont to remark, in a melancholy tone. 
 
 "Listen," my good friend Albert replied to him one evening 
 (this Albert was one of the most impetuous and dramatic talk- 
 ers in the regiment); "it is a trial in comparison with which the 
 loss of our fondest hopes and the greatest disappointments of 
 our life are as nothing, and this is the sorrow that filled our 
 souls that evening. ... In the morning we were happy, 
 wild with joy, filled with an enthusiasm that brought tears to 
 our eyes and made us break out into the maddest shouts, so 
 impatient were we for the battle, so sure of conquering; 
 and a few hours later behold the army so full of youth, life, 
 and daring, that army idolized by the country, the fruit of so 
 many sacrifices, the object of so much care, the subject of so 
 much trepidation and so many hopes ; a few hours later, con- 
 quered, disordered, and wandering over the country like a dis-
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 93 
 
 banded herd ! Ah, it is a spectacle that rends the soul, and 
 which no words can describe ! ' Who will give us back the 
 hearts we had in the morning ? ' one of us asked ; ' our pride, 
 faith, strength ? Who will call back to our eyes those tears of 
 enthusiasm ? Who will raise the edifice on these ruins ? And 
 what will the country say?' Heavenly Father, the country ! 
 The mere thought fled back astonished ; we seemed to hear 
 once more the cries and applause with which the population of 
 the cities had accompanied us to the gates, that applause which 
 went to our hearts and filled them completely. ' Oh, be si- 
 lent ! ' we said to ourselves ; ' we are soldiers, and our poor 
 hearts are breaking.' " 
 
 There followed a moment's silence. 
 
 " What a rout there must have been that evening ! " said the 
 counsellor. 
 
 "And your division?" asked the owner of the house with 
 much sweetness ; "about what time did you begin to re- 
 treat ? " 
 
 The tone in which the question was asked expressed the 
 strong desire to know how things really went, and not as they 
 were reported to have done by people and newspapers. The 
 officer understood, and replied : 
 
 " As far as I can remember, my division began to retire from 
 the field shortly after sunset. The different corps arrived at 
 quick step from the different parts of the country at the road 
 leading to Villefranche ; here the ranks were broken, the regi- 
 ments mingled, every appearance of order was lost, and a tu- 
 multuous crowd rushed into the city, spreading rapidly through 
 the principal streets, squares, alleys, and court-yards of the 
 houses. Burning with thirst, a great portion of the soldiers
 
 94 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 rushed at the wells with tremendous avidity and a cry of sav- 
 age joy that was absolutely startling. Ten, twenty, thirty, the 
 first on their faces, the others with their chests on the backs of 
 the first, hung over the mouth of a well, their feet in the air, at 
 the risk of falling headlong into the water, and disputed with 
 trembling hands the rope, the bucket, the pole, pushing each 
 other back with their elbows and by shoves and kicks, threaten- 
 ing to use their bayonets, and shrieking oaths and imprecations 
 into each other's ears ; until the bucket, drawn up by ten vigor- 
 ous arms, came in sight. Then the cries ; blows were re- 
 doubled, all the arms were bent downward to seize it first ; 
 when it appeared, twenty arms caught hold of it, ten burning 
 mouths were nailed to its edges, drawn here and there, the 
 water spilled over their faces, clothes, and the ground. . . . 
 Who has drunk ? No one ; and so it was everywhere. The 
 majority of the soldiers had scattered over the country ; some 
 battalions, but half comprehending the orders received, had 
 not even entered Villefranche, and had taken the road in the 
 direction of Goito by paths through the fields ; so that only 
 the nucleus of the different corps remained, one may say the 
 colonel, flag-bearer, the majority of the officers, and a few sol- 
 diery ; not one of the band. The crowd which filled the street 
 uttered deafening shouts ; there was a calling in a loud voice, 
 a breaking through the crowd by means of pushes, a running 
 hither and thither of officers to seize soldiers by the arm and try 
 and collect them around the flag, a coming and going of aides- 
 de-camp and couriers on horseback ; in the middle of the 
 square a hurried grouping of colonels and staff-officers, an 
 anxious questioning, a giving and revoking of orders ; all pant- 
 ing, and their faces flaming, wearied, contorted, and full of
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 95 
 
 consternation. Finally, as good fortune willed it, followed by 
 about thirty soldiers, who had to file one by one among a row 
 of carts and the last houses of the place, I got out into the 
 open country, on the road leading to Goito. I found my bat- 
 talion again, reduced to a little more than two hundred sol- 
 diers, and with these I resumed my march. Little by little it 
 grew very dark ; we could not see before or around us ; half of 
 the road was filled with artillery and provender wagons, which 
 stopped every now and then, so that it was all one could do to 
 avoid breaking his head against points of the bars, and to keep 
 his feet from under the wheels. There were ditches on the 
 right and the left of the road ; mile-stones and heaps of stones 
 at every step ; from time to time carts overturned in the mid- 
 dle of the road, bags opened, and every kind of provision 
 spread about ; within short distances of each other the commis- 
 sary cart at a standstill, on it a small light, and around it a 
 crowd of soldiers who blocked the way of the persons coming 
 up. From time to time there was some major or staff-officer 
 who came upon us when we least expected it, and ill-luck to 
 him who was not quick in getting out of the way. On all sides 
 ^iere were groups of soldiers who obliged the others to walk 
 zigzag ; at every moment gunstocks which came within an ace 
 of putting out our eyes, and great knocks from those who had 
 fallen asleep. There was a dense and continuous cloud of 
 dust, which filled our eyes and mouths ; a continuous shouting 
 of artillerymen against the civilian wagoners, who, quite dazed 
 in the midst of that confusion, unluckily rilled up the road ; an 
 angry screaming of the officers, who were trying in vain to get 
 together the remains of their own squads ; soldiers who con- 
 tinually crossed from the fields to the road and from the road to
 
 96 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 the fields, falling and rolling down the banks of the ditches ; in 
 fact, a confusion, a racket, a tumult that is indescribable ; it was, 
 in fact, an infernal night. Ah ! a retreat is indeed a sad, sad 
 sight ! 
 
 " The exertions of the day and, more than all, the violent 
 emotions which we had experienced in so short a time, had 
 completely exhausted me. I was dead tired ; I caught sight 
 of an artillery wagon where there was an empty place ; I took 
 advantage of the moment when it stopped, jumped up oh to it; 
 the men made room for me ; I seated myself, leaned over, and 
 went to sleep. When I opened my eyes the day was beginning 
 to break. We were within a few steps of the bridge of Goito. 
 It rained ; I touched my clothes, and they were wet. I looked 
 up ; the sky was covered by a great dark, massive cloud that 
 promised rain for the entire day. I looked around through 
 the fields ; there were quantities of soldiers walking slowly 
 along, with their heads lowered and their eyes on the ground. 
 Many of them had taken the linen of the tents and had put 
 it over their shoulders like a shawl, to protect themselves 
 from the water ; many others who had lost their knapsacks 
 and linen took refuge under that of a comrade, and so the^ 
 walked two by two, arm in arm, with their heads completely en- 
 veloped ; others who had lost their caps had put on their 
 handkerchiefs ; others who had thrown away their knapsacks 
 carried their things in a bundle on the end of their bayonets : 
 and all of them dragged themselves along with the greatest 
 difficulty, limping and stumbling at every moment. Some 
 stopped every now and then to lean against a tree or throw 
 themselves on the ground ; then rose with difficulty, after a lit- 
 tle, to resume their weary way. I passed over the bridge ; that
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 97 
 
 bridge upon which, a few hours before, an Austrian and an 
 Italian sentinel stood drawn up, looking doggedly at each 
 other. I entered Goito ; turned to the right on the principal 
 street. What a spectacle met my eyes ! On the right and 
 left of the street, at the corners, against the walls, under the 
 eaves, in the door-ways of shops and houses, everywhere, in 
 fact, were soldiers utterly exhausted from their march and fast; 
 some standing with their shoulders leaning against the wall ; 
 some sitting all doubled up, with their hands on their 
 knees and their chins in their hands and their eyes wander- 
 ing here and there with a tired, sleepy look ; others were 
 stretched out and fast asleep with their heads on their knap- 
 sacks ; others who nibbled a piece of bread, holding it tightly 
 in their two hands and glancing around suspiciously, as if some 
 one were threatening to come and drag it away from their very 
 teeth ; others re-arranged the things in their knapsacks, or 
 slowly and listlessly dried their arms on the folds of the cloaks. 
 Meanwhile the street swarmed with soldiers who were going 
 toward Cerlungo. Many, glancing here and there with a half- 
 astonished, half-frightened face, passed on ; others stopped be- 
 side the wall, threw their knapsacks carelessly down, and let 
 themselves down on to them like bundles of rags. From time 
 to time one of those lying down, raising himself on his el- 
 bows, rose to his feet with a great effort, and joined and con- 
 tinued his way with the first soldier of his regiment whom he 
 saw pass by. At the doors of the few shops which were open, 
 there was a continual appearance of soldiers by threes, fours, 
 and ten at a time, and a persistent demand for something to 
 eat, for which they would gladly pay, and they stretched out 
 their hands to show the money. ' There is nothing more,' re-
 
 98 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 plied a compassionate voice at the end of the shop ; ' I am 
 sorry, boys, but there is nothing.' To another shop, then ; 
 nothing here either ; nothing anywhere, in fact. In passing 
 before certain dens of cafe's, they saw the officers sleeping 
 with their arms crossed on the table and their heads resting 
 on their arms ; there were three or four heads on every table, 
 and in the centre glasses, bottles, and bits of nibbled bread. 
 Some with their heads on their hands looked out into the 
 street with their eyes fixed and staring : they were all sad, 
 pallid, distorted faces like those of people after an illness ; 
 and the waiters, erect at the end of the establishment, their 
 arms crossed over their breasts, stood looking at the scene 
 with an air of sadness. The openings of the side streets were 
 filled with carts and horses, around which people were silently 
 employed, the soldiers of the train and the common wagoners. 
 Meanwhile several batteries of artillery passed through the 
 principal street, and that grave and slow passage, the dull, 
 monotonous noise of the wagons which made the window 
 panes rattle, those robust artillery men so pensive, and serious, 
 enveloped in their great gray cloaks, filled one's heart with a 
 profound sadness. Many carriages containing wounded offi- 
 cers, came slowly behind the artillery, stopping every time the 
 column did. . . . But aside from the noise of the wagons 
 and carriages, over all Goito reigned a mortal silence like that 
 of an uninhabited city. 
 
 "The corps of my division had encamped on the left of 
 the road leading from Goito to Cerlungo, and which goes 
 on along the right bank of the Mincio. The camp had a 
 melancholy air. Nothing was to be seen but a few groups 
 of soldiers scattered here and there, who were unfolding their
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 99 
 
 wet tents and cleaning their clothes and arms. All the others 
 were under the tents ; at every moment fresh bands of soldiers 
 arrived and wandered uncertainly around the camp in search 
 of their company ; and as the majority had lost their knapsacks, 
 sticks, and tent, they stood there near the tents of the com- 
 panies, their hands folded, mortified and annoyed, looking 
 around with the air of lost travellers. No sound of a drum, 
 trumpet, or voice, was heard, nor any noise ; in shutting your 
 eyes you would have fancied the whole army was sleeping. 
 
 "Having reached the camp of my regiment, I went into my 
 tent and threw myself down (without saying one word), beside 
 my comrades, who had been there for more than an hour. We 
 did not salute each other, nor speak, nor even look one 
 another in the face ; we were as mute and motionless as people 
 who have lost their memory. 
 
 " Suddenly, we heard a sharp cry a few steps from the tent ; 
 another cry farther away ; a third nearer still ; ten, one hun- 
 dred, a thousand voices broke out in concert on all sides of the 
 camp, and we could hear the noise of hurrying steps. What 
 could it be ? We dashed out of the tent. Oh, what a magnifi- 
 cent spectacle ! The whole regiment was running rapidly tow- 
 ard the road leading to Goito, and not only ours, but those 
 on the right and left of us, and the others farthest away, pre- 
 cipitated themselves toward the road as if for the assault of 
 an entrenchment. I looked in the soldiers' faces ; they were 
 changed, trembling, radiant, and they were all uttering loud 
 cries of joy, and prolonged noisy bursts of applause broke out 
 on all sides of the camp. We flew toward th road ; two 
 carabineers on horseback with bare swords passed ; a car- 
 riage appeared ; every head was bared, all arms raised, one
 
 IOO MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 powerful shout burst from the thousand mouths of the multi- 
 tude ; the carriage passed, and the soldiers turned back. . . . 
 But the entire aspect of the camp was instantly changed ; faith 
 and hope seemed revived ; no one entered the tents ; on all 
 sides there rose and lasted until evening a tumult full of gaiety 
 and life. The bands played marches again ; the dear old friends 
 of our enthusiasms and our hearts experienced for a moment 
 the sublime intoxication of the days before. 'Oh we will 
 fight still ! ' we said ; ' we will fight still ! ' " 
 
 " Who was in that carnage ? " asked Carluccio, with intense 
 curiosity. 
 
 " The king." 
 
 IX. 
 
 Finally Carluccio got up, and the came day the physician 
 held the following conversation with us : 
 
 " My dear gentlemen, I feel bound to tell you that this boy 
 ought to return home. He is cured ; but the slightest over- 
 exertion may prove fatal. Perhaps if peace is declared within 
 a few days, we shall turn our backs on Venice, go to Ferrara, 
 from Ferrara, heaven only knows where ; we shall be obliged 
 to accept the trifle of a fifteen or twenty days' march, and even 
 more, and it is impossible that this boy should follow us ; he 
 needs quiet and repose, and not to march seven hours a day, 
 and sleep on the ground. This is not the life for a boy who is 
 convalescent ; therefore. . . . You must provide something 
 else." 
 
 And he left us. We thought the subject over for some 
 time, but no matter how much we tried to get away from what 
 the physician had said, we could find no good reason for oppos-
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. IOI 
 
 ing him. There was an indisputable necessity for the boy to 
 return home, but how was it to be managed ? But to what 
 home was he to return, poor fellow ? In his home he would 
 die of a broken heart. No, that was not to be thought of, but 
 where then could we send him ? We thought it over, held a 
 consultation about it, discussed it, and did not succeed in 
 coming to any definite conclusion about the matter, and we were 
 on the point of paying no attention to the advice of the doctor, 
 when an officer from Padua, a young fellow who had enough 
 heart to give a portion to the entire regiment and still retain 
 sufficient for himself, came out with the following : 
 
 " I will attend to the matter, but I must know his family 
 name and where he lives. I will put him under the protection 
 of my family ; I will write home to-day on the subject. If 
 he were protected by my friends he could return to his step- 
 mother, and if there were any need of it, we would take him 
 into the house and keep him as long as necessary ; I give you 
 my word ; will that do ? " 
 
 The proposal was received with a general " Very good, in- 
 deed," and a great slapping on the back of the proposer, which 
 took off all the dust that had gathered on his jacket during 
 the manoeuvres. 
 
 "But now the difficult part comes," he added, disengaging 
 himself from us with a couple of well-bestowed pinches. 
 
 " What is it ? " we asked. 
 
 "To persuade him." 
 
 I resolved to assume the responsibility, and we separated. 
 
 That evening, before sunset, while ten or twelve of us stood 
 chatting about trifles near the commissary's booth, the Paduan 
 officer raised his voice above the racket of the group, and ex- 
 claimed :
 
 IO2 M1LITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 " A new armistice has been concluded ; we can leave the 
 camp ; who is coming to see Venice ? " 
 
 " I ! " we all replied in one voice. 
 
 " Shall we go immediately ? " 
 
 "Yes, immediately." 
 I And all moved. 
 
 " Carluccio, come with us ; we are going to see Venice." 
 
 From our camp, situated in the neighborhood of Mestre, 
 Venice could not be seen ; but in much less than an hour we 
 reached a point from which it was clearly visible ; that point, 
 at which you turn from the highway leading from Padua to 
 Mestre, toward Venice, into a little road which, on a high 
 embankment, goes as far as Fusina on the banks of the la- 
 goon. At that point there is a group of country houses, and an 
 inn well known and dear for the sake of two of the prettiest 
 little faces that I have ever seen since I possessed this pair of 
 eyes. We took the road to Padua, and started in the direc- 
 tion of those houses. We had scarcely passed the inn, which 
 was the last of the houses, when Venice suddenly presented it- 
 self to view. The majority of us had never seen it ; and, there- 
 fore, when we approached the hamlet, our hearts began to 
 beat furiously. We shall see it at last, we thought, this 
 blessed city, about which we have so often dreamed, which 
 we have often sighed for and invoked ! We counted our steps, 
 and the minutes and seconds, looking at one another and 
 smiling. Finally some one shouted : 
 
 " There it is ! " All stopped ; a shiver ran from head to foot, 
 and my blood was in a tumult. No one opened his mouth. 
 
 Before us was stretched an immense tract of barren, unculti- 
 vated land, scattered here and there with fords and large
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. IO3 
 
 swamps, beyond which we could see gleaming in the dis- 
 tance a bit of the lagoon, and beyond the lagoon, Venice. It 
 appeared to us, as if through a thick mist, pale blue in color, 
 which gave it a delicate and mysterious appearance. To the 
 left, that light, enormous bridge ; to the right, away in the dim 
 distance, the fort of San Giorgio ; and farther still, other forts 
 scattered along the lagoons, which looked like black specks. 
 It was an enchanting spectacle ! The place all around was 
 deserted ; and a light breeze that was blowing, rustling strongly 
 through the neighboring trees, was the only sound to be heard. 
 
 No one spoke ; all were absorbed in the contemplation of 
 Venice. 
 
 " Come, now ! " suddenly shouted one of my companions, a 
 jolly good fellow, rather too much given to the bottle and to 
 sprees, if you will, but as nice as possible. " Come, now, 
 don't let 's stop here and get sentimental. Who will have a 
 drop of wine ? " 
 
 Some one shouted "I," and the others assented with their 
 heads. Carluccio ran to the inn, and we seated ourselves on 
 the edge of the dyke turned toward Venice. 
 
 " Here is the consoler of the afflicted ! " exclaimed my 
 friend, pointing to the wine which arrived at that moment. 
 " Take hold of the bottle and up with the glasses ! " It is well 
 known that we military men do not mind a drop more or less 
 when we are in company ; we tipple with our eyes shut ; so it 
 is not to be wondered at if after a few moments some felt in 
 the mood for singing. 
 
 " I say, Paduan, teach us a beautiful barcarolle, you who 
 know so many and shriek them into our ears from morning 
 until night, whether we wish to hear them or not."
 
 104 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 And all the others joined in : " Yes, teach us a beautiful bar- 
 carolle." 
 
 " Oh, apply to him," replied the Paduan, pointing to one of 
 his neighbors, who was something of a tenor and a poet. 
 " Make him improvise a romance, that 's his profession." 
 
 They all approved in chorus : " Courage, Mr. Poet, out with 
 the romance, out with the music, out with the voice, or out with 
 some banter." 
 
 I think my friend, to whom these words were addressed, had 
 a poem all composed in his head, because he accepted the 
 invitation too promptly and with too manifest pleasure, but 
 at all events he did not bring out any thing but very ordi- 
 nary verses, camp verses, which means rather labored stuff. 
 
 " We want a guitar . . ." 
 
 " But where can we get a guitar ? Do guitars grow here ? " 
 
 " Wait wait," shouted a third, starting off on a run for the 
 inn. A short time after, he returned, guitar in hand. " It is 
 all very well to talk about not finding a guitar here within a few 
 miles of the city of gondolas and love." 
 
 The poet (pray pardon him) took the guitar, struck an atti- 
 tude ; all gathered around him, were silent and expectant. 
 
 " Listen ; first I will recite the verses and refrain; then I will 
 sing the verse and you others the refrain." 
 
 " All right," they all replied ; " start off with the left foot." 
 
 And the poet began : 
 
 Pur ti saluto anch' io, 
 O Venezia immortale ! 
 Che infinite desio, 
 Cara, ion" avea nel cor ! 
 Che divino m' assale 
 Entusiasmo d* amor !
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. 1 05 
 
 "What nonsense ! what nonsense ! " interrupted our jovial 
 friend, who had made the proposal to drink ; " what 's this stuff ? 
 We don't want any melancholy, we want to be gay ; give us 
 a barcarolle ; go along with your " desire " and your " immor- 
 tal," that you are improvising, my dear poet ! Do you think 
 we look sentimental ? " 
 
 All those who had taken a little more than was good for 
 them approved his sentiments loudly. 
 
 " Fine taste," I observed, " to wish to make clowns of 
 yourselves ! There is really a chance of it, with this proba- 
 bility in the air of being obliged to sheathe our swords and 
 take once more the road to Ferrara, and return who knows 
 whither to lead the poppy-like sort of life of a garrison ! We 
 ought to turn clowns ! " 
 
 The sentimental part of the company were of my opinion ; 
 the revellers insisted on their rights, the poet held firm, and 
 the party was divided. Half moved off a few steps from us, 
 lighted cigars, and continued to tipple with the best grace in 
 the world ; the others took up the interrupted song. 
 
 "We will sing you a refrain too, Messrs. Snivelling Poets ! " 
 shouted one of the merry-makers, raising his glass : the rest all 
 laughed. 
 
 " Sing, do," replied our party. 
 
 And the poet (pray pardon him) resumed : 
 
 Che divino m' assale 
 Entusiasmo d' amor ! 
 
 And the chorus : 
 
 Si, Venezia immortale, 
 T' abbiam tutti nel cor.
 
 1 06 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 And the revellers : 
 
 Che poeta bestiale ! 
 Che cane di tenor ! 
 
 And then a laugh Carluccio's small voice, tremulous and 
 harmonious, was distinctly heard among all the others. 
 Then the song began again : 
 
 Ma pur mentr' io ti miro 
 E canto e ti sorrido, 
 Perche un lievo sospiro 
 Come di mesto amor, 
 E non di giola un grido 
 Prorompe dal mio cor ? 
 
 Then the chorus : 
 
 Ti guardo, ti sorrido, 
 Ma non ho lieto il cor. 
 
 The tipplers : 
 
 Invece io me la rido, 
 E il partito miglior. 
 
 At this point there was a great clinking of glasses, and an- 
 other loud outburst of laughter ; the sun had disappeared, and 
 the breeze blew more freshly than ever. 
 
 Ah ! da questa contrada 
 Che in noi si affida e spera 
 Ah ! non la nostra spada, 
 Non 1' italo valor, 
 Ma una virtii straniera 
 Cacciera 1' oppressor ! 
 
 Then the chorus : 
 
 Quanto e mesta la sera 
 Con tal presagio in cor !
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. IO/ 
 
 And the sponges : 
 
 Che squisito barbera ! 
 Che spuma ! Che color ! 
 
 These two last verses were sung with less vivacity than the 
 others ; it seemed as if the solitude of the place, and the dying 
 day, and the sight of Venice, which began to be peopled with 
 lights, filled even the hearts of the most thoughtless ones with 
 a little melancholy. 
 
 O madre, sul tuo seno 
 Vorrei chinar la testa 
 E sciorre al pianto il freno, 
 E infonder nel tuo cor 
 Questa dolcezza mesta 
 Che mi sembra dolor. 
 
 And the chorus : 
 
 Vorrei chinar la testa 
 Di mia madre sul cor. 
 
 Then two voices of the other group : 
 
 Non mi romper la testa, 
 Fammi questo favor. 
 
 The others no longer laughed. The last verse was repeated 
 twice. The revellers improvised no more words, and all turned 
 toward Venice. We sang the fourth verse a fourth time ; but 
 Carluccio was singing no longer ; he understood the meaning 
 of it, poor boy, and it had touched his heart. The hour, the 
 place, and that slow and melancholy music had filled his soul 
 with a sudden sadness. 
 
 " What 's the matter, Carluccio ? What do you keep your face 
 hidden in your hands for?" I whispered in his ear.
 
 108 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 11 Nothing ! " 
 
 " Listen. . . . Suppose we should give you another mamma, 
 who would really love you ? " 
 
 He looked at me with wide-stretched eyes. I talked to him 
 for a long time in a low voice, and he listened quietly to me. 
 "Well?" I asked when I had finished. He made no reply, 
 but went on plucking at the grass about him. " Well ? " 
 
 He sprang up, ran to the bank, and hid on the other side of 
 it. A moment later we heard a burst of weeping so violent, 
 so despairing, that it made our hearts tremble. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " asked the others. 
 
 " Just what was to have been expected." They were all 
 silent, and Carluccio's sobs were distinctly heard. 
 
 " He must cry himself out," said one ; " it 's better for him, 
 poor fellow ; it will do him good." 
 
 They took up the song again : 
 
 O madre, sul tuo seno 
 Vorrei chinar la testa 
 E sciorre al pianto il freno, 
 E infonder nel tuo cor 
 Questa dolcezza mesta 
 Che mi sembra dolor. 
 
 Between every verse we could hear the mournful, tired sobs 
 of the poor child. 
 
 The spectacle of Venice at that moment was divine. 
 
 "Silence ! " said one of our number suddenly. All stopped 
 and strained their ears ; the wind brought us now and then the 
 feeble sound of drums. 
 
 " It 's the fanfara of the Croats of Malghera," exclaimed the 
 Paduan.
 
 THE SON OF THE REGIMENT. ICX) 
 
 We were all motionless for a long time, without exchanging 
 one word, our hearts oppressed at the sound of that sad and 
 inimical music, which seemed to relate to us, derisively, the 
 sorrows of the saddened city, for which we had offered up our 
 lives in vain. 
 
 It would be quite useless to try and tell of the weeping fits 
 of despair and prayers of Carluccio ; suffice it to say that more 
 than once our pity was so aroused that we were on the point of 
 abandoning our project. But it was a question of his health, 
 and we did not yield. The idea, however, of a good family 
 that would protect him, put him to school, and send him out 
 every day to walk with the small brothers of the officer, and 
 which, if necessary, would take him into the house like a son, 
 and already looked upon him as such, mitigated his grief, es- 
 pecially after we had read to him an affectionate letter from 
 the mother of his host, in which there were a thousand prom- 
 ises and assurances that Carluccio would be the dearest object 
 of her care and affection, and which produced such an effect 
 upon him, that after having tried again and again to turn 
 us from our resolution, he resigned himself to the bitter ne- 
 cessity, sighing : "Well ! . . . then, I will return home! " 
 
 After a few days we broke up camp and set out en route for 
 Padua. We arrived there one beautiful morning at sunrise. 
 We entered by the Portello and passed through nearly the same 
 streets we had traversed the first time. Upon reaching a cer- 
 tain point we saw the Paduan officer leave the ranks and start 
 in the direction of the entrance of a fine house, holding by the 
 hand Carluccio, who was pressing his handkerchief to his eyes. 
 When they were at the door the boy stopped, turned toward us
 
 110 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 his face streaked with tears, and raising one hand with a con- 
 vulsive gesture, he shouted between his sobs : 
 
 " Good-by, regiment ! good-by, Mr. Officers and soldiers ! 
 Good-by, all ! All so good ! I shall always, always remember 
 you ! Good-by ! good-by ! " 
 
 " Good-by, Carluccio ! " the officers and soldiers replied in 
 passing. " Good-by to the son of the regiment ! Good-luck 
 to you, little one. Do not forget us ! Au revoir. Good-by ! 
 good-by ! " 
 
 The poor boy, not being able to say another word, continued 
 to salute the officers, soldiers, and flag, waving his arm ; and 
 then disappeared suddenly, covering his face with his hands. 
 
 We never saw him again from that day forth ; but the regi- 
 ment preserved for a long time the recollections of the little 
 adopted son, and every soldier bore in his heart, from garrison 
 to garrison, the memory of that lovely affection, just as he had 
 carried the roses from the gardens of Padua on the point of 
 his bayonet.
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 IT was a Sunday, toward five o'clock in the evening, and the 
 weather was very beautiful. The barracks were nearly empty. 
 Almost all the soldiers had gone to walk about the city ; the 
 few who remained, part in the dormitories dressing themselves, 
 part down in the court-yard waiting, were about to start off 
 too ; those down below crying from time to time, " Make 
 haste," and those above replying, "In a moment," while per- 
 haps they were trying to buckle on their belts so tightly as to 
 give them a slender waist. Even the conscripts, who had only 
 joined the regiment two days before, had gone out in part, 
 while the rest were on the point of leaving in sixes, eights, and 
 tens together, pale and serious, their caps on crookedly, their 
 cloaks all bunched up, their hands wide-stretched and stuck 
 into a pair of big white gloves that looked like those the boxers 
 wear ; and the soldiers of the guard, seated on a bench at the 
 door of the barracks went on making remarks about them as 
 they passed, although the sergeant grumbled from time to 
 time : " Leave those poor fellows in peace ! " The officer of 
 the guard, stretched on the bed in a room on the first floor, 
 was glancing over a newspaper. 
 
 In the farthest corner of the court there was a conscript 
 all alone, seated on the steps of a door, with his elbows on his 
 knees and his chin on his hands. He followed his comrades
 
 1 1 2 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 one by one with his eyes as they went out, and when no one 
 was passing he looked steadfastly on the ground. He had 
 the air of one of those good fellows who leave with much 
 pain the family and village where they were born, but come 
 to act as soldiers full of resignation and good-will. The con- 
 cise law which enforces this duty, the fact that their names 
 had been placed on the conscript list, the examples of their 
 fathers and their comrades, afford them justification for such 
 a course ; and, in fact, as their king calls them, there is nothing 
 to be said, and no one is permitted to make any further inves- 
 tigations on the subject. But on his face there was something 
 more of that expression, half pensive, half astonished, which 
 is peculiar to conscripts during the first few days ; there was 
 melancholy. Perhaps he was repenting not having wished to 
 go out with the others. It is always rather sad to stop at home 
 on Sunday when the weather is fine. 
 
 Gradually the quarters were deserted, and an absolute silence 
 reigned. 
 
 A corporal in fatigue dress, hastily crossing the court, sees 
 the conscript, stops, and asks him brusquely : 
 
 " What are you doing there with your hands folded ? " 
 
 " I ? " replies the conscript. 
 
 "I?" repeats the corporal, drawling, and assuming a stupid 
 expression of face. " This is curious ! To whom are you 
 speaking now ? the moon ? Yes, you. And rise to your feet 
 when you speak to your superiors." 
 
 The conscript rose to his feet. 
 
 " Who are you ? and what company do you belong to ? " 
 
 " Company ? " 
 
 "Company?" asked the corporal in his turn, in a mocking 
 tone. " Do you know that you are a great blockhead, you ? "
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 11$ 
 
 He approaches, seizes him by the edge of his. jacket, and, giv- 
 ing it a great pull which makes him tremble, says : " Look ! look 
 how you have spoiled your coat by sitting on the ground like a 
 beggar." 
 
 The conscript begins to clean his jacket with his hand. 
 
 " Look what a state your shoes are in ! " and he gives him a 
 kick on the top of his toes. 
 
 The soldier draws out his handkerchief and bends to dust 
 his boots. 
 
 "Arrange that cravat, it is going over your ears." And, 
 seizing him by the cravat, he gives him a shake that nearly 
 throws him to the ground. 
 
 The conscript raises his hand to his cravat. 
 
 " Put that cap on better." 
 
 And he carries his hand to his cap. 
 
 " And draw up those trowsers if you don't wish to spoil 
 them in a week, straighten the buttons of your coat, take out 
 those earrings which are ridiculous, and don't stand there 
 with your chin on your chest so that you look like a monk, 
 and don't stare at people with that idiotic face. . . ." 
 
 The poor young fellow went on touching with trembling 
 hands now his cravat, now his trousers, now the buttons, now 
 his cap ; and he did not succeed in doing any thing, for the 
 more he worked the less he accomplished. At that moment 
 the vivandiere, who was young and pretty, passed, and she 
 stopped, heartless woman, to look at him. To appear ridicu- 
 lous in the eyes of a beautiful woman ! Ah, it is the most 
 tormenting of all shames ! The poor conscript lost his head 
 completely, trifled a little longer with his cravat and buttons, 
 and then felt his arms drop, his chin sink on his breast, and
 
 1 1 4 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 his eyes drop to his feet, and he stood motionless as a statue, 
 utterly annihilated. 
 
 The vivandiere smiled and went away. The corporal, look- 
 ing at him and shaking his head with an air of scornful com- 
 miseration, went on repeating : " You ape ! You ape ! " 
 
 Then raising his voice : " You must wake up, my dear fel- 
 low, and quickly too, or else we shall wake you, I assure you ; 
 and how we will do it ! Imprisonment and bread and water, 
 bread and water and imprisonment, alternating, just so as not 
 to tire you. Remember that. Now go to your bed and clean 
 your clothes march ! " 
 
 He reinforced the command by raising his arm with the 
 forefinger pointing toward the window of the dormitory. 
 
 "But I . . ." 
 
 " Silence ! " 
 
 " I have not ..." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, I tell you, when you are speaking to 
 your superiors ; or the prison is there ; do you see it ? " 
 
 And he moved off mumbling : " Oh, what people ! oh, what 
 people ! Poor army ! Poor Italy ! " 
 
 " Mr. Corporal ! " timidly exclaimed the conscript. 
 
 The corporal turned and pointed to the prison again with a 
 pair of terrible eyes. 
 
 " I wanted to ask something." 
 
 The tone was so quiet and respectful that he could not do 
 less than allow him to speak. 
 
 " What do you want ? " 
 
 " I wished to ask if you knew that there was here in this 
 regiment an officer from my home ; there must be, but I do not 
 know if there. ."
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 1 15 
 
 " From your home ? If people from your place are all of 
 your stamp, it is to be hoped that you are the only one in the 
 regiment." 
 
 And shrugging his shoulders he moved off. 
 
 " What manners ! " the conscript murmured sadly, looking at 
 him as he went away. " Yet they certainly told me that he is 
 here," he added, seating himself again. " But why do they 
 treat us so ? What are we ? Are we dogs ? And we have to 
 lead five years of this life ! Oh, . . . it is too much ! too 
 much ! " and he covered his face with his hands and thought 
 of his distant family. " If they could see me in this state ! " 
 he said to himself ; " poor people ! " 
 
 He was startled by a burst of laughter at the end of the 
 court ; raised his eyes and saw three soldiers of the guard 
 who were looking at him and laughing and talking. 
 
 " Oh, what a great blockhead ! " the three began saying. " He 
 is in love. He is thinking of his sweetheart. Where have you 
 left her ? tell us. Poor thing, she has certainly found some 
 way of consoling herself by this time. Look, look, what eyes 
 you are making ! " And then all three exclaimed in one voice, 
 in the tone of a priest who is saying mass : " Oh, what a block- 
 head ! " 
 
 The poor young fellow turned pale ; they had touched him 
 to the quick ; he could not control himself any longer ; he 
 rose. . . . 
 
 " Who is this man in love ? " the officer of the guard said 
 to himself, going to the window with his newspaper in his hand. 
 The soldiers saw him and fled ; the conscript raised his anxious 
 face to the window and looked at him. The officer looked at 
 the soldier too, and seeing him give a sign of attention, then
 
 Il6 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 one of surprise and contentment without even taking his eyes 
 from him : " Who can this original be ? " he thought, as he 
 went down into the court and walked up to him. 
 
 " Why are you laughing and twisting your hands about ? " he 
 asked in a severe tone. 
 
 And the soldier, although a trifle embarrassed, continued to 
 smile. 
 
 " But do you know you are an idiot ? I ask you what you 
 are laughing at ? " 
 
 " Well," replied the conscript, dropping his eyes and 
 pulling at his coat with both his hands ; " I knew that you 
 were in this regiment, and they have sent me here too. You 
 won't remember me, of course ; but I recollect you ; it is 
 three years since you went away ; I knew you, and your family 
 too ; but you did n't know us, though we lived near you, and 
 in the morning I always saw you pass when you went hunting, 
 and ... we came from the same place, you see." 
 
 " Ah ! now I understand," replied the officer, looking at him 
 attentively to see who he could be. 
 
 " I knew that you had gone to be an officer when you went 
 away, and that you had entered the college, and then you did 
 not come back. . . . Since then they have made over the 
 facade of the dome, and opened a cafe in the square, almost 
 as large as this court, and it is always full of people." 
 
 " Wait, wait ; now I remember. Is n't your name Renzo ? " 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 "You lived in that little house next the church outside 
 the town, I think." 
 
 " Exactly ! In the little house outside the town, opposite the 
 mill."
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 117 
 
 And he could hardly contain himself for joy. 
 
 " I remember very well. And . . . tell me, how do you 
 like being a soldier ? " 
 
 The conscript's face changed instantly ; he dropped his eyes 
 and was silent. 
 
 "Why did n't you go out to walk with the others ? " 
 
 He made no reply, and looked at his nails as if thinking what 
 he should say ; but one could read his thoughts on his face. 
 
 The officer understood, and in an affable voice, which went 
 straight to his heart, asked : 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 This loosened his tongue, and growing more and more ani- 
 mated, he began in a trembling voice :"!...; listen, 
 Mr. Officer ; I ... I don't know what is the 
 matter, but they treat us in a way that hurts us ; that 's 
 the trouble. If you ask any thing, they do not reply ; 
 and then they say things to us that offend us, and we have to 
 keep quiet or else there is the prison there (and he imitated 
 the voice of the corporal). I understand perfectly that we 
 don't know how to dress, and that we cannot be good soldiers 
 yet ; but we have only been here two days, and is it our fault ? 
 Can we help it ? You know we came on purpose to learn, and 
 they ought to have a little more patience with us, I think. Then 
 they make fun of us before people, put their hands on us, and 
 give us blows, and we have to bear it all, and they laugh. . . 
 I do not see why they ill-treat us so. I came willingly to be a 
 soldier, and said to myself : I will do my duty, and my superi- 
 ors will like me ; but now that I see . . . Perhaps when 
 we get accustomed to it, we shall not notice it, but it hurts us 
 to be so maltreated. We have been accustomed to home, and
 
 Il8 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 our family ; every one liked us, and here, instead ... It 
 hurts us ; it does hurt us ! " 
 
 These last words were uttered in a really disconsolate tone ; 
 and then he stopped and dropped his eyes, continuing to 
 mutter to himself. 
 
 I The officer allowed some moments to pass in silence, lighted 
 a cigar, and then, in a careless way, as if he had not under- 
 stood or did not wish to understand any thing, he said : 
 
 " Draw up your cravat a little (and he helped him to do so) ; 
 so ; that 's right. Turn around." 
 
 The soldier turned ; the officer seized and drew down the 
 end of his coat. " Your coat must have no wrinkles ; it must 
 be as smooth as a corset. Turn." 
 
 He turned ; the officer arranged his cap. " This way a 
 little sideways, for it looks better." 
 
 The conscript smiled. 
 
 " And stand erect, hold up your head, and when you walk, 
 step off freely and easily, as you did when you played at bowls 
 in our court, do you remember ? " 
 
 He smiled, and nodded in the affirmative." 
 
 " Well, then," continued the officer, leaning against the wall 
 and putting one leg over the other ; " look every one in the 
 face, because you need not fear any one, or be ashamed of 
 yourself. Do you understand ? Even if the king passed, you 
 are to raise your head and look him full in the eyes, as if to 
 say : ' It is I.' It is self-respect, and we soldiers must always 
 show it in this way, remember." 
 
 The soldier nodded in the affirmative and began to grow 
 composed. 
 
 " And remember, too, that as soon as you enter the barracks,
 
 THE CONSCRIPT.' 1 19 
 
 you must change your way of speaking ; few words, but frank, 
 loud, and sonorous, with any one who addresses you yes and 
 no, and no and yes and if you have nothing else to say, so 
 much the better. When you are in the ranks it is exactly as 
 if you were in church, be silent ; when the ranks are broken, 
 you are at home, and if the others joke, you must do so too, 
 and not merely stand and look on, because this makes you sad ; 
 dash right into whatever is going on. Then you must like 
 your comrades, for you will find warm friends among them, I 
 assure you ; you will find young fellows who will love you like 
 a brother. You will see ; there may be a great lack of every- 
 thing, but of heart never. . . . Have you a pipe ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " If so, you could smoke. And when a superior scolds 
 if he is right, listen and take heed ; if he is wrong, listen just 
 the same, and don't take it to heart, because in this world we 
 all have our defects, and may all do wrong ; we make a mis- 
 take in scolding sometimes ; but always if we disobey. And 
 you must not think that all the officers who scold have bad 
 hearts, are angry with you, and wish to harm you. There is 
 nothing more untrue. These rough people have better hearts 
 than the others, and like you, and if they were taken away 
 from you, you would all die of melancholy in fifteen days. 
 They shout, scold ; it is a habit, an affair of the lungs ; noth- 
 ing more, believe me. You will end by liking them better 
 than the others. You will see, when you go away they will 
 weep. I have seen so many. I saw them at Custoza . . ." 
 
 " That battle that went so badly ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I saw a captain who was the terror of his company, 
 and no one could bear him, but they were all wrong ; not one
 
 120 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 man fell that he did not run to help him, look at his wound, 
 and cheer him ; he was always in motion though tired to death. 
 ' O captain ! captain ! don't leave me, captain ! ' the sufferers 
 shouted, as they seized him by his arm and by the end of 
 his coat. ' No, my boy,' he replied ; ' I will stay here with 
 you until you are cured ; courage, courage, boy, your captain 
 will not leave you.' Do you understand what a man that 
 was ? And there are many like him ; you must not judge from 
 appearances ; and pity those who seem bad, and be grateful 
 to the good, and above every thing respect all, because they are 
 soldiers, and any day we may see them die under our eyes like 
 valiant men. When we love any one we gladly bear any kind 
 of life, remember that. Ask, look about you, and make your 
 comrades tell you this ; you will see that the best soldiers al- 
 ways loved their superiors. Take, for instance, the soldier 
 what was his name ? the soldier, Perrier, in '48, who 
 threw himself between his officer and the enemy, and fell 
 to the ground with three balls in his breast, shouting : ' Re- 
 member me, my good officer ; I die happy in having saved 
 your life ! ' And that other grenadier, I do not recall his name, 
 who, rather than abandon his wounded captain, allowed him- 
 self to be beaten to death with bayonets, shouting : ' If you do 
 not kill me, I will not leave him to you.' Then the other 
 eight or ten who, under a shower of bullets, at the battle of 
 Rivoli, went and dragged from the hands of the Germans the 
 body of their officer, as* they wished to bury him with their own 
 hands, and give him the last honors in their own camp. Then 
 so many others, whose names and deeds are printed in a hun- 
 dred books, and remember them all and love them as if they 
 were living. . . . Have you a match ? "
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 121 
 
 The conscript, who up to that point had seemed to be in a 
 state of gaping, wondering ecstacy, hurriedly drew out a match 
 and handed it to him. 
 
 "When one thinks of these things and has any heart, certain 
 little troubles, and certain scantiness in the living of the soldiers 
 are quite forgotten ; so you must think of these things and they 
 will teach you ; and you, who are a good sort of fellow, will 
 keep them in mind, won't you ? " 
 
 The conscript made a sign in the affirmative, as he could not 
 speak for a moment. 
 
 "Certainly," continued the officer, "in order to be a good 
 soldier, one must look above the barracks and the parade 
 ground. Then, there is every thing in habit. The knapsack 
 is so heavy at first, and such a torment ; they all say so ; but 
 little by little it becomes a trifle. And the food ? You cer- 
 tainly don't live like princes, that is well known ; but you must 
 have patience, patience, patience, which is the great virtue of a 
 soldier, and not complain and whimper, as some do, with 
 and without reason, of all and every thing ; but eat what there 
 is and be content with little. Then the appetite is never lack- 
 ing when a man works, does his duty, and has a contented 
 spirit ; appetite is a great cook. They are only the listless 
 and indolent who find fault with every thing, and are never 
 contented. I see that good fellows always make good soldiers, 
 because their superiors like them, their comrades esteem them, 
 their towns-people respect them, and there are some of them 
 who in five years have never been but one day under arrest, 
 and have left their numero diciotto white and clean as a hand- 
 kerchief ; and you will be one of these, won't you ? " 
 
 The soldier assented quickly.
 
 122 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 " Bravo ! Now don't think our profession is all thorns ; 
 there are flowers for those who know where to look for them, 
 and good soldiers find them. Learn to do your duty well, always 
 be clean, respectful, and willing, and from your captain and offi- 
 cers you will hear certain 'bravos ! ' that will go to your heart, 
 and increase your appetite and good spirits. The days will pass 
 quickly. Then, in five years, no one knows what may happen ; 
 they might make you change garrison ten times, and then time 
 flies, and the months seem days. You will see new places : cities, 
 the country, mountains, seas, a new and varied world, all our 
 beautiful country Italy which you now only know by name ; 
 statues, churches, palaces, gardens ; and in your leisure hours 
 you will go to see every thing, in order to tell every thing to 
 your family and friends when you return home. In the sum- 
 mer we go into camp, eight, ten, twenty regiments, cavalry and 
 artillery, and you will see what a beautiful sight a camp is ; 
 what a noise, what gaiety, and how much life there will be every 
 day, and the great manoeuvres, and the fetes they have before 
 breaking camp, with music and dancing, tombolas, races ; and all 
 the officers and generals join in the fun and amuse themselves 
 with the soldiers, and all the people in the country round about 
 come to see the sight and clap their hands. Then you will 
 know all the soldiers of the corps, you will have a quantity of 
 friends ; the regiment will seem like one great family to you. 
 And all the honors bestowed upon the regiment will seem to 
 belong to you, and you will be as proud of your old colonel as 
 you would be of a father. When you see the flag appear in 
 front of the battalion drawn up in line, and the bands begin to 
 play the march of the corps, and all present arms, you will feel 
 your heart beat with joy and pride, and you will tremble with
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 123 
 
 emotion. Little by little you will become fond of every thing : 
 of your arms, your uniform, your trencher, of this court, this 
 staircase, these walls. When you are ready to go away, and 
 have already been to take leave of your captain, officers, ser- 
 geants, and all the other soldiers that treat you kindly say to 
 you 'good-by, a fine journey, remember us,' your heart will 
 throb as it did when you left home ; then when you are down 
 in the street, you will turn to look for the last time at the win- 
 dows of the barracks, and you will stop and say once more : 
 ' Farewell ! O my second paternal home, where I have loved 
 so many friends, where I have passed so many beautiful days 
 with a clear conscience, where I have thought so much of, and 
 sighed so often for, my dear ones ; farewell ! my poor little bed ; 
 farewell ! my good sergeant of the guard ; farewell ! . . .' 
 What is the matter with you ? " 
 
 The conscript was motionless, astounded, his face contorted, 
 his breathing labored, and his eyes moist and smiling. 
 
 " What is the matter with you ? " 
 
 He made an effort to control his voice by dropping his head 
 and stretching out his neck, as if to swallow a great mouthful ; 
 but he only succeeded in replying hastily in a mezza voce : 
 " Nothing." 
 
 The officer smiled. 
 
 " Do you know how to write ? " 
 
 " A little," replied the conscript, thickly. 
 
 " Well, then, come with me." 
 
 He moved off toward his room, and the conscript followed 
 him. When they had entered, the officer made his young 
 townsman sit down at the table, put a pen in his hand, a sheet 
 of paper in front of him, and said : " Write to your father."
 
 124 MILITARY LIFE 
 
 The conscript looked at him, open-mouthed. 
 
 "Write to your father." 
 
 " What shall I say ? " 
 
 " Tell him what you have seen, what you think, what you 
 feel ; in fact, whatever you choose.' 
 
 "But . . . 
 
 " Keep quiet ; until you have finished I shall not permit you 
 to say one word." 
 
 And he resumed his newspaper near the window. The con- 
 script continued to look at him with an air of surprise, then 
 bent his head, thought for some moments, and began to write 
 very slowly. 
 
 After a quarter of an hour, the officer asked : " Have you 
 nearly finished ? " 
 
 " It is finished," replied the soldier, quite content. 
 
 "Read it, then." 
 
 " Read it ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He was ashamed to do so. ' 
 
 "Read it, I tell you." 
 
 The man prepared to obey. 
 
 " But tell me first, have you written the truth ? Have you 
 been quite sincere ? Have you really said what you think and 
 feel ? " 
 
 The soldier placed his hand on his breast. 
 
 " Read, then." 
 
 He began to read with difficulty. 
 
 MY DEAR FATHER : 
 
 I reached the regiment, and they instantly made me cut off my hair, and 
 then they dressed me. That officer of our town whose name you know, I saw
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 12$ 
 
 in the court to-day, and we talked together for more than an hour. We 
 don't have the best food, you know ; but it is so hard to cook for so many ; 
 and then the appetite is never lacking, if a man does his duty. The superi- 
 ors scold ; but they are not so overbearing as many say ; for there are sol- 
 diers who have died to save them, and would not leave them dead in the 
 hands of the enemy. There are also soldiers who have never been punished, 
 and I hope this will be the case with me. Time passes quickly, because we 
 shall travel, and there are many places to see, and then the manoeuvres, 
 then the camp too, and the generals amuse themselves with the soldiers 
 and have tombola. Then it is a pleasure to see the flag and hear the music, 
 and to find friends ; and the old colonel is like our second father, and we are 
 his sons. Meanwhile I greet you, and I hope you will keep well, etc. 
 
 Your most affectionate son. 
 
 "Bravo ! " said the officer. "And now do me the favor to 
 go and drink a half glass of wine to the health of all conscripts. 
 Take this," handing him a ticket. 
 
 " Mr. Officer ! " exclaimed the soldier, quite embarrassed, 
 trying to refuse it. 
 
 " Eh ! " shouted the officer, in a menacing tone. 
 
 The conscript took the ticket, and preparing to go out, stam- 
 mered some words of thanks : " Mr. Officer, ... I don't 
 know really . . ." 
 
 " Silence ! " 
 
 He left hastily, went down the staircase three steps at a 
 time ; gave two or three jumps in the court, rubbing his hands, 
 laughing and muttering to himself as he did so ; entered the 
 wine cellar ; the vivandiere gave him his glass with a lovely 
 smile and manner that made him forget the scene of a short 
 time before ; he drank, went out. 
 
 Hardly was he outside when he met the corporal, who ap- 
 proached with a more agreeable expression of face and in a 
 more courteous way.
 
 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 " Tell me, is that officer you were talking to an hour ago 
 your relative ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " But you knew him ? " 
 
 "Very well indeed." 
 
 " Is that the officer from your town for whom you were 
 looking ?" 
 
 " The same." 
 
 " I did not understand, you see, when you asked me . . ." 
 
 "That makes no difference." 
 
 "If I had understood I should have answered." 
 
 " Thanks." 
 
 The corporal moved off ; the conscript, left alone, said to 
 himself : " Well in the end, he is n't a bad fellow this cor- 
 poral ! " 
 
 Just at that moment the soldiers began to, return in groups 
 to the barracks, talking and singing loudly among themselves. 
 Among the others was a band of conscripts, a trifle intoxicated, 
 who were making a tremendous racket. 
 
 " When the others make a noise, you dash into their midst, 
 and do the same " ; the conscript remembered these words. " I 
 must make a racket too," he thought ; "what shall I cry? . . . 
 Ah ! " he shouted at the top of his lungs : " Long live the sol- 
 dier Perrier ! " 
 
 And the rest, perhaps without understanding what he meant, 
 replied in a loud voice : "Viva ! " 
 
 Our soldier dashed into their midst, and singing and shout- 
 ing they went up in confusion to the dormitory. 
 
 The officer, who had watched him from the window, said to 
 himself : " That fellow will be a fine soldier."
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. I2/ 
 
 When it was dark, and the stars were all out, and one could 
 hear in the court-yard that gay noise, and in the street sounded 
 the bugle-call for the retreat, he was filled with an indefinable 
 mixture of generous and noble sentiments, so much so that al- 
 most without being aware of it, without knowing the reason, 
 he raised his eyes to heaven and exclaimed affectionately : 
 " Perrier ! " 
 
 A short time after : " Oh, good Perrier ! . , . Where 
 are you ? Do you hear your name ? " 
 
 Because in looking at a beautiful sky at night, the dearest 
 and most revered names spring to our lips.
 
 A BUNCH OF FLOWERS. 
 
 " CURED, yes, entirely cured, and there is not even a scar ; 
 look and see if you can find one." Thus said a very young 
 officer (whom I had not seen for fifteen days when we met last 
 year, at the end of February, in the house of a lady friend), as 
 he put out his hand for me to look at. I glanced at it : and 
 there was not a trace of a scar. "And the other man ?" I asked. 
 "Oh, he is better," was the reply. "Who? Who is better? 
 Who has been ill ? " broke in the lady of the house, coming up 
 to us. My friend and I exchanged smiles. " Shall I tell her ? " 
 asked he. "Yes, I would do so, if I were you." 
 
 " Well, listen then," began my friend, turning to the lady. 
 " Three days before the end of carnival, one evening about 
 five o'clock, I was standing in front of a cafe watching the 
 corso. I was alone, in no very good humor, squeezed into the 
 crowd, quite white with flour, cursing the moment when I had 
 been seized with the idea of leaving the house and dashing into 
 the midst of all this confusion. From time to time a cavalry 
 soldier passed with unsheathed sword, made a motion to the 
 people to keep back in order not break up the corso, and ac- 
 companied his gesture with some respectful and courteous 
 words. In front of me were four or five gamins, who, as soon 
 as the soldiers passed, dashed into the middle of the street, 
 between the carriages, and fought with their fists for the com- 
 
 128
 
 A BUNCH OF FLOWERS. 1 29 
 
 fits and flowers which were scattered over the pavement, at the 
 risk of being crushed by the horses, and to the great annoyance 
 of the coachmen, who, in order to get on, were obliged to shout 
 themselves hoarse in telling them to be careful and get out of 
 the way. One of the soldiers who was on duty, after having 
 warned and scolded them five or six times, seeing that they 
 were behaving worse and worse, lost his patience, put spurs to 
 his horse, and raised his sword, as if to give them a blow on 
 the head, which he certainly never had any real idea of doing. 
 A gentleman who was near me, seeing this, exclaimed : ' Ah ! ' 
 and when the soldier drew his sabre back to his shoulder, 
 added : ' I should like to have seen him do it ! ' Then, turn- 
 ing to his neighbor, said : ' This is the result of his education 
 oppression and brutality.' My blood boiled, I raised one hand, 
 drew it back and thrust it into my pocket, and with all the 
 calmness of which I was capable, and in the most courteous 
 tone, I whispered in that gentleman's ear : ' What education ? ' 
 The gentleman turned, gave a start of surprise, paled ; but in- 
 stantly recovered himself, and answered with insolent nonchal- 
 ance : ' The military education.' I neither saw him, the 
 crowd, nor the corse, and I do not recollect what I said or he 
 replied ; I only remember that the following morning I re- 
 turned home with a wounded hand, and my friends said that 
 that gentleman had his left cheek laid open. That is all. I 
 was just saying that my hand bore no sign of the scratch, and 
 that the other man is better." 
 
 The lady, who up to that time had been listening very 
 gravely, raising her eyes from time to time, and exclaiming: 
 " Heavens ! heavens ! " grew more cheerful on learning of the 
 fortunate ending of the duel, and then suddenly broke out with
 
 130 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 a genuine woman's question : " But why did you provoke him ? 
 Would it not have been better to have pretended not to hear ?" 
 My friend and I looked at each other, and both burst out laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " Why are you laughing ? " 
 
 " Listen, my dear lady," my friend replied. " Supposing 
 (which could not be the case) that I ought to have pretended 
 that I did not hear, how could I have done so when my blood was 
 boiling and my head in a ferment ? Do you suppose I knew 
 what I was doing at that moment ? " 
 
 The lady did not appear at all convinced. 
 
 " The people all around had heard/' continued the officer ; 
 " the insult was one that touched the whole army, and those 
 words were a lie ; then, just on that occasion the lie was a cal- 
 umny, the tone of voice in which the calumny had been uttered 
 sounded like a provocation ; then that man, as I afterward 
 learned (and it could not have been otherwise, because 
 these are words which reveal a man's soul), was nothing but 
 a ..." 
 
 " Silence ! It is not necessary that I should know." 
 
 " Then there was another reason still why these words offend- 
 ed me more than they might have another person. And the rea- 
 son is this. Listen. Fourteen years ago . . ." 
 
 " No less than that ! " 
 
 " Listen ; I was at Turin with my family ; and only seven 
 years old. The last day but one of the carnival my mother 
 dressed me in a pretty costume of blue and white striped silk, 
 with a red sash, a blonde curly wig, and a green velvet cap, 
 and took me to the cor so in a carriage. My father and 
 a friend of his, a major in the artillery, were with us. We
 
 A BUNCH OF FLOWERS. 131 
 
 had a number of bouquets and a large basket of confetti. 
 The streets were crowded with people, and there were innu- 
 merable carriages, elegant maskers, a great confusion and noise, 
 and a very beautiful corso. My mother, according to her cus- 
 tom, took no part in the gaiety of the fete, and rarely spoke. 
 From time to time, when the carriage of some friend passed, 
 she put a bunch of flowers into my hand and had me throw 
 them, holding me by my sash so that I should not fall head 
 first in flinging them. My little friends threw me flowers too, 
 and greeted me with shouts, laughing heartily at my grotesque 
 costume. I laughed at them, and we enjoyed ourselves to our 
 hearts' content. Much more than now, between ourselves, 
 for then our glances, thoughts, and desires were not attracted 
 by a beautiful masker stretched comfortably out in a carriage, 
 with a small, shapely foot swinging cunningly out of one door 
 and a debar deur's shirt falling on one side." 
 
 " That has nothing to do with it." 
 
 "We enjoyed ourselves hugely. At a certain point, however, 
 weary with shouting and swinging my arms about, I sat down 
 to take breath. At the entrance of Via Po and Piazza Cas- 
 tello there was a file of cavalry soldiers and carabineers, as 
 grave and motionless as if they were at a funeral. They looked 
 now at the carriages, now at the people, without saying a word, 
 exchanging a smile, or giving the slightest sign of curiosity, 
 pleasure, regret, or ennui ; they seemed like automatons. The 
 crowd pressed forward on every side, undulating, mingling, and 
 making a great' noise ; from the windows of the neighboring 
 house, which were filled with ladies and maskers, fell showers 
 of comfits, from the carriages a shower up at the windows, and 
 from the street another into the carriages. It was a fierce
 
 I3 2 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 battle, with great clouds of flour which veiled every thing, 
 and a little farther on the band was playing, almost drowned 
 by the racket of the drums and trumpets that fairly deafened 
 one. 
 
 " ' Poor people ! ' said my mother to the major, as she pointed 
 to the soldiers. ' They never fail ; they are everywhere. It is 
 not enough that they defend us from our enemies, put out 
 fires, quiet riots, and protect our lives and our property ; they 
 protect our fetes too, and secure us our pleasures ; they who 
 have neither joys nor fetes, and suffer so much and make so 
 many sacrifices without ever gaining any thing or obtaining any 
 recompense, not even any consolation, a word of acknowledg- 
 ment, or a thank you. The people do not as much as look at 
 them ; we are every thing for them, they nothing for us abso- 
 lutely nothing.' 
 
 " The major, solemn as a judge, replied quite gravely, without 
 even looking at the soldiers : ' That is true ! ' 
 
 " ' If it is true ! ' added my mother quickly. ' Look, major ; 
 l<5ok at the soldier there, the first one on this side, what a melan- 
 choly air he has ! Can there be something troubling him ? 
 Does he feel ill ? ' 
 
 " ' Who knows ? ' replied the major, smiling slightly. 
 
 " ' Who knows what is the matter with him ? ' repeated my 
 mother, looking at him pensively. That good woman is so con- 
 stituted that in the midst of all the racket and gaiety of a fete, 
 a trifle will take her mind from all that surrounds her, and 
 from thought to thought she falls into a state of sadness. The 
 carriage went on and my mother continued talking of that sol- 
 dier ; then she fell to thinking again, and suddenly said : ' If 
 some one at home were ill ? That might be the case too.
 
 A BUNCH OF FLOWERS. 133 
 
 They do not allow him to go home when one of his family is 
 ill, do they, major ? ' 
 
 " * It is rather rare ! ' replied the latter. 
 
 " ' Look ! ' exclaimed my mother. ' I am willing to wager 
 that that is what makes him sad. And meanwhile he is com- 
 demned to stand there in the midst of all those people who are 
 amusing themselves by singing and shouting ... I cannot 
 get him out of my mind.' 
 
 " The major smiled. 
 
 " ' How can I help it ? ' replied my mother ; ' I was born so.' 
 
 " When the circuit was ended, the carriage was about to pass by 
 the soldier again. My mother, seizing the moment when the 
 major and my father were not looking, handed me a bunch of 
 flowers, pointed quickly to the soldier, and whispered in my 
 ear : ' Throw it to him.' I rose to my feet, and, held as usual 
 by my sash, prepared to fling the flowers. ' You said that one 
 there, did you not ? ' I asked once more. ' Yes, yes, quick ! ' 
 We were seven or eight steps away ; the carriage stopped, 
 went on, here we are. ' Courage ! ' said my mother. ' There he 
 is ! ' I replied proudly. The bouquet had described a beautiful 
 curve in the air, and fallen right on the breast of the soldier, be- 
 tween the buckle of his belt and the hand which held the reins. 
 He started as if in a dream, seized the bouquet almost involun- 
 tarily, raised his eyes with surprise, saw me ; I made him a sign 
 with both hands ; he smiled and looked fixedly at me until the 
 carriage disappeared. My little heart beat furiously ; my 
 mother had become calm ; the major and my father had not 
 seen any thing. Before making another circuit we left the corso 
 and went home. 
 
 " I saw the soldier again, ten or twelve days later, in the pub-
 
 134 Jf/Z/ TAR Y LIFE. 
 
 lie gardens. He was with a number of his comrades, and was 
 talking and laughing heartily. ' Look, there is the soldier to 
 whom I threw the bouquet ! ' I said to my mother, pulling 
 her by the dress. 'Be quiet,' she replied. ' Do not take any 
 notice of him.' I could not understand the reason for this 
 command ; I looked at him ; he looked fixedly at me, and 
 recognized me, started with surprise, and said, ' Oh ! ' My 
 mother seized me by the arm and dragged me on. After 
 that day I did not see him for more than a year. The follow- 
 ing year, on one of the last nights of carnival, on returning 
 from the theatre with the family, I went to the window a few 
 moments before going to bed, and stood a short time looking 
 out into the street through the glass. The street was dark and 
 it was snowing. From time to time maskers kept coming out of 
 the opposite house, which was a cafe and hostelry ; they scat- 
 tered, followed each other, disappeared ; new ones arrived, and 
 meeting and recognizing each other crowded together, making 
 a terrible racket with their shouts in the falsetto, and con- 
 fusedly exchanging invitations and salutations. A band of 
 cavalry appeared at that point. The maskers began to dance 
 around them, shouting and clapping their hands as they did so. 
 The soldiers, enveloped in their mantles, passed on without 
 giving any sign of having seen them ; but one of them turned 
 toward our house, and seemed to be looking at my window. 
 ' Can it be he ? ' I thought, as I opened it. At the same mo- 
 ment the soldier put one hand out from under his mantle, gave 
 a salute, and passed. The following morning I learned from 
 the porteress that some days before a cavalry soldier had en- 
 tered our portico, glanced at the stairs as if uncertain whether 
 he would go up or not, and had then gone away. A few
 
 A BUNCH OF FLOWERS. 135 
 
 months later I heard that a regiment of cavalry had left Turin, 
 and I did not see my soldier again, nor did I think of him. 
 Many years passed ; '59 arrived. I became infatuated 
 with the army, and manifested to my father my intention of 
 embracing a military career. My father was uncertain. ' Fin- 
 ish your studies,' he said, ' and we will see about it.' In 
 August of '59 I ended them, and from that time forward 
 I had a discussion every day with my father on the subject of 
 my career. As time went on he seemed less disposed to 
 second my desires. But an unforeseen incident settled the 
 question. It was in the beginning of January, '60. One morning 
 I sat writing at a table. There was a rap at the door, and a 
 servant came to say that some one wished to see me. ' Who 
 can it be ? ' I said to my mother. I rose, she followed me, 
 and we went into the hall-way. There was a man in worktnan's 
 clothes at the door, wearing a large cloak, a fur cap on his 
 head, and looking pale, thin, with a saddened and weary air. 
 ' He does not even raise his cap,' muttered the servant as we 
 entered. The unknown visitor looked smilingly at me, and 
 said : ' Is it you ? ' giving my Christian and surname. 
 
 " ' Yes,' I replied. 
 
 " ' I am a poor young fellow who is left without work ; I have 
 been a soldier, and if you could help me in some way. ..." 
 
 " My mother and I consulted each other with a glance. 
 
 " ' Give me something,' added the man in a tone of supplica- 
 tion. 
 
 " I took and handed him in spite of myself a couple of francs, 
 saying as I did so : ' Take this.' 
 
 " ' Will you put it into my pocket ? ' 
 
 " ' Into your pocket ! ' I exclaimed, half surprised, half of-
 
 136 MILITARY LIFE, 
 
 fended. But his glance produced a strange effect upon me ; I 
 looked at him for a few moments, and then placed the money 
 in the pocket of his cloak. 
 
 "' Thanks,' he replied in a voice full of emotion. 'And now, 
 as I am going home, I beg you to accept a memento of me.' 
 
 " My mother and I turned to each other in astonishment. 
 
 " 'Will you accept it, sir ?' he asked timidly, in an affection- 
 ate tone. 
 
 " ' Let us see it,' I replied. 
 
 " ' Here it is,' he said, and opening his cloak with his elbows, 
 he showed me with his eyes a bunch of flowers that were fast- 
 ened into a button-hole of his vest. 
 
 " ' Ah, it is the soldier in the corso \ ' cried my mother. 
 
 " ' He ! ' I exclaimed impetuously, and I dashed forward to 
 embrace him ; the cloak fell ; my mother uttered a cry of ter- 
 ror : ' My God ! ' 
 
 " ' What is the matter ? ' I asked, turning around. At the 
 same time I saw that the poor fellow had no hands. 
 
 " He had lost them at San Martino. 
 
 " I do not know how it happened ; but from that day forward 
 my desire to be a soldier changed into a firm resolution to do 
 so. It seemed almost like an act of homage to that poor young 
 fellow to don the military uniform. And behold me a soldier. 
 This is the reason why every time I see a soldier of the cavalry 
 at the corso I feel my heart beat as if for a friend, and I wish 
 to be a child in order to throw him a bunch of flowers." 
 
 " And that soldier ? " asked the lady quickly. 
 
 " He died." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " At our house, in my arms, in the presence of my mother, 
 with a little bunch of flowers at his pillow."
 
 A NOCTURNAL MARCH. 
 
 WHAT a night ! No moon, no stars, pitch darkness. There 
 never was such utter gloom seen before. Though it was 
 only the first of October, a fresh autumn breeze was blowing, 
 which whipped sharply across the face, under the clothes, and 
 shrivelled the skin. It was about nine o'clock in the evening ; 
 the regiment had folded the tents and was drawn up across the 
 field, their arms at their feet, awaiting the orders for departure. 
 The soldiers, just awakened from a short and uncomfortable 
 sleep, all stood there, doubled up, bent over, shivering, with a 
 bitter, discontented expression of face, their hands in their 
 pockets, the muskets leaning against their arms ; and instead 
 of the usual chatting, so lively and gay, nothing was to be 
 heard but an occasional subdued and listless whisper. The 
 darkness was so great that, in looking at the camp from the 
 road, nothing was to be seen but the long line of lanterns hung 
 from the end of the muskets, each one of which lighted up 
 three or four sleepy faces. Over there, in the corner of the field, 
 beyond the extreme flank of the regiment, many little lights were 
 to be seen moving about in a small space, and these served to 
 illumine dimly a confused bustle of people (differently dressed) 
 around certain carts and boxes the baggage of the sutler. 
 Here and there through the field a few little flames still gleamed; 
 they were the last sparks of the fire which the soldiers had 
 
 i37 '/
 
 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 lighted with the straw of the tents, to take off the dampness 
 contracted in sleeping on the ground. Every thing else was 
 in darkness. 
 
 Suddenly a loud beating of drums is heard ; then silence 
 follows. The companies face about, each in turn ; the first 
 lines move, and the regiment starts. After passing a narrow 
 little bridge over the ditch which separates the field from the 
 road, the lines close up, and a mass of lights are seen moving 
 now forward, now backward, according to the motion of the 
 crowd, and start up two by two, extend on the sides of the 
 straight road in a double line, and little by little sink in the 
 distance into two luminous streaks which wind and undulate 
 like two great reins of fire shaken at the end of the column. 
 
 On they march, and for a short time is heard a subdued 
 chatting, which gradually dies away into profound silence, 
 broken only by the rough voices of the officers who grumble, 
 " Order ! " every time that, casting their sleepy eyes on the 
 soldiers nearest the lanterns, they discover a little falling apart 
 or crowding in the lines. All the others are silent. Nothing 
 is audible but the dragging noise of the foot-falls, and the mo- 
 notonous clinking of the tin boxes, which keep time to the 
 measured tread. 
 
 As the silence increases, sleep (that tormenting and terrible 
 companion of nocturnal marches) begins to take possession of 
 all. Unfortunate he who is seized by it ! No former rest, nor 
 chat with friend, nor strong liquor, nor effort of will can con- 
 quer it ; he must give up to it entirely. 
 
 Look at that officer in the middle of the road. He has been 
 struggling with sleep for more than an hour ; but now his eye- 
 lids, trembling and heavy, are closing irresistibly ; his knees are
 
 A NOCTURNAL MARCH. 139 
 
 bending under him ; his head, raised by force, falls again heavily 
 on his chest, and his arms hang inert and powerless. His mind, 
 little by little, wanders ; ideas grow confused, and melt curiously 
 into one another. To his eyes veiled by sleep, the soldiers who 
 are walking before and beside him stagger confusedly along ; 
 and the trees and houses on either side of the way, (whose dark 
 outlines are scarcely discernible) present strange, shapeless, 
 wonderful aspects to him. Sometimes he still follows with his 
 eyes the walls of a house when they have already been left be- 
 hind, or he seems to see a house or clump of trees where there 
 are none. At another moment, there suddenly appears before 
 him, right in the middle of the road, directly in his path, a 
 great obstacle, a large black thing, which he cannot make out, 
 but he sees it ; there it is, right there, and he is just about to 
 hit it with his head ; he stops, stretches out his arm, shakes it 
 nothing there was nothing ; so on he goes. Thirty, fifty, a 
 hundred steps, then he begins to dose again. This time he 
 dreams. He seems to be walking alone, in some unknown direc- 
 tion, or to be in another place, far from there, perhaps at home, 
 among other people, in the daytime. . . . Suddenly, the 
 sound of the foot-falls of those around him strikes his ear ; he 
 becomes aware of the clinking of the canteens ; wakes, glances 
 around, comes to himself, yawns, falls into step, and, shortly 
 afterward, the whole thing begins again. With his head on 
 his chest, one hand in his pocket, the other on the handle of 
 his sword, he goes on, leaning on it, in unequal paces and 
 springs, tottering, winding along, three steps here, four there, 
 five, six, a stumble into the knapsack of a soldier. He 
 starts, wakes, looks around with staring eyes, comes to himself 
 again, is ashamed of himself, shakes his head as if out of pity
 
 I4O MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 for his sufferings, and then resumes his way with a free and 
 hurried gait. After a hundred more paces, the same thing 
 occurs again. He dashes into a person who is walking in front 
 of him, wakes, looks : " Oh ! excuse me, captain." " Don't 
 mention it, pray ! These are things that happen to all." 
 
 A companion comes close to you. You walk for a short 
 time, without being conscious of it, side by side. Then : "Are 
 you there ? " A grunt is your reply. "Are you sleepy ? " "A 
 little. Give me your arm." The arm is given. Shoulder to 
 shoulder, hip to hip, and forward you go as best you can, 
 staggering and stumbling. Eight, ten, twenty paces, sleep 
 seizes you both, and your heavy heads fall on the same side 
 and come into contact with each other. " Ahi ! " Then you 
 separate. 
 
 All round about is quiet ; the pitch darkness continues, the 
 two long lines of light keep waving along the sides of the road, 
 and there is always the same monotonous clinking of the can- 
 teens. 
 
 Suddenly, an irritable voice bursts out in the middle of the 
 line : " Up with that light there ! " and the soldier who is car- 
 rying the lantern, and who, overcome by sleep, had slackened 
 his arm and let the musket fall on the head of the man behind 
 him, wakes, draws up his arm, and raises the light. 
 
 A few steps more, and a long and sonorous yawn, like the 
 braying of an ass, breaks the silence. Two or three voices try to 
 imitate it ; there is a laugh, and all are silent. 
 
 A few steps more, and a shrill voice attempts a song. An 
 outburst of protests and disapprobation rises from the lines. 
 " Leave that alone ! " At another moment : " Sleep in peace." 
 And the unfortunately inspired singer drives back into his throat 
 the rest of the song, and is silent.
 
 A NOCTURNAL MARCH. 141 
 
 Twenty paces more, and one hears a sharp cry, followed by 
 a raging outburst of oaths. " What 's the matter ? " " Who is 
 it ? " It is a soldier who, overcome by sleep, has dashed 
 violently against a mile-stone with his shin. And on all sides : 
 " Look out where you are going." " I should think so ; he 
 is walking with his eyes shut." " You caught it, eh ? Keep 
 it!" 
 
 A little later, a great laugh breaks out at the end of the col- 
 umn, and an " Uh ! " prolonged into a tone of mockery. 
 "What's happened?" ''What has happened?" "Who is 
 it?" "It 's only a poor devil of a soldier who was walking 
 along the edge of the road, dozing and staggering, and so 
 ended by tumbling into the ditch." " Is it deep ? " " Who can 
 see ? " " Let 's look." " Courage, courage (an officer) ; what 
 are you doing there ? Go on. He '11 get up himself. And 
 will>w hold that light up ? " 
 
 Then silence, and forward, and increasing darkness, and freez- 
 ing, biting wind, which scourges one's face and sets one shiv- 
 ering, continue. 
 
 " Oh, this drowsiness ! " " What time can it be ? " " Ten, 
 perhaps, may be later." "What a night ! " "One can't see a 
 thing." " Oh ! I say, friend, how long have we been march- 
 ing? . . , Speak. How long?" "He 's asleep and 
 does not hear any thing ; he '11 break his neck in a minute 
 more." . . . "I'm sleepy too. Ah, to be able to sleep." 
 " Well, time is passing with him ! What a nuisance not to be 
 able to see any thing ! If I could only sleep on foot. . . . 
 I might try, do you say? Phew ! how sleepy I am, how sleepy 
 I am, great heavens ! . . . the night is dark. . . dark 
 . . . and the wind ... to sleep . . ."
 
 142 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 A moment more and he will fall into the ditch. A blast of 
 the trumpet, " Halt ! " He 's escaped it. Down they all go 
 like so many dead bodies ; they fall where they can, on to 
 stones, among thorns, into the mud, wherever it may happen 
 to be ; every thing is comfortable, every thing clean, soft, de- 
 licious ! There, on a pile of stones, on one side of the road, an 
 entire squad has pitched itself down in a heap, one on top or 
 across the other, just as it happens ; the barrel of the guns un- 
 der the neck, the leather bottle of a comrade under the head, 
 a corporal's foot in the face, the knapsack of another man 
 against the hip ; and the hand, sometimes, in the grass, in some- 
 thing damp and soft. . . . But what a heap ! The luxury 
 of sleep is so great, so sweet, and powerful, that one cannot 
 pay any attention to any thing, but the utter enjoyment and 
 abandonment of soul and body to it. Oh, the sweetness of the 
 final gratification of a long and harrassing desire ! A sense of 
 languid pleasure and gentle exhaustion steals over the frame. 
 . . . " Oh, what bliss ! We sleep." 
 
 If a ray of moonlight could fall for a moment on to that 
 point of the road, what a strange spectacle would greet our 
 eyes ! It looks like a heap of bodies thrown carelessly down : 
 some face upward, others face downward, some stretched out, 
 others doubled up, and here and there arms, legs, feet, and 
 muskets, which protrude between the legs and arms of others 
 still ; a muddle, in fact, in which it would be difficult to dis- 
 cover to whom the different members belong. At first, there 
 is a slight movement, a little struggling in that mass of human 
 bodies ; each one is seeking, quite gently, the most comfortable 
 position, and this gives rise to a little squabbling : " Get over 
 there ! Blood of Bacchus ! " " Out of the way with that foot ! "
 
 A NOCTURNAL MARCH. 143 
 
 " Draw in that leg ; don't you see you are sticking it into my 
 face ? " But it is only the affair of a moment, and then all are 
 quiet. A deep, full sleep takes possession of each. At first 
 a quick, heavy breathing is heard ; then a feeble, broken sigh- 
 ing ; then a dull, rattling moaning ; and, finally, a general snor- 
 ing in every key, bass, baritone, soprano, harmonious and dis- 
 sonant, shrill and sonorous an infernal style of music, in fact. 
 
 A blast of the trumpet ; it is the Attention ! 
 
 In that group no one hears it ; no one stirs ; all are quiet and 
 motionless as dead bodies. Another blast ; which has no effect ; 
 all as motionless as before. " I '11 make them get up, now ! " 
 says a menacing voice above the sleepers. At that voice, behold 
 a leg is straightened there, an arm outstretched here, farther on 
 a head moves more this way, a body writhes, as is the case 
 when a group of snakes turn slowly in the heat of the sun. 
 " Shall we get up or not ? " the first voice repeats more angrily 
 than before. One of the sleepers rises to a sitting posture, 
 another rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, another feels 
 around for his cap, a fourth is already on his feet, and a fifth 
 and a sixth ... all are up : " Oh, at last ! " " What 
 misery, what a torment to be waked so roughly, and to be 
 obliged to get up just when one was beginning to enjoy the 
 sleep ! " " Where 's my cap ? " " And my musket ? " '' Say, give 
 me my cap." " This is mine." " No, it is n't ; that other one 's 
 yours." " Whose musket is this ? " " Mine, give it me." " Go 
 and find the little tassel, now ! " and they search, scrape, and 
 poke here and there among the stones on the road, down in 
 the ditch, in the grass and bushes, breathless, puffing, swearing. 
 . . . The trumpet sounds again and the regiment starts. 
 
 It is dark still, and the same chilly wind which freezes the
 
 144 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 face and shrivels the skin keeps on blowing. "Heavens ! how 
 cold it is when one stands still! it makes one shiver." The 
 lanterns are all extinguished ; an Egyptian darkness reigns. 
 Who knows in what confusion these rascals may be marching ! 
 It 's lucky for them that they cannot be seen." 
 
 After a half hour's silent march, some man begins to distin- 
 guish far, far away, a little trembling light, which disappears 
 now and then and reappears like a fire-fly. " What can it be ? 
 Let 's go on, on, a little farther, another bit." The small light 
 disappears no longer ; it seems larger and burns more brightly. 
 " Do you see it ? " " It 's the lantern at the head of the regi- 
 ment." " No, no, it 's a town." " But what place ! " On, on, 
 on, we go. "Ah ! . . . You are right, it is a place." The rumor 
 spieads ; those dozing rouse themselves ; the sleepers wake ; a 
 little whisper starts up. " Heaven be praised ; here are the 
 houses, the principal street, and we have entered." 
 
 The hour is late ; the streets are almost deserted, the tread 
 of the regiment resounds distinctly in that solitude, and a 
 whispering is heard on the right and left in those dark and 
 crooked streets. Small ugly houses here and there, all closed 
 and barred, as if it were an abandoned village. But as we 
 proceed, to the left and right, on the ground-floor some little 
 doors half open so that we see the hearths gleaming inside, or the 
 head of some half-dressed woman stuck timidly out ; the children 
 run to the threshhold, and in the upper stories now and then a 
 curtain is raised, a light shines through, and behind the window- 
 panes appears a dark figure which looks down to see what this 
 unusual commotion means. . . . Ah ! that black figure 
 may have just sprung from the bed, where it was sleeping, and 
 it will soon go back to resume delightfully its quiet, gentle
 
 ,, ^, 
 
 That was a large cafe, lighted and gleaming with mirrors, full 
 of staff-officers, aides-de-camp," etc. 
 
 (Page 145.)
 
 A NOCTURNAL MARCH. 145 
 
 slumbers. Oh, that bed ! We can almost see it ; it seems as if 
 the fold of the sheet stretched over the bolster was before our 
 eyes, and that we could pass our hands over it, and perceive 
 the fragrant freshness of the linen just from the wash. Oh, 
 fortunate person who sleeps in there ! When shall we too have 
 our beds ! Happy and blessed are they who have one ! 
 
 The street, narrow and tortuous at first, becomes straighter 
 little by little, broadens, widens, and comes out on a square. 
 The beautiful square. Two lines to the right, two to the left : 
 all look around them. Here and there are groups of curious 
 people, some shops open, there a church, here the house of the 
 Syndic, a fountain, an arcade, and over yonder . . . oh, 
 ... . how tantalizing, a cafe ! 
 
 A strange but veritable emotion ! Cross a village in the 
 night, after a long and painful march ; pass, weary, exhausted, 
 thirsty, covered with dust and dirt, unaccustomed for some 
 time to any pleasant habit or amusement of city life, pass be- 
 fore a cafe, and your heart will beat with a certain tenderness, 
 a certain melancholy longing, almost with a sad pity for your- 
 self, and you will cast into that cafe an eager, envious, 
 bitter look of passionate love, as children do ; and you will re- 
 tain for a long time in your mind the image of the place, ob- 
 jects, and persons seen. 
 
 That was a large cafe, lighted and gleaming with mirrors, full 
 of staff -officers, aides-de-camps, covered with gold and silver 
 medals, plumes, trinkets, and crosses ; some inside, some at 
 the door, others out on the square, all gesticulating continu- 
 ously with arms and legs, and noisily trailing their swords 
 along. A dense cloud of smoke enveloped every thing ; we 
 could see and hear a great drawing of beer-corks, a running
 
 146 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 hither and thither of waiters, red in the face, utterly breath- 
 less and confused by the unusual splendor and invasion of 
 customers ; a wild coming and going from the interior to 
 the tmtside, from the exterior to the interioi, calling to one 
 another, and vicing with each other, until they had completely 
 lost their heads. Befpre the door was a crowd of people with 
 wide-stretched eyes and mouth, gazing at the broadest galloons 
 and breasts most covered with medals. At the back of the 
 cafe, quite at the end, in a corner behind a table, surrounded 
 by a younger set of officers, on a raised seat, in a species of 
 niche or temple, was the beautiful little face of a girl, over 
 which modesty and coquetry were amicably disputing the 
 space, amid so many unusual compliments, so many gentle- 
 manly courtesies, passionate protests, audacious petitions, and 
 such a twisting and turning of slender waists and legs incased 
 in buckskin. 
 
 All eyes are fastened upon that lovely figure, beautiful face, 
 and there they rest until she disappears from view. They are 
 no sensuous thoughts, images, or desires which she awakens at 
 that moment ; oh, no, although she arouses in our hearts (like 
 a weary desire for peace and affection) a vague melancholy, 
 and we suddenly feel ourselves alone, abandoned and discour- 
 aged. The. woman recalls to our memory the gentle, quiet 
 pleasures of domestic life, which, in comparison with our hard 
 life as soldiers, especially at those hours and moments in 
 which we only experience the discomforts and bitterness, not 
 the consolations nor the proud satisfactions, of such an exist- 
 ence make us seem almost unhappy. That woman's face 
 rouses in our minds the image of our mother, sister, or some 
 one dearer still ; and, when it flees from our sight, we bow
 
 A NOCTURNAL MARCH. 147 
 
 our heads, think, grow sad ; those shadows seem to weigh on 
 our chests, ct off our breath ; we look and look again at 
 the sky to see if it is growing light ; and in that melancholy 
 wandering of the fancy, it seems as if we would gladly go to 
 sleep for ever, could we only see once more our mother or the 
 sun. . . . 
 
 The regiment is outside the village. The same darkness 
 and wind continue. Nothing more is said of the lights, all 
 of which have been extinguished for some time. Well then ? 
 Shall we follow the regiment to the station in this cold and 
 gloom, to witness the repetition of the scenes that we have 
 already described ? Any one may follow who pleases. I '11 
 let him take his way, hoping that he may find a good camp, 
 and eat a luscious orange, enjoy a long and quiet sleep, be- 
 cause, to tell the truth, these poor soldiers need and deserve 
 it well.
 
 CARMELA. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE affair which I am going to relate occurred in a small 
 island, about seventy miles from Sicily. On the island there is 
 only one town, numbering not more than two thousand inhab- 
 itants, in which, however, there were, at the time my story be- 
 gins, three or four hundred prisoners condemned to hard labor, 
 and on their account, there was stationed there a detachment 
 of about forty soldiers (commanded by a subaltern), who were 
 changed every three months. The soldiers led a very agreea- 
 ble life, especially for these two reasons : that, aside from the 
 guard at the barracks and prison, some reconnoitring in the 
 interior of the island, and a little drill now and then, they had 
 nothing to do ; and the wine, which was delicious, cost only 
 four sous a bottle. I say nothing of the officer, who enjoyed 
 the largest liberty, and had the power of- saying : " I am com- 
 mander-in-chief of all the military forces of the country." He 
 had at his disposal two gendarmes in the quality of employes at 
 the office of the command in the square, a beautiful apartment 
 furnished gratuitously in the centre of the town ; passed his 
 mornings hunting in the mountains, the afternoons in a little 
 reading-room with the principal personages of the place, and 
 the evenings in a boat on the sea, smoking excellent cigars at 
 
 148
 
 CARMELA. 149 
 
 two centimes apiece, dressed just as his fancy dictated, without 
 any annoyances, or superior officers, and as quiet and contented 
 as a man could well be. Only one thing there was to trouble 
 him, and that, the thought that such a delightful life could only 
 last three months. 
 
 The town is on the sea-shore, and has a small harbor, near 
 which a postal steamer, plying between Tunis and Trapana, 
 stopped once in fifteen days. It was very rarely that any other 
 boats touched there. So rare indeed was this occurrence, that 
 the appearance of a ship headed in that direction was an- 
 nounced to the town by the ringing of the church bell, and a 
 good portion of the population rushed to the shore, as they 
 would have done to some spectacle. 
 
 The appearance of the place is very modest, but gay and 
 cmiling ; especially in the large square in its centre, which, as 
 in all villages, is to the populace what a court-yard would be 
 to the people living in the same house in a city. This square 
 is joined to the shore by the principal street, which is straight, 
 narrow, and a stone's-throw in length. All the shops and pub- 
 lic offices are in the square. There are, or at least, there were, 
 at that time, two cafes : one frequented by the syndic and 
 other authorities and gentlemen ; the other by the common 
 people. The house occupied by the commander of the detach- 
 ment was situated on the side of the square toward the sea, and 
 as the ground rises considerably from the shore to the centre 
 of the town, from the windows of his room (there were two of 
 them) one could see the port, a long stretch of the shore, 
 the sea, and the distant mountains of Sicily. 
 
 The island is all volcanic mountains, and great, thick resin- 
 ous groves.
 
 1 5O MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 Three years ago, one beautiful April morning, the postal 
 boat for Tunis stopped at the entrance of the little port. 
 
 The bell had been ringing from the moment of its first ap- 
 pearance, and the entire population had gathered, among which 
 was the commander of the detachment, the soldiers, the syn- 
 dic, the judge, the parish priest, the delegate of public security, 
 the receiver, the commander of the port, the marshal of the 
 carabineers, and a young military physician attached to the de- 
 tachment for the service of the prisoners. Two large boats ap- 
 proached the ship, and took and brought to shore thirty-two 
 soldiers of the infantry and an officer, a handsome young 
 blonde, of pleasing appearance, who, after having shaken hands 
 with his colleague, and replied courteously to the polite welcome 
 of the authorities, entered the town at the head of his squad, 
 between the two lines formed by the spectators. When he had 
 quartered the men, he instantly returned to the group of per- 
 sonages awaiting him in the middle of the square, and the 
 syndic presented them to him one by one in a serio-comic way, 
 full of cordial familiarity, tempered with a little innocent air of 
 dignity. When this ceremony was over, the group separated, 
 and the officer, left alone with his colleague, was taken to the 
 house destined for him. There, the orderly of the officer who 
 was leaving was engaged in packing the boxes, and that of the 
 new arrival was hastening the moment for the opening of his own 
 by lending a helping hand to his comrade. An hour later 
 every thing was in order. 
 
 The detachment that was going away left the same evening 
 about eight o'clock, accompanied to the harbor by the detach- 
 ment that remained, and our officer, after bidding farewell to 
 his comrade, returned to his home and went to bed, quite worn
 
 CARMELA. 1 5 1 
 
 out with his journey, and, having been busy all day, he felt a 
 great need of sleep. And sleep he did, indeed ! 
 
 II. 
 
 The following morning, as soon as the sun was up, he left 
 the house. He had not gone ten paces on the square when he 
 felt some one pull lightly at his coat. He stopped, turned, 
 and saw, a couple of steps away, erect and immovable, in the 
 attitude of a soldier giving his salute, a girl with rumpled hair 
 and disordered dress, who was tall, slender, and beautifully 
 formed. She kept two great black eyes fastened on the officer's 
 face, and smiled. 
 
 " What do you wish ? " the latter asked, looking around with 
 an air of surprise and curiosity. 
 
 The girl made no reply, but continued to smile and hold her 
 hand against her forehead in a military salute. 
 
 The officer shrugged his shoulders, and went on another ten 
 steps, and another slight tug at the coat. He stopped, and 
 turned again. The girl was still as erect and immovable as a 
 soldier in line. He looked around and saw some one near by, 
 who was watching the scene and laughing. 
 
 "What do you wish ?" he asked again. 
 
 The girl stretched out her hand, with her forefinger pointing 
 to him, and said, smiling : 
 
 " I wish you." 
 
 " Oh ! I understand," he thought ; " it 's a copper she is 
 after," and taking a few sous from his pocket, he held them out 
 to her, turning to move off. But the girl, folding her aims 
 across her breast, as if to shield herself with her elbow from 
 the hand which was holding the money, exclaimed again :
 
 152 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 " I want you." 
 
 Then she began stamping, rumpling her hair with her two 
 hands, and uttering a low, monotonous moan, as children do 
 when they are pretending to cry. The persons round about 
 laughed. The officer looked at the people, then at the girl, 
 again at the people, and proceeded on his way. He had nearly 
 crossed the square unmolested, when, on reaching the opening 
 of the street leading to the port, he heard a light, rapid step 
 behind him, as if some one were running on tip-toe, and as 
 he was turning around, a low voice murmured with a strange 
 tone in his ear : " My treasure ! " 
 
 He felt a shudder run from head to foot ; did not turn, but 
 hurried on with quickened pace. Once more that voice mur- 
 mured : " My treasure ! " 
 
 " Come now," he cried out angrily, turning entirely around 
 to the girl, who drew back timidly, " leave me in peace. Go 
 about your business. Do you understand ? " 
 
 The girl looked grieved, then smiled, moved a few steps for- 
 ward, and, stretching out her arm as if to caress the officer, who 
 quickly drew back, murmured : " Don't be angry, little lieu- 
 tenant." 
 
 " Go away I tell you." 
 
 " You are my treasure." 
 
 " Go away, or I will call the soldiers, and have you put in 
 prison." And he pointed to some soldiers who were standing 
 at the corner. Then the girl moved off slowly sideways, her 
 eyes always turned toward the officer, putting out her chin from 
 time to time, and repeating, just above her breath : " Mv 
 treasure ! " 
 
 " What a pity ! " said the lieutenant to himself, taking the 
 street to the port ; " she is so lovely."
 
 CARMELA. 153 
 
 She was beautiful, indeed ; one of the superb models of that 
 proud and bold beauty peculiar to Sicilian women, the love 
 for whom is rather imposed upon you than inspired, gen- 
 erally, by a single long intent glance, that seems to sink to 
 the bottom of your soul, expressing more ardor even than it 
 awakens ; the eyes and hair very black, the forehead broad 
 and pensive, and the movements of the brows and lips instan- 
 taneous, brusque, full of expression and life. Her voice 
 seemed weary and hoarse, and her laugh convulsive. After 
 she had laughed she kept her mouth open and her eyes wide- 
 stretched for some time. 
 
 III. 
 
 'Why don't they keep her shut up ?" asked the officer that 
 same evening of the doctor, as he went with him into the gen- 
 tlemen's cafe, after having told him what had occurred in the 
 morning. 
 
 " And where would you have her shut up, pray ? She has 
 been in the hospital for more than a year, and the municipality 
 kept her there at its own expense ; but seeing that it was time 
 and money wasted, it had her brought home. There was little 
 or nothing to hope for ; the physicians there were the first to 
 say so. Here, at least, she is as free as the air, poor thing ; 
 and that can easily be conceded to her, because she gives 
 no trouble to any one but the military." 
 
 " And why to the military ?" 
 
 " Well, it is a rather vague sort of a story, you see. 
 It is told in a variety of ways especially among the com- 
 mon people, to whom the simple truth is not sufficient, 
 and who wish to add something themselves. However, the
 
 1 54 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 most probable fact, confirmed too by the few gentlemen of 
 the place, is this : Three years ago, an officer 4 who was in 
 command of the detachment as you now are, a handsome 
 fellow, who played the guitar like an artist, and sang like an 
 angel, fell in love with the girl, who was then, as she now is, 
 the most beautiful one in the town." 
 
 " I should think so," interrupted the officer. 
 
 " And the girl naturally fell in love with him, partly on ac- 
 count of his charming voice (they all go mad about music here), 
 partly because of his prestige as commander of all the military 
 forces on the island, but especially as he was a handsome fel- 
 low. And how desperately she was in love too ! She was one 
 of those fiery characters here, you understand, who was more 
 ardent than the lava of volcanoes, full of jealoasy, spasms, 
 furies, and tragedy. Her mother was the only remaining 
 member of the family, a poor woman who only saw through 
 her eyes and was ruled by her entirely. You can imagine 
 what full liberty she enjoyed. . . . The towns-peo- 
 ple talked ; but facts have proved the falsity of their sus- 
 picions (most natural in themselves, and to which the girl's 
 conduct gave rise), so much so, in fact, that all believe and 
 affirm that there was really nothing out of the way in it. 
 . . . It is very strange certainly ; indeed, rather incredible, 
 because it is said that the two were together half days at a 
 time. But you know there are such characters, especially in 
 these places ; few to be sure, yet they do exist. Bold, inde- 
 pendent girls who are under their lovers' feet all day long, and 
 do not seem to have understood any thing about modesty ; as 
 austere, however, and tenacious of their good names as the 
 vestal virgins. Though the fact remains that the officer had
 
 CARMELA. 155 
 
 promised to marry her. She believed him, and had lost her 
 head from pure content. They really say, you know, that there 
 were days when it was thought her brain was affected. I 
 think so too. Who can tell what point the love of women 
 of that temperament may reach ? One day, if they had not 
 taken a girl out of her hands, of whom she had become 
 jealous for some unknown reason, she would have killed or 
 injured her severely. Right here, in front of the cafe, she 
 had seized her, in the presence of every one, and it was a 
 serious affair, I assure you. Nor was it the only one either. 
 No woman, in passing her officer's house, was allowed to 
 glance up at the window, or look at him in meeting him 
 in the street, without her threatening to do her some harm. At 
 last the day for the change of the detachment arrived ; the 
 officer promised that he would return in a few months, the 
 girl believed him, and he went away and was seen no more. 
 The poor thing fell ill. Perhaps, in getting well and losing 
 that little ray of hope remaining, she might have forgotten 
 him ; but before she had recovered from her illness, she 
 learned, I don't know how, that her lover had married. The 
 blow was unexpected, and was terrible in its effect. She 
 became mad. That is the story." 
 
 " What followed ? " 
 
 " Then, as I told you, she was sent to the hospital in Sicily ; 
 then returned, and it is now more than- a year since she has 
 been here." 
 
 At that moment a soldier came to the door of the cafe in 
 search of the doctor. 
 
 " I '11 tell you the rest later ; au revoir " ; saying which he 
 disappeared. The officer, rising to salute him, hit his sword
 
 1 56 MILITARY LIFE, 
 
 against the table. At that moment a voice was heard crying 
 out in the square : " I heard it, I heard it ! He is there ! " 
 And at the same time the mad girl appeared on the door-sill. 
 
 " Send her away ! " cried the officer, bounding quickly to 
 his feet, as if started up by a spring. The girl was sent off. 
 
 " I will go and wait for him at home ! " they heard her say 
 as she moved away ; " I will go and wait for him at home, my 
 dear little officer ! " 
 
 Among the many persons present was one who, noticing that 
 impetuous movement and his changed face, whispered to his 
 neighbors : " Can the lieutenant have been afraid ? " 
 
 IV. 
 
 Carmela's mother lived in a wretched house at the end of 
 the town, together with two or three families of peasants, and 
 earned a precarious livelihood by sewing on linen. At first 
 she received assistance, from time to* time, from the well-to-do 
 families of the place ; but, finally, nothing more. Her bene- 
 factors had seen that their contributions were made in vain, 
 for the girl would neither eat nor sleep at home, nor was there 
 any way of making her keep a dress in order for a week. 
 There is no need to tell how much the mother suffered, or how 
 she tried with untiring patience to do something for her 
 daughter each day ; but always in vain. Sometimes, after 
 many prayers, she would allow a new dress to be put on, and 
 then suddenly would tear, cut, and reduce it to rags. At 
 others, hardly had she left her mother's hands, nicely dressed 
 and cared for, when she would dash her hands through her 
 hair and in a moment loosen and rumple it like a fury. 
 
 She spent a great portion of the day in wandering among the
 
 CARMELA. 157 
 
 most rocky and solitary mountains, gesticulating, talking, and 
 laughing loudly to herself. Many times when the carabineers 
 were passing those localities, they saw her from a distance quite 
 intent in building towers with stones, or seated motionless on 
 the summit of a promontory with her face turned toward the 
 sea, or stretched sleeping on the ground. If she espied them, 
 she followed them with her eyes until they disappeared, with- 
 out replying by voice, smile, or motion to any sign they might 
 have made. At first, sometimes when they were far away, she 
 pretended to fire at them with her two hands ; but her face 
 was quite serious all the time. So it was with the soldiers, with 
 whom no one had ever seen her talk or smile. She passed be- 
 fore them or among them without replying to the jokes they 
 flung after her, turning her head, or looking any one in the face. 
 Nor was there any man who would have attempted to touch 
 her finger or pull her dress, because it was said that she gave 
 cuffs that left the imprint of her fingers on their faces. 
 
 However it may have been, she made her appearance as soon 
 as she heard the sound of a drum. The soldiers left the town 
 to go and drill on the sea-shore, and she followed them. While 
 the sergeants commanded, and the officer, at a distance, looked 
 on, she would withdraw and mimic with the greatest gravity 
 the attitudes of the soldiers, and imitate with a little stick the 
 movements of the muskets, repeating the command in a low 
 voice. Then, suddenly, she would throw away the stick and 
 go and lounge around the officer, looking and smiling lovingly 
 at him, and calling him by the sweetest and tenderest names, 
 in a low voice, however, covering her mouth with her hand so 
 that the soldiers should not hear her. 
 
 When she was in the town she almost always stood on the
 
 158 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 square in front of the officer's house, in the midst of a circle of 
 boys whom she amused with every sort of buffoonery. Now 
 she would make a high hat of paper with a large brim, put it 
 sideways on her head, and, leaning on a large stick and grum- 
 bling in a nasal voice, imitate the gait of the syndic. Now 
 with some tags of paper in her hair, her eyes lowered, her 
 mouth tightly closed, moving one hand as if using a fan, and 
 swaying her body gently, she caricatured the few ladies in the 
 place when they went to church on fete days. At other times, 
 picking up before the door of the barracks an old cap thrown 
 away by some soldier, she would put it on, draw it down to 
 her ears, hide all her hair under it, and then with folded arms 
 make the circuit of the square two or three times, in slow and 
 measured steps, imitating with her voice the sound of the 
 drum, as serious, stiff, and erect as one of the hardest con- 
 scripts. But whatever she did or said, the people paid no 
 more attention to her. The boys, especially the gamins, 
 were her only spectators. However, their mothers tried to 
 keep them away from her, because one day, contrary to her 
 habit, and who knows for what caprice, she had seized one of 
 them, a boy about eight, the prettiest of her spectators, and 
 had given him so many furious kisses on his forehead and 
 neck, that he became frightened and began to cry and shriek 
 for fear she would suffocate him. 
 
 Once in a great while she would enter the church, kneel, 
 and join her hands like the others, then mumble some un- 
 known words ; but a few moments later she would begin to 
 laugh, assume queer attitudes, and make such strange and ir- 
 reverent gestures, that the sacristan ended by taking her by the 
 arm and leading her out.
 
 CARMELA. 159 
 
 She had a beautiful voice, and when she was herself sang 
 well ; but since her brain had been affected she only hummed 
 inarticulately and monotonously, generally when seated on her 
 own door-step, or at the foot of the stairs of the lieutenant's 
 house, nibbling Indian figs, which were, as one might say, her 
 chief nourishment. 
 
 She, too, had her melancholy hours, in which she did not 
 talk or laugh with any one, not even with the children, and she 
 generally stayed curled up like a dog at the house-door, with 
 her head enveloped in her apron, or her face covered with a 
 handkerchief, not moving or stirring from her position at any 
 noise around her, or no matter how many times she was called 
 even by her mother. This happened quite rarely, however, 
 for she was almost always gay. 
 
 She paid no attention, as I have already said, to the soldiers, 
 nor even looked at them ; but reserved all her tenderness for 
 the officers. She did not dispense it, however, in equal 
 measure to all. Since, her return from the hospital, the detach- 
 ment had been changed six or eight times, and officers of every 
 age, aspect, and humor had come. It was noticed that she dis- 
 played a much greater sympathy for the younger ones, even 
 when there was only a few years' difference in their ages, 
 and she knew very well how to distinguish between those who 
 were handsome and those less so, although all were equally her 
 "love "and her " treasure." To a certain lieutenant, among 
 the first arrivals, a man in the forties, all nose and stomach, 
 with a stentorian voice, and basilisk eyes, she had never shown 
 any favor. She had addressed a few sweet words to him the 
 first time they met ; but he, disgusted, had replied disagreeably, 
 accompanying his words with a threatening movement of the
 
 l6o MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 hand, in order to show her, that it was best to desist once for 
 all. And she had desisted, not ceasing, however, to keep be- 
 hind him every time that she met him in the street, and to pass 
 many hours of the evening seated on the steps of his house. 
 ""Whether lie entered or went out, she never said a word to him, 
 nor moved from the spot. And she conducted herself in the 
 same way with /two or three other officers who came after him, 
 and who differed little from him in manners, customs, or appear- 
 ances. But some young and very handsome ones arrived, and 
 one might say that she went mad about them, if that had not been 
 her state already. Some of them took it into their head that 
 they could cure her by pretending to be charmed and in love 
 with her ; but having taken the thing up too lightly, they were 
 wearied after two or three days' trial, and had abandoned their 
 project. Some others, less pjulanthropic and more material, 
 had asked themselves : ""Is it always necessary that a beautiful 
 
 girl should be perfectly sane ? " and having replied in the nega- 
 
 
 tive, had tried to persuade Carmela that brains were a superfluity 
 
 in love-making ; but, strange to say, they had met with an un- 
 expected and obstinate resistance. She never said a positive and 
 resolute no, because, perhaps, she did not clearly understand what 
 they wanted of her ; but, almost by instinct, at every attitude or 
 act (who can suggest an adjective?) which might seem decisive, 
 she would loosen one hand after the other, draw back her arms, 
 cross them on her breast, and clasp herself tightly, giving a 
 certain strange laugh, like children when they think some one 
 intends to play them a trick, but they do not know what, and, 
 by laughing, wish to show that they have understood it in order 
 to have it explained. At those moments when her face became 
 animated and her eyes sparkled, she no longer seemed mad,
 
 CA R 'MELA. l6l 
 
 and was very beautiful ; that self-possession and reserve, giving 
 to her movements and attitudes a certain composure and grace, 
 added an extraordinary brilliancy to the wonderful beauty of 
 her form. In fact, the few who tried to tempt her became con- 
 vinced that it was a useless undertaking. I was informed that 
 one of these men, in telling the doctor, one day, something of 
 his vain attempts, exclaimed : " Women with virtue in their 
 brains, conscience, hearts, in whatever you like, I have seen 
 many ; but women like this one who has it in her blood in her 
 blood ! I confess I have never before encountered." Some said 
 that in every officer whom she liked or fancied, she saw her 
 own, the one who had loved and abandoned her. Perhaps this 
 was not true, because sometimes she would have made some 
 allusion to what had taken place, but, on the contrary, she never 
 said any thing. Frequently she was questioned or spoken to 
 on the subject, but she never gave sign of understanding or 
 remembering any thing about it ; she listened attentively and 
 then laughed. When a detachment left she accompanied it to 
 the port, and when the ship was moving off she waved her 
 handkerchief ; but did not weep or make any demonstration 
 of grief. She went immediately to offer protestations of her 
 love to the new officer. The last-comer seemed to please her 
 more than all the others. 
 
 V. 
 
 The doctor returned a short time thereafter and related to 
 the officer all that we have just finished telling. The latter, on 
 taking leave, exclaimed a second time : " What a pity ; she is 
 so lovely ! " " Yes, indeed ; and what a proud, noble charac- 
 ter she must have ! " added the physician. The officer went
 
 1 62 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 out. It was very late, and not a living soul was to be seen on 
 the square. His house was on the opposite side from the cafe\ 
 Thither he slowly sauntered in an almost melancholy frame of 
 mind. " She will be there," he thought, sighing, and he 
 strained his eyes, turned his head from right to left to see if 
 there was any one before the door ; but all in vain, the dark- 
 ness was inpenetrable. On, on he went, more and more slowly, 
 stopping, meandering, spying about him. . . . " If I knew 
 that a cutthroat, knife in hand, was awaiting me, I could go on 
 more quickly and boldly," he said to himself, then took ten or 
 twelve resolute steps. "Ah! there she is." He had discovered 
 her. She was seated on the steps outside the door ; but it was too 
 dark to see her face. " What are you doing here ? " he asked, 
 approaching her. She did not reply immediately, arose, came 
 close to him, and, placing her two hands on his shoulders, said, 
 with a sweet voice, in a tone as if talking most sensibly : " I 
 was waiting for you . . . and I went to sleep." "But why 
 did you wait ? " asked the officer, removing from his shoulders 
 her hands, which instantly seized his arms. " Because I wish 
 to remain with you," she replied. " What a tone ! " he thought ; 
 "one would really suppose she was talking like a sane person." 
 Then, taking a match from his pocket, he lighted it, and ap- 
 proached Carmela in order to look into her eyes. The weari- 
 ness for she had been wandering around all day and, more 
 than all, the short sleep from which she had just waked hav- 
 ing taken from her face a little of that immoderate and convul- 
 sive vivacity which was habitual to it, and in its stead diffused 
 a shade of melancholy and languor over it, so that at that 
 moment her face was enchanting, and she seemed any thing 
 but a mad-woman.
 
 CARMELA. 163 
 
 "Oh, darling, darling!" broke out Carmela as soon as she 
 saw the lighted face of the lieutenant, and, stretching out her arm, 
 she tried to take his chin between her thumb and forefinger. 
 He seized her by one arm, she in her turn took hold of the arm 
 which held her, fastened her mouth on his hand, and kissed and 
 bit it. The officer broke away, dashed into the house, and closed 
 the door. 
 
 " Treasure ! " cried Carmela once again, and then, without 
 saying any thing more, reseated herself on the steps, with her 
 arms crossed over her knees and her head bent to one side. 
 Shortly after she was asleep. 
 
 As soon as he had entered the house and lighted the lamp, 
 the officer looked at the back of his right hand and saw there 
 the light imprint of eight little teeth, all around which still 
 gleamed the foam of that convulsive mouth. " What kind of 
 love is this ?" he said aloud to himself, and, lighting a cigar, he 
 began pacing the room, thinking over the time-table for his 
 small detachment " I '11 think to-morrow," he said suddenly, 
 and he turned his thoughts to something else. He seated him- 
 self, opened a book, read several pages ; finally decided to go 
 to bed. He had nearly finished undressing when he was seized 
 by an idea ; he stood meditating for an instant, ran to the win- 
 dow, stretched out his hand to open it ... withdrew it, 
 shrugged his shoulders, and went to sleep. 
 
 The following morning his orderly, who entered his room be- 
 times on tiptoe, was astonished to find him awake, as it was not 
 his habit to wake himself. And he said, smiling : " That mad 
 girl is down at the door." " What is she doing ? " " Noth- 
 ing ; she says she is waiting for you, lieutenant." 
 
 The officer tried to laugh, and looking then at the soldier
 
 164 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 while he was brushing his clothes, said to himself : " That fel- 
 low is working by steam this morning." When he was dressed, 
 he said : " Look and see if she is still there." The soldier 
 opened the window, looked down, and replied in the affirma- 
 tive. "What is she doing?" " Playing with stones." " Is she 
 looking up ?" " No." " Is she directly in front of the door 
 or at one side ?" "Atone side." "lean escape from her," 
 and down he went. But the sound of his sword betrayed him. 
 " Good-morning, good-morning ! " shouted the girl, running up 
 the stairs to meet him, and when she was near him, she kneeled 
 down, drew out a handkerchief, and, seizing him with the other 
 hand, began dusting his boots in the greatest haste, murmur- 
 ing as she did so : " Wait, wait, one moment more, a little 
 patience, my dear ; one moment more, ah ! that 's it, now you 
 are all right." 
 
 " Carmela ! " exclaimed the officer severely, as he attempted 
 in vain to free his leg from her little hand ; " Carmela ! " 
 When he was at liberty he hurried off on a run. 
 
 " But is there really no way of restoring her reason ? " he 
 asked of the doctor soon afterward. " Ah ! " the latter replied, 
 "perhaps so ; with time and patience . . ." 
 
 VI. 
 
 After a month the doctor and lieutenant were very great 
 friends. The similarity of their characters and ages, and, more 
 than all, their constant intercourse from morning until night in 
 a place where it might be said there were no other young men 
 of their position, resulted in the fact that they grew to know 
 each other intimately and to be as fond of one another as old 
 friends. But during that month one of them, the officer, had
 
 CARMELA. 165 
 
 changed his habits in a singular manner. During the first few 
 days he had had certain huge books sent him from Naples, and 
 during the evenings of several weeks he had done nothing but 
 read and make notes and indulge in long and abstruse discus- 
 sions with the doctor, always ending with the remark : " Well, 
 enough of it. I fancy that physicians can do little or nothing 
 in those cases ! " "We will see how you succeed," the doctor 
 would reply ; and they parted with these words, only to resume 
 the discussion from the beginning the following day. 
 
 One day, after having asked certain questions of the syndic, 
 the officer had sent for the only tailor in the town, then had 
 betaken himself to the shop of the sole hatter, and from thence 
 to the only haberdasher's establishment. Four days thereafter 
 he went out to walk on the sea-shore all dressed in Russian 
 linen, with a broad straw hat and a sky-blue cravat. The doc- 
 tor in meeting him the same evening had asked: "Well?" 
 "Nothing." "Not even a sign?" "Nothing, nothing." 
 " No matter, persevere." "Oh, never fear ! " 
 
 The receiver of the town had been a singer for many years 
 and knew how to play on several instruments. One day the 
 officer went to him, and without any preamble, said : " Will you 
 do me the favor to teach me to play the guitar ? " And the re- 
 ceiver, beginning that very day, gave lessons on the guitar, morn- 
 ing and evening, to the lieutenant, who learned with wonderful 
 quickness, and in a short time was able to accompany him- 
 self in singing. "You must have a beautiful voice," the master 
 said to him one day. And in truth his voice was lovely. Then 
 he began to learn to sing, and at the end of a. month he sang to 
 the guitar the little Sicilian songs with such taste and feeling 
 that it was a pleasure to hear him. " We had another officer
 
 1 66 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 who played very well too ! " the receiver once said to him. 
 " There is a little air," he added one day, " which he always 
 sang ... an air ... wait ; ah, how divinely he sang 
 it ! It began ... he composed it himself, you know ; it 
 
 began : 
 
 44 4 Carmela, ai tuoi ginocchi 
 Placidamente assiso, 
 Guardandoti negli occhi 
 Baciandoti nel viso 
 Trascorrero i miei di. 
 
 4< ' L' ultimo di, nel seno 
 II volto scolorito 
 Ti celer6, sereno 
 Come un fanciul sopito, 
 E morir6 cosi." " 
 
 Carmela, at thy dainty feet 
 
 Content I find a resting-place ; 
 While gazing in thine eyes so sweet, 
 
 And kissing oft thy beauteous face, 
 My days will thus glide swiftly by. 
 
 The last day, upon thy breast 
 
 My pale brow I '11 lay and keep, 
 Sinking quietly to rest 
 
 Like a child that 's lulled to sleep ; 
 And so I' 11 gladly die. 
 
 " Say it over again." The receiver repeated it. " Sing it." 
 And he did so. 
 
 Another day, after having talked at length with the tobacco- 
 nist, who had a shop next his house, he went to the marshal of 
 the carabineers, and said to him : " Marshal, they tell me that 
 you are an excellent fencer." " I, oh, heavens ! it 's two years 
 since I have had a foil in my hand." " Would you like to 
 exchange a few thrusts with me, from time to time?" "Oh,
 
 CARMELA. 167 
 
 gladly ! " " Then let us appoint the time." And they arranged 
 their meetings. From that day on, every morning all those who 
 crossed the square heard a great clashing of swords, stamping 
 of feet, puffing, and noise in the lieutenant's house. It was 
 the marshal and himself who were fencing. " You may spare 
 yourself this experiment," said the doctor to the officer one 
 day. " Does she give no sign ? " " None at all." " But it was 
 worth trying. I was told that he fenced every morning with 
 the marshal, just at that hour, and that she, not liking to stay 
 and look on, went down into the square." " Oh, yes, my dear 
 friend, something else is needed. Something else is needed ! " 
 
 VII. 
 
 A' month and a half had passed since the day of the new de- 
 tachment's arrival. One night the officer sat at the little table 
 in his own house, opposite the doctor, and with the point of 
 his pen stirring up the flame of the candle burning before him, 
 he said : " How do you think it will end ? I shall become 
 mad too ; that 's how it will end. I am ashamed of myself. 
 Look here ; there are moments in which it seems as if every 
 one were laughing at me behind my back." 
 
 " Laughing at what ? " 
 
 " At what ? " repeated the other, in order to seize time for a 
 reply. " Laughing at my zeal, my pity for this poor unfortu- 
 nate creature, my experiments, my useless attempts." 
 
 " Zeal ! pity ! These are not subjects for laughter." And 
 he fixed his eyes on the other's face ; then added : " Tell me 
 the truth ; you have fallen in love with Carmela ? " 
 
 " I ? " hastily exclaimed the officer, and he stopped in the 
 midst of his question, growing red to the roots of his hair.
 
 1 68 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 " You," replied the doctor. " Tell me the truth ; be sincere 
 with me. ; am I not your only friend here ? " 
 
 " Friend, yes ; but just because I wish to be sincere I might 
 not like to tell you that which does not exist," answered the 
 other. He was silent for a moment, and then went on talking 
 hastily, now becoming pale, now scarlet, stammering, growing 
 embarrassed and contradicting himself, like a boy caught in 
 mischief and obliged to confess his wrong-doing. 
 
 " I, in love ? And with Carmela ? With an insane person ? 
 What are you thinking of, friend ? How did you get such a 
 strange idea into your head ? The day that that happens, I '11 
 give you the right to say to my colonel that I have lost my 
 reason and ought to be shut up with madmen. In love ! You 
 make me laugh. I feel pity for that poor creature ; yes, a 
 very strong and lively pity. I don't know what I would not 
 give to see her cured ; I would make any sacrifice for her 
 health ; I should delight in her recovery as if she were one of 
 my family. . . . That is all very true, but between this 
 and falling in love with her there is a great difference. I like 
 her, this is true too, I like her very much, as I think you do 
 too, because pity always goes with affection. . . . Then I 
 am fond of her because they say she has always been a virtu- 
 ous, affectionate girl ; that her first and only lover she really 
 loved, loved worthily, with the idea of becoming his wife, and 
 without being willing to sacrifice her honor to him before bear- 
 ing his name. . . . This is virtue, my dear friend, real virt- 
 ue, and I admire it, you understand ; so that poor creature 
 arouses all the more compassion because she deserved a happy 
 fate instead of a misfortune like the one which has fallen to 
 her lot. How could one help having compassion for, and
 
 CARMELA. . 169 
 
 loving her ? Is not the character of her madness the expres- 
 sion of a good, loving, lovely soul ? From her mouth I have 
 never heard any but sweet and modest words ; and that laying 
 of her hands on me, her caresses, her kissing of my hands, are 
 certainly the acts of a mad-woman, but there is nothing in them 
 that passes the limits of decency. Have you ever seen her do 
 any thing out of the way? No, certainly not ; and it is for 
 this reason, I repeat to you, that I am attached to her. Poor 
 girl, abandoned by all, . . . forced to lead the life of a 
 dog. . . . Tell me if you are not fond of her too ! I tell 
 you frankly that I am sincerely attached to her. Her very 
 beauty (because she is beautiful, beautiful as an angel ; 
 that cannot be denied ; look at her eyes, her mouth, her whole 
 figure, her hands ; have you ever seen her hands ? And her 
 hair ? Tumbled as it is she looks like a savage, but it *s beauti- 
 ful. And then dressed in another way. ), well, her 
 very beauty makes my pity all the stronger. Looking at her I 
 cannot help saying to myself : ' What a pity, what a shame that 
 one cannot love those brilliant eyes !' But don't you know that 
 that girl's face, were she sane, would be enough to turn any 
 man's head ? Then, too, there are moments in which, if you 
 did not know that she was mad, you would be ready to commit 
 some extravagance ; for instance, when she looks you in the 
 eyes, then smiles and says : ' My dear ' ; and the evening, at 
 dark, when you do not see her face and only hear her speak 
 and say gently that she was waiting for you, that she will stay 
 with you until morning, that you are her angel, and what not 
 besides ; at those times she does not seem like a mad-woman. 
 I look at her, I listen to her as if she were herself and really 
 felt what she says to me, and I assure you that, while the illu-
 
 1 7O . MIL ITARY LIFE. 
 
 sion lasts, my heart beats, yes, v beats as if I were in love with 
 her. I try calling her by name, I don't know why, with the 
 fixed idea that she ought to give me some reply that will 
 show me that she has been suddenly cured. . . . ' Car- 
 mela ! ' I say. And she answers: ' What do you wish ? ' ' You 
 are not really mad, are you ? ' I ask. ' I mad ? ' she replies, 
 looking at me with a certain air of surprise that would make 
 me swear that she was not. ''Carmela ! ' I cry suddenly, car- 
 ried away by a sweet hope. ' Tell me once more that you are 
 not mad ! ' She looks at me astonished for a short time, 
 then breaks out into a loud laugh. Oh, friend, believe me, 
 at that moment I am ready to dash my head against the 
 wall. You know how much I have done to try and restore her 
 reason; but you do not know all. Nearly every evening I 
 have had her brought to my house, I have talked to her by the 
 hour, I have played and sung to her by the hour the songs her 
 lover sang, I have tried to tell her I was in love with her, to 
 calm her by caresses, by pretending to cry and grow desperate, 
 by allowing her to do with me wh^t she chose, to kiss me, 
 embrace me, caress me as mothers do their children. . . . 
 I have tried to do the same to her, and with what a heavy 
 heart I did it, I leave you to imagine, for 1 could not tell you 
 whether it was a feeling of repugnance, fear, shame, or re- 
 morse, or all combined ; the fact remains, that, in kissing her, 
 I trembled and grew pale, as if I were kissing a corpse. Some- 
 times it seemed as if I were making a great sacrifice, and I 
 exulted in it, and, mingling with the kisses, my tears fell on her 
 cheeks. At other times I seemed to be committing a crime, 
 and I felt horrified at myself. I have suffered terribly, dear 
 friend, and all in vain. The more the despair increased, the
 
 CARMELA. 171 
 
 more this cursed and obstinate fever raged in my heart. . . . 
 I cannot sleep at night, because I know that she is already 
 curled up before my door, and tortured as I am continually by 
 this idea, it seems as if I ought to hear from one moment to 
 the other, another tapping on the glass, and see appear above 
 my window-sill that distorted face, and have those two motion- 
 less, staring eyes fastened upon mine ! Sometimes I seem to 
 hear her coming up the stairs, and I spring up in my bed, or I 
 fancy I hear down in the square a burst of laughter, and that 
 laugh produces the effect of an icy hand laid on my heart ; 
 but I have not the courage to look out of the window. I be- 
 gin to read, to write, yet my mind, always fixed upon her, is 
 sad, disquieted, almost fearful, I know not why. Then I ask 
 myself when this agonizing life will end, and how ; what trace 
 of it will remain in my heart. I do not dare reply, I am afraid 
 of my answer, and I dash my hands into my hair . . . like 
 one desperate. . . . Oh, friend ! tell me that I shall not 
 go mad too, because I feel that my heart is breaking and I 
 cannot bear this life ... I cannot . . . cannot bear 
 it!" 
 
 Then he stretched out his hand to seize that of the doctor ; 
 the latter drew his chair nearer, and being so moved that he 
 could not utter one word, he placed both hands on his 
 shoulders, looked at him an instant, and then embraced him. 
 
 All at once the officer exclaimed with a suddenly quiet face : 
 " If she could become what she once was, if she could regain 
 her reason and the heart she then possessed, and those eyes 
 should lose forever that strange light, that fixed expression 
 which is so frightful ; her mouth never give again that horrible 
 laugh, and one day she should say sanely : ' I thank thee, I
 
 1/2 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 bless thee, dear ; thou hast given me back my life ; I am fond 
 of thee, I love thee . . .' and should weep. Oh, to see her 
 weep, to hear her speak, to find her always neat, well dressed, 
 and cared for like other girls ; to see her return to church to 
 pray, and blush as she used to do ; and to have her experience, 
 one by one, as in a second childhood, all the sweet and pure 
 feelings of affection which have disappeared ! Not to find her 
 any more at evening at the foot of the stairs, to be obliged to go 
 to her home in search of her, where, beside her mother, she 
 (quiet and contented) would be occupied with some work. . . . 
 Oh, my friend ! " he exclaimed, seizing him by the hands and 
 gazing at him, his eyes filled with tears ; " I should feel like a 
 god ; it would seem to me that I, too, had created something, 
 possessed two souls, lived two lives, hers and mine ; she would 
 seem my own ; I should feel that heaven had predestined her 
 for me, and I would lead her into my mother's presence as if 
 she were an angel. . . . Oh, I could not grasp such hap- 
 piness ; I should go mad from joy ; oh, if it were true ; if it 
 were true ! " 
 
 Then weeping, he buried his face in his hands. 
 
 " Oh, my love ! " they heard some one cry in the square. 
 The officer sprang to his feet, and said resolutely to the doc- 
 tor : " Leave me ! " 
 
 The latter pressed his hand, said : " Courage ! " and went 
 out. 
 
 The lieutenant remained motionless for some moments in 
 the middle of the room, then approached the window, opened 
 it, drew back a step, and stood contemplating for an instant 
 the exquisite spectacle stretched out before his eyes. It was 
 a clear, soft, still, enchanting night. Directly under his eyes
 
 CARMELA. 173 
 
 lay the lower part of the town, the roofs, the deserted streets, 
 the harbor, and the beach, on which the white moon-light fell 
 so brightly that you could have seen a person passing as dis- 
 tinctly as if it were day ; then the quiet sea as smooth as glass, 
 and away in the dim distance the mountains of Sicily as clearly 
 defined as if they were near, and over all a profound silence. 
 " If I could but enter this sweet peace," thought the officer, as 
 his eyes swept across the immensity of that sea, and trembling, 
 he approached the window and looked down. Carmela was 
 seated before the door. 
 
 " Carmela ! " 
 
 " Darling." 
 
 " What are you doing there ? " 
 
 " What am I doing ? I am waiting ; you know it. I am wait- 
 ing until you let me come up. Don't you want me this even- 
 ing ? " 
 
 " I '11 come down and open the door." 
 
 Carmela began clapping her hands and jumping about with 
 joy. 
 
 The door opened, and the officer appeared with the light in 
 his hand. Carmela entered, took the light from him, passed 
 before him and began hastily climbing the stairs, murmuring 
 as she did so : " Come, come, poor fellow," and then turning 
 to stretch out her hand to him, she said : " Give your hand to 
 your little one, you handsome fellow," and so drew him by the 
 hand into the house. 
 
 There the officer made her sit down, and with the patience 
 of a saint began to repeat all his former experiments and at- 
 tempts, invented new ones, tried them several times, always 
 with more active solicitude and ardor, simulating love,
 
 174 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 hatred, anger, sorrow, despair ; but in vain. She looked at 
 and listened to him attentively, then when he had finished she 
 asked him with a loud laugh : " What is the matter with you ? " 
 or said : " Poor fellow, you arouse my compassion." Then 
 she took his hands and kissed them with the air of intense 
 pity. 
 
 " Carmela ! " finally exclaimed the officer in order to try 
 one more experiment. 
 
 " What do you wish ? " 
 
 He made her a sign to come nearer him. She approached 
 slowly, looking lovingly into his eyes, then suddenly threw her- 
 self on his breast, clasped her arms around his neck, and, 
 pressing her mouth to it, she cried with a suffocating voice : 
 " My dear ! my dear ! my dear ! " The poor young fellow, 
 who had quite lost his head, passed his arm around her waist, 
 and thus supporting her, bent slowly, she with him, until he 
 laid her down, almost without being aware of it, on the sofa 
 near the little table. . . . Carmela suddenly rose to her 
 feet, looked very serious, seemed to be thinking of something 
 for a moment, and then murmured with a slight expression of 
 disgust : 
 
 " What are you doing ?" 
 
 The officer saw a gleam of hope, and stood watching her 
 silently and anxiously. 
 
 Carmela remained pensive, or seemed to be so, an instant 
 longer, then, smiling in a singular way, as she had never done 
 before, said : " Oh, are we already married, we two ? " 
 
 The officer gave a half cry, and with his eyes toward heaven 
 and the tip of his finger at his lips, pallid, convulsive, he 
 thought for a moment what reply he should make. At
 
 CARMELA. 1/5 
 
 that moment Carmela raised her eyes to the wall, caught 
 sight of a high hat hanging from a nail, burst out into a laugh, 
 took it, put it on her head, and screaming and shouting, she 
 began jumping about the room. 
 
 "Carmela ! " cried the officer, sorrowfully. But she did not 
 heed him. 
 
 " Carmela ! " he shouted again, dashing toward her. She, 
 frightened, sprang down the staircase, and a moment later was 
 in the middle of the square, still jumping, shouting, and shriek- 
 ing with laughter. 
 
 The officer went to the window. " Carmela ! " he shouted 
 once more in an exhausted voice, then covered his face with 
 his hands and dropped down into a chair. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The following morning, as soon as he was up, he went to the 
 doctor's house. The latter, on catching a glimpse of the red 
 eyes and distorted face, saw that he had come for comfort and 
 counsel, and making him sit down in front of him, began a 
 regular lecture. But the officer did not listen to him, and 
 seemed preoccupied with other thoughts. Suddenly he grew 
 brighter, and clapping his hand to his head, exclaimed : " Ah ! 
 I never thought of that before ! " " Of what ? " asked the 
 doctor. The other made no reply ; took a sheet of paper, a 
 pen, and began writing furiously. When he had finished he 
 read the following letter : 
 
 LIEUTENANT : 
 
 Without any preamble, as is the habit among us military men, I will 
 say that I have been, for a month and a half, in command of the detachment 
 of ... which you commanded three years ago during the months of July,
 
 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 August, September. I have learned to know in this town a girl of eighteen 
 or twenty, called Carmela, who has been mad for two years ; her insanity 
 having been caused, it is said, by her love for you. What has happened to 
 her since your departure from the island, you must know, and you ought 
 also to be conversant with the especial character of her madness, because 
 I have been told that you have been written to on the subject by some 
 one here. The most unfortunate condition of this girl aroused in me, from 
 the first time I saw her, a profound feeling of pity, and I tried every means 
 to restore her reason. I dressed like you, learned to play and sing like you, 
 informed myself of all your habits familiar to those persons who have 
 known you ; I feigned love for her, spoke of you, pretended to be you, but 
 all in vain. You cannot understand how unhappy I have been made by 
 seeing my hopes fall one by one. There is, however, one more thing to 
 try, and this is in your hands ; do not refuse me ; grant my prayer and you 
 will perform a sacred duty. Listen : It is said that one of the most efficacious 
 means of restoring insane people is to represent before them, with the most 
 minute details and scrupulous exactness, some serious event that preceded 
 their malady, whether it were or were not the direct cause of the same. I 
 have thought that by repeating exactly before Carmela the scene of your 
 departure, I might produce some effect upon her. 1 have questioned many 
 persons in town and have not succeeded in learning any thing more than the 
 fact that you left at night, and before your departure supped at home in 
 company with the syndic, marshal of the carabineers, and several other 
 people. The particulars of that supper and of your subsequent departure 
 are only remembered indistinctly at best. I beseech you from my heart to 
 do this work of charity, which will cost you little or nothing, and may give 
 life and happiness to the person most interested. Write me all that you 
 remember, tell me of the persons, speeches, occurrences, every thing in 
 fact. And, above all, try to tell me the precise hour or moment in which 
 the most noteworthy incidents occurred ; and tell me every thing with clear- 
 ness and in order. Do me this great service, I pray you, and I shall be 
 grateful to you all through life. I add nothing more. I trust to the gen- 
 erosity of your heart ; I press your hand as a good comrade and say adieu. 
 
 " What do you think of it ? " " Divinely inspired," replied 
 the doctor, who had listened with the greatest attention. " Do 
 you know his name, regiment, and station ? " " The syndic 
 knows every thing." "Do you think he will reply to you?" 
 "I am convinced of it."
 
 CARMELA. 177 
 
 He did reply ; and in a letter of eight pages, in which were 
 written all the details required about the persons, speeches, 
 hours, and all. But there was not a comment, not an allusion 
 to the past, not a single word referring to any thing but the 
 supper and his departure ; not a syllable aside from the ques- 
 tions asked, not even an expression of pity for Carmela. But 
 from that bare, crude letter one could see that he must have 
 felt deep pangs of remorse while writing it. If this had not 
 been the case, at least some feigned expression of regret or 
 repentance would have been found therein. In closing he 
 would have said at least : " I hope . . . etc." ; but there 
 was nothing of the kind. "At one o'clock at night the steamer 
 left. I salute you." And then the signature. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " I understand ! " exclaimed the doctor, as soon as his friend 
 had finished reading him the letter ; " now I understand why 
 not one of all the persons present were able to relate any of 
 the particulars. I do not doubt it, when they had been drink- 
 ing like that ! " 
 
 That same day both began to make preparations for the great 
 experiment. Both of them went to the syndic, judge, receiver, 
 marshal of the carabineers, and the others, all of whom 
 were very intimate ; and the one, the doctor, with scientific 
 arguments, and the other with those coming from the heart, by 
 sheer force of talking, explaining, and demonstrating, succeed- 
 ed in making them understand what it was all about, assuring 
 themselves of their assistance, and teaching each one the part he 
 was to play. " Heaven be praised ! " exclaimed the officer on 
 coming out of the receiver's house, which was the last visit ;
 
 178 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 " the greatest part of the work is accomplished." Then they 
 sent for Carmela's mother, to whom it was far easier to give 
 an explanation of the affair, than to the syndic and other 
 magnates ; all of them most excellent people, to be sure, in 
 whom one could confide, but a little dull of comprehension 
 in matters of that description. 
 
 Carmela had not been feeling well for some days, and had 
 remained at home almost all the time. The officei and the 
 doctor went to look for her. She was seated on the ground 
 outside the door, with her back leaning against the wall. As 
 soon as she saw them she rose, and moving a trifle more slowly 
 than usual, went toward the lieutenant and tried, as was her 
 habit, to embrace him, murmuring, in a feeble voice, her cus- 
 tomary words. 
 
 " Carmela ! " said the lieutenant, " we have a piece of news 
 for you." 
 
 " A piece of news, a piece of news, a piece of news," re- 
 peated Carmela, gently passing the palm of her hand three 
 times over the officer's cheek. 
 
 " To-morrow I am going away." 
 
 " To-morrow I am going away ? " 
 
 " I, I am going away. I am going away from here. I am 
 going to leave this place. I am going to leave with all my sol- 
 diers I shall go on to the steamer, and the steamer will carry 
 me far, far away." 
 
 Saying which he rased his arm as if to indicate a great dis- 
 tance. 
 
 " Far, far away," murmured Carmela, looking in the di- 
 rection the officer had pointed. She seemed to be thinking 
 for an instant, and then said, vaguely, in quite an indifferent 
 tone: " The steamship . . . which smokes/'
 
 CARMELA, 1/9 
 
 And she tried to embrace the officer again, while calling him 
 by the usual names. 
 
 " It produces no effect," thought the latter, shaking his 
 head. 
 
 " You must say it many times," whispered the doctor. " Let 
 us wait until a little later." 
 
 And off they went, after speaking severely to Carmela, so 
 that she would not follow them. 
 
 The supper was fixed for the following evening. That same 
 evening Carmela went, as was her custom, and seated herself 
 before the officer's door. The latter, on returning home, took 
 her up stairs, where the orderly, according to orders, had 
 turned every thing upside down as if the departure were really 
 to take place. The little table, chairs, and sofa were covered 
 with linen, clothes, books, and papers, flung here and there, and 
 in the centre of the room were two open trunks, in which the 
 soldier had begun to place the clothing. 
 
 Carmela made a movement of surprise at the first sight of 
 the disorder, and looked smilingly into the officer's face. 
 
 " I am preparing to go away," said the officer. 
 
 Carmela looked around the room again, knitting her brows 
 as she did so ; a thing she was not in the habit of doing. The 
 officer watched her closely. 
 
 " I am going away, far away from here ; I am going on the 
 steamship." 
 
 " Are you going on the steamship ? " 
 
 " Yes ... I am going to-morrow evening. 
 
 " To-morrow evening," repeated Carmela mechanically, and 
 seeing the guitar on a chair, she touched a string with one fin- 
 ger and made it sound.
 
 1 80 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 " Are you not sorry that I am going away ? Will you not re- 
 gret never seeing me again ? " 
 
 Carmela looked at him fixedly, and then dropped her head 
 and eyes as if she were really thinking. The officer said noth- 
 ing more and began talking sotto voce with the soldier, whom 
 he helped to fold the clothes. 
 
 The girl stood looking at them without opening her mouth. 
 After a short time, the officer approached her and said : 
 
 " Now, go away, Carmela ; you have been here long enough. 
 Go home, go." 
 
 And taking her by the arm, he pushed her gently toward 
 the door. She stretched out her arms to clasp him around 
 the neck. . . . 
 
 " I do not wish you to do so," said the officer. 
 
 Carmela stamped her foot two or three times, stretched out 
 her arms again, clasped his neck, passed her mouth over his 
 cheeks without kissing him as if she were thinking of some- 
 thing else, and then went slowly and silently away without 
 laughing or turning back, with a look on her face that ex- 
 pressed nothing, like an abstracted person who is thinking of 
 a thousand things, and of nothing, at once. 
 
 " What is this ? " thought the officer. " Can this be a good 
 sign ? . . . Oh, if God only willed it ! Let us hope I " 
 
 The following day he did not leave the house, and would 
 not even see Carmela, although he knew that she was seated 
 as usual, at the door. He employed the entire afternoon in 
 preparing for the experiment of the evening. His small apart- 
 ment was composed of two rooms and a kitchen. Between the 
 bedroom and the entrance, there was a large room, whose 
 windows, like those of the other one, looked out into the
 
 CARMELA. l8l 
 
 square. In this room he had the supper laid. The landlord, 
 his neighbor, lent him an immense dining-table, came himself 
 to cook in the house the few dishes that were needed, and set 
 the table with the greatest possible luxury, as he had done 
 three years before for the other officer. Toward nine o'clock 
 in the evening the doctor arrived, the first comer. " She is 
 down below," he said to his friend on entering ; " she was com- 
 plaining that she had not seen you yet. I asked her if she felt 
 well, and she replied, after looking fixedly at me : ' Steamship,' 
 and she did not laugh. Well ! God alone can tell what is 
 passing through her head. Oh, let us see these splendid prep- 
 arations ! " 
 
 When both had given a glance at the table, they began tq 
 arrange between them the best mode of representing the 
 comedy, or rather the drama, because to them it was a drama 
 and a serious one too. When the matter was settled, the doc- 
 tor asked : " Have they all learned their parts well ? " and the 
 officer replied that he hoped so. 
 
 Shortly before ten they heard a shuffling of many feet, and 
 a confused sound of voices. " They are here ! " said the doc- 
 tor, and he looked out of the window. " It is really they." 
 
 The soldier went down and opened the door. The doctor 
 lighted the four candelabra at the four corners of the table. 
 
 " How my heart beats ! " said the officer. 
 
 " Courage, courage ! " 
 
 At that moment they heard Carmela exclaim : " I am going 
 on the steamship too ! " and then she began clapping her hands. 
 
 " Courage ! " repeated the doctor hastily in his friend's ear ; 
 
 ***^r 
 
 " do you hear that ? She is beginning to get that idea into her 
 head ; it is a good sign ; take heart ; here are your guests ! "
 
 1 82 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 The door opened and the syndic, judge, and all the others 
 who had met at the cafe*, entered smiling and bowing. While 
 the officer was welcoming them, and thanking now one, now 
 the other, the doctor whispered a word in the ear of the orderly, 
 who stood motionless in a corner, and he disappeared. A 
 moment later, without any one's noticing it, he returned with 
 Carmela, and both of them passing close to the wall on tip-toe, 
 entered the other room. 
 
 " Let us be seated," said the officer. 
 
 All took their places. The noise of the moving chairs and 
 that " Oh ! " long and blissful, uttered by the gourmets when sit- 
 ting down at table, did not allow them to hear a slight noise 
 made by the orderly in holding back Carmela, who, exclaiming : 
 " I have not seen him for a whole day ! " had opened the door 
 and attempted to dash toward the officer. The orderly held 
 her back, placed a chair near the door, made her sit down ; 
 then opened the shutters enough to leave a space as wide as your 
 hand, and she placed her face to the aperture and stood look- 
 ing on. None of the guests turned in that direction, no one 
 looked then or later, and Carmela made no other movement. 
 
 Little by little the confused clatter of forks, knives, glasses, 
 and plates, and laughter and discordant voices that tried to over- 
 power their neighbors', began to increase. All save the doctor 
 and officer were eating with the best appetite in the world, 
 and tippling gayly. They began by giving the loudest praises 
 to the discipline, virtue, valor, and courtesy of the soldiers, 
 corporals, and sergeants of the detachment ; then they enlarged 
 upon the choice quality of the wines and viands ; then talked 
 of the weather, which was very fine, an enchanting night, 
 and of the voyage, which ought to be delightful ; then discussed
 
 CARMELA. 183 
 
 politics, then the soldiers again, once more the voyage, and so, 
 talking more and more loudly, laughing harder, emptying their 
 glasses in greater haste, until all their faces became rubicund, 
 their eyes gleaming, the motion of their lips rather difficult, 
 and their words followed each other without any connection 
 whatsoever. Almost involuntarily each one had taken his part 
 seriously, and represented it marvellously. But the more the 
 others forgot the end for which they had assembled, the more 
 the officer felt his heart-beat increase, and he showed openly 
 on his face the tempest raging in his soul. No one, however, 
 discovered it, save the doctor, who, from time to time begged 
 him in a loud voice not to lose courage, and kept his eye upon 
 Carmela. The latter was always immovable and intent, with 
 her face pressed between the shutters. The orderly, seizing 
 an opportune moment, had taken himself off. 
 
 At a certain point three soldiers entered the room, and each 
 took on his shoulders one of the three trunks that were in a 
 corner, and then passed out. Carmela followed all their move- 
 ments with her eye until they had disappeared, then continued 
 looking at the table. 
 
 The doctor murmured a word in the syndic's ear : 
 " A toast," the latter suddenly exclaimed, rising with diffi- 
 culty to his feet, his glass in his hand. "A toast to the health 
 of this valorous lieutenant who commands the brave detach- 
 ment of the town that is going away, and let there remain per- 
 petually and forever in this our town a beautiful, undying, and 
 immortal memory of the brave detachment commanded by this 
 valorous . . ." 
 
 He thought a moment, and then went on resolutely : 
 
 " Long live the lieutenant who departs ! " And they all
 
 1 84 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 rose noisily, clinking their glasses and spilling the wine on the 
 table : " Evviva ! " 
 
 The syndic fell heavily on to his chair, and there were 
 grounds for suspicion that he was really intoxicated. 
 
 Others offered toasts of the same nature, and then they all 
 began talking again, in one voice, of the soldiers, politics, the 
 wine, and the voyage. 
 
 " Mr. Receiver, give us a song ! " cried the doctor. 
 
 All the others echoed this request. The receiver excused 
 himself, allowed them to beg him a little, then smiled, coughed, 
 took the guitar, and sang two or three verses. The guests 
 began to grow noisy again, and interrupted him. 
 
 " It 's my turn," said the officer, and all were silent. He took 
 the guitar, tuned it, rose to his feet, pretended to stagger, and 
 began. . . . He was pale as death, and his hands trembled 
 as if with fever ; notwithstanding which he sang his song with a 
 sweetness and feeling that was really charming. 
 
 Carmela, ai tuoi ginocchi. 
 Placidamente assiso, 
 Guardandoti negli occhi 
 Baciandoti nel viso 
 Trascorrero i miei dl. 
 
 Carmela listened more and more intently, knitting her brows 
 from time to time, like a person absorbed in deep meditation. 
 
 " Bravo ! Good ! Very well, indeed ! " said all the guests 
 in one voice. And the officer continued 
 
 L' ultimo d\, sul seno 
 II volto scolorito 
 Ti celer6, sereno 
 Come un fanciul sopito, 
 E moriro cosi.
 
 CARMELA, 185 
 
 These were the words and music, and every thing round 
 about was exactly the same as on that night. " Bravo ! 
 Good ! " repeated all the guests. The officer fell back, as if 
 exhausted, upon his chair ; all began to shout ; Carmela was as 
 immovable as a statue, and kept her eye steadily fastened on 
 the officer's face. The doctor looked at her out of the corner 
 of his eye. 
 
 " Silence ! " shouted the lieutenant. All stopped, and, the 
 window being open, they heard the gay music of flutes and 
 violins down in the square together with the noise of a crowd 
 of people. They were the ten or twelve musicians of the place, 
 surrounded by a great portion of the population, who thought 
 the detachment was really going. 
 
 Carmela stirred, and turned toward the window. Her face 
 began to grow gently animated, and her great eyes to move 
 restlessly from the window to the lieutenant, from the latter to 
 the guests, and back again to the window, as if she wished to 
 hear the music well and at the same time not to lose the slight- 
 est movement made by all those people. 
 
 When the music ceased, a great part of the crowd began 
 clapping their hands, as they had done on the same occasion 
 three years before. 
 
 At this point the orderly advanced hurriedly : 
 
 "Lieutenant, the ship is waiting." 
 
 The lieutenant rose to his feet, saying aloud : 
 
 " I must go." 
 
 Carmela rose softly too, keeping her eyes fastened upon him 
 and slowly moving the chair. 
 
 All the guests stood up and pressed around the lieutenant. 
 At that same instant Carmela's mother appeared, entered .the
 
 1 86 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 other room unseen, put her arms around her daughter, and said : 
 " Be brave ; he will return in two months." 
 
 Carmela fixed her eyes on her mother's face, slowly removed 
 one arm and then the other, and, without uttering a word, 
 turned her head slowly, and again fastened her eyes on the 
 officer. 
 
 All the guests shook hands with the officer, giving rise to a 
 confused murmur of thanks, good wishes, and salutations ; he 
 buckled on his sword, put on his cap, slung the travelling-bag 
 over his shoulder . . . 
 
 While he was doing this, Carmela had unconsciously opened 
 the door, taken a step forward, and with her wild eyes looked 
 rapidly now at the officer, now at the guests, now at the orderly, 
 finally at her mother who was near her, and with both hands 
 rubbed her forehead, rumpled her hair, sighed wearily, and 
 trembled convulsively all over. 
 
 Once more the music in the square began, another burst of 
 applause was heard. 
 
 " Let us go ! " said the officer resolutely, and he turned to 
 leave. 
 
 A shrill, desperate, agonizing shriek broke from Carmela's 
 breast. At the same moment she dashed with one spring upon 
 the lieutenant, seized him with superhuman force about the 
 waist, and began to kiss him furiously on his face, neck, chest, 
 wherever she could, sobbing, shouting, groaning, and feeling 
 his shoulders, arms, and head, as a mother would the son saved 
 from the fury of the waves that had shortly before enveloped 
 him, and from which she had seen him stretch out his arms and 
 beg for assistance. After a few moments the poor girl fell 
 senseless to the floor at the officer's feet.
 
 At the same moment she dashed with one spring upon the lieutenant, sei/ed 
 him with superhuman force about the waist, and began to kiss 
 
 him furiously on his face, neck, chest," etc. 
 
 (Page 186.)
 
 CARMELA. IS/ 
 
 She was saved ! 
 
 The lieutenant threw himself into the doctor's arms, which 
 were outstretched waiting for him. The mother bent to kiss 
 and bathe her daughter with her tears. All those present 
 raised their faces and arms toward heaven in sign of thanks- 
 giving. The music continued playing. 
 
 Four months after, on a beautiful night in September, so 
 clear that it seemed like day, the ship which had left Tunis 
 that evening, and stopped as usual at the harbor of our little 
 town, moved off rapidly toward the Sicilian coast. The water 
 was so calm that the ship hardly seemed to move. The pas- 
 sengers were all on deck, and stood contemplating in silence 
 the clear sky and the sea illuminated by the moon. 
 
 Apart from the others and turned in the opposite direction 
 from the ship's course, were a young man and girl leaning on 
 the railing, arm in arm, with their heads so close together that 
 they almost touched. Far away in the distance one could still 
 see confusedly the island they had left, and they were look- 
 ing at it. They remained a long time without changing their 
 attitudes, until the woman, raising her face, murmured : 
 
 " Yet it makes my heart ache to leave my poor little home, 
 where I have suffered so much, where I saw you for the first 
 time, where you restored me to life." 
 
 And she laid her head on her companion's shoulder. 
 
 " We will return there some day ! " the latter said to her, 
 turning her head gently, so that he could look into her eyes. 
 
 " And shall we return to your house ? " she asked softly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And in the evening will we sit and talk by the window 
 from which you once called me ? "
 
 1 88 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And will you play the guitar again, and sing once more 
 that song ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes." 
 
 "Sing it now!" exclaimed Carmela with joy; "sing it 
 softly." 
 
 Then the officer placing his mouth at her ear sang : 
 
 Carmela, ai tuoi ginocchi 
 Placidamente . . . 
 
 Carmela threw her arms around her husband's neck, and 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " Poor, dear one," said the latter, pressing her to his breast ; 
 " here, here, on my heart, always here ! " 
 
 The poor thing drew back suddenly, looked around her, at 
 the sea, the island, her husband, and exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh, it f s a dream ! " 
 
 And the young man, interrupting her, replied : ; \ 
 
 " No, darling, it 's the waking ! " 
 
 The ship swept on as if borne by the wind.
 
 "Apart from the others, and turned in the opposite direction from the ship's course, 
 were a young man and girl leaning on the railing, arm in arm," etc. 
 
 (Page 187.)
 
 THAT DAY. 
 
 " IT is your turn," a young lady once said to an officer just 
 returned from the war ; " tell me what one really feels, what one 
 really experiences in those terrible moments. But be concise, 
 I beg of you. You military men, when you get talking of the 
 war, recount very marvellous tales, and find people who swal- 
 low them ; but I am not one of the number, I warn you. Tell 
 me the truth and nothing more, without any of the fine rhetoric 
 which I have had too much of already in reading descriptions 
 of battles, for they are all written in the same style." 
 
 " Tell, tell, is easily said," replied the officer, " but without 
 any preparation ? Give me time at least to collect and put my 
 reminiscences in order, if not I shall give you an account with- 
 out any head or tail." 
 
 " No ! my dear sir ; no preparations ! I do not wish a 
 philosophical dissertation, and, much less, a page of military 
 history. Tell me quickly and as best you can, all that you 
 have seen." 
 
 " Do you insist upon it ? " 
 
 " Yes, absolutely." 
 
 " I will begin ; but remember, I shall not tell one word more 
 than what I have seen ; if the story does not please you, it will 
 not be my fault." 
 
 " Be concise, and do not try to be any thing more. Begin ! " 
 
 189
 
 IQO MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 " I will begin, and first of all, let me give you an idea of the 
 ground. Give attention. We will suppose that this is a chain 
 of the Alps ; that first line up hill . . ." 
 
 " Topography ? oh, for pity sake ! " 
 
 " You do not wish it ? Well, then, I will explain myself in 
 another way ; it will be better so. Let us suppose, then, that 
 we are out in the open country, one beautiful, clear, quiet sum- 
 mer morning. Let us suppose that, beginning here under our 
 feet, the ground rises gradually, until it forms a lovely broad, 
 high hill in regular curves, whose top stands out against the 
 horizon, about half an hour's walk from us. It is a beautiful 
 green hill, sprinkled half way down with hedges, trees, and 
 long rows of grape-vines, ploughed with ditches, and traversed 
 in every direction by paths and low walls of heaped-up stones, 
 such as mark the limits of farms : here, a bit of ground covered 
 with grass and plants ; there, broken and reddish, covered with 
 stones ; here, an easy bit ; there, suddenly steep and barren. Do 
 you see it ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, suppose one thing more : that a good part of the hill, 
 from the top down, is entirely free from trees and houses, bare 
 and clean, where the sun beats in such a way that every furrow, 
 bush, and person would be visible, if there were any people. 
 You see a person, let us suppose, as tall as this, so that you can 
 tell whether it is a man or woman. Are you laughing ? I tell 
 you this to give you an idea of the distance." 
 
 " Yes, I understand." 
 
 " Well, then, that morning we were at the foot of a hill like 
 the one I have described, and were waiting. Here, there, to 
 the right and left, in the distance, behind the trees and bushes,
 
 THAT DAY. IQI 
 
 among the vines, in the ditches, everywhere, in fact, there were 
 soldiers, standing, seated, lying down, some with bare heads, 
 some with coats unbuttoned, some with their muskets on the 
 ground, others with theirs across their knees, all grave and 
 thoughtful. Although divided and scattered, there was still 
 some appearance of order in the column. The officers were 
 standing in groups, and talked in an undertone among them- 
 selves, in few words, monosyllables and gestures, raising 
 their eyes, from time to time, to look around and back of them. 
 But the majority looked up, and seemed to be waiting for 
 something from that quarter ; every glance was directed toward 
 the summit, as if something would appear from one moment to 
 the other. And, in fact, at a certain point, where there was a 
 thick clump of cypresses, a long black spot appeared, moving 
 slowly, slowly forward, so that it seemed like one of those broad 
 shadows that isolated cloudlets cast in passing before the sun. 
 As it advanced, it broadened out and moved more quickly. It 
 was a column of soldiers, all bristling with bayonets, which sent 
 an undulating flash from one end to the other, like a black tor- 
 rent covered with silver spangles. We were all silent and mo- 
 tionless, our mouths half open, our eyes fixed on that line, 
 watching its steps, noting all the undulations ; not a breath was 
 heard in the whole battalion, not a gesture was seen ; the sol- 
 diers all seemed statues. Suddenly a voice shouted : ' There, 
 look on the other side ! ' We all turned the other way. And, 
 in fact, on the right, on the summit, where there was a hovel, 
 another troop, broader, deeper, and gleaming too with bayonets, 
 advanced rapidly, resolutely, and with serrated ranks in an 
 opposite direction from the first. Then an excited murmur 
 rose: 'How many are there?' 'A regiment?' 'No, two
 
 I9 2 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 battalions.' 'Or one?' 'No, no, two.' 'Three.' 'They 
 look like sharp-shooters.' ' No, infantry.' ' Sharp-shooters.' 
 'But, no.' 'But yes; see their feathers.' ' They are stopping.' 
 ' Do you think so ? ' ' Yes, they have stopped, I tell you ! ' ' No, 
 see how they move ! ' Meanwhile the ground between the two 
 bodies was diminishing. We measured it from moment to mo- 
 ment. Our eyes ran, without stopping, from one troop to the 
 other, from the latter back with the rapidity of thought, hungrily 
 and expectantly ; all our life was in our eyes ; all our soul was 
 up there. The ground between the two went on diminishing, 
 and the two bodies were very near, and marched rapidly, a 
 trifle disordered and confused. We, with our eyes dilated, mo- 
 tionless, nailed to the spot, our hearts beating, and our breath 
 bated. 
 
 " Suddenly, almost instantaneously, a bright light flashed from 
 those two bodies, fell, and was extinguished ; they had lowered 
 their bayonets, and instantly thereafter began running. A 
 shout, that must have been tremendous, came faintly to our 
 ears. 
 
 " We replied with a shudder. 
 
 " Ah, they are within a few steps of each other; they will 
 clash ; have done so ; one gives way, spreads, draws back, 
 breaks, and scatters to right and left ; it is a rout. 
 
 " A fresh shout, a cry of joy reaches us ; and this time we re- 
 spond too. Our shout, ready for so long a time, but sup- 
 pressed, suffocated, and strangled, came up and burst out from 
 the depths of our souls, and was savagely long and sharp. 
 
 " The victorious band stopped an instant, then continued its 
 run, caught up with the fugitives, moved off behind them, be- 
 came only a black point, and then disappeared.
 
 THAT DAY. 193 
 
 "At that point a high, vibratory voice resounded in our 
 midst : * It is your turn now. To your place ! ' 
 
 " It was the voice of our major. 
 
 "Try letting drop a flaming piece of paper over one of those 
 lar^e, thick ant hills, which at a few steps' distance seem quite 
 immovable, and look like ugly black spots, which you cannot 
 make out at first. The little troop, quite frightened, turns 1 
 dizzily in every direction, and rushes toward the subterranean 
 passage. Try the first ! The others press forward, dash over 
 one another ; that passage is closed ? quick, another ; this, 
 too ? on to a third ; this, too ? back then to the first. When the 
 greater number have dashed into the hole, many unfortunate 
 ones are wandering around in a desperate manner, quite blindly, 
 more dead than alive, until they, too, find a place of safety, 
 although a trifle late, and, perhaps, at the cost of some burns. 
 
 "When the first terror is passed, the same thing occurs 
 among the soldiers at the sound of that voice. 
 
 " In a twinkling all were up and in arms ; the ranks were 
 quickly formed ; there was a great ferment, a whispering, a push- 
 ing and squeezing, and then all became quiet. Some ran here 
 and there in search of their places ; he who found it pushed 
 into it ; he who did not, made one for himself with his elbows : 
 the battalion was in order. 
 
 " It was a beautiful spectacle ! That multitude a short time 
 before scattered and stretched out with loosened clothes and 
 belts, their arms on the ground, up in an instant in line, mo- 
 tionless and silent, prepared for death. It is sufficient to look 
 them in the eye, to understand that they are men who will 
 see the enemy's backs, or cover the ground with their bodies. 
 The flag is motionless ; the arm which holds it does not
 
 194 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 tremble. In the midst of the soldiers, who form a hedge around 
 it with their bayonets, there are superb faces and flashing 
 eyes. 
 
 " ' Forward ! ' sounds the well-known voice. 
 
 "An instantaneous movement throughout the column, a 
 shudder, a murmur ; then quiet. ' Forward ! ' the captains 
 repeat. 
 
 " Forward, then, up the hill. The company at the head hesi- 
 tates a moment in front of the first hedge in its way ; the com- 
 panies which are following crowd behind ; the heavy column 
 closes up, oscillates and totters from the head to the rear on the 
 uneven ground ; then breaks, broadens, draws in, stretches out, 
 forms again, begins crowding again with ceaseless bustle, with 
 sudden starts and stops, unequal steps and bounds. He who 
 is at the rear is thrown back by the knapsack of the man in 
 front of him, which strikes him in the chest ; now, a man is 
 suddenly precipitated on to the one in front of him, and stag- 
 gering, pushes him forward ; he who is at the flank, tossed here 
 and there sideways, and by blows from the elbow and knap- 
 sacks, goes up zigzag and staggering, his head down, and his 
 legs wide-stretched. Here is a hedge : up with the legs and 
 muskets. There a ditch : quick, it is passed. Here an eleva- 
 tion of ground : courage, up, without any disorder. There an 
 interlacing of branches, which fall across one's face : away with 
 it with the hand, and down with the heads. A vine forms an 
 obstruction : out with the sword, it is on the ground, forward. 
 Grass, vines, hedges, bushes, ditches, paths, all change, every 
 thing falls and disappears under that wave, that weight, that 
 precipitous tread, of that irregular multitude. Here the ground 
 is steep, here stony: the foot slips, many fall ; up on the elbows,
 
 THAT DAY. 1 95 
 
 up, strength, on to the feet, forward. Many help themselves 
 with their hands, the butt-end of the musket, or their knees ; 
 the trunks, clods, stones, roots, every thing, in fact, serves as a 
 support to the trembling hand ; the crowd climbs, slips, is piled 
 up, here dense, there thinner, scattered, separated, but tenacious, 
 resolute, and raging. Meanwhile our strength decreases, and the 
 sun drives us mad, and here in our hearts we are burning. . . 
 Not climb any further ; courage ; give a glance up and see how 
 much remains : a little only. A glance backward : a long line of 
 fallen who stretch out their arms ; many try to rise, and fall. 
 We are almost there ; they must have seen us. A moment 
 more, ah ! A cry, long, sharp, shrill, and fierce, passes over the 
 heads of the column. A joyful shout, a deep shudder, all on 
 the ground. ' Up with those heads ! ' shouts the major ; 
 ' when you hear the whistle it has passed.' All are on their 
 feet here we are ; they have seen us ; let us close up the 
 ranks ; down with the bayonets ; quicken the pace. Under ! 
 Another cry longer, sharper, more penetrating, nearer, and more 
 frightful : all on the ground. ' Up, for heaven's sake, boys ! ' 
 comes from the same voice ; ' look death in the face ! Don't 
 be afraid ! ' Another whistle ; another ; all unharmed ; we are 
 safe ; here we are on the crest ; let us wait ; halt ! 
 
 " All turn their eyes around in astonishment : What an 
 immense and superb plain ! The sky, which was very clear, 
 permitted us to see the most distant horizon. On one side, far 
 away in the distance, mountains behind mountains, high, blue, 
 and clear ; on the other side plains. The entire green plain 
 was ploughed here and there by long, slender white lines, 
 which intersected at many points and were lost among the dis- 
 tant trees, raising at certain times great clouds of dust which
 
 1 96 MI LIT A R Y LIFE. 
 
 appeared very pure as they were touched by the sun, and 
 stretched out slowly in the direction of the roads : those white 
 lines were the roads that we had taken that morning ; those 
 clouds of dust revealed the advance of the Italian columns. 
 There were a fdw thatched houses here and there, half hidden 
 among the trees, as if they were afraid and did not wish to see 
 what was taking place up there. Below, quite far down, Villa- 
 franca was the nearest and silent spectator. On the other, 
 toward the enemy, there were dark spots among the side 
 green of the fields, and an uncertain gleaming of bayonets, 
 which now advanced, now stopped, now pointing to the left or 
 right, almost as if uncertain toward which point they should 
 move and proceed circumspectly. Nearer us, on the same 
 plain, were four or five Austrian cannon which were roaring 
 slowly and continuously. On the opposite side, directly at the 
 foot of our hill, as many of our cannon were firing like the first 
 but more slowly. Behind us on the slope of the neighboring 
 hill, we could see a dense white smoke, and hear a quick firing 
 of muskets ; it was the extreme flank of another division. We 
 saw nothing more, or, at least, I do not remember any thing 
 further. We stood waiting there, contemplating that marvel- 
 lous spectacle. 
 
 " In the time of great excitement, when some strong emotion 
 moves us, the mind often, almost unconscious of what is pass- 
 ing in the soul, becomes abstracted little by little, and wanders 
 and abandons itself to the strangest and most childish thoughts 
 and fancies, as if that passing hour were one of the most idle 
 and quiet of our daily life. Thus, perceiving a distant 
 bell-tower, I thought : 'It is Sunday. The people there this 
 morning, in holiday dress, have gone out joyfully into the
 
 THAT DAY. 197 
 
 street, then to church, then have finished their work, just as on 
 any other day, quietly and contentedly.' Then breaking away 
 from this fancy, I saw all those women on their knees in 
 church, absorbed in their prayers, and I watched their faces 
 and said : 'That one, yes, that one there is the mother of a 
 soldier ' ; and at every roar of the cannon I saw her grow pale 
 and tremble. 
 
 " Suddenly, a sergeant who was seated near me, rose to his 
 feet, took two or three steps with his head raised, a smile on 
 his face, and his eyes fixed on the distance, toward the moun- 
 tains ; then he stretched out his arm, pointed his forefinger in 
 that direction, stopped an instant, looked at his comrades, and 
 shouted in a high, clear voice : ' Boys ! come here ! ' Many 
 rose and gathered around him. ' Look ! ' he added, keeping 
 his arm stretched out and his finger still pointing in the same 
 direction. 'Do you see that distant tower down there, and 
 that house ? ' ' Where ? where ? ' many others asked as they 
 hurried toward him. ' There, there, look where I am point- 
 ing.' 'I see,' said one. 'I too.' 'I too.' 'We all see.' 
 "'Well?' 
 
 " 'Well ! ' he exclaimed in a deep and trembling voice, 'that 
 is Verona ! ' 
 
 " ' Verona ! Verona ! ' they all shouted, clapping their hands ; 
 the rumor spread ; in a moment the entire battalion was there, 
 every face turned in that direction, every arm stretched toward 
 that tower, their mouths open for that shout, looking, as one 
 looks . . . Have you ever been a long time without see- 
 ing your mother? If you had been waiting for her arrival, 
 you would have fixed your eyes anxiously along the road by 
 which she was to arrive, and when far away in the distance
 
 198 M1LITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 you discovered a black speck, or a little white cloud of smoke, 
 and the blast of a horn reached your ear, dear reader, what 
 would you have felt in your heart ? Just what we felt, fixing 
 our eyes on those most desired towers . . . shouting that 
 dear name. . . . 
 
 | " All four battalions of the regiment were up there. Sud- 
 denly a loud shout is heard, all the soldiers spring to their 
 feet, the officers give the order : ' To your place ! ' the com- 
 panies reform, and all are silent. Another shout, and the 
 officers repeat : 'Bayonets fixed ! ' and all four battalions fix 
 their bayonets, then another period of silence follows. ' What 
 is it? What has happened ? ' all ask. The colonel's adjutant 
 arrives on horseback, approaches our major, and whispers 
 in his ear. ' Forward ! ' shouts the major. The battalion 
 moves, passes the summit of the mountain, and descends the 
 slope on the enemy's side. All those behind, and I among the 
 number, stretch out their necks, and put out their heads to 
 the right and left to see where we are going ; but we cannot 
 see any thing, as the first company impedes our view. I turn 
 back and see the other battalions following us slowly in the 
 distance. At a certain point, when the last company has 
 reached a slight elevation of ground, I catch a glimpse in the 
 distance, among the trees, a movement, a gleaming . . . 
 
 "At the same instant I hear a -terrible explosion, and sharp 
 whistles on the right and left, at my feet, above my head, an 
 agonizing cry a few steps from me, and in the distance a great 
 cloud of white smoke, then a powerful shout : ' Charge with 
 the bayonets." The disordered battalion dashes forward on 
 quick step. Another cry : ' Savoy ! ' The battalion breaks 
 out into a loud shout and starts on a run ; nothing but smoke
 
 Oh ! here is a door ; enter quickly with lowered bayonets ; a court-yard, the 
 enemy, a flag ; courage, on to them ! Around the flag is a bulwark 
 of breasts, bristling with motionless bayonets." 
 
 (Page 199.)
 
 THAT DAY. 199 
 
 is to be seen ; another explosion ; other whistles ; forward, 
 forward . . . Halt ! The trumpet has sounded the halt. 
 Where are we ? Where is the enemy ? What are they doing ? 
 Oh, what smoke ! The battalion is all scattered. Here is a 
 house ! It seems as if they were firing from that house. 
 ' Charge with the bayonet ! ' we hear confusedly in the 
 midst of the musket-firing ; the battalion dashes forward ; 
 where are we going ? how do we get there ? There is nothing 
 to be seen. Oh ! here is a door ; enter quickly with lowered 
 bayonets ; a court yard, the enemy, a flag ; courage, on to 
 them. Around the flag is a bulwark of breasts, bristling with 
 motionless bayonets. The first, overcome, fall on to the 
 others, firm as a column ; the furious assault stops, and 
 then begins a precipitous shower of blows that we hear 
 but cannot see ; the bayonets cross and strike, resounding 
 sharply ; the broken muskets crack ; there are horrible shouts 
 stifled by suffocation, and broken groans that follow the force 
 of the blows ; the weapons are straightened, the crowd thickens, 
 the combatants dash at each other, form groups, jammed to- 
 gether, face to face. The soldiers seize the bayonets, take 
 each other by the throat, cross legs and arms, seize and/break 
 away from each other, fall, rise pale and breathless, with teeth 
 set, and bare and bleeding heads. One feels the heated breath 
 of the other in his face ; at every moment a face becomes pale 
 and a head falls back with distorted eyes ; the ground is covered 
 with the fallen ; the group around the banner has became thin- 
 ner ; the standard-bearer has been hit in the breast by a bayonet. 
 ' Your turn,' shouts a dying voice ; another has seized the flag. 
 Meanwhile they are fighting all over the house. We hear 
 cries of distress from all the rooms. The floors tremble under
 
 200 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 the weight of hurrying steps, and doors creak and burst open 
 under the blows of the muskets. The besieged wander here 
 and there in despair, hide in the fire-places, behind the furni- 
 ture and doors ; the besiegers rush shouting on to them, 
 scatter them, hunt them, discover them, drive them out, and 
 drag them along, streaking the floor and stairs with blood ; 
 the conquered will not surrender ; the prisoners revolt, break 
 away, throw themselves from the windows, and dash into the 
 court-yard, or get transfixed with bayonets in their backs, and 
 fall dead in the door-ways ; others try to escape by the roofs ; 
 others, wounded and dripping with blood, drag themselves out 
 of the fray. The defenders of the flag are at the end of their 
 resources. ' Surrender ! ' our men shout. ' No ! no ! ' they 
 reply in a stifled voice. ' Death first ! ' Suddenly a loud 
 shout is heard which resounds through the house, and at the 
 same moment a man dashes out of the crowd with the enemy's 
 flag in his hand, his forehead aloft and shining, but lacerated 
 and bleeding. ' Hurrah ! ' shout a hundred voices through- 
 out the house. A blast of the trumpet is heard. ' What ? 
 What has happened ? Retreat ? How is that ? Why ? It is 
 impossible ! Silence ! ' Another blast of the trumpet, and a 
 thundering shout from the major : ' Retreat ! ' ' Retreat ? 
 we ? now ? why ? It is a mistake ! It is impossible ! ' We are 
 out of the house, the major points out the direction of the 
 road, the other battalions are already in motion. Heavenly 
 Father ! we retreat ! ' Captain, captain, in heaven's name 
 why are we retreating ? ' The captain, without saying a word, 
 turns toward the enemy and stretches out his arm in the 
 direction of the plain to point out something. ' Look . . .' 
 There was an interminable column of the enemy advancing at 
 our back, and losing itself in the green of the country.
 
 THAT DAY. 2OI 
 
 " ' But captain ! captain ! and the other corps and divisions, 
 where are they ? what are they doing ? why do they not 
 come* ? ' 
 
 " ' Humph ! ' he replied, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 " ' Have we lost them ? ' I shouted in a tone of despair. 
 ' So it seems ! ' 
 
 ' I looked around at my soldiers, I looked again at the 
 Austrian column, then at Villafranca, at that superb Lom- 
 bardian plain, the beautiful sky, and the beautiful mountains. 
 ' Oh, my poor country ! ' I exclaimed, letting my sword fall 
 to the ground, and I wept like a child." 
 
 The young lady bowed her head on her hand and thought.
 
 THE SENTINEL. 
 
 IT was one of the last nights of January ; it was snowing, 
 and the streets of the city, the squares, the sills and balconies 
 of the houses, and the trees were all white, buried, overloaded 
 with snow ; the flakes fell slowly, large, and thick, and on a 
 snowy stratum along the walls a track was hardly made before 
 every trace of it disappeared. The lamps at the corners of 
 the streets gave out a veiled, sad light ; at the crossings, no 
 matter in which direction you looked, not a soul was to be 
 seen ; on every side there reigned a dead silence, so that you 
 could almost hear the snow fall. 
 
 It was one of those nights in which any one who is so unfort- 
 unate as to be out hurries home, keeping close to the walls, in 
 rapid, silent steps, like a stealthy phantom, with his eyes on the 
 ground to escape the puddles, the brim of his hat over his ears 
 and nose, his neck down and the coat-collar turned up at the 
 back, one hand stuck into the other sleeve, all huddled up ; 
 dashes head down into the door-way, climbs the stairs, stamp- 
 ing his wet feet and shaking the snow-covered garments, pushes 
 the key into the keyhole, enters, off with the coat, down with 
 the hat what a state to be in ! pushes the first chair in front 
 of the fire, drops down on to it, one foot here, the other foot 
 there, drops his head over the fire, and stays there poking and 
 enjoying it, puffing a cigar slowly, making hieroglyphics in the
 
 THE SENTINEL. 203 
 
 ashes with the tongs, muttering from time to time : " What 
 weather ! " One of those nights in which even the bored, 
 disenamored husband draws his chair a little nearer to his 
 wife ; the bachelor dreams of the quiet joys of a family, and, 
 renouncing his usual dissipations, dashes under the counter- 
 pane betimes, twists about until he has made a warm nest for 
 himself, puts out one hand far enough to hold his novel, and 
 having read two or three pages, falls peacefully to sleep, whet- 
 ting his own enjoyment of the heat and rest with the picture 
 of the poor benumbed people who have neither home nor bed. 
 One of those nights in which the life of the city is restricted to 
 the domestic hearth, where the usual conversation between the 
 family and most intimate friends extends beyond the customary 
 hour, until the children, overcome with sleep, tug secretly at 
 the mamma's skirt to remind her of the little bed awaiting 
 them, and go to sleep enjoying in anticipation the battle with 
 snow-balls that they shall fight in the morning. One of those 
 nights in which the most ardent desires are three in number, as 
 the bon vivant would say : a dear face, a charming book, and a 
 good glass of something. 
 
 All, even the poor, seek in such nights the cover of a roof, a 
 little fire, and a little straw ; all find a shelter from the snow 
 until the first rays of dawn, at least for those hours in which it 
 comes down so thickly that it seems desirous of burying the 
 houses ; all rest, sleep, all but the sentinel for whom there is 
 neither fire, roof, nor rest ; but only a little wooden box, a 
 heavy cloak of coarse cloth, and the corporal's countersign. 
 
 Look down there at the end of the square, all white with snow, 
 and lighted all around by four long rows of lamps, near the 
 great door of that black palace, so colossal and old in form,
 
 204 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 with its huge illuminated windows ; look there at that sentinel's 
 box, that muffled man, erect and motionless like a marble 
 statue. He has been there for hours, without moving, without 
 uttering a word, with his right hand quite benumbed on the 
 barrel of his musket, his feet in the snow, his eyes cast down 
 and fixed, so that they seem to be counting the large flakes 
 which fall around him. From time to time his eyes half close, 
 his head drops slowly on his shoulder ; but instantly an inner 
 voice warns him, and he raises his head quickly, opens and di- 
 lates his eyes, glances around rapidly and vigilantly, as if to 
 compensate his conscience for that moment of languor and in- 
 ertia. Look at him ; even the poorest have a bit of house, fire, 
 and bed ; but he has none. 
 
 These thoughts passed through my mind one night at the 
 end of January, when I was on guard with about forty sol- 
 diers on that square and in front of that palace. And I walked, 
 thinking thus, at a short distance from the door, measuring 
 with slow step a small portion of the square that was free from 
 snow, and turning my eyes now and then up toward the lighted 
 windows, from which there came to my ears a confused har- 
 mony of flutes and violins, and a dull, heavy sound of feet, 
 moving in cadence tread over an immense floor. Then I 
 looked into the immense vestibule, at the lamps gleaming with 
 crystal, the carpets and vases of flowers scattered over the 
 marble floor, and the walls covered with tapestries and laurels. 
 Toward the front, between me and the door, was a coming and 
 going of grand carriages, a shouting of coachmen, a continuous 
 mounting and descending of men and women, a hastening to 
 the carriage doors, a reverential opening of these, a respect- 
 ful presentation of the hand, a long sweeping of dresses, an un-
 
 THE SENTINEL. 2O$ 
 
 covering of bedecked heads, a curving of spines, and an appear- 
 ance and disappearance of servants in gleaming gala livery. 
 Here a carnage with a coat of arms approaches, stops ; the 
 footman gets hastily down ; all gather around ; ten hands vie 
 with each other to reach the door-handle ; one fortunate hand 
 seizes it ; the door opens ; the crowd divides into two wings, on 
 the right and left ; necks are outstretched, and eyes fixed ; a 
 head appears, a foot, then a little hand in a light glove ; and 
 another hand stretches out from the midst of the crowd, 
 touches timidly its finger tips, down goes the small foot, slowly, 
 carefully, a little farther, a trifle farther still, and the small 
 foot is on the ground. Oh, how pretty ! How unfortunate it 
 would have been if it had touched a flake of snow ! But it 
 kept inside the train of the dress. What a pity ! It must have 
 caught on a nail ! Quick they run in twos, threes, and fours ; 
 Where is it caught ? Here ! no there gently carefully 
 delicately look, look ah ! it is here. The train is free, on 
 the ground, and she is on her feet. What a superb figure ! 
 Make way ; stand back and look at her. An indiscreet hood 
 only shows the curious eye a wee bit of that charming face ; 
 it is the face of an angel ! A jealous gown hides from the 
 hungry glances the beautiful hips and white shoulders, but 
 lets one imagine, under j.ts folds, the form which is divine ! 
 The beautiful figure advances gracefully, turns, places her 
 foot on the staircase, one more bit of the dress, and then she 
 has disappeared. What a pity ! But follow her with the mind's 
 eye into the midst of the intoxicated throng of those noisy 
 rooms ; among all the other beautiful heads bedecked with 
 gems and camelias, distinguish her tresses and flowers, and fol- 
 low them in the mazes of the dance, amid the conflict of ardent
 
 2O6 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 glances which provoke, search, flee away amiably astute, meet 
 amiably audacious, and betwixt the fascination of the soft 
 abandonment and pleasure of the dance, they languish, flush, 
 beseech, refuse, promise, punish, grant, and carry one off to 
 Heaven. 
 
 And he is there, I thought, poor soldier ! He is there, ex- 
 posed to the cold, to the snow, alone, silent, sad, without com- 
 fort, and without hope. Up there they are playing, dancing, 
 laughing, frolicking, enjoying life's wildest and most charming 
 intoxications ; and he, from that darkness and that solitude, is 
 obliged to hear the gaiety going on above his head, and com- 
 pare it with the sad abandonment, and the weary melancholy 
 of his poor heart. He is obliged to submit to the imageries of 
 those dear faces, beautiful persons, and glances ; he, who is 
 alone, far away from his own, who has no woman's face smiling 
 on him, no little hand to press ; but who, perchance, to his 
 greater sorrow, will always have fixed in his memory a black 
 braid and two modest eyes that once made his soul tremble 
 with love ! Ah ! in the midst of those hyacinths and flower- 
 decked heads he dreams of her, and sees those dear tresses, 
 without gems, and without flowers ! " Corporal ! " 
 
 " Present ! " 
 
 " Who 's the soldier in the sentinel-,box ? " 
 
 " Such and such a one." 
 
 "You may go." My heart told me that it was a conscript. 
 Poor conscript ! He has only been in the regiment for a few 
 days, and is still bewildered by this new life ; his head and his 
 heart are still at home with his mother, among the quiet habits 
 
 
 
 of his'former life ; the thought of return does not even pass 
 through his head, or, if it does, it is only a thought of a very
 
 THE SENTINEL. 2O/ 
 
 distant pleasure ! He has' no friends in the regiment as yet ; 
 he is still suffering from the jokes of the older soldiers, and the 
 first hardships, which are the most painful, of the discipline ; 
 not a friendly voice, not an affectionate word, not a smile, 
 nothing but harsh threatening voices and disagreeable faces. 
 After another hour passed there, he will come here, weary and 
 wet, overcome with cold and sleep, and will have a wretched, 
 bare table on which to rest, and will fall into that interrupted, 
 painful slumber, being waked by a jogging of his legs or a 
 handful of snow in his face. He has not even a little fire by 
 which to dry his clothes, not a drop of wine, not even a bit of 
 tobacco, and probably not even a centime with which to 
 buy some. I could swear that he is suffering at this moment. 
 The music and the gaiety sadden him. I will go and assure 
 myself of the fact. I will go and see him. But no why not ? 
 Yes, indeed, I will go and see him. Whv should I not go ? 
 Oh, we will see ! I will go. 
 
 And I started. I passed in front of the box, looked in ; it 
 was dark, and I could not see his face. I turned back, hesi- 
 tated for an instant, and thought : When one is stirred by a 
 very powerful emotion, be it sorrow or joy, the sound of the 
 first word uttered after a long silence must at that moment 
 rouse and reveal that sentiment in question. Let us try. I 
 approached the box, and stopped in front of it. The sentinel 
 noticed me, and came to the opening. I did not see his face, 
 nor he mine. I asked, in an affectedly indifferent tone : " Are 
 you cold ? " 
 
 He hesitated a moment, and then replied : " No, sir ! " 
 That was enough. There was a slight tremor in the 
 voice ; no doubt of it ; my supposition had been quite correct, 
 and I had divined the state of his heart.
 
 2O8 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 " Are you really not cold ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! A little you know but not so much so that 
 rather " 
 
 Poor fellow, he was freezing ! He was afraid of appearing 
 lacking in discipline should he tell me he was cold. Just as if 
 he or I had made the snow fall right at his feet, which must 
 have been in a sad state. I was so pleased with his reply, poor 
 fellow ! So, do not talk to me of the distance between officers 
 and soldiers at such moments ; for the heart is not covered 
 with gilt braid like the cap. Great heavens ! how can one be 
 so hard and reserved unless he be made of stone ? However, 
 as I did not wish it to seem as if I had gone there to play the 
 pitying consoler, or leave him either before I had cheered him 
 a trifle with a few friendly words, I said, in an indifferent man- 
 ner : 
 
 " How much longer have you to stay here ? " 
 
 " I really don't know, Mr. Lieutenant. . . . You cannot 
 hear the clock near here ... on account of the music." 
 
 " Yes ; well (at this point the ice was broken), certainly to 
 stand still here, at this hour and in such weather, is not a pleas- 
 ure. But, good heavens ! it is our profession. . . . It is 
 all like this, and we must take things as they are. But, my 
 good fellow, this is nothing. If we go to war, then you will see 
 something worse. That is quite another affair, you know, as 
 you will see when you try it. When you are on the outposts, 
 for instance, in a dark wood, under one of those fine drizzling 
 rains that go through every thing and make you thoroughly un- 
 comfortable, quite alone, abandoned, and not seeing a palm 
 before your nose, but there you must stay, firm and erect as a 
 reed, with a vigilant eye and strained ear, because the enemy is
 
 THE SENTINEL. 2OQ 
 
 in front of you, and from one moment to the other may fall 
 upon you. Then, after a night passed there, you return to the 
 regiment, and there is nothing to satisfy your hunger, no place 
 to sleep, and you are obliged to stretch yourself out in the 
 mud, on stones, or on the damp grass then you know what a 
 hard life is ! This is nothing. Yet brave soldiers lead that 
 life so full of perils and deprivations courageously, and never 
 grumble ; when they can sleep, well ; when they cannot, pa- 
 tience ; when there is bread, hurrah for the bread ! when there 
 is none, one can fast, a la bonheur, and does not get out of 
 temper for such a trifle. Do you know why ? Because they 
 are living among friends and know how to do their duty, to be 
 a soldier who will defend the country where he was born and 
 brought up, where he -has his family, home, friends, and . . . 
 sweetheart ; all that is dearest and most sacred to us in this 
 world ; do you understand ? And the consciousness of having 
 done his duty is all that the good soldier needs. See how 
 many poor unfortunates the soldiers have dragged out of the 
 river down there during the summer bathing season ! Well, 
 what have those soldiers who have risked their lives to save those 
 of people whom they did not know gained ? Nothing ; that is, 
 much the gratitude of the saved, and the consciousness of their 
 courageous deed, and this is enough for a brave man. Then 
 the soldiers who go to fight the brigands ? Every day one dies ; 
 who knows that he is dead ; who will remember his name be- 
 yond the members of his family ? Yet the soldiers are willing 
 to stop up on the mountains, in the woods and ravines, and 
 to lead that cursed sort of existence, and why ? Because they 
 know that they are doing their duty. And the carabineers, poor 
 soldiers too, who wander about the country at night, two by
 
 2 1 MI LI TARY LIFE. 
 
 two, among the malefactors hidden in ditches, who treacher- 
 ously shoot at them from their hiding-places, they too lead a 
 hard life. Yet see how gladly they do their duty ! It is the 
 same thing with the sentinel. At night, such nights as these, 
 who sees the sentinels enveloped in their cloaks, curled up 
 at the back of their boxes, motionless and silent ; who hears 
 them, knows who they are, or thinks of them ? No one. Yet 
 the sentinel must remain at his post, without any melancholy 
 thoughts in his mind, and think : Every one is sleeping ; but I 
 watch over the sleep of all ; if there were no sentinels, no one 
 would be able to sleep from fear. My little box protects the 
 largest palaces ; everywhere people are singing, playing, and 
 enjoying themselves, and they can do so without thought or 
 suspicion, because I am silent, vigilant, and listening for them 
 all ; my rough cloak protects the silken and velvet robes of the 
 ladies who go to balls ; this shadow protects that light, my 
 silence those sounds. The soldier must draw comfort from 
 the feeling of this truth, of which one is not accustomed to 
 think, or of which many have never thought, but which 
 ought really to be kept alive in his mind and heart, and 
 he ought to comprehend that in this feeling lies the most beau- 
 tiful reward for his sacrifices and his virtues. Are you con- 
 vinced of it ?" 
 . " Oh, yes, lieutenant." 
 
 His voice had trembled, had come from his heart, had found 
 some impediment half way in his throat, I perceived ; I went 
 on : 
 
 " And after he has sacrificed for five years, five long years, 
 at all hours and moments, his own will, desires, affections, 
 habits, thoughts, every thing in fact ; has sacrificed every thing
 
 THE SENTINEL. 211 
 
 to his duty, his flag to those three beautiful colors which we 
 ought to hold dearer than ourselves, our life, than every thing 
 in the world ; when after five years passed thus, the country 
 says to him : This is enough, you have done your duty, give 
 me back the musket with which you have defended my honor 
 and my life, and return to your home, for your mother is ex- 
 pecting you, and your sisters wish to see you, and there is an- 
 other woman, who, standing by the window at evening, looks far 
 away along the road by which you are to return, then, believe 
 me, my good fellow, the being able to return to your old mother's 
 arms, with the consciousness of having been a good soldier, the 
 being able to return under that poor roof with a high head and 
 your hands hardened from constant handling of the musket is, 
 believe me, a joy that has no equal on the earth Do you be- 
 lieve it ? " 
 
 ". . . . Mr. Lieutenant !...." 
 
 " And when you have returned home, at evening, and the 
 beautiful moon is shining, you begin to dance in the meadow, 
 as in old times, and that is the kind of ball which is the most 
 enjoyable, is n't it ? " 
 
 He made no reply. 
 
 " Am I right or not ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes ! " broke out the poor soldier, in a voice whose 
 tone was indescribable, but which still resounds in my ear, as 
 if I had just heard it. " Oh, yes, you are right, Mr. Lieutenant, 
 yes, cer . . ." 
 
 Do you know why he stopped ? Because, affected and 
 agitated as he was, moved solely by affection, by gratitude for 
 my brotherly words, the good fellow forgot for an instant that 
 I was an officer and he a poor conscript, and had stretched
 
 2 1 2 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 out his arm toward me, but recollecting himself, had instantly 
 withdrawn it, not, however, in time to prevent his hand from 
 grazing my cloak slightly. 
 
 " Ah ! . . ." I exclaimed. 
 
 He was ashamed of himself, and quite embarrassed, and, 
 murmuring timidly some words of excuse, dashed back into 
 his box. He seemed to be breathing with great difficulty. 
 Perhaps he was weeping. 
 
 I moved off with my heart profoundly touched. I felt so 
 thoroughly contented with myself ! I looked up at the lighted 
 windows, went back to listen to the music, to which I had 
 paid no attention for some time, returned in spirit to the ball- 
 room. Pooh, they were all faded imageries. 
 
 Poor enjoyment this, I thought, in comparison with mine.
 
 THE CAMP. 
 
 THERE is a beautiful, great, level, rectangular meadow, shut in 
 on the four sides by a ditch and a hedge, well covered with grass, 
 and studded with daisies. Beyond the ditch, on one side, a 
 thick clump of mulberries, oaks, thorn trees, and further on, 
 projecting above that mass, a gently sloping hill, green and low, 
 scattered with trees and small white houses. Half way up the 
 slope, a group of higher and more city-like-looking houses, and 
 a high, light bell-tower ; round about some bluish and reddish 
 palaces, flowery hillocks, long rows of pines, groups of willows, 
 sandy, winding avenues ; and here and there white statuettes 
 and sprays of water, hidden by the trees and bushes. In front 
 of that field, along the side opposite the grove, runs a broad, 
 raised road, which winds around the thickly planted trees, and 
 climbs the hillside to the village. A regiment has pitched its 
 tents in the meadow. 
 
 Let us place ourselves on the road and look at the camp. 
 Beginning at twenty paces from the ditch, to the opposite 
 boundary line of the field, there are eight long rows of tents, 
 in parallel lines, divided by a space of about ten paces. In 
 every row there are one hundred tents ; three soldiers to each 
 tent ; three hundred soldiers in one row ; two thousand four 
 hundred, or little less, in all ; in fact, an entire regiment. The 
 tents are neat and well stretched ; the cords fastened to the 
 
 213
 
 214 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 ground in straight lines, at equal intervals ; every thing in 
 perfect order ; it is a camp which looks as if painted. Opposite 
 the openings of the tents, at the back and on the sides, rise the 
 huts and sheds of green boughs (they have despoiled the trees 
 in the poor fields in the neighborhood, so that the colonel got 
 ,into a perfect rage), and from the branches (like triumphal 
 arches) wave garlands of wild poppies and wheat interlined. 
 Here and there, on the top of a cane stuck into the ground, 
 float several flags, made of a red cravat, a bit of shirt, and a 
 blue handkerchief, which looks like green. In the tents, is a 
 confusion of straw, clothes, knapsacks, rags, cartridge-boxes, 
 gun-stocks, and bayonets. Between the tents are stretched 
 ropes, on which are displayed those half drawers, which are 
 supposed by the government to reach the ankle, but which in 
 reality only come down to the knees on the legs of the soldiers, 
 as nature made them. 
 
 To the right of all these tents, in a parallel line with the 
 shortest side of the camp, there is another row of tents, conical 
 in shape and higher, larger, better stretched, and more comfort- 
 ably arranged than the others ; the tents of the officers ; from 
 that of the colonel, which is the nearest to the road, down to 
 that of the officers of the last company. Farther to the right, in 
 a parallel line with the tents of the officers, along the dividing 
 ditch, is a long row of wagons overladen with boxes, trunks, 
 bundles, and a hundred various articles. Behind the last 
 wagon, a troop of horses and mules tied to the trunk of the 
 trees. Along the opposite side the left side an unending 
 row of black kettles, placed in groups at regular distances, and 
 between each group, ovens made of heaped-up stones and 
 bricks, and piles of ashes and burnt sticks, brushwood, and
 
 THE CAMP. 215 
 
 scattered straw. Beyond the ditch, small trees on the ground 
 split and broken up, thinned out hedges, furrows trampled 
 down and ruined ; all the signs of a great sacking. Oh, poor 
 colonel, how furious he was ! 
 
 A little wooden bridge, just made with two trunks of trees 
 and a few boards, unites the camp with the road. Beside the 
 bridge, in the camp, along the edge of the ditch, there are ten 
 or twelve isolated tents in which the prisoners in irons are 
 confined. On the bridge is a sentinel, another in front of 
 those tents, and others around the camp at the different points 
 of exit. 
 
 Such is the camp. 
 
 The sun was setting ; it was a beautiful evening in July. 
 The sky was wonderfully clear, the country still fresh and 
 damp from a recent rain ; and that dark grove, the beautiful 
 green hill, the villas, and the little hamlet still gilded by a ray 
 of the sinking sun, made the scene a fascinating one. 
 
 It was an hour of rest and recreation for the regiment. All 
 were in motion. Most of them, in their shirt sleeves and linen 
 trowsers, wandered among the tents, alone, in couples, or in 
 bands ; some were seated or stretched out in groups, or chasing 
 each other, like boys in the court-yard of a school ; others 
 were playing a game with stones ; others fenced with sticks in 
 the midst of a circle of spectators ; others, still, having stretched 
 a bit of cord between two tents, jumped on a wager between, 
 two rows of admirers ; some, seated on the edge of the ditch, 
 around a rag of table-cloth, devoured a few leaves of lettuce in 
 a friendly way, nibbling at a little white bread (the kind the 
 officers eat) ; some were seated cross-legged over the cart- 
 poles smoking peacefully ; some, dressed in linen waistcoats
 
 2l6 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 falling to bits, of which only the white of the past remained, 
 were back among the ovens and kettles, breaking upon their 
 knees the piles of branches, brushwood, etc., for the kitchen ; 
 and on every side rose shouts and cries, songs, and continuous 
 and diffused sounds. 
 
 How many beautiful pictures for an artist ! 
 
 There, at the end of the camp, in the middle of the opposite 
 side from the road, the sutler has placed his three wagons in the 
 form of three sides of a trapezium, the opening toward the camp ; 
 he has stretched a pieced but torn tent between two side wagons ; 
 has set up two or three tables, and three black and rickety 
 benches ; has placed a wardrobe door over the two tallest casks 
 and made a counter of it ; put the biggest cask behind it and 
 lodged his wife there ; has stretched between two wheel-spokes 
 a well-greased cord, and suspended therefrom some long, black, 
 crusty things, which are supposed to be eatable sausages, 
 and which can be enjoyed without danger of death ; then, in 
 order to excite the soldiers' appetite, he has exposed to view a 
 couple of baskets of fresh vegetables, a great plate of plucked 
 and rather gamy fowls, a huge piece of raw meat, a row of 
 bottles and badly washed glasses, cigars pregnant with oil, and 
 sheets of letter-paper perfumed by anchovies ; then has shouted : 
 " Come on, boys ! Here you can eat till you burst ! " Which, 
 by the way, is a highly probable statement. The benches are 
 all full ; the tables covered with bottles ; the men are playing 
 at mora, singing, shouting, disputing, and making a racket ; 
 the glasses jingle from time to time, and strike each other, 
 and the sutler turns around. What are they doing over 
 there ? An officer appears, there is a profound silence ; he dis- 
 appears, and the revelry begins again. Meanwhile, in the open
 
 THE CAMP. 217 
 
 passage between the tables there is a crowd forming, composed 
 of two lines moving in opposite directions, some who are com- 
 ing to- fill their trenchers with wine, and others who, having 
 theirs full, shout : " Make way there," swearing at and cursing 
 the unfortunate man who does not give way and thus makes 
 them spill a few drops. Around the vivandiere a circle of 
 young corporals has formed ; that of the third company, among 
 the others, who is so graceful and so impudent ; the husband 
 knows it, and cannot refrain from casting certain sharp glances 
 in that direction which are like so many arrows ; and the wife 
 does not neglect to make eyes at her favorites ; the husband 
 would like to protest, but the affairs of the shop are flourishing, 
 and much of this is due to the wheedling of madame. " Let 
 us close our eyes," he thinks, " until we have taken in the 
 money." A soldier approaches the counter. " What do you 
 wish?" "A little glass of rum." "Here it is; pay for it." 
 "Take this"; and he presents a bill. "I cannot change 
 it; I have no small money." " Then what shall I do ? Ah, 
 that is delightful ! try." And the poor soldier stands there, 
 puzzled and confused, fingering the bill and glancing at the 
 little glass with an angry expression of face. Then moves 
 slowly off, murmuring : " They pay us in paper, and to say 
 that there is no specie ! But all those who go on horseback put 
 it in their pockets." 
 
 Fifty paces nearer there is another picture. It is a captain 
 who has collected about fifty soldiers of his company, as 
 many as he could pick up round about, has placed them in a 
 circle, and, after telling them that they will have a great deal 
 of marching to do the following day, and that the first one who 
 gives out will be put immediately in irons, has a small cask of
 
 218 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 wine brought into their midst, and glancing at one of the 
 quickest soldiers, says : " It 's your turn ; take out the 
 bung and distribute it." They all gather around, holding 
 out trenchers, canteens, and glasses. " Wait a moment, for 
 heaven's sake ! Get out of the way there, or I won't give 
 any one another drop ! " They all stand back. And while 
 the soldier endeavors to open the cask with his nails and 
 the point of his bayonet, and the captain stands bending 
 over it, his hand on his knees, directing the operation ; 
 all the others, gathered together on one side, smother their 
 laughs of delight, twist their hands around their knees, and, 
 bending their backs, they make mute signs to one another, ex- 
 change certain droll gestures, hit each other's elbows, nodding 
 with their head and a half-closed eye at the unusual treat ; 
 they pass the back of the hand over the mouth, as if to pre- 
 pare it for the full enjoyment of the treat, without leaving any 
 other profane taste on the lips ; they exchange furtive pinches, 
 and they rub their shoulders against each other. Suddenly, the 
 captain turns. All are erect and motionless, so not to appear 
 quite crazed at the idea of a few drops of wine. The captain 
 makes a sign for them to approach ; they crowd forward ; the 
 bung is out, a great purple stream comes bubbling forth ; ten 
 trenchers are held under it to catch it, after these ten others, 
 another ten, and so on. Down the throat it goes in perfect 
 waves. " Shall we touch glasses ? " asks one voice. " Yes," 
 reply twenty others. The trenchers are raised above the heads, 
 they move, turn and return, touch ; the wine overflows and 
 spreads over their heads, faces, and hands, staining waistcoats 
 and doublets, and dropping everywhere. But what does it mat- 
 ter ? " Hurrah for pleasure ! Hurrah for the captain ! " exclaims
 
 THE CAMP. 219 
 
 one of the boldest in an undertone. " Hurrah .' " reply the 
 others in chorus. " Silence, you dogs ! " shouts the captain 
 impetuously, not succeeding, however, in concealing under that 
 show of anger a certain feeling of complacency. " Have you 
 lost your heads ? Disperse ! " The crowd separate, running 
 in every direction. But the other soldiers, who have sniffed a 
 little festivity in the distance, collect, but too late, however ; 
 the cask is empty, and the captain's pocket-book is closed. 
 The new arrivals wander around, glance warily at each other, 
 do, as they say of the Indians, turn their eyes upward to gaze 
 at the clouds, and kick the stones about while yawning indiffer- 
 ently ; but all in vain ; the captain does not see them, moves 
 off, and every hope is dead. Well, this trifle suffices to make 
 men happy ; and they return to the place whence they came, 
 humming in that strained, harsh voice that seems to stick 
 half way in the throat when we are provoked at something and 
 wish, but do not succeed, in dissimulating it. 
 
 Now let us look in another direction, down there in the 
 farthest corner. Along that line of wall runs a canal three 
 or four metres in width, and in it are two palms' depth of water 
 between two soft and slippery banks. On one of the sides are 
 standing and sitting the soldiers of the company, whose tents 
 are near by. Suddenly there comes a voice from the group of 
 officers standing on the opposite side : " Who wants to earn a 
 lira ? Here it is for the man who can jump this ditch," and a 
 hand with a coin in it is raised in the circle. All turn and run 
 in that direction. " I, I, I, I too." Then an officer exclaims : 
 " Let us see ; stand in a row," and he makes a sign with his 
 hand. The crowd of soldiers turn their backs, run twenty 
 paces from the bank, stop, turn around, draw up in a semicir-
 
 220 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 cle, the most courageous in the centre, the laziest at the wings ; 
 three or four in the middle dispute the best position with their 
 elbows ; one finally conquers, puts his left foot well forward, 
 bends backward, measures the ground with his eye, rises on 
 tip-toe to look into the ditch, thinks, hesitates, turns to his 
 neighbor and says : "You jump first." An "oh !" of shame rises 
 on all sides. The neighbor hesitates also ; two or three excuse 
 themselves. " Make way, then, I will jump," says a new-comer, 
 opening a path by means of pushes and blows. They make 
 way ; he comes forward, prepares, sways backward and forward, 
 glances at the ditch and the ground, and starts. He passes the 
 intervening space, courage, bravo ! and he is over, resting on his 
 right foot, with his left one in the air and his arms well ex- 
 tended. The lira is his ; away he runs for a drink. The 
 competition is lively ; another man has taken the leap, 
 and another lira is won. A third starts. Oh, how short- 
 breathed he is ! He reaches the bank, takes the leap, and 
 down he goes flat on to his face, dashing the water over every 
 one. A prolonged shout breaks from every throat, and ends 
 by a general laugh and clapping of hands. The poor fellow 
 has climbed with difficulty on to the bank, all wet and dripping, 
 his hair clinging and matted in bunches over his ears and face, 
 his trowsers clinging to his legs, and his arms hanging. But 
 the officers are moved by pity. " A glass of wine for this poor 
 devil ! " exclaims one of them. And the face of the poor 
 devil instantly becomes serene. 
 
 Then the circle of singers. One here, one there, around 
 the tents, under the trees, five, ten, and twenty together. 
 One warbles a pathetic ballad with the greatest effrontery ; 
 others, half intoxicated, with glistening eyes and inane faces,
 
 THE CAMP. 221 
 
 howl certain bacchanal songs, raising their trenchers in 
 both hands at the end of every verse, burying their 
 noses in them, and taking down the bad wine in long swal- 
 lows ; then a waving of caps in demonstration of their joy. 
 a reciprocal clapping of hands on the back, and a sharp and 
 surly shouting of " Hurrah for the blonde," with certain grins, 
 a monkey-like puckering up of the nose, and the attitudes of 
 satyrs. Around the group of more harmonious voices is a 
 small circle of spectators, and in the midst of the chorus there 
 is a director, who marks the time with his finger, and reproves 
 any one who goes out of tune, performing his part in the most 
 serious way, with a modest face, and glancing around as he 
 does so at the audience, which continues to increase. 
 
 Then there are the solitary and melancholy ones who take 
 refuge from all that racket, and to whom the music and shout- 
 ing, even when heard at a distance, causes sadness and con- 
 tempt. They wander around the deserted portions of the 
 camp, or seat themselves on the edges of the ditch, with their 
 feet just above the water, poking the sand and stones at the 
 bottom with a willow stick, or else they lie stretched out across 
 the opening of the tent, their faces buried in their hands, the 
 smoked-out pipe in their fingers, and their eyes following in a 
 dazed sort of way the beautiful little flame-colored clouds 
 caused by the setting sun. Their eyes run over the tops of 
 those mountains and they think what may be behind : a plain ; 
 then, other mountains ; and behind these ? another plain ; 
 and so on over mountains, valleys, and unknown plains, in 
 imagination, until suddenly they discern the dear and well- 
 known hills of their own home, and they contemplate with a 
 mingling of tenderness and grief that sunset which they have
 
 222 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 not seen in so long a time. Then, suddenly, they turn their 
 eyes and seem to become aware, at that point, where and among 
 whom they are ; they heave a deep sigh, give a toss of the head 
 as if to chase away the feeling of melancholy which begins to 
 creep into their hearts, rise and away they run to join the 
 others, and join in the general racket, since it is no use to 
 grieve over things which cannot be helped. 
 
 But not all solitary men change their thoughts so easily. 
 Many of the younger soldiers and some of the older ones re- 
 main there the entire evening, thinking and thinking, plucking 
 up the grass about them. Some, seated cross-legged, Turk 
 fashion, polishing their bayonets with a bit of rag, mending 
 their clothes, or attending to some other affair, accompanying 
 their work with a low and monotonous chant, which is sorrowful 
 both in thought and expression. Others seize their knapsacks, 
 spread out on it a sheet of paper, upon which is depicted a 
 soldier starting for the war, or a great heart pierced by a huge 
 arrow ; they stretch themselves flat on the ground, draw out 
 the stump of a rusty pen, and squeeze and arrange the stringy 
 sponge of a dried-up inkstand, and, after having looked at the 
 point against the light several times, and pressed it as many 
 times against their nails, they pass and repass the palm of the 
 hand over the sheet, and breathing upon it, drawing in and out 
 their necks as they do so, scratch great crooked words and 
 form wavering pot-hooks, raising their faces heavenward from 
 time to time, as if asking inspiration for a word or phrase 
 which they no longer remember, but which they have certainly 
 read, they could swear to it, in some printed book, the name 
 of which has slipped from their mind. Like the soldiers, the 
 officers, too, have their sad hours, and they sit cross-legged on
 
 THE CAMP. 223 
 
 the boxes, in front of their tents, a book in their hands, 
 or wander around the solitary corners of the camp among 
 the soldiers. " To whom are you writing ? " asks an offi- 
 cer, stopping behind a soldier who is writing. " Are you 
 writing home?" "Yes, sir," replies the latter, getting on to 
 his knees in order to rise to his feet. " No, no, stay where you 
 are ; and go on." " How long since you have been learning ? " 
 " Four months." " Let me see. That 's not bad. Bravo ! " 
 And on he goes. He stops behind another : " To whom are 
 you writing, your father?" The soldier nods in the negative, 
 smiling as he does so. " To whom then, your mother ? " " No." 
 " To whom then ? " The soldier continues laughing, twists his 
 head around into his shoulder, and with one hand pretends to 
 play with the sheet in order to hide the first word. " Ah ! I 
 understand, you rascal." Both those soldiers are contented ; a 
 word sufficed to put them in good-humor ; perhaps, later, they 
 will join the others and dance too. A pleasant word costs so 
 little ! 
 
 Let us look on to the road and see who is coming. Well, 
 will you tell me what it is that the quartermaster-sergeant is 
 carrying? A leather bag swung over his shoulder ? Wait until 
 that man has got into the camp, until some one has caught sight 
 of him, until the rumor of his arrival has spread, and then you 
 will see what a tumult, crowd, and confusion there is. Here 
 he comes, and makes with quick, stealthy steps for his tent, 
 looking suspiciously around ; he tries to pass unobserved in 
 order to dash into it, and arrange that mass of papers a little, 
 for if he does not do so, it will be almost impossible to dis- 
 tribute them. But it is in vain. A soldier discovers him, turns 
 to his comrades, and gives a shout of joy : " Letters ! Let-
 
 224 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 ters ? " they ask, running around and glancing here and there. 
 "Where is he? where is he?" " He went this way." "No, 
 that." "Ah, here he is !" All dash in that direction. Mean- 
 while the news has flown to the last boundaries of the camp ; 
 two, three, or four soldiers break from every circle, and away 
 they run, who will arrive first and get hold of the first letter ! 
 . . . Ah, the poor carrier is already surrounded, enveloped, 
 squeezed, and suffocated by a restless, impatient crowd, who 
 have their arms in the air, stretch out their hands, and deafen 
 him with a hum of supplicating and persistent voices, and sway- 
 ing about they bear him here and there just as it happens, until, 
 from all those outstretched arms, two, three, or four hands 
 holding convulsively the wished-for letter, detach themselves, 
 and off go the men, into their tents, to read them in peace and 
 quiet. Little by little the press diminishes, and the crowd is 
 reduced to a group ; some disappointed, headstrong creatures 
 still stand there persisting in a lamentable tone of voice : 
 " But really is there nothing for me ? It is impossible ; look 
 again ; do me that favor." " But if I tell you that there is 
 nothing ! " "Oh, for heaven's sake give me time to breathe ! " 
 The few who remain scatter slowly, their chins on their breasts, 
 their arms hanging; and the poor letter-carrier breathes, 
 draws in a long breath, and wiping his forehead with his hand, 
 exclaims : " Heaven be praised that is over ! " 
 
 Along the edge of the road, toward the camp, there is a long 
 line of inquisitive people, most of them peasants, men, women, 
 and boys, who have come from the village to contemplate this 
 spectacle, to them so novel and curious. The children sitting 
 on the banks of the ditch, the fathers and mothers standing on 
 the roadside, the grown-up girls a step behind them. All point-
 
 THE CAMP. 22$ 
 
 ing with their fingers to the different details of the great 
 picture, giggling at the shouts of the singers, pitying the pris- 
 oners, and breaking out into exclamations of surprise in seeing 
 some jump, and commiserating with a " Poor fellow, he must 
 have hurt himself," those who have fallen. Then they com- 
 ment upon the structure of the tents and the divisions of the 
 camp, and explain to one another the difference of grade, 
 judging from the bands on the caps, constantly interrupting, 
 and growing quite provoked at each other. At all points of 
 the road where there are two or three, or a group of young 
 and pretty peasant girls, there is correspondingly in the camp, 
 right on the opposite bank of the ditch, an unusual gathering 
 of soldiers, who, like all men when they know women are look- 
 ing at them, make gestures, assume attitudes, and study their 
 slightest movements, with a careful indifference, an indescrib- 
 able air of liveliness and effrontery, that is really entertaining ; 
 and the peasants laugh and laugh, cover their faces with their 
 hands, hide behind each bther, or scatter and group themselves 
 again, still laughing, whispering mysterious words in each 
 other's ears, and sometimes caressing one another, just for the 
 pleasure (the coquettes !) of seeing their admirers envy them 
 those demonstrations of affection, and make them bite their 
 fingers from pure rage. 
 
 At one point of the road a band of young ladies, from 
 the neighboring villas, has appeared, in scant, airy, white, 
 rose-colored, blue, and very light dresses, which so fly about 
 at the slightest breath of wind, that they are obliged to 
 place a little hand on them and stand still for a moment to 
 keep them in place. Those young ladies are bare-headed, and 
 that light breeze stirs and disarranges their shining ringlets,
 
 226 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 and forces a white arm to raise itself from time to time, and a 
 small, patient finger to put the riotous locks in order. Near 
 by, in the camp, there is a group of officers, who glance along 
 the ground. Oh, if there would only come a breath of wind ! 
 Ah, it begins to increase, passes, seizes a little white skirt, the 
 same small hand does not arrive in time to prevent it from fly- 
 ing. . . . Oh, what a pretty little foot ! Those officers 
 know they are being watched, and how they enjoy it ! If this 
 were not the case, that man, to cite one instance, the one 
 nearest the ditch, would not wear his sash with that careless 
 elegance, and would not have run the ring along so that a bow 
 falls over one hip and the other down to the knee ; that other 
 one there would not puff clouds of smoke into the air, raising 
 his head so proudly as he does so, and would not stand in a 
 Napoleonic attitude ; this third would not feel so frequently 
 at the nape of his neck to see if the small amount of neck- 
 band allowed by the colonel were not quite limp and starchless. 
 Meanwhile a family from the village comes down the road 
 and stops at the entrance of the camp. There is an elderly, 
 lively, strong-limbed, and corpulent papa, with one of those 
 old-fashoned faces, two ships' sails outside the cravat, two locks 
 of gray hair on the temples, a pair of elephant's paws in two 
 gray linen shoes, and a knotted stick under his arm, the coun- 
 terpart of a communal secretary, who lives in perfect peace 
 with all, thoroughly satisfied with himself and the remarkable 
 talent for arithmetic developed by his boys at school ; the 
 good face of a mamma under a hat in the shape of a Roman 
 helmet ; and three boys dressed in their best clothes, well 
 combed, oiled, smoothed, and shining, with their heads still 
 full of a little lesson on the laws of politeness, which was given
 
 THE CAMP. 227 
 
 in haste by mamma just as they were leaving the house. They 
 are old friends of the colonel. What a fortunate chance that 
 he should have camped right there, near their house ! The 
 papa, with his round face all wreathed in smiles, and in his 
 loudest voice, begins : " Mr. Soldier," touching the wide brim 
 of his broad hat as he addresses a sentinel, " might one see 
 the Signor Cavalier Colonel, commandant of the regiment ? " 
 The sentinel makes him a sign to pass, and points with his 
 hand to the colonel's tent. A gray-bearded sapper runs for- 
 ward and announces the visit. The family walk slowly on in a 
 most respectful and circumspect manner. The colonel appears, 
 looks about, stops, knits his brow to see better, glances at the 
 sky as if to collect the scattered reminiscences of old times, 
 remembers, and recognizes them, and smoothing his forehead 
 and uttering a prolonged "oh ! " of surprise and pleasure, ad- 
 vances to meet his guests with outstretched arms. Then fol- 
 low the reception and bows, hurried questions and answers, 
 the passing of hands under the chins of the children, who have 
 sprung up in an astonishing way, and have grown pretty. 
 Then : " Oh, madame ! " the colonel exclaims, in order to start 
 a conversation, " the effect of the companies is very great, you 
 know. One hundred and fifty men in each ; it is quite a 
 delight. What a fine camp, eh? Would you like to see it ? 
 Would you like to take a turn ? " The family consent with 
 thanks ; the colonel, after a little reflection, places himself on 
 the left ot the lady, the husband on the right, and the children 
 in front ; the troop begins to move. Every one stands aside. 
 The officers salute them. A subdued murmur precedes and 
 follows them. The colonel, a good, rough soldier that he is, 
 forced into the thankless position of cavaliere servenle, says to
 
 228 Ml LIT A R Y LIJ?E. 
 
 the lady : " Look over there ! Those are the kettles of the 
 third company, those of the fourth, the others of the fifth. 
 You will probably tell me that they are in a bad condition, 
 which is quite true, but it is because . . ." and then he 
 proceeds to explain the whys and wherefores. And the lady, 
 in the midst of those two rows of soldiers, connot conceal her 
 embarrassment and confusion ; but the papa, proud of having 
 a colonel at his side, gives a slow, benignant glance at the 
 soldiers, repeating from time to time in a tone of complacency 
 and admiration : " What a fine thing youth is ! " One of the 
 boys approaches mamma, and pointing to the ( colonel, asks : 
 " But who is that soldier there ? " " Be quiet," she replies in 
 an undertone ; " he is the one who commands all the soldiers 
 here." " And could he cut off all their heads if he wanted to ? " 
 asks the child. 
 
 " The music ! the music ! " they suddenly shout on all sides 
 of the camp. In fact the musicians have come out of the tents 
 one by one, have collected, marched toward the centre of the 
 camp, formed a circle, and stand awaiting the signal of the 
 band-master, holding their instruments in their hands quite 
 ready to place them at their lips. In less time than it takes to 
 tell it, an immense crowd has gathered around them, half the 
 regiment in fact; a deafening noise is raised, loud shouts of joy, 
 and a burst of hand-clapping and whistles ; the most furious 
 dancers break through the crowd by means of blows and their 
 elbows, look for and call each other, dash together, and by 
 placing their hands on their chests, pushing into them and 
 treading on their toes, they succeed in opening a circle ; the 
 couples prepare, the dancers seize a handful of shirt on their 
 partners' backs (if they were only women), clasp their fingers,
 
 THE CAMP. 229 
 
 put the left foot forward, bend their knees, turn their faces 
 toward the leader: "Well, are you going to play, or not?" 
 The couples grow impatient, tap their feet, shake their fists, 
 twist themselves, puff, shout ; the leader makes a sign with his 
 finger, the instruments are placed at the mouths, the tongues 
 protrude and moisten the upper and lower lips ; another sign, 
 and they begin to play. The couples are in motion, turn, rer 
 turn, touch each other, meet, dash right and left, forward, 
 backward, back to back, hip to hip, the heels on their neigh- 
 bors' corns, away they go blindly, just as it happens, fall or 
 not as the case may be ; there must be place for every one, if 
 not, they make it by blows and kicks, they push, stagger, shout, 
 and grin. In a moment the grass in the field has disappeared 
 under the heavy feet, the ground is broken up, the couples get 
 mixed, divided, or grouped differently ; others fall flat to the 
 ground, and the dancers, pressed over them, stumble and tumble 
 on to them ; others were dashed into the midst of the surround- 
 ing crowd; but, in the midst of that hurly-burly, the Lombard- 
 ian continues to dance imperturbably with that swaying of the 
 hips and motion of the head and shoulders, that crossing of 
 legs and sudden bending of the knee as if on the point of fall- 
 ing, that sudden rising as if on springs ; the Piedmontese goes 
 on impassible and grave, and takes things seriously, warms 
 up to his work, and is proud too of his robust graces; and the 
 Calabrians, two by two, facing each other, their necks crooked, 
 arms akimbo, their faces in grotesque shapes, upright or 
 doubled, continue to dash rapidly over the ground. 
 
 What is the matter ? 
 
 A sudden deep silence has fallen upon the camp ; all faces 
 turn in one direction ; he who was on the ground rises ; he who
 
 230 MI LI TARY LIFE. 
 
 was on the edge of the camp comes to the centre ; under the 
 sutler's tent the customers have sprung to their feet on to the 
 benches and tables ; others have climbed on to the wagons. 
 Every one has come out of the tents. What has happened ? 
 What is the matter ? 
 
 I Look up the road. A horseman is advancing on a gallop, 
 enveloped in a cloud of dust ; is quite near the entrance, 
 starts toward the colonel's tent, and stops. The colonel 
 comes out ; the horseman salutes, hands him a paper, turns, 
 and gallops off. 
 
 All eyes are turned in that direction, every one is astonished 
 and silent. One would say that every one was holding his 
 breath ; the camp looks like a square filled with people intent 
 on fireworks when the unexpected glare of the Bengal light 
 illumines ten thousand faces with wide-stretched eyes and open 
 mouths. 
 
 The colonel opens the paper, turns toward the trumpeter, 
 makes a sign. . . . 
 
 Before the first blast has sounded, a universal, prolonged, 
 and very loud shout bursts out like a thunder-clap, rises to 
 heaven from ail sides of the camp ; the entire scattered mul- 
 titude starts in every direction with startling rapidity ; the 
 benches and tables of the sutler are deserted in an instant ; 
 the poor man dashes his hands into his hair ; quick ! down 
 with the tent, out with the boxes, in with plates, cabbages, 
 sausages, bottles, clothes, chickens, cigars, every thing in con- 
 fusion ; time flies ; another blast of the trumpet is imminent ; 
 the officers wander hastily about the camp, calling in a loud 
 voice for their orderlies, who arrive breathless and dripping 
 with perspiration. Quick ! take hold of the boxes, in with
 
 THE CAMP. 231 
 
 the clothes ; boots on top of shirts, combs in the pockets, 
 no matter, only be quick ! The boxes will not shut ; down 
 with the knees on the cover ; more force, more still, oh ! it 's 
 closed. Quick ! roll up the overcoat ; here with the jacket, 
 sword, sack ; we are in order at least. And the soldiers 
 around the tents, loosening the knots in the cords with their 
 nails, rolling up covers and linen, filling the knapsacks hastily, 
 buttoning on their gaiters with the confounded cramped fingers 
 which cannot find the button-holes, feeling in the straw for 
 the bowl, tassel, bayonet, with red face, dripping brow, labored 
 breath, and in a perfect fever lest the second blast of the 
 trumpet should sound, with the voice of the sergeant at their 
 backs threatening them with imprisonment if late, with the 
 scarecrow before them of the captain who is stamping his 
 feet, shouting and screaming : " Quick ! quick ! quick ! " 
 Another blast of the trumpet. " Form the ranks ! " shout a 
 hundred excited voices. All rush forward just as they are, 
 with their fatigue caps on the back of their heads, their coats 
 unbuttoned, belts in hand, their knapsacks hanging over one 
 shoulder. " To your place, quickly ; order right about." 
 The companies form tumultuously, breaking open at the ap- 
 pearance of every fresh advent of soldiers, then close in, 
 sway backward and forward, undulate from the head to the foot, 
 get out of order, and then form again rapidly. Another blast 
 of the trumpet. The regiment starts. The first company is 
 outside the camp, the second the third the camp is empty. 
 Such is camp life ; sometimes hard and distasteful, but al- 
 ways beautiful and beloved. Who is there who, having tried 
 it, does not love it, and does not recall it with pleasure, and 
 desire it with enthusiasm ?
 
 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 
 
 IN the evening, at a certain hour, the aspect of the country 
 produces upon the soul a vague feeling of melancholy, which 
 resembles that oppression of the heart experienced by chil- 
 dren who, having escaped from the house to wander about 
 through the fields, from path to path, farm to farm, go on and 
 on until they suddenly discover that they are alone ; they 
 look around them, the place is dark and gloomy ; they glance 
 back, they have lost their way ; they raise their eyes to heaven, 
 the sun has disappeared ; the mother, poor woman ! is waiting 
 for them. " Oh, dear me, what have I done ? " they exclaim, 
 and there they stand quite dazed, with a lump in their throats 
 and their little hearts all in a tumult. This is the nature of 
 the melancholy which gradually takes possession of our souls 
 in the country, when the sun has set, every thing is becoming 
 one hue, and along the mountain tops there is nothing to be 
 seen but a slender streak of sky, pale gold in color, above 
 which the stars are rapidly beginning to appear. It is a sad 
 hour, one which is made sadder still by the monotonous 
 croaking of the frogs and the distant barking of dogs, which 
 break from time to time the deep and solemn silence of the 
 country. Who, walking at that hour through a solitary 
 lane, in the direction of the city, but still far from it, not seeing 
 
 232
 
 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 233 
 
 a living soul about, nor hearing other noise than the sound 
 of his own footsteps, does not find barking of the dogs 
 burdensome ? Not that he is exactly afraid, but, well he 
 could do without it. Passing before the gates of the vege- 
 table- and flower-gardens, he walks on tiptoe in order not to 
 rouse the ugly dog crouched behind them, holds his breath, 
 and listens attentively ; he has nearly passed the gate, is al- 
 most in safety, when a wretched bark which thoroughly star- 
 tles him breaks out at his back, and he passes on without 
 even turning, but he seems to see the ravenous beast with his 
 nose at the crack in the gate, and his eyes gleaming with rage. 
 On he goes, but in the middle of the road, as he does not 
 mind the dust, provided he is not obliged to pass too near the 
 hedges ; and if he hears the sound of footsteps or the voices 
 of two wayfarers who are talking together, he does not turn 
 back to see who they are, as that would make him appear like 
 a coward, but proceeds with his eyes on the alert, and pretend- 
 ing to glance at the fields, he takes them in with the corner of 
 his eye ; then gazing ahead of him he sees appear in the dis- 
 tance two men on horseback, enveloped in huge black cloaks, 
 their heads covered by a two-pointed hat (gens d* armes) ; he 
 takes courage, quickens his pace, and arriving in front of 
 those two unexpected friends, makes way for them, looking at 
 them with an expression of amiable obsequiousness, and ac- 
 cepting, with a feeling of intense pleasure, the long, searching 
 glance they bestow upon him. When he finally reaches the 
 blessed gates of the city, and perceives the first lamp-post in 
 the nearest street : " Heaven be praised ! " he exclaims, as he 
 dusts off his boots with his handkerchief ; " here we are at 
 last ! " At that hour any one passing the gate of a cemetery
 
 234 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 does not stop, although the strange fears of the common peo- 
 ple and children do not pass through his mind, but goes 
 straight on, turning his face in the opposite direction. In going 
 by the solitary chapels in the country, the children are almost 
 frightened by the sound of their own steps, which, entering by 
 the windows, resounds under the dark vault. At that hour, 
 and until a ray of light is to be seen in the west, the families 
 of the people at the villas live on the terraces, leaning over 
 the railings to contemplate in silence that sad spectacle : 
 nightfall in the country. The boys point out with their little 
 fingers the small lights that appear one by one in the country- 
 houses, or ask papa the names of the stars, and if there are 
 people like us in them. The girls, sitting apart, with one arm 
 on the back of the chair and their heads resting on their arms, 
 fix their eyes dreamily on the distant mountains and are soon 
 lost in thought. But they are not thinking of those moun- 
 tains. At such times their thoughts withdraw wearily from 
 that silence and solitude ; although they are in the midst of 
 their family, they feel quite alone and abandoned. They feel 
 that some great good is lacking, that there is a void in their 
 hearts, that their life is not complete ; and their fancy runs 
 irresistibly on to the city, loses itself in the joyous tumult of 
 balls, seeks and finds again the dear faces forgotten for so 
 long a time, enjoys reviving those imageries, in presenting it- 
 self upon the spot, and sharing with them that sweet melan- 
 choly. They count the time they shall still have to pass at 
 the villa, run over that time in their mind, and enjoy, in an- 
 ticipation, the pleasures of return and the first sight of those 
 dear faces, waking finally from those sad and lovely fancies 
 as they would from a dream.
 
 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 235 
 
 Oh ! that hour in the country is a sad one. Even if you were 
 beside the woman whom you love, at the height of your bliss, 
 none but sad fancies would pass through your mind, and none 
 but sad words come to your lips. 
 
 Just at that hour, one evening, during the early part of May, 
 in 1866, in a deserted lane which ran across the slope of a hill, 
 near one of those country shrines where the picture of the Vir- 
 gin is painted at the back of a niche, a young girl and a soldier 
 were talking in an undertone : the former seated on a large 
 stone, leaning against a projection of the shrine, her elbows 
 resting on her knees, her chin in her hands ; the latter erect be- 
 side her, leaning with one shoulder against the wall, and his arms 
 crossed over his breast. He had on his fatigue cap, as soldiers 
 call it, and wore a coat ; his knapsack lay at his feet, and in this 
 was a bundle. There was something sad and despairing in the 
 girl's appearance, and she kept her eyes fixed motionless on the 
 ground ; a little light, which was burning before the image of 
 the Virgin, cast a veiled gleam over the brow buried in the 
 hands, and showed the imprint of a long fit of weeping around 
 the eyes. The soldier, without his belt or musket, looked like 
 a soldier on leave, and such was the case, for he belonged to 
 one of the classes that had been recalled to arms on the a8th of 
 April, and on the seventh day after the publication of the royal 
 decree they were to present themselves before the military com- 
 mandants of the district. That soldier must be on the follow- 
 ing day in a neighboring city, ten miles, or less, distant from 
 that place. 
 
 Judging from the attitudes of the young girl and himself, and 
 from the long silence which followed their few subdued words, 
 it seemed as if they must have been there for some time. Not
 
 236 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 a living soul was on the road, either near by or in the distance, 
 and a profound silence reigned all around. Only, from time 
 to time, one could hear a confused sound of distant voices, 
 which came from a house situated at the foot of the slope, 
 where lights appeared and disappeared. They were peas- 
 ants who had returned from the fields and who were replacing 
 their things, putting the oxen to their stalls, and talking loudly 
 to each across the yard. Suddenly the soldier drew away from 
 the wall, took both the hands of the girl, who instantly rose to 
 her feet, and said to her in that faltering tone of pity which is 
 used when giving some one a sad piece of news : " It is late, 
 you know, Gigia. It is time for me to go. I must be in town 
 betimes to-morrow, and the road is long." 
 
 Having said which he looked into the girl's face. The latter, 
 without opening her mouth, moved nearer him, placed her two 
 hands on his shoulders, let her head drop on to them, and 
 sobbed. " Courage, Gigia, courage. We '11 fire a couple of 
 shots and then return." 
 
 " Return ! " she said, raising her head slowly, and letting it 
 insfantly drop again. "Who knows?" she then added, in a 
 voice full of tears, from behind her hands. 
 
 A moment of silence followed, after which the soldier 
 went on : " Well, then, good-by, Gigia." He placed his 
 hands on her temples, raised her head, kissed her on the 
 forehead, stooped, picked up his knapsack, slung it over 
 his back, passing one arm over his head, fastened the straps, 
 bent once more to take up the bundle, and giving his hand 
 to the girl, made ready to start. She, who meanwhile had 
 covered her face with her apron, and stood motionless as if 
 Stunned by grief, suddenly started, and seizing the soldier's
 
 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 237 
 
 hand with both of hers, said, in a firm and resolute voice, 
 wishing by this means to delay his departure for a few mo- 
 ments : " You will write you will write every day ! " 
 
 " No, my dear, not really every day," the soldier replied in an 
 affectionate tone. 
 
 "And why not ? " she asked hastily, in a reproachful voice. 
 
 "But if we are marching every day ? " 
 
 " Yes ! " replied the girl in a low tone, dropping her head. 
 "But at least," she went on, suddenly taking courage, " at least 
 every day when there is a battle you will write and tell me you 
 are well ? " 
 
 He, who at any other time would have smiled at the charm- 
 ing ingenuousness of that question, felt his heart sink with a 
 compassionate tenderness, which was so strong and sudden, 
 that he was overcome by it, and knew that it was necessary 
 to go off at that moment and without another word. He 
 put his arms around her, kissed her, and away he ran. " Oh ! 
 listen," the poor creature shouted in a supplicating tone, 
 running a few steps after him with her arms outstretched ; 
 " one word more." He did not turn ; she stopped, covered 
 her face with her hands, stood motionless in the middle of the 
 road for a moment, then turned back, and fell on her knees 
 before the shrine, weeping and sobbing bitterly, as children do. 
 
 The soldier went hurriedly on his way without turning back. 
 When he reached a certain point where the road divided, he 
 stopped. After a moment's hesitation he turned, looked at the 
 shrine, saw her ; she raised her head at that moment, glanced 
 toward him, seemed to see him, rose to her feet ; he disap- 
 peared. He had struck that branch of the road which, de- 
 scending rapidly, led to the city.
 
 238 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 He rejoined his regiment at the beginning of May, and then 
 wrote a letter home almost every day, received one as often 
 from his father, mother, and betrothed ; all written, however, 
 by the latter's hand, as no one in his family was able to write ; 
 the old father knowing only enough arithmetic for his own 
 special use. 
 
 He was at the battle of the twenty-fourth of June. Two 
 weeks elapsed after that day before his family received any 
 news of him. Picture their anxiety, heart-beats, and dis- 
 quietude. But one fine day, as God willed, a letter came, and 
 how much joy it gave them. They opened it with trembling 
 hands. . . . Ah, but it was not written by him ; and they 
 grew pale. After reading it, however, they recovered from 
 their first fright, because he wrote that he had received a 
 wound in his hand on the day of the battle ; it was a slight 
 wound, of which every trace would have vanished within a few 
 days, and he should have got out of bed but for a slight fever 
 caused by the loss of a little blood. They were to keep up 
 their courage, because it was nothing to cause any anxiety, and 
 excuse his not having written himself, the right hand being the 
 one wounded, and his fingers still paining him ; only a trifle, 
 however, almost none at all. Little by little the family became 
 calm. A week from that day they received the first letter 
 written by him ; they knew that he had returned to his regi- 
 ment, and they said nothing more about that slight misfortune, 
 because something worse might have happened to him, and 
 they ought to thank God that things had gone as they had. 
 
 Poor people ! if things had gone so, they really might have 
 thanked heaven ; but they did not know the truth. The poor 
 soldier had been struck by a rifle ball in the leg, at a hundred
 
 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 239 
 
 paces from the enemy ; the bullet had broken two bones, the 
 tibia and the fibula ; he had been carried to the hospital, and 
 they had amputated the leg a few inches below the knee. 
 
 After forty days, they gave him a wooden leg, a pair of 
 crutches, a passport, and, opening the doors of the hospital, 
 said : " Go home, poor fellow, you have done your part." 
 
 Before turning homeward, he wrote to his mother to in- 
 form her of his departure, and the day and hour of his arri- 
 val ; having written which he resolved to tell them of his mis- 
 fortune, but could not bring himself to do so. Numberless 
 times did he write the first words and instantly scratched them 
 out, almost frightened that they should have fallen from his 
 pen. But the letter had not gone before there came to his 
 mind all the possible consequences, in fact the inevitable and 
 terrible sorrow his pious fraud would cause ; he was troubled 
 that he had been silent on the subject of his misfortune, was 
 astonished that he had never thought what sadness might fol- 
 low his reticence in not telling the truth bravely ; and going 
 over in imagination all that would happen at home upon his 
 appearance in this state, picturing the despair of his parents 
 at so unexpected and terrible a sight, and thinking of his 
 betrothed and friends, he dashed his hands into his hair in 
 utter despair, and began wept. 
 
 But it was too late. 
 
 He arrived in the city near his home the day before that when, 
 according to his letter, he ought to have been with his family. 
 He slept at an inn. The following morning betimes, helped by 
 the landlord, he climbed into the cart of a miller which was to 
 pass the hill, placed his crutches by his side, seated himself 
 on two sacks of flour, the miller gave reins to the horse, and 
 they started.
 
 240 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 Passing for several miles along the road down in the valley, 
 the cart did not begin to climb the hill until some hours 
 after their departure. During that time, the poor soldier, who 
 had not been able to close his eyes during the night, oppressed 
 by a rapid and troubled succession of thoughts, imageries, 
 and painful presentiments, had sunk into a species of lethargy, 
 induced by the monotony of the road and the slowness of 
 their pace, and only interrupted now and then by the jolt- 
 ing of the cart over the uneven road. But when, on feel- 
 ing a stronger light in his eyes and a sharper wind on his face, 
 he became aware that the cart had come out from among the 
 trees and begun to ascend, then he waked quickly, saw that hill, 
 that road, those houses, instantly closed his eyes again, turned 
 away his head as if seized by a sudden fright, and threw himself 
 face downward on the sacks with his face in his hands. His heart 
 beat violently ; his blood was in a tumult ; his brain became 
 stunned as if he had received a great blow on his head. And 
 he remained a long time in that position. 
 
 He changed it little by little, first lifting his head, placing his 
 hands on the sacks to raise himself to a sitting posture, then 
 getting up entirely, but always with his back to the hills, and 
 finally turning his head in that direction, but without glancing 
 upward. Shortly thereafter he began to look at the horse ; 
 then a little farther along, on the road, to the right and left 
 and ahead : " Ah ! There are those blessed houses ! " And his 
 heart gave a bound as if he had got there by accident, and 
 the houses had appeared before him involuntarily. They 
 were still very far away, quite indistinct ; they hardly looked 
 as large as white specks half hidden among the trees ; 
 yet they seemed quite near to him, and he felt as if he
 
 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 241 
 
 should reach them in a few minutes. Then his parents, 
 relatives, and friends would gather around the cart, and he 
 would have to get down, and how should he do it ! And 
 he pictured it to himself, and seemed to see all those dear 
 people, who would certainly be gathered in a group at that 
 hour on the street, at the doors of their houses, or in the yards, 
 waiting for him. He seemed to hear the gay voices come 
 faintly to his ear, and among those voices he distinguished one 
 dearer and sweeter than all. His heart-strings tightened, and 
 he wished those houses farther away, so far that he could not 
 see them yet. On the other hand, they were right there, and 
 seemed to be approaching him more rapidly than he did them, 
 so he closed his eyes and dropped his head in order not to see 
 them. Yet this was a worse torture, for in opening his eyes a 
 moment, and raising them, he seemed to have got over a great 
 deal of the road, a hundred times more than he had done in 
 reality. Then he thought of turning his back to the horse, 
 and, moving the stump slowly, he turned. But he could not 
 remain in this position long, for at every instant he felt an 
 irresistible desire to turn his head back, greatly to the discom- 
 fort of his entire body. He then assumed his first position 
 again. And, glancing to the right and left of the road, he dis- 
 covered, at a short distance, a large oak with its trunk split 
 through the middle, and the thick, leafy branches, under which 
 there was a board, upheld by two stones, which served as a seat. 
 He looked at the seat, touched his forehead with one hand, as 
 if just becoming aware of the sudden outbreak of a recollec- 
 tion ; his eyes glistened, his cheeks reddened, he clasped his 
 hands violently, and keeping his eyes fixed motionless on the 
 spot, went on raising and dropping his head, as if to say yes to
 
 242 MILITARY LIFE, 
 
 all the recollections which were waking in him, one recalled by 
 the other. That was exactly the spot where he had come one 
 evening with her, despite the admonition of his mother : " Do 
 not go too far away ! " And she had not wished to come, as 
 it was really too far from home, and at that hour, late in the 
 evening, alone with him ! But, heavens, how he had begged 
 her ! the sky was so clear, the air so mild, and the whole 
 country so fragrant, that she had been obliged to yield and 
 come. They were seated there, on that seat ; had exchanged 
 few words, but these were tender, rapid, and faltering ; he had 
 sought her hand, and she, frightened by the thought of being 
 alone with him whom she loved, had shut her hand and drawn 
 it from him with gentle force, so that he had been obliged to 
 conquer it finger by finger, for as soon as he succeeded in 
 opening the second the first would close, until at last the little re- 
 sisting hand opened and was his. Absorbed in the thought of 
 that beautiful evening, the poor disabled soldier (by means of 
 an illusion into which our fancy often drives us at the sight of 
 a place to which we are bound by some tender recollection) for- 
 got the time which had passed since that evening and the 
 present day, forgot all that which had happened meanwhile, 
 the war, the wound, the amputated leg ; the thought that 
 within a short time he would see that girl alone filled his mind, 
 quite separated from the other sad ones which usually followed 
 it ; the feeling of a great joy filled his soul, intoxicated and 
 oppressed him ; moved by an irresistible impulse of his heart 
 he made an effort to rise to his feet without the aid of his arms, 
 and did so so violently that the nerves of his maimed leg, 
 pressed strongly against the wood, were pained and sent a 
 terrible pain shooting up through his body, which drew a cry
 
 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 243 
 
 from his lips and, casting him cruelly back from the dear 
 illusion to the feeling of sad reality, made him fall face down- 
 ward on the cart, his hands in his hair, murmuring disconso- 
 lately and with a sob : " Oh, she will not wish me in this con- 
 dition ! She will no longer wish me in this condition ! " 
 
 The miller, who was walking beside the cart, turned and 
 
 * 
 
 asked : " Are you ill ? " The soldier replied in the negative, 
 quite abruptly, and said not another word. The poor fellow 
 remained motionless in that position for a long distance, and 
 it was better for him, because had he glanced about the coun- 
 try, at every step some fresh recollection would have been 
 aroused, and with it new pain. 
 
 Meanwhile, at home he was being waited for by his relatives 
 and friends, who, informed the previous day of his expected 
 arrival, had gathered joyfully at the paternal home to receive 
 him with love and honor. 
 
 At the first gleam of light, his two old parents had risen and 
 dressed themselves with the joyous haste of children who are 
 preparing for a beautiful walk in the country, and had begun 
 wandering around the house with hurried steps, opening doors 
 and rapping hard on the pillows of the sleepers, shouting : 
 " Wake up ; out of bed with you, boys ! " The latter, wakened 
 so suddenly, opened their eyes and mouths, glanced sleepily 
 around, and made those wry faces which people do who are 
 disturbed in their slumbers, but on being thoroughly roused, 
 and remembering the reason of that sudden shout, they too 
 became gay, mingled their voices with those of their parents, 
 jumped out of bed, dressed quickly, and away they went 
 through the house, road, gardens, to do their usual work with 
 unusual solicitude, smiling at one another, making signs to
 
 244 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 each other in the distance, and urging all to make haste. 
 Shortly thereafter came the girl, the betrothed, who lived near 
 by ; she arrived on a run, accompanied by two friends, dressed 
 in gala costume, with a bunch of flowers in her hair, and quite 
 red in the face : met the mother, smiled, blushed, threw her- 
 self into her arms, and then breaking suddenly away, and hid- 
 ing her face two or three times from those who wanted to 
 look into it, she too began wandering about the house as if it 
 were her own. Then all together began dusting and arranging 
 the furniture and the little articles pertaining to the house, 
 sticking the broom into the remotest corners, moving beds 
 from the wall, changing mattresses, folding up clothes-horses, 
 shaking sheets and counterpanes out of the windows, dragging 
 from the wardrobes certain brass candlesticks kept in reserve 
 for grand occasions, and tying boughs and branches of wild 
 flowers on the racks, window-gratings, around pictures, and 
 above the doors, so that at the first appearance of the sun the 
 house was as neat, fresh, and fragrant as a garden, and the 
 house-plot smooth and clean as a marble floor, without one 
 tuft of grass remaining, even if any one had looked for an hour. 
 They could not do less for the reception of a soldier who was 
 coming home wounded from the war ! Thus said the good old 
 mother to the other women, when they had finished their work, 
 moving from room to room, and showing them with compla- 
 cency the beautiful order and neatness of every thing. 
 
 Then they went out into the front yard. The mother re- 
 mained behind, called the girl by name, and as the latter came 
 dancing up, she took her by one hand, led her to her room, 
 and pushing her in front of a small glass, said : " Look, you 
 have spoiled your hair." " Heavens ! " exclaimed the girl,
 
 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 245. 
 
 making a woful face, "how could it have happened?" 
 " There are twigs hanging from every side," replied the old 
 woman, " and you are running hither and thither like a mad 
 creature, without looking, or bending your head ; sit down." 
 The girl sat down, the mother went behind her, loosened her 
 braids, smoothed her hair, and then taking it all in one hand 
 to keep it tight, in order to part it with the other, made her 
 bend her head backward, dropping her hand little by little, and 
 taking her chin between her forefinger and thumb, or touch- 
 ing the dimple in her throat, so that she twisted about with 
 that convulsive laugh peculiar to girls who are being tickled. 
 She did her braids, put in the hair-pins, passed her open hands 
 two or three times over the hair so that it should be smooth 
 and shining, and then placing her hands on her shoulders, and 
 looking her in the face, she gave her a kiss, and moved off, say^ 
 ing: "Let us go." The young girl rose and followed her, 
 keeping her face turned toward the mirror until she entered 
 the neighboring room. Here, allowing the mother to go out, 
 she raised one foot gently from the ground, and using the other 
 as a pivot, wheeled around twice, and suddenly stopped, threw 
 back her head to look with charming curiosity at the skirts 
 puffed out by the wind, which looked like a dress over hoops. 
 Then, she too ran out into the house-yard. 
 
 All the others scattered over the place, some on the road, in 
 front of the house, were in continual motion, as if their feet 
 were scorched when they kept them quiet for a moment. And in 
 that continuous wandering about there never were two who met 
 and looked at each other without exchanging a gay word or a 
 smile, because the glance of the one recalled to the other the 
 happiness of all, and revived in him the same feeling. The.
 
 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 brother of the fiancee, in passing, either gave her a pinch 
 in the arm in order to draw forth a scream, or, coming quietly 
 up behind her, seized her by the elbows and pressed them 
 together, and that " Get away with you, you wretch ! " which 
 was his punishment, accompanied by a menace of a box on the 
 i ear (which was never forthcoming), gave him infinite pleasure. 
 Her friends, drew her aside from time to time to whisper all 
 sorts of things in her ear, which were followed by a burst of 
 laughter, a sudden breaking up of the circle, and a general 
 scattering. From time to time the old father, stopping in 
 front of her, said with a serious face : " He is not coming." 
 " Why not ? Who told you so ? " she asked excitedly, chang- 
 ing color. " Oh ! I fancy so," replied the old man, smiling. 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed she, heaving a sigh and becoming reas- 
 sured instantly, "you were joking. He never has failed to 
 keep his word." 
 
 Then turning to the mother, who was outside the gate and 
 kept her eyes fixed on the road : " Mamma," she asked, " don't 
 you see any one? " 
 
 " I only see a cart in the distance." 
 
 The girl began joking again with the old man, without giving 
 herself any anxiety about the matter. 
 
 Meanwhile the cart had come within three hundred steps of 
 the house, and in the heart of the soldier a strange change had 
 taken place. He did not seem to have any true or real appre- 
 ciation of his condition, nor to know where he was going, and 
 the memory of the places he was passing seemed to be fleeing 
 away, so much so that he kept his eye fixed motionless on his 
 home, the wooden windows and terraces of which began to ap- 
 pear quite distinctly, or he let them wander slowly and list-
 
 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 247 
 
 lessly over the fields, houses, and kitchen-gardens near the street. 
 He approached his home as he would have done an unknown 
 place. The sensitiveness of his heart was exhausted. Such is 
 our nature, that we submit with entire impassibility and a spe- 
 cies of abandonment to the excess of those sufferings which 
 seemed to us at first quite insupportable. And for this reason 
 that poor unfortunate fellow now gave all his attention, with 
 open mouth and eyes quite fixed, to the noise of the cart, as if 
 the presentiment of the sorrows into which he was about to 
 cast his family had entirely disappeared. Now, giving a blow 
 with his hand to the sack, he looked astonished at the white 
 dust which flew about ; now he buckled and unbuckled list- 
 lessly the straps stretched between those two sticks fastened to 
 the wooden opening into which the stump of the leg is put 
 (two sticks that hold the leg quite firmly in its support) ; now, 
 seizing a crutch near the end, he went on beating the handle 
 lightly on the end of his foot. . . . But he had been feeling 
 a slight pain at the end of that poor thigh for some time, al- 
 though he had wrapped it carefully in some old pieces of linen 
 with which his pockets had been filled when he left the hospi- 
 tal ; and so, almost involuntarily, he unbuckled the straps for 
 the last time, stretched out his arm, took off that wretched ap- 
 paratus, lifted it, and placed it at his side. When the leg was 
 free, the pain decreased. 
 
 On the cart went, and he, without giving himself any other 
 thought, passed and repassed his hand over the leg, as if to 
 soothe the little pain that remained, when, on raising his eyes, 
 he suddenly changed color, clasped his hands, gave a cry, and 
 remained as motionless as a statue. He had seen the shrine 
 where they had parted ; he came to himself ; all the memories
 
 248 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 which had lain dormant for some time had been roused at that 
 point, and his heart, filled suddenly by a crowd of violent emo- 
 tions, had given a terrible bound. He gazed for a long time at 
 the shrine with pallid face, dilated eyes, and trembling lips ; 
 then stretched out his arms in a supplicating way and cried : 
 " Oh, Gigia ! oh, my Gigia ! " and fell face downward on the 
 cart. 
 
 At that point a loud shout reached his ear, and sent the blood 
 rushing from head to foot. He raised his head, looked, seized 
 his wooden leg, put the stump into it, grasped the straps with 
 trembling fingers, and tried, but all in vain, to buckle them. 
 Meanwhile the people were coming nearer, with open arms and 
 lips all set for the shout of joy they could not utter. And all 
 this time the poor fellow could do nothing but pull at his leg 
 like a madman. . . . Ah ! here they are quite near ; the mother 
 first, who, stretching out her arms with a divine smile on her 
 face, dropped her eyes, saw, gave a desperate cry which came 
 from the depths of her soul, seized him groaningly around the 
 neck, and stood still. All the others covered their faces with 
 their hands. 
 
 After a moment he was on the ground ; the straps had been 
 fastened without his knowing it. Let him go by himself ! they 
 all thought at once. See him walk like that ? Oh, no ! they 
 must carry him. Carry him ? No ! no ! They carry the dy- 
 ing ; no, they would not carry him ! This thought passed like 
 a flash through their minds. During that instant the poor fel- 
 low had placed the crutches under his arms, and to shorten that 
 sad spectacle for his dear ones, he started in long strides tow- 
 ard the house. All looked at him all except the mother and the 
 fiancee ; they hid their faces in each other's bosom.
 
 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 249 
 
 He entered the house first ; instantly thereafter all gathered 
 around him, took away his crutches, made him sit down near 
 the table; he bent over his crossed arms and let his head rest on 
 them. But instantly a trembling hand was laid on his forehead; 
 he raised his head, saw a breast heaving violently before him, 
 knew who it was without raising his eyes, and hid his face on 
 that bosom. All about there was a great silence, for they could 
 not weep yet. 
 
 Suddenly a sob broke out. The wounded man detached 
 himself from his mother's arms, gave one glance around : 
 " Is it you ! " he shouted, his eyes glistening with tears, as he 
 opened his arms. The young girl threw herself wildly into 
 them. The mother, struck by a sudden idea, turned to those 
 present, made a sign, and they all disappeared in an instant, 
 she following them. 
 
 The girl glanced around the room, and not seeing any one, 
 drew a chair hastily up to that of the soldier, sat down, seized 
 one hand with her left, placed her right one on his shoulder, 
 and with her face covered with tears, and her chest heaving, 
 began to talk quickly, brokenly, breathlessly, in an undertone, 
 giving a glance at the door at every breath, to see if any one 
 was coming. 
 
 " Listen, Carlo, and believe me ; beHeve me, for I am speak- 
 ing right from my heart, I love you better than ever ; I will 
 marry you more willingly like this as you are now, than 
 as if you were as you used to be. I would gladly die at 
 this moment if I am not telling you honestly just what I feel, 
 and if you listen, Carlo, and don't cry so hard if you do not 
 care for me any longer I would come and beg you, with clasped 
 hands, to take me, to tell you that I cannot live without you ;
 
 250 MI LI TARY LIFE. 
 
 so, if you were to say no, I should grow ill from sorrow. But, 
 come now, do not be so despairing. If you had not returned 
 from the war, if I (here she pressed her lips together) if God 
 had sent me the misfortune of losing you, do you think I would 
 ever have taken any one in your place ? No ! not even if the 
 king had come. Now, listen; if before I loved you with all my 
 soul, now (saying which she covered her face with her apron 
 and began to weep), now I would fall on my knees before you." 
 
 And she slipped down from her chair and fell on her knees 
 before him, who, quite beside himself with joy, in broken 
 groans, inarticulate sounds, and more with the animated ex- 
 pression of face which bore the divine imprint of the thought, 
 and with a convulsive movement of the hands, tried to say one 
 word, only one word ; but he had not breath enough to do so, 
 and went on trying, trying, until three times came a sonorous, 
 deep, vehement : " Oh, thanks ! thanks ! thanks ! " 
 
 Then he seized her by the arm and tried to raise her. 
 
 " No ! no ! " she replied in a resolute tone, in which one 
 could hear all the force of her girlish love ; " let me remain 
 like this, I wish to stay so " ; and, drying her eyes, she went on 
 excitedly : 
 
 " We will always live together. I will not go to work in the 
 fields any more ; I will stay all day near you ; I will never 
 leave you alone for a moment ; I will work in the house beside 
 you, just as we now are. But what is the matter, Carlo, that 
 you are crying so hard ? Tell me I love you so well what 
 is the matter? " 
 
 " But," replied the poor fellow, in a timid and trembling 
 voice, " and I . . . ? " 
 
 " And you ? . . . Well, what do you mean by that ? Tell 
 me every thing, Carlo."
 
 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 2$ I 
 
 But he could not go on. 
 
 " And III! how shall I work ? " and he buried his head in 
 his hands, shaking it in a disconsolate manner. 
 
 " But, Carlo, why do you talk to me in that way ? Am I not 
 yours ? Are we not all here ? I am very good at sewing, you 
 know that I don't say it to praise myself. And that lady, you 
 know, who lives in the villa near here, has offered me work 
 several times, and I have always refused it ; but now and all 
 the more when she knows how you have returned I will bring 
 the work home. Will that do ? Then I will work beside you, 
 and you will tell me all you have seen : the towns and places 
 you have passed through, and if you always remembered me, 
 what you did every day, if you had comrades from this neigh- 
 borhood, and what you all talked about." 
 
 On she went in this tone, growing more and more fervent, 
 always on her knees before him, keeping one hand on his 
 shoulder, and twisting the buttons, whose numbers had got 
 upside down, into their places with her forefinger and thumb. 
 Her cheeks were suffused with a brilliant rose-color, her eyes 
 glistening with a soft light, and the words dropped so warmly 
 and spontaneously from her lips, and there was so much in- 
 genuousness and grace in her gestures, looks, and smiles, in her 
 whole person, even in that humble position, that the good sol- 
 dier looked at and listened to her like one in ecstasy. When she 
 had finished speaking, she fixed her eyes upon him as if to ask 
 for a word of comfort, and he gave her one that was better 
 than any she could have desired : " Oh, Gigia ! " he said, " you 
 make me forget all my misfortune ! " 
 
 " And I never will let you remember it ! " the sweet girl 
 cried, with enthusiasm. Then he put his arms around her and 
 they both wept heartily.
 
 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 The mother's idea had been an excellent one. 
 
 At that moment they heard the noise of hastening steps and 
 the confused murmur of many voices coming from the court- 
 yard. The young girl sprang to her feet, and moved off several 
 paces from the soldier. Both turned their eyes in the direction 
 from which the noise proceeded. " Where is he ? Where is 
 he ? shouted a voice outside. And almost at the same moment 
 a young fellow, pale, breathless, and quite voiceless appeared in 
 sight ; and hardly had he seen the soldier when, with one spring, 
 he was in his arms. They had been warm friends for many 
 years. The new-comer was decidedly younger, and belonged 
 to the second division of the class of 1845, called that day 
 to arms. And that very evening the young man, having 
 taken leave, not without tears, of his dear ones, was going 
 toward the city, when, in passing the house of his friend, of 
 whose return he was quite ignorant, he had been called by the 
 family, informed of Carlo's misfortune, and driven fairly into 
 his arms. All the family followed him, and the mother, as soon 
 as she had set foot in the neighboring room, and given a 
 searching glance at the faces of the betrothed couple, still tear- 
 ful, but lighted up by a deep joy, had understood every thing, 
 been quite comforted, and while her son's head lay in his 
 friend's arms, had communicated this comfort, more by signs 
 than words, to the others. 
 
 Finally, the disabled soldier detached himself from that 
 long embrace, made a sign to his friend to .sit down beside 
 him, and, having passed the back of his hand over his eyes 
 two or three times, gave him to understand that he had some- 
 thing to say. All gathered about him ; the mother and fiancee 
 nearest to him.
 
 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 2$ 3 
 
 " Keep up your courage," he began, turning to his friend, 
 who seemed sad and disheartened ; " keep up your cour- 
 age, comrade. Don't allow yourself to get melancholy. I 
 know that seeing me in this state just as you are starting, 
 after taking leave of your family, now that you are going to be 
 a soldier in time of war, is very painful. Don't you think you 
 understand it, poor fellow ? A fine result you will say, from 
 such a profession ! But, heavens ! what good does it do to 
 get disheartened ? You have to serve as soldier whether you 
 are willing or not. Well, then, it is much better to take the 
 matter quietly and leave willingly. You will understand that 
 too. And then, then I will tell you frankly, that if I was des- 
 tined to have such a misfortune as this, either from falling off 
 a cart, or down the stairs here, or have it happen as it has 
 there, I prefer the latter. It is natural. I do not mean to say 
 that I am content in my present condition ; but, in the end, 
 we have not got to stay in this world long, and when there are 
 those who are fond of us, that 's all we care for ; what does 
 the rest matter ? Do you suppose my mother, father, and any 
 one else think the less of me ? " 
 
 And he raised his eyes to them. The old parents, clasping 
 their hands, exclaimed : " Oh, Carlo ! " The girl gave him 
 a long look of inexpressible tenderness. 
 
 " More than ever," he went on, his tone and face suddenly 
 becoming quite animated. "And after this misfortune all loved 
 me more than ever. If you had been at the hospital with me, 
 you would have seen things which are hardly to be credited, 
 my dear fellow. After I had been there about twenty days, 
 my regiment passed through the city ; all the officers of my 
 company came to see me, and some others too, do you under-
 
 254 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 stand ? They gathered around my bed, and stayed there for A 
 good half hour ; and there was the captain, who looked at me 
 and cried, and another officer, a young fellow without any 
 beard. I saw the tears running down his face. Another offi- 
 cer (I had a little fever) put his hand on my forehead, and his 
 neighbor said to him : ' Take it off ; you worry him.' They 
 recommended me to the care of the doctors and nurses, and 
 told me to have some one write to my family, but without tell- 
 ing them what had happened, as it would give them too much 
 pain. And every one of them, from the first to the last, shook 
 hands with me before going away, and the youngest, the one 
 who commanded the second squad in which I was, seized a 
 moment when the others were not looking, and kissed me on 
 my forehead, and when he was at the door he turned and gave 
 me one more salute with his hand. Do you understand ? One 
 day came the old general with his breast all covered with med- 
 als, and followed by many officers ; he approached my bed, cap 
 in hand, and all the others uncovered their heads too. He, 
 the general, asked me how I was, and where I had been 
 wounded, and how ; and then when I had told him every thing, 
 I seem to see him now, he raised his eyes to heaven, then 
 closed his lips, with a sigh, and said : ' Be brave, my boy.' 
 Then he grasped my hand, he who was a general. His hand 
 was very thin, for he was so old. I would have kissed it, but 
 I was afraid to seem lacking in respect ; he seemed to me like 
 another father. Ah ! one must have been present on such occa- 
 sions to know what is felt. One forgets all his misfortunes. 
 Then, even beforehand . . . You will see, comrade ; it 
 was one thing to talk of it at a distance, another to be there 
 on the spot, right there in the midst of all those bayonets, the
 
 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 255 
 
 superior officers ahead with their swords in the air, and the 
 flags, music, and all those shouts ; your heart fires, your head 
 whirls, and the ball has struck you while you are still shouting : 
 ' Forward ! '" 
 
 At that moment there came from the street the sound of 
 songs and the music of fifes and shepherd's pipes. 
 
 " They are my companions who are starting," shouted 
 the conscript, springing to his feet with a sudden outburst 
 of gaiety. 
 
 The disabled soldier's face lighted up ; he, too, rose to his 
 feet, supported by his mother and fiancee, and begged them to 
 lead him to the door, saw the conscripts who were leaving : 
 "A pleasant journey, boys ; a pleasant journey!" he shouted. 
 They turned toward him, caught a glimpse of his leg, under- 
 stood, and replied in one voice: "Hurrah for the brave 
 soldiers ! " 
 
 And he thanked them by waving his hands and shaking his 
 head, for between his emotion and weariness he had no voice 
 left. 
 
 " Hurrah for the brave soldiers ! " the men shouted as they 
 moved off. 
 
 The disabled soldier made one more motion with his hand 
 and head, then, passing one arm around the neck of the young 
 girl who was supporting him on the left, he turned to his mother, 
 standing on the other side, and, in a sweet and affectionate 
 tone, exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh, mother, can you believe it ? . . . I am content ! " 
 
 Then he let his head sink on her breast. 
 
 The eyes of all present filled with tears, and the music died 
 away, little by little, in the distance down the road.
 
 A MEDAL. 
 
 " I AM always obliged to encounter that cloudy face and sul- 
 len look ! " Thus said a captain to himself, after having re- 
 viewed his company. " But why is it ? What have I ever 
 done to him ? " 
 
 He was thinking of a soldier, an Abruzzese, who had glanced 
 doggedly at him during the review. 
 
 There are some proud, savage, and reticent natures in which 
 amour propre is so intense and gloomy that they suspect scorn 
 in every smile, a snare in every word, and an enemy in every 
 person. They are good and affectionate characters at the bot- 
 tom, but appear and are judged as proud and unfortunate ones. 
 They are souls that are retiring sheerly from diffidence ; they 
 have no spontaneous affections ; never are the first to love ; 
 but hardly do they perceive that they have inspired a feeling 
 of affection when they return it with as much greater a strength 
 and effusion as they generally display the contrary qualities 
 with others. When, however, they take an aversion and be- 
 come envious, they are incredibly obstinate and tenacious in 
 their opinions. Yet they do not hate as they fancy they do. 
 One almost always arrives in time with a hearty hand-shake 
 and a pleasant smile, to dissipate their antipathy (which they 
 believed to be unconquerable) and their rancor (that they swore 
 was eternal). 
 
 256
 
 A MEDAL. 257 
 
 Such was the Abruzzi soldier who looked so sullenly at his 
 captain. 
 
 The first day he joined the regiment with the other conscripts, 
 still wearing their peasant and working dress, the captain had 
 looked at him with an expression of curiosity, had said in the 
 ear of the lieutenant : " Look, what a forbidding countenance ! " 
 and then smiled. The soldier had noticed the smile. Upon 
 being taken to the store-house, he had put on the first coat that 
 was given him, and the captain, on seeing him, in passing, so 
 bundled up, with a pair of sleeves which came down below his 
 hands, and with great folds that covered his knee, began to 
 laugh, and said : " You look like a rag-bag ! " His face grew 
 clouded, and he gave a sharp glance at the captain. Another 
 time, on the parade ground, when the conscripts were being 
 taught their steps, and were called out from the ranks one by 
 one, and made to walk some distance to the sound of a drum, 
 moving their legs slowly and stiffly like marionnettes, he was so 
 embarrassed when his turn came that he could not take two 
 steps without tottering, stumbling, or making such grotesque 
 and laborious motions that all his comrades were obliged to 
 laugh. His captain arrived at this point and scolded him, so 
 that he became worse than ever. Then the captain, seeing that 
 it was time quite lost, went off, saying: "You are the worst 
 soldier in the company." 
 
 Near by were some girls with children, who were looking on, 
 and they began to laugh loudly. He blushed to the roots of 
 his hair, and returned to his place, grinding his teeth like a mad 
 dog. 
 
 So he became thoroughly convinced that the captain dis- 
 liked him, reproved him only from a spirit of malice, and ridi-
 
 258 MILITARY LIFE, 
 
 culed him with the hateful intention of enraging and so ruining 
 him. But this was not true. The captain was a fine man ; he 
 had nothing more against him than he had against the others ; 
 he loved his soldiers, was incapable of a blind or unjust feeling 
 of aversion, and perfectly abhorred intentional persecutions or 
 oppression. Only he had not understood the character of this 
 soldier. Seeing him always so gloomy and sullen, he had fan- 
 cied him to be of a stubborn, ignorant, and sullen nature, and 
 wished to conquer him ; but he was tractable by means of 
 persuasion and kindness, and not with menaces and imprison- 
 ment these made him worse. 
 
 One day our soldier stood talking with a girl at a street cor- 
 ner ; the captain passed, but the soldier did not see him. The 
 former fancied he had pretended not to see him, in order not 
 to give the salute, so he took him to task in the presence of 
 the girl and many other people who were standing about. The 
 soldier was so ashamed, that as soon as the captain had gone, 
 he too disappeared and was not seen again. But his anger 
 against the captain went on increasing, and became absolute 
 hatred, continually tormented him, left him not a moment's 
 peace, and fairly poisoned his life. Nor could he conceal it, 
 no matter how hard he tried. The captain reproved the sol- 
 dier, and the latter coughed and kicked his feet ; the captain 
 turned angrily around, and he, quite ready, lifted his head and 
 looked at the clouds. During a march, if a soldier was atten- 
 tive when the captain wished to drink and offered him his 
 leather bottle, he sneered, and, drawing that soldier aside, 
 whispered in his ear : " You imbecile ! " When the captain 
 reproved him, he pretended not to understand, rolled his eyes 
 like a madman, shook his head, or smiled maliciously with
 
 A MEDAL. 259 
 
 half-closed eyes, twisting his mouth and sticking out his under- 
 lip. Then there were always that surly- glance and gloomy 
 face. 
 
 One evening, on the parade ground, while they were drilling, 
 a major reproved the captain in a loud voice ; the latter glanced 
 hastily around at his soldiers ; the soldier laughed. " Canaille! "' 
 he shouted, blind with rage, and coming up to him planted 
 both fists in his face. The soldier paled, turned toward his 
 neighbor and said : " Some day or other (adding a few words 
 in an undertone) ... or I am not an Abruzzese." Hardly 
 had he entered the barracks and reached his bed when he 
 threw his bowl and knapsack against the wall. The captain 
 appeared unexpectedly, saw him, and shouted : " Sergeant, 
 put him under arrest," and disappeared. The soldier seized 
 the sheet with his teeth and beat his head with his fists. 
 Three or four comrades dashed upon him, seized and held 
 him, saying : " What is the matter with you ? What are you 
 doing ? Are you going mad ? " Then he came to himself, and 
 said in a low voice, with a gloomy smile : " Yes. . . I am 
 going mad, and you will see one of these days what madmen 
 have the courage to do." 
 
 There is a part of the valley of the Tronto, the narrowest 
 portion, in which the ridges rise on both sides to a great height, 
 and forming gulleys, precipices, and dark, deep ravines, stretch 
 out their rocky arms almost to the river banks. The valley 
 at that point presents a sad and gloomy appearance. Between 
 the water and these extreme projections, the ground is all gravel, 
 big stones and enormous rocks precipitated down from the top 
 of the ridges ; and from the edge upward, there is a labyrinth
 
 26O MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 of caves, precipices, thick bushes, and mounds, without any 
 pathways. Several narrow paths climb up zig-zag, and are lost 
 in the midst of the great rocks and thickets. A few dwellings 
 appear here and there, half hidden among the projections of 
 the rocks ; some bits of level and verdant earth, but on every 
 other side there is only the rough, wild face of nature. 
 
 It was a rainy, autumn evening. A patrol of a few soldiers, 
 one behind the other, were passing through that portion of the 
 valley, climbing, descending, and winding according to the ele- 
 vations of ground and the rocks which filled the small path- 
 way worn by the feet of pedestrians during the long series of 
 years. 
 
 A soldier preceded the patrol by about forty paces ; another 
 followed it at about the same distance. They were walking 
 slowly and silently with lowered heads, their muskets under 
 their arms. 
 
 Suddenly, the soldier who was ahead, heard a sound of 
 hurrying steps, saw three heads appear above a rock, three 
 gun-barrels gleaming, and three flashes, felt his fatigue-cap 
 taken off, and heard two balls whistle to the right and 
 left of his head. In an instant three brigands dashed out 
 upon him. He discharged his musket, and one of them 
 gave a cry and fell to the ground: He rushed upon the 
 other, and with a powerful blow from his musket pushed his 
 carbine aside, and dashed his bayonet into his stomach. But 
 the third, who was behind, attacked him before he could turn 
 against him, seized the musket with one hand, and raised a 
 dagger with the other. The soldier abandoned his weapon, 
 grasped the armed hand of the brigand with his left one, 
 clasped his throat with the right arm, squeezed it like a serpent,
 
 A MEDAL. 26l 
 
 and bit and lacerated his ear furiously. A horrible shriek 
 broke from the assassin's breast, and a terrible struggle ensued. 
 They fell and rolled on the ground, a false step and death 
 would be the result ; in less than a minute a large portion of 
 the ground was covered with deep tracks ; the stones, struck 
 by violent kicks, sprang from the terrible arena ; the two ene- 
 mies clasped, unclasped, and grasped each other again with a 
 marvellous rapidity ; they beat each other with their fists, 
 thrusts their elbows and knees into each other's stomach and 
 chests, snorting, gasping, and shouting with suppressed rage ; 
 their eyes horribly dilated and gleaming ; their foaming and 
 bleeding mouths opening and contracting convulsively, as they 
 gnashed their teeth, so that those two faces no longer retained 
 any semblance to humanity. But the soldier still kept tightly 
 clasped in his iron hand his adversary's fist which held the 
 knife. . . . Suddenly the brigand fell like a corpse, beat- 
 ing the ground about him wildly ; the soldier got upon him, 
 seized his throat with both hands, shielded himself on the left 
 with his bended knee, and while the prostrate man wounded 
 him in the left arm, the soldier raised his head from the 
 ground by extreme force, and flung it back against a stone 
 with his entire strength ; then taking advantage of the stun 
 caused by the blow, he squeezed the wrist of the armed hand 
 with both of his. The aching hand opened, and in an instant 
 the assassin's knife passed into his possession, and he had 
 driven it into the brigand's throat. The icy blade passed 
 through the uvula and broke the bone of the palate, the blood 
 dashed through the opened throat, mixed with a confused rat- 
 tle, which was his last utterance. 
 
 " Bravo ! bravo ! " shouted the other soldiers as they came
 
 262 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 breathlessly up. They gathered around him and over- 
 whelmed him with questions, while he, motionless, gasping, 
 with pallid face and glaring eyes, was gazing now at the pros- 
 trate brigand, now at the bloody knife which he still held 
 tightly clasped. 
 
 I The patrol had been attacked at the same time by a band of 
 brigands, who fled as soon as they had discharged their guns, 
 and the soldiers followed them for some distance. 
 
 The wounded soldier was quite well within a few days. 
 The first time that the captain saw him, in passing in front of 
 him at the review, he looked him firmly in the eye and said : 
 "Bravo ! " Instantly thereafter his neighbor whispered in his 
 ear : " You say he has something against you ? He said 
 bravo ! " " Oh, he felt obliged to do so," he replied, shaking 
 his head, smilingly. 
 
 Three months after that day the regiment was trans- 
 ferred to Ascoli. A week had passed since their arrival, when 
 the colonel ordered that on the following day the regiment 
 should be in full uniform to assist at a military ceremony in 
 the principal square of the city. They were to decorate a sol- 
 dier with the medal for military valor. 
 
 " So soon ? " thought our captain, when he received the col- 
 onel's order. He instantly ran to the quartermaster-sergeant's 
 room, and asked anxiously : " Have you heard the order ? 
 Have you done every thing ? " " Every thing three days ago," 
 replied the quartermaster-sergeant. " Oh, that 's all right ; let 
 us see. Give me paper, pen, and inkstand ; I want to be quite 
 sure about it." 
 
 They seated themselves at the table, and the quartermaster- 
 sergeant began tracing on a scrap of paper some streets and
 
 A MEDAL. 263 
 
 houses, talking all the time in a low voice, and taking up the 
 conversation from time to time as if to explain things more 
 clearly. 
 
 After a short time they both rose, and the captain, on going 
 away, added : "Third house to the right, second door?" 
 " Third house to the right, second door." " Are you quite 
 sure ? " The quartermaster-sergeant made a sign as much as 
 to say: " Go right on, you cannot mistake it." 
 
 An hour later the captain was on horseback on the road lead- 
 ing from Ascoli to Acquasanta, a small place on the bank of 
 the Tronto, half way, I believe, between Ascoli and Arquata. 
 
 He reached Acquasanta at sunset. Before entering, he unbut- 
 toned his coat to hide the number of buttons, and pushed up 
 the visor of his cap. Then he entered. On hearing the 
 sound of the horse's step, some people came to the doors of 
 the first houses, others approached the windows, and the boys 
 gathered in the street. The captain looked uncertainly 
 to the left and right, then moved toward a door where 
 there was a group of women, who drew up timidly against the 
 wall at his appearance, and looked at him in astonishment. 
 
 " Who will give me a glass of water, my good women ? " said 
 the captain, reining in his horse, and affecting a careless air. 
 
 " I," replied one of the women quickly. And she disap- 
 peared. " It is she," thought the captain ; "it can be no one 
 else." 
 
 The woman returned a moment later with a glass of water, 
 and handed it to the captain. The latter looked at her atten- 
 tively, and began to drink it in slow sips. The woman, mean- 
 while glanced at him from head to foot, twisted her head from 
 side to side, got on tiptoe in order to discover the number of
 
 264 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 his regiment, twisted her hands, swayed backward and forward, 
 was not quiet one moment, and by her fixed and excited look, 
 and the rapid movements of her mouth, she showed a timid and 
 anxious content, an irrepressible desire, which she did not know 
 how to gratify. The captain watched her closely. 
 
 " Is there no one among you women who has a soldier son ? " 
 he asked, with apparent indifference, as he handed back the 
 glass. 
 
 " I have," replied the woman who had brought him the water. 
 " I have one ! " and she made a sign with her thumb, and 
 stopped to wait for his reply, as immovable as a statue. 
 
 " In what regiment ? " 
 
 The woman told the regiment, and added hastily : " Where 
 is this regiment, Mr. Colonel ? Do you chance to know my 
 son ? Have you seen him anywhere ? " 
 
 " I ? Oh, no but how is it that you do not know where he 
 is?" 
 
 " Well ! " exclaimed the woman, looking very serious, cross- 
 ing and then letting her hands fall idly, " it is two years since I 
 have seen him. A month ago he was not very far from here ; 
 he was fighting the brigands, poor fellow, and he wrote me ; but 
 since then I have heard nothing, and he has never sent me 
 another letter. Oh, he may have sent one, but it has not ar- 
 rived. Those gentlemen who ought to forward the letters, who 
 know.s what they have done with them ! (And she grew more 
 and more excited, and uttered each word with an increasing 
 expression of sorrow and scorn.) The letters of poor people 
 are known to those gentlemen by the writing, and they throw 
 them into a corner. I know how things go. Those poor fellows 
 write, and their families receive nothing. But the officers who are
 
 A MEDAL. 265 
 
 in command ought to look after these affairs ; you must excuse 
 me, Mr. Colonel, I don't say it of you ; but it does n't seem just 
 to me. We poor women pass entire months without knowing 
 any thing of our sons, and we are always anxious, and my 
 friends here can tell you so, for they see me every day and 
 know what a life I have been leading for some time, my heart- 
 aches, fears, and the pain I have suffered on account of that 
 poor boy. There are moments in which I really cannot bear it 
 any longer. Oh, no, no, let me finish, Mr. Colonel, it is not 
 just ! " Saying which she covered her face with her apron, and 
 began to weep. 
 
 All the other women assented by word and gesture ; the cap- 
 tain was silent. 
 
 " Look here, my good woman ! " he then said suddenly. 
 The woman uncovered her tear-stained face, and glanced at 
 him. 
 
 " Look ! " repeated the captain, taking off his cap and 
 handing it to her. She took it with a stupid expression of face, 
 looked at it top and bottom, glanced around at her friends as 
 if to question them, then stared fixedly at the captain, as if 
 to show him that she had not understood. 
 
 The captain laughed. 
 
 " Is there nothing which interests you in this cap ? " 
 
 The woman began examining it again, and uttered a cry : 
 "Ah ! it is the number of the regiment my son's regiment ! " 
 and seizing the cap with both hands she kissed and rekissed it 
 impetuously, and in a moment overwhelmed the captain with so 
 many questions, prayers, demonstrations of gratitude, joy, and 
 affection, that he was overcome, and was obliged to wait, in 
 order to reply one word, until this outburst had quite ex- 
 hausted her strength and choked her voice.
 
 266 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 " To-morrow you will see your son," he then said. " He is 
 at Ascoli, and is expecting you." 
 
 The good woman sprang forward to kiss his hand ; he drew 
 it back. . . . Half an hour later he started for the city. 
 He had talked for a long time with that poor woman, but had 
 said nothing of the gold medal. 
 
 Scarcely had he reached Ascoli and entered his house when 
 he called the orderly, and uttering each syllable distinctly, and 
 accenting each word with his hand, he talked for some time, 
 while the other listened with wide-stretched eyes and mouth. 
 " Have you understood ? " he said at last. " Yes, sir." " You 
 will do every thing carefully ?" " Rest assured of that." " I 
 depend upon you." And he went out. The orderly followed 
 him with his eyes as far as the door, stood meditating for a 
 moment, then sticking his hand into a boot and seizing the 
 brush with the other he began blacking it with all his might, 
 murmuring as he did so : " You are a good mar; ; you deserve 
 a premium ; to-morrow morning your boots shall shine more 
 brightly than any in the regiment." 
 
 The following morning, about eight o'clock, the orderly, 
 standing at the corner of a street which opened on the princi- 
 pal square of the city, saw an old peasant woman, in gala dress, 
 with two great hoops in her ears, a beautiful string of coral 
 around her neck, and her skirt speckled with all the colors of 
 the rainbow, coming slowly forward. As she approached she 
 glanced around her with a mingled expression of curiosity, 
 astonishment, and gaiety. He watched her carefully, and then 
 approached her. 
 
 " My good woman ! " 
 
 "Oh, are you the soldier the captain told me about ?"
 
 A MEDAL. 267 
 
 " Yes, exactly." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! thank you ! And my son ? Is n't he here ? 
 Where is he ? Why did n't he come to meet me? Tell me 
 instantly where he is, my good fellow. Take me right to him." 
 
 " Ah ! one moment ; you must have a little patience ; you 
 cannot see him immediately. You must wait about half an 
 hour. You must remain here and see a certain parade that the 
 regiment is going through They are to give a medal for 
 military valor to one of my comrades ; it is only an affair of a 
 few moments, and you must be patient." 
 
 " A half hour more ! Oh, heavens ! how can I wait for a 
 half hour? " 
 
 " I understand, my good woman ; a half hour will seem like 
 half a century to you ; but there is nothing else to be done, so 
 you must wait. We will chat a little, and the time will pass 
 quickly." 
 
 " Oh, heavens ! a half hour ! But tell me, tell me, are the 
 soldiers to come into this square ? " 
 
 " Yes, right into this square from that side look ! " 
 
 "But then I shall see him instantly, and I can go and 
 speak to him." 
 
 " No, you cannot, my dear woman." 
 
 " But it is two years since I have seen him." 
 
 " I know ; but no one can speak to a soldier when he is in 
 line ; you ought to know that too ; the regulations are clear 
 enough ; the colonel commands here, my good woman ; the 
 mothers have nothing to do with the matter ; and even if the 
 colonel's mother should come, she, too, would have to be patient 
 and stand on one side and wait. You must understand that 
 women have not made the regulations."
 
 268 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 " I do understand ; but \ . . " 
 
 At that moment they heard the distant sound of drums, and 
 all the people who were in the square turned in that direction. 
 " Here is the regiment," said the soldier. The old woman felt 
 her heart throbbing wildly, stood quite perplexed for a moment, 
 and then suddenly tried to dash toward the regiment. " Wait ! " 
 shouted the soldier, seizing her by the arm, and making a mo- 
 tion with his hand to keep her quiet. " Wait ; do me that 
 favor ; if he sees you we shall get into trouble. Do you wish 
 to have him put in prison ? It does n't take much to do so. 
 If he should turn his head to the left when he ought to turn it 
 to the right." 
 
 " That 's true ! " murmured the woman, and she controlled 
 herself. 
 
 " You will only have to wait a quarter of an hour ; that 's 
 not much, when you have waited two years." 
 
 The woman raised her eyes to heaven, sighed, and then fixed 
 them motionless on the opening of the street where the regi- 
 ment was to appear. 
 
 The roll of the drums approaches ; the crowd divides into 
 two wings ; here are the sappers, the drummers, the band, the 
 colonel on horseback. 
 
 " And the soldiers ? " asked the old woman anxiously. 
 
 " One moment. There are only about ten paces between 
 the colonel and the soldiers. Here they are ! " 
 
 The woman dashed forward again, and once more the sol- 
 dier held her back. " Oh, for heaven's sake do be sensible ! 
 Do you want him to be thrust into prison at any cost ? " 
 
 The regiment is drawn up in line. 
 
 " I have seen him ! I have seen him ! " shouted the old 
 woman, clapping her hands, " Look at him ! "
 
 A MEDAL. 269 
 
 " Where ? " The woman pointed. 
 
 " No ; that 's not he. You are mistaken, I assure you. 
 You could not recognize him from here ; we are too far 
 away." 
 
 " Then that other one." 
 
 " Which one ? " The woman pointed again. 
 
 " But no, I tell you, that is n't he ; it is impossible for you to 
 see him ; he is in the second line." 
 
 " In the second line ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What do you mean by the second line ? " 
 
 " Behind the others." 
 
 " Oh, holy patience ! " exclaimed the woman, as she passed 
 her hand over her brow and sighed, " what are they doing 
 now ? " 
 
 " Don't you see ? The colonel has placed himself in front 
 of the regiment in order to make a speech. Before giving the 
 medal to the soldier they generally make a speech, in which 
 they relate the circumstance, and tell the other soldiers to fol- 
 low the example of their companion, who is a brave soldier, 
 has done his duty, and has done honor to his regiment, and 
 so forth." 
 
 " I don't hear any thing. What is he saying ? " 
 
 l< This is the story : The soldier who is to receive the 
 medal was one day attacked by three brigands, all of whom 
 fired on him at once. He was not hit, and did not get fright- 
 ened ; he discharged his musket at one of the assassins, and 
 killed him ; then planted his bayonet in the stomach of the 
 other ; and took away the knife from the third and cut his 
 throat."
 
 2/0 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 " Oh, my God ! " 
 
 " Was n't that a fine deed ? " 
 
 " Have they given him the medal ? " 
 
 "They are doing so now." 
 
 " He will be happy, poor young fellow ! " 
 
 " I should think so ; his comrades are so fond of him ; his 
 superiors treat him like a son ; all respect and esteem him ; and 
 he deserves it, he really deserves it ; he is one of the best 
 soldiers in the regiment ; there are few like him, I can tell 
 you." 
 
 " But where is this soldier ? " 
 
 "In a moment the colonel will call him out of the line." 
 
 The colonel ceased speaking. 
 
 " Look ! look ! " the orderly suddenly exclaimed, turning 
 the woman away from the regiment and pointing to the win- 
 dows in front. " Look how many people are at the windows ! 
 In a moment they will all clap their hands." 
 
 Meanwhile the soldier had stepped out of the line, come to 
 the colonel's side, facing the regiment, so that the woman in 
 turning toward the soldiers, could not see his face. 
 
 " Is that the soldier ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What are they doing now ? " 
 
 " Don't you see ? The colonel is putting the medal on his 
 breast." 
 
 " Oh, holy Virgin ! how my heart beats for him. How 
 happy he must be, poor fellow ! Now what are they doing ? " 
 
 " Now the regiment is going to present arms." 
 
 " Really ? " asked the woman in astonishment. 
 
 "Certainly."
 
 A MEDAL. 2/1 
 
 " Oh, what an honor ! " exclaimed the good old woman, 
 clasping her hands and remaining motionless in that position, 
 her eyes gleaming with a very beautiful smile, a mixture of 
 content, marvel, and affection. 
 
 The colonel turned toward the regiment, and in a loud, 
 senorous, vibratory voice, which echoed through the square, 
 shouted : 
 
 " Present arms ! " 
 
 The woman felt a shiver run from head to foot, drew close 
 to the soldier and seized him as if she were afraid. 
 
 At the colonel's shout the four majors of the regiment each 
 turned to his battalion and repeated the command in a power- 
 ful voice. 
 
 Almost instantaneously, as if moved by a single arm, did the 
 twelve hundred muskets rise, gleaming from the ground, and 
 resound when hit by the twelve hundred hands. All faces 
 were motionless, and all eyes were fixed on the soldier's face. 
 The officers saluted with their swords. The crowd broke out 
 in a burst of applause, and the band began to play. 
 
 " But who is this soldier ? " asked the poor mother, aston- 
 ished, moved, and fascinated by that stupendous spectacle. 
 
 The orderly turned, looked at her, opened his mouth, uttered 
 some inarticulate sound, glanced at the soldier, and turned 
 again to the woman. 
 
 The band continued playing, the regiment was still motion- 
 less. 
 
 " It is your son ! " the orderly shouted. 
 
 The old woman uttered a cry, stood immovable for a 
 moment, with wide-stretched eyes and mouth, dashed her 
 hands into her white hair, smiled, groaned, and sobbed ; that
 
 2/2 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 applause and that music resounded in the depths of her heart 
 like a harmony from paradise ; the thousand gleaming muskets 
 all grew confused into a single torrent of light, her mind be- 
 came suddenly confused, her eyes veiled, she tottered . . . 
 and was upheld. 
 
 When she came to herself, the regiment had disappeared ; 
 her son was clinging to her neck, and the two hearts were so 
 closely pressed against each other that there was hardly place 
 for the silver medal between them. They remained in this posi- 
 tion for some time. 
 
 " But how," were the first words of the son, as soon as he 
 was released from that embrace, " how did you know that I 
 was here ? Who told you ? How did you happen to get here 
 on this day, and just at this hour ? " 
 
 The woman told him breathlessly, that the previous day an 
 officer on horseback had arrived in her town, stopped at her 
 door, told her where her son was, offered her money so that 
 she could come to the city in a carriage, had given her the 
 money, and she had come, and found the soldier who was 
 waiting, at the officer's orders, for her. 
 
 "Where is the soldier? " asked her son. They both looked 
 around ; the orderly had disappeared. 
 
 " Now I understand, look ! " said the woman. " Now I 
 understand why the officer wished me to come this morning ; 
 he wanted me to see ..." 
 
 She looked at her son and embraced him. 
 
 " He wished me to see every thing, and so told me nothing, 
 in order to give me a surprise ; and the soldier was in the plot. 
 What a good man ! But how did he learn where I live ? And 
 what interest could he have in giving me this pleasure, when 
 he did not even know me ! Tell me, my son ! "
 
 A MEDAL. 273 
 
 The son was thinking busily. 
 
 " But where is the officer ! this man ? I want to see him ; I 
 want to kiss his clothes. I owe him my life. I want to go to 
 him, my son. Take me to him." 
 
 " Immediately ! " exclaimed the soldier, coming back from 
 the thoughts in which he had been absorbed. 
 
 He took his mother by the hand, and they hastily crossed 
 the square, entered the street where the barracks were, stopped 
 twenty paces from the door, at which almost all the officers 
 were gathered while waiting for the report, and the old woman 
 began to seek eagerly with her eyes, the soldier helping her by 
 motions and words ; he, too, searching from instinct, without 
 knowing whom he wished to find. 
 
 " Who is he ? Have you seen him ? Point him out ! " 
 
 " I have not found him yet." 
 
 " Look ! Look ! " 
 
 " That one there ; that one leaning against the wall. . . . 
 No, no, I am mistaken ; it is n't that one. That other, the 
 one who is lighting a cigar. Wait till he turns. Wait no, it 
 is n't he." 
 
 " But who is it, then ? " 
 
 " Ah ! there he is ! This time I am sure. It is the one 
 who has placed his hand on the shoulder of the man standing 
 near him." 
 
 " What ! " 
 
 " Yes, it is he." 
 
 " Mother ! " 
 
 " I tell you I am sure of it." 
 
 " Really ? Are you not mistaken ? Are you really sure ? " 
 shouted the soldier, seizing his mother's hand.
 
 2/4 MILITAR Y LIFE, 
 
 " As sure as I am of the light of day." 
 
 The soldier fastened his eyes on the captain, and stood look- 
 ing at him motionless. 
 
 Meanwhile, the mother, whose heart and head were with her 
 son, rather than with the captain, pulled him by his clothes, 
 and taking the medal between her first finger and thumb, drew 
 it closer to her face, looked attentively at it, and said smilingly 
 to the soldier, who still stood motionless looking at the captain: 
 
 " I would wager that, after your mother, this is the dearest 
 thing in the world to you." And she raised the medal the en- 
 tire length of the ribbon. 
 
 " No," replied her son, without turning. 
 
 " No ! Well, what is the dearest thing in this world after 
 your mother?" asked the woman with an affectionate smile. 
 
 The soldier raised his arm, and pointing to the captain, 
 replied : 
 
 " That man there ! "
 
 AN ORIGINAL ORDERLY. 
 
 OF all the original beings under the vault of heaven and I 
 can boast I have known many there certainly is none who can 
 compare with this one. 
 
 He was from Sardinia, a peasant of twenty, ignorant of the 
 alphabet, and a soldier in the infantry. 
 
 The first time he appeared before me, at Florence, in the 
 office of a military journal, he inspired me with sympathy. 
 His appearance, however, and several of his replies, showed me 
 instantly that he was indeed an original. Seen in front, he was 
 himself ; seen in profile, he was quite another. One would 
 have said that his features changed in turning. From the front 
 view there was nothing to say ; the face was like many others ; 
 but his profile made one laugh. The point of the chin and the 
 end of the nose tried to touch and did not succeed, impeded 
 by two enormous lips that were always open, and which allowed 
 one to see two rows of teeth scattered like a platoon of national 
 guards. The eyes resembled pin-heads, so small were they, 
 and they almost disappeared between the wrinkles when he 
 laughed. The eyebrows formed two circumflex accents, and 
 the forehead was only high enough to separate the hair from 
 the eyes. A friend said to me that he seemed like a man made 
 for a joke. He had, however, a face that expressed intelli- 
 gence and goodness ; but an intelligence, if one may so express 
 
 275
 
 2^6 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 himself, which was partial only, and a goodness sui generis. 
 He spoke, in a sharp, hoarse voice, an Italian for which 
 he could have demanded with perfect right the patent of 
 invention. 
 
 " How does Florence please you ? " I asked, because he had 
 only arrived in town the day before. 
 
 "It 's not bad," he replied. 
 
 For a person who had only seen Cagliari and some small 
 cities in Northern Italy, the reply seemed a trifle severe to 
 me. 
 
 "Do you like Florence or Bergamo better?" 
 
 "I. only arrived yesterday, and cannot judge yet." 
 
 When he went away I said : " Adieu " ; and he replied : 
 "Adieu." 
 
 The following day he entered my service. During the first 
 few days I was several times on the point of losing my patience 
 and sending him back to his regiment. Had he contented 
 himself with understanding nothing, transeat j but the trouble 
 was that his difficulty in understanding Italian, and the novelty 
 of every thing, made him half comprehend things and do every 
 thing wrong. If I should say that he took my razors to be 
 ground at Lemonnier's and my manuscripts to be printed at the 
 knife-grinder's ; that he carried a French novel to the shoe- 
 maker and a pair of boots to a lady's house, no one would be- 
 lieve me ; because, in order to credit it, it would be necessary to 
 have seen to what a point (beside undestanding badly) he car- 
 ried affairs, the mere misunderstanding not sufficing to account 
 for such huge blunders. But I cannot refrain from citing 
 some of the most marvellous of his exploits. 
 
 At eleven in the morning I sent him to buy ham for break-
 
 AN ORIGINAL ORDERLY. 277 
 
 * 
 fast, and it was the hour at which the Corriere Italiano was 
 
 cried through the streets. One morning, knowing that there 
 was some news I wished to see in the paper, I said to him : 
 "Quick, now ham and the Corriere Italiano." He never 
 could seize two ideas at a time. He went out and returned a 
 moment later with the ham wrapped up in the Corriere. 
 
 One morning I was turning over in his presence and that of 
 a friend, a beautiful military map that had been lent me from 
 the library, and I said : " The trouble is, you understand, that 
 I cannot see all these maps at a glance, and am obliged to look 
 at them one by one. To get a clear idea of the battle I should 
 like to see them all nailed on to the wall in a row, so that they 
 would form one picture." That evening when I entered the 
 house I shudder to think of it every map in the collection 
 was nailed to the wall, and to make matters worse, the fol- 
 lowing morning I was obliged to see him appear with the 
 modest, smiling face of a man who is expecting a compliment. 
 
 Another morning I sent him to buy two eggs to cook in 
 spirits. While he was out, a friend came to talk about a very 
 important affair with me. That unfortunate wretch returned. 
 I said : " Wait ! " He seated himself in a corner, and I con- 
 tinued to talk with my friend. After a moment I saw the sol- 
 dier turn red, white, and green, and seem to be on thorns about 
 something, so that he hardly knew where to hide his face. I 
 dropped my eyes and saw a leg of the chair slightly streaked 
 with gold color, which I had never seen. I approached ; it 
 was the yolk of an egg. The wretch had put the eggs in the 
 back pockets of his jacket, and on entering the house had 
 seated himself without remembering that my breakfast was 
 under him.
 
 2?8 MILITARY LIFE, 
 
 These, however, are roses in comparison to what I was 
 obliged to see before having trained him to put my room in 
 order, I do not say, as I wished it, but in a manner that would 
 indistinctly reveal at least the rational being. For him the 
 highest art in putting things in order consisted in arranging 
 I them in architectural style one above the other ; and his great- 
 est ambition was to construct the tallest edifice possible. Dur- 
 ing the first few days my books formed a semicircle of towers 
 which tottered at the slightest breath ; the wash-bowl, turned 
 upside down, upheld a bold pyramid of little dishes and vases, 
 on the top of which my shaving-brush rose proudly ; old and 
 new high hats reared themselves in the form of a triumphal 
 column to a dizzy height. So that often in the dead of night 
 there occurred noisy overturns and tremendous scatterings of my 
 property, which were only restrained by the walls of the room 
 from going on no one knows where. In order to make him 
 comprehend that the tooth-brush did not belong to the family 
 of those intended for the head, that the jar of pomade was 
 quite different from that of the extract of beef, and that the 
 commode was not designed as a receptacle of freshly ironed 
 shirts, required the eloquence of a Cicero and the patience of 
 a Job. 
 
 Whether he were grateful for my kindness to him, or 
 felt the slighest affection for me, I have never been able to 
 learn. Once only did he display a certain solicitude about my 
 person, and that in a very strange manner. I was in bed, hav- 
 ing been ill for fifteen days, and growing neither better nor 
 worse. One evening he stopped on the stairs my physician, 
 who was a very grave man, and asked him brusquely : " Well, 
 now, are you going to cure him, or are you not ? " The doc-
 
 AN ORIGINAL ORDERLY. 279 
 
 tor was furious, and gave him a regular wigging. " It is only 
 that the thing has been going on rather long already," he mum- 
 bled in reply. 
 
 At other times he had tricks at which I laughed instead of 
 reproving him for them, as I ought to have done. One 
 morning he waked me by whispering in my ear in a curious 
 tone of voice: "Lieutenant, he who sleeps catches no fish." 
 
 One day he entered the house just as an illustrious person 
 was leaving it, and heard me say to the friend who was with 
 me, that that personage was a " very conspicuous personality" 
 A fortnight later, while I was talking with several friends, he 
 appeared at the door of my room and announced a visitor. 
 "Who is it?" I asked. "It is (he did not remember the 
 name) that very conspicuous personality" he replied. All burst 
 out laughing ; the gentleman in question heard ; I explained 
 matters, and he joined heartily in our merriment. 
 
 It would be difficult to give an idea of the language this cu- 
 rious subject spoke : it was a mixture of Sardinian, Lombar- 
 dian, and Italian, all chopped phrases and abbreviated words, 
 an infinite number of verbs thrown here and there or left in 
 the air, so that they produced the effect of a speech by a per- 
 son in delirium. One day a friend came to see me at the din- 
 ner-hour, and on entering the house asked : " At what point of 
 his dinner is your master?" "He is trembling," replied the 
 soldier. My friend stood open-mouthed with astonishment. 
 That trembling meant terminating (finishing). 
 
 In five or six months, in attending the regimental schools, 
 he had learned to read and write with difficulty. It was my 
 misfortune. While I was away from home, he practised his 
 penmanship on my table, and used to write one or two hun-
 
 2 80 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 dred times the very same word, generally a word that he had 
 heard me read and which had made an impression upon him. 
 One morning, for instance, he was struck by the name Ver- 
 cingetorige. That evening, on entering the house, I found 
 Vercingetorige written on the margins of the newspapers, on 
 the backs of my proofs, on the bindings of the books, on the 
 envelopes of letters, on the paper in the waste-basket, every 
 where that he found space enough for the fourteen letters so 
 dear to his heart. Another time the word ostrogoth appealed 
 to him, and the day after my house was invaded by ostrogoths. 
 One day the word rhinoceros fascinated him, and the follow- 
 ing morning my house was filled with rhinoceroses. I gained, 
 however, on another side, and it was in being able to abandon 
 the use of crosses made with various colored pencils on the 
 letters which he had to carry to certain persons, because it 
 was useless to try and make him remember names, instead of 
 which he would say : " This letter is going to the blue lady 
 (demi-monde), this to the black journalist (who was red), and 
 this to the yellow employes (who was al verde, meaning short of 
 funds). 
 
 But while speaking of his writing, I discovered something 
 more curious than any thing I have yet cited. He had pur- 
 chased a copy-book, in which he made extracts from all the 
 books that came into his hand, the dedication of authors to 
 their parents, always taking care to substitute for the latter the 
 name of his father, mother, or brother, to whom he fancied he 
 was thus giving a splendid token of his affection and gratitude. 
 One day I opened this book and read, among others, the fol- 
 lowing dedications : Pietro Tranci (his father, a peasant), 
 Born in poverty, Was enabled with study and perseverance to
 
 AN ORIGINAL ORDERLY. 28 1 
 
 Acquire a high position among servantes, and Succor parents and 
 brothers, and Worthily educate his children. To the memory of 
 his excellent father is This book dedicated by The author 
 Antonio Tranci, instead of Michael Lessona. On another page : 
 To Pietro Tranci my Father Who in announcing to the Subal- 
 pine Parliament The disaster of Novara Fell fainting to the 
 floor, And died within a few days I Consecrate this Poem, etc. 
 Farther down : At Cagliari (instead of Trent) Not yet repre- 
 sented in the Italian Parliament, etc., Antonio Franci, instead 
 of Giovanni Prati, etc 
 
 That which most surprised me in him (for he had seen noth- 
 ing) was an absolute lack of the sentiment of surprise at any 
 thing, no matter how extraordinary, which he might see. He 
 witnessed, while in Florence, the fetes attendant upon the mar- 
 riage of Prince Humbert ; saw the opera and ball at the Per- 
 gola (he had never seen a theatre) ; saw the carnival fetes and 
 the fancy illumination of the Viale dei Colli ; saw, in fact, a 
 hundred new things which ought to have astonished, amused, 
 and made him talk, but there was nothing of the kind. His 
 admiration never went beyond his usual formula : " It is not 
 bad." Santa Maria del Fiore. . . . it is not bad ; Giotto's 
 Tower. . . . not bad ; the Pitti Palace. . . . not 
 bad. I firmly believe that if the good Lord himself should 
 have asked him in propria persona what he thought of the 
 Creation, he would have replied that it was n't bad. 
 
 From the first to the last day that he remained with me, he 
 was always in the same humor, half serious, half gay ; he was 
 always docile, always dazed, always punctual in misunderstand- 
 ing things, and ever immersed in a beatific apathy, and ever 
 extravagant in a certain way. The day upon which he re-
 
 282 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 ceived his dismissal, he scribbled away, for I know not how 
 many hours, in his copy-book with his customary tranquillity. 
 Before leaving, he came to say good-by to me. The scene of 
 parting was any thing but tender. I asked him if he were 
 sorry to leave Florence, to which he replied : " Why not ? " I 
 then asked if he were glad to return home, to which question 
 he responded with a grimace that I did not understand. 
 
 " If you ever need any thing," I said at the last moment, 
 "pray write, and I shall be glad to hear from you." " Thank 
 you very much ! "* he answered. And so he left the house, 
 after having passed two years with me, without giving the 
 slightest sign of regret or joy. 
 
 I looked at him as he went down stairs. 
 
 Suddenly he turned. 
 
 " Now we will see whether his heart has opened," I thought, 
 "and he is coming back to take leave of me in another way." 
 
 " Lieutenant," he said, " your shaving-brush I put in the 
 drawer of the big table." 
 
 And he disappeared.
 
 AT TWENTY. 
 
 DON'T let any one talk to me of the gay life of students and 
 artists ; for officers who have just been promoted and are pass- 
 ing through the first few months of regiment life are really the 
 jolly good-fellows after all. A young man of twenty can not 
 be placed in a position more favorable to gaiety and escapades 
 in general. That leap from the college to liberty, from the 
 dagger to the sword, from the refectory to the restaurant ; the 
 first delights of command, the new outfit, the ordinance, the 
 new friends, the benign superiors, ... in way of experi- 
 ment, and that vague idea of dying some fine day in the midst 
 of a grain field, struck in the forehead by a ball which leaves 
 us not even the time to cry : Non dolet ! are things which keep 
 us in a state of continuous intoxication, like newly-married 
 people. This kind of officer's honeymoon lasts only a short 
 time, perhaps less than the other one ; but it is quite as de- 
 lightful. How many colonels covered with crosses and laden 
 with money would give their standing in the "Annual" to live 
 over again the twelve months of that enchanting carnival ! 
 
 Oh, cloudless days and peaceful nights passed in laughing 
 and joking ah, continue ! 
 
 As healthful as roaches, strong as oxen, thoughtless as mad- 
 men, audacious as adventurers, always in mischief, always 
 hungry, always happy, to see us one would have thought that 
 
 283
 
 284 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 we were sure of being generals of the army at thirty. That 
 was a gay time ! The most cordial laugh of the captains and 
 majors was like the simper of a hypochondriac, a consumptive 
 cough in comparison with our explosions of hilarity, which threw 
 us across the chairs, and made the whole house tremble. We 
 were seven, all belonging to the same brigade, in one of the 
 most beautiful cities of Sicily, and just from the great military 
 manufactory of Modena. Three had come together from 
 Turin on a journey full of incidents. Suffice it to say that we 
 had started from home with a certain sum of money for our 
 current expenses, in the certainty of going direct from Genoa 
 to Sicily, and were obliged to stop at Naples, because the 
 steamer could not leave on account of the cholera, added to 
 which was the disagreeable necessity of being forced to live at 
 our own expense during the quarantine at Palermo, where we 
 passed ten interminable days in the Bella Partenope, living on 
 simple macaroni and broth, which we always devoured at an 
 eating-house called the Villa di Torino at the end of a little 
 private room, reserved for people in embarrassment, and those 
 under the surveillance of the police. But scarcely had we 
 reached the regiment before our charming existence began. 
 We seven new-comers met on the second day, and one of the 
 number was seized by a brilliant idea. He proposed that we 
 should all live together and have a common mess, and the 
 proposal was accepted. We rented a regular rat's nest, com- 
 prising seven rooms and a kitchen. We got an orderly as 
 cook, and each one settled himself in his den, hung up the 
 orders for the day in the dining-room, and off we started with 
 our house-keeping. 
 
 It is quite impossible to give any idea of all that was done
 
 AT TWENTY. 285 
 
 about the house. It seemed like a hotel, a barracks, and an 
 insane asylum. Fancy seven officers of twenty, seven orderlies 
 of twenty-two, two Piedmontese, one Lombardian, one Tuscan, 
 and three Neapolitans ; fourteen persons in seven rooms as large 
 as the shell of a chestnut, all in motion, from morning until 
 night, like so many lost souls. One went to "mount guard," 
 another returned from picket duty, three came in from the drill, 
 two went out on provision duty, one snored until ten o'clock in 
 the morning, another rose at three in the night, and another 
 returned home at daybreak after the guard. The orderlies 
 arrived to carry dinner to the absent officers, the sappers to 
 bring the orders for the day, the ambulant vegetable-venders to 
 thrust in their wares at the door, the fruit-sellers to toss the 
 oranges in at the windows, the guitarists to sing under the 
 balcony, and so on ad infinitum. On one side the windows 
 were scarcely two metres above the street, so that when any one 
 was in haste he simply went out through the window. The 
 house door was always open ; the dogs walked in and wandered 
 'around at their pleasure. There was not one moment of quiet. 
 The seven soldiers amused themselves by beating their 
 masters' cloaks all at the same time, and made such a noise 
 that people gathered in the street. From the street one could 
 hear all the sounds in the house, even to our conversation car- 
 ried on in a low voice. One of the seven, to make matters 
 worse, hired a piano, and two more were seized by the mania 
 for fencing with canes. Besides which the house was so wretch- 
 edly resonant, that when any one used his handkerchief all 
 the rooms echoed the sound, and from every bed there burst a 
 malediction. Then the rain fell in the dining-room. Yet, de- 
 spite these discomforts, and the pitiful poverty in the way of
 
 286 MILITARY LIFE, 
 
 furniture and waving curtains and hangings, we all enjoyed it 
 immensely. 
 
 The mess, too, went on charmingly, although the cook, as we 
 discovered two months later, was the son of an old apothecary. 
 One of us had assumed the direction of the household and 
 kitchen. Poor caterer ! The first day (I shall always remem- 
 ber it) was a sorrowful one for him. His name was Maglietti, and 
 he was a Piedmontese, a capital fellow, sober, orderly, a good 
 house-keeper, economical without being mean. On assuming 
 the direction of affairs he had made his calculations, and had 
 said to us, rubbing his hands as he did so : " Leave matters to 
 me. We will live finely, and spend little or nothing." But he 
 had made his calculations in accordance with his own appetite, 
 not ours. The first time we went to table, after a march, there 
 was such a total destruction of the viands that he was petrified 
 with astonishment. When every thing seemed to have been 
 finished, one of us collected all the leaves of the radishes to be 
 found in the kitchen, made a salad, on which all began to 
 munch, after which we finished a kilo and a half of bread. 
 Poor Maglietti was in despair, almost ready to weep ; he rushed 
 into the kitchen, and seizing a handful of uncooked vermicelli, 
 threw it on to the table, saying as he did so : " Take it, and eat 
 till you burst ! I refuse to manage affairs any longer. I 
 thought I was dealing with officers, and not with wolves ! " 
 Then we burst out into roars of laughter, and it took all our 
 tact to pacify him and make him continue in his office. 
 
 However, after this "incident" all went on marvellously. 
 The conversations at table were a joke for the passers-by 
 down in the street. With that delightful freedom and vocal 
 power peculiar to young men of twenty, we discussed every
 
 AT TWENTY. 287 
 
 evening a hundred different subjects, from the most difficult 
 ballistic problems to the immortality of the soul ; from the 
 regulation of discipline to the music of the future, to bursts of 
 eloquence, to cavils like rascally advocates, to shouts, to can- 
 nonades, to explosions of mortars ; so that it seemed as if we 
 were in the projectile-car of Jules Verne when Michael Ardan 
 left the oxygen retort open. In this case it was the light wine 
 of Sicily which was working. From time to time two of the 
 party would give each other too hard a blow, and these were 
 ready to fight, to-morrow, this evening, immediately, right there 
 in the room, between one course and another, and^ would rise 
 to go in search of their swords ; but then, after being begged 
 to desist, they would consent to finish their dinner, and by the 
 time the cheese was put on the table they were reconciled. 
 There were some small duels, too, out of the house, just to keep 
 the hand in, and a little crossing of swords now and then ; but 
 every difficulty was adjusted at table in the midst of the usual 
 uproar. Little by little, all learned to take jokes manfully 
 without getting enraged ; but there was one exception, unfor- 
 tunately, a man by the name of Cerraghi, a great, big Lom- 
 bardian, a good sort of devil, but rather fiery. But he was 
 really all the more delightful for this reason. His forte was his- 
 tory, especially modern European history ; he read nothing 
 else, and cared to talk on no other subject. He remembered 
 facts, names, and dates in a marvellous manner, and got into a 
 passion when any one said any thing out of the way, although 
 he took a solemn oath every day, with a thump of the fist on 
 the table, that he would allow us to say what we chose without 
 opening his mouth. So of course we amused ourselves by pro- 
 voking him without letting him see our purpose.
 
 288 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 " Have you seen," one man would ask of his opposite neigh- 
 bor, "at such and such a lithographer's, that magnificent draw- 
 ing representing Philip II at the battle of Pavia ? " 
 
 Poor Cerraghi sprang up on his chair, but kept quiet. 
 
 " Friends," continued number two, " you really must go to 
 see it. It is a stupendous piece of work. There is really the 
 color of the locality, and the epoch in it. One really breathes 
 the air of the i4th century like . . ." 
 
 " Bravo ! bravo ! " interrupted another, " the battle of Pavia 
 in the i4th century ! Well, you have studied history well. You 
 are confounding it with the battle of Legnano." 
 
 At this point, poor Cerraghi, the veins of whose throat were 
 almost ready to burst, could no longer contain himself, and he 
 broke out into a shout : 
 
 " You asses ! you asses ! you asses ! " 
 
 Then, of course, there was a general outburst of laughter 
 which made the window-panes rattle. Another delightful type 
 was Boccetti, a handsome, elegant fellow, a trifle vain, but very 
 good-hearted, who tugged at his coat-sleeves from morning un- 
 til night in order to display his cuffs, especially when he was at 
 table. So we, for a joke, took to imitating him, vicing with 
 each other as to who could show the most linen, so much 
 so, in fact, that sometimes we stopped eating in order to 
 raise our arms in the air, with our sleeves pushed back to 
 the elbow, like bell-ringers ; and, finally, things arrived at 
 such a pitch, that in order to avoid fatigue we calmly took 
 off our cuffs on sitting down at table, and placed them be- 
 side our plates, so that every one could admire them at his 
 leisure. Boccetti had a mania for passing as a great con- 
 queror, enveloping his conquests in a profound mystery ; and
 
 AT TWENTY. 289 
 
 he had good taste and aimed high at coats of arms. A 
 month after we were established there were two or three coun- 
 tesses and three or four marchionesses of whom we could not 
 talk at table without a lack of delicacy toward him. And the 
 rascal probably did not know them by sight. Every day a new 
 one was forthcoming. 
 
 " Did you see such and such a countess at the theatre last 
 evening ? " one of us would ask of his neighbor. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! A beautiful little woman, with that charming 
 little rose-colored bodice. I would give the half of my blood 
 to kiss the point . . ." 
 
 " I beseech you," interrupted Boccetti, becoming suddenly 
 quite serious, " let us change the topic." 
 
 " Come now, is the veto on this one too ? " 
 
 " I beg you to desist, out of regard for me." 
 
 " Well, then, let 's change the subject." But there were quiet 
 laughs which were worth a hundred loud ones. That idiot 
 of a Boccetti used to rub his back against the wall at the house- 
 door before coming in, in order to make us believe that he had 
 whitened himself in squeezing some lady of high degree on the 
 staircase of a palace, where she had gone- to call upon a friend; 
 and while he was dining, he would jump up from table and rush 
 to the window at the sound of a carriage only to expectorate, 
 we declared, and then return to his place with a smile full of 
 condescension, as he stroked his moustache. 
 
 His neighbor at table had another passion that of playing 
 the Grand Seigneur. He was born for this role, and it fired all 
 his blood. He was empty as air, and not being able to squan- 
 der in any other way, he did what he could. He lighted his 
 cigar with four matches at a time, the kind which cost four
 
 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 sous a box and are as large as tapers ; he would allow his 
 candle to burn all night ; gave ten sous as pour-boire for a 
 glass of beer ; and threw two francs out of the window, with the 
 gesture of an annoyed prince, in order to stop a violin-player 
 who made him nervous. Dear Cavagnetti ! He squandered 
 half of his pay in these "expenses for representation." And 
 he said so quite ingenuously : " You understand ; one must 
 maintain a certain amount of dignity." And to maintain his 
 own dignity he played like a madman at cards, billiards, chess, 
 dominoes, mora, lotta, with any one who came along, at any 
 hour, and upon every occasion, until he had not a copper left ; 
 then he would light his cigar with an entire box, and on re- 
 turning home say quite seriously that he intended to hang 
 himself with his sash, which really meant : " Lend me twenty 
 francs." And he had a curious fancy (developed one hardly 
 knows how) that made us laugh most heartily. He had seized 
 upon a word, which he continually repeated, quite involuntarily, 
 giving a new signification to it each day ; the word was cy- 
 clop. In speaking of the colonel he would say : " The cyclop 
 was in bad humor this morning." He would call the orderly : 
 " Ho, there, cyclop ! " A fourth bottle appeared on the table : 
 " Oh, a fourth cyclop ! " and always quite seriously. We asked 
 him the meaning of the word. " How do I know ? " he would 
 reply ; " it comes quite naturally to me. I like it. Every one 
 has his own particular taste." And he would puff his cigar the 
 cyclop with intense enjoyment. 
 
 After dinner our pianist generally performed, and we had a 
 little ball, each one imitating the mode of dancing of his 
 own how shall I say it ? a Frenchman might say inclination 
 (it is strange, but the opposite word would be more gal-
 
 AT TWENTY. 2QI 
 
 lant). But that pianist was so extraordinary that we stopped 
 as soon as he began. Never in the world had the passion 
 for music been planted in such a disharmonious brain. To 
 hear him play, it seemed as if he were jumping all equipped, 
 and with his baggage to boot, upon the key-board. Yet, 
 despite all this, he was possessed with the idea of com-: 
 position ; he degraded counterpoint, searched for a libretto, 
 and among his other fixed fancies, was the desire to set 
 to music the Orlando Furioso, upon which he said he had 
 been working for three years. One day he brought a music- 
 master home iu order to ask his opinion about a mazurka, 
 and the latter's sole reply was to ask in a weak voice for a glass 
 of brandy, which of course gave us food for merriment. But 
 our imperturbable friend continued to compose and pound 
 away on the piano in all his spare moments, singing his ro- 
 mances in a voice strongly resembling a rusty lock that made 
 one's flesh creep. But he did not attempt this sort of thing 
 at night, however, as, having endeavored to enliven our dreams 
 once with the Casta Diva, there was such a shower of slippers 
 and boots in his room, that the following morning there was 
 really a leather carpet over the floor. 
 
 But the jolliest, and at the same time the most heedless 
 fellow of the lot, was a man from Romagna, a certain Mazzoni, 
 with a huge frame, who, upon sitting down to table, said : " I 
 am hungry," in such a deep voice, which apparently came from 
 some unknown depth, that the poor caterer fairly paled. And, 
 in fact, it was only the hunger of a trombone-player after a 
 seven hours' concert, of an Esquimaux after a seal-hunt, or a 
 lion who had been fasting for three days, that could be com- 
 pared to the fury with which he cleared the table. His dinner
 
 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 was not a dinner ; it was a regular raid, the " requisition " of a 
 squad of cavalry in time of war, a devastation, a sacking. So 
 much occupied was he in masticating, that he talked little ; but 
 amused the company away from the table with every sort of 
 unexpected joke, for which he really had a satanical imagina- 
 tion. Did I say amuse? Sometimes he drew forth more 
 curses than there were hairs to his head ; but we always ended 
 by laughing. He was quite capable of meditating upon and 
 preparing one of his tricks for seven days running. One night, 
 toward one o'clock, while we were sleeping soundly, we were 
 wakened suddenly by a sense of bitter cold, all six of us, and 
 we found ourselves uncovered, with the sheets and counter- 
 panes at the bottom of the bed. We rearranged our beds, and 
 then fell asleep again ; an hour later the same thing happened 
 again, and it really seemed as if witches were at work, until one 
 man, having lost his patience, seized a taper, another lighted a 
 candle, and all sprang up, exclaiming : " It 's Mazzoni ! " Not 
 a bit of it. Mazzoni was snoring, and had not even moved. 
 What is it ? What could it be ? Finally some one stumbled 
 over a small cord stretched across the room ; there was one 
 discovered in every room, and all six were joined in the ras- 
 cally fist of that imposter who was snoring. Then we went for 
 him. But it was all very fine trying to manage a giant like 
 him, for he drove us all from the room like wasps with just six 
 blows from his pillow, and remained master of the situation. 
 Another time a poor devil who was utterly worn out after a 
 march was waked at midnight by a beautiful Catherine-wheel of 
 various colors, that filled his room with a shower of fire ; or we 
 all rose from table with our chairs fastened to the floor ; or at 
 the moment we drew out our swords on the review, we would
 
 AT TWENTY. 293 
 
 find all the hilts tied to the sheaths by a fine silken cord, with 
 which, at that moment, we would gladly have hanged our dear 
 friend to the nearest lamp-post. 
 
 The greatest fun, however, was always at table, where some- 
 thing new was invented each day. For some time we had the 
 habit of unbuttoning our coats, for air, every time an ex- 
 traordinary statement was made ; and we did little but button 
 and unbutton that garment. For certain canards of Boccetti 
 we all six got into our shirt-sleeves without any ceremony, or 
 we left the table to run and throw open the seven windows of 
 the house ; in fact, one evening he gave vent to such a colossal 
 one, in relating one of his old adventures with a Florentine 
 lady, who, from a marchioness of twenty at the beginning of 
 the tale, changed into a princess of eighteen toward the end, 
 that we all rushed down into the street and obliged him to 
 hold forth from the balcony for some time before returning to 
 the house for dinner. One day we ate in the Oriental fashion, 
 without knives and forks, talking Turkish, that is to say, put- 
 ting an a into every syllable, with a forfeit for every one who 
 made a mistake, which nominally resulted to three hundred 
 lire in one evening. Another day six of us agreed not to allow 
 the seventh to speak, and we silenced him by drowning his 
 voice with a continuous and deafening chorus of disapproba- 
 tion. Another time no one was allowed to talk except in verses 
 of melodrama, song, or quotations of the master, or title of the 
 opera. Then came the mania for " food-stealing," which was 
 a regular calamity. However, we made a rule by which every 
 one was obliged to abide. Any one who could carry off some 
 tid-bit from a friend's plate had a right to it, and the friend, if 
 he did not wish to fast, was obliged to send the orderly to buy
 
 294 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 sausage. There was no way of getting out of it. The sufferer 
 might turn red, yellow, green, or black ; but he was forced to 
 laugh. The successful onslaughts provoked revenges, so that 
 little by little the game became a rage. We had to defend 
 ourselves like so many dogs. There was no way of dining in 
 peace. The cutlets, side bones of fowls, eggs, and glasses of 
 wine disappeared as if by magic. Some had acquired a fear- 
 ful dexterity. They even invented instruments for the pur- 
 pose. That devil of a Mazzoni emptied, with one stroke, a cup 
 of coffee, by thrusting into it with the rapidity of lightning an 
 enormous piece of bread, so shaped that it acted like a pump ; 
 and he carried off at one time a half kilo, of maccaroni in 
 broth, by a certain infernal tool, made with a bunch of tooth- 
 picks in the shape of a funnel ; or with a bed bar, at the top of 
 which he had cautiously tied a fork, he would carry a slice of 
 the fry from one end of the table, which was two metres and a 
 half in length. Then came the thefts by conjury, cords, 
 hooks, wires, and highway robberies. It was something fear- 
 ful, desperate, and absolutely ruinous. But Mazzoni always 
 said : " You have yet to see the monster theft, the greatest one 
 of all ! " And we all trembled. Finally, one evening, while we 
 were disputing with our forks a dish of polenta with small 
 birds, Mazzoni uttered an oath, saying that he had dropped his 
 fork, and stooped to pick it up. . . . Ye heavenly powers ! 
 We had not finished our exclamation, when the table was 
 already in the next room, carried off on the back of that gigan- 
 tic thief, without a single drop of wine having been spilled. 
 
 Then came the passion for nocturnal excursions. We went 
 out at night in old citizen's clothes which we had brought from 
 home, dyed, faded, and recolored, which were threadbare, and
 
 AT TWENTY. 295 
 
 certain cutthroat-looking hats. We went to sing, under the 
 windows of friends who had fallen asleep, songs for the occa- 
 sion, for which they generally thanked us with wash-basins or 
 garbage-boxes ; or to mysterious dens in the suburbs, to drink 
 punch among English and French sailors, to whom we repre- 
 sented ourselves as journeymen varnishers and cabinet-makers, 
 en route to the East. What outbursts of laughter there were 
 with that crazy Boccetti, who, at two in the morning, on re- 
 turning home. through those deserted streets as dark as cata- 
 combs, saw behind every blind he only a gleam of light, 
 which meant: "Boccetti, my husband has returned; don't 
 come up ! " or : " To-morrow at this hour ! " And Cavagnetti, 
 who played the grand seigneur even in the dark, by throwing 
 handfuls of coppers to the dogs ; and the pianist, who wished to 
 draw rifle-shots upon himself by shouting his superhuman 
 romances under the windows ! The nocturnal excursions were 
 generally undertaken after great dinners ; because we did give 
 dinners despite the " overdrawn accounts " of Maglietti. The 
 guests came half a dozen at a time. We could not write cards 
 of invitation like that in the Vie de Boheme : " // y aura des 
 assiettes "; but we managed things equally well. We lighted 
 stumps of candles, and placed on the bureaus and behind 
 vases of flowers heads of lettuce, arranging upon the walls 
 decorations made from cudgels and birch trees. Those who 
 arrived last made themselves comfortable on the beds, in 
 Roman style, drank their wine out of coffee cups without han- 
 dles, and wiped their mouths on newspapers. Some arranged 
 their little spreads on one side, on a military box set upright ; 
 others without any compliments went straight to the kitchen to 
 pilfer from the saucepans. All talked at once ; and often a
 
 296 MILITERY LIFE. 
 
 troop of shirtless players in the street enlivened our dinner 
 with music, by singing Mamma, sto passiarello ; the soldiers 
 wrangled and disputed in the kitchen as to precedence in the 
 question of rapine, and altogether there was such a racket 
 that the discharge of a gun would not have been heard. That 
 braggart Cavagnetti, however, seized the brief moments of 
 silence, to make the people gathered in the street believe that 
 we were having a supper worthy of Lucullus. " Softly there," 
 he shouted, " with that Johannisberg ! " or : " Boccetti ! ho, 
 there, Boccetti ! have that pheasant with truffles passed ! " 
 The conversations changed little by little into choruses from 
 Ernani ; the brigade scattered to play the devil in the different 
 rooms ; then some dressed themselves up, some danced, and 
 others indulged in trials of strength ; the neighbors hit each 
 other above and below with sticks ; it seemed as if the house 
 were being shaken by an earthquake, for the dust and smoke 
 covered every thing, and in fact one could see nothing, or only 
 indistinctly at best. It even seemed as if we saw, flying around 
 in a giddy waltz, the Rosalies, Concettas, and Neddas, as young 
 as us, but wilder, quite as agile and dark as Bedouins, . . . 
 who melted away in the air. 
 
 We had plenty of occupation too, in keeping in order the 
 seven orderlies, who took advantage of our absence for all 
 sorts of wild doings. These malefactors, when we were away 
 (we finally caught them in the act), put on our jackets, lighted 
 our pipes, placed themselves at the windows with our swords 
 in their hand's, and played the Agnus Dei with those same 
 neighbors to whom we, royal sub-lieutenants, had made eyes. 
 They assumed the attitudes of lovers a la Metastasio, the ras- 
 cals ! And we had to keep our eyes open too, on account of
 
 AT TWENTY. 297 
 
 the constant coming and going of laundresses, ironers, and 
 pin- and needle-women, because from the very first day we 
 caught, through the cracks of the doors, fragments of Lombar- 
 dian, Piedmontese, and Neapolitan declarations of love, uttered 
 in tones of voice that demanded the most speedy and vigorous 
 intervention on the part of their superiors. 4 But this was not 
 the worst. One evening the general caterer goes into the 
 kitchen to change the position of a cask of Marsala wine, 
 which we had purchased three days before for grand occasions, 
 and upon seizing it, he discovers that it is alarmingly light. 
 Our good friends drank, then, and how ? While we were 
 swallowing wretched black table -wine, they were indulging 
 like lords in Marsala. Poor Maglietti lost his head ; he was 
 ready to stick them all with one blow, like so many spiders. 
 But it was necessary to catch them in the act. The next even- 
 ing at dinner, taking advantage of a moment of suspicious 
 silence in the kitchen, we all rose softly, approached the door 
 on tiptoe, put our eyes to the crack . . . and what a 
 sight greeted us ! There were four of these scapegraces, leaning 
 over the cask, with four long straws stuck into a hole, sucking 
 away blissfully, their eyes half closed like four great cats, with 
 a smile on their lips, so engrossed in their agreeable employ- 
 ment, in such a tranquil state of beatitude, that they were 
 quite unaware of our presence, and continued to enjoy them- 
 selves. " Oh, you rascals ! " shouted the caterer. The men 
 sprang up like four steel springs, and stood quite breathless. 
 Yet for that piece of impertinence the cook had the face to ex- 
 cuse himself. " Oh, lieutenant ! " he murmured, " you are quite 
 right . . . Too good ! . . . But . . . well what 
 can one drink with a straw ! " Saying which, however, he
 
 298 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 dashed behind a wardrobe with one spring, to avoid the cuff 
 that he knew he deserved. 
 
 These little domestic calamities, however, gave variety and 
 spice to our beautiful home life. We quarrelled occasionally, 
 but at heart were fond of each other. Whenever it was possible 
 we went out together, so much so that in the brigade we were 
 called the patrol of the seven ; our street was called the street 
 of the seven ; and it was the custom to say : " I am going to 
 dine with the seven," " I have seen the seven," without any 
 thing more. Just as at Venice they used to say once : " I 
 have seen the ten." We were like brothers. When one was 
 absent at table, the usual good-humor was lacking ; the choicest 
 tid-bits from the kitchen were sent to the one on guard ; a 
 regular " oration " was made to him who returned from duty ; 
 when any man received fifty francs from home he was carried 
 around the house in triumph on a chair ; if another was in 
 need of any service he was sure to find the remaining 
 six ready to render it ; cigars, watches, candles, sashes, were 
 all common property. Toward the end of the month, when 
 money was scarce, he who had any, gave it freely, and if every 
 one was entirely out of pocket, we all dined together on salad 
 and fresh water, and smoked the stumps which had lain for- 
 gotten in the drawers, as gay if not gayer than ever. We were 
 jolly too, because we still possessed that fresh enthusiasm for 
 military life, because the music of the regimental band made 
 our hearts beat, because we wished well to the soldier, but, 
 above all this is the true reason, because youth boiled in our 
 veins and beat to our brains, as the venerable Gino wrote, and 
 life . . . but I '11 spare my readers a recitation on life. 
 
 Every thing has an end ; and this was the case with the mess
 
 AT TWENTY. 299 
 
 of the seven too. The first shock came from the illness of the 
 cook, who was replaced by another. We took a Genoese (with 
 a face that would have looked well on the top of a bayonet), 
 who was as bold and secure of himself as an old brave, and 
 who prided himself on having been under-cook in a great 
 hotel. When asked what he knew how to do, he modestly re- 
 plied: " Every thing." " What a marvel! " we said to ourselves. 
 " Now we shall have fine dishes." And we instantly set him to 
 work. . . . He was simply a wretch, a Borgia, a monster 
 without the bowels of compassion. If he had at least been 
 aware of his own ignorance, and had restricted himself to plain 
 cooking ! But no, he insisted upon getting up the most aristo- 
 cratic dishes of his great hotel, of which he only retained the 
 most indistinct recollections, and placed upon the table stuff 
 that made him worthy of being shot in the back. For a time 
 we went on with a saintly resignation ; but it was useless, we 
 could not stand it. One day he served us an enormous risotto 
 flavored with a sauce of his <nun invention. Appearances 
 promised well, we took our places at table, our mouths fairly 
 watering. Ye heavenly powers ! The mere odor drove us 
 away from table ! And that day matters culminated; we could 
 not procure another cook, because the colonel did not like to 
 dispense with soldiers in service ; so we had to make a sacrifice 
 and give up the mess. But it was a genuine sorrow to all. 
 Fortunately a great event came unexpectedly to con- 
 sole us. That same evening, while the excellent Maglietti, sur- 
 rounded by us all, was closing up his accounts of the mess, and 
 notifying each one of his indebtedness with a melancholy 
 voice, a telegram to the division arrived, ordering the imme- 
 diate departure of the brigade for Northern Italy. It was the
 
 300 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 first breath of the messenger of war. All heard and received 
 the announcement with a shout of joy. And we the seven 
 after having all run together, like a single sub-lieutenant, to the 
 telegraph office to ask seven money-orders from our respective 
 families, gave, the following evening, in our now famous mouse 
 den, our last Sardanapalus-like feast, at which we drank, in 
 honor of beautiful Sicily, the small quantity of Marsala that 
 had escaped from the rascally straws of our seven revellers. 
 
 Two days after, one beautiful April morning, the brigade 
 embarked on a large military transport. The embarkation of 
 a brigade is a spectacle full of poetry. All those boats filled 
 with soldiers, and bristling with gleaming gun-stocks, which 
 crowd around that black, smoking giant, make one think of an 
 ancient fleet, pressing around a solitary fortress, set on fire by 
 its defenders. When we were all aboard we turned toward 
 that beautiful shore, from which thousands of handkerchiefs 
 saluted. us. All were gay. The Piedmontese soldier thought : 
 " I shall see my dear Alps again " ; the Neapolitan said : " I 
 shall salute, in passing, my Vesuvius " ; the Genoese rejoiced in 
 thinking that he would land in his Superba ; and the Lombar- 
 dian said in his heart : " We shall pass my country en route to 
 the war." Only the Sicilian soldiers, who had never left the 
 island, looked around with a meditative air at their beautiful 
 mountains, which perhaps they might never see again. A cer- 
 tain disquietude took possession of all. We were going to the 
 war, or, in other words, to a mystery. What had the future in 
 store for us ? Glory ? Humiliation ? Promotion ? The am- 
 putation of an arm ? A medal ? Or that ball in the forehead, 
 in the midst of a beautiful field of grain ? Even at that mo- 
 ment the seven were together, and all looked at Sicily with a
 
 AT TWENTY, 3OI 
 
 slight feeling of sadness. Boccetti touched his eyes with his 
 handkerchief, pretending to weep for his 99th countess ; the 
 pianista waved an adieu to that fortunate sky which had heard 
 his divine harmonies for five months ; Maglietti saluted with 
 regret those walls among which he had made so many useless 
 attempts to practise rigid economy ; and even the good Mazzoni 
 contemplated with a certain sweet melancholy the city where 
 he had devoured and imbibed so much, and taken so many 
 turns with his friends. Cavagnetti alone, who had lost seventy- 
 five francs at play two days before, stood on one side, leaning 
 over the parapet, more angry than sad. "What 's.the matter 
 with you, Cavagnetti ? " I asked on approaching him. " Are 
 you thinking with regret of your Sicily ? " " Not a bit of it ! " he 
 replied, continuing to fix his eyes on the city. " I am thinking 
 with regret of the seventy-five cyclops that I have lost there." 
 
 But then he suddenly roused himself, lighted a cigar with 
 eight matches, assumed his usual air of a millionaire, and began 
 promenading with long steps up and down the steamer (which 
 was majestically cutting the waves) laden with so many arms 
 and hopes.
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 
 
 REMINISCENCE OF 1866. 
 
 MY dear friend Alberto, I am going to copy several pages 
 from your reminiscences ; do not be annoyed at this, for if 
 these pages do not give you honor as a literary personage, they 
 certainly will not show you to disadvantage as son and sol- 
 dier. Permit me to take this liberty, and rest assured of my 
 discretion, because if I were really desirous of abusing our in- 
 timacy, I could publish many others of your secrets. 
 
 AT HOME. 
 
 I. 
 
 After parting with the joys and illusions of youth, when 
 nought but the comfort of recording them remains to me, I 
 shall think more frequently and with greater emotion of the 
 last days of April and the first ones of May in 1866 than of any 
 others during my entire life. 
 
 I had never seen Turin so gay and beautiful. The immi- 
 nent outbreak of the national war which had been invoked and 
 expected for so many years, had suddenly aroused all the gen- 
 erous and warlike characteristics of that city. It was sufficient 
 to pass an evening in one of the principal streets, to become 
 aware by the bustle, the unusual attitude of persons in general, 
 
 302
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 303 
 
 and the bands of workmen, students, and boys, that there was 
 something stirring the souls of the people, and that some great 
 event had taken place or was about to do so. Every evening 
 seemed like that of a fete. 
 
 They were the days when, in meeting a soldier, one looked 
 at and wondered about the horseman who crosses the street 
 with a folded paper buttoned into his coat ; and the people stop 
 to see a convoy of the army train pass ; and in the boys' schools 
 there is no way of preserving quiet ; the old pensioned officers 
 talk in loud voices in groups at the cafes, and bring down their 
 fists on the table ; the mothers grow anxious ; the young men 
 become quite mad ; the women are less looked at than usual, 
 and cease a little to force themselves into all thoughts, de- 
 sires, and plans, as they always do, with their usual proud 
 tyranny. 
 
 Turin felt most profoundly all the poetry of these days. 
 During the morning, on the avenues around the parade ground, 
 
 were the families, relatives, and friends of the soldiers of the 
 
 
 
 second division, who had been called to arms within a few 
 days and still wore the greater part of their ordinary dress : 
 high hats, red caps, elegant light trousers, and great Alpine- 
 hunters' gaiters, black coats, and ragged jackets, all equals 
 there. Around the barracks there was a continual wandering 
 of fond mothers with bundles under their arms, a coming and 
 going of officers and messengers of the division and public 
 squares, together with a crowd of curious people before the 
 door ; inside, a deafening noise. At evening, behind the 
 bugles and drums, came an immense concourse of people who 
 walked in time, in bands of ten or twelve, arm in arm ; and the 
 songs and shouts that echoed through all the neighboring
 
 3O4 MILITARY LIFE, 
 
 streets. At the point where the music and soldiers re-entered 
 the barracks there were hand-shakings, applause, hurrahs, and 
 the cries : " Till to-morrow ! till to-morrow ! " They all 
 seemed soldiers. There I felt thee, Piedmont ! 
 
 II. 
 
 How much better we all were in those days ! 
 
 The expectation of that solemn war by which liberty 
 was to be vindicated and the country restored to a people 
 so illustrious and beloved, who had suffered so much ; the 
 knowledge that even the people of the poorer classes felt that 
 it was a just and holy war ; the sight of those poor fellows from 
 the country, rough, ignorant of every thing, who had come 
 to serve as soldiers with so much good-will and heart, and take 
 part so quickly, if not in the enthusiasm, at least in the com- 
 mon gaiety ; the report that the same thing was taking place 
 everywhere ; that everywhere young men of every condition 
 went by the hundreds to enlist ; that the fathers and mothers 
 themselves accompanied them, and the people greeted and 
 blessed them, and in that marvellous unanimity of hopes and 
 good wishes political discords were readjusted, and only one 
 single cry was to be heard ; all this filled people's souls with a 
 calmness and joy so full, so intense, that it seemed a veritable 
 happinesss. Every evil passion fled from the heart ; old 
 offenses were pardoned, old rancors stilled ; people sought or 
 found in their enemies their mutual friends, and they placed 
 a stone on the past. That ever-present thought, that deep 
 affection which occupied us continually, gave us an energy 
 and a vigorous and unusual vitality which made itself felt by 
 our tone, looks, actions, and steps. What joviality, what affec-
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 3O$ 
 
 tionate harmony among friends ! How pure and elevated were 
 all our thoughts, and how much stronger were all our affec- 
 tions ! Spring did not smile in the flowers alone, nor was it 
 felt in the air and blood solely ; it laughed in all hearts ; it was 
 like a breath of fresh young life that had permeated our entire 
 being. What days ! O country ! if we could always feel 
 
 thus ! 
 
 III. 
 
 From the first day that the possibility of war was mentioned, 
 my head began to grow confused ; and the confusion increased 
 little by little, until the probability was changed into a cer- 
 tainty. I say confused, because I can find no other fitting ex- 
 pression. I thought, talked, and worked as if under the influence 
 of some intoxicating liquor. First agitation, then disquietude, 
 then a regular fever ; rushes of blood to the head ; an itching of 
 the hands to get to work ; an intense desire for motion, air, 
 light, music, poetry ; and an absolute impossibility of fixing the 
 mind on any one thought. Not even the thought of war, be- 
 cause the representing to myself in imagination events, no 
 matter how marvellous and terrible, was like taking something 
 from that idea of an indefinite and adventurous future which 
 filled me with so much joy and life. 
 
 When I entered the house I could not keep quiet. I dre\v 
 a dozen books down from the shelves, looked over a page in 
 each, panting, working myself around on my chair, and tap- 
 ping my feet impatiently ; then I threw them all into the air. 
 " Books are not enough ! they are not enough ! " I shouted. 
 " Books do not tell what is boiling within me." I opened a 
 newspaper ; in those days the newspapers were on fire ; I gave 
 a glance at the customary enthusiastic article and tore the
 
 306 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 sheet in a hundred pieces. " But this is weak ; heavens ! this is 
 cold ! " And seized by a sudden poetic inspiration, I seated 
 myself at the table and began to write hastily. I will write an 
 article, I said ; and instantly thereafter I threw away pen, 
 paper, and ink, exclaiming as I did so : " Every thing is cold ! 
 I am growing desperate. Tell me, mother, in heaven's name, 
 are there no verses in Italian literature which will express the 
 fever that is devouring me ? " " Berchet," she suggested 
 timidly, " No, not Berchet," I replied in a dramatic tone ; 
 "Berchet is irate, Berchet hates, Berchet curses, and I love 
 in this moment, love intensely, love every one ; I feel like a 
 brother to all ; I could throw my arms around all those whom 
 I meet in the street. I love even the Austrians, dear mother ! 
 I would kill many of them ; but I love them, because, thanks 
 to them, Italy is thus roused, raises her head, and shows her- 
 self to be so powerful, dear, and beautiful, diffusing through 
 all her sons that inexpressible feeling of pride and joy ! Death 
 to the Austrians, but hurrah for them too ! I never felt so 
 much like a Christian before ! " 
 
 Then I dashed to the window and grew enraged at the still- 
 ness in the street. " Just see what a shameful quiet ! How is 
 it possible ? Why does not every one go down and make a 
 noise ? What sort of people are these ? . . . Let me over- 
 come this fever ! " Then, shutting myself up in my room and 
 seizing my sword, I pretended that I had facing me an Aus- 
 trian officer, long and thin, with a pair of bushy moustaches and 
 protruding eyes. I put myself on guard, and down came the 
 blows, the parryings, leaps, and thrusts, until I fell quite ex- 
 hausted upon the sofa. In other words, I was crazy. 
 
 It is quite superfluous to say that the neighborhood were
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 3O/ 
 
 thoroughly aware of my existence. Besides, my poetic exclama- 
 tions, which were heard in the street, I used to pass the entire 
 evenings on the terrace in the court ; and every one knows 
 what the courts are like in the new houses at Turin. (We 
 lived in one of the three great palaces in Via Nizza, opposite 
 the railway station.) They are great pigeon-houses, where 
 there are more people than stones, and after dinner all rush to 
 the windows, and those above look at those below, those below 
 look at the legs of those above ; up in the attics they make love, 
 on the terraces the children play, the employe's read the news- 
 papers, and from the roof to the ground-floor, from the ground- 
 floor up to the roof, those on one floor talk illy of those on an- 
 other, and all bow to and smile at each other like the best 
 friends in the world. We lived on the second floor. We had 
 on one side a charming, cultivated, and clever Neapolitan lady, 
 a great friend of ours ; a woman a la Cairoli, full of energy and 
 dash, imaginative and prolific, who, one day when her son was 
 to fight a duel, had filled my mother with admiration and sur-r 
 prise in saying to her quietly : " He will do his duty ! " On 
 the other side lived an old engineer, a painter and octogenarian, 
 who was blind, and a veteran of Napoleon I, surrounded by 
 a half dozen dear little grandchildren, who were my delight. 
 He was a handsome old man, with a good heart, was fond 
 of me, called me his son, and when I was away and delayed 
 replying to him for a couple of days, would go timidly to ask 
 my mother if I could have taken offence at any thing in his 
 last letter. On the same floor, opposite us, lived a widow, about 
 forty, who was elegant, languid, thin, ugly, a rabid devourer of 
 novels, and had the habit of going to the window every time I 
 was there, casting certain long, languishing glances, drawing
 
 308 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 up her mouth and drooping her head with its false curls on one 
 side in a melancholy way. In the window next hers usually 
 stood her cook, who was seized with an incipient passion for 
 my orderly (a handsome fellow, in parenthesis) ; she had a 
 round face, quite purple in color, and so puffed out that it 
 seemed as if she were continually blowing ; great lips, large 
 eyes, immense shoulders, with a broad curve here and there, 
 which could be seen even from the most distant quarter of 
 the house. On the third floor above the languid nymph, 
 lived a student of the University, who was very young, a 
 good sort of fellow, crazy about the war, already enrolled 
 in the volunteers, one of the dearest and most curious of 
 jovial people. At any hour of the day, when I clapped my 
 hands, he would spring on to the terrace, with his arms and 
 face in the air like an improvisatore questioning and replying 
 to me in verse, would start discussions on the higher politics, 
 war, philosophy, and literature, declaiming, gesticulating, and 
 humming in a most amusing manner. At the sound of his 
 voice the entire neighborhood would appear at the windows. 
 
 Then followed a vast amount of hilarity on all the floors. " I 
 like youth like this," murmured the poor old man. And the 
 cook hid behind a blind and burst into a fit of laughter. Her 
 mistress pursed her mouth into a smile which was intended to 
 say : " What dear idiots ! " The Neapolitan lady flung a bon- 
 mot at me, my sister ran off, my mother pulled me by the coat, 
 and my brother muttered : " This is too much." Then my 
 cousin, the colonel, when he was. there, a stiff, austere soldier, 
 who was really fond of me, but he gave me great wiggings, for 
 which reason I called him beneficent executioner, said to me 
 gravely: " Do be serious ! ''
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 309 
 
 In his presence I cannot deny that I was a trifle embarrassed ; 
 but suddenly my friend would break out with another strophe, 
 and then good-by to all gravity, for we grew wilder than ever. 
 
 This was the public comedy, which was followed by a private 
 one. The eldest of the old soldier's grandchildren used to 
 come and see me, and I would say to him : " Courage ; fall 
 into line ! " then taking my mother, sister, and the boy by the 
 arm, I put them in line whether they liked it or not, and made 
 them stay there too. If my mother laughed, I placed my hand 
 on her shoulder and said : " Quiet, my dear lady, erect^ and 
 serious, otherwise we shall close the doors and declaim fifty- 
 eight-line stanzas with all the strength of our lungs, and you 
 know we are very robust." " No ! no ! for pity's sake ! " 
 she would reply. " Then silence ! " I shouted. " We shall 
 have to stay here," she murmured, laughing afresh, and turn- 
 ing to my sister, and that laugh of hers was so sweet and gentle. 
 " Attention ! march ! " My shout was so deafening that my 
 little soldiers would get into disorder, and rush about here and 
 there, holding on to their ears, and I behind them to bring 
 them one by one back to their place ; then I set them free, 
 with the understanding that they should all shout together, 
 " Hurrah for the war ! " But my mother said to me : "I will 
 not shout." " But you will shout." " Oh, no." " Then take 
 a kiss, you angel ! " 
 
 But from day to day she became more thoughtful. Several 
 regiments had already started, and from one hour to another we 
 expected the orders for mine to leave. She knew this. Some- 
 times, when I was making a racket, I caught her looking at me 
 sadly, and I said : " Of what are you thinking ? " " My son," 
 she replied sadly, " I am thinking that we have only a few days
 
 3IO MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 more together . . . I am glad that you are so gay, and at 
 the same time . . . this gaiety of yours hurts me, because 
 . . . I think that I shall feel all the more painfully the void 
 and silence which will fill this house before long." 
 
 " It is true," I thought. Poor women ! " Courage ! courage ! " 
 i we say to them, we who go to the war full of enthusiasm, ambi- 
 tion, with dreams of glory, gay, thoughtless, and surrounded by 
 friends ; but they remain here alone without comfort or dis- 
 traction, always with that thought, that fixed pain. 
 
 " I understand, I feel that in these days I am nothing to 
 you. . . ." added my mother. " No, no, let me finish, I 
 do not complain of it, you know ! Poor boy, it is natural . 
 
 ;:, but . . ." 
 
 " Listen," I said to comfort her ; " you have so noble and 
 choice a heart, you can find comfort in yourself much more 
 easily than other women. We are not selfish. Do you think 
 this war ought to take place ? that it is just ? that it is a solemn 
 duty of the country ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, that I admit," she replied, as she wiped her eyes. 
 
 " Then if we do not make it, we, the adult generation, our 
 children will be obliged to do so afterward. If there were not 
 now five hundred thousand mothers who are weeping, there 
 would be that number within twenty years. We sacrifice our- 
 selves to our country for the five hundred thousand boys and 
 girls who are still in leading-strings ; they have in each other 
 their predestined lovers and wives, shall we not then assure their 
 future, as far as within us lies, from every pain or sorrow, and 
 so act that they may love, marry, and multiply in peace ? " 
 
 My mother smiled, but instantly became sad again. " All 
 this is true," she said, with a sigh, " but it is not enough to con- 
 sole a mother ! "
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 311 
 
 
 
 Then leaning her elbows on a table and burying her face in 
 her hands, she wept silently. I tried to console her. " No, 
 my son ; go out, go and hunt up your friends, I do not wish to 
 sadden you ; let me weep alone ; go." 
 
 It was evening ; she stayed in the dark in a corner of the 
 room, alone and silent ; thinking and thinking. 
 
 I have never experienced as I did in those days the marvel- 
 lous power of imagination over sentiment. I began some- 
 times, in an idle way, to fancy all possible cases of the war, 
 and then little by little I concentrated my thoughts and buried 
 myself so completely in the imagination of the battles, tri- 
 umphal entries, and returns, that I really seemed to be present, 
 to feel, and to see ; my blood was stirred, I clasped my head in 
 my hands, for it seemed as if it would burst, so great was the 
 tumult of ideas, and my chest was heaving, and I was filled 
 with all sorts of childish impulses. 
 
 One night I was on guard at the Madama Palace ; alone in 
 my room, seated at a table, with the light in front of me, and 
 giving rein to my fancies, I imagined that I had risen to such 
 a height that' I could take in with a single glance the entire 
 country mountains, valleys, rivers, forests, and I felt and saw 
 all the streets in the city filled with people, the parade grounds 
 gleaming with bayonets, and from the fortresses, arsenals, and 
 doors came a confused sound of arms and songs, and the dull 
 noise of a hurried, feverish labor. On the railways were in- 
 terminable, heavy, slow trains, running over the country in all 
 directions, meeting, crossing, following each other, greeted with 
 joy by the people who had gathered. Here and there they 
 stopped to discharge a load of cannon, horses, wagons, and 
 piles of arms. Suddenly a loud sound of drums and trum-
 
 312 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 pets broke out on every side, and from every city there started 
 and spread through the country the columns of the regiments, 
 which converged, united by twos and threes, and advanced 
 slowly to the frontiers, crowning the heights, winding along the 
 rivers, overflowing the valleys, and stretching out in immense 
 battle-lines over the plains. On the mountains of the Tyrol, 
 from Lake Garda, up, up as far as the eye could reach, 
 gleamed in a thousand points the red bands of the volunteers, 
 climbing and descending the slope, disappearing in the chasms, 
 and reappearing on the summits of the rocks. Meanwhile all 
 the vast Lombardian plain was peopled with tents and parks, 
 and the sound of shouts and music was heard. Then came 
 nightfall and all was quiet. Finally, at the break of day, a 
 troop of horsemen started with the rapidity of lightning from 
 the general headquarters, scattered in every direction, and 
 shouts ran on from camp to camp ; the whole army began to 
 stir, organize, and advance. . . . Here the imagination 
 not being able to embrace the entire picture of the measure- 
 less battle, an immense veil of mist appeared before me, broken 
 here and there in great rents, through which one could see our 
 young regiments dashing to the assault of the hills, receding, 
 and reclimbing again with determination ; then squads of horse- 
 men with hanging lances burst venire a terre against the squares ; 
 then batteries hastily join other batteries, and from the 
 heights gleam and break the flanks of the retreating columns ; 
 then indefatigable troops of sharp-shooters scatter and unite, 
 follow, draw back, hide, and then stretch out again in long 
 chains, and on every side assaults succeed assaults, lines suc- 
 ceed lines, and the very heavens resound with the horrible 
 tumult. Whensiiddenly a deep silence falls over all, the mist
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 313 
 
 disappears, the dust grows thinner, on the tops of all the moun- 
 tains our battalions are moving, our flags flying, our fanfara 
 echoing, and from one end of Italy to the other bursts out a 
 prolonged shout of joy, which has been suppressed for so long 
 a time. . . . Yes, break out, O shout, and resound through 
 all the vaults of heaven ; but do not drown that undertone 
 which comes from my mother's breast. . . . O God ! my 
 head ! my head ! 
 
 I dashed out of the room, left the palace ; Piazza Castello 
 was as deserted and quiet as the court of an enormous con- 
 vent ; the hill of Superga was distinctly outlined against a clear 
 and starry sky, and the fa9ade of the Gran Madre di Dio, 
 lighted by the moonbeams, seemed as if only two feet away. 
 " What a beautiful night," I exclaimed. " I am really happy ! " 
 
 But a picture disturbed my happiness : the picture of a poor 
 woman, seated in the corner of her little room, quite in the 
 dark, with her forehead resting on her hands, thinking and 
 thinking. 
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 On the 6th of May, toward five o'clock in the evening, 
 a group of ten officers were gathered at the door of the 
 barracks, when we heard a hurried step coming down the 
 stairs, and instantly thereafter the breathless adjutant appeared, 
 shouting : " Gentlemen ! We leave this evening at eight 
 o'clock. Luggage in the barracks at seven. Full marching 
 equipment." 
 
 We gave a shout of joy, and without even asking where we
 
 314 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 were going, started off on a run. Some to the neighboring 
 cafe to tell their friends, others to call their orderlies, and the 
 rest home. A moment after in the barracks there was a most 
 awful racket, the drums beat, the news spread through the 
 neighborhood, the people gathered, and in a few moments from 
 house to house, street to street, the rumor flew through half 
 the city, scattering fear in the hearts of all the mothers. 
 
 I ran home, climbed the stairs three steps at a time, rapped, 
 and the door was opened by my mother. 
 
 " My God ! what is the matter with you ? what is it ? " 
 
 I was panting like a horse. 
 
 " We must go." 
 
 " Oh ! " 
 
 " Yes ; there is no time to lose." 
 
 " When ? " 
 
 " At eight o'clock." 
 
 " At eight o'clock," my mother repeated in the same tone, 
 as if in echo, and there she stood without speaking or making 
 any gesture, looking at me with a dazed air. 
 
 " Quick, quick, the trunks must be packed ; they have 
 to be at the barracks at seven, and the orderly will come for 
 them in a few minutes ; meanwhile, we must begin ; courage ! " 
 
 After a moment, on seeing that my mother did not move, 
 I said: "Well?" 
 
 " Ah ! " she replied, as if coming out of a stupor. " I am 
 ready. Erminia ! " 
 
 My sister instantly appeared. 
 
 " He is going," my mother said hastily ; " you must put up 
 all his things ; every thing is ready ; is it not ? Well now 
 wait where is the trunk ? But no ; it is better first let me 
 see or rather . "
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 31$ 
 
 And she looked here and there, as if she had taken leave of 
 her senses. That good woman is made on purpose to lose her 
 head on similar occasions. 
 
 " Well ! " she then said (in order to get over her embarrass- 
 ment) to my sister, who was also standing there as if in a 
 dream. 
 
 " Ah ! " replied the latter, rousing herself suddenly ; " quick ; 
 yes, we must hurry." 
 
 Then both ran into the other room. 
 
 A pull at the bell ; I opened the door ; it was the orderly. 
 " Here I am ! " he exclaimed breathlessly. 
 
 " Maria ! " shouted my mother, returning in great haste. The 
 servant appeared. 
 
 " Go and call my daughter instantly. In passing, tell the 
 porter to come and fetch the trunk. Have Ettore called from 
 the cafe. Tell them to come quickly." 
 
 The orderly carried the trunk on to the terrace ; the noise of 
 the trunk brought the languid nymph to the window ; the lan- 
 guid nymph called the purple cook ; the impetuosity with 
 which the purple cook threw open her window called the other 
 neighbors to the terrace. 
 
 Meanwhile my mother was going and coming without doing 
 any thing. 
 
 " Friend ! " I shouted, clapping my hands. 
 
 " Italy ! " he replied, appearing at that moment on the terrace 
 in his shirt-sleeves, in an inspired attitude. 
 
 " I am going at eight o'clock." 
 
 He disappeared, returned dressed, threw up his stick. " I 
 will wait for you at the station ! " he exclaimed, and dashed 
 down stairs shouting : " Hurrah for the war ! " letting his
 
 3l6 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 stick hit every iron in the railing, and creating thus a most 
 dreadful racket. 
 
 "Alberto ! " exclaimed my mother, stopping in her breathless 
 haste. 
 
 " Here I am." 
 
 She drew me aside. 
 
 " Tell me. . . . Where are you going, do you know ? " 
 
 "To Piacenza." 
 
 " To Piacenza ; tell me. Piacenza is a fortified city, is n't 
 it?" 
 
 " Yes, it 's fortified." 
 
 " Shall you remain there ?" 
 
 " I do not think so." 
 
 " But don't they defend fortified cities ? " 
 
 " Not that one, because we go further, and it remains behind 
 us." 
 
 " Yes, . . ." she said, with the air of one who has lost all 
 hope, and off she went. 
 
 Another pull at the bell ; I opened the door ; it was my elder 
 sister. She pressed my hand and joined the others. 
 
 A third ring ; it was my brother. 
 
 Meanwhile my mother returned, her arms laden with linen. 
 She was so serious and impassible that I was amazed ; behind 
 her came the others, all silent, with lowered heads. My mother 
 bent over the trunk ; the orderly made a respectful motion to 
 take the things ; she waived him aside and replied : " No, let me 
 doit." My sisters stretched out their hands .to do the same. "Let 
 me do it," my mother replied again, and stooped to kneel. 
 " Mother ! " I said in a tone of affectionate reproof, seizing her 
 by the hand. She looked at me. " I do not wish you to do it,"
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 317 
 
 I added. Then she said, in a tone even more affectionate than 
 mine : " I ask it as a favor." 
 
 She knelt down and packed the things. The orderly looked 
 at me half touched, half surprised, as if to say : " How fortu- 
 nate you are, lieutenant ! " I looked at him as if to reply : " I 
 know it ; I am sorry that your mother is not here." 
 
 My mother rose and went away. I heard a heavy sigh, 
 turned, and saw my younger sister weeping. 
 
 My mother returned with something in her hands, placed it in 
 the trunk, and went away again. I looked: it was her portrait. 
 
 She returned with three books, and put them on the por- 
 trait. 
 
 " What are those, mother ? " 
 
 "They are The Promessi Sposi" 
 
 ' Oh, thanks ! " and I kissed her hand ; she withdrew again 
 hastily always impassible. We all looked at her in astonish- 
 ment, and grew uneasy. 
 
 "Take off your sash." 
 
 "Why?" I asked. 
 
 She removed it without saying a word, and put it in the 
 trunk. 
 
 "Mother, I must wear it." She made no reply, but went 
 into another room. Another heavy sigh : my elder sister was 
 crying. 
 
 My mother returned with a magnificent silk sash, put it around 
 my neck, and said : " I have made it during the hours when 
 you were on the parade ground." 
 
 " Mother," I exclaimed, seizing her hand, " this is too 
 much ! " She turned her head away. 
 
 The orderly looked at her with glistening eyes.
 
 3 1 8 MILITAR Y LIFE, 
 
 " That is all," she said, turning around ; and a moment later : 
 "You can close it." 
 
 She lowered the lid, pressed it with her hand, but did not 
 succeed in closing it; she placed her knee upon it, pushing back 
 with her elbows those who tried to help ; her foot slipped, she 
 tottered . . . 
 
 " Mother ! what are you doing ? " we all exclaimed, catching 
 hold of her. 
 
 A rap at the door ; it was the porter who had come to fetch 
 the trunk. 
 
 " Here already ? " exclaimed my mother, turning around 
 sharply, in a tone of disagreeable surprise. "Take it." 
 
 The porter placed the trunk on his shoulders. 
 
 " To the barracks of Porta Susa," I said. 
 
 " I know where it is," he replied in moving off. 
 
 " Stop ! " exclaimed my mother suddenly ; the latter turned. 
 
 " Be careful (she tried to think of something to say) be 
 careful not to let it fall ! " 
 
 " Don't be afraid." 
 
 Out he went ; my mother accompanied him to the door, 
 watched him down the stairs. " He has disappeared " ; she 
 pressed her lip together violently, and conquered the rising 
 tears. She returned as impassible as before, and I began to 
 grow alarmed. 
 
 Here is the beneficent executioner, " Good-evening." No one 
 replied; he understood, looked me in the face, and I raised my 
 head. " That 's right ; that 's not bad," he seemed to say ; and 
 we all passed into the neighboring room, where we seat our- 
 selves in a circle. No one spoke. We heard the rustle of a dress, 
 the door opened, and the strong-minded lady appeared. All 
 rose to their feet.
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 319 
 
 " My good friend," she said, putting out both hands to my 
 mother, with her peculiar grace and her strong and energetic 
 way, " I have only just learned that your son is going away. 
 These are certainly sad moments, but each one of us must suf- 
 fer for the country. These are great days for Italy ! A great 
 war ! Believe me, it is impossible that the enemy should be 
 able to withstand for any length of time the wave of fire which 
 will seize it on all sides. The army has a whole people at 
 its back ready to go into the field. These are great days. This 
 is the way nations are made ! " 
 
 My mother looked at her in astonishment. 
 
 " If I could once see a great battle from a distance. To see 
 it at the finest point, when our regiments have driven the 
 enemy from all the hills of the line of battle, and down the 
 slopes ; on the other side, horses, soldiers, wagons, cannon, all 
 flying precipitately ! Courage, dear lady ; this is a veritable 
 crusade ; even the women and children would like to fight too. 
 If the army was broken up, another would form in fifteen 
 days." 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! " broke out my mother with a dash that was 
 meant for enthusiasm, and was in reality nothing but maternal 
 affection veiled in the love of country. " Yes ! It is a crusade ! 
 Every one ought to go to the war ; every one, so that there 
 would be millions and millions, and that the enemy would 
 really be frightened, abandon the idea of resistance, and open 
 the doors of the fortresses." 
 
 " Where is my son ? " a trembling voice asked in a neighbor- 
 ing room, and at the same moment the door opened, and the 
 old blind man appeared, with his arms outstretched as if call- 
 ing me to him. I embraced him ; he touched my sword, sash,
 
 320 MILITAR V LIFE. 
 
 epaulettes, and asked in a trembling voice : " Are you ready ? " 
 Then placed his hands upon my shoulders, rested his cheek on 
 my breast, and remained in this position. All were silent. The 
 "executioner" erect at the end of the room, contemplated the 
 spectacle with knitted brows and folded arms. My mother 
 looked fixedly at me. 
 
 A few moments elapsed, and I, giving a glance at the clock, 
 said with a great effort : " It is time to go ! " 
 
 All sprang to their feet, and took a step toward me. The 
 " executioner " approached me and whispered in my ear : " Be a 
 man ! " 
 
 " Well ! " I murmured, putting on my cap. 
 
 "Well!" said the Neapolitan lady resolutely, pressing and 
 shaking my hand at every word. " Courage ; do yourself 
 honor ; remember us, and write." Saying which, she retired. 
 
 " Farewell, Alberto ! " exclaimed my brother, throwing his 
 arms around my neck, and kissing me. 
 
 My sisters embraced me, sobbing, and then fled. 
 
 " Here ! " exclaimed the old man, opening his arms. " Here, 
 my son ! " And my head on his shoulder, he murmured in a 
 trembling voice : " If this is to be the last time that I embrace 
 you . . . may heaven grant that I be the first one to go ! " 
 
 The " executioner " pressed my hand, looked firmly at me, 
 and withdrew without saying a word. 
 
 My mother and I looked at each other for a moment ; she 
 threw herself into my arms, put hers around my neck, and 
 covered me with kisses of despair ; then seizing my arm with 
 one hand, and pressing the other tightly on my shoulder, close 
 to my side, she allowed herself to be dragged rather than led 
 to the door. There I released myself by force, and dashed
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. $21 
 
 down the staircase. At that same moment she uttered a long, 
 heart-breaking cry : " Alberto ! Alberto ! " as if she had 
 seen me fall over a precipice. 
 
 I heard, while going down, the others, who had run forward, 
 a confused sound of voices ; my soldier, among others, who 
 said: "Courage, madame ; I will always keep near him ; that 
 I promise you ! " . . . the despairing sobs of my mother, 
 a last, faint cry of " Alberto ! " and then nothing more. 
 
 In hurriedly crossing the court, I met the four grandchildren 
 of the old man, who were returning from school ; I stopped 
 them, and covered them with kisses : "Oh, you are suffocating 
 me ! " shouted the frightened little girl. 
 
 " Mr. Lieutenant, if you had seen ! " exclaimed my soldier, 
 joining me with his handkerchief at his eyes. 
 
 " Be quiet ! " I shouted. 
 
 And we hurried through the street. 
 
 II. 
 
 When I reached the barracks it was almost dark. The com- 
 panies were already armed and drawn up in line in the court. 
 Outside, there was an indescribable confusion ; the street was 
 crowded with people, and illuminated with torches by a large 
 number of the students of the University ; the door of the 
 quarters was filled with officers, around whom were a multitude 
 of mothers, sisters, and small brothers, who wished to enter, 
 and who were weeping and begging with clasped hands : " Let 
 us see him once more, one moment only, only for a word ! " 
 And the officer of the guard kept pushing them back, shouting 
 and begging too : " Do me the favor to draw back and leave 
 the space open ; we cannot allow you to enter ; it is forbidden ;
 
 322 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 we are only doing our duty ; you will see them when they go 
 away." Then there was a gathering of the officers' wives with 
 their children, who had come to offer their last words of coun- 
 sel and their prayers ; then a coming and going of other wom- 
 en and girls, who were neither mothers, wives, nor sisters, some 
 of whom were weeping, others pretending to do so in order to 
 arouse a practical sympathy in those who remained, others at one 
 side in melancholy attitudes ; troops of workmen who passed 
 singing and waving banners ; there were shouts, applause, and a 
 waving and confused murmur like the sea in a storm. 
 
 A roll of drums was heard ; the officers disappeared, a sudden 
 silence fell upon the crowd. A moment later and out came 
 the sappers of the regiment to clear the street. 
 
 I was seized by the thought : " We are going to the station ; 
 my God ! We shall have to pass under our windows ! " 
 
 The music began, the regiment is out, flanked by two long 
 rows of torches ; the families attacked the lines ; the officers and 
 sergeants drove them back ; repelled here and there, they re- 
 turned at another point ; the people gathered at the windows 
 waving flags ; here and there fall a shower of cigars and oranges ; 
 a multitude preceded the regiment singing ; another followed it. 
 " Hurrah for the Piedmontese brigade ! " " Hurrah for the old 
 regiment 637 ! " shouted a gentleman from a window, and an l 
 othei cried : "Hurrah for the brave men of Calmasino ! " 
 
 We reached the Via Santa Therese, the Piazza. San Carlo, then 
 the Piazza Carlo Felice ; as we advanced my heart grew heavy 
 and my legs trembled : " She will hear the music and these 
 shouts, poor woman ! " 
 
 I raised my eyes ; here is the house and an illuminated win- 
 dow ; there is some one there, but it is not she ; who can it
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 3^3 
 
 be ? I cannot distinguish the figure ; it is waving its hands ; 
 looks down, " My God ! who can it be ? " 
 
 Suddenly a light appeared at the window below. " Ah ! I 
 see ; it is the old blind man. God bless you, papa ! " 
 
 Here was my friend of the third floor ; he embraced me, kissed 
 me, and shouted : " Good luck to you, brother ! Hurrah for; 
 the war ! " and disappeared. 
 
 We entered the train ; I put out my head ; saw the lighted 
 window again, and the old blind man, quite alone, who is wav- 
 ing a salute. " Oh, will the music never cease ! Oh, my poor 
 mother ! " 
 
 We heard the whistle ; the train started ; my heart gave a 
 tremendous bound. "Who else has come to the window ? " I 
 saw two arms stretching out toward me ..." My God ! 
 Did I hear a cry?" 
 
 The house disappeared. 
 
 " Farewell, my good angel ! farewell, my holy and adored 
 mother ! May heaven grant that I see you again, or die so 
 nobly that the pride of being my mother will lighten the grief 
 of having lost me ! " 
 
 " Now it 's our turn ! " I said, turning quickly and slapping 
 my neighbor on his knee. 
 
 My friend, immersed in melancholy at having left his 
 sweetheart, started suddenly and shouted loudly : " Hurrah for 
 the war ! " 
 
 Then all the others cried : " Let 's light our cigars ! " 
 
 And in a moment the carriage was filled with smoke, noise, 
 and gaiety. 
 
 THE CAMPAIGN. 
 
 At this point of the book I find a long series of Alberto's
 
 3 24 MI LI TAR Y LIFE. 
 
 letters, and beside some of these the answers of his mother 
 fastened to the leaf. From the examination of the mother's 
 writing you could draw out the history of the war ; the trem- 
 bling of her hand is certainly the surest indication of events. 
 Taking them as a whole, her letters always say the same 
 thing, it is quite natural ; but in those of her son there is 
 something to -be noted here and there. I will jot down this, 
 which will form an incomplete and disjointed chronicle, 
 but a truthful and lively one, of the different events of the 
 war, or rather of the various impressions which some of 
 them left on my friend's mind : 
 
 PIACENZA, 8th May. 
 
 Piacenza seems like a barrack. There are more soldiers than citizens, 
 and more medals than soldiers ; at every step we meet some one whose 
 breast is covered ; at every turn there is a general ; and as for colonels, they 
 do not strike us as being any thing at all extraordinary. How I feel my own 
 littleness among all the gilt braid ! Great military reunions have this evH, 
 that we poor lieutenants are not looked at even ; in fact, we disappear en- 
 tirely. I am joking, you know ; I have you, my soldiers, my friends ; 
 my blood is full of fire, my heart full of Italy, my soul full of the future ; 
 I am happy, desire nothing, and envy no one. We are quartered in a con- 
 vent and sleep on straw. It is a desperate sort of business with those con- 
 scripts who do not know how to dress themselves, walk, or eat. Things 
 have been done too hastily. If the war were to begin to-morrow, I tell 
 you we should find ourselves in a sorry state ; half the regiment does not 
 know how to load ; there is a great need of provincial soldiers, who are ex- 
 pected. In the whole barracks they cannot find a room for the officer of 
 the guard. The other night I took refuge in the office of the 'majority, and 
 I slept on the registers . . . 
 
 At the end of the mother's reply I find these words : " Be 
 careful not to injure the registers ; they may be important. 
 Did you think to put something under your head ? Erminia is 
 ill from the pain of parting with you. The other day, in dust- 
 ing your things, she began crying. I saw her, and said so. She
 
 ^DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 325 
 
 denied it, but she was really crying. You do not yet know what 
 a good heart she has." The letter ends : " Where are the 
 Austrians ?" 
 
 In another of her letters she puts this query : " Tell me, Al- 
 berto ; they say the Austrian battalions are larger than ours. 
 How does it happen ? What will you do ? " 
 
 The son replied : " We will send two of ours against one of 
 theirs." 
 
 All these letters and those fastened to them are full of affec- 
 tionate messages from the old man and the Neapolitan lady, 
 who expects " great descriptions of great things." And now 
 and then there is a postscript from the mother, who asks : 
 " What is the orderly doing?" 
 
 I gather from the book that the colonel the " executioner " 
 was at the headquarters of the army, and from that " superb 
 height " watched lovingly over his obscure cousin by means of 
 letters and indirect information ; but the cousin knew nothing 
 of it. The "executioner" concealed the protector, so that the 
 colonel should not appear in the matter ; and I praise him 
 for it. 
 
 Alberto's regiment had been encamped for four days near 
 San Giorgio, within a few miles of Piacenza, and he had only 
 written to his mother on the day of his departure to tell her that 
 he " was to sleep under the tent." 
 
 " Four days since he has written ! Poor Alberto is sleeping on 
 the ground ; he will suffer and be ill. Who knows what may 
 have happened ! Oh, my God ! I must telegraph to the colonel 
 immediately." 
 
 She sent the dispatch : " Give me some news of Alberto, I 
 beg you. I receive no letters, and am trembling for his 
 health."
 
 326 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 The colonel instantly replied : " He is very well. But he is 
 so delicate ! " 
 
 My mother understood the irony ; was a trifle angry ; seized 
 her pen, and began : " My very dear friend, I do not say that 
 Alberto is delicate, but I think I might . . ." She stops at 
 this point. 
 
 The Cugia division has left for Cremona ; from Cremona 
 it will go to Goito. A letter from the mother runs thus : 
 
 " You will say that I am foolish, that I talk of the things I do 
 not understand ; but I certainly see no necessity for passing 
 the Mincio immediately. If I were General La Marmora, I 
 think I should wait a little ; one never knows what may happen ; 
 at any rate I should have General Cialdini's soldiers go first, 
 because they have the fleet near them, and in any case . . ." 
 "Could they take refuge there?" asks Alberto in reply. His 
 mother writes back : " This is no time for joking." 
 
 The Cugia division is on the Mincio. The mother's letter is 
 hastily written, is all full of exclamation points and words that run 
 into each other, and lines and strokes that are a finger in length. 
 
 " For pity's sake, my son, do your duty ; I am the first to 
 urge it ; but don't do too much. . . . Armies need officers, 
 and if the officers expose themselves more than is necessary, 
 what will be the result ? It will end in the soldiers remaining 
 without any guides or discipline, and then . . . what will 
 become of the army ? For pity's sake, do think a little of the 
 soldiers ! . . . (oh, maternal love, what subtle arguments !) 
 and think of me too ; do your duty, yes, but think . . ." 
 Here there are some words which are not comprehensible. 
 Then : " Your life is mine. Oh, my son ! what days ! 
 what tremendous moments ! I will not tell you what is hap-
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 3 2 7 
 
 pening at home, in order not to sadden you ; I pray for you 
 . . ." The rest is incomprehensible. There is a postscript 
 which begins: "O Alberto!" and then there is nothing 
 more. I see several curves traced by the son, which at first 
 sight might be taken for islands ; but I fancy he intended to 
 draw lines around the tears of his mother, and so these figures 
 were the result. 
 
 Here I find a page entitled : " That which follows the 28th 
 of June." It says : 
 
 " My mother was seated at the dining-table ; in front of her 
 was a young fellow, the son of our Neapolitan friend, and by 
 her side my old papa. On the centre of the table was a topo- 
 graphical map. 
 
 " ' Rest assured, dear madam,' said the young man, ' the 
 Cugia division cannot have taken part in the battle ; that is 
 evident.' 
 
 " 4 Oh, yes . . . evident ! ' exclaimed my mother, shaking 
 her head and passing one hand over her tear-stained eyes. 
 
 ' Yes, I believe it; but what is the use of my saying it ? The 
 map proves it ; look at it. Oh ! the Cugia division passed by,' 
 etc. (she pressed and shook each finger of the left hand be- 
 tween the thumb and forefinger of the right), ' and it is impossi- 
 ble that it should have been there at the moment in which 
 Oh, it passed by another road, and in this case it is 
 not admissible that it could have arrived in time. Finally, 
 this is the last, it passed behind the division on its left, and if 
 this is true, it is beyond any doubt, quite clear and indisputa- 
 ble, that it passed beyond the battle-field. Do you not think 
 so, Engineer ? ' 
 
 " The old man, without having understood one word, re- 
 plied : ' Oh, certainly.'
 
 328 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 " My mother continued to look attentively at the topographi- 
 cal map, turning it round on all sides, running over all the 
 roads with her finger, raising her eyes as if to collect her 
 thoughts, and then suddenly broke out weeping : ' Oh, yes, 
 yes, it did not arrive in time ! Who says so ? Who can tell ? 
 The map ? What does the map prove ? The map is not enough. 
 Meanwhile three days have passed, and he has not written me 
 yet ; if something had not happened I should hear, and that 
 means that the division did arrive in time, and that he was 
 there, and that . . . Oh, my boy ! My Alberto ! My 
 poor Alberto ! ' 
 
 " Then clasping her head in her hands she burst into a fit of 
 weeping. 
 
 " ' Madam ! madam ! ' the others exclaimed in one voice, 
 1 do calm yourself, for mercy's sake, do control yourself ; noth- 
 ing has happened, nothing can have happened ! Your mater- 
 nal love . . .' 
 
 ' ' My God! ' cried my mother in a tone of anguish. ' My God, 
 my maternal love ! But if he has n't written ! But if two of my 
 friends, with officer sons, have already had news ! And I 
 nothing ! Oh, Erminia ! ' My sister ran to her. ' What is 
 it?' 
 
 " ' Alberto ! Alberto ! ' 
 
 " ' My God ! what has happened ? ' 
 
 " ' Some misfortune ! I feel it ! I shall die ! Quick, a telegram 
 to the colonel; let him ask, search, and be able to tell me some- 
 thing that will relieve my mind . . .' 
 
 " Then came a ring at the door. ' Silence ! ' The servant ap- 
 pears. 
 
 " ' Here is a letter for you, madam.'
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN, 329 
 
 " My mother dashes at the woman, tears the letter from her, 
 looks at it, utters a cry, looks at it again, presses it convulsively 
 to her heart, gasps, smiles, raises her eyes to heaven, and ex- 
 claims : ' Thanks ! thanks ! ' then kisses and kisses again the 
 sheet, presses her daughter's head to her breast, and murmurs 
 in a feeble voice : ' Alberto ! ' then drops on to a chair. The 
 two friends support her, and try to take the letter from her 
 hands ; but it is quite in vain ; they are like pincers." 
 
 Here are some extracts from the letter : 
 
 CERLUNGO, z^th June. 
 
 I have told you all that I have seen, which is little ; I cannot account 
 for certain lapses in my memory, which, if I did not recall many other 
 things, would make me think I had lost all power of retention, so strange 
 and incredible are they. I have quite forgotten where and when my bat- 
 talion stopped for the first time, and I remember clearly a soldier of another 
 regiment whom I stopped and asked while he was running : " Where do 
 you come from ? " and he pointed to a little house on the slope of the 
 mountain, exclaiming : " We have made a salad oj 'them ," which meant that 
 in that house there had been a massacre of the Austrians, and this was 
 quite true. I remember another who had a ball in his finger ; while he 
 stooped to touch a dead man, he uttered a cry, looked around astonished, 
 drawing his hand behind his back, and murmuring plaintively: "// 
 hurts me ! " I remember my major's harangue to the battalion a few 
 moments before we started; it was singularly simple and laconic. "Soldiers !" 
 he said coldly, without even turning his horse toward us, "I am afraid we 
 shall have nothing to do to-day ; but in case we should ... I believe 
 that ... we are Italians ; the devil ! " And here he ended with ex- 
 actly these words. A short time before, in handing his flask full of rum to 
 a small group of officers who did not appear very gay, he had said smilingly : 
 " Take some ; it refreshes weak spirits ! " 
 
 I am thoroughly convinced that true courage conies from the heart and 
 from culture of the mind ; and true courage consists less in not being 
 afraid, than in showing one's self and working, while being so, as if this were 
 really not the case ; all of which is the effect of reasoning, or rather of an in- 
 finite number of reasons, recollections, pictures, and examples, which pass 
 through one's mind at such moments with the rapidity of lightning, and 
 say : " Be firm ! " Even entire strophes of patriotic poetry pass through
 
 330 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 the mind too. Your image passed with outstretched arms, but the forefinger 
 pointing to the enemy, your tearful eyes fastened on mine, and your lips 
 contracted with sobs, but which said in a free and vibratory voice : " Do 
 your duty ! " Oh, mother, how near you were to me at those moments ! 
 
 . . . Do not believe it ; the dead do not produce that horrible im- 
 pression which is supposed to be the case, at least as long as the danger lasts. 
 My battalion was in a column and went forward ; the platoons stopped 
 gradually on the edge of a ditch to look at the body of a soldier whose head 
 had been destroyed by grape-shot. I had a tent stretched over it, and no 
 one looked again. It is painful to see those wounded soldiers who, in roll- 
 ing on the ground and touching it here and there, reduce their linen shirts and 
 trowsers to such a state that not a bit of the white is left, every thing being 
 covered with blood ; and generally they are only slightly wounded. At first one 
 is so absorbed in the spectacle of the field that he pays no attention, and does 
 not even think that there will be any wounded. And it is almost always a 
 surprise to see them come down in groups, with their heads bandaged, arms 
 in slings, supported under the shoulders, each carried by two men, as white as 
 death ; some pressing one hand 0:1 their thighs, some on their chests, and nearly 
 all groaning aloud or uttering feeble moans ; the breathless surgeons running 
 here and there, without knowing where to begin or with whom ; then the ex- 
 amination, washing, cutting, hasty binding up of one after the other, then all 
 away to the ambulance ; then other groups, cries, and laments. Great God ! 
 what scenes ! I have seen a group of soldiers around a surgeon who was 
 attending to a wounded man, and I have heard the cry : l> Oh ! oh ! " On ap- 
 proaching I found the wounded man already on his feet. ' ' Go to the ambu- 
 lance go !" said the doctor. The latter moved off with slow and tottering 
 steps. " Is he already cured?" Tasked. "Cured! He may live a few 
 hours," the doctor replied. I was astonished. "They are jokes of the 
 bullets," he added. 
 
 I have witnessed beautiful examples of firmness and courage. A sharp- 
 shooter came to have a ball removed from his leg, and returned to join his 
 battalion on the battle-field. A soldier in the infantry, who was seriously 
 wounded, was brought in the arms of two of his comrades. He was very 
 pale, his eyes half closed ; he still held a cigar stump in his teeth, and put out 
 his under lip in a nonchalant and indifferent way. He passed near my bat- 
 talion ; many ran forward to see him. He turned his eyes slowly around, 
 and seeing that he was watched, made a motion of the mouth as if to take 
 firmer hold of the cigar, which was falling, solely in order to display more 
 sang-froid. 
 
 One of my best and dearest friends is dead, one of whom I have 
 often spoken to you ; a young sub-lieutenant of the grenadiers, a Lom-
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 331 
 
 bardian, and very handsome fellow, Edoardo B. He was in my company at 
 college ; you have a photograph of us all taken together, hunt it up ; he is 
 the first on the right, seated on the ground with a cigar in his mouth I re- 
 member it perfectly. See how he died : his regiment had stopped opposite 
 the enemy's cannon ; he was seated on a drum, with lowered head, and pok- 
 ing the clod between his feet with the point of his sword. Suddenly he 
 fell back with a cry ; a bit of grape-shot had wounded him in the chest and 
 killed the horse of the adjutant who was behind him. lie died after five 
 hours of horrible suffering. Poor friend ! Who could have foretold this 
 when we were studying for our last examinations at college, in the wretched 
 little room on the fifth floor, by the light of a taper, with those copy-books 
 and that can of water colored with smoke ; when you had so many bright 
 hopes and were so happy ! . . . 
 
 The answer to this letter is from the brother ; the mother 
 had gone into her bed with a fever. " From time to time," the 
 brother writes, " she becomes delirious and calls you." 
 
 The army falls back toward the Oglio. 
 
 PIADENA, <->th July. 
 
 . . . It is very sad and painful to be continually crossing villages and 
 cities between two rows of immovable, mute, cold people, who gaze at us 
 with staring eyes, as if we were an unknown army. Who has courage 
 enough to raise his eyes to those people's faces ? I seem to read on every 
 countenance: "Good! brave!" Was it worth while to make so much 
 noise to cut such a figure afterward ? The regiments file silently by with 
 lowered heads, like a procession of monks. It is a sight that hurts me ; 
 my thoughts run back to you, mother ; I need you sorely. Pardon me ; if 
 I could at least have the consolation of returning home without one arm, I 
 might say : "I have won one armless at least." But to return home un- 
 harmed, healthful, stout, and red enough to cause a pasha's envy, seems 
 really shameful and unbearable. How much bile is stirred up by this little 
 glass which, no matter how hard I work, will persist in showing one chin 
 below the other ! I hate this insolent, new-born creature, which seems to 
 laugh at the misfortunes of the country ! I am joking, but it is an indigesti- 
 ble joke. We are marching under the mid-day sun ; on the right and left 
 of the road are gardens, flowery fields, and villas ; through the garden gates 
 we see in the distance, at the end of the avenues, gentlemen in their shirt- 
 sleeves stretched out under the shade of the arbors, young ladies dressed in
 
 332 MI LIT A R Y LIFE. 
 
 white wandering; about th.2 slopes among pines and myrtles. Oh, happy 
 beings ! Not because they are in the shade and rest, but because they do 
 not bear on their souls this terrible weight of discomfort and weariness. 
 
 Reply : " I understand it all ; mothers understand every 
 thing. Courage, my son ! " 
 
 The Cugia division is at Parma ; is leaving for Ferrara. 
 
 PARMA, lotA July. 
 
 The blessed soldiers ! We seem to love them better after these misfort- 
 unes. They are always the same ; always resigned and pood. On the 
 march, when they begin to bend and limp, I look at and pity them. Some- 
 times when some one does any thing, I reason for some time with myself that 
 it is really a case for me to get angry, and then I raise my voice : " Come 
 now, it 's time to stop that ! You can't get on in that way. You try the 
 patience of a saint; now then . . ." " You impostor !" cries a voice 
 within me, " You are not really angry." " That 's quite true," I say, smiling, 
 and I stop. Then I propose not to love them any more, or at least not to 
 show it, if not, farewell to all discipline. "We will see," I say; "let us 
 see if they will succeed in melting this stony heart." Then I march quietly 
 on, with an expression of face that ought to arouse any amount of fear, 
 quite sure oi my victory. And here is an example : " Lieutenant, shall I 
 carry your cloak for you ?" To which I reply brusquely : "No." "You 
 are tired." " No." "Yes ! " " How *s that ? You will see if I am tired 
 because you v;\sh it ! Back to )'our place ! " Another comes with a canteen. 
 "Lieutenant, this is fresh." "I don't wish any." " Try it." " I won't 
 try it." " Only a drop, and you will see." " Not a drop ! " Then he puts 
 the canteen under my chin. "You will see that it is fresh." " I know how 
 to drink myself." I take the leather bottle, wet my lips, and hand it back 
 to him. "Lieutenant!" "Weil, what is it?" "You have not drunk." 
 "Yes I have." " Cut it is all there !" and he shakes the flask. "Come 
 now, understand that I am tired and cross, and that I can bear nothing 
 more ! Go to your place this moment ; run, or I '11 have you put in the 
 guard-house in the camp for fifteen days. What sort of way is this ? " "Im- 
 postor ! " the same voice repeats. " It is true, " I reply again, and I stop. 
 " To-day the lieutenant is in bad humor ! " the soldiers say. " No ! no ! " 
 I hastily say to myself ; ' ' no, you set of rascals ! '' 
 
 Reply : " I often tell your sister Erminia, Alberto has really
 
 , DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 333 
 
 kept his childish heart. I do not say that it is from any merit 
 of mine ; but nevertheless . . ." 
 
 The division has left Ferrara in the direction of Padua. 
 
 MONSELICK, . . . July. 
 
 How sad it is to march in the rain ! The night had already fallen, and 
 we were still four miles from Rovigo, and it was beginning to rain by the 
 bucketful. In a few moments I found myself reduced to such a state that I 
 seemed to have taken a bath with all my clothes on ; the water ran in rivu- 
 lets down my back and chest ; my cloak was so soaked that it was too heavy 
 to carry ; there were inches of mud in the road ; so you can picture our 
 condition ! In passing, we saw through the windows of the peasants' houses 
 "the gleam of the evening lamp," and some shadows which appeared 
 and then vanished. And I thought how you, when I was a child, used to 
 push my small bed near the window, because I liked to hear the rain 
 beat on the panes, and the slow, mournful whistling of the wind, put me 
 to sleep fancying frightful adventures of pilgrims lost in the forests, 
 the mysterious little lights gleaming from afar, and enchanted, hospitable 
 castles. "Oh, poor boy, what a state you are in!" you would exclaim, 
 clasping your hands, if I returned from school a trifle wet. Poor woman,- 
 if you could see me now ! It was a day of misfortunes. We get near Rovigo, 
 camp in a puddle, and away we start into the town. My friend and I find 
 a wretched little room where we can dry ourselves and rest, in the house of 
 an excellent family ; we go to bed and sleep ; all dash up at nine o'clock the 
 next morning in order to go to the camp and start . . . Heavenly 
 Powers ! I can't get into my boots ; I left them near the fire, they have 
 shrunk and hardened so that a child's leg could not get into them. Help 
 me, my friend, for heaven's sake ! " That I will ! " he exclaims. Up go 
 his sleeves, and we both begin to pull, stop to take breath, and go on again 
 with fresh force, stop again, and try with all the strength of despair. Oh, 
 in vain ! The poor tormented legs relax, the exhausted arms hang down, 
 and our heads fall back, with our eyes starting out of their sockets, our 
 foreheads dripping with perspiration. " There is one more thing to try ! " 
 shouts my friend; "rip the boots. Let 's rip them then!" We seize 
 scissors and penknifes and fall to work. But we cannot see the stitches, 
 and the more we try the less we see. Our fingers are trembling, the boots 
 slip from our hands, my friend has cut himself, so have I too ; and time is 
 flying ... " Ah, there are the drums ! We are lost ! " The regiment 
 left without us, and we joined it in a carriage an hour after it had camped. 
 " What was the matter? " my friends asked. I reply by showing them my
 
 334 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 feet, which I had stuck into the first pair of boots that the first shoemaker in 
 Rovigo, whom we had sent for in haste, had put into my hands. They were 
 a spectacle ! A moment later, and a warrant for arrest was served upon my 
 friend and self. As soon as I entered the tent, I dashed those boots on to 
 the ground, shouting as I did so : " There, you hangmen ! " " But why did n't 
 you, who had no trouble with your boots, come on ? " asked the colonel 
 of my friend later. " Colonel," he replied with the utmost gravity, " I have 
 never abandoned my friends in misery." 
 
 Reply : " How many times have I preached to you, from 
 your childhood up, against that wretched practice of wearing 
 tight shoes ! What will your colonel have said of you ! But 
 wasn't there at least a woman with some head in that house 
 at Rovigo who could have helped you out of your difficulty ? 
 It seems impossible ! Not one with any common-sense ! " 
 
 IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD OF MESTRE, zotk July. 
 . . I have seen Venice in the distance. I did not believe it possi- 
 ble that I could so love a city as to experience in seeing it the same senti- 
 ment produced upon one by the inamorata. In first seeing it so stupendous, 
 yet so lovely, that it seems floating on the sea, not even a " hurrah ! " came 
 to my lips, nor a ' ' beautiful ! " as would have seemed most natural ; there 
 came a more affectionate and sweeter word, and I exclaimed: "Dear 
 one \" A friend says that Venice, seen from such a distance at evening, 
 produces upon him the effect of a pale, melancholy child leaning on a win- 
 dow-sill, with its head reclining on its hand, and looking fixedly at the hori- 
 zon of the sea, like one who is thinking and waiting. And hardly had I seen 
 it when I shouted: " I love thee!" Such is the sentiment which Venice 
 inspires at a distance ; within it may be grandiose and magnificent and pro- 
 duce an imposing effect ; but seen from here it softens and enamours one. 
 Dear mother, you have a formidable rival. . . . 
 
 These Venetian peasants are capital people. I was on guard near a hut, 
 was sleepy, and rapped at the door to ask shelter ; it was at two o'clock in 
 the morning. A woman opens the door, shows me into the first room, 
 brings me a straw mattress, a coverlid, a pillow, wishes me good-night, and 
 goes away. I lie down and sleep like a prince. In the morning, as soon as 
 I am awake, I go to the other room to thank my hostess, and see her 
 asleep stretched on the ground, on a little straw, with two children, one in 
 her arms, the other at her side, without a sheet, pillow, or even a rag of
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 335 
 
 covering ; she had given every thing to me. I was so filled with remorse, 
 anger, and shame, I called myself an unnatural brute, villain, coward, etc. 
 . . . I shall never think of that night without pain." 
 
 Reply (oh, you pious but pitiless person !) : " You certainly 
 were a trifle wrong but ... in the end you were tired 
 and were obliged to rise early, while that woman had slept up 
 to that time and could sleep afterward. However, be more 
 careful another time." 
 
 IN THE VICINITY OF MESTRE, . . . August. 
 
 Listen to this which is quite new. Day before yesterday I was on the 
 outposts of the Malghera side. On going off, perhaps a hundred paces 
 from the guard, I saw three ladies coming toward me ; one of them el- 
 derly, the other two very young (they were her daughters), very beautiful, 
 and vivacious. All three stopped in front of me and made a bow, asked 
 after my health, said they had run off from Venice, were going to Mestre, 
 wished to get to Padua to their relatives, and that meanwhile they were 
 very glad to meet an Italian officer they had seen no one as yet, I being 
 the first. They gave me a cordial greeting, walk around me, overwhelmed me 
 with courtesy, laughed, clasped their hands in sign of admiration and surprise, 
 and all this with an ingenuity and grace that were really charming. After 
 I had thanked all three with the greatest effusion, the mamma turned to 
 the girls and said : " Show him what you have under your skirts." " Oh, 
 the devil ! " I thought. The girls hesitated. " Courage ; lift them ! " " Lift 
 them ! '' I thought again. ' ' Courage ; what 's there to be ashamed of ? " I 
 fell from the clouds. The girls hesitated a trifle longer, then, laugh- 
 ing and covering their faces with one hand, they both, while making me a 
 graceful bow, delicately drew up the skirts of their dresses and displayed 
 beautiful petticoats made in three pieces, one green, one white, and one red, 
 with a great white cross in the middle. . . 
 
 Reply : " What was that lady doing with her daughters 
 among all you men ? Do be judicious. I tell you so be- 
 cause you have so little prudence. 
 
 PADUA, ^tk September. 
 
 I was seized by the fever, came to Padua, and am in the hospital 
 of the Fate-bene-fratelli. They have taken care of me. I am well, and
 
 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 to-morrow I return to my regiment. That 's all. I wished to write you 
 when it was all over, so as to prevent you from coming here, as I knew you 
 would be sure to do. Now you can get angry, cry, write, protest : it 's all 
 the same ; it is over ; and you must be resigned. Do as I wish, dear 
 mother ; thank God that it has only been the fever ; think of the poor young 
 fellows whom I have around me ; some wounded by balls, some by bayonets, 
 condemed to stay in bed who knows how many more months, and fortunate are 
 they who will ever be able to rise again. I have before me a lieutenant in 
 the grenadiers, a Lombardian, who had received a bayonet wound in his 
 chest, at Custoza, from a sergeant of the Croats, yet despite his wound he 
 did not wish to leave the field. He showed me his coat, still stained with 
 blood. He is almost well, gets up, walks, but when he wakes, the motion 
 he makes in sitting up in bed causes him intense pain. He related the 
 affair to me : "I remember very little," he said, " I remember as if in a 
 dream having seen four or five horribly distorted faces running toward us, 
 uttering a prolonged shout, and one of them looked at me. I shall always 
 have before me those two staring eyes and the point of the bayonet ; he was 
 a tall, black man, with a huge moustache. I do not recollect how he suc- 
 ceeded in wounding me. I remember that a young, beardless Austrian offi- 
 cer, with an effeminate face, passed before me, waving his sword, and 
 shouting desperately : ' Jesus Maria ! Jesus Maria ! ' He passed and 
 disappeared. Him I always see and should easily recognize. Several days 
 later, being in Ihe hospital with the fever and delirium, my ears were filled 
 by those shouts and the sound of the clashing muskets, and in the distance 
 I saw a gleaming point come slowly forward in the direction of my heart, as 
 if it were looking at me in order to recognize me. Then I suddenly felt it, 
 cold and hard, entering my flesh, staying there for some time, and then go- 
 ing farther clown. It will seem odd to you ; but for many days, at every 
 sudden noise I heard, the beating of the blinds or the falling of a chair. I 
 felt a shudder run through my 1 entire frame . . ." This poor fellow, despite 
 his wound, jumped out of his bed in his shirt the other night and came and 
 asked me if I needed any thing, because he fancied that he heard me groan. 
 I 'was mortified. The idea of a simple fever patient being the cause of a 
 wounded man's putting himself out for him ',. From that night forward, at 
 every noise he made, if he were only snoring, I jumped up and went to him. 
 The headquarters of the army are at Padua, you know. Yesterday, while I 
 was dosing, I saw a breast covered with medals and crosses gleaming before 
 me ; I looked ; it was the executioner. He remained an hour. T began talking 
 about the war ; he let the conversation drop, and never smiled, for he was 
 very sad. He left me with several warm pressures of the hand, saying, as 
 he did so, most gravely : "Be strong ! "
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 337 
 
 The reply is a violent protest, which gradually diminishes in 
 strength from the first to the last word, although it begins : 
 " You are unworthy of the immense love I bear you. Heaven 
 is very cruel to me . . ." and ends : " Heaven be praised, 
 fot I see that it protects you ; and receive every blessing, my 
 good Alberto ! " 
 
 MARTELLAGO, z^th September. 
 
 Finally ! We are quartered for the first time at Martellago, a 
 short distance from Mestre. I have a room, a bed, a table, and a looking, 
 glass ! Oh, more than human felicity ! You cannot understand, my dear, 
 what it means for us to possess a bit of house after so many months that we have 
 been sleeping on the ground, and washing our faces in the running brooks. 
 " It is mine ! " I exclaim, measuring the length and breadth of my room in 
 slow, grave steps, and turning to look at the walls. " It is mine ; I pay for 
 it, walk in it, enjoy it, and carry the key about in my pocket." The first 
 evening, -in getting into bed, I experienced a certain embarrassment and re- 
 straint ; I felt like a peasant who has secretly crept into the drawing-room 
 of his master, and that at any moment I might receive a shower of blows. 
 Then when I had placed my knee on the edge and felt it giving way, 
 I thought I was falling, held back, smiled, and climbed up again, with a sur- 
 prise and pleasure which recalled that which I felt as a boy on opening the 
 box from which jumped the Sabine magician with the long beard. What 
 a delicious sleep ! What a joyful awakening ! . . . A room ! But I 
 nm a king ! I wish to amuse myself, to play the young lord, and enjoy life. 
 I have begun already. I have had my coffee brought to my bed ; have 
 bathed and dressed slowly, gaping in a luxurious manner, and asking at 
 every moment about the weather and time. I have had the impertinence to 
 send foi the barber of the place and receive him stretched out in an arm- 
 chair ; of lighting a cigar, and opening a book ... It is truly a fine thing 
 to revel in ease and luxury ! My dear, would you believe that I love my 
 little room enough to look out for the symmetrical arrangement of the 
 chairs ? You will laugh, yet. . . . Now I begin to understand why you 
 women so love your houses. I will never laugh again at your care that every 
 thing should be in its glace bright and shining. How many things tent 
 life teaches ! 
 
 Reply : " I should not consider a tent necess"ary in order 
 to understand some things ! Sleep with your window closed ;
 
 33** MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 the first days of September are not ones in which to take air ; 
 if you have not enough blankets, ask the landlady for more. 
 Apropos: Is your landlady young? Married? Has she 
 children ? What kind of a, woman is she ? These landladies 
 always make me anxious, because they are generally too much 
 inclined to meddle in affairs which do not concern them. 
 You are a blessed boy ! " 
 
 MARTELLAGO, \blh September. 
 
 . . . It is strange, that is to say, it is most natural, but at first it 
 seemed strange to me, that among us, after a campaign, even those who 
 seemed the coldest, most thoughtless, most sceptical, really feel a powerful 
 need of affection, and speak at every moment and with every one of their 
 family (many had even forgotten that they had any), and write here and 
 there, preserve their letters religiously, and beg their distant friends to send 
 them photographs, and hunt up some sort of a love affair on sea or on 
 land. These changes generally follow in the quickest and liveliest manner 
 after an unfortunate war, be it understood. Some have gone to dig up dis- 
 tant cousins, whose name they do not know, and have begun a most des- 
 perate correspondence with them. These young lady cousins, surprised and 
 touched by the sudden and passionate expansion of those hearts, reply in a 
 most ardent manner ; the irons, as the saying is, become heated, and I fore- 
 see marriages. Wars take many sons from the country ; but they prepare 
 many. If you could see them as I do, certain Don Juans of eighteen, 
 regular debauchees, who some months since placed the bottle, cigar, and 
 the blonde or brunette above all human affections and happiness ; if you 
 could see them at evening, leaning on the window-sill, looking at the moon 
 with melancholy eyes, and complaining to us : " She has not written me 
 for two days." Yes, it is useless to deny it. Woman is always our most 
 revered sovereign and mistress ; ambition , glory, any other expected or hoped- 
 for felicity, may sometimes illude us sufficiently to make us believe that we can 
 do without her ; hide her, so to speak, from our mind's eye and from the 
 desires of our heart ; but then . . . She does not stop us, as Manzoni 
 says, in the superb journey : 
 
 But marks us ; watches and waits. 
 But catches us ... 
 
 Oh, yes, she always catches us !
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 339 
 
 Reply : "Whom have you been digging up ? For pity sake, 
 do be careful ; do be judicious ! " 
 
 \7tk September, 
 
 . , . Another strange phenomenon to be noted after a war, is the 
 passion for reading which awakes again in all, even in the most indifferent, 
 either by nature or from lack of culture, to this kind of occupation and 
 pleasure. All read and hunt up books; the parish priest is obliged to 
 put in circulation all the books in his library. With me, who always 
 go to extremes, as you say, it has become a regular mania ; it is no 
 longer a desire for books, but a genuine hunger. Yet I am always faithful 
 to my old friend. During all the leisure hours of the day and evening I 
 read and re-read, thinking over and analyzing that blessed, much-beloved 
 novel " I Promessi Sposi." My eternal companion and friend, source of so 
 much sweetness, consolation, and of that even and sweet tranquillity of heart 
 and soul, in which every affection of mine is purified and strengthened, each 
 thought elevated, and things, men, the world, and life are presented to my 
 mind under their best aspect, all surrounded by love and hope. I do not 
 know how it is, but I feel that I love my country, my regiment, you, my 
 friends, better and more nobly, in thinking over that gospel of literature. 
 And there is not one page with which there is not connected some souvenir 
 of our first readings ; when you held the book on your knee, I read and you 
 listened, my tears falling on your hands, and at certain points we closed the 
 book and kissed each other. If I read it in my room I left it and came to 
 hunt you up so as to cry in your arms. I have this book before me ; I hold 
 it in my hands, pressing it to my heart, and say to it: " By all the tears 
 thou hast caused my mother and me to shed, by all the holy affections that 
 thou hast roused and kept alive in my soul, by all the love that thou hast in- 
 spired in men, life and noble and good things, I swear to thee, as thou wert 
 the first book I read, so shalt thou be the last, and as long as my hand can 
 hold thee, my eye see thee, I will always seek Ihee, thee always, oh, book 
 of paradise ! " 
 
 After this letter there is the announcement of the departure 
 from Martellago, and then, day by day, a notice of fresh de- 
 partures and arrivals, from Padua to Rovigo, from Rovigo to 
 Pontelagoscuro, from Pontelagoscuro to Ferrara, from Ferrara 
 to Modena, and from Modena to Parma.
 
 340 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 PARMA, i6(A October. 
 
 Just hear what a trick that rascal of an orderly has played me. Two 
 weeks ago, his saint's name-day coming around, I got a bottle of barfora 
 from the sutler, fastened a piece of paper around the neck on which was 
 written: "San Remigio," and seizing a moment when he was absent, 
 put it into his tent. I heard nothing of it ; he did not thank me ; 
 nor gave any sign, so I fancied some one must have stolen it from him. 
 Last evening, on returning from a walk outside the camp, I enter the tent 
 and see at my place a great pile of fresh straw well gathered and scattered, 
 so that it seemed as if just taken out of a sack. In the place where I put 
 my head, the image of a saint hung from the tent-pole, with leaves and 
 flowers around it, a little wax taper burning before it ; by the side, on the 
 cover of the trunk, a wooden box, made with a knife, which might have 
 passed for a cigar-holder ; under the case a bundle of cigars tied with a red 
 ribbon. I look at the image ; above it is written : " Santa Teresa " ; I 
 look at the box ' ' Santa Teresa " ; I look at the ribbon holding the cigars 
 " Santa Teresa." Imagine how touched I was. I did not think that this 
 poor young fellow, besides being so good, could be so delicate too as to honor, 
 and fete my mother's name instead of mine. 
 
 The mother's reply is a regular box on the ear to the regula- 
 tion of discipline. If Alberto's soldier had suddenly become a 
 general, she could not have written in any other way. And it 
 would seem that Signer Remigio was not illy recompensed for 
 his delicacy, as one day he presented himself before the officer 
 with a letter from home in his hand, his eyes quite moist, and 
 thanked him at length in a trembling voice. 
 
 "I understand," said Alberto to himself when he had 
 finished ; " the two mothers have become friends." 
 
 From Parma to Piacenza, from Piacenza to Pavia, from 
 Pavia to Bergamo ; fifteen days' more march, half of which 
 was in the rain. " I am thinking of the state of your poor 
 feet," says a letter from the mother, " and I can do nothing 
 but send you sighs of pain." " Send me some cotton stock- 
 ings," replies the son.
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 341 
 
 Bergamo was the last station, from which Alberto's narrative 
 begins again. 
 
 THE RETURN. 
 
 It was during the last days of December ; I was still at 
 Bergamo with my regiment, amusing myself with books during 
 the garrison duty, which always is (but especially after a war) 
 monotonous and wearying enough to drive one crazy. I did 
 not even think of returning home, because the time for long 
 leaves had not arrived, and I had heard that the colonel did 
 not wish to grant short ones, else all of us would have asked 
 for them. Nevertheless, my mother continued to write me 
 that, absolutely and at any cost, she wished to see me, and 
 could not bear the separation any longer, to which I replied : 
 "Be patient ; wait a little longer," and she : " It is impossible " ; 
 and I wrote the same again in order to quiet her, and mean- 
 while days and weeks passed. 
 
 One fine morning I hear some one rapping at my door ; I 
 open it, and whom do I see, but the colonel ! 
 
 He salutes me with the utmost gravity, will not sit down, 
 says that he has come direct from Venice, is on his way to 
 Milan, and that he had good news of my family. ... At 
 this point he looked me firmly in the face, and said with a cer- 
 tain air of pity and reproof : " I understand that you have a 
 perfect mania for returning home." 
 
 " Eh ! After a campaign ! " I replied humbly. 
 
 " Campaign ! campaign ! " he repeated angrily ; " don't you 
 call it that ; there have been four bad marches and four badly 
 fired shots." 
 
 I was silent. He continued in the most serious way : " Get 
 into the habit of considering the regiment your family."
 
 342 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 I remained silent, and he went on : 
 
 " You really ought to go through a campaign of at least five 
 years in India, in order to harden that small waxen heart of 
 yours, and accustom yourself to the life of a soldier, of which 
 you know nothing yet, allow me to inform you." 
 , I still kept silent, so he continued: 
 
 " All this impatience, this great need to attach yourself again 
 to the apron-strings, in fact, to return home, is any thing but 
 soldier-like." 
 
 I was still perfectly mute. A brief pause followed, and he 
 added, his voice growing almost imperceptibly sweeter : 
 
 " I have spoken to your colonel, and he has given you five 
 days' leave ; you can go immediately." 
 
 I fell from the clouds ; wished to express my gratitude, to 
 tell him that I was indebted to him for a great happiness, which 
 I should always remember ; but he stopped me short in telling 
 me to start instantly ; took his leave, and turned back at the 
 door once more to say : 
 
 "Be a soldier!" 
 
 Then he went away. I gave a jump that nearly broke 
 through the floor, and shouted : " Remigio ! " Remigio came. 
 " Pack my valise instantly." When he knew where I was 
 going he seemed happier than I. " What a delight for your 
 mother ! I can almost see her." " Put in the image of 
 ' Santa Teresa,' the dried flowers, the box, and the cigars." 
 He looked at me in astonishment. "Ah, you don't know 
 where they are ! Here they are." And opening a small 
 casket that I always kept closed, I took and handed him 
 every thing. " Did you save them all ? " exclaimed that good 
 soldier, clasping his hands in surprise ; and he continued, look-
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 343 
 
 ing for some time, first at me and then at the things, smiling 
 and exclaiming affectionately : " And the dried flowers too ! " 
 
 Of all that I did before leaving I remember nothing save 
 that, after visiting the colonel, I spun around the city like a 
 top, took all the friends whom I met by the arm, not refraining 
 from magnifying the beauties of Bergamo : " Look, what a sky ! 
 Look at the hills ! What a superb plain ! " And my friends 
 shrugged their shoulders. The orderly accompanied me to 
 the station ; I paid for my ticket and forgot to take the 
 change ; I sent a dispatch to my mother, saying some ridicu- 
 lous thing to the operator, who was good enough to laugh ; I 
 smoked, or rather bit up, two or three cigars in a few moments, 
 and finally ..." Mr. Lieutenant," said the orderly, hand- 
 ing me my valise when the bell began ringing, " be kind enough 
 to give my compliments to your mother, and tell her that I have 
 never forgotten her kindness to me and mine, and that I have 
 always " 
 
 " That you have always been fond of her ; yes, say it, my 
 good Remigio ; I will not forget any thing. Au revoir. Good- 
 by." 
 
 " A pleasant journey, lieutenant ! " 
 
 The train was already in motion ; I put my head out of the 
 window, and saw my orderly standing behind the station gate ; 
 as soon as he perceived me he raised his hand to his cap, and 
 kept it there until I disappeared. 
 
 I was due in Turin at ten o'clock in the evening. 
 
 When we reached the station at Milan, I saw a battalion of in- 
 fantry which was just getting into the same train. I recognized 
 an officer, one of my friends, and called him. " We are going to 
 Turin," he said. " We are waiting for them to add other car-
 
 344 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 riages ; we have the colonel and staff with us ; the headquar- 
 ters of the regiment will remain at Turin ; they write us from 
 there of all sorts of ovations at the station. . . . Only that 
 was lacking ! Applause produces a much worse effect upon 
 me than hisses. Oh, hopes ! I shall send in my resignation, 
 go and play communal counsellor in my own little town, be 
 captain of the national guard, subscribe to the Official Gazette, 
 wear trowsers large at the bottom, take a wife and tobacco, and 
 die a chevalier. That 's my destiny. ' Good-by." 
 
 His regiment, whose number I have forgotten, behaved 
 superbly at the battle of Custoza. 
 
 That journey from Milan to Turin was unending. " What a 
 torment," I said, " to stay cooped up in this cage of a carriage ! 
 There is no air, one cannot breathe ; there ought to be some 
 place above. Well, meanwhile let us enjoy our arrival in fancy. 
 Let us suppose that we have already reached the station. No, 
 it is too soon ; I wish to enjoy it slowly. Let us suppose that 
 we are outside the circuit of Turin, far outside. The train 
 goes slowly on ; here 'is the enclosure ; oh, what a breath ! 
 Here are the first walls of the station . . . but no, let us 
 suppose that there is some hindrance ; let us stop ; this cursed 
 train is going too fast. Forward, we are entering the station, 
 the train stops ; no, not yet ! What importunate haste ! Let 
 me enjoy it at my leisure ; so ; slowly. My heavens ! here I 
 am getting out, there are all the people who are waiting, here 
 . . . How warm I am with this heavy cloak ! But how 
 can you others sleep ?" I said, looking at the other travellers. 
 " How can you sleep with this fever that I am in ? " 
 
 Ah, it is no longer fancy ! Here are the beautiful hills of 
 Turin, here the boundaries, here the fields, houses, the first walls
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 345 
 
 of the station, and the three palaces of the Via Nizza ! Here is 
 that window ! Heavens ! who is at the window, who is raising 
 and dropping his arms by way of a salute ! It is he ! it is he ! 
 it is papa ! What do I hear and see ? The music ! the 
 torches ! Every thing just as on that evening ! The train stops, 
 I spring to the ground, run out, here is the crowd, here 
 they all are. They have seen me, and open their arms . 
 Ah, my mother ! I still feel around my neck the firm pressure 
 of those two trembling arms, I hear that music, and still see that 
 light. 
 
 We are at the house door, it opens, I throw myself into the 
 arms of my good papa, who is laughing and crying, without 
 being able to utter one word ; here are all his grandchildren, a 
 
 * 
 
 kiss for each, and such a hearty one that it will leave a mark ; 
 here is the Neapolitan lady and her son. " Thanks for the 
 topographical map," I say, and they all laugh. Other neighbors 
 arrive ; I am able to hear the impetuous assault of all kinds of 
 greetings, congratulations, pressures of the hand, and questions ; 
 my mother catches hold of me, disputes the possession of me 
 with all, looks at me, touches my arms, hands, and shoulders to 
 see if all of me has returned ; my sisters take turns in em- 
 bracing me, and come and kiss me over again ; the children 
 jump around me and it is a regular fete. 
 
 Finally, little by little, the neighbors and friends go away ; 
 my eldest sister returns to her home, the other goes to bed, 
 with tears in her eyes ; my brother leaves the house, and only 
 my mother and I remain. 
 
 Hardly are we alone, when we sit down opposite each other, 
 drawing our chairs close together and seizing each other's hands, 
 as if we were lovers when left without any lookers on, and my
 
 34 6 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 mother, giving a long sigh, in which one can hear the whole 
 history of the war, begins to say, in a voice full of emotion : 
 "What days I have passed, my son ; what anxiety, what terrible 
 heart-beats ! I did not write it for fear of saddening you ; but 
 this house seemed deserted after your departure. When I 
 could no longer hear your hastening step on the stairs at the 
 usual hour, your gay voice, and that tug at the bell, which 
 made all run to see who would arrive first ; the not being 
 obliged to keep near you so that you should not forget the 
 hour for the parade-ground. . . . What fearfully long 
 evenings ? And then the days which followed ! If the sun 
 shone, ' Poor Alberto,' I thought, ' is marching in the heat ! ' If 
 {Drained, ' Poor Alberto will catch it all !' I was almost ashamed 
 to go to bed at night, when I thought of you as sleeping on 
 the ground, and when it thundered, I waked, lighted the lamp, 
 and said : ' It is impossible for me to sleep in such weather ! 
 Who knows where that poor boy is now ? ' I had almost 
 become superstitious from constantly tormenting myself about 
 you. When I went to look for any thing, I said to myself : 
 ' If I find it no misfortune will happen to him, if I do not 
 find it ' . . . like all women. I felt my heart-strings 
 tightening in looking at your clothes, books, and every thing 
 belonging to you. It was a perfect torment to hear and see 
 the gay people in the neighborhood ; to see the young fel- 
 lows of your age walking quietly and contentedly about the 
 city. I went to the windows and looked at the few soldiers 
 who were passing, and watched them until they had disap- 
 peared, for it seemed as if there was a little of you about them. 
 I read and re-read all your letters of past years, recalled your 
 and our history to my mind, beginning with the nights when I
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 347 
 
 watched over you as a child, then when you went to school, 
 and I wept if you returned with the 'I think,' and I did it for 
 you, striving to imitate your writing ; and I looked (not being 
 able to do any thing else), and bathed with my tears the Latin 
 Anthology, when you did not succeed in translating, and grew 
 discouraged over it. Then I remembered the years when you 
 were at college, the time when you were so gay, so happy 
 here, that evening when I heard that music which nearly 
 broke my heart, and I curled myself in a corner of my room, 
 stopping my ears with my hands. The fear of losing you from 
 one moment to the other made my having a son named Alberto 
 almost seem like a dream ! It seemed as if only a few months 
 had elapsed since the first day I saw you ! At evening, when 
 your sister had gone to sleep, and I remained alone in these 
 rooms, I fell upon my knees, look, beside that bed, and prayed 
 to God as I had never prayed before, and offered Him my life 
 a hundred times over for the preservation of yours, uttering 
 your name a hundred times aloud, as if you were present to 
 hear me, until my strength failed ; I felt a weight on my chest, 
 and it seemed as if I should die. . . . But you are here, you are 
 safe, you are mine ; I can look at, speak to, embrace you, and 
 press this dear head to my breast. Oh ! it seems like a dream ! 
 it seems impossible ! Tell me that you are really here, Al- 
 berto ; tell me that you are listening to me, and see me weep- 
 ing. . . ." 
 
 I fell on my knees before her. 
 
 " My son, what are you doing ? Rise ! " 
 
 " But, dear mother, what are you saying ? Listen to me : if 
 I have suffered, was it not for you, because I love you. Was 
 I tired or thirsty ? I thought how that poor woman would
 
 348 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 suffer did she imagine it. But this intense affection for you 
 gave me strength and courage. 'Am I suffering ? ' I said. ' Oh, 
 my mother has suffered much more forme ; and with what cour- 
 age she concealed her pain and danger when ill in order not to 
 frighten me.' And thinking of you and your love for me, what 
 esteem you have for my heart and character, the idea, the sole 
 idea of a cowardly feeling on the battle-field filled me with 
 horror because it seemed an outrage to you, and rather than 
 cause you shame I would have died. I too went over your 
 history in my mind during those long evenings passed under 
 the tents ; and as children fancy paradise after their fashion, I 
 dreamed of seeing you as a child ; and then as a girl when 
 in your garden at Savona you read the books which you first 
 placed in my hands ; then as bride and mother ; when I was 
 ill, and you made -paper hats to amuse me do you remember ? 
 and put them on your head and played the drum with two 
 bits of the chair ; brought my coffee to my bed, and I did not 
 wish you to do it, but you said : ' Let me bring it ; this is my com- 
 fort.' Then all the nursing of my poor infirm father through those 
 long sleepless nights : You dear, holy woman ! Then when I 
 returned from college the first time, and you kissed my jacket. 
 ' But who is this woman ? ' I asked myself. ' What a fool I am ! 
 Why does she love and adore me so much that I am her life, 
 her world, and her happiness ? Why is it thus ? Do I deserve 
 it ? Who am I ? There are many other mothers who are not 
 and do not do like her ; why should God have given me such 
 an angel, or why did he not give her a more worthy son ? ' No, 
 no, let me finish ! how can I be grateful enough to you, how 
 can I reward you ? If I should place at your feet the crown 
 of the world, could I give you back the thousandth part of the
 
 DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 349 
 
 good that you have done me with your beautiful soul and 
 your holy heart ? Listen : I have always said it and I repeat 
 it, and I shall ever say, even at my last moment : ' No one knows 
 you mothers ; but if all knew you, if the world were interested 
 in the great mothers as it is in the great citizens, to a mother 
 like you, to an angel like you it would raise a monument.' " . . 
 
 My mother placed her hand on my mouth. 
 
 " ' A golden monument, and all those who had hearts 
 and souls, and I first of all, would kiss your footprints.' " 
 
 "Alberto ! Alberto ! this is too much ! I will not listen ! " 
 
 Then both of us with tightly clasped hands, and breathing 
 heavily, I on my knees, she leaning over me, looked into each 
 other's eyes, weeping, smiling, and calling each other by 
 name. 
 
 . . . " And even now I kiss your jacket ! " she exclaimed 
 impulsively as she embraced me and placed her lips on my 
 breast, and I pressed her head to my heart. 
 
 A few moments later we both took our lights, she going tow- 
 ard her room, I toward mine. 
 
 When we reached the door- way we both turned, laughed, and 
 came back into the middle of the room. 
 
 " Alberto ! . . . who are you ? " she asked lovingly. 
 
 " And who are you ? " 
 
 " You are a mauvais sujet ? " 
 
 " And you are a saint ! " 
 
 She looked at me, shook her head, and stood motionless in 
 that attitude for a moment, lighted up by the candle, her eyes 
 glistening with tears, with a smile so full of sweet quiet that she 
 really seemed a saint. 
 
 How many times, now that I am living far from her, on re-
 
 35 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 turning home at night quite alone and ennuyJ, with the 
 weight of some remorse upon my heart, I seem to see her in 
 the door-way, just in that attitude, as if saying to me : " You 
 are a mauvais sujet." 
 
 It is a sweet but solemn reproof which resounds in the 
 depths of my soul, and makes me repent, and form the resolu- 
 tion of being from that moment forward better, more honest 
 and more worthy of her. 
 
 And on going to sleep, the image of that smiling, luminous 
 fa.ce still dances before my eyes.
 
 DEAD ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 
 
 THE artillery, on the battle-field, presents a spectacle that 
 gives rise at the same time to a feeling of surprise and terror. 
 To see that long train of horses and wagons moving, at a sign, 
 from one end to the other, and with a tremendous racket dashing 
 full speed across fields, roads, and vineyards, climbing and de- 
 scending, and turning with the greatest rapidity, crossing ditches, 
 banks, overthrowing and crushing hedges, plants, and furrows 
 in their impetuous course, and finally disappearing in a whirl- 
 wind of dust and stones among the distant trees. Then after 
 a few moments to see it reappear on the top of a hill, break 
 and draw up in line, raise an immense cloud, and fill the valley 
 all about with a loud booming ; to see these formidable mouths 
 recede at every discharge as if frightened by their own shouts, 
 and far away in the distance houses destroyed, trees split, and 
 dense crowds of the enemy broken up and scattered over the 
 country, is really a sight that causes surprise and terror. 
 
 From the knowledge of the terrible and marvellous strength 
 of weapons, the artillery soldier draws his peculiar character for 
 pride and seriousness, that never leaves his soul or face even 
 after a lost battle, when all the others are prostrate from sad- 
 ness and despair. 
 
 Thus, serious and thoughtful, but not disheartened or 
 dejected, did the cannoniers of a battery of the Piedmontese
 
 352 Ml LIT A R Y LIFE. 
 
 army enter Chivasso at evening, fifteen days after the battle of 
 Novara. Many wagons, horses, a cannon, two officers, and 
 several soldiers were missing from the battery. The captain 
 and one lieutenant accompanied it. The people witnessed 
 their entrance in silence and sadness, as they would have done 
 the passage of a funeral cortege. 
 
 They stopped in the first square. The captain ordered his 
 officer to park the battery, and, dismounting from his horse, he 
 looked about as if in search of some one in the crowd. 
 
 A moment later, two young men (one might have been 
 twenty-five, the other eighteen) approached him, took off their 
 hats, and asked timidly : " Are you Captain ? " 
 
 The captain did not allow them to finish, shook hands with 
 both, calling them kindly by name, and said : " I took the lib- 
 erty of writing direct to you, without having the honor of 
 knowing you, because I knew of no one else in this city to 
 whom I could turn ; I should have written earlier if I had been 
 able to learn any thing about your family. . . . But not 
 even his friends," he added in a sad tone, " could tell me any 
 thing ; and he had many dear ones, the poor, poor fellow." 
 
 Then he put out his hand again to the two young men, who 
 pressed it affectionately. 
 
 " Did you say any thing about my letter to your father ? " 
 
 They replied that they had said nothing, save that the cap- 
 tain of the battery to which their poor brother had belonged 
 would come within a few days to pay him a visit ; they could 
 not tell him any thing more because he was ill, and they were 
 afraid of exciting him too much ; yet some details of his son's 
 death had reached him two days after the battle, and he had 
 been perfectly inconsolable.
 
 DEAD ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 353 
 
 Meanwhile the lieutenant came up to them. 
 
 " Here is the officer of whom I spoke in my letter," said the 
 captain in an undertone, as he presented the lieutenant to the 
 two brothers, who pressed his hand, and made many pro- 
 testations of affection and gratitude, to which he replied with 
 much effusion. After saying a few words more, he returned to 
 the battery. The captain arranged with ihe brothers that he 
 would go and see their father the next morning at seven o'clock, 
 because at eight he was obliged to leave for Turin, and mak- 
 ing them tell him the street and number of the house, he re- 
 called the lieutenant and whispered in his ear : " To-morrow 
 morning, if I am not here at eight o'clock, you can leave with 
 the battery ; but do not pass by such and such a street " nam- 
 ing it. The lieutenant understood the reason, and replied that 
 his orders should be carried out ; then the captain moved off 
 with the two brothers. 
 
 The following morning at seven, the captain, followed by an 
 orderly with a bundle under his arm, rapped at the door of 
 the two new friends. He was obliged to wait a moment, which 
 seemed like an hour. V/as it impatient desire, or timidity 
 which he felt at that instant ? Perhaps even he would not have 
 been able to say ; but he felt painfully anxious. The door 
 finally opened and the two brothers appeared. They did not 
 give him time to speak ; they placed their fingers on their lips, 
 made him a sign to keep his sword from rattling, and greeting 
 him silently they made him enter the house and sit down. The 
 orderly put down the bundle and went away. 
 
 " He is sleeping," said the older brother ; " but he is much 
 better." 
 
 The captain took a chair, and the two brothers sat down
 
 354 MILITARY LIFE, 
 
 too, drawing their seats near enough to be able to talk in an 
 undertone. 
 
 " Do you think I can talk to him without any danger ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed," the brothers replied together ; " now 
 there is no longer any danger." 
 
 " Very well, then. But if you thought to the contrary, I 
 should beg you to tell me quite frankly ; I should not wish, in 
 coming here to bring a little comfort, to be the cause of greater 
 evil. Listen : it is only a short distance from here to Turin ; 
 I could run off for a few hours within two or three days." 
 
 " You are too good ! " exclaimed the two young men, press- 
 ing his hand. " We thank you from our hearts, but really it is 
 not necessary for you to put yourself out again for us. Our 
 father is really better. If he were any other man, perhaps, 
 even in seeing him better, we should hesitate . . . but be- 
 lieve us, captain, he has a heart so capable of feeling the con- 
 solation that you bring him, as not to leave any doubt about 
 the effect which your words will produce upon him. He is a 
 loving father, but a good citizen." 
 
 " I believe it," said the captain. 
 
 At that moment a door opened and a handsome blonde boy, 
 about ten years old, appeared. On seeing the captain, he 
 started back. 
 
 " Come here," said one of the brothers. The boy came for- 
 ward. 
 
 " This is our little brother." 
 
 " How much he resembles that poor fellow ! " exclaimed the 
 officer. 
 
 " Quite true ! " said the brothers. 
 
 After five minutes more conversation in a low tone, the cap-
 
 DEAD ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE, 355 
 
 tain opened the bundle and spoke to the brothers of a surprise 
 for their father, then the second one rose and passed into the 
 other room to wake the sick man. 
 
 The oldest brother and the officer pressed each other's hands, 
 and said : " Courage ! " to one another. 
 
 The young fellow approached his father's bed on tiptoe, i 
 The good old man was sleeping lightly with one arm stretched 
 outside the coverlid, and his face turned toward his son. The 
 latter stood for a moment looking at that frank, venerable 
 brow, which even in the quiet of sleep retained the imprint of a 
 deep sorrow, and he thought : " Now I am going to wake you, 
 poor father, to wake you and call you back to grief ; I am 
 taking from you these few moments of peace but it is neces- 
 sary. Father ! " 
 
 The old man opened his eyes slowly and pressed his son's 
 hand with the one he had outside the counterpane. The latter 
 placed his right hand on his forehead, bent and asked him how 
 he felt. 
 
 " Much better," was the reply. 
 
 " Well then, listen father, there is a person out there who 
 would like to see you." 
 
 " Show him in." 
 
 The son did not move. 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 " Who is it ? . . . It 's an officer." 
 
 The old man looked at his son without speaking. 
 
 " It is a captain." 
 
 " A captain ? " and he opened wide his eyes. A few moments' 
 silence followed. The son, taking courage, added hastily : 
 
 " It is a captain of the artillery."
 
 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 The father made a sudden effort to sit upright, but the son 
 prevented him. 
 
 " No, father," he then said with much sweetness ; " do not 
 move ; it might make you ill ; you know the doctor has for- 
 bidden you to get up ; lie down, father, and keep quiet." 
 
 And he put the arm that was out under the coverlid. The 
 old man's eyes gleamed and he began to breathe heavily. 
 Shortly after, without looking his son in the face, he murmured 
 in a trembling voice : 
 
 " And this captain . . . ? " 
 
 " He was his captain." 
 
 This reply had been expected. 
 
 " He has come here on purpose to see you." 
 
 The father was silent for a moment, then shook his head, 
 pressed his lips together, and covered his eyes with one hand. 
 
 " Father," said the young fellow affectionately, as he kissed 
 him on the forehead, " be brave ; the captain has corne to 
 bring you some comfort, and he will give it you, I am sure. 
 Don't do so, come " (and he tried to draw his hand from his 
 eyes) ; " be brave, father ! " 
 
 " Call him." 
 
 " Immediately ? " 
 
 " Yes, instantly." 
 
 "Well, then . . . shall I go?" 
 
 " Go ! " 
 
 "Yes, I '11 go ; but be brave, father ; the captain will bring 
 you comfort ; you will see." 
 
 So he left the room quickly. The father followed him with 
 his eyes and fixed them on the door. He heard a short whis- 
 per, the noise of a sword ..." Here is the captain." As
 
 DEAD ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 
 
 soon as he appeared, the old man stretched out his arms toward 
 him, and exclaimed sorrowfully : " Oh, captain ! captain ! " 
 The latter went forward, embraced him, and said affection- 
 ately : " Courage, dear sir ! " 
 
 The oldest son and the little boy placed themselves on one 
 side of the bed, and the second one on the other. The father 
 had laid his head on the captain's arm, and was weeping. For 
 a short time no one spoke. 
 
 Suddenly the old man moved, raised his head, and wiping 
 his eyes, said in a resolute tone : " Captain . . . you were 
 there that day ; you have seen ; . . . tell me ... re- 
 late to me ... I want to know every thing ; I will be 
 strong ... I am strong ... I will listen without 
 giving way . . . without interrupting you ; but do not con- 
 ceal any thing ... I want to know all, I ... I must 
 know how (and here he broke out weeping afresh) . . . 
 how my poor son died ! " 
 
 Then he laid his head again on the captain's arm, and shak- 
 ing it disconsolately, said : 
 
 " He was so young ! '' 
 
 " But now he is so great ! " replied the captain. 
 
 At these words the poor old man started, raised his head, 
 and looked fixedly at the officer ; and as he looked, his face, 
 bathed in tears, gradually grew calm and proud, his eyes 
 were animated, and he slowly drew his arm from the captain's 
 shoulder, as if the new thought with which he was occupied 
 were sufficient to sustain him without any other support. This 
 thought, which had lain veiled and dormant in his sorrow, sud- 
 denly sprang up in his mind, giving him an unexpected feeling 
 of comfort, and putting into his soul a strength of which he
 
 358 MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 would never have supposed himself capable. " So great ! " 
 he repeated to himself, and then in a low, but firm voice he 
 said : 
 
 " Speak, captain." 
 
 The captain sat down as near the bed as possible, and, play- 
 ing with the fringe of the counterpane, tried to find some way 
 to begin. He did not succeed immediately, nor would he have 
 found it easy to do so, had not the elder brother come to his 
 assistance. 
 
 " Did your battery have much to do, captain ? " 
 
 " At the battle of Novara ? No, not much. That is, as far 
 as firing goes, very little, really ; but it had to work as much 
 as if it had done a great deal ; for it was running for three or 
 four hours without a moment's rest ; backward and forward ; 
 almost always on the same road. ' Captain ! ' they shouted to 
 me, ' go and occupy that height ! ' And away I went on a 
 gallop. But hardly was I up there, when a counter order ar- 
 rived, and down we went to our first place. This happened 
 three or four times without stopping. Poor horses, how hard 
 they worked that morning ! They really deserved a better 
 fate." 
 
 " Were they killed ? " 
 
 " A great part of them." 
 
 " And where did you finally stop ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell you exactly the point ; that is, I could 
 not call it by name ; but I remember the aspect of the place 
 perfectly. We were half way down the side of a hill ; between 
 that point and the top, the ground caved in so deeply as to 
 hide completely a couple of battalions from the eyes of any 
 coming from the enemy's direction. When I reached it,
 
 DEAD ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 3 $9 
 
 we could see, off in the distance down on the plain, three 
 long Austrian columns which were slowly advancing, now 
 turning to the right, now to the left, but always keeping in our 
 direction ; they were so far away that we could scarcely distin- 
 guish their white uniforms and bayonets gleaming in the distance. 
 One of my officers was instantly sent with two cannon to the 
 right side of the hill. I, with my lieutenant and four can- 
 non, remained where we were. At the cannon on the right 
 (here the captain turned to the oldest brother) . . . was 
 your brother." 
 
 The old man made no movement ; he was intent and impas- 
 sible. The captain continued : 
 
 " He was at the cannon on the right. They instantly began 
 firing. Hardly was the cannon loaded, when your brother, as 
 sergeant, had to 'point it.' 'At the middle column!' I 
 shouted. ' Yes, sir ! ' he replied, leaning down to carry out 
 the order. ' Let us do ourselves honor ! ' I added. He 
 smiled, took aim, stepped back, ordered : ' Fire ! ' and almost 
 at the same moment I saw the trunk of a tree which was in 
 the middle of the centre column dash into the air ; the latter 
 began moving confusedly, spreading out and getting into dis- 
 order ; the wounded officers galloped here and there ; then 
 little by little the lines formed again, and continued marching. 
 ' Bravo ! ' I shouted to him. ' Now, another ! ' He took 
 aim again, and once more hit the mark." 
 
 The old man clapped his hand on the bed. 
 
 " He hit the mark perfectly ; the column became more dis- 
 ordered than before ; the officers galloped around again ; the 
 column re-formed, but stopped. At that moment we saw 
 four cannon appear in the distance, reach the line of the col-
 
 360 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 umns on a full trot ; two of them stop between the centre and 
 left one, the other two between the centre and right, and then 
 begin to fire against us. ' Courage ! ' I shouted, turning to my 
 soldiers ; ' this is an excellent opportunity to let them see who 
 we are.' We began to fire at the enemy's cannon. The col- 
 umns receded a good deal. The one in the centre approached 
 a little house, and it seemed as if a number of the soldiers 
 entered, ' Sergeant ! ' I shouted to your son, ' put a ball into 
 that house for me.' ' Yes, sir ! ' he replied in his usual firm 
 and resolute tone. At that point a colonel of the staff passed 
 behind us on a gallop, heard my words, stopped, and turning 
 toward the cannon on the right, said aloud : ' Let us see ! ' 
 ' Fire ! ' shouted the brave young fellow at the same moment. 
 And from the roof of the house we saw rise and fall into the 
 middle of the column, boards, tiles, and beams, and a crowd of 
 soldiers dash out and scatter in every direction." 
 
 The father picked nervously at the counterpane with both 
 hands. 
 
 " ' Well done ! ' exclaimed the colonel, and off he went on a 
 gallop. But the Austrian cannons were marvellously fired. 
 The balls fell at eight or ten feet around us, buried themselves 
 in the ground, raising clouds of dust and stones which gradu- 
 ally enveloped cannon and cannoniers, hiding them entirely 
 from my eyes. When the cloud disappeared, we could always 
 see your brave son smiling, and taking the dirt out from be- 
 tween his collar and cravat, as quietly and impassibly as if he 
 were in no danger. But we were unfortunate. A ball fell 
 into the middle of the company of infantry which stood as an 
 escort at our backs, and killed three soldiers. After a moment 
 one of our horses was killed, and two badly wounded. This
 
 DEAD ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 361 
 
 was, however, a lesser evil. Two minutes had not passed 
 when a terrible explosion and loud cry were heard ; a ball had 
 split the wheel of a cannon, and stretched two cannoniers in a 
 shapeless mass on the ground. It was not your son's cannon." 
 
 The old man breathed as if some hope remained that his son 
 were still living. 
 
 " At that sight, I remember your son struck his head with his 
 hand, and uttered a cry of pain. We were not yet reduced to 
 a desperate condition ; we might have still kept our post for 
 some time ; two new cannon joined the other four of the ene- 
 my ; the Austrian columns began to advance again, and we 
 could no longer remain there. Suddenly we heard a confused 
 sound of steps, voices, and arms behind us, and saw two battal- 
 ions hastily draw up in line on the crest of the hill to repel an 
 assault. Between us and the crest, the ground, as I said, was 
 sunken ; for this reason it would not do for the infantry to ad- 
 vance to our line, and we were obliged to recede. The centre 
 column was coming rapidly forward. I waited for it to arrive 
 within reach, and then ordered : ' Fire with grape-shot ! ' At 
 the word ' fire ' we heard something like a clap of thunder, 
 and a sharp whistle ; a cloud of dust rose and hid the column, 
 and when it thinned, we saw such a confusion and complete 
 rout in the enemy's lines ! But it was late. The enemy, scat- 
 tered and disordered as it was, continued to climb boldly ; 
 there was no time to be lost, and we must save the cannon. 
 There were not enough horses. ' Back ! with your arms ? ' I 
 shouted. Thirty vigorous arms instantly seized the wheels, 
 orillons, mouths, and began to push the cannon back. There 
 was one artillery man lacking at the cannon on the right. Your 
 son took his place, and seized the left wheel. ' Courage ! ' I
 
 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 shouted ; ' strength ! strength ! ' But the ground that he had 
 to get over with his piece was broken up ; the wheels sank, and 
 the force they were obliged to use was tremendous ; those five 
 brave soldiers made the effort of twenty ; one could see the 
 muscles of their hands and necks rise and tremble so that it 
 seemed as if they would burst through the skin ; they were 
 flame-colored, dripping with perspiration, and utterly trans- 
 figured. ' Courage,' said the soldiers and officers on the crest 
 of the hill. The artillery men, panting and groaning, redoubled 
 their strength. We already felt the heavy step of the Austrian 
 column at our backs, and the voices of the officers ; a chain of 
 the pursuers pressed forward by the enemy's left column show- 
 ered us with balls, we were almost on the crest. ... At 
 that moment he was wounded ! " 
 
 " Where ? where was he wounded ? " asked the poor old 
 man anxiously as if he were hearing the news for the first 
 time. 
 
 " In the leg." 
 
 " At what point ? " 
 
 " Here," replied the captain hurriedly, pointing to the calf 
 of the right leg. " Hardly was he wounded, when he turned 
 to look at the leg and shouted : ' It 's nothing ! nothing ! cour- 
 age ! strength! ' and he went on pushing the cannon." 
 
 " Bravo ! " interrupted the firm and sonorous voice of the 
 sick man. 
 
 " Oh, yes, it was brave indeed ! and in fact the soldiers who 
 were near by shouted : ' Bravo ! ' The five courageous men, 
 making a final effort, pushed the cannon on to the crest, and 
 uttering a loud shout : ' It is saved ! ' they fell exhausted to 
 the ground. They rose immediately, however . . ."
 
 DEAD ON THE FIELD OF BA TTLE. 363 
 
 " But they did not all rise ! " exclaimed the old man, covering 
 his face with his hands. " Oh, I knew it ! " 
 
 " He was wounded in the side." 
 
 A moment of silence followed. 
 
 " Hardly had the cannon passed the crest, when the two 
 battalions of infantry broke out into a heavy fire on the assault- 
 ing column. The cannon at the right was dragged thirty paces 
 forward. While they were dragging it (at this point the captain 
 rose to his feet), your brave son, stretched on the ground, 
 pressing one hand against the wound, shouted two or three 
 times : ' Courage ! courage ! ' Then his voice failed him, he 
 made another sign with his hand . . ." 
 
 " Oh, that 's enough, captain ! " cried the old man in a tear- 
 ful voice. 
 
 " Listen. Hardly had our cannon stopped, when the horses 
 from some other pieces that had fallen into the enemy's 
 hands came up ; I ordered them to be attached immediately. 
 The lieutenant got out of his saddle, and superintended my 
 orders, standing before the right piece with his back turned 
 toward the enemy ; the horses were already attached ; he 
 was on the point of turning to say to me : ' We are ready ! ' 
 when suddenly he felt some one press his knee ; he turned and 
 saw. . . ." 
 
 The old man sprang up in his bed, seized the captain's right 
 hand, and asked with a shout : " Whom ? " 
 
 " Your son." 
 
 " My son ? " 
 
 " Your son, who, exhausted and dying, had dragged himself 
 there to take a last farewell of his cannon and comrades. . . . 
 All the cannoniers gathered arountl him ; two seized him under
 
 364 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 the shoulders and raised him to his knees. He waved both 
 arms and opened and shut his mouth, looking at the lieutenant 
 all the time, as if he wished to say something. ' What do you 
 wish, my brave soldier ? ' the lieutenant asked, in a tone full of 
 affection and emotion ; ' what do you want ? ' Then he raised 
 his arms and clasped his hands, as if embracing some one. 
 The lieutenant had a capital inspiration, clapped his hand on 
 the mouth of the cannon, and asked : ' Is it this ? ' ' Yes ! yes ! 
 yes ! ' he seemed to try to say, as he shook his head and gave 
 a sign of the greatest joy. The two soldiers lifted him up to the 
 cannon ; he encircled it with his arms, pressed it to his breast, 
 uttered a cry, and . . . died." 
 
 The father, who had been listening to the captain with ever-in- 
 creasing emotion, seizing him now convulsively by the hand, now 
 by the sword or the ends of his jacket, feeling of his shoulders 
 and arms, as a blind man would have done to recognize him, 
 broke out at that last word into a violent sob, which was a mixt- 
 ure of laugh and cry ; his eyes gleamed, and his whole face 
 was lighted up with an expression of radient joy. 
 
 " The sight of that hero's death," continued the captain, 
 " filled us with enthusiasm. The lieutenant seized your son's 
 head with both his hands, and looking into his eyes as if he were 
 still alive, shouted, almost beside himself : ' Dear, brave, sub- 
 lime soldier ! ' ' Hurrah ! ' broke out all the soldiers at once, 
 and I shouted : ' Salute him ! ' All raised the hand to the 
 cap, and repeated together : ' Hurrah ! ' ' 
 
 The old man burst out into a flood of tears. 
 
 " Yes, yes," continued the captain, growing more and more 
 excited, " shed those sweet tears ; they will do you good ; he is 
 the pride of our battery ; he will never be forgotten ; in twenty
 
 DEAD ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 365 
 
 years our soldiers, in pronouncing his name, will feel their 
 hearts beat as we do now, a few days after his death ; they will 
 say that he was a valiant man, and will love and bless him as 
 they would an absent brother. Yes, yes, weep now ; now you 
 can weep ; weep here ; I wish you to bathe my uniform with 
 your tears ! " 
 
 Saying which he seized and pressed the white head of the 
 old man to his breast, and held it there for some time. The 
 sons were weeping. 
 
 The invalid, exhausted after such long and deep emotion, 
 was hardly released from that embrace when he let his head 
 drop back on the pillow, and said, in a weak and broken voice : 
 " Thanks, captain ; thank you from my heart ! Your words 
 have done me a great good. It seems as if an immense weight 
 were lifted from my heart. I hardly suffer any more. You 
 have given me great comfort, my good captain, and I thank 
 you for it." 4 
 
 He half-closed his eyes, and remained thus for some time, so 
 that he seemed to be sleeping. Meanwhile all three brothers 
 had gone, one after the other, into the neighboring room, and 
 had returned, each holding one arm behind his back. The 
 captain, too, had assumed that attitude. The sick man noticed 
 nothing. 
 
 " Captain ! " he finally said, rousing himself. 
 
 "Sir?" 
 
 " He was your sergeant ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then perhaps you have some writing, a letter or 
 some . . ." and he could go no farther. 
 
 " Did you mean some report ? "
 
 366 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 " Just that, have you any, captain ? " 
 
 "Yes, I have many of them ; and as soon as I reach Turin 
 I will send them to you. Oh, I had thought of this ! If you 
 had not spoken of it to me, I should have mentioned it to 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, captain ! " exclaimed the old man, " how good you are ! 
 How much I owe you ! I shall always preserve most relig- 
 iously all that my poor son wrote ; I shall read it ten times a 
 day, and always keep it under my eyes. . . . Oh, you will 
 send me a great comfort, captain, in sending me those pa- 
 pers." 
 
 " But that will not be the only comfort I can give you." 
 
 " What other ? " asked the good father quickly, and he sat 
 up again in bed. 
 
 " This, for instance," replied the captain, and he handed him 
 the cap of an artillery sergeant, which he had kept hidden be- 
 hind his back. 
 
 The old man uttered a short cry, seized the cap with both 
 hands, and kissed it passionately three or four times. 
 
 " Father," then said the oldest son, " I too have some com- 
 fort to give you . . . here it is," and he handed him a pair 
 of sergeant's epaulettes. 
 
 The father seized and kissed the epaulettes, too. 
 
 " I have one also," said the second brother immediately, as 
 he handed his father the yellow full-dress cords. 
 
 He took them and kissed them fondly. 
 
 " And I," said the boy finally. 
 
 "Oh, my child ! " exclaimed the father affectionately stretch- 
 ing out his arm to him. 
 
 " I too have to give you something in " he stopped to think
 
 DEAD ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 367 
 
 for a moment ... "in anticipation, as the captain said. 
 Here it is." 
 
 And he handed his father a medal for military valor with 
 its ribbon attached. 
 
 The father had scarcely caught sight of it, before he had seized 
 and pressed to his breast in one fond embrace the boy's head, the 
 cords, the epaulettes, and the cap, saying as he did so : " Oh, 
 here is my son ! my poor son ! I feel him ! " 
 
 Finally he released the boy and fell back exhausted upon his pil- 
 low, still holding tightly to his breast, with his clasped arms, those 
 precious objects. From time to time he repeated, with half- 
 closed eyes, just above his breath : " Oh, here is my son ! 
 I feel him ! I feel him ! " And he clasped his arms more 
 tightly still. 
 
 All were silent for a short time, until the captain said in an 
 undertone to the brothers that he must leave. It was eight 
 o'clock ; and they could not beg him to stay. 
 
 " Father ! " said one of the young men aloud. The old man 
 opened his eyes. 
 
 " The captain must go." 
 
 " Go ? go already ? Oh ! why ? Can you not remain with us 
 a little longer, captain ? " 
 
 "I cannot indeed, dear sir, and I regret it much, but I 
 really must leave immediately." 
 
 The old man gave vent-to an expression of sorrow. 
 
 " Dear sir ! press my hand (the old man squeezed it vigor- 
 ously). I shall return ; I shall come sometimes to see you, 
 and I will write you too ; do not doubt that. It is impossible 
 that I should ever forget you or this beautiful day. I was fond 
 of you before knowing you, because one cannot help loving the
 
 368 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 father of a brave soldier, even without having seen him. But 
 now ! Now that I have known your generous heart and your 
 noble soul, now I admire and love you a thousand times 
 more than ever. Good-by ; be brave, remember me some- 
 times, and think that I have shared your sorrow, so that 1 
 shall always be proud of your pride, and with the same joy 
 with which you say : ' That hero was my son ! ' I shall always 
 say : ' That hero was my soldier ! ' Farewell, dear sir ! " 
 
 "Good-by . . . Oh, I cannot say good-by yet, dear 
 captain ! No . . . it is too soon ... I cannot . ." 
 
 The captain opened his mouth to speak, but the old man 
 made him a sign with his hand as if to impose silence, drop- 
 ped his head and was motionless, as if straining his ear to 
 catch some distant sound. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked one of the brothers. 
 
 " Silence ! " repeated the father. All kept quiet. The captain 
 listened too, made a movement of surprise and regret, and said 
 to himself : " The lieutenant has forgotten or not understood 
 my order." In fact, they heard a distant sound, dull and indis- 
 tinct, which was gradually increasing. 
 
 "Father, what do you hear ?" asked the son again. 
 
 The father, without moving his head or eyes, stretched out 
 his hand to the captain, seized him by the arm, drew him tow- 
 ard him, and asked in an undertone : " Do you hear, cap- 
 tain ? " 
 
 " I ? no, nothing ! " 
 
 At that point they heard a distant sound that seemed like a 
 military command ; the noise grew more audible. 
 
 " Captain ! " shouted the old man impetuously, rising to a 
 sitting posture, " those are cannon ! "
 
 DEAD ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 369 
 
 The captain trembled. 
 
 " It is your battery." 
 
 " Nonsense ! It cannot be ; you are mistaken ; that is not 
 my battery, I assure you." 
 
 " It is your battery, I tell you ! I hear it ! I see it ! Tell 
 me the truth, captain." His voice and his face had something 
 imperious in them. 
 
 " But no ! " repeated the captain, raising his voice to drown 
 the noise, and they all did the same. " It is not possible, I tell 
 you ; I came here alone ; my battery has been two days at 
 Turin ; what you hear is a train of military supplies ; do be- 
 lieve me ; what reason could I have for deceiving you ?" 
 
 " Do be quiet all of you ! " shouted the old man imperiously 
 as he released himself from his sons, who were holding him. 
 " Will you all be quiet ! " 
 
 It was impossible to disobey ; all were silent, and they could 
 distinctly hear the noise of the wagons, the tread of the horses, 
 and the different voices of the commanders. 
 
 " Ah ! I told you so ! " shouted the old man in a tone of 
 triumph, almost beside himself with joy ; " I told you so ! I 
 felt in my heart that they were cannon ! I saw them. . . . 
 Here, quick, give me my clothes, I wish to get up, I wish to 
 go down. . . ." 
 
 " But no, father, no ! no ! " broke out the sons together ; 
 " you cannot get up, you are ill, it might do you harm," and 
 they tried to keep him in bed. But he, opening his arms 
 vigorously and pushing them all away from him, shouted : 
 " Leave me, in heaven's name ! Do you wish to kill me ! 
 Here, give me my clothes immediately, I wish them ! " and he 
 started to throw himself from the bed. They prevented him
 
 3/0 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 from doing this, but it was not possible to hold him in check ; 
 they were obliged to obey ; so they handed him his clothes 
 and helped him to dress in haste, not desisting, however, from 
 begging him to stay where he was. "No no no! ".he kept 
 repeating with a stifled and gasping voice ; " I will get up. I 
 wish to see." 
 
 Dressed as well as possible under the circumstances, and 
 supported by his sons, he started with unequal steps out of the 
 room. But meanwhile the captain had gone to the window, 
 and calling to the lieutenant, who was passing at that moment, 
 ordered him to put the battery on a trot. The order was in- 
 stantly executed. The old man reached the street, saw the 
 battery moving rapidly off, uttered a cry of despair, and tried to 
 throw himself at the captain's feet. 
 
 The captain could not resist. " Corporal ! " he shouted to 
 the first corporal who passed ; " tell the lieutenant to stop the 
 column immediately ! " 
 
 The column stopped. The old man, still supported by his 
 sons, preceded by the captain, moved totteringly toward the 
 battery, which was quite far away. 
 
 When the reached the last cannon, the old man turned to 
 the captain, and not being able to articulate one word, made a 
 sign to him. 
 
 " No, not this one," the captain replied ; " forward." 
 
 At that moment the lieutenant came up. They reached the 
 second cannon. 
 
 " Nor this one either ; go on still." 
 
 They reached the third. The captain had no need to speak. 
 The old man dashed forward, with inexpressible affection, on 
 lo the cannon, and threw his arms around the middle of it.
 
 DEAD ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 3/1 
 
 The dying son had kissed it on the mouth. " Here ! here ! " 
 shouted the captain, striking the mouth with his hand. The 
 father stretched his arms toward the mouth, pressed it to his 
 breast, and let his face fall affectionately on it, sobbing as he 
 did so. " Oh, my son ! oh, my son ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, at a sign from the captain, the lieutenant had. 
 dismounted, and the two cannoniers who had held the dying 
 sergeant had got down from their seat, and all three placed 
 themselves behind the old man, the officer in the middle and 
 the two soldiers at his side. 
 
 " Sir ! " exclaimed the lieutenant. 
 
 The father, without taking his arms from the cannon, turned, 
 caught a glimpse of the three ; the scene which the captain had 
 narrated flashed through his mind ; he sprang to his feet, threw 
 his arms around the two cannoniers' necks and laid his head 
 on the lieutenant's breast. The latter, deeply moved, pressed 
 the old man's head between his hands, and gave him on his fore- 
 head the kiss which he had given to his son on the battle-field. 
 
 "All my sons ! " cried the poor father. 
 
 The captain made a sign ; all the soldiers rose to their feet 
 and gave him a military salute. 
 
 The good old man felt his knees giving away under him, and 
 fell into the arms of his sons. 
 
 A few moments after, the last cannon of the battery was dis- 
 appearing at the end of the street, and the father, leaning on 
 his sons' arms and standing at the house door, saluted it with 
 his hand as if his dead son were really leaving with it. 
 
 " Oh, father ! " said one of the young men, " our brother is 
 not dead ! " 
 
 And he, raising his head proudly, replied : " And will never 
 die!"
 
 THE ITALIAN ARMY DURING THE CHOLERA OF 
 
 1867. 
 
 EVERY time I think how much the army did and suffered 
 for the country during the cholera of 1867, and feel again that 
 lively sense of admiration and gratitude which was aroused in 
 me during those days by the news of every fresh act of charity 
 and courage, I am seized by the doubt that the greater part of 
 those actions has been forgotten by the majority, that many of 
 them have never been known, that all, or nearly all, have been 
 too vaguely mentioned to be as thoroughly appreciated and 
 praised as they deserve. Perhaps the recollection of all those 
 grand actions has been fused by the nation into one single 
 idea the army did much good ; just as after a victorious battle 
 the movements and glory of one hundred thousand soldiers is 
 expressed and exalted in the name of some general. And I 
 am strengthened in this belief when I consider that the 
 country, which is only a spectator, and can, and generally 
 does, notice many things, having been, in the case of the 
 cholera, both actor and victim at the same time in the terrible 
 drama, quite naturally paid little attention to the many passing 
 deeds (although the army was generous), the effects of which 
 were trivial and almost unnoticeable in comparison to the 
 vastness of the evils by which it was so greatly tried. Now 
 there is no one who does not understand how the feeling of 
 
 372
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 373 
 
 admiration and gratitude which arises from the vague mention 
 of the work done by the army for the benefit of the country 
 on that occasion, must be much less deep and lasting, and the 
 example less efficacious, than it would be when knowing the 
 manner in which the work was individually accomplished, the 
 sacrifices which it cost and the perils that accompanied it, 
 the relation of which would produce a deep impression upon 
 the mind, and people thus be able to bestow their admiration 
 upon deeds of daring, and unite their gratitude with names. 
 Some of these facts and these names I mean to revive in the 
 memory of any who have forgotten or never heard them ; and 
 I am induced to this not so much by the thought of the sweet 
 and proud sense of satisfaction that I, as citizen and sol- 
 dier, shall experience in writing a page so glorious for the 
 Italian army, as by the desire which I have to fulfil a duty of 
 justice by giving light to many virtues, many forgotten or ob- 
 scure sacrifices, and, besides this, by the firm conviction that it 
 will not be quite a useless task to set forth a splendid example 
 of the way in which the man and citizen should behave in the 
 face of national misfortunes. 
 
 Toward the end of 1866, it was hoped in Italy that the 
 cholera, which had invaded many provinces that year, would 
 not return the following season. But on the contrary, as 
 every one knows, it returned with greater force than before, 
 and of all the Italian provinces, that which suffered the most 
 was Sicily, of which I shall write almost exclusively, in order 
 to carry out my design in the clearest and most concise man- 
 ner. 
 
 In the months of January and February of '67 the cholera 
 carried off a few victims in the neighborhood of Girgenti and
 
 374 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 especially in Porto Empedocle, whence, in the month of 
 March, it spread through the entire province, and from this, in 
 April, into that of Caltanisetta, and increased most terribly in 
 both during the month of May, favored by the summer heat, 
 that made itself felt a month earlier than usual in consequence 
 of the long drought. It did not decrease at all during the 
 month of June, save in the city of Caltanisetta, where it dimin- 
 ished perceptibly. In fact, during the first part of that month, 
 it invaded the provinces of Trapani, Catania, and Syracuse, 
 and at the beginning of July, Palermo, and at the beginning of 
 August, Messina. Meanwhile it had spread through almost all 
 the other provinces of Italy, and particularly in the southern 
 ones ; more than all others, in Reggio, where it committed 
 its last and most frightful ravages at the end of the year. 
 
 From the first indications that manifested themselves in the 
 provinces of Girgenti and Caltanisetta, General Medici, com- 
 manding the division of Palermo, almost foreseeing the terrible 
 course of the epidemic, put in force all the hygienic precautions 
 prescribed by the Minister of War in 1865. He divided the 
 corps into a greater number of detachments, so that no city or 
 village should be without them. He ordered that military hos- 
 pitals for cholera patients, infirmaries for those suspected of 
 the disease, and houses for the convalescent, should be opened 
 everywhere in the most remote and healthful localities. He in- 
 stituted a commission for sanitary surveillance in every district, 
 prescribed most thorough and rigorous cleanliness, together 
 with frequent disinfections of the barracks ; he suspended every 
 movement of the troops from the infected localities to those 
 that were healthful : obliged every corps and detachment to 
 give its assistance in case of any call from the civil authorities
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 375 
 
 for the service of sanitary cordons, or to re-inforce the national 
 guard in the maintenance of public security ; enjoined upon 
 them to look for and prepare in the neighborhood of the prin- 
 cipal cities the best adapted place for the encampment of the 
 troops in case of necessity ; he improved the soldiers' rations 
 by the daily distribution of wine and coffee ; exhorted the 
 officers to prepare the minds of the soldiers for that life of 
 sacrifice, danger, and hardships which every one foresaw in his 
 heart, and expected with his soul resigned and fortified by the 
 experience of the preceding year. An equal number of pre- 
 cautions were taken at the same time by the majority of the 
 divisional commandants in the other provinces of Italy, and 
 everywhere they put up hospitals, disinfected barracks, and 
 there was an unceasing bustle of physicians and officers, a 
 continual giving and receiving of orders, an unusual confusion 
 of people and things, just as at the opening of a war ; in a word, 
 that great agitation of minds which precedes great events, and 
 which is so well expressed by each one in the words : We are 
 ready ! 
 
 But no matter how well disposed the army and brave, honest 
 citizens were to work for the good of the country, three great 
 inimical forces were bound to render the majority of their 
 labors quite inefficient for a long time : superstition, fear, and 
 poverty, the assiduous companions of contagion in all people 
 and in all ages. 
 
 In most of the places, and particularly in the smaller towns, 
 the syndics and many other public officers abandoned their 
 posts at the first appearance of the cholera, and some places 
 were deserted entirely by families with all their worldly pos- 
 sessions. The rich and well-to-do people, and all those, in
 
 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 fact, who might have succored the people most efficaciously, 
 fled from the city and took refuge in their villas. In a few 
 days all the country-houses were crowded with the fugitive 
 citizens, and not only those of the rich, but of any one possess- 
 ing enough to live several days without work, and hire a 
 dwelling, hut, or any hole, even at a great sacrifice, provided 
 that it was distant from the city, and as far as possible from 
 any other habitation. 
 
 Abandoned and frightened by others' fear and the solitude in 
 which they were left, the poor people fled too, and wandered in 
 troops through the country, dragging their lives miserably out 
 amid the sufferings of hunger. The general terror was in- 
 creased by the recollection of the great sufferings of past years ; 
 worse misfortunes were predicted as is always the case ; they 
 foresaw such an end from the beginning : in each province they 
 exaggerated most marvellously the ravages of the disease in the 
 others ; in the country they narrated horrible things of the mor- 
 tality in the cities ; in the cities just as much again of that in 
 the country-places. 
 
 It is quite easy to imagine how the population of the dis- 
 tricts became reduced. With the exception of a few cities, 
 the communal administrations having been abandoned, or 
 left in a state of disorder, they neglected the most necessary 
 hygienic precautions. Then the population, declaring firmly 
 that such precautions were unnecessary, refused to render 
 their assistance, without which they were quite useless, no 
 matter how much good-will the authorities, or how much zeal 
 the few citizens who thought and worked with a fixed purpose, 
 displayed. Then let me add that there were many places with- 
 out any physicians or chemists, and then, even the largest were
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 377 
 
 desolated by the poverty which the famine of the previous 
 year had produced, and increased by the scanty harvest of 
 that season and the enormous mortality in the herds. Most 
 of the merchants had failed ; the construction of railways had 
 been interrupted ; many provincial and communal works had 
 been left half completed ; the men were without work ; the 
 shops for luxuries had been closed first of late many of those 
 for the necessities of life ; also, the work-shops abandoned ; 
 hundreds of familes reduced to living on herbs and India figs ; 
 on every side famine, discouragement, and squalor. 
 
 To culminate the general misfortune there spread and took 
 root in the minds of the people the old superstition that the 
 cholera was the effect of poisons scattered about by the order 
 of the government, which the common people in most of the 
 the southern districts (in consequence of the oppression of a 
 past government) regard as an enemy who is secretly and con- 
 tinually trying to harm them for its own preservation. In 
 Sicily this superstition had been accepted from the conviction 
 that the government wished to inflict punishment for the rebell- 
 ion of September, and for this reason a great part of the sani- 
 tary precautions taken by the government met with a stubborn 
 resistance in the common people ; every action appeared an 
 outrage ; in every order they suspected some rascally design ; 
 from the slightest indication they drew some argument con- 
 firmatory of the poisoning, and they saw some attempt in every 
 trifle. The hospitals, disinfections, visits of public officers, 
 were all the objects of diffidence, fear, and abhorrence. The 
 populace could not be induced to allow themselves to be taken 
 to the hospitals, except at the last moment, when every case 
 was useless. The majority of them died ; and just for this
 
 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 reason they believed all the more firmly that the medicines 
 were poisons, and the physicians assassins. They preferred to 
 die quite abandoned, without any assistance or comforts. They 
 did not believe in contagion, and so they lived together in any 
 way, the sick and the well ; many families in dark, horrible 
 dwellings, which were the terrible hearthstones of the pesti- 
 lence. They concealed the bodies to prevent themselves from 
 being isolated, or because they disliked the idea of seeing them 
 buried in cemeteries, instead of in the churches, as is the cus- 
 tom in many places ; or, from the obstinate conviction that 
 those attacked by cholera often appear to be dead when they 
 are not, and come back to life after a time. They resorted to 
 every device to elude the researches of the authorities. They 
 often resisted with force the public agents who came to drag 
 the decayed bodies from the houses. They threw these bodies 
 into wells, or buried them secretly inside the houses. In some 
 places, either from carelessness on the part of the authorities, 
 or from neglect on the part of the people who wished to assist 
 at these pious offices, the bodies, although not refused by the 
 relatives, were left several days in the houses, were thrown and 
 left uncovered in the cemeteries, or covered with a few shovel- 
 fuls of earth, so that the air all about was poisoned, and no one 
 could be found who was willing to approach the place, thus 
 making it necessary to select other spots for interment. The 
 common superstitions were secretly fermented by the Bourbons 
 and clergy. All the agents of the public force, the carabi- 
 neers, soldiers, inspectors of the custom-house, and govern- 
 ment officials were suspected as poisoners. They scattered, 
 and posted up in the streets seditious proclamations exciting 
 the people to revenge and bloodshed. Little by little the
 
 " Little by little the people, armed with scythes, picks, guns, assembled," etc. 
 
 (Page 378.)
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 379 
 
 people, armed with scythes, picks, guns, assembled, ran tumult- 
 uously about the country roads trying to put the poisoners to 
 death. They menaced or assaulted the barracks of the carabi- 
 neers and soldiers ; broke into the physicians' houses and 
 sacked them ; burst into the pharmacies, and destroyed and 
 displaced every thing ; invaded the offices of the Commune, 
 tore the national banner ; burned the papers and registers ; 
 forced the national guards to hunt the country with them in 
 search of poisoners ; looked for them in the houses ; thought 
 they had found them ; obliged them with daggers at their 
 throats to imagine and confess their accomplices ; murdered 
 them, lacerated their bodies, and burned them in the streets 
 and squares. Entire families, accused of poisoning, were 
 suddenly beseiged at night by a crowd of common people ; 
 and old men, women, and children fell with their throats cut 
 at each other's feet, without having time to exculpate them- 
 selves or plead for mercy. They burned houses and scattered 
 the ruins. At Via Grande, Belpasso, Gangi, Menfi, Monreale, 
 Rossano, Morano, Frassineto, Porcile, in the Potentino, and 
 Avellinese, in a hundred other places there were continuous 
 gatherings, and rebellions, and horrible deeds of bloodshed. 
 
 Every day the populace found a stone, a rag, or some object 
 which they fancied was saturated with poison. They gathered 
 in crowds at the syndics, carrying the poisoned object with 
 them ; they had physicians and chemists come to experiment 
 with it, and desired that the results of the experiment should 
 be as they declared that they ought to be, or else they threat- 
 ened them with violence. In some places the madness of the 
 people reached such a point, that the majority of the citizens 
 were obliged to barricade themselves in their houses with
 
 3&> MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 some provisions, living shut up like prisoners, from the con- 
 tinual danger of being accused of being poisoners and killed. 
 This course aroused their suspicions more strongly ; they 
 assaulted the houses, and a veritable struggle ensued. In 
 the places and during the days in which, on account of the 
 mildness of the disease the people were less brutal, those ac- 
 cused of poisoning were only vituperated, beaten, and then 
 dragged, covered with blood, before the syndic. Sometimes 
 the municipal functionaries, frightened by the exasperation 
 of the crowd, did not dare try to dissuade them from their 
 bloody designs, and exhort them to spare their poor unfort- 
 unate victims, so replied, as they did in the village of San 
 Nicola that, " they had better do what they thought best." 
 And the reply had not been made before the wretched creat- 
 ures lay on the ground immersed in blood and no longer 
 retaining any semblance to human beings. The municipali- 
 ties, unless one makes an exception of those in the principal 
 cities, menaced and abused every day as they were, had lost 
 all their authority and become quite powerless to put in force 
 the most necessary provisions for the public health, because in 
 fact they were obliged to forestall and grant every wish or 
 desire of the people in order to avoid more deplorable conse- 
 quences. At first the people insisted that no living soul should 
 be allowed to enter the place, and the municipality established 
 a rigorous cordon around the district, and so all communica- 
 tion was cut off ; but hardly did they begin to feel the bad 
 effects of this cessation of intercourse, when they wished to 
 have the cordon removed ; they thus increased the epidemic, 
 and once more were obliged to replace the cordon. And the 
 game thing happened with all the other precautions, now
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 38 1 
 
 desired, now not wished for, according as the malady in- 
 creased or decreased, according to the distorted fancy of the 
 populace, or by the different manifestations of some supposed 
 symptoms which they thought healthful or otherwise. 
 
 In fact every thing was in a state of confusion ; in every 
 place was the saddening sight of poverty and fright ; the 
 country was overrun by a troop of beggars, and scattered with 
 sick people and bodies that had been abandoned. The villages 
 were half depopulated, all intercourse among people in the cities 
 had ceased, every public place was deserted, every particle of 
 gaiety subdued in the life of the working people, the streets 
 almost deserted, the doors and windows barred for long dis- 
 tances, the air impregnated with the nauseating odor of the 
 disinfectants with which the streets were sprinkled, on every 
 side a dead silence which was either interrupted by the com- 
 plaints of the poor and suffering, the laments of the dying, or 
 the shouts of the seditious populace. Such was the condition 
 to which the people of many provinces of Sicily and the lower 
 portion of the Napoletano were reduced, and perhaps the pict- 
 ure which I have drawn only depicts in pallid colors the terri- 
 ble truth. 
 
 But the painful feeling which is aroused in our hearts by 
 the memory of those dark days, comes more from the thought 
 that most of the evils arose from the almost savage igno- 
 rance of the common people, and in general from the lack of 
 courage in the citizens of all classes there, than from the 
 knowledge of the terrible ravages which the cholera in itself 
 produced. The most disheartening effect (although perhaps 
 not the most useless one) of the misfortune of the cholera, was 
 perhaps that of showing us that we are more backward in the
 
 382 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 road of civilization than we are in the habit of supposing, that 
 the way lying before is much longer than it seemed at first, and 
 that we must strike out more seriously and boldly. It would 
 be difficult indeed to prove that on similar occasions in times 
 less civilized than ours, the folly of the common people was 
 carried further, or produced more terrible effects, and that, in 
 the generality of people, to-day more than then, in the presence 
 of misfortunes and common peril reason has conquered in- 
 stinct, charity selfishness, and duty fear. 
 
 But what did the army do ? 
 
 The disorder of the administrations, the confusion, and gen- 
 eral fear had inspired audacity in the highwaymen and ban- 
 dits, and given them an opportunity to spring up again ; so that 
 both scoured the country and cities, committing every kind 
 of depredations and violence. The troops, who could not give 
 up their chase of them, no matter how indispensable their as- 
 sistance might be elsewhere, found themselves surrounded by 
 a thousand different duties, some more dangerous and fatiguing 
 than others. The numerical force of the corps, which was 
 small in comparison with the needs of ordinary times, proved 
 quite insufficient for the service of the hospitals, sanitary 
 cordons, and public security, at the same time. All these ser- 
 vices were performed, however, by dividing the forces as 
 much as possible ; so that it happened almost everywhere that 
 the soldiers, never slept two successive nights in the same bar- 
 racks, and no longer ate at prescribed hours, but just as it hap- 
 pened, when, where, and as they could. There was continual 
 motion, continual fatigue. Just during those days when re- 
 pose, quiet, and every kind of precaution was really most nec- 
 essary, it is impossible to tell how much the health of the
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 383 
 
 soldiers suffered, and how that kind of life rendered almost 
 useless the great care which was imposed upon all in the clean- 
 liness of the barracks, choice of food, and many other precau- 
 tions imposed upon them by their superiors, and diligently car- 
 ried out under their surveillance. 
 
 But these services were certainly the least burdensome, 
 because, if not always, at least ordinarily, they were per- 
 formed by each soldier at certain brief, but regularly estab- 
 lished intervals, so that they went forward to meet all fa- 
 tigues and perils with their minds fully prepared for them. 
 The harder services were those imposed upon them from 
 time to time by the unexpected outbreaks of the people, in 
 the dead of the night, sometimes simultaneously at different 
 points in the same place. A handful of soldiers were obliged 
 to sally forth against an armed multitude a hundred times 
 greater than they, who beat furiously on the barrack-doers, 
 flung stones at the windows, and threatened to set fire to the 
 house, while shouting ; " Death to the poisoners ! death to the 
 assassins cf the people ! " together with every other kind of 
 vituperation. These furious cries resounded suddenly through 
 the silent dormitories ; the soldiers sprang startled from their 
 beds, dressed in haste ; the officers gathered, seized their 
 weapons, and dashed furiously down the stairs to charge the 
 crowd. The crowd opened, scattered, turned, and formed 
 again, shouting, whistling, throwing stones, and the soldiers 
 charged them again ; once more they dispersed ; and this went 
 on for hours, all through the night, sometimes throughout 
 the following morning. When the mobs consisted of a few 
 people, the soldiers came out unarmed, tried to pacify them 
 by kind words, and all their powers of persuasion ; some-
 
 384 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 \ 
 times they succeeded, at others they were attacked, beaten, 
 
 and then they returned on a run to the barracks, armed them- 
 selves, came out again ; the rioters shut themselves up in their 
 houses, and fired from their windows, so that they were obliged 
 to break down the doors, penetrate into the houses, and attack 
 them regularly. During the daytime there were continual 
 fatigue ; at night short and interrupted slumbers ; and danger 
 and anxiety always. 
 
 Besides this, in most of the districts the soldiers were 
 obliged to go and take the bodies from the houses, carry them 
 to the cemeteries on the regiment wagons, and dig ditches in 
 which to bury them. At such times the populace offered every 
 possible resistance ; they were obliged to penetrate into their 
 lurid dwellings, bayonet in hand, and take possession of the 
 bodies by main force These bodies they sometimes had to go 
 and hunt for in the country, and when the arms of the soldiers 
 did not suffice for the work, they had to force the peasants to 
 render their assistance by threatening and dragging them to 
 the spot. They were obliged to prevent the people from flying 
 from the districts, by following and leading them back by 
 force to their houses, taking by the arm entire families, beggars, 
 and troops of women and children who burst out into tears 
 and cries of despair. 
 
 Throughout all the corps and detachments collections 
 were taken up for the poorest families ; in some places a 
 certain quantity of bread was distributed every day ; in 
 others meat and soup ; when nothing else was to be had, 
 they gave the remains of the rations, straw, old clothes, 
 and something at least. In many corps they formed com- 
 mittees for permanent succor ; the officers went every day in
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 385 
 
 turn through the houses of the poor to carry them aid, give 
 advice, and watch over them ; the soldiers gave up their straw 
 mattresses to the hospitals ; offered spontaneously to go and 
 nurse the sick in the lazzarettos and private houses, and went 
 there and performed their duties courageously and cheerfully to 
 the end. In the places where there were no druggists, they went 
 and distributed the medicines in the shops, superintended by 
 military doctors, and they even carried them to the houses 
 when it was necessary, In other places where even the shops 
 for the necessaries of life were closed, they had them opened 
 by force, and they themselves provided for and superintended 
 the sales. Often they were obliged to keep the market open ; 
 n part of them watching over the sale of the articles, and the 
 others maintaining the order and peace which were continually 
 threatened. Very frequently, either in the villages or cities, 
 they had to make and bake bread, a labor which no one 
 wished to perform from fear lest in perspiring they should con- 
 tract the cholera ; and not infrequently they were reduced to 
 helping the carabineers and policemen sweep the streets and 
 houses of the poor, because there was no one else who would 
 make that dangerous exertion. There were the less humble 
 but not less unusual and difficult duties which often fell to the 
 officers, who were obliged to act as syndics in the villages de- 
 serted by the authorities, sometimes as physicians and always 
 as almoners and missionaries of civilization in the midst of 
 a people stupefied and exasperated by fear and sufferings, 
 and fits of fearful passion. This was the case, too, with the 
 military doctors, upon whom was imposed, in addition to the 
 care of the soldiers, that of the people, whose prejudices they 
 were first obliged to destroy, and then overcome their repug-
 
 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 nance and hatred by reasoning and arguing with them. This 
 was the case with the commandants of the corps also, who 
 were overwhelmed by a thousand needs, encompassed with as 
 many difficulties and cares, always in apprehension for their 
 troops divided and scattered here and there, and continually in 
 motion and in danger. A terrible sorrow for all was that of 
 having to say farewell every day to so many brave soldiers, 
 good comrades, and dear old friends. 
 
 But all these services, sacrifices, and works of charity, which, 
 though barely mentioned, are sufficient to arouse in every good 
 citizen an outburst of grateful recognition, cannot however, as 
 I have already said, be thoroughly appreciated and praised 
 unless one knew intimately with how much zeal and in what 
 way they were performed. This is what I intend to do, and 
 what matters it if it be not particularly understood by those 
 who, in the generous actions of the soldiers, are only accus- 
 tomed to see and appreciate the immediate and natural effects 
 of the discipline which commands and castigates, but never 
 the natural and spontaneous effects of the heart, which that 
 same discipline educates and softens. It is true, in fact, 
 that in ordinary times, when the- soldier does not compre- 
 hend or see, or sees too far away in the distance the fruit of 
 the mite which was asked of him in aid of some public mis- 
 fortune, or when he does not understand the absolute neces- 
 sity of some other sacrifice, and fancies there is some one else 
 who can or ought to make it in his stead, the desires or sug- 
 gestions of the superiors generally assume, first, the form, the 
 intention, and therefore the effect of direct and absolute com- 
 mands, so that the merit of spontaneity cannot be attributed to 
 the acts which follow ; but this, for different reasons, could not
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 387 
 
 have happened on the occasion of the cholera, because at that 
 time, in the majority of the cases, the soldiers understood and 
 saw clearly that the health of the districts in which they were, 
 was intrusted to their care ; that in certain moments of ex- 
 tremity there was no one but them who could prevent great 
 misfortunes ; their every act and sacrifice produced its immedi-j 
 ate and visible effect, there was the fleshless hand of some 
 starving person outstretched to grasp every bit of money or 
 piece of bread that they offered. Pity was kept alive by the 
 continual spectacle of misfortune, and there was no room for any 
 doubt or diffidence by which the sentiment of that pity could 
 grow lukewarm or make them hesitate. Neither can one rea- 
 sonably suppose that the influence of their superiors had any 
 part in the charitable works, that were not performed by the 
 obligation of duty or from any other absolute necessity, for 
 these needs and obligations were so frequent and so grave in 
 themselves that no superior could have made any such pre- 
 tence without a sting of conscience. Besides which, as the 
 corps were for the greater part divided into very small detach- 
 ments, and these same detachments performed their labors 
 after another subdivision, the influence which the superior 
 officers could exercise over their subordinates, in order to ob- 
 tain any thing beyond their duty, was very trifling ; it would 
 have been insufficient also in making them do their duty, if 
 there had been in reality any need of such influence. On the 
 other hand, the orders of the superiors never reached the point 
 which the soldier's work did, because certain sacrifices are of 
 such a nature, that they cannot be imposed in any way or for 
 any end ; and my readers will see what these were, and how 
 the officers and soldiers of every corps performed them. But
 
 388 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 if all these reasons should not be sufficient to convince the in- 
 credulous, or should the colors of the picture which I place 
 before my readers' eyes appear too vivid or too fanciful, there 
 would always be in confirmation of what I have asserted, the 
 unanimous testimony of the populations, or that, not valid for 
 all, but quite certain and sacred for me, of my many com- 
 panions in arms and the friends who saw and narrated what the 
 soldiers did or how they did it, with their hearts filled with 
 gratitude and pride. From the light of their eyes and the 
 sound of their voices I attained the deep conviction which 
 moves my heart and pen. 
 
 Generally the companies were only united at evening, in the 
 dormitory, at the hour of retreat. While waiting the signal of 
 the drum for the roll-call, the soldiers related to one another 
 what they had seen and done during the day; some of them 
 seated on their beds, others leaning against the windows, the 
 remainder in groups in the middle of the dormitories. There 
 were none of those movements, songs, laughs, or deafening 
 shouts of joy, which in ordinary times are so pleasant in the 
 barracks at evening. Most of the soldiers were motionless, 
 and nothing was to be heard but a subdued whispering, in- 
 terrupted here and there by some exclamation of surprise, 
 anger, or pity, and long intervals of silence, in which you 
 would have said that all were sleeping. The soldiers who 
 gradually arrived went quietly to their beds, and laying down 
 their fatigue caps and belts, joined the different groups, each 
 one quoting the last rumor in the district, which was always 
 one of misfortune. Any one not knowing it otherwise, would 
 have been able to understand what was being thought and said
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 389 
 
 in those groups, by simply looking in every room at the few 
 faces lighted up by the small lantern placed over the door. 
 
 " Do you know," one said, " that they have killed a cara- 
 bineer at Grammichele ? The soldiers found him dead in a 
 ditch ; they say that his face was all beaten out of shape, so 
 that it was irrecognizable, and the arms and legs half gnawed 
 by the dogs ? " Some one asked why he had been killed. 
 " Because he poisoned people," replied the first, and a bitter 
 smile passed over the lips of the listeners. " Have you heard 
 the news ? " said others, " At Belpasso they have killed the 
 delegate of public safety ; at Monreale they have fired upon 
 the sharp-shooters ; in Ardore they have killed and beaten to 
 pieces the captain of the national guard, and Second Lieuten- 
 ant Gazzone In some other place they have fastened to the 
 walls a proclamation, which says that they must burn and cut 
 the throats of the soldiers and destroy all the barracks. . . . 
 All this because we poison the people." 
 
 A sound of the drum was heard, the companies drew up in 
 line, answered the roll-call ; half the soldiers were absent. The 
 quartermaster-sergeant read their names, and when any one 
 was lacking, the corporal of the week, erect beside him, note- 
 book in hand, said in a low voice : " He is ill at the lazzaretto ; 
 he is on the patrol in the country ; he is on the round in the 
 district ; he is on duty at the cemetery ; he is dead," and these 
 last words were followed by a movement of surprise and a 
 murmur of compassion. " Silence ! " shouted the quartes- 
 master-sergeant ; " attention to the duties for to-morrow." And 
 he read the names of those who were detailed for various ser- 
 vices on the following day, and generally all present were ap- 
 pointed for the same duty. No one breathed.. Some on hear-
 
 39 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 ing their names among those detailed for the service of nurse 
 at the hospital, could not restrain a feeling of repugnance and 
 displeasure ; so raised their eyes and shook their heads. 
 " What is the matter ? " suddenly asked the sergeant, who had 
 noticed the movement. " Nothing." " Then keep quiet." 
 And the poor fellows did not move again, this being the grav- 
 est protest made by the boldest and least docile. 
 
 On the evenings of the days in which the cholera had com- 
 mitted the greatest ravages throughout the country and among 
 the troops, one could see all the soldiers quite intent at roll- 
 call, motionless as statues, and their faces wearing an expres- 
 sion rather of astonishment than sorrow, their souls being 
 more stunned than saddened by such great misfortunes. " Such 
 and such a one ? " asked the quartermaster-sergeant. " He 
 was seized by the cholera a moment ago, and they have car- 
 ried him to the lazzaretto," replied the corporal. " Such and 
 such another one ?"" The man called replied from the lines : 
 " Present," but in a forced and weak voice, in which one could 
 hear the effect of the sad news. Then a deeper silence than 
 usual followed. 
 
 Qn such evenings the officer usually gave them some words 
 of encouragement and comfort. He placed himself in front of 
 the company, glanced at the faces in the first line, and then 
 said what he had to say, always ending with a : " Keep up your 
 courage," which was followed by a slight movement along the 
 line, which meant " Thanks." A sign to the quartermaster-ser- 
 geant, a word to the sergeant of the week, and then, " Good- 
 night," he would add, almost involuntarily, as if responding to 
 an imperious movement of his heart, and then go away. And 
 the soldiers followed him with their eyes, which was worth
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 391 
 
 more than a mere good- by. How many times, on going out of 
 that dormitory, the officer said sadly to himself : " Perhaps to- 
 morrow all my good soldiers will not be there ! " And how 
 many times the soldiers, in seeing the officer go out, pale and 
 worn, and behind him the orderly with an expression of sad 
 suspicion on his face, have said among themselves : " Perhaps 
 we shall never see our officer again ! " 
 
 When the officer had gone, the quartermaster-sergeant dis- 
 tributed the letters. Oh, a letter from home in those days and 
 those places ! The fortunate ones who heard their names 
 called could hardly restrain an expression of joy ; the others 
 impatiently tapped their feet and stretched out their hands. 
 " Mine." " Give me mine." " You have not given me mine yet." 
 "Are. you not going to give me one?" "Silence, and back 
 to your place ! " shouted the quartermaster-sergeant. Instantly 
 all were silent and motionless as marble, and fancy what self- 
 control they had to exercise in order to conquer that fever ! 
 The quartermaster-sergeant stood looking at them for a mo- 
 ment with a frown, then distributed the letters ; the company 
 separated in silence, and every one went to bed. 
 
 Late at night those who could not sleep heard a sound of 
 slow steps and . subdued voices through the dormitories, and 
 raising their heads saw the officer of the guard and the ser- 
 geant of the week passing along the rows of beds, stopping be- 
 fore those that were empty, the one questioning, the other re- 
 plying, then both pausing for a moment in going out, quite mo- 
 tionless in the door-way, as if absorbed in a common thought, 
 which it was easy to divine. " If any thing happens," the officer 
 would say in an undertone, "come and tell me instantly." 
 "Let us hope there will be nothing." "Let us hope so indeed."
 
 39 2 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 And these words were always accompanied by a sigh, which re- 
 vealed a sentiment quite different, and one, unfortunately, 
 which was generally much better founded. An hour after the 
 expression of that hope the soldiers were suddenly aroused by 
 an outburst of sharp cries, languid moans, and saw their com- 
 panions spring to their feet, crowd around a bed, heard the 
 officer of the guard come hurriedly in with the doctor and sol- 
 diers of the guard, and then in a few moments all make way, 
 and four of the soldiers moving off, carrying a straw ticking 
 with a dying man stretched on it, then a little whispering, and 
 finally to bed once more, and a return of the former silence. 
 In the morning, as soon as they are awake, " Corporal of the 
 week," the soldiers ask anxiously, "... well ? " " He is 
 dead," the latter replies. " Dead ! " and they look one another 
 in the face. 
 
 In many corps, and in some more than once, did it happen 
 that an officer and his orderly were seized with the cholera at 
 one time. And in all these corps I have heard it said the same 
 scene was repeated. In the evening, after the roll-call, the 
 quartermaster-sergeant announced the misfortune to the com- 
 pany. " Who will take care of the officer ? " 
 
 " I." " I." " I too." " But I said so first, and it is useless 
 for you to speak." " Oh ! come now ! I am at liberty to speak 
 too." " But I was the first." "But I tell you. . . ." 
 
 " Will you stop or not ?" shouted the quartermaster-sergeant. 
 All were silent. " You shall take care of him," he said, point- 
 ing to the soldier who offered first. The latter gave a smile of 
 triumph, and the others were obliged to be resigned. The fol- 
 lowing morning, before dawn, the generous nurse was beside 
 the sick officer's bed, and there he passed long days, alone,
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 393 
 
 silent, and watchful, watching every night by the light of a lan- 
 tern, while seated on a chair in one corner of the room. If 
 any one could have been present when the invalid, coming to 
 himself and looking around, and not recognizing him, asked : 
 "Who are you ?" and then, hearing the name, asked : "Who 
 sent you ? " To which the good soldier replied : " I came 
 because I wanted to do so." "And why?" It cannot 
 be expressed in words what the soldier's eyes replied, and what 
 passed in his heart as he pressed the thin hand that was put 
 out in search of his. At other times, instead, the soldier 
 returned to the barracks after a few days, and as soon as he 
 entered went and seated himself on his bed and began poking 
 the ramrod of his musket into the barrel, this being an occupa- 
 tion in which a man is obliged to keep his head down and can 
 thus hide his eyes. 
 
 The officers visited assiduously the sick in the hospitals, and 
 generally went in numbers to visit all, so that no one would 
 have a chance of growing sad or dispirited in seeing his com- 
 rades and not himself comforted. Those visits had become an 
 absolute necessity for the poor sick men. At the usual hour 
 they heard the clanking of the swords on the stairs, the sound 
 of the voices, glanced at the door in expectation, and when 
 they appeared and scattered through the wards of the hospital, 
 every face became quieter, and even in the motionless eyes of 
 those most dangerously ill, there lay a slight ray of hope and 
 comfort. Poor young fellows ! There were days when the 
 sound of the swords was heard an hour later than usual, and 
 during that time they were all ears and eyes waiting for the 
 slightest noise or movement. They fancied they heard those 
 steps and voices at every moment, and they went on imagining
 
 394 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 what could have prevented them from coming, what misfort- 
 une could have happened, and in that state of anxiety the 
 sense of their sufferings became more intense. " They don't 
 come, and they won't come now, and I am so ill, I shall 
 not last until to-morrow, and I shall die all alone 
 Ah ! here they are ! " This moment was too sweet for words. 
 The nurses in the military hospitals were all soldiers, o 
 course ; but in many places they were nurses in the other 
 hospitals too, and for the entire time during which no one 
 was to be found among the populace who would render this 
 service, not even with the promise of large payments, be- 
 cause the fear of death outweighed any cupidity for money, 
 as well as any feeling of pity. The soldiers offered their 
 services spontaneously. The officer of the week asked : 
 " Who will go ? " And half companies took a step forward 
 or raised their hands. When the question was put to an en- 
 tire battalion, on the parade ground, in the presence of many 
 people, the reply was a solemn and touching sight. One day, 
 on the slopes of Mount Pellegrino, near Palermo, six or seven 
 companies of the 53d infantry were standing drawn up in 
 line of battle, after the drill was over, when the colonel and 
 major, both on horseback, stopped in front of the middle 
 company, and the former made a sign that he wished to speak. 
 The officers ordered silence. The colonel told them in a loud 
 voice of the sad state of the city the cholera had been raging 
 there for days, of the hospitals in which nurses were lacking ; 
 of the duty involving upon every good citizen to lend his as- 
 sistance in the time of public misfortune, and ended by saying, 
 louder still : " I impose no duty upon you ; I exhort you to 
 a sacrifice ; all are at liberty to reply yes or no, according as
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 395 
 
 their hearts dictate. But before consenting each man must 
 measure the strength of his soul, and reflect that the office of 
 nurse is a very noble but a grave one, and one not without 
 danger and that he must lend his assistance with great cour- 
 age and great affection or refuse it. Those who are ready 
 to offer their services, kneel ! " 
 
 Almost in one instant the whole battalion knelt, as if at a 
 shout of command, and above all those heads appeared, 
 straight and distinct, their four hundred muskets. 
 
 But the place where the soldiers exercised their charity 
 most admirably was in the help of the poor. 
 
 " When I went in to the barracks," said an officer of the 54th, 
 who had been commanding for some time a detachment at St. 
 Cataldo, " I was accompanied every day by a troop of poor 
 people : the women behind with children hanging to their 
 necks'; before and at my side boys with outstretched hands, 
 complaining and crying. Another body of beggars was waiting 
 for me at the door, and all surrounded, pressed about, and 
 seized me by my jacket, and deafened me with groans and 
 supplicating cries. I had all I could do to free myself, 
 and generally, I should not have succeeded if the soldiers 
 of the guard had not come to my assistance, by breaking 
 through the crowd by blows and threats. Many times the 
 mere empty threats did not suffice, they had to seize their bayo- 
 nets and pretend to charge, and then only did the crowd begin 
 to move away from me, but only for a little while, for if I had 
 not been quick in getting through the door, they would have 
 returned again. Many of those unfortunates were seated on 
 the doorstep all day long ; some slept there at night ; no one 
 was lacking at the hour of the rations, when the soldiers carried
 
 396 MIL1TAR Y LIFE. 
 
 out the kettles with the remains of the soup. Then there was 
 a bustle, and such a shouting that it could not be quieted even 
 by force. They were so hungry that they could not stand, and 
 each one wished to be first to put his spoon into the broth ; 
 they all sprang together at the kettles, dashed their soup plates 
 in by tens, pushing and repelling each other, shrieking like mad- 
 men, women, old men, children, altogether ; all with thin 
 faces, wearing expressions that were half bitter, half insen- 
 sate, which aroused at that moment both fear and pity ; they 
 were dirty, ragged, half nude, and in a state which excited the 
 greatest repugnance. At such moments the soldiers allowed 
 them to do as they chose, nor could I pretend to hold them to 
 their duty, save in cases where they were inclined to hurt 
 some one ; but hardly had the confusion ceased, when we 
 called the women and children (who generally got nothing) apart, 
 one by one, and gave them something to eat, keeping back the 
 others who crowded around and began to beg again. This 
 was an every-day occurrence. I say nothing of the soldiers 
 who were stopped at every moment in the streets by entire 
 families of beggars, surrounded and persecuted, so that they 
 were obliged to remain in the barracks, and content themselves 
 by walking in the court-yard. Yet they preferred remaining in 
 that place where the poor left them no peace, rather than in 
 the others where they fled from them for fear of being poisoned ; 
 in fact, they took a sort of satisfaction in being implored and 
 persecuted, in seeing themselves made, in a measure, the slaves 
 of those poor people a satisfaction which arises from pity 
 when one is able to express and exercise it with benefit. And 
 those good soldiers did feel pity, and they exercised their 
 benevolence witli the best heart in the world. Not only did
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 397 
 
 they bestow charity on their own account, when they could do 
 so, and the occasion offered ; but every time that I, being 
 obliged by some overwhelming need of the country, had re- 
 course to their pocket-books after having exhausted my own, I 
 found them all, without one exception, generously disposed to 
 give every thing, even to the little wine which they drank on 
 Sundays bought with the few sous saved during the week. I shall 
 never forget how the last collection was taken up for a poor 
 family of the place, whose father and mother had died of the 
 cholera, an entire family of girls, the oldest of whom was only 
 twelve. ' See if we can get any thing,' I said to the sergeant. 
 ' I will,' he replied, ' but you must expect little or nothing, for 
 they are almost more needy than the people here.' ' I under- 
 stand that,' I added, ' but try in every way ; no matter how 
 little you get, that lijttle will be better than nothing.' He went 
 up to the dormitory, the soldiers were seated on the floor in a 
 circle, as if around a great fable, eating and chatting, with the 
 little gaiety that was possible in those days and in those locali- 
 ties. The sergeant approached them. ' Give me your atten- 
 tion for a moment ! ' They were all silent. ' Yesterday morn- 
 ing, here in this place, six children were left without mother or 
 father. Who will give something so that they will not be left 
 to die of starvation ? ' 
 
 " The soldiers looked at each other as much as to say : ' What 
 can we give now ? the cover of the account-book to have it 
 boiled ? ' 
 
 " ' Courage,' went on the sergeant ; ' give me some sort of an 
 answer.' 
 
 " One soldier rose, and showing a sou in the palm of his hand, 
 asked : ' Do you want that ? '
 
 39^ MILITAR Y LIFE. 
 
 " ' Even that is something,' replied the sergeant, taking the 
 sou. ' Are there any more ?' 
 
 " ' If it is only the question of a sou, I have one too,' replied 
 another, throwing him the sou. 
 
 "'Is a sou enough?' asked a third. 'Yes, quite enough.' 
 ' I have one too.' ' I too.' And so all the soldiers handed 
 him their sou one after another, and the sergeant, as he took 
 them, said to each : ' Bravo ! Well done ! Capital ! Ah, 
 what good fellows ! ' he exclaimed when he had all the sous in 
 his hand, but one thing more.' 
 
 " ' What ? ' asked all the soldiers. 
 
 " ' Bread.' 
 
 " ' Bread ? If that is all,' several replied, ' there is more 
 than enough." And first one and then another cut a slice 
 from his loaf of black bread. 
 
 " ' Where shall we put it ? ' asked one. 
 
 " A Corporal took a ramrod and stuck on to it all the slices 
 as fast as they were handed him. The soldiers laughed. 
 
 " ' Now who will carry the money and bread to the children ?' 
 asked the sergeant. 
 
 " ' The handsomest man,' replied some voice. All laughed, 
 and approved the proposition. 
 
 " ' Oh, yes, the handsomest man ; let 's search for him ! Who 
 can this beauty be ? ' 
 
 " ' I,' exclaimed a Neapolitan soldier, who had the reputation 
 of being the ugliest in the regiment, and among the laughs of 
 his comrades, he stepped forward, put the money in his pocket, 
 took the ramrod with the bread, and prepared to go out with 
 the sergeant. All the others clapped their hands. ' Oh, 
 come now,' shouted the Neapolitan, turning and facing his
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 399 
 
 comrades. ' Will you stop ? What a shame to laugh be- 
 hind the back of a man who is going to perform a work 
 of charity.' And then he departed while a prolonged laugh 
 broke out in the room. The sergeant met me on the stairs, 
 and fancying that I was going up, said in a voice full of emo- 
 tion : ' Oh, Mr. Lieutenant ! what a good set of fellows we 
 have in our company ! ' ' 
 
 This narrative, I heard from an officer of the 54th. And 
 what the soldiers did in that district, the others belonging to the 
 54th did in the city of Caltanisetta, so that this regiment was a 
 real providence. This was done by the iSth infantry at Terra- 
 sini, for the two families who took care of the poor sub-lieu- 
 tenant, Viale, and the sergeant, Imberti ; the 6th battalion of 
 sharp-shooters and the loth regiment of infantry worked in 
 the same way at Messina ; as did also the 58th at Petralia Sot- 
 tana ; the 38th battalion of sharp-shooters at Monreale ; the 
 6yth infantry and the i5th battalion of sharp-shooters' at" Longo- 
 bucco ; the 68th infantry at Reggiodi Calabria ; the lancers of 
 Foggia at Misilmeri ; the 25th battalion of sharp-shooters at 
 Rocca d' Anfo ; the 7th infantry at Mantua, together with 
 those at the fort in Bard, and the free lancers of Aosta ; and 
 who knows how many other corps did as much, without any 
 notice being taken of it, simply because none of the benefactors 
 wished to speaker write of it. Yet just at that time there were 
 some people who asked severely of the government for what 
 reason it maintained such a " colossal " army, if it expected to 
 " civilize the country with bayonets," if it would not be better 
 to turn so many " lazy " barracks into as many hospitals, and 
 if the money spent in such high pay would not be better em- 
 ployed in alleviating so much misery, etc. These things were
 
 400 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 being said while the soldier was dividing his bread with the 
 poor, and fighting, suffering, and dying for the health of the 
 country. 
 
 Sometimes the municipalities to whom the soldiers rendered 
 great. service, offered them in compensation the little money 
 which they had at their disposal ; and these municipalities were 
 not a few in numbers. But the money was always refused, and 
 facts and names can be cited to prove it. The municipality of 
 Licata, toward the end of August, offered one hundred lire to 
 the pth company of the 57th regiment. The evening of the 
 i4th, Captain Pompeo Praga returned to the barracks at the 
 retreat to announce to his soldiers the municipality's offer. 
 They were all drawn up in the dormitory, and the quarter- 
 master-sergeant was calling the roll. The captain interrupted 
 him and gave his news, adding : 
 
 " Quartermaster, let this sum be divided among all to-mor- 
 row morning before rations." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 A moment of silence followed. 
 
 " Mr. Captain," murmured an uncertain voice in the lines. 
 
 " Who spoke ? " asked the captain. No one replied. " Who 
 spoke ? " he repeated. 
 
 " I," replied a soldier. 
 
 " What did you wish to say ? " 
 
 " I wished to say that, as far as I am concerned (and he 
 glanced bashfully around as if to seek an expression of assent 
 in his comrades' faces), it seems to me that a sou more or 
 less, is the same thing for us, and it would be better, it seems 
 to me . . ." 
 
 " Go on," said the captain.
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 4OI 
 
 " There are so many poor in this place." 
 
 His comrades understood his thought, and whispered : 
 " Certainly, a capital idea ! It would be better to do so. It is 
 better to give the money to the poor." 
 
 The captain allowed the murmur to subside, and then said : 
 " Listen. I want you all to tell me frankly what you think ; I 
 do not wish that any of you should refuse the municipality's 
 offer to please me, for that would cause me great displeasure. 
 Nor do I wish the majority to impose their wish upon the few. 
 You deserve this money ; you have worked, suffered, done 
 good, and it is no more than just that you should have this 
 compensation. To advise you to deprive yourselves of it would 
 be unjust, and I refrain from doing so. In fact, I tell 
 you that you would do well to accept it. Courage, be quite 
 frank ; if any among you have need of his portion of the money, 
 tell me without fear or shame, as you would a friend ; I should 
 not admire a man who accepted it less than one who refused it ; 
 I simply wish that any one who needs the money should say so. 
 Courage ! Is there no one ? " 
 
 " No one ! " 
 
 " Not even one ? " and he watched every face. 
 
 " No one," they all repeated, and the tone of voice and ex- 
 pression of their eyes attested to the spontaneity of the act. 
 
 " Bravo ! " exclaimed the captain quickly. " To-morrow 
 I shall go to the municipality, and I shall say to those gentle- 
 men that the pth company of the 57th regiment offers 100 lire 
 in charity to the poor of Licata." 
 
 What they did in Licata they did in Aosta, Scansano, Genoa, 
 and many other places, whose names would fill these pages. 
 But I cannot be silent about you, brave Zamela a sapper in
 
 402 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 the engineers, who, having heard of the misfortunes with 
 which your poor Messina was afflicted, sent thirty lire to the 
 syndic, writing him : "They gave me this money because I 
 nursed the cholera patients in my regiment ; and I have nothing 
 more ; but this little I give with all my heart to the poor of my 
 native place." 
 
 Works of charity are always praiseworthy and very estimable, 
 even if the impulse which prompts us to perform them is noth- 
 ing but the desire for the gratitude and affection of those bene- 
 fited. But when not even gratitude accrues from the work, 
 and those who ought to love and bless us, return our charity 
 with hatred, and suspect snare in the offer and crime in the 
 benefit ; and yet, despite this we persist in doing good, loving 
 and pardoning with no other motive power than pity, without 
 any other comfort than our conscience, then we have a greater 
 right to esteem and praise than is usually bestowed upon the 
 common virtues. I refer to the generous work of the soldiers 
 in those places where it was supposed they were scattering 
 poison by order of the government, and the people hated and 
 cursed them. Unfortunately, these places were not a few in 
 number. 
 
 At last, when they saw that the soldiers died also, that all 
 those whom they carried to the hospitals were not poisoned, 
 that in fact the survivors never ceased praising the care and 
 affection with which they had been nursed and watched over, 
 the senseless superstition disappeared. But that the soldiers 
 poisoned the people was at first a universal belief, a profound 
 conviction, a fact which it would not have been proper to 
 doubt. There was no one who would not have sworn to it in 
 perfect faith if the occasion had offered. Every one held,
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 403 
 
 though they had seen nothing, that there were a thousand un- 
 deniable indications and proofs of that horrible conspiracy. 
 And one of these proofs, one of the most telling, the common 
 people saw in that very solicitude of the soldiers, in their wish- 
 ing to go everywhere, meddle in every thing uncalled for and 
 unforced, under the pretence of exercising a charity which they, 
 could not believe was really felt by persons like them, who were 
 paid by the government, upholders of the government, and 
 therefore, necessarily, enemies of the people. That charity 
 could only be a mask ; those works of beneficence nothing but 
 a pretext, a means to a hidden aim ; they could not explain 
 why the soldier, the instrument of an inimical government, 
 should extend one pitying hand to the poor and sick, if it were 
 not to prepare them for death by the other. In consequence 
 of this conviction and fear it is easy to imagine how the com- 
 mon people treated the soldiers. 
 
 One of the cities in which there was the strongest belief in 
 the poisoning was Catania, where the pth regiment of infantry 
 was in garrison. 
 
 The soldiers, in their hours of liberty, never went alone 
 into the city ; but always in threes, fours, or a larger num- 
 ber, in order to be quite secure from violence, or hold in 
 check any who wished to insult or harm them in an under- 
 hand way. They almost always went through the principal 
 streets and not very far from the barracks ; sometimes, and 
 only in case of necessity, in the quieter streets ; never outside 
 the city, where they certainly would have been provoked and 
 assaulted. But wherever they went, whether in small or 
 greater numbers, they were always regarded with suspicion. 
 If there was a group in the street, those whose backs were
 
 404 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 toward them turned quickly around, all took a step backward 
 and whispered something in each other's ears. " Here they 
 are," some one would say aloud. And another : " Take care ! " 
 The soldiers passed, and the group formed again. Many, on 
 seeing them coming in the distance toward them, would turn 
 a street corner. Others, in meeting them, stood aside, and 
 then stopped to look at them when they had passed with a 
 curiosity mixed with horror and fear. In the quarters of 
 the poor people, many closed their doors at their appear- 
 ance, and went to the windows ; others half-opened the blinds 
 and peeped through the cracks ; the women called in a loud 
 voice to the children who were playing in the middle of 
 the street, or caught them by the arms and carried them 
 hastily into the house ; the children rushed here and there, 
 turning back to make faces ; and as the soldiers went on, the 
 doors and windows were reopened, and the people appeared, 
 once more looking suspicious, interrogating and reassuring each 
 other in turns by signs. Not infrequently the soldiers heard 
 shouts and words from within which they could not under- 
 stand, but which, judging by angry and mocking tones, seemed 
 undoubtedly intended for them ; and raising their eyes to the 
 windows they saw a face slowly appear, which, however, was 
 withdrawn as soon as perceived, or perhaps only a hand put 
 outside the sill and shaken in a menacing way. At other times, 
 in passing, they heard an open insult or a curse muttered at 
 their backs, or some incomprehensible word ; they turned and 
 saw a face raised, looking at the clouds in an abstracted manner. 
 To call them to account for any insult would be to gather the 
 people and provoke a perfect tumult, so they kept silence and 
 went on. Sometimes instead of a word, they whirled a stone
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 405 
 
 at their ears ; if they turned back to see who it was, questioning 
 those present about it, no one had heard or seen any thing. 
 
 In going for provisions, the regiment's carts were only 
 allowed to pass through certain streets, as it was said that 
 they contained poisonous materials which infected the air. 
 In order to carry rations to those on guard, the soldiers 
 were obliged to make a detour around certain quarters ; 
 evil to them if they dared pass through them ; the mere sight 
 of the kettles aroused the people's suspicions ; in less than 
 an instant a crowd gathered, they stopped the soldiers, they 
 wanted to see what they were carrying, forced the carriers to 
 taste the broth in their presence, and then leave a portion for 
 them to try and analyze afterward. Any indication, no matter 
 how slight ; any assertion, no matter how absurd ; a word, a 
 gesture from one of the crowd, was sufficient to change the 
 doubt into a certainty, and this into madness. There was no 
 time nor way of committing a crime, because the fury of 
 the common people, always foreseen, was frustrated by a 
 quick and ready aid ; but they were not always in time to 
 prevent violence, nor could the soldiers be cautious enough 
 to succeed in avoiding, or help provoking, it every time. 
 One day, in a by-street, some common women saw a soldier 
 with a bundle under his arm hurry into a house where a short 
 time before a girl had been seized by the cholera. They be- 
 gan to wonder among themselves why that soldier had entered 
 the door. " Did you see what he had under his arm ? Did 
 you observe what a surly face he had, and that he looked around 
 suspiciously ? " Every one had noticed something strange 
 and ill-omened. They went toward the house and stopped in 
 front of the door. It was closed ; their suspicions increased.
 
 406 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 They knocked ; no one came to open. They called aloud to 
 those inside ; no one replied. There was no longer any doubt 
 that some crime was being committed in that house. They 
 raised a loud cry, beat furiously at the door, flung stones at 
 the windows ; in less than a moment the street was full of 
 people armed with sticks, and hatchets, and knives ; the door 
 was broken in and the crowd rushed into the house. Suddenly 
 a window is opened, a man in shirt-sleeves springs on to the 
 the sill, gives a shout, jumps down into the street, falls, rises 
 "It is the soldier who has been poisoning ! " shout the startled 
 crowd who throng around him ; he breaks away from them, 
 dashes through the street, and disappears. It was the soldier 
 who had entered the house a short time before to give a bun- 
 dle of linen from his sergeant to the laundress. 
 
 A few days after, something similar happened to an orderly, 
 while he was carrying the dinner to his officer, who was ill at 
 home. In one hand he held a bottle from the pharmacy, in 
 the other the four corners of a napkin with the dishes. He 
 was crossing an alley inhabited by the poor. Every one 
 watched him attentively ; some one followed him at a certain 
 distance; four or five women stopped and asked him boldly 
 what was in those dishes. He was unfortunate enough to give 
 them an impertinent reply. In less time than it takes to tell it 
 the dishes, bottle, and napkin were under the feet of a crowd 
 of people who had appeared as if by magic from all the holes 
 in the houses round about. The poor soldier hardly had time 
 to open a path for himself with his bayonet, and was thankful 
 to escape with only a scratch on his face and a stone on his 
 back. 
 
 Another time, three soldiers were passing before a group of
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 407 
 
 'houses outside the city ; one of them stopped to look at a child 
 who was digging a ditch with its hands; he said: "What a 
 beautiful child ! " stooped and gave it a caress. A woman near 
 by saw the action, dashed to the door of one of the houses, 
 and shouted in the loudest possible voice : " Quick ! quick ! 
 the soldiers are killing the child." A sharp cry was heard 
 from within at the same moment, and a woman appeared 
 at the door, saw the soldiers, rushed forward, and caught the 
 child, with a fearful shriek, in her arms, returned like a flash to 
 the house, closed the door, dashed to the window breathless, 
 trembling, her eyes starting out of their sockets, and her face 
 pale and distorted ; she stared at the soldiers, and then, ac- 
 companying her words with a vigorous gesture, as if she were 
 throwing a stone, shouted in a stifled voice : " Curse you ! " 
 and withdrew. The soldiers stood still, open-mouthed with 
 astonishment. But the woman who had given the first cry 
 had run to call some other people, so that the three poor fel- 
 lows soon had to think of saving themselves, as there was no 
 time to be lost. They had nqt gone fifty paces when the armed 
 forerunners of the mob appeared in front of the mother's 
 house. 
 
 One evening, at some distance from any habitation, a band 
 of peasants who were on the look-out for poisoners, came 
 across a soldier. Hardly had they seen him, when they ran 
 toward him. The soldier, stupidly, turned to flee. He 
 was caught up with, seized by ten hands, dragged behind 
 a lonely house, placed with his back against the wall, and 
 threatened with death. "Where do you keep the poison?" 
 ten voices asked in one breath. " I have no poison," stammered 
 the soldier, white as a ghost. " Where do you keep the poi-
 
 408 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 son ? " insisted the others threateningly. One of them took off 
 his fatigue cap, examined it and threw it on the ground ; an- 
 other pulled off his cravat. " Out with the poison ! " and the 
 one who had seized him by the collar knocked his head against 
 the wall. " I have nothing," replied the weak and supplicating 
 voice of the soldier. " Oh, you have n't any thing, eh ? Now, 
 we will see for ourselves ! " snarled the ferocious creatures, 
 and opening his coat and shirt they searched everywhere. 
 " Take off his belt," said one. They instantly seized his belt, 
 pulled him here and there to get it off, but they did not succeed, 
 and they shouted and cursed. " Oh let me alone," implored 
 the poor soldier ; "let my belt alone." They loosened it, and 
 threw it away, and forced him to take off his coat, tormenting and 
 beating him, almost sticking the points of their knives into 
 him, shouting in his ears every kind of vituperation and 
 curse. The unfortunate man, who had barely enough strength 
 left to stand, let them do whatsoever they chose without mak- 
 ing further resistance, almost out of his senses, with his head 
 and arms hanging like those of a dead person ; he murmured 
 from time to time in a weak voice : " My bayonet ; I am 
 not poisoning any one ... let me alone . . . give 
 me my things, my bayonet ! " They certainly would have 
 killed him, but as good fortune willed it, a patrol passed, and 
 dashing precipitately forward they dispersed the mob just as 
 it was on the point of shedding the unlucky fellow's blood. 
 
 This was one of the least painful affairs which took place, 
 for in Catania at least the soldiers' blood was not spilled, 
 which is more than can be said of other places. What must 
 the soldiers have felt in those days ! What must have been 
 their thoughts and conversations, in seeing themselves so
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 409 
 
 brutally execrated by the very people to whom they were 
 sacrificing their rest, health, and life ! 
 
 But for them, the continual risk of their lives, and the being 
 obliged to defend them so frequently from the violence of an 
 insensate mob, was perhaps a less painful thought and a less 
 grave care than the duty of protecting the lives of other citizens 
 from the same violence, and threatened for the same cause. 
 Every day they were obliged to disarm and quell a mob 
 blinded with fury and thirsting for blood, and to drag 
 from its hands the victims, who were almost always beaten, 
 covered with blood, often half dead, and sometimes already 
 killed. Sometimes when they could not do any thing else, they 
 were forced to fight for the posssession of the bodies, so that 
 they should not be mutilated and dragged through the streets, 
 or given a prey to the beasts or flames. They were obliged to 
 dash one by one into a crowd of armed people, who, pressing 
 and undulating here and there, separated and squeezed them 
 so that they could not have used their weapons had it been 
 necessary to do so, and any one of them could have been 
 stabbed without the others knowing any thing about it. Yet 
 they were obliged to trust themselves to that maddened crowd, 
 and coax and beseech them to be quiet, as every threat would 
 have been in vain, as in rousing their anger, they would 
 have been likely to provoke a tumult, and cause fresh blood- 
 shed, which, unfortunately, not unfrequently occurred. Yet, 
 despite this, many lives were spared, much bloodshed saved 
 and many acts of brutality prevented, especially in those 
 places where the soldiers were not suspected'of poisoning, or in 
 those days when this suspicion no longer existed. 
 
 One example will suffice for all.
 
 410 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 At Bocca di Falco, a small village near Palermo, there was 
 the cholera. The names of those upon whom the terrible 
 suspicion fell ran from mouth to mouth, and the people waited 
 for the opportunity of destroying them. Among these was 
 a poor peddler, who passed through the place every two or 
 three days, on his way to Palermo. He had long hair, a curi- 
 ous way of dressing, a proud face, brusque manners, and was 
 a man of few words ; in fact, there was quite enough about 
 him to make people believe him a poisoner. One day when 
 the cholera had been raging more fiercely than usual in the 
 place, troops of beggars, armed with picks and stipks, went 
 round about the district, indulging in threatening shouts, and 
 firmly resolved to put an end to all the poisoners. One of 
 these troops met the peddler, surrounded him before he was 
 aware of it, and crowding close about him, asked : " Well, 
 how many have you disposed of to-day?" The unfortunate 
 man understood their meaning, but thinking to save himself by 
 a joke, answered : " Ten ! " without smiling. That was suf- 
 ficient. One of the crowd gave a great kick to the box of pins 
 and cravats which he carried suspended from his neck, and 
 sent every thing into the air, saying as he did so : " This will 
 do for the present. Now show us what you poison people 
 with." " I ? " replied the former, to his misfortune, not being 
 able to restrain a gesture of indignation. " You are the ones 
 who are killing me ! " " Ah ! we are the ones ! " broke from 
 the furious crowd. And at the same moment a vigorous blow 
 filled his mouth with blood, one hand seized him by the throat, 
 another took him by the hair, a shower of blows and kicks fell 
 upon his unfortunate person, and he was dashed so violently 
 against the wall that the nape of his neck left a bloody imprint.
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 411 
 
 " Confess your accomplices, assassin ! " shouted the foremost, 
 digging their nails into his cheeks and throat, and pressing 
 their knees and sticks against his stomach. " Confess ! " And 
 those behind stretched out their hands to seize him, threw 
 themselves here and there, in order to make an opening in the 
 crowd, reach him, and give him a wound also. The luckless 
 man was dripping with blood from his mouth and ears, his 
 eyes seemed starting out of his head, a rattling sound was 
 heard in his chest, and he was a horrible sight. " Confess ! 
 confess ! " Suddenly a loud shout came from the other side of 
 the street ; it was another poisoner whom another band of 
 these madmen had assaulted and beaten ; all turned in that 
 direction ; the peddler, being free for a moment, threw back 
 with one vigorous push the two who stood at his side, dashed 
 into an open door, and closed it behind him. The crowd, per- 
 ceiving this, sprang toward the door, and began beating it 
 furiously with stones and picks. The peddler had taken 
 refuge in a small room on the ground-floor, where there was a 
 woman who had witnessed the whole scene from a window. 
 At the appearance of the poisoner she thought she was 
 doomed ; courage and the frenzy of despair took possession of 
 her, she dashed at him like a fury; seized him by the neck, 
 and began a terrible battle with teeth and nails. Both fall- 
 ing, they rolled like wild beasts on the floor, holding'tightly to 
 each other, one on top of the other as the case might be, their 
 breath and blood mingling; the crowd stretched out their 
 arms through the window gratings, extended their trembling 
 hands to seize their victim, shouting horrid words as they did 
 so. The door began to creak and give way, when, just at 
 that point, a number of voices shouted : " The soldiers ! the
 
 412 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 soldiers ! " A moment later the poor peddler he"ard the ap- 
 proach of hastening steps, saw the gleam of bayonets outside 
 the windows, caught the sound of a powerful voice above the 
 tumult which said : " Bread for all ! " and instantly thereafter 
 the blows on the door ceased, the arms of his assaulters retired 
 from the grating, and the raging shouts of the crowd were fol- 
 lowed by a low murmur. The woman lay exhausted on the 
 ground, and he was saved. The commander of the detach- 
 ment had been informed in time of what was taking place, had 
 gathered his soldiers in an instant, made each one take his 
 portion of bread, and had thus come to quell the rio{ with the 
 double weapons of menace and charity. Not one of the sol- 
 diers was suspected in the place, in fact they were always 
 looked upon kindly, and perhaps even loved for their alms- 
 giving and help, which they bestowed so generously in every 
 way, so that at their appearance the mob desisted from vio- 
 lence, and, little by little, became perfectly quiet. Part of the 
 soldiers entered the house and stood guard there ; the others 
 remained to watch those poor famished creatures who devoured 
 their bread in silence. How many of these occurrences took 
 place, and how often they were repeated in the same places ! 
 
 Yet the hardest labor and the most repulsive duty which fell 
 to the lot of the soldiers was that of burying the dead, for 
 which they were obliged to arm themselves with all the strength 
 and courage possible. Sometimes in the middle of the night 
 a messenger from the municipality would arrive at the barracks 
 to say that some bodies had just been discovered in such and 
 such a house, that no one would bury them, and that some 
 steps must be taken in the matter instantly, before putrefaction 
 rendered burial out of the question. A loud beating of the
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 413 
 
 drum waked the whole corps in a moment, and a band of sol- 
 diers was gathered. They lighted their lanterns, drew out their 
 carts, took picks and spades, the officer of the guard placed 
 himself at the head of the escort, and they started. They 
 arrived in silence at the place indicated, the streets empty and 
 the houses closed and abandoned. After much difficulty they 
 broke down the doors and an unendurable odor of decay re- 
 pelled the soldiers. " Courage ! " One goes forward with a lan- 
 tern; the others follow slowly with their hands over their mouths, 
 casting their eyes timidly around the sepulchral chamber. 
 Stretched out on the ground on sacks of straw or rags, nude 
 or illy wrapped, in horrible filth, lay the bodies, side by side, or 
 one on top of the other, carelessly thrown together : the faces 
 swollen, specked with black ; the mouth discolored by blood- 
 stained saliva ; the bodies swollen, covered with large venous 
 spots and a net-work of green stripes from the intestines 
 and veins ; all the members resting on the ground, quite 
 crushed ; every semblance of humanity distorted or lost ; and 
 here and there, in those portions which were most decayed, the 
 first manifestations of animal life. Yet they were obliged to 
 approach those horrible couches, and seize and separate the 
 different members, raise those bodies one by one, and 
 carry them to the carts seeing them change and decom- 
 pose more horribly at every step, and drop here arid there a 
 fetid rag, or some other more filthy trace of itself. Oh, it was 
 quite another thing from seeing the dead on the battle-field 
 stretched out in a pool of blood, torn by shot, or lacerated and 
 mutilated by the cannon-balls ! Then, the shouts of a thou- 
 sand comrades resound about us, we see battalions, gleaming 
 with bayonets, moving here and there through the fields and on
 
 414 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 the hillside ; the flag of the regiment waving near by ; hear 
 the distant noise of the batteries which are hastening forward ; 
 our blood boils, our souls are exalted, and the bodies we meet 
 on the road do not count, indeed are not seen or looked at, we 
 do not even think that there must be some, or if the eye falls 
 upon them, our hearts exclaim : " Farewell, brother ! " and 
 nothing else, as on we go and forget them. But there, in those 
 dwellings, at night, in the midst of that silence, in that quiet, 
 by the light of those lanterns, how horrible the image of death 
 must be ! How many of those soldiers, even the strongest of 
 them, must have had the image of these misshapen bodies before 
 him for some time, have felt the contact of those icy and flaccid 
 members, and the noise of those heads as they fell heavily on to 
 the cart ! Often some one started back horrified at the sight 
 of the dead, or his arms trembled and his eyes became veiled 
 in the act of touching them. " Oh, friend," he may have said 
 to his neighbor, " I cannot do it ! " But the voice of the ever- 
 ready officer would be heard : " Courage, boys ! every thing de- 
 pends upon taking hold of the first. We must become ac- 
 customed to it." Then the soldier put his hand timidly on 
 the body, turning away his head and holding his breath as 
 he did so. The band moved toward the cemetery. On 
 reaching it the soldiers placed their lanterns on the ground 
 and part of them dug the graves, while the others stood 
 beside the carts, waiting for a sign to bury the dead. The 
 officer stood motionless at the edge of a grave, superintend- 
 ing the soldiers' work. All were silent. Nothing was to be 
 heard but the stroke of the picks as they were struck into 
 the ground, and the falling of the earth thrown into the air 
 by the shovels. From time to time came a voice : " Cour-
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 41$ 
 
 age, boys ! " Then they dragged the bodies down from the 
 carts, a soldier held the light so that the others could see 
 where to put their hands, another stood up in the cart to 
 help those who were lifting the bodies one by one from the 
 heap, and said : " Take this one. That one. Be careful 
 of this one, because it is decayed . , ." Ten steps fur- 
 ther away nought but the slightest whisper was to be heard, 
 and now and then a louder voice : *' Courage ! " or : " Look 
 out for your hands ! " All about was darkness and silence. 
 
 K But why do we have to bury the dead ? " asked a soldier 
 once in reenteriag the barrack. " Oh ! that 's a fine question," 
 replied a corporal in a tone of profound conviction ; " because 
 others will not do it.'* There was no objection to be made to 
 such a reason, and so all were silent. 
 
 What has been told up to the present time is but little in 
 comparison to that which remains to be said. How many sadder 
 and more terrible cases followed, and how far I should still be 
 from the end of my narrative were I to attempt to tell the half 
 I know, and yet I know only so small a portion of them ! 
 
 At Sutera, a small place in the province of Caltanisetta, 
 there was a squad of the 54th regiment of infantry com- 
 manded by Sub-lieutenant Edoardo Cangiano. On the morning 
 of the azd of June a peasant arrives at the barrack in a 
 breathless condition, and presents himself before the officer. 
 " Oh, Mr. Officer I " he exclaims in a supplicating voice, <c come, 
 for pity's sake, and help us. ... The cholera has broken 
 out near here, at Campofranco ; half the people have fled ; 
 the streets are filled with the dead : there are no physicians, 
 nor undertakers ; there is not even any thing to eat. . . . 
 it 's a perfect desolation ; those who do not die of cholera will
 
 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 die of hunger. . . . Oh, come come immediately ! " 
 The squad was instantly armed, a message sent to the syndic, 
 a despatch to the military command at Caltanisetta, a notice to 
 the sergeant to stop there with a few soldiers, and away the 
 rest go toward Campofranco. They had to walk a mile or 
 more through a winding path across the fields. The sun was 
 shining brightly. The soldiers, dripping with perspiration, be- 
 fore leaving the town, proceeded one behind the other in a 
 long file, half walking, half running, listening attentively to 
 the peasant, who, in broken words, described to Cangiano the 
 sad state of the place. " Courage ! courage ! " the latter replied 
 from time to time ; "nothing is done by complaining ; this is a 
 time for deeds." He kept quickening his pace, and the sol- 
 diers with him, until they ended by actually running. At a cer- 
 tain point they began to see in the distance men, women, and 
 children wandering uncertainly through the fields, pointing the 
 soldiers out to each other, stopping, fleeing, running backward 
 and forward, calling loudly to each other, gathering and dis- 
 persing, like people who were being pursued and quite out of 
 their senses from fear. As the soldiers approached the village 
 the fugitives became more numerous, the agitation and shout- 
 ing increased ; entire families roamed about the country car- 
 rying or dragging behind them all their worldly possessions ; 
 some had put their things on the ground in order to rest ; at 
 the sight of the soldiers they took them hastily up and moved 
 off, turning timidly back as they did so. Others fell down, 
 quite worn out ; others rose ; many farther away, turning toward 
 the soldiers, shouted and waved their arms cursing. " Ah ! 
 Mr. Officer ! " exclaimed the peasant, "this is nothing ! " " No 
 matter," replied Cangiano ; " we are prepared for every
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 417 
 
 thing," The first house and the beginning of the first street 
 appeared in sight. The people, who were fleeing in the direc- 
 tion of the soldiers, turned in part at the sight of them and 
 ran back to the town, shouting as if they were announcing an 
 assault of the enemy ; the rest dashed right and left into the 
 fields. On first entering the street they saw two bodies 
 stretched on the ground before the door of an uninhabited 
 house. Hardly had they entered, when there was a speedy 
 disappearance of the people in the houses, a hasty closing of 
 doors and windows, the sharp cries of women, the weeping of 
 children, and at the end of the street a rapid gathering and 
 noisy mingling of people, then a general flight. " Quick ! " 
 shouted Cangiano ; " ten soldiers go around the place and 
 stop these people." Ten soldiers detached themselves from 
 the squad and ran through a side street. The others went on. 
 The frightened people continued to shut themselves up in their 
 houses. 
 
 " We do not wish to harm any one ! " shouted Cangiano, in 
 a loud voice. " We have come to help you ; we are your 
 friends ; come out, good people ; come out of your houses ! " 
 
 A few doors and windows began to open ; a few people be- 
 hind the soldiers began to appear ; in the houses they heard 
 the weak voices of complaint ; in the street, in front of the 
 doors, lay many unfortunate creatures weak and exhausted 
 from hunger, or seized by the epidemic, motionless and torpid 
 as if dead. Here and there were household goods abandoned 
 in the door-ways, or in the middle of the road, and at every 
 step, scattered straw and heaps of rags. In every side alley 
 which lead to the fields were one or more bodies, some cov- 
 ered with straw, some with earth, some with a few rags, among
 
 41 8 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 which appeared the blackened and swollen members ; others 
 thrown across the door-sills, half in and half out of the 
 houses. 
 
 " Look, Mr. Officer ! " exclaimed the peasant, sadly. 
 
 " We will provide for all," replied Cangiano ; " keep up your 
 courage ! " 
 
 At that point, the crowd of fugitives, who had been driven 
 back by those ten soldiers, came tumultuously toward the offi- 
 cer. " Draw up in line ! " he shouted, turning to the soldiers ; 
 and they stopped and drew up across the street. Cangiano 
 waited quietly and firmly for the crowd. The latter stopped 
 within ten paces, ceased shouting, and stood looking angrily at 
 the soldiers. They were all poor, ragged people, with pale 
 and thin faces, staring eyes, physiognomies to which their long 
 sufferings had given an expression of deadly weariness and sav- 
 age pride. " We wish to go away ! " shouted a voice from the 
 crowd. All repeated the cry, and the crowd swayed backward 
 and forward. " Why do you wish to go ? " asked Cangiano in 
 a resolute voice which was tempered with sweetness. " You 
 must remain where you are and help each other. All must 
 help in a general misfortune. It is a bad thing for each to 
 think of himself and not for all ... We have come to 
 help you." " We wish to go away ! " shouted the crowd, 
 threateningly ; and those at the back pressing hard, the fore- 
 most were thrown two or three steps forward. " Stand back ! " 
 said Cangiano calmly, then added in a loud voice : " Listen to 
 my advice : the women and children shall go into the houses ; 
 the men remain to help the soldiers bury the dead." " We do 
 not wish to die ! " replied the multitude imperiously, and 
 shouting louder still, they moved and swayed again as if to
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 4 T 9 
 
 make a dash at the soldiers. " You wish it ? well then," 
 shouted the officer ; and turning back he shouted : " Ready I " 
 The squad raised and aimed their muskets, and the crowd, 
 uttering a cry of fright, disappeared in an instant by the side 
 streets. The other ten soldiers joined the first. 
 
 " Here, firmness and courage are needed ! " exclaimed Can- 1 
 giano ; " the dead must be buried immediately ; half of you 
 go into the country and bring back, by force, as many men as 
 you can. You others come with me." Half of the squad 
 started on a quick step out of the town. The others began to 
 run here and there, to enter the houses, and hunt all around for 
 picks, shovels, carts, boards, and benches on which to carry the 
 dead out of the place. In a few moments they found every 
 thing they needed, and part of them began to gather the bodies ; 
 when they reached the neighboring cemetery they dug the 
 graves as hastily as possible ; others went to work to clear the 
 streets of the worst obstructions and disgusting filth. 
 
 Meanwhile Cangiano, followed by a soldier, went in search 
 of a house adapted for the use of a hospital, stopping all the 
 people whom he met on the way, advising, exhorting, and be- 
 seeching them to do as he wished ; and in passing he hurried 
 the soldiers, gave orders and suggestions, and comforted them 
 with kind words. He found a house, had it cleared, had beds 
 from the deserted houses carried there, went himself with four 
 soldiers to knock at the doors of all the other dwellings, and 
 asked to be allowed to carry away the sick, whom he would 
 nurse and take care of, saying that their families should be as- 
 sisted. They replied in the negative ; he offered them money, 
 begged, threatened ; all was in vain. Then the soldiers en- 
 tered the houses by force ; two of them seized* the invalid, and
 
 420 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 two others kept back with their arms the relatives and neigh- 
 bors. Very often they were obliged to lift away the women 
 from the doorways where they blocked up the entrance with 
 their own bodies ; had to struggle with, repulse them forcibly, 
 and finally drag them off. 
 
 After much labor, a large number of the sick were already 
 lodged in the new hospital, and two or three of the soldiers had 
 provided for their needs while waiting the arrival of assistance 
 from Caltanisetta, when the other half of the squad returned 
 to the town dragging by force a band of peasants whom they 
 had arrested in the country. Cangiano ran to meet them, 
 divided them into various groups, and had them led to their 
 different works. The newly arrived soldiers began to work 
 too ; in a short time the bodies which were in the streets had 
 been buried, the streets cleared and cleaned ; they began to 
 go in turn to fetch the sick, and little by little, now by persua- 
 sion, now by force, they succeeded in getting the greater part 
 into the hospital. On every side there was a continual coming 
 and going, a calling to one another, and a continuous hurry 
 of soldiers. The people, who began to gather, stood look- 
 ing at them from a distance, half suspiciously, half amazed ; 
 those scattered throughout the country came gradually nearer 
 the town to see what was going on. The first arrivals, no 
 longer seeing the bodies before the houses, took courage and 
 entered ; many began spontaneously to clear the streets of the 
 remaining filth ; others entered the houses ; some crowded 
 around Cangiano, watching him with astonishment, not utter- 
 ing a word, still a trifle diffident, but quite prepared to tender 
 thanks for what had been done and to pray also. Cangiano, 
 though never ceasing to run here and there in order to encour-
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 421 
 
 age the soldiers, turned from time to time to the people who 
 were following them, and said : "Come now, go and help those 
 poor fellows who have been working so long for you ; go and 
 call those who have fled into the country ; we can all do some- 
 thing ; let us get the town in order ; the syndic will return ; 
 the gentlemen will come back and help you ; so will the bakers 
 and physicians ; help will soon arrive from Caltanisetta. Cour- 
 age ! come now, let us all work ; there is a remedy for every 
 trouble, and we will remedy even this. We came here for 
 your good, rest assured of that, my good people ; what have 
 you to fear from the soldiers ? Don't we all belong to the 
 same country ; are we. not all your brothers and defenders ?" 
 These words were followed by a murmur of approbation in the 
 crowd ; some instantly detached themselves therefrom and ran 
 to the assistance of the soldiers ; others went toward the coun- 
 try ; many scattered through the streets ; the remainder gath- 
 ered around the officer with laments and supplications : " We 
 are without bread. We are hungry." " I know it, my good 
 people ; have a little patience and the bread will come ; I 
 will do all that I can for you ; I will send my soldiers to get 
 something to eat at Sutera ; we will give you all that we have. 
 But meanwhile you must work, carry away the dead, nurse the 
 sick, and help each other." Then the people thanked him, 
 began to beg again, complain, and ask for bread. 
 
 Suddenly a soldier ran up and whispered in Cangiano's ear. 
 A difficult test of their charity and strength was now to be 
 given ! Cangiano saw, very wisely, that every thing must be 
 done secretly, so ordered those present to go and wait for the 
 expected succor on the road leading to Caltanisetta, called 
 fifteen soldiers with their muskets, made twenty peasants with
 
 422 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 pistols step forward, and went off with them to one end of the 
 village, where there was a little church which had been aban- 
 doned. They stopped at the door, tried it, and found it closed. 
 They pulled it down, and all started back together with a cry 
 of horror. In the middle of the church, which was only a trifle 
 larger than an ordinary room, was a heap of twenty decayed 
 bodies. " Forward ! " shouted the officer. The soldiers dashed 
 into the church, but the peasants started back. " Forward ! " 
 shouted Cangiano again. No one moved. He stepped for- 
 ward, they took to flight, the soldiers sprang after them, and 
 in a moment had reached and seized them. " Drag those 
 cowards here ! " shouted Cangiano from the church door. 
 The soldiers dragged them by the arms with the utmost 
 difficulty, pushing them by blows, and threatening them 
 with their muskets. But as they were about to enter they 
 began a more obstinate resistance, planting their feet firm- 
 ly on the ground just as restive horses do, struggling and 
 shouting desperately, almost as if they were being dragged to 
 torture. " Out with your bayonets ! " shouted the officer, 
 scornfully, as he seized one by the waist and flung him into 
 the church ; the soldiers set their bayonets and raised them as 
 if to charge. " Forward, you cowards, or we will stick them 
 into you ! " "You want to kill us ! " the peasants cried. "We 
 will all die ! " replied the soldiers proudly, " but you must 
 enter ! " With a final effort, they pushed them all in. Here 
 a terrible piece of work began. The bodies were in a complete 
 state of decomposition and were a shapeless mass, so that they 
 could not even be lifted from the ground. The men were 
 obliged to break up the benches of the church, place two 
 boards under each body, and seizing them by the ends, raise
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 423 
 
 the putrid weight with their arms outstretched, and their faces 
 turned away, as the appearance of those bodies was something 
 too terrible. At every jar they received, a green matter ran 
 from the mouth and ears and spread over the faces, and the 
 black skin of the dangling arms and legs seemed ready to 
 detach itself from the bones and dissolve entirely. Cangiano 
 sent four soldiers to gather wood from the few deserted houses 
 near by. The latter, not rinding any thing else, took tables, 
 chairs, blinds, any thing that would burn, and piled every 
 thing up in the middle of a field, a short distance from the 
 church. The bodies were carried out one by one, and thrown 
 on to the heap ; fire was set to it, and all were burned. There 
 was not one body left in all Campofranco. Between those 
 buried and burned they had disposed of more than sixty. 
 
 When Cangiano saw the first flames starting, he returned 
 to the town, where he continued, in an indefatigable man- 
 ner, the good work he had begun, until a captain arrived 
 from Caltanisetta, with a good supply of food, medicine, and 
 money, and with these he went from house to house, through 
 all Campofranco, helping the poor and sick, reassuring those 
 who were frightened, and filling all hearts with hope and peace. 
 In a short time all the fugitives re'turned, the municipality was 
 reorganized, every one resumed his former occupation, the 
 town changed its aspect, and Cangiano and his soldiers re- 
 turned to Sutera, accompanied by the benedictions of all. In 
 Sutera, too, the epidemic was raging, and there also Cangiano 
 performed miracles in the way of charity and courage. On 
 the eleventh of August, the municipal body of the city unani- 
 mously acclaimed him the benefactor of the place, and ex- 
 pressed the gratitude of the citizens in a letter full of enthusi-
 
 424 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 asm and affection. May these poor pages have the power of 
 making his name beloved and revered in the hearts of many, 
 as it is in mine ! 
 
 Let us recall some other facts and names. The sub-lieuten- 
 ant, Livio Vivaldi, commanded a detachment of the 54th regi- 
 ment at Palazzo Adriano. The cholera spread there. The 
 syndic, physicians, chemists, and priests all fled ; no one but 
 the poor remained. Vivaldi kept every thing in order, and 
 provided for all. During the day, he visited the sick, hastened 
 the burials, had the place cleaned and disinfected, and at 
 night gave chase to the highwaymen who were scourging the 
 country. Once, on the evening of the tenth of July, while he 
 was distributing bread in the houses of the poor, he was in- 
 formed that a band of malefactors had gathered at a short dis- 
 tance from the place. He ran to the barracks, took ten sol- 
 diers with him, went out into the country, surprised the band, 
 attacked it, was wounded, continued to fight, put it to flight, 
 killed the head of it, arrested the others, returned to the town, 
 and the following morning took up again his office of physician 
 and almoner. And this was one instance among many. 
 
 At Gangi, in the province of Termini, the cholera broke out 
 toward the middle of June. Half the population fled. Those 
 who remained hid the dead, and shut themselves up in their 
 houses for fear of being poisoned. During the night of the 
 26th the boldest armed themselves and began rushing about 
 the country, firing blindly into the windows and doors, and 
 against any whom they happened to meet. The sharp-shooters 
 from Petralia Sottana gathered, and gave chase throughout 
 the night to the rioters, dispersed them with great diffi-
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 425 
 
 cully, and when the riot was quelled, entered the houses 
 by force, found thirteen unburied bodies, interred them 
 with their own hands, though their lives were threatened by 
 the infuriated multitude. 
 
 The cholera had broken out at Menfi. The people were 
 without physicians, medicine, money, or bread. Twenty-four 
 bodies lay unburied for forty-eight hours. A rebellion was im- 
 minent. General Medici was informed of the state of affairs 
 by telegraph. The detachment of Sciacca received instant or- 
 ders to proceed to Menfi. Twenty-four hours afterward, the 
 general received the following despatch : " The detachment 
 arrived. Buried the dead. Order restored. Medicines and 
 provisions distributed. The communal administration provided 
 for." 
 
 At Grammichele, two deaths having taken place from cholera, 
 the populace, suspecting poison, armed themselves, attacked 
 the carabineers, killed one of them, wounded another mortally, 
 so that the rest were forced to shut themselves up in the bar- 
 racks, where they were besieged all night, an attempt being 
 made at every moment to break down the doors and rush in 
 and kill them. Forty soldiers of the pth regiment of infantry, 
 commanded by Sub-lieutenant Goi, came from Caltagirone. At 
 their appearance the armed bands dispersed ; but, becoming 
 aware of the small number of soldiers, they gathered again, 
 moved against them, insulted and threatened them, shouting 
 that they wished to search their knapsacks, and take possession 
 of the poison therein. The number of rioters was ten times 
 greater than that of the soldiers ; a massacre was imminent ; 
 reinforcements were demanded from Caltagirone ; fresh sol- 
 diers arrived in great haste ; and all together, after a long
 
 426 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 struggle, succeeded in getting together fifteen of the national 
 guards, with whom they scoured the country and town all 
 night long, though threatened and assaulted at every moment. 
 Finally, they succeed in establishing quiet. The rioters had 
 attached to one house in the place a proclamation which ran 
 thus -. " Courage ! Up ; courage, companions ! Do not desist 
 from what you propose doing ; do not be cowards, but vindi- 
 cators of the country's honor. Are you afraid of a handful of 
 soldiers ? Get rid of them and put them to flight. Down with 
 the vile and opprobrious bands of the government break the 
 murderous pots of poison which your superiors, infamous ex- 
 ecutors of the royal decrees, kindly place at your lips ! " This 
 
 4 
 
 is an exact quotation. 
 
 At Longobucco, a province of Rossano, a certain Guiseppe 
 Citini died of cholera toward the end of July. The common 
 people believed that he had died of poison ; they broke, armed, 
 into the syndic's house ; invaded Citini's house and sacked it ; 
 robbed the house of the chemist, Felicetti, and destroyed the 
 pharmacy ; rang the bells violently, ran furiously through the 
 streets during the whole night, shouting that they wished to 
 put to death all property-owners and public officers. The 
 following morning they tried to break into the sharp-shooters' 
 barracks, and hunted again for the syndic in order to kill him. 
 And this they would have done, if the marshal of the cara- 
 bineers, the quartermaster-sergeant, Allisio, and the sergeant, 
 Cenderini, of the sharp-shooters, had not courageously dashed 
 into the middle of the crowd and succeeded in dissuading them 
 from their iniquitous design? and prevented the burning of 
 various houses and the murder of many citizens. They main- 
 tained a little quiet in the place until the following morning,
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 427 
 
 when a company of the 45th battalion of sharp-shooters, com- 
 manded by Captain Ippolito Viola, arrived, and dispersed the 
 crowd, which had begun to grow riotous. But the most furious 
 instantly shut themselves up in the houses, and fired upon the 
 sharp-shooters, two of whom fell wounded, and the marshal was 
 nearly killed. Then the sharp-shooters, enraged at this ob- 
 stinate resistance, broke in the doors of the houses, rushed in, 
 surprised the rebels with their weapons in their hands . . . 
 and spared their lives. Thus ended the sedition of Longo- 
 bucco. in which, be it noted, the most wicked deeds were com- 
 mitted by the women. 
 
 In Ardore, a commune of Geraci, there were six carabi- 
 neers and twenty-four soldiers of the 68th regiment of 
 infantry, commanded by Sub-lieutenant Gazzone. On the 
 morning of the 4th of September the people armed them- 
 selves and gathered outside the town to the shout of " Death 
 to the poisoners ! " When they were sufficient in number, 
 they broke into the place. Gazzone, trusting to the sympathy 
 which the people had shown for him on more than one occa- 
 sion, moved quietly against the multitude, and tried to quiet it 
 with a few kind words ; he was answered by two balls in his 
 chest, which killed him instantly. I will refrain from telling 
 you what was done to his body, in order not to add horror to 
 horror. The soldiers, attacked so hastily, powerless to resist, 
 had barely time to take refuge in the carabineers' barracks, into 
 which three families by the name of Lo Schiavo, whom the popu- 
 lace thought guilty of poisoning, and whose house had been 
 burned, had fled in the morning. An immense crowd gath- 
 ered in front of the barracks, and -demanded that the poisoners 
 should be given into their hands. The head of the families,
 
 428 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 the elder Lo Schiavo, was courageous enough to go to the win- 
 dow, and from there, with clasped hands, weeping and sobbing 
 in a heart-breaking way, beg the crowd to spare at least the 
 women and children. He was answered that they would all 
 be torn to bits. The poor father, in a fit of desperation, 
 fired into the street. This was the signal for assault. The 
 multitude, uttering a loud cry of fury, dashed with axes against 
 the doors and began to launch a shower of balls and stones 
 against the windows. The soldiers defended themselves from 
 within by shots. The struggle lasted more than an hour. 
 Finally, seeing that all their efforts were in vain, the people set 
 fire to the barracks. A horrible scene followed. The flames, 
 which were already enveloping the entire building, and the 
 walls beginning to crack, played through the rooms ; the air was 
 burning, and the beams of the roof bursting ; from outside 
 came hisses and shouts of joy, inside were heard the despairing 
 cries of women and children ; seven soldiers and Lo Schiavo 
 lay stretched in their blood. Reduced to this extremity, the 
 corporal, Albani, decided to attempt the only means of escape 
 that remained ; he gathered the three families into one group ; 
 ordered his few soldiers to take the wounded on their shoul- 
 ders ; then he, and the others after him, hastily opened a door, 
 and, with lowered bayonets, dashed head downward into the 
 crowd. The latter, astonished at such incredible audacity, 
 gave way ; but hardly had they passed, when the mob fired and 
 killed several members of the unfortunate family ; the others 
 saved themselves, partly in the houses, partly in the country ; 
 the soldiers were not overtaken. Two days after this three 
 companies of infantry from Gerace, Monteleone, and Reggio 
 arrived in Ardore and restored quiet. Captain Onesti, of the
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 429 
 
 staff, who took upon himself the management of the commune 
 for some time ; Major Gastaldini, who was commanding the 
 military forces of Ardore and the neighborhood ; and Broglia, 
 doctor of the battalion, behaved in such a way that I cannot 
 find words with which to praise them sufficiently. I say noth- 
 ing of the soldiers, who there, as elsewhere, worked for the 
 town with indefatigable zeal and earnest pity. 
 
 It is not necessary to say how the commanders of the corps 
 and divisions behaved during the time the cholera lasted, 
 because the population, municipalities, and the press awarded 
 them the highest praise and gave full testimony of their deeds. 
 But among the many names dear to the army and country, 
 there is one I cannot withhold, no matter how easily every 
 reader may guess it, and have already divined, pernaps with a 
 spontaneous heart-throb, all that I wish to say of him : it is 
 General Medici. 
 
 What he did from the beginning to prevent the spread- 
 ing of the cholera and to preserve the troops from it, has been 
 already told. It is easy to imagine what he did afterward. 
 At work night and day with mind and body, each moment 
 brought the announcement of some fresh disaster, or of new 
 tumults, which there seemed to be no end to the consultations, 
 orders, and precautions that were necessary. He betook himself 
 now to one place, now to another, in order to assure himself 
 that the military authorities were fulfilling their duties ; he 
 visited barracks, prisons, hospitals, and the homes for the con- 
 valescent. Noteworthy, among others, was the visit to Mes- 
 sina, where he lost a very distinguished officer of his staff, the 
 good and brave Captain Tito Tabacchi ; and that other, in the
 
 430 MILITARY LIFE, 
 
 days when the cholera was raging most fiercely at Terrasini, 
 where he entered the houses of the poor to offer them assist- 
 ance and comfort, and improvised hospitals, gathered nurses 
 together, and inspired so much confidence by word, deed, and 
 his perfect serenity, that he left the place entirely changed. 
 He was always diligent, provident, and charitable, but at the 
 pillow of the sick, full of divine compassion ! He went every 
 week to the two military hospitals of Palermo, Sesta Casa, and 
 Sant 'Agata, visited them thoroughly, asking about and ex- 
 amining every thing, advising and encouraging the physicians, 
 nurses, and sick, with the solicitude of a father. The visit of the 
 fifteenth of August, at the height of the epidemic, is a memora- 
 ble one. He went to the hospital with several officers of his 
 staff. He was waited for at the door of the first ward by the 
 physicians. At his appearance, the nurses formed two lines 
 along the beds. Some of the sick, the majority dangerously ill, 
 turned their face toward the door. The general approached 
 the first bed ; all the others formed a semicircle around him ; 
 at his side was the medical director. The patient was very ill, 
 his face was cadaverous, his eyes sunken and bloodshot, his lips 
 black, and his breathing labored and interrupted by heavy 
 sobs. He was quite out of his head. At the approach of all 
 these people, he raised his eyes to the general's face, and kept 
 them there fixed and motionless without any expression. The 
 doctor went up to him and asked, as he pointed out Medici : 
 
 " Do you know this gentleman ? " 
 
 The soldier looked at the doctor without making any sign. 
 
 " Do you know him ? " the latter repeated. 
 
 Then he seemed to understand the question. The physician 
 said in loud tones :
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 431 
 
 " It is General Medici." 
 
 " Medici . . . Medici . . ." murmured the sick man, 
 confusedly ; he looked at him, moved his lips as if to smile or 
 say a word, bent his head as a sign of assent, then came a vio- 
 lent sob, his eyes become motionless and senseless, and he gave 
 no other sign of understanding. The general looked anxiously 
 at the doctor. " Not yet," the latter replied, and on they moved. 
 
 In one of the neighboring beds was a corporal who died the 
 following day. 
 
 He was conscious, but much depressed. The skin of his 
 face was shrivelled, covered with livid spots and glistening 
 with a cold perspiration. When the general approached his 
 bed, he looked at him, now half closing, now dilating his eyes, 
 and uttering an exhausted groan. 
 
 "How do you feel ? " said the general. 
 
 The man shook his head slightly and turned his eyes up- 
 ward in sign of utter discouragement. 
 
 " Courage ! my son ; you must keep up your spirits ; you 
 must think of getting well." 
 
 The sick man, making an effort, murmured : " I should not 
 be sorry to die." 
 
 " Die ! what are you talking about ! You must not despair, 
 my good fellow ; you will get well ; the physician says that you 
 will recover ; is n't it so, doctor, he is going to get well ? " 
 
 The soldier gave a quick glance at the doctor, made a 
 motion with his head as if to say no, then looked fixedly at 
 Medici, and said in a weak voice : " Thank you, general." 
 
 The latter bowed his head, stood thinking for a moment, 
 and then passed to another bed. Here lay a soldier on the 
 road to recovery, who would not take a certain medicine.
 
 43 2 MILITARY LIFE, 
 
 " Why won't you take it ? " asked the general. 
 
 " It hurts me," the former replied timidly. 
 
 " No, it does not hurt you, my dear fellow. Will you believe 
 me if I taste it ?" and taking a cup which the doctor handed 
 him, he swallowed some it and gave it to the soldier who 
 was looking at him in surprise. " Courage, drink it ! " The 
 soldier drank, made a wry face, and then laughed. 
 
 The general asked another who was to be removed to the 
 home for the convalescents : " How do you feel now ? " 
 
 " How do I feel ? " replied the soldier. " Ah, Mr. General, 
 very hungry." 
 
 So he moved gradually on through the wards ; the sick, who 
 were able to do so, rose to a sitting position, or raised them- 
 selves slightly on their elbows, listening attentively and stretch- 
 ing out their necks to hear what he was saying, and to look him 
 in the face. 
 
 The last one visited was a dying man. His face was dis- 
 torted beyond recognition, with that imprint of old age, that 
 expression of great fear, which is peculiar to cholera patients, 
 and which, once seen, is never forgotten. He was raving, 
 murmuring indistinct words, moving his arms incessantly, and 
 picking at his counterpane as if looking for something, or 
 raising his hands as if to seize something that was floating be- 
 fore his eyes. He was a young sergeant who, in those sad days 
 of the cholera, had given every possible proof of courage, con- 
 stancy, and charity. " He has only a few more hours to live," 
 said the doctor in an undertone. The general looked a long 
 time at him with a sad and thoughtful face. He was certainly 
 thinking that that brave young fellow was dying far from his 
 own, without any comfort or any tears ; he thought of his
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 433 
 
 family, of so many others dying like him, so many other 
 families like his own, who would be deprived of their dearest 
 members. . . . Suddenly he started, gave a sigh, and 
 moved off, saying: "He has spent his life nobly." And the 
 others all followed him silently. 
 
 The last province in which the cholera raged at the end of 
 '67 was that of Reggio di Calabria. It had already ceased in 
 Sicily. During the first days of September, the long and fre- 
 quent rains having produced a marked depression in the at- 
 mosphere, the cholera had begun to decrease slowly in the 
 provinces of Palermo and Messina, and rapidly in those of 
 Trapani, Girgenti, Syracuse, Catania, and Caltanisetta. It 
 broke out again in these two cities toward the middle of Sep- 
 tember ; but only for a few days. After which the general health 
 improved in all parts of the island, so that in the month of 
 October the army only lost twenty men, and November seven, in 
 December none, or one or two at most. From the beginning 
 of the decrease of the epidemic, the cities, villages, and country 
 changed their entire aspect. The first terror, which had 
 crushed every feeling of love of country or charity in the 
 hearts of the majority of the citizens, having subsided, the 
 fugitives, the greater number of whom were rich or well-to-do 
 people, began to return to their homes, and to scatter among 
 the indigent population that assistance, in the way of money, 
 work, and advice, which they had denied at first. And the 
 people took courage instantly, and, as if waking from a pro- 
 found and painful lethargy, returned little by little to the ordi- 
 nary duties of life, which had been laid aside or performed at 
 intervals, with an inertia and a species of timid bewilderment
 
 434 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 under that continuous danger and before that continual spec- 
 tacle of death. The streets, squares, shops, were filled, the 
 workshops opened once more, commerce began to revive, and 
 the joyful sound of labor sprang up where solitude and silence 
 had reigned before, or only the lament of the dying or beggars 
 had been heard. The public administrations, deserted by 
 dead, fugitive, or expelled officials, were put in working order 
 again ; were reorganized, and upheld by those citizens who had 
 abandoned them at first ; they began to dedicate themselves to 
 the needs of the country in an active, intelligent, and quiet 
 way. The highwaymen, rendered audacious by the general 
 confusion and fright, and scarcity of the troops, who were 
 interested for the most part in graver duties, had committed 
 every kind of depredation in city and country. On perceiving 
 now, that, with the cessation of the cholera, the military forces 
 would all turn against them with renewed vigor, they began to 
 restrain themselves, and the condition of the public se- 
 curity suddenly improved. The soldiers had a little rest 
 at last, could indulge in unbroken and quiet slumber at night, 
 and during the day they could eat, in peace, their black bread, 
 which had been earned by such long and wearisome labors. 
 
 Like the convalescent, who, when returning to the usages of 
 every-day life, is amused by every thing, glad to see every 
 person, and attends with the greatest solicitude and joy to all 
 those duties which^ie formerly neglected or disliked, so the 
 soldiers, on abandoning that life so full of labor and sadness, 
 took up their ordinary occupations, even those that had seemed 
 most irksome at first, as a sort of amftsement ; almost all of 
 them felt a freshness of affection and hope, a great joyfulness, a 
 powerful desire to open their hearts to one another, to become
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 435 
 
 expansive, and to fraternize. Throughout the barracks re- 
 sounded once more the songs, shouts, and that noisy bustle of 
 life which had entirely ceased for so long a time ; every thing 
 was changed and revivified. 
 
 But in order to form a just idea of the feelings of the soldiers 
 in those days, it was necessary to enter the hospitals of the con- 
 valescents, where the rest and silence left their thoughts and 
 minds at perfect liberty. 
 
 Let us enter a moment to give a last greeting to our good 
 and brave soldiers. 
 
 Toward the end of September, that same year, a soldier of 
 the pth regiment of infantry wrote me a letter from Catania, 
 begging me to tell in some military journal what had been done 
 for his comrades and himself by the officers of his regiment. 
 He had been ill with the cholera, and was almost well, so wrote 
 me from a convent where his colonel had established a hospital 
 for convalescents, and where he had been for more than a 
 month. " Here we are," says the letter, " after so many perils 
 and misfortunes, still alive, for a wonder." Then follows a long 
 description of the convent, situated on a little hill and entirely 
 surrounded by beautiful gardens, where the convalescents could 
 go for recreation ; with a spacious court-yard, filled with large 
 trees, under the shade of which they used to walk a great 
 part of the day, chatting, reading, or playing at draughts with 
 stones ! He told me then that each one of them had a cell to 
 himself with a window on the garden ; that in his, the ivy had 
 grown about the grating, and that the branches of trees came 
 in through the bars. " We have a good bed, two chairs, and 
 have become as fond of the little rooms as if they were our 
 homes. I keep every thing clean and in order in mine, just like
 
 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 a woman who thinks of nothing but her family and her house." 
 Then he told me of the food, which was excellent, and indulged 
 in encomiums upon and thanks to the directors of the hos- 
 pital. " It must be confessed that we liVe very well. Just 
 fancy : meat morning and night, and good wine and soup. 
 We are more than content. In case you desire to publish what 
 I have written, pray be kind enough to give the names of those 
 to whom we are indebted for all this kind care. They are 
 Lieutenant-Colonel Croce and Captain Mirto, the two directors 
 of the hospital ; and Dr. Longhi, who has done all that he could 
 for the soldiers, and to whom we are deeply attached." Then 
 he described the groups of convalescents, seated under the 
 shade of the trees in the court, pale, exhausted, with sunken 
 eyes ; who talked of past events, dangers which they had en- 
 countered, and the sufferings endured, and comforted them- 
 selves with the thought of their distant families, to whom sooner 
 or later they should return. " Oh, how gladly," he added, " as 
 you can imagine, after so long a time, so many experiences, and 
 an illness of this kind ! " From that letter, written so simply and 
 with so much ingenuousness, I felt in a measure imbued with the 
 calm, weary quiet that must have reigned in that silent enclos- 
 ure ; the first time that I read it I seemed to see those poor, thin, 
 worn faces, and to hear the weak, slow voices. At a certain 
 hour the officers came to visit the soldiers of their companies. 
 It was a delightful sight ! One could see those good fellows 
 rise with difficulty to their feet, carry their thin hands to their 
 caps, and in replying to the anxious questions of their officers, 
 show their gratitude by a smile in which affection and respect 
 mingled in the loveliest and gentlest way. 
 
 The letter of my soldier ends at this point, and I stop with
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 437 
 
 him, stop with the picture before my eyes of that smile of 
 gratitude which moves and affects me deeply. 
 
 The cholera of 1867 was a great misfortune for the army 
 not less than for the country, but one not without its good 
 results. 
 
 The army gained advantage in discipline, and it is easy to 
 understand in what way. Even for those soldiers to whom the 
 discipline seemed hardest, on account of their obstinacy, lack 
 of docility, or because they were quite wanting in any idea of 
 country or nationality and unable to comprehend either it, or 
 the necessity for military rigor, even for these soldiers, 
 in the midst of the misfortunes caused by the cholera, the 
 discipline lost all that had at first seemed odious and insup- 
 portable, and assumed quite a different aspect. Naturally, 
 even the roughest minds, understanding how much there was 
 that was noble and generous in doing and suffering for the 
 public health, saw, too, that if instead of being soldiers, 
 united and subject to discipline, they had been peasants or 
 operatives, who were free and independent, they would prob- 
 ably all have fled from every duty or peril, and each provided 
 for his own individual safety. They felt, therefore, that a part 
 of the merit of their noble work did not belong to them, and 
 they ascribed it tacitly to that discipline, the sad consequences 
 of the lack of which, they saw and experienced every day in 
 the other classes of the population. The more they admitted 
 the good intention of all those laws and of all those measures 
 which they had at first considered as unreasonable and useless 
 aggravations, the more they saw the effects which issued from 
 their own hands, and which they could not help admiring and 
 being proud of, they gradually formed a just idea of discipline,
 
 MILITARY LIFE, 
 
 and resigned themselves to it as a salutary necessity. Besides 
 this, that domesticity, that fraternizing which springs up and 
 increases so rapidly between the officers and soldiers in the 
 occasion of great perils or common misfortunes, had made the 
 most obtuse and malevolent understand that if, in the connec- 
 tions of ordinary life, there is a rigorous and unalterable divi- 
 sion, that does not arise from a spontaneous desire on the part 
 of the officer, but from custom, from a general rule dictated 
 by the need of discipline and recognized by all as necessary, 
 either from intuition or experience. This being fully un- 
 derstood, there naturally disappeared all those grudges and 
 rancors generally felt by quarrelsome soldiers against the 
 austere and inexorable officers, an ill feeling which, for 
 the most part, is produced by a false amour propre, and 
 which diffidence and timidity only increase ; and they did dis- 
 appear in fact. In the face of that continual spectacle of 
 misfortune, in the midst of that solemn unanimity of affection 
 and good-will, every one understood quite clearly how petty 
 and selfish his personal hates and resentments were, and felt 
 them disappear from his heart of their own accord without 
 his being obliged to fight them. Besides this, the opera- 
 tions of the officers and soldiers had been for a long time of 
 such a nature, that the orders of the superiors mingled, not 
 only in substance, but also in form, with the most simple pre- 
 cepts of religion, taught by mothers to their young children. 
 Certain talks which the officers had with the soldiers might be 
 repeated word for word by a sacred orator on parchment, and 
 certain orders for the day by the colonels were taken purely 
 from the Gospel. Therefore, it was not possible that even 
 the most ignorant and stupid soldiers could rebel at the
 
 THE CHOLERA OF 1867. 439 
 
 orders of their superiors, or could doubt the rectitude, discuss 
 the fitness, or deny the duty of obedience. Thus, little by 
 little, the sentiment of religion took the place of that of dis- 
 cipline, and that which would have been done unwillingly from 
 force, was done most gladly from an impulse of charity. On 
 the other hand, that affectionate solicitude which the officers 
 had displayed for the soldiers on every occasion, in visiting 
 them in the hospitals, assisting them with their own money, 
 comforting, counselling, and protecting them, had produced 
 such an effect, that in the hearts of the latter the senti- 
 ments of gratitude and duty intermingled in such a way as to 
 take away even the idea that they could be separated or 
 opposed. Understanding discipline as it is and ought to be, 
 understanding the principles upon which it is based and moves, 
 the aims to which it tends, and the effects it obtains, even the 
 intellect of the humblest soldier takes in this great edifice, the 
 army ; comprehends the praiseworthy combination and har- 
 mony of the forces by which it is ruled ; feels that they are 
 foundations for the warmest affections of the family, and the 
 most sacred laws of religion , and as he goes on contemplating 
 the whole, he sees it rise and become illumined on a height 
 which neither the declamations of philosophers nor the com- 
 plaints of the common people can reach. This was the effect 
 produced upon the soldiers ; in this way discipline was en- 
 forced. 
 
 And the country ? 
 
 The most splendid proof of the effect produced upon the 
 country by the magnificent conduct of the army was given by 
 the Sicilian people at the end of '67, and has been repeated re- 
 cently, the dearest proof that could be given to the army
 
 440 MILITARY LIFE. 
 
 and to Italy, the admirable result of the conscription. Oh f 
 that people, so full of pride, daring, and fire, cannot help giving 
 us brave soldiers ! 
 
 And what was the soldier's reward ? 
 
 One evening, after the roll-call at retreat, the quartermaster- 
 sergeant read the colonel's order for the day, in which he said : 
 " You have done your duty! "
 
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