Military life in Italy : sketches

Front matter

CORNELL

UNIVERSITY

LIBRARY

Author's Preface

Some time ago, in speaking of one of these sketches, two readers, who were exceedingly emotiohal, unwittingly revealed 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.

Table Of Contents

PAGE

A Midsummer March i

The Orderly g

II

Upon one of the last evenings of 1866, our division, which in the afternoon had left Battaglia (a large place on the eastern 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 centre ar|/l 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 trembles 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 bands ; of feeling myself kissed in the face by burning mouths, with the same fury with which a mother would kiss her son on 5rst seeing him after a long absence ; of having felt the contact of many gloves wet with tears ; of having stopped several limes to disengage my sword from the hands of some boy who ivas 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 hearing 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 violently together and instantly separating, according to the impetuosity of the embrace and the rapid separation of the civilians and soldiers. The boys seized the soldiers by the hems oi their coats or by the sheath of the bayonet, and jealously disputed 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. 6j

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 benedictions 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 little birds in a nest at the appearance of the mother. Somechildren 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 toward him. I saw some excellent women put their children out to the officers so that they might kiss them, as if that embrace were a benediction from heaven. I saw tottering old men pressing the heads of the soldiers against their breasts, and holding 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, 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 outburst 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 1 " And here a long pressure of the hand and a reciprocal 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 promise 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 excited, 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, salutations, 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 uttering cries of farewell ; but little by little, as it grew dark, the crowd could no longer be seen, the cries ceased, the soldiers 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 arriving 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 eyeg, as we do when we wake in the room of a 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 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, perhaps, 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. J I

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 staggetejl 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 expose 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 ^irords, and while they, all were gathering about the boy, and asking me who he was and where I had

: MILITARY LIFE.

und him, we heard a blast of the trumpet and the regiment jpped. While the ranks broke up and the soldiers threw emselves down, I, dragging behind me the little fugitive, enred a field on the right of the road, and the others followed ;. About ten paces from the ditch we stopped ; a soldier with antern came up ; we gathered around the boy, and throwing e light on to his face, bent down to look at iiim. He was autiful, but pale and exhausted, and had in his eyes — two autiful, great dark eyes — a very strange expression of sadss for a child of his age, as he could not be more than elve. His old, worn, and ill-fitting garments were a strong ntrast to his delicate and gentle appearance. He wore an d straw hat to which a great portion of the brim was lackg, a blue handkerchief around his neck, a fustian jacket large ough for a man, a pair of trousers that only reached his kles, and two old shoes laced with twine. But he was neat ,d not ragged ; he had his handkerchief knotted with a certain ace ; his hair arranged ; and face, hands, and shirt quite clean, e looked first in the face of one and the other with wideretched, 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, md why did n't you go back with them ? " Then another : " What do you wish to do here with us ? here do you wish to go ? "

He looked first at one and then at the other, with his eyes rtrays wide-stretched ; then dropped them and was silent. " Speak up, now ; say something," said one of us, shaking m lightly by the shoulder ; " have you lost your tongue ?'.'

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. " Andwho 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, a-fter 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 ; donit worry about any thing. You will have as many fathers 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 demonstrations 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 rosoliol "

"No, thank you, I am not thirsty"; and he tried to push back the flask of rosoUo 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."

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 exchanging 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 regirment." <

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. Carluccio 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 laughing, 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. Jf

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 himself between two tents, and stood there frightened and astonished, 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 company 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 ofiScer of the guard —

> MILITARY LIFIL

od forbid that he should notice the light — and the painful ruggle between the affection which breaks out impatiently id the word that one cannot express ! That is the place id the hour for melancholy recollections. There, under ose tents, when silence reigns all around, there the images distant relations and friends from home crowd in, images life-like and speaking ; and dear, above all others, are ose of the mothers who come to arrange the knapsack unir their sons' heads praying down in their hearts : " God ant that this be not his last sleep ! " Who has not shed ars at night under the tent in that hour? When all the regiment had gone to sleep, I called Carccio, and took him under the officers' tent of my company, liere the other two subaltern officers had preceded me (the iptain was ill), — two of those young fellows, full of heart, ho under the appearance of an ordinary and gentle char- :ter hide a soul capable of great things ; two of those brave ildiers who, unknown or undistinguished among the many in e ordinary course of life, suddenly spring up giant-like on e field of battle, show themselves heroes, and make peoe say : " Who would ever have thought it ! " ; young men ho love a soldier's life for this reason, that when occasion ;mands it they can sacrifice it to a good end. The tent was lighted by a candle stuck in the ground, id my two friends were seated one here and one there, ith their legs crossed over a stratum of straw that our or- ;rlies had hurriedly gathered, during a scamper, from the ;ld. Hardly had we entered when we too sat down and ;gan to chat.

Carluccio kept his eyes down, and scarcely dared raise them 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 particulars 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 Sundays 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 caf^, 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

MILITARY LIFE.

hing. These things made me unhappy, because I had' : done any thing to them, and every time either of them d rtie, and I wanted to do something, I always controlled If and had patience. There were times when they had led eating, that mother made me carry away the dishes, while I carried them the boys said : ' Scullion ! ' Oh, ens ! if they had given me a blow on the head I should lave felt it as much as I did those words. . . . Once, vening of a f6te day, she returned home late, and her face ill red, her eyes shining ; she talked and laughed loudly with ither two, and they all began supper, and mother drank an e bottle of wine. After they had finished she called me, ill the dishes in my hands, and said : ' Here, carry these ■ ; that 's your duty ' ; she gave me a kick, and all three n to laugh. I said nothing ; but when I was in the kitchen ; down the dishes, threw myself on a chair, and began weep- )itterly in the dark until they went to bed. If it had not for Giovannina, a young dressmaker who lived near us was kind to me, I should have always been entirely in