Military life in Italy : sketches - Societa italiana di storia militare

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3 34 VILITARY 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, 2otA
July.
. . I have seen Venice in the distance. I did not believe it possible
that I could so love a city as to experience in seeing
it the same sentiment
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 en a window-sill,
with its head reclining on its hand, and looking fixedly at the horizon
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 produce
an imposing effect ;
but seen from here it softens and enamours one.
Dear mother, you have a formidable rival. . . .
These Venetian peasants arc 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