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

THE ORDERLY. 17
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
hands hardened by the spade, his
fellow with his rough
features,
frame toughened by discomforts
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