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

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 gardens,
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 window,
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 beautiful
an evening, would seem a shame.