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

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 gleaming
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