“here’s your napoleon.”
The soldier dismounted, Fabrizio leaped gaily into the saddle, and the canteen-woman unfastened the little portmanteau strapped to his mare. “All right, you men, help me!” she scolded the other soldiers. “Is this the way you let a lady do your work?”
But no sooner had the newly purchased horse felt the weight of the portmanteau than it began to rear, and Fabrizio, though an excellent rider, needed all his strength to control it.
“A good sign!” the canteen-woman said. “This fellow’s not used to being tickled by a portmaneau!”
“A general’s horse!” exclaimed the soldier who had just sold it. “A horse worth ten napoleons if it’s worth a sou!”
“Here’s twenty francs,” Fabrizio said to him, beside himself with joy at feeling a spirited horse under him.
At this moment a cannonball sliced along the row of willows, affording Fabrizio the odd spectacle of all those twigs flying to either side as though sheared off by a scythe-stroke. “That’s cannon-fire coming toward us,” the soldier told him, taking his twenty francs.
It might have been two o’clock in the afternoon.
Fabrizio was still under the spell of this strange spectacle, when a group of generals, followed by some twenty hussars, galloped past a corner of the vast field, on the edge of which he was still standing; his horse whinnied, reared two or three times, then pulled violently at the bit. “So be it, go!” Fabrizio decided.
Left to himself, the horse galloped off to join the escort following the generals. Fabrizio counted four gold-braided hats. Fifteen minutes later, Fabrizio understood from a few words spoken by a hussar nearhim that one of these generals was the famous Marshal Ney. His happiness was complete; yet he could not tell which of the four was the Marshal. He would have given anything in the world to know, but remembered that he must not speak. The escort halted before crossing a broad ditch filled with rainwater from the night before; the ditch was lined with huge trees, forming the boundary of the field on the left, where Fabrizio had bought his horse. Almost all the hussars had dismounted; the side of the ditch was steep and slippery, and the water level was a good three or four feet below the brink. Fabrizio, wild with joy, was thinking more about Marshal Ney and glory than of his horse, which in its excitement leaped into the ditch; this raised the water level considerably. One of the generals was completely soaked by the sheet of water and swore aloud: “Damn the brute!”
Fabrizio was deeply wounded by this insult. “Can I demand an apology?” he wondered. Meanwhile, to prove he was not so clumsy, he tried to urge his horse up the opposite side of the ditch; but the slope was steep, and five or six feet high. He had to give it up, and rode upstream, the water up to his horse’s head, and finally reached a sort of ford where the cattle came to drink; up this shallow slope he easily reached the field on the other side of the ditch. He was the first man of the troop to appear there; he began trotting proudly along the edge: the hussars were still floundering at the bottom of the ditch, struggling for a foothold, for in many places the water was five feet deep. Two or three horses took fright and tried to swim, which created a dreadful confusion. One sergeant noticed the maneuver just made by this youngster who seemed so unsoldierly.
“Back on your horses! There’s a ford to the left!” he shouted, and gradually all the men clambered out of the ditch.
Upon reaching the other side, Fabrizio had found the generals there by themselves; the cannonade seemed twice as loud to him; he could scarcely hear the general he had just splashed shouting in his ear: “Where did you get that horse?”
Fabrizio was so distracted that he answered in Italian:
“L’ho comprato poco fa.
” (I bought it just now.)
“What did you say?” the general shouted.
But the racket now grew so
The soldier dismounted, Fabrizio leaped gaily into the saddle, and the canteen-woman unfastened the little portmanteau strapped to his mare. “All right, you men, help me!” she scolded the other soldiers. “Is this the way you let a lady do your work?”
But no sooner had the newly purchased horse felt the weight of the portmanteau than it began to rear, and Fabrizio, though an excellent rider, needed all his strength to control it.
“A good sign!” the canteen-woman said. “This fellow’s not used to being tickled by a portmaneau!”
“A general’s horse!” exclaimed the soldier who had just sold it. “A horse worth ten napoleons if it’s worth a sou!”
“Here’s twenty francs,” Fabrizio said to him, beside himself with joy at feeling a spirited horse under him.
At this moment a cannonball sliced along the row of willows, affording Fabrizio the odd spectacle of all those twigs flying to either side as though sheared off by a scythe-stroke. “That’s cannon-fire coming toward us,” the soldier told him, taking his twenty francs.
It might have been two o’clock in the afternoon.
Fabrizio was still under the spell of this strange spectacle, when a group of generals, followed by some twenty hussars, galloped past a corner of the vast field, on the edge of which he was still standing; his horse whinnied, reared two or three times, then pulled violently at the bit. “So be it, go!” Fabrizio decided.
Left to himself, the horse galloped off to join the escort following the generals. Fabrizio counted four gold-braided hats. Fifteen minutes later, Fabrizio understood from a few words spoken by a hussar nearhim that one of these generals was the famous Marshal Ney. His happiness was complete; yet he could not tell which of the four was the Marshal. He would have given anything in the world to know, but remembered that he must not speak. The escort halted before crossing a broad ditch filled with rainwater from the night before; the ditch was lined with huge trees, forming the boundary of the field on the left, where Fabrizio had bought his horse. Almost all the hussars had dismounted; the side of the ditch was steep and slippery, and the water level was a good three or four feet below the brink. Fabrizio, wild with joy, was thinking more about Marshal Ney and glory than of his horse, which in its excitement leaped into the ditch; this raised the water level considerably. One of the generals was completely soaked by the sheet of water and swore aloud: “Damn the brute!”
Fabrizio was deeply wounded by this insult. “Can I demand an apology?” he wondered. Meanwhile, to prove he was not so clumsy, he tried to urge his horse up the opposite side of the ditch; but the slope was steep, and five or six feet high. He had to give it up, and rode upstream, the water up to his horse’s head, and finally reached a sort of ford where the cattle came to drink; up this shallow slope he easily reached the field on the other side of the ditch. He was the first man of the troop to appear there; he began trotting proudly along the edge: the hussars were still floundering at the bottom of the ditch, struggling for a foothold, for in many places the water was five feet deep. Two or three horses took fright and tried to swim, which created a dreadful confusion. One sergeant noticed the maneuver just made by this youngster who seemed so unsoldierly.
“Back on your horses! There’s a ford to the left!” he shouted, and gradually all the men clambered out of the ditch.
Upon reaching the other side, Fabrizio had found the generals there by themselves; the cannonade seemed twice as loud to him; he could scarcely hear the general he had just splashed shouting in his ear: “Where did you get that horse?”
Fabrizio was so distracted that he answered in Italian:
“L’ho comprato poco fa.
” (I bought it just now.)
“What did you say?” the general shouted.
But the racket now grew so
Similar Books
