The sun rose. The gold and steel of the uniforms glistened in the morning light.
On the Cours of that peaceful town, still deep in slumber, we saw dragoons, cavalrymen, lancers, and all the branches of the big cavalry and the light cavalry. But our favourites, the ones that we were craziest about, were the cuirassiers. They dazzled us, sitting astride their stout horses, the sunlight glinting from their breastplates. Their helmets glowed under the rising sun; their ranks were like rows of suns that cast dancing rays on the houses round about. If we discovered that there would be cuirassiers leaving, we got up at four, desperate to set eyes on the performance.
At last the colonel would appear. The colours were kept safe overnight at the place where he stayed; now they were unfurled . All at once, after two or three orders were bellowed out, the troops set off. They marched down the Cours; a rising drumbeat set our hearts racing, as the first hooves clapped onto the hard ground. We ran to keep pace with the head of the column, where the band was banging out a quickstep. First, three shrill bugle notes readied the musicians; then the brass started up, drowning out everything else. The last notes died away outside the town gates, in the countryside. We turned left onto the Marseille road, a pleasant stretch lined with hundred-year-old elms. The horses trotted off, scattering a little on the dusty open highway. We felt like we were going to war too. The town was far away behind us, and we’dforgotten all about school; we ran and ran, carried away with our adventure. We went off to war once a week.
Ah, those sweet mornings! It was six o’clock, and the sun, already high, lit the land with huge slanting rays. There was a mild warmth in the chilly morning breeze. Birds flew up from hedges. The distant meadows were bathed in a pink mist. Amid this smiling horizon marched these beautiful soldiers, their breastplates glowing, the cuirassiers shining like stars. The road curved suddenly down into a wide valley. The people who had come from town followed no further; soon, we were the only ones in pursuit. We went down the slope and, at the very bottom, came to a bridge that crossed the river. Only there did we start to worry. It must be nearly seven o’clock; if we didn’t want to miss school, then we had just about enough time to get there – running. Often we forgot altogether; we pressed on, playing truant, then getting up to no good until noon, hiding in the grass-covered hollows beside the waterfall. Sometimes we went no further than the bridge, sitting on the stone parapet and keeping the regiment in view as it proceeded up the opposite slope of the valley. It was a rousing sight. The road went straight up the hillside for nearly two kilometres. The horses eased up, and we saw the men get smaller, swaying rhythmically. At first each breastplate and each helmet looked like a sun. Then these suns dwindled, and soon it looked as if an army of stars was on the march. Finally, the last man disappeared and the road was empty, leaving only memories of the beautiful regiment that had passed.
We were just kids. But these sights made us serious nonetheless . We watched in silence as the regiment climbed the hill, in despair at the thought of losing it. When it disappeared, we had a lump in our throat; for an instant, we kept watching the faraway rock behind which it had just vanished. Would theregiment ever return? Would it come back down the hill one day? These questions filled us with a vague sadness. Goodbye, beautiful regiment!
Our excursions tired out Julien. He wouldn’t have come with us so far, but he didn’t want to be separated from his brother. All the walking made him achy, and he had a phobia of horses. I remember one day that we were lying in the fields, late for school after having followed an artillery unit. Louis was giddy with excitement. We ate an omelette in town for lunch, then he took us to the river, where he
On the Cours of that peaceful town, still deep in slumber, we saw dragoons, cavalrymen, lancers, and all the branches of the big cavalry and the light cavalry. But our favourites, the ones that we were craziest about, were the cuirassiers. They dazzled us, sitting astride their stout horses, the sunlight glinting from their breastplates. Their helmets glowed under the rising sun; their ranks were like rows of suns that cast dancing rays on the houses round about. If we discovered that there would be cuirassiers leaving, we got up at four, desperate to set eyes on the performance.
At last the colonel would appear. The colours were kept safe overnight at the place where he stayed; now they were unfurled . All at once, after two or three orders were bellowed out, the troops set off. They marched down the Cours; a rising drumbeat set our hearts racing, as the first hooves clapped onto the hard ground. We ran to keep pace with the head of the column, where the band was banging out a quickstep. First, three shrill bugle notes readied the musicians; then the brass started up, drowning out everything else. The last notes died away outside the town gates, in the countryside. We turned left onto the Marseille road, a pleasant stretch lined with hundred-year-old elms. The horses trotted off, scattering a little on the dusty open highway. We felt like we were going to war too. The town was far away behind us, and we’dforgotten all about school; we ran and ran, carried away with our adventure. We went off to war once a week.
Ah, those sweet mornings! It was six o’clock, and the sun, already high, lit the land with huge slanting rays. There was a mild warmth in the chilly morning breeze. Birds flew up from hedges. The distant meadows were bathed in a pink mist. Amid this smiling horizon marched these beautiful soldiers, their breastplates glowing, the cuirassiers shining like stars. The road curved suddenly down into a wide valley. The people who had come from town followed no further; soon, we were the only ones in pursuit. We went down the slope and, at the very bottom, came to a bridge that crossed the river. Only there did we start to worry. It must be nearly seven o’clock; if we didn’t want to miss school, then we had just about enough time to get there – running. Often we forgot altogether; we pressed on, playing truant, then getting up to no good until noon, hiding in the grass-covered hollows beside the waterfall. Sometimes we went no further than the bridge, sitting on the stone parapet and keeping the regiment in view as it proceeded up the opposite slope of the valley. It was a rousing sight. The road went straight up the hillside for nearly two kilometres. The horses eased up, and we saw the men get smaller, swaying rhythmically. At first each breastplate and each helmet looked like a sun. Then these suns dwindled, and soon it looked as if an army of stars was on the march. Finally, the last man disappeared and the road was empty, leaving only memories of the beautiful regiment that had passed.
We were just kids. But these sights made us serious nonetheless . We watched in silence as the regiment climbed the hill, in despair at the thought of losing it. When it disappeared, we had a lump in our throat; for an instant, we kept watching the faraway rock behind which it had just vanished. Would theregiment ever return? Would it come back down the hill one day? These questions filled us with a vague sadness. Goodbye, beautiful regiment!
Our excursions tired out Julien. He wouldn’t have come with us so far, but he didn’t want to be separated from his brother. All the walking made him achy, and he had a phobia of horses. I remember one day that we were lying in the fields, late for school after having followed an artillery unit. Louis was giddy with excitement. We ate an omelette in town for lunch, then he took us to the river, where he
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