Page:Edward Prime-Stevenson - The Intersexes.djvu/226

 of the uniform, the agility of the manœuvres and the personal prestige of these "Children of Alessandro La Marmora". Never I am sure did lad of my years entertain a more ardent passion; though many have been much more strongly inclined than I towards a military career. It was a real monomania, not to be cured by exhortation, reproof or punishment. On every holiday, and on other days too, both before and after school, I ran away from home at all hours in order to follow the cocks' plumes to the training held, to the rifle-practice, to the "athletics". Among my many likings, I made one friendship, which remains among the dearest recollections of my childhood. There was a trumpet-corporal—a native of Mortara if I am not mistaken—a young fellow of medium height, lithe and robust, a typical bersagliere. His features were strong and wore a serious expression, but he was full of kindness; his manners were simple and pleasant; his name was Martinotti. He took a fancy to me through having seen me plunging along to the sound of his trumpet, with my tongue lolling from my mouth. We scraped acquaintance on the training-field; then we began taking walks together during my leisure hours in the neighborhood of my home. He treated me like a man, which flattered my vanity and enhanced my affectionate gratitude. He spoke to me of his family, his career, his superior officers; told me all the garrison-gossip, giving me all particulars with greatest gravity, while I listened with the most devoted attention. At home, my one, theme of conversation was Corporal Martinotti, whom my brothers to tease me dubbed "the General", He wanted me to say "tu" when I spoke to him, but I never got up sufficient courage. To be seen on the street at his side was my pride, and when he took me to the café to drink soda-water, I felt a halo settle round my head: I should not have been more set up had Count Cavour himself invited me. He called me by my Christian name, but abbreviated it because it seemed to him too long as it was, and hard to pronounce. He turned it into "Mondo" or "Mondino" …

My adoration for him reached such a pitch, that I imitated his walk and accent, and whistled from morning to night the marches which he most frequently called upon his trumpeters to play. I do not remember how long this happiness of mine endured; I know that I expected it to last forever—as if Martinotti were likely to live his life out in our city because it would hurt my feelings to have him go! But the end came suddenly.

One night toward dusk, at the hour of "retreat", meeting me on the ramparts, he said:—