In the square itself there were a
hundred men or so, chiefly, I should judge, strangers or artists, a group
of young ragamuffins, who had climbed upon the pedestals of the columns,
and seemed actuated only by the curiosity natural to the boy genus, and a
very large number of French soldiers, who, at first sight, looked merely
loiterers. The patrol, of perhaps four hundred men, stood drawn up under
arms, waiting for the word to march. Gradually one perceived that the
crowds of soldiers who loitered about without muskets were not mere
spectators. Almost imperceptibly they closed round the patrol, pushed
back by the bystanders not in uniform, and then retreated, forming a
clear ring for the guard to move in. There was no pushing, no hustling,
no cries of any kind. After a few minutes the drums and fifes struck up,
the drum-major whirled his staff round in the air, the ring of soldier-
spectators parted, driving the crowd back on either side, and through the
clear space thus formed the patrol marched up the square, divided into
two columns, one going to the right, and the other to the left, and so
passed down the length of the Corso. The crowd made no sign, and raised
no shout as the troops went by, and only looked on in sullen silence. In
fact, the sole opinion I heard uttered was that of a French private, who
formed one of the ring, and who remarked to his comrade that this duty of
theirs was _sacre nom de chien de metier_, a remark in which I could not
but coincide.
Pages:
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151