ven its name to the day. It was a day of
intense heat coming after heavy rains. The arid soil steamed; the white
powder-smoke curled in long horizontal columns across the hazy ring of
the fight. Seen from a distance it was like a huge downy ball, kicked
this way and that between the cypresses by invisible giants. A pair of
eager-eyed women gazing on a battle-field for the first time could but
ask themselves in bewilderment whether the fate of countries were verily
settled in such a fashion. Far in the rear, Vittoria and Laura heard the
cannon-shots; a sullen dull sound, as of a mallet striking upon rotten
timber. They drove at speed. The great thumps became varied by musketry
volleys, that were like blocks of rockboulder tumbled in the roll of
a mountain torrent. These, then, were the voices of Italy and Austria
speaking the devilish tongue of the final alternative. Cannon, rockets,
musketry, and now the run of drums, now the ring of bugles, now the
tramp of horses, and the field was like a landslip. A joyful bright
black death-wine seemed to pour from the bugles all about. The women
strained their senses to hear and see; they could realize nothing of
a reality so absolute; their feelings were shattered, and crowded over
them in patches;--horror, glory, panic, hope, shifted lights within
their bosoms. The fascination and repulsion of the image of Force
divided them. They feared; they were prostrate; they sprang in praise.
The image of Force was god and devil to their souls. They strove to
understand why the field was marked with blocks of men who made a plume
of vapour here, and hurried thither. The action of their intellects
resolved to a blank marvel at seeing an imminent thing--an interrogation
to almighty heaven treated with method, not with fury streaming forward.
Cleave the opposing ranks! Cry to God for fire? Cut them through! They
had come to see the Song of Deborah performed before their eyes, and
they witnessed only a battle. Blocks of infantry gathered densely,
thinned to a line, wheeled in column, marched: blocks of cavalry changed
posts: artillery bellowed from one spot and quickly selected another.
Infantry advanced in the wake of tiny smokepuffs, halted, advanced
again, rattled files of shots, became struck into knots, faced half
about as from a blow of the back of a hand, retired orderly. Cavalry
curved like a flickering scimetar in their rear; artillery plodded to
its further station. Innumerable tiny smo