cracked skulls.
One of the most distinguished combatants was a tall fair-haired boy who always got picked to be General. Louis was from an old Breton family that had moved down south, and he looked like a winner. He was very fit and very strong. I can see him now, a handkerchief tied round his forehead like a soldier’s plume, sides cinched in by a leather belt, leading his troops on, arm aloft as if he were brandishing a sword. We admired him, respected him even. Funny, he had a twin brother, Julien, who was much shorter than him, delicate and frail, and who found these games very distressing. Whenever we split into two sides, he slunk away to watch from a stone bench, looking sad and a bit frightened. One day Louis stumbled under the blows that rained down from a gang of boys, and Julien cried out, pale, shivering, swooning like a woman. The two brothers adored each other, and none of us would have dared tease the little one for being a coward; we were afraid of what the bigger one could do.
My memories of these twins are bound up with my memories of the time. Towards the spring I became a day-pupil; I didn’t board anymore and came to school only for the seven o’clock classes. The two brothers were also day-pupils. We were inseparable. We lived in the same street, so we waited for each other to walk to school. Louis was old for his years, and wanted adventure; he led us astray. It was decided that we would leave for school at six, in order to have a whole hour of freedom in which we could be
men
. Being men, for us, meant smoking cigars and drinking alcohol in a seedy backstreet bar that Louis had discovered. Cigars and drink made us sick as dogs; but what a feeling when we opened the door to the bar,making sure nobody saw us, looking left, then right, before going in!
These fun and games took place towards the end of winter. Some mornings, I remember, the rain lashed down. We waded through, turning up to class soaked. When the mornings became clear and mild, we got the mad notion of going off to watch the soldiers. The road to Marseille passes through Aix; the regiments came into town from Avignon, slept a night, and then the next day made their way to the coast. At the time, more troops were being sent to the Crimea, cavalry and artillery especially. Not a week went by without troops passing through town. A local newspaper even advertised their visits in advance, to give some notice to the families where the men lodged. Only, we didn’t read the paper; so our great difficulty was finding out before going to sleep whether or not the soldiers would be setting off in the morning. They left at five, so we had to get up very early. Often it was pointless.
What a happy time! Louis and Julien shouted me down from the street, where there was not a soul to be seen. I rushed out. Though the days were as mild as in spring, it would be chilly as we walked together through the deserted town. If a regiment was about to leave, the soldiers would assemble on the Cours Mirabeau, in front of the hotel where the colonel usually stayed. We craned our necks excitedly as soon as we turned the corner at the Rue d’Italie. If there was nobody there: disaster! And there was often nobody there. We missed our beds – though we’d never say so – wandering around at a loose end until seven, having no idea what to do with our freedom. What a treat, on the other hand, to turn the corner and see the Cours packed with men and horses! The cold morning was filled with a spectacular crash and clatter. The soldiers arrived from every direction, drums pounding andbugles blazing. The officers had trouble getting everyone into line. Gradually, order established itself, the ranks assembling, and we chatted to troops, darting between the horses’ legs at the risk of getting crushed. We weren’t the only ones enjoying the show. Shopkeepers appeared one by one; there were people with business in town; all the early risers. Soon there was a crowd.
One of the most distinguished combatants was a tall fair-haired boy who always got picked to be General. Louis was from an old Breton family that had moved down south, and he looked like a winner. He was very fit and very strong. I can see him now, a handkerchief tied round his forehead like a soldier’s plume, sides cinched in by a leather belt, leading his troops on, arm aloft as if he were brandishing a sword. We admired him, respected him even. Funny, he had a twin brother, Julien, who was much shorter than him, delicate and frail, and who found these games very distressing. Whenever we split into two sides, he slunk away to watch from a stone bench, looking sad and a bit frightened. One day Louis stumbled under the blows that rained down from a gang of boys, and Julien cried out, pale, shivering, swooning like a woman. The two brothers adored each other, and none of us would have dared tease the little one for being a coward; we were afraid of what the bigger one could do.
My memories of these twins are bound up with my memories of the time. Towards the spring I became a day-pupil; I didn’t board anymore and came to school only for the seven o’clock classes. The two brothers were also day-pupils. We were inseparable. We lived in the same street, so we waited for each other to walk to school. Louis was old for his years, and wanted adventure; he led us astray. It was decided that we would leave for school at six, in order to have a whole hour of freedom in which we could be
men
. Being men, for us, meant smoking cigars and drinking alcohol in a seedy backstreet bar that Louis had discovered. Cigars and drink made us sick as dogs; but what a feeling when we opened the door to the bar,making sure nobody saw us, looking left, then right, before going in!
These fun and games took place towards the end of winter. Some mornings, I remember, the rain lashed down. We waded through, turning up to class soaked. When the mornings became clear and mild, we got the mad notion of going off to watch the soldiers. The road to Marseille passes through Aix; the regiments came into town from Avignon, slept a night, and then the next day made their way to the coast. At the time, more troops were being sent to the Crimea, cavalry and artillery especially. Not a week went by without troops passing through town. A local newspaper even advertised their visits in advance, to give some notice to the families where the men lodged. Only, we didn’t read the paper; so our great difficulty was finding out before going to sleep whether or not the soldiers would be setting off in the morning. They left at five, so we had to get up very early. Often it was pointless.
What a happy time! Louis and Julien shouted me down from the street, where there was not a soul to be seen. I rushed out. Though the days were as mild as in spring, it would be chilly as we walked together through the deserted town. If a regiment was about to leave, the soldiers would assemble on the Cours Mirabeau, in front of the hotel where the colonel usually stayed. We craned our necks excitedly as soon as we turned the corner at the Rue d’Italie. If there was nobody there: disaster! And there was often nobody there. We missed our beds – though we’d never say so – wandering around at a loose end until seven, having no idea what to do with our freedom. What a treat, on the other hand, to turn the corner and see the Cours packed with men and horses! The cold morning was filled with a spectacular crash and clatter. The soldiers arrived from every direction, drums pounding andbugles blazing. The officers had trouble getting everyone into line. Gradually, order established itself, the ranks assembling, and we chatted to troops, darting between the horses’ legs at the risk of getting crushed. We weren’t the only ones enjoying the show. Shopkeepers appeared one by one; there were people with business in town; all the early risers. Soon there was a crowd.
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