Explain the act henri de hardimont did to honor his friend
Answers
Explanation:
The young Due de Hardimont happened to be at Aix in
Savoy, whose waters he hoped would benefit his famous
mare, Perichole, who had become wind-broken since the
cold she had caught at the last Derby,--and was finishing
his breakfast while glancing over the morning paper,
when he read the news of the disastrous engagement at
Reichshoffen.
He emptied his glass of chartreuse, laid his napkin upon
the restaurant table, ordered his valet to pack his trunks,
and two hours later took the express to Paris; arriving
there, he hastened to the recruiting office and enlisted in a
regiment of the line.
In vain had he led the enervating life of a fashionable
swell--that was the word of the time--and had knocked
about race-course stables from the age of nineteen to
twenty-five. In circumstances like these, he could not
forget that Enguerrand de Hardimont died of the plague
at Tunis the same day as Saint Louis, that Jean de
Hardimont commanded the Free Companies under Du
Guesclin, and that Francois-Henri de Hardimont was
killed at Fontenoy with "Red" Maison. Upon learning that
France had lost a battle on French soil, the young duke
felt the blood mount to his face, giving him a horrible
feeling of suffocation.
And so, early in November, 1870, Henri de Hardimont
returned to Paris with his regiment, forming part of
Vinoy's corps, and his company being the advance guard
before the redoubt of Hautes Bruyères, a position
fortified in haste, and which protected the cannon of Fort
Bicêtre.
It was a gloomy place; a road planted with clusters of
broom, and broken up into muddy ruts, traversing the
leprous fields of the neighborhood; on the border stood
an abandoned tavern, a tavern with arbors, where the
soldiers had established their post. They had fallen back
here a few days before; the grape-shot had broken down
some of the young trees, and all of them bore upon their
bark the white scars of bullet wounds. As for the house,
its appearance made one shudder; the roof had been torn
by a shell, and the walls seemed whitewashed with blood.
The torn and shattered arbors under their network of
twigs, the rolling of an upset cask, the high swing whose
wet rope groaned in the damp wind, and the inscriptions
over the door, furrowed by bullets; "Cabinets de societé--
Absinthe--Vermouth--Vin à 60 cent. le litre"--encircling a
dead rabbit painted over two billiard cues tied in a cross
by a ribbon,--all this recalled with cruel irony the popular
entertainment of former days. And over all, a wretched
winter sky, across which rolled heavy leaden clouds, an
odious sky, angry and hateful.
At the door of the tavern stood the young duke,
motionless, with his gun in his shoulder-belt, his cap over
his eyes, his benumbed hands in the pockets of his red
trousers, and shivering in his sheepskin coat. He gave
himself up to his sombre thoughts, this defeated soldier,
and looked with sorrowful eyes toward a line of hills, lost
in the fog, where could be seen each moment, the flash
and smoke of a Krupp gun, followed by a report.
Suddenly he felt hungry.
Stooping, he drew from his knapsack, which stood near
him leaning against the wall, a piece of ammunition
bread, and as he had lost his knife, he bit off a morsel and
slowly ate it.
But after a few mouthfuls, he had enough of it; the bread
was hard and had a bitter taste. No fresh would be given
until the next morning's distribution, so the commissary
officer had willed it. This was certainly a very hard life
sometimes. The remembrance of former breakfasts came
to him, such as he had called "hygienic," when, the day
after too over-heating a supper, he would seat himself by
a window on the ground floor of the Café-Anglais, and be
served with a cutlet, or buttered eggs with asparagus tips,
and the butler, knowing his tastes, would bring him a fine
bottle of old Léoville, lying in its basket, and which he
would pour out with the greatest care. The deuce take it!
That was a good time, all the same, and he would never
become accustomed to this life of wretchedness.
And, in a moment of impatience, the young man threw
the rest of his bread into the mud.
At the same moment a soldier of the line came from the
tavern, stooped and picked up the bread, drew back a few
steps, wiped it with his sleeve and began to devour it
eagerly.
Henri de Hardimont was already ashamed of his action,
and now with a feeling of pity, watched the poor devil
who gave proof of such a good appetite. He was a tall,
large young fellow, but badly made; with feverish eyes
and a hospital beard, and so thin that his shoulder-blades
stood out beneath his well-worn cape.
"You are very hungry?" he said, approaching the soldier.
Answer:
u can't understand this
Explanation:
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