But the pain has been too great for that weak, exhausted body; the groans have ceased, for the sick man has swooned. The surgeon, who is no longer guided by his cries and his groans, fearing that this silence may be that of death, looks at him uneasily to assure himself that he has not expired.
The restoratives, held in reserve, succeed, with difficulty, in reviving his dull, half-closed, vacant eyes. The dying man, however, seems to return to life, he is weak and shattered, but at least his greatest sufferings are over.
Imagine such an operation on an Austrian, understanding neither Italian nor French and letting himself be led like a sheep or an ox to slaughter without being able to exchange one word with his well-meaning tormentors! The French meet everywhere with sympathy; they are flattered, pampered, encouraged; when one speaks to them about the battle of Solferino, they brighten up and discuss it: That memory, full of glory for them; drawing their thoughts elsewhere than on themselves, lessens a little their unhappiness. But the Austrians have not this good fortune. In the hospitals where they are crowded, I insist upon seeing them and almost by force enter their rooms. With what gratitude these good men welcome my words of consolation and the gift of a little tobacco! On their resigned faces is depicted a lively gratitude, which they do not know how to express. Their looks tell more than any word of thanks.
Some of them possess two or three paper florins, a small fortune for them, but they cannot change this modest value for coins.
The officers particularly show hearty appreciation of the attentions bestowed upon them. In the hospital where he is lodged, Prince von Isenburg occupies with another German prince, a comfortable little room.
During several successive days I distribute, without distinction of nationality, tobacco, pipes and cigars in the churches and hospitals where the odor of the tobacco lessens a little the nauseous stench produced by the crowding of so many patients in suffocating places. Besides that, it is a distraction, a means of dispelling the fears of the wounded before the amputation of a member; not a few are operated on with a pipe in the mouth, and some die smoking.
Finally all the supply of tobacco in Brescia is exhausted. It must be brought from Milan.
An eminent inhabitant of Brescia, Signor Carlo Borghetti, takes me in his carriage, from hospital to hospital. He helps me to distribute my modest gifts of tobacco, arranged by the merchants in thousands of little bags that are carried by willing soldiers in very large baskets.
Everywhere I am well received. Only a doctor of Lombardy, named Calini, will not allow the distribution of cigars in the hospital San Luca, which is confided to his care. In other places the physicians, on the contrary, show themselves almost as grateful as their patients. But wishing to try once more at San Luca, I visit again that hospital and succeed in making a large distribution of cigars, to the great joy the poor wounded, whom I had innocently made suffer the torments of Tantalus.
During the course of my investigations I penetrate into a series of rooms forming the second floor of a large monastery, a kind of labyrinth of which the ground and the first floors are full of the sick. I find in one of the upper rooms four or five wounded and feverish patients, in another ten or fifteen, in a third about twenty, all neglected (this is very excusable; there were so many wounded, everywhere), complaining bitterly of not having seen a nurse for several hours and begging insistently that someone bring them bouillon in place of cold water which they have for their only drink. At the end of an interminable corridor, in a little isolated room, is dying absolutely alone, motionless on a mattress, a young corporal attacked with tetanus. Although he seems full of life as his eyes are wide open, he hears and understands nothing and remains neglected.