Emilie Character Analysis

He must have known that I would follow old Zoey because he roped me up to her saddle and led us both quietly out of the yard down the path and over the bridge. Once in the road, he mounted Zoey swiftly and we trotted up the hill and into the village. He never spoke a word to either of us. I knew the road well enough, of course, for I had been there often enough with Albert, and indeed I loved going there because there were always other horses to meet and people to see. It was in the village only a short time before that I had met my first motorcar outside the post office and had stiffened with fear as it rattled past, but I had stood steadily, and I remember that Albert had made a big fuss over me after that.

[He] put his hands on her shoulders and said, “Nonsense, Emilie. They like to work. They need to work. And besides, the only way for us to go on living, Emilie, is to go on like we did before. The soldiers have gone now, so if we pretend hard enough, then maybe the war will go away altogether. We must live as we have always lived, cutting our hay, picking our apples, and tilling our soil. We cannot live as if there will be no tomorrow. We can only live if we eat, and our food comes from the land. We must work the land if we want to live and these two must work it with us. They don’t mind—they like the work. Look at them, Emilie—do they look unhappy?”

Suddenly the war was no longer distant. We were back among the fearful noise and stench of battle, hauling our gun through the mud, urged on and sometimes whipped on by men who displayed little care or interest in our welfare just so long as we got the guns where they had to go. It was not that they were cruel men, but just that they seemed to be driven now by a fearful compulsion that left no room and no time for pleasantness or consideration either for each other or for us.

Food was scarcer now. We received our corn ration only sporadically as winter came on again, and there was only a meagre hay ration for each of us. One by one, we began to lose weight and condition. At the same time, the battles seemed to become more furious and prolonged [...].

“There’s fine breeding here—too fine, perhaps, Herr Major. Could well be his undoing. He’s too fine to pull a gun. I’d pull him out, but you have no horse to take his place, have you? He’ll go on, I supposed, but go easy on him, Herr Major. Take the team as slow as you can, else you’ll have no team, and without your team your gun won’t be a lot of use, will it?”

“He will have to do what the others do, Herr Doctor,” said the major in a steely voice. “No more and no less. I cannot make exceptions. If you pass him fit, he’s fit, and that’s that.”

“He’s fit to go on,” said the vet reluctantly. “But I am warning you, Herr Major. You must take care.”

You do not understand at all. I will sell you this horse for one English penny, and for a solemn promise—that you will always love this horse as much as my Emilie did and that you will care for him until the end of his days. And more than this, I want you to tell everyone about my Emilie and about how she looked after your Joey and the big black horse when they came to live with us. You see, my friend, I want my Emilie to live on in people’s hearts. I shall die soon, in a few years, no more, and then no one will remember my Emilie as she was […]. I want you to tell your friends at home about my Emilie […]. That way she will live forever, and that is what I want. Is it a bargain between us?

He must have known that I would follow old Zoey because he roped me up to her saddle and led us both quietly out of the yard down the path and over the bridge. Once in the road, he mounted Zoey swiftly and we trotted up the hill and into the village. He never spoke a word to either of us. I knew the road well enough, of course, for I had been there often enough with Albert, and indeed I loved going there because there were always other horses to meet and people to see. It was in the village only a short time before that I had met my first motorcar outside the post office and had stiffened with fear as it rattled past, but I had stood steadily, and I remember that Albert had made a big fuss over me after that.

[He] put his hands on her shoulders and said, “Nonsense, Emilie. They like to work. They need to work. And besides, the only way for us to go on living, Emilie, is to go on like we did before. The soldiers have gone now, so if we pretend hard enough, then maybe the war will go away altogether. We must live as we have always lived, cutting our hay, picking our apples, and tilling our soil. We cannot live as if there will be no tomorrow. We can only live if we eat, and our food comes from the land. We must work the land if we want to live and these two must work it with us. They don’t mind—they like the work. Look at them, Emilie—do they look unhappy?”

Suddenly the war was no longer distant. We were back among the fearful noise and stench of battle, hauling our gun through the mud, urged on and sometimes whipped on by men who displayed little care or interest in our welfare just so long as we got the guns where they had to go. It was not that they were cruel men, but just that they seemed to be driven now by a fearful compulsion that left no room and no time for pleasantness or consideration either for each other or for us.

Food was scarcer now. We received our corn ration only sporadically as winter came on again, and there was only a meagre hay ration for each of us. One by one, we began to lose weight and condition. At the same time, the battles seemed to become more furious and prolonged [...].

“There’s fine breeding here—too fine, perhaps, Herr Major. Could well be his undoing. He’s too fine to pull a gun. I’d pull him out, but you have no horse to take his place, have you? He’ll go on, I supposed, but go easy on him, Herr Major. Take the team as slow as you can, else you’ll have no team, and without your team your gun won’t be a lot of use, will it?”

“He will have to do what the others do, Herr Doctor,” said the major in a steely voice. “No more and no less. I cannot make exceptions. If you pass him fit, he’s fit, and that’s that.”

“He’s fit to go on,” said the vet reluctantly. “But I am warning you, Herr Major. You must take care.”

You do not understand at all. I will sell you this horse for one English penny, and for a solemn promise—that you will always love this horse as much as my Emilie did and that you will care for him until the end of his days. And more than this, I want you to tell everyone about my Emilie and about how she looked after your Joey and the big black horse when they came to live with us. You see, my friend, I want my Emilie to live on in people’s hearts. I shall die soon, in a few years, no more, and then no one will remember my Emilie as she was […]. I want you to tell your friends at home about my Emilie […]. That way she will live forever, and that is what I want. Is it a bargain between us?