MARCH
THE EVENING SCHOOLS.
Thursday, 2d.
LAST night my father took me to see the evening schools in our Barettischoolhouse, which were all lighted up already, and where the workingmenwere already beginning to enter. On our arrival we found the head-masterand the other masters in a great rage, because a little while before theglass in one window had been broken by a stone. The beadle had dartedforth and seized a boy by the hair, who was passing; but thereupon,Stardi, who lives in the house opposite, had presented himself, andsaid:--
"This is not the right one; I saw it with my own eyes; it was Franti whothrew it; and he said to me, 'Woe to you if you tell of me!' but I amnot afraid."
Then the head-master declared that Franti should be expelled for good.In the meantime I was watching the workingmen enter by twos and threes;and more than two hundred had already entered. I have never seenanything so fine as the evening school. There were boys of twelve andupwards; bearded men who were on their way from their work, carryingtheir books and copy-books; there were carpenters, engineers with blackfaces, masons with hands white with plaster, bakers' boys with theirhair full of flour; and there was perceptible the odor of varnish,hides, fish, oil,--odors of all the various trades. There also entered asquad of artillery workmen, dressed like soldiers and headed by acorporal. They all filed briskly to their benches, removed the boardunderneath, on which we put our feet, and immediately bent their headsover their work.
Some stepped up to the teachers to ask explanations, with their opencopy-books in their hands. I caught sight of that young and well-dressedmaster "the little lawyer," who had three or four workingmen clusteredround his table, and was making corrections with his pen; and also thelame one, who was laughing with a dyer who had brought him a copy-bookall adorned with red and blue dyes. My master, who had recovered, andwho will return to school to-morrow, was there also. The doors of theschoolroom were open. I was amazed, when the lessons began, to see howattentive they all were, and how they kept their eyes fixed on theirwork. Yet the greater part of them, so the head-master said, for fear ofbeing late, had not even been home to eat a mouthful of supper, and theywere hungry.
But the younger ones, after half an hour of school, were falling off thebenches with sleep; one even went fast asleep with his head on thebench, and the master waked him up by poking his ear with a pen. But thegrown-up men did nothing of the sort; they kept awake, and listened,with their mouths wide open, to the lesson, without even winking; and itmade a deep impression on me to see all those bearded men on ourbenches. We also ascended to the story floor above, and I ran to thedoor of my schoolroom and saw in my seat a man with a big mustache and abandaged hand, who might have injured himself while at work about somemachine; but he was trying to write, though very, very slowly.
But what pleased me most was to behold in the seat of the little mason,on the very same bench and in the very same corner, his father, themason, as huge as a giant, who sat there all coiled up into a narrowspace, with his chin on his fists and his eyes on his book, so absorbedthat he hardly breathed. And there was no chance about it, for it was hehimself who said to the head-master the first evening he came to theschool:--
"Signor Director, do me the favor to place me in the seat of 'my hare'sface.'" For he always calls his son so.
My father kept me there until the end, and in the street we saw manywomen with children in their arms, waiting for their husbands; and atthe entrance a change was effected: the husbands took the children intheir arms, and the women made them surrender their books andcopy-books; and in this wise they proceeded to their homes. For severalminutes the street was filled with people and with noise. Then all grewsilent, and all we could see was the tall and weary form of thehead-master disappearing in the distance.
THE FIGHT.
Sunday, 5th.
It was what might have been expected. Franti, on being expelled by thehead-master, wanted to revenge himself on Stardi, and he waited forStardi at a corner, when he came out of school, and when the latter waspassing with his sister, whom he escorts every day from an institutionin the Via Dora Grossa. My sister Silvia, on emerging from herschoolhouse, witnessed the whole affair, and came home thoroughlyterrified. This is what took place. Franti, with his cap of waxed clothcanted over one ear, ran up on tiptoe behind Stardi, and in order toprovoke him, gave a tug at his sister's braid of hair,--a tug so violentthat it almost threw the girl flat on her back on the ground. The littlegirl uttered a cry; her brother whirled round; Franti, who is muchtaller and stronger than Stardi, thought:--
"He'll not utter a word, or I'll break his skin for him!"
But Stardi never paused to reflect, and small and ill-made as he is, heflung himself with one bound on that big fellow, and began to belaborhim with his fists. He could not hold his own, however, and he got morethan he gave. There was no one in the street but girls, so there was noone who could separate them. Franti flung him on the ground; but theother instantly got up, and then down he went on his back again, andFranti pounded away as though upon a door: in an instant he had tornaway half an ear, and bruised one eye, and drawn blood from the other'snose. But Stardi was tenacious; he roared:--
"You may kill me, but I'll make you pay for it!" And down went Franti,kicking and cuffing, and Stardi under him, butting and lungeing out withhis heels. A woman shrieked from a window, "Good for the little one!"Others said, "It is a boy defending his sister; courage! give it to himwell!" And they screamed at Franti, "You overbearing brute! you coward!"But Franti had grown ferocious; he held out his leg; Stardi tripped andfell, and Franti on top of him.
"Surrender!"--"No!"--"Surrender!"--"No!" and in a flash Stardi recoveredhis feet, clasped Franti by the body, and, with one furious effort,hurled him on the pavement, and fell upon him with one knee on hisbreast.
"Ah, the infamous fellow! he has a knife!" shouted a man, rushing up todisarm Franti.
But Stardi, beside himself with rage, had already grasped Franti's armwith both hands, and bestowed on the fist such a bite that the knifefell from it, and the hand began to bleed. More people had run up in themeantime, who separated them and set them on their feet. Franti took tohis heels in a sorry plight, and Stardi stood still, with his face allscratched, and a black eye,--but triumphant,--beside his weeping sister,while some of the girls collected the books and copy-books which werestrewn over the street.
"Bravo, little fellow!" said the bystanders; "he defended his sister!"
But Stardi, who was thinking more of his satchel than of his victory,instantly set to examining the books and copy-books, one by one, to seewhether anything was missing or injured. He rubbed them off with hissleeve, scrutinized his pen, put everything back in its place, and then,tranquil and serious as usual, he said to his sister, "Let us go homequickly, for I have a problem to solve."
THE BOYS' PARENTS.
Monday, 6th.
This morning big Stardi, the father, came to wait for his son, fearinglest he should again encounter Franti. But they say that Franti will notbe seen again, because he will be put in the penitentiary.
There were a great many parents there this morning. Among the rest therewas the retail wood-dealer, the father of Coretti, the perfect image ofhis son, slender, brisk, with his mustache brought to a point, and aribbon of two colors in the button-hole of his jacket. I know nearly allthe parents of the boys, through constantly seeing them there. There isone crooked grandmother, with her white cap, who comes four times a day,whether it rains or snows or storms, to accompany and to get her littlegrandson, of the upper primary; and she takes off his little cloak andputs it on for him, adjusts his necktie, brushes off the dust, polisheshim up, and takes care of the copy-books. It is evident that she has noother thought, that she sees nothing in the world more beautiful. Thecaptain of artillery also comes frequently, the father of Robetti, thelad with the crutches, who saved a child from the omnibus, and as allhis son's companions bestow a caress on him in passing, he returns acaress
or a salute to every one, and he never forgets any one; he bendsover all, and the poorer and more badly dressed they are, the morepleased he seems to be, and he thanks them.
At times, however, sad sights are to be seen. A gentleman who had notcome for a month because one of his sons had died, and who had sent amaidservant for the other, on returning yesterday and beholding theclass, the comrades of his little dead boy, retired into a corner andburst into sobs, with both hands before his face, and the head-mastertook him by the arm and led him to his office.
There are fathers and mothers who know all their sons' companions byname. There are girls from the neighboring schoolhouse, and scholars inthe gymnasium, who come to wait for their brothers. There is one oldgentleman who was a colonel formerly, and who, when a boy drops acopy-book or a pen, picks it up for him. There are also to be seenwell-dressed men, who discuss school matters with others, who havekerchiefs on their heads, and baskets on their arm, and who say:--
"Oh! the problem has been a difficult one this time."--"That grammarlesson will never come to an end this morning!"
And when there is a sick boy in the class, they all know it; when a sickboy is convalescent, they all rejoice. And this morning there were eightor ten gentlemen and workingmen standing around Crossi's mother, thevegetable-vender, making inquiries about a poor baby in my brother'sclass, who lives in her court, and who is in danger of his life. Theschool seems to make them all equals and friends.
NUMBER 78.
Wednesday, 8th.
I witnessed a touching scene yesterday afternoon. For several days,every time that the vegetable-vender has passed Derossi she has gazedand gazed at him with an expression of great affection; for Derossi,since he made the discovery about that inkstand and prisoner Number 78,has acquired a love for her son, Crossi, the red-haired boy with theuseless arm; and he helps him to do his work in school, suggests answersto him, gives him paper, pens, and pencils; in short, he behaves to himlike a brother, as though to compensate him for his father's misfortune,which has affected him, although he does not know it.
The vegetable-vender had been gazing at Derossi for several days, andshe seemed loath to take her eyes from him, for she is a good woman wholives only for her son; and Derossi, who assists him and makes himappear well, Derossi, who is a gentleman and the head of the school,seems to her a king, a saint. She continued to stare at him, and seemeddesirous of saying something to him, yet ashamed to do it. But at last,yesterday morning, she took courage, stopped him in front of a gate, andsaid to him:--
"I beg a thousand pardons, little master! Will you, who are so kind tomy son, and so fond of him, do me the favor to accept this littlememento from a poor mother?" and she pulled out of her vegetable-basketa little pasteboard box of white and gold.
Derossi flushed up all over, and refused, saying with decision:--
"Give it to your son; I will accept nothing."
The woman was mortified, and stammered an excuse:--
"I had no idea of offending you. It is only caramels."
But Derossi said "no," again, and shook his head. Then she timidlylifted from her basket a bunch of radishes, and said:--
"Accept these at least,--they are fresh,--and carry them to your mamma."
Derossi smiled, and said:--
"No, thanks: I don't want anything; I shall always do all that I can forCrossi, but I cannot accept anything. I thank you all the same."
"But you are not at all offended?" asked the woman, anxiously.
Derossi said "No, no!" smiled, and went off, while she exclaimed, ingreat delight:--
"Oh, what a good boy! I have never seen so fine and handsome a boy ashe!"
And that appeared to be the end of it. But in the afternoon, at fouro'clock, instead of Crossi's mother, his father approached, with thatgaunt and melancholy face of his. He stopped Derossi, and from the wayin which he looked at the latter I instantly understood that hesuspected Derossi of knowing his secret. He looked at him intently, andsaid in his sorrowful, affectionate voice:--
"You are fond of my son. Why do you like him so much?"
Derossi's face turned the color of fire. He would have liked to say: "Iam fond of him because he has been unfortunate; because you, his father,have been more unfortunate than guilty, and have nobly expiated yourcrime, and are a man of heart." But he had not the courage to say it,for at bottom he still felt fear and almost loathing in the presence ofthis man who had shed another's blood, and had been six years in prison.But the latter divined it all, and lowering his voice, he said inDerossi's ear, almost trembling the while:--
"You love the son; but you do not hate, do not wholly despise thefather, do you?"
"Ah, no, no! Quite the reverse!" exclaimed Derossi, with a soulfulimpulse. And then the man made an impetuous movement, as though to throwone arm round his neck; but he dared not, and instead he took one of thelad's golden curls between two of his fingers, smoothed it out, andreleased it; then he placed his hand on his mouth and kissed his palm,gazing at Derossi with moist eyes, as though to say that this kiss wasfor him. Then he took his son by the hand, and went away at a rapidpace.
A LITTLE DEAD BOY.
Monday, 13th.
The little boy who lived in the vegetable-vender's court, the one whobelonged to the upper primary, and was the companion of my brother, isdead. Schoolmistress Delcati came in great affliction, on Saturdayafternoon, to inform the master of it; and instantly Garrone and Corettivolunteered to carry the coffin. He was a fine little lad. He had wonthe medal last week. He was fond of my brother, and he had presented himwith a broken money-box. My mother always caressed him when she met him.He wore a cap with two stripes of red cloth. His father is a porter onthe railway. Yesterday (Sunday) afternoon, at half-past four o'clock, wewent to his house, to accompany him to the church.
They live on the ground floor. Many boys of the upper primary, withtheir mothers, all holding candles, and five or six teachers and severalneighbors were already collected in the courtyard. The mistress with thered feather and Signora Delcati had gone inside, and through an openwindow we beheld them weeping. We could hear the mother of the childsobbing loudly. Two ladies, mothers of two school companions of the deadchild, had brought two garlands of flowers.
Exactly at five o'clock we set out. In front went a boy carrying across, then a priest, then the coffin,--a very, very small coffin, poorchild!--covered with a black cloth, and round it were wound the garlandsof flowers brought by the two ladies. On the black cloth, on one side,were fastened the medal and honorable mentions which the little boy hadwon in the course of the year. Garrone, Coretti, and two boys from thecourtyard bore the coffin. Behind the coffin, first came SignoraDelcati, who wept as though the little dead boy were her own; behind herthe other schoolmistresses; and behind the mistresses, the boys, amongwhom were some very little ones, who carried bunches of violets in onehand, and who stared in amazement at the bier, while their other handwas held by their mothers, who carried candles. I heard one of them say,"And shall I not see him at school again?"
When the coffin emerged from the court, a despairing cry was heard fromthe window. It was the child's mother; but they made her draw back intothe room immediately. On arriving in the street, we met the boys from acollege, who were passing in double file, and on catching sight of thecoffin with the medal and the schoolmistresses, they all pulled offtheir hats.
Poor little boy! he went to sleep forever with his medal. We shall neversee his red cap again. He was in perfect health; in four days he wasdead. On the last day he made an effort to rise and do his little taskin nomenclature, and he insisted on keeping his medal on his bed forfear it would be taken from him. No one will ever take it from youagain, poor boy! Farewell, farewell! We shall always remember thee atthe Baretti School! Sleep in peace, dear little boy!
THE EVE OF THE FOURTEENTH OF MARCH.
To-day has been more cheerful than yesterday. The thirteenth of March!The eve of the distribution of prizes at the Theatre Vittorio Eman
uele,the greatest and most beautiful festival of the whole year! But thistime the boys who are to go upon the stage and present the certificatesof the prizes to the gentlemen who are to bestow them are not to betaken at haphazard. The head-master came in this morning, at the closeof school, and said:--
"Good news, boys!" Then he called, "Coraci!" the Calabrian. TheCalabrian rose. "Would you like to be one of those to carry thecertificates of the prizes to the authorities in the theatre to-morrow?"The Calabrian answered that he should.
"That is well," said the head-master; "then there will also be arepresentative of Calabria there; and that will be a fine thing. Themunicipal authorities are desirous that this year the ten or twelve ladswho hand the prizes should be from all parts of Italy, and selected fromall the public school buildings. We have twenty buildings, with fiveannexes--seven thousand pupils. Among such a multitude there has been nodifficulty in finding one boy for each region of Italy. Tworepresentatives of the Islands were found in the Torquato Tassoschoolhouse, a Sardinian, and a Sicilian; the Boncompagni Schoolfurnished a little Florentine, the son of a wood-carver; there is aRoman, a native of Rome, in the Tommaseo building; several Venetians,Lombards, and natives of Romagna have been found; the Monviso Schoolgives us a Neapolitan, the son of an officer; we furnish a Genoese and aCalabrian,--you, Coraci,--with the Piemontese: that will make twelve.Does not this strike you as nice? It will be your brothers from allquarters of Italy who will give you your prizes. Look out! the wholetwelve will appear on the stage together. Receive them with heartyapplause. They are only boys, but they represent the country just asthough they were men. A small tricolored flag is the symbol of Italy asmuch as a huge banner, is it not?
"Applaud them warmly, then. Let it be seen that your little hearts areall aglow, that your souls of ten years grow enthusiastic in thepresence of the sacred image of your fatherland."
Having spoken thus, he went away, and the master said, with a smile,"So, Coraci, you are to be the deputy from Calabria."
And then all clapped their hands and laughed; and when we got into thestreet, we surrounded Coraci, seized him by the legs, lifted him onhigh, and set out to carry him in triumph, shouting, "Hurrah for theDeputy of Calabria!" by way of making a noise, of course; and not injest, but quite the contrary, for the sake of making a celebration forhim, and with a good will, for he is a boy who pleases every one; and hesmiled. And thus we bore him as far as the corner, where we ran into agentleman with a black beard, who began to laugh. The Calabrian said,"That is my father." And then the boys placed his son in his arms andran away in all directions.
THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES.
March 14th.
Towards two o'clock the vast theatre was crowded,--pit, gallery, boxes,stage, all were thronged; thousands of faces,--boys, gentlemen,teachers, workingmen, women of the people, babies. There was a moving ofheads and hands, a flutter of feathers, ribbons, and curls, and loud andmerry murmur which inspired cheerfulness. The theatre was all decoratedwith festoons of white, red, and green cloth. In the pit two littlestairways had been erected: one on the right, which the winners ofprizes were to ascend in order to reach the stage; the other, on theleft, which they were to descend after receiving their prizes. On thefront of the platform there was a row of red chairs; and from the backof the one in the centre hung two laurel crowns. At the back of thestage was a trophy of flags; on one side stood a small green table, andupon it lay all the certificates of premiums, tied with tricoloredribbons. The band of music was stationed in the pit, under the stage;the schoolmasters and mistresses filled all one side of the firstbalcony, which had been reserved for them; the benches and passages ofthe pit were crammed with hundreds of boys, who were to sing, and whohad written music in their hands. At the back and all about, masters andmistresses could be seen going to and fro, arranging the prize scholarsin lines; and it was full of parents who were giving a last touch totheir hair and the last pull to their neckties.
"HURRAH FOR THE DEPUTY OF CALABRIA!"--Page 166.]
No sooner had I entered my box with my family than I perceived in theopposite box the young mistress with the red feather, who was smilingand showing all the pretty dimples in her cheeks, and with her mybrother's teacher and "the little nun," dressed wholly in black, and mykind mistress of the upper first; but she was so pale, poor thing! andcoughed so hard, that she could be heard all over the theatre. In thepit I instantly espied Garrone's dear, big face and the little blondhead of Nelli, who was clinging close to the other's shoulder. A littlefurther on I saw Garoffi, with his owl's-beak nose, who was making greatefforts to collect the printed catalogues of the prize-winners; and healready had a large bundle of them which he could put to some use in hisbartering--we shall find out what it is to-morrow. Near the door was thewood-seller with his wife,--both dressed in festive attire,--togetherwith their boy, who has a third prize in the second grade. I was amazedat no longer beholding the catskin cap and the chocolate-colored tights:on this occasion he was dressed like a little gentleman. In one balconyI caught a momentary glimpse of Votini, with a large lace collar; thenhe disappeared. In a proscenium box, filled with people, was theartillery captain, the father of Robetti, the boy with the crutches whosaved the child from the omnibus.
On the stroke of two the band struck up, and at the same moment themayor, the prefect, the judge, the _provveditore_, and many othergentlemen, all dressed in black, mounted the stairs on the right, andseated themselves on the red chairs at the front of the platform. Theband ceased playing. The director of singing in the schools advancedwith a _baton_ in his hand. At a signal from him all the boys in the pitrose to their feet; at another sign they began to sing. There were sevenhundred singing a very beautiful song,--seven hundred boys' voicessinging together; how beautiful! All listened motionless: it was a slow,sweet, limpid song which seemed like a church chant. When they ceased,every one applauded; then they all became very still. The distributionof the prizes was about to begin. My little master of the second grade,with his red head and his quick eyes, who was to read the names of theprize-winners, had already advanced to the front of the stage. Theentrance of the twelve boys who were to present the certificates waswhat they were waiting for. The newspapers had already stated thatthere would be boys from all the provinces of Italy. Every one knew it,and was watching for them and gazing curiously towards the spot wherethey were to enter, and the mayor and the other gentlemen gazed also,and the whole theatre was silent.
All at once the whole twelve arrived on the stage at a run, and remainedstanding there in line, with a smile. The whole theatre, three thousandpersons, sprang up simultaneously, breaking into applause which soundedlike a clap of thunder. The boys stood for a moment as thoughdisconcerted. "Behold Italy!" said a voice on the stage. All at once Irecognized Coraci, the Calabrian, dressed in black as usual. A gentlemanbelonging to the municipal government, who was with us and who knew themall, pointed them out to my mother. "That little blond is therepresentative of Venice. The Roman is that tall, curly-haired lad,yonder." Two or three of them were dressed like gentlemen; the otherswere sons of workingmen, but all were neatly clad and clean. TheFlorentine, who was the smallest, had a blue scarf round his body. Theyall passed in front of the mayor, who kissed them, one after the other,on the brow, while a gentleman seated next to him smilingly told him thenames of their cities: "Florence, Naples, Bologna, Palermo." And as eachpassed by, the whole theatre clapped. Then they all ran to the greentable, to take the certificates. The master began to read the list,mentioning the schoolhouses, the classes, the names; and theprize-winners began to mount the stage and to file past.
The foremost ones had hardly reached the stage, when behind the scenesthere became audible a very, very faint music of violins, which did notcease during the whole time that they were filing past--a soft andalways even air, like the murmur of many subdued voices, the voices ofall the mothers, and all the masters and mistresses, giving counsel inconcert, and beseeching and administering loving reproofs. Andmeanwhile,
the prize-winners passed one by one in front of the seatedgentlemen, who handed them their certificates, and said a word orbestowed a caress on each.
The boys in the pit and the balconies applauded loudly every time thatthere passed a very small lad, or one who seemed, from his garments, tobe poor; and also for those who had abundant curly hair, or who wereclad in red or white. Some of those who filed past belonged to the upperprimary, and once arrived there, they became confused and did not knowwhere to turn, and the whole theatre laughed. One passed, three spanshigh, with a big knot of pink ribbon on his back, so that he couldhardly walk, and he got entangled in the carpet and tumbled down; andthe prefect set him on his feet again, and all laughed and clapped.Another rolled headlong down the stairs, when descending again to thepit: cries arose, but he had not hurt himself. Boys of all sortspassed,--boys with roguish faces, with frightened faces, with faces asred as cherries; comical little fellows, who laughed in every one'sface: and no sooner had they got back into the pit, than they wereseized upon by their fathers and mothers, who carried them away.
When our schoolhouse's turn came, how amused I was! Many whom I knewpassed. Coretti filed by, dressed in new clothes from head to foot, withhis fine, merry smile, which displayed all his white teeth; but whoknows how many myriagrammes of wood he had already carried that morning!The mayor, on presenting him with his certificate, inquired the meaningof a red mark on his forehead, and as he did so, laid one hand on hisshoulder. I looked in the pit for his father and mother, and saw themlaughing, while they covered their mouths with one hand. Then Derossipassed, all dressed in bright blue, with shining buttons, with all thosegolden curls, slender, easy, with his head held high, so handsome, sosympathetic, that I could have blown him a kiss; and all the gentlemenwanted to speak to him and to shake his hand.
Then the master cried, "Giulio Robetti!" and we saw the captain's soncome forward on his crutches. Hundreds of boys knew the occurrence; arumor ran round in an instant; a salvo of applause broke forth, and ofshouts, which made the theatre tremble: men sprang to their feet, theladies began to wave their handkerchiefs, and the poor boy halted in themiddle of the stage, amazed and trembling. The mayor drew him to him,gave him his prize and a kiss, and removing the two laurel crowns whichwere hanging from the back of the chair, he strung them on thecross-bars of his crutches. Then he accompanied him to the prosceniumbox, where his father, the captain, was seated; and the latter liftedhim bodily and set him down inside, amid an indescribable tumult ofbravos and hurrahs.
Meanwhile, the soft and gentle music of the violins continued, and theboys continued to file by,--those from the Schoolhouse della Consolata,nearly all the sons of petty merchants; those from the VanchigliaSchool, the sons of workingmen; those from the Boncompagni School, manyof whom were the sons of peasants; those of the Rayneri, which was thelast. As soon as it was over, the seven hundred boys in the pit sanganother very beautiful song; then the mayor spoke, and after him thejudge, who terminated his discourse by saying to the boys:--
"But do not leave this place without sending a salute to those who toilso hard for you; who have consecrated to you all the strength of theirintelligence and of their hearts; who live and die for you. There theyare; behold them!" And he pointed to the balcony of teachers. Then, fromthe balconies, from the pit, from the boxes, the boys rose, and extendedtheir arms towards the masters and mistresses, with a shout, and thelatter responded by waving their hands, their hats, and handkerchiefs,as they all stood up, in their emotion. After this, the band played oncemore, and the audience sent a last noisy salute to the twelve lads ofall the provinces of Italy, who presented themselves at the front of thestage, all drawn up in line, with their hands interlaced, beneath ashower of flowers.
STRIFE.
Monday, 26th.
However, it is not out of envy, because he got the prize and I did not,that I quarrelled with Coretti this morning. It was not out of envy. ButI was in the wrong. The teacher had placed him beside me, and I waswriting in my copy-book for calligraphy; he jogged my elbow and made meblot and soil the monthly story, _Blood of Romagna_, which I was to copyfor the little mason, who is ill. I got angry, and said a rude word tohim. He replied, with a smile, "I did not do it intentionally." I shouldhave believed him, because I know him; but it displeased me that heshould smile, and I thought:--
"Oh! now that he has had a prize, he has grown saucy!" and a littlewhile afterwards, to revenge myself, I gave him a jog which made himspoil his page. Then, all crimson with wrath, "You did that on purpose,"he said to me, and raised his hand: the teacher saw it; he drew it back.But he added:--
"I shall wait for you outside!" I felt ill at ease; my wrath hadsimmered away; I repented. No; Coretti could not have done itintentionally. He is good, I thought. I recalled how I had seen him inhis own home; how he had worked and helped his sick mother; and then howheartily he had been welcomed in my house; and how he had pleased myfather. What would I not have given not to have said that word to him;not to have insulted him thus! And I thought of the advice that myfather had given to me: "Have you done wrong?"--"Yes."--"Then beg hispardon." But this I did not dare to do; I was ashamed to humiliatemyself. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, and I saw his coatripped on the shoulder,--perhaps because he had carried too muchwood,--and I felt that I loved him; and I said to myself, "Courage!" Butthe words, "excuse me," stuck in my throat. He looked at me askance fromtime to time, and he seemed to me to be more grieved than angry. But atsuch times I looked malevolently at him, to show him that I was notafraid.
He repeated, "We shall meet outside!" And I said, "We shall meetoutside!" But I was thinking of what my father had once said to me, "Ifyou are wronged, defend yourself, but do not fight."
And I said to myself, "I will defend myself, but I will not fight." ButI was discontented, and I no longer listened to the master. At last themoment of dismissal arrived. When I was alone in the street I perceivedthat he was following me. I stopped and waited for him, ruler in hand.He approached; I raised my ruler.
"No, Enrico," he said, with his kindly smile, waving the ruler asidewith his hand; "let us be friends again, as before."
I stood still in amazement, and then I felt what seemed to be a handdealing a push on my shoulders, and I found myself in his arms. Hekissed me, and said:--
"We'll have no more altercations between us, will we?"
"Never again! never again!" I replied. And we parted content. But when Ireturned home, and told my father all about it, thinking to give himpleasure, his face clouded over, and he said:--
"You should have been the first to offer your hand, since you were inthe wrong." Then he added, "You should not raise your ruler at a comradewho is better than you are--at the son of a soldier!" and snatching theruler from my hand, he broke it in two, and hurled it against the wall.
MY SISTER.
Friday, 24th.
Why, Enrico, after our father has already reproved you for having behaved badly to Coretti, were you so unkind to me? You cannot imagine the pain that you caused me. Do you not know that when you were a baby, I stood for hours and hours beside your cradle, instead of playing with my companions, and that when you were ill, I got out of bed every night to feel whether your forehead was burning? Do you not know, you who grieve your sister, that if a tremendous misfortune should overtake us, I should be a mother to you and love you like my son? Do you not know that when our father and mother are no longer here, I shall be your best friend, the only person with whom you can talk about our dead and your infancy, and that, should it be necessary, I shall work for you, Enrico, to earn your bread and to pay for your studies, and that I shall always love you when you are grown up, that I shall follow you in thought when you go far away, always because we grew up together and have the same blood? O Enrico, be sure of this when you are a man, that if misfortune happens to you, if you are alone, be very sure that you will seek me, that you will come to me an
d say: "Silvia, sister, let me stay with you; let us talk of the days when we were happy--do you remember? Let us talk of our mother, of our home, of those beautiful days that are so far away." O Enrico, you will always find your sister with her arms wide open. Yes, dear Enrico; and you must forgive me for the reproof that I am administering to you now. I shall never recall any wrong of yours; and if you should give me other sorrows, what matters it? You will always be my brother, the same brother; I shall never recall you otherwise than as having held you in my arms when a baby, of having loved our father and mother with you, of having watched you grow up, of having been for years your most faithful companion. But do you write me a kind word in this same copy-book, and I will come for it and read it before the evening. In the meanwhile, to show you that I am not angry with you, and perceiving that you are weary, I have copied for you the monthly story, _Blood of Romagna_, which you were to have copied for the little sick mason. Look in the left drawer of your table; I have been writing all night, while you were asleep. Write me a kind word, Enrico, I beseech you.
THY SISTER SILVIA.
I am not worthy to kiss your hands.--ENRICO.
BLOOD OF ROMAGNA.
(_Monthly Story._)
That evening the house of Ferruccio was more silent than was its wont.The father, who kept a little haberdasher's shop, had gone to Forli tomake some purchases, and his wife had accompanied him, with Luigina, ababy, whom she was taking to a doctor, that he might operate on adiseased eye; and they were not to return until the following morning.It was almost midnight. The woman who came to do the work by day hadgone away at nightfall. In the house there was only the grandmother withthe paralyzed legs, and Ferruccio, a lad of thirteen. It was a smallhouse of but one story, situated on the highway, at a gunshot's distancefrom a village not far from Forli, a town of Romagna; and there was nearit only an uninhabited house, ruined two months previously by fire, onwhich the sign of an inn was still to be seen. Behind the tiny house wasa small garden surrounded by a hedge, upon which a rustic gate opened;the door of the shop, which also served as the house door, opened on thehighway. All around spread the solitary campagna, vast cultivatedfields, planted with mulberry-trees.
It was nearly midnight; it was raining and blowing. Ferruccio and hisgrandmother, who was still up, were in the dining-room, between whichand the garden there was a small, closet-like room, encumbered with oldfurniture. Ferruccio had only returned home at eleven o'clock, after anabsence of many hours, and his grandmother had watched for him with eyeswide open, filled with anxiety, nailed to the large arm-chair, uponwhich she was accustomed to pass the entire day, and often the wholenight as well, since a difficulty of breathing did not allow her to liedown in bed.
It was raining, and the wind beat the rain against the window-panes: thenight was very dark. Ferruccio had returned weary, muddy, with hisjacket torn, and the livid mark of a stone on his forehead. He hadengaged in a stone fight with his comrades; they had come to blows, asusual; and in addition he had gambled, and lost all his soldi, and lefthis cap in a ditch.
Although the kitchen was illuminated only by a small oil lamp, placed onthe corner of the table, near the arm-chair, his poor grandmother hadinstantly perceived the wretched condition of her grandson, and hadpartly divined, partly brought him to confess, his misdeeds.
She loved this boy with all her soul. When she had learned all, shebegan to cry.
"Ah, no!" she said, after a long silence, "you have no heart for yourpoor grandmother. You have no feeling, to take advantage in this mannerof the absence of your father and mother, to cause me sorrow. You haveleft me alone the whole day long. You had not the slightest compassion.Take care, Ferruccio! You are entering on an evil path which will leadyou to a sad end. I have seen others begin like you, and come to a badend. If you begin by running away from home, by getting into brawls withthe other boys, by losing soldi, then, gradually, from stone fights youwill come to knives, from gambling to other vices, and from other vicesto--theft."
Ferruccio stood listening three paces away, leaning against a cupboard,with his chin on his breast and his brows knit, being still hot withwrath from the brawl. A lock of fine chestnut hair fell across hisforehead, and his blue eyes were motionless.
"From gambling to theft!" repeated his grandmother, continuing to weep."Think of it, Ferruccio! Think of that scourge of the country abouthere, of that Vito Mozzoni, who is now playing the vagabond in the town;who, at the age of twenty-four, has been twice in prison, and has madethat poor woman, his mother, die of a broken heart--I knew her; and hisfather has fled to Switzerland in despair. Think of that bad fellow,whose salute your father is ashamed to return: he is always roaming withmiscreants worse than himself, and some day he will go to the galleys.Well, I knew him as a boy, and he began as you are doing. Reflect thatyou will reduce your father and mother to the same end as his."
Ferruccio held his peace. He was not at all remorseful at heart; quitethe reverse: his misdemeanors arose rather from superabundance of lifeand audacity than from an evil mind; and his father had managed himbadly in precisely this particular, that, holding him capable, atbottom, of the finest sentiments, and also, when put to the proof, of avigorous and generous action, he left the bridle loose upon his neck,and waited for him to acquire judgment for himself. The lad was goodrather than perverse, but stubborn; and it was hard for him, even whenhis heart was oppressed with repentance, to allow those good words whichwin pardon to escape his lips, "If I have done wrong, I will do so nomore; I promise it; forgive me." His soul was full of tenderness attimes; but pride would not permit it to manifest itself.
"Ah, Ferruccio," continued his grandmother, perceiving that he was thusdumb, "not a word of penitence do you utter to me! You see to what acondition I am reduced, so that I am as good as actually buried. Youought not to have the heart to make me suffer so, to make the mother ofyour mother, who is so old and so near her last day, weep; the poorgrandmother who has always loved you so, who rocked you all night long,night after night, when you were a baby a few months old, and who didnot eat for amusing you,--you do not know that! I always said, 'This boywill be my consolation!' And now you are killing me! I would willinglygive the little life that remains to me if I could see you become a goodboy, and an obedient one, as you were in those days when I used to leadyou to the sanctuary--do you remember, Ferruccio? You used to fill mypockets with pebbles and weeds, and I carried you home in my arms, fastasleep. You used to love your poor grandma then. And now I am aparalytic, and in need of your affection as of the air to breathe, sinceI have no one else in the world, poor, half-dead woman that I am: myGod!"
Ferruccio was on the point of throwing himself on his grandmother,overcome with emotion, when he fancied that he heard a slight noise, acreaking in the small adjoining room, the one which opened on thegarden. But he could not make out whether it was the window-shuttersrattling in the wind, or something else.
He bent his head and listened.
The rain beat down noisily.
The sound was repeated. His grandmother heard it also.
"What is it?" asked the grandmother, in perturbation, after a momentarypause.
"The rain," murmured the boy.
"Then, Ferruccio," said the old woman, drying her eyes, "you promise methat you will be good, that you will not make your poor grandmother weepagain--"
Another faint sound interrupted her.
"But it seems to me that it is not the rain!" she exclaimed, turningpale. "Go and see!"
But she instantly added, "No; remain here!" and seized Ferruccio by thehand.
Both remained as they were, and held their breath. All they heard wasthe sound of the water.
Then both were seized with a shivering fit.
It seemed to both that they heard footsteps in the next room.
"Who's there?" demanded the lad, recovering his breath with an effort.
No one replied.
; "Who is it?" asked Ferruccio again, chilled with terror.
But hardly had he pronounced these words when both uttered a shriek ofterror. Two men sprang into the room. One of them grasped the boy andplaced one hand over his mouth; the other clutched the old woman by thethroat. The first said:--
"Silence, unless you want to die!"
The second:--
"Be quiet!" and raised aloft a knife.
Both had dark cloths over their faces, with two holes for the eyes.
For a moment nothing was audible but the gasping breath of all four, thepatter of the rain; the old woman emitted frequent rattles from herthroat, and her eyes were starting from her head.
The man who held the boy said in his ear, "Where does your father keephis money?"
The lad replied in a thread of a voice, with chattering teeth,"Yonder--in the cupboard."
"Come with me," said the man.
And he dragged him into the closet room, holding him securely by thethroat. There was a dark lantern standing on the floor.
"Where is the cupboard?" he demanded.
The suffocating boy pointed to the cupboard.
Then, in order to make sure of the boy, the man flung him on his kneesin front of the cupboard, and, pressing his neck closely between his ownlegs, in such a way that he could throttle him if he shouted, andholding his knife in his teeth and his lantern in one hand, with theother he pulled from his pocket a pointed iron, drove it into the lock,fumbled about, broke it, threw the doors wide open, tumbled everythingover in a perfect fury of haste, filled his pockets, shut the cupboardagain, opened it again, made another search; then he seized the boy bythe windpipe again, and pushed him to where the other man was stillgrasping the old woman, who was convulsed, with her head thrown back andher mouth open.
The latter asked in a low voice, "Did you find it?"
His companion replied, "I found it."
And he added, "See to the door."
The one that was holding the old woman ran to the door of the garden tosee if there were any one there, and called in from the little room, ina voice that resembled a hiss, "Come!"
The one who remained behind, and who was still holding Ferruccio fast,showed his knife to the boy and the old woman, who had opened her eyesagain, and said, "Not a sound, or I'll come back and cut your throat."
And he glared at the two for a moment.
At this juncture, a song sung by many voices became audible far off onthe highway.
The robber turned his head hastily toward the door, and the violence ofthe movement caused the cloth to fall from his face.
The old woman gave vent to a shriek; "Mozzoni!"
"Accursed woman," roared the robber, on finding himself recognized, "youshall die!"
And he hurled himself, with his knife raised, against the old woman, whoswooned on the spot.
The assassin dealt the blow.
But Ferruccio, with an exceedingly rapid movement, and uttering a cry ofdesperation, had rushed to his grandmother, and covered her body withhis own. The assassin fled, stumbling against the table and overturningthe light, which was extinguished.
The boy slipped slowly from above his grandmother, fell on his knees,and remained in that attitude, with his arms around her body and hishead upon her breast.
Several moments passed; it was very dark; the song of the peasantsgradually died away in the campagna. The old woman recovered her senses.
"Ferruccio!" she cried, in a voice that was barely intelligible, withchattering teeth.
"Grandmamma!" replied the lad.
The old woman made an effort to speak; but terror had paralyzed hertongue.
She remained silent for a while, trembling violently.
Then she succeeded in asking:--
"They are not here now?"
"No."
"They did not kill me," murmured the old woman in a stifled voice.
"No; you are safe," said Ferruccio, in a weak voice. "You are safe, deargrandmother. They carried off the money. But daddy had taken nearly allof it with him."
His grandmother drew a deep breath.
"Grandmother," said Ferruccio, still kneeling, and pressing her close tohim, "dear grandmother, you love me, don't you?"
"O Ferruccio! my poor little son!" she replied, placing her hands on hishead; "what a fright you must have had!--O Lord God of mercy!--Light thelamp. No; let us still remain in the dark! I am still afraid."
"Grandmother," resumed the boy, "I have always caused you grief."
"No, Ferruccio, you must not say such things; I shall never think ofthat again; I have forgotten everything, I love you so dearly!"
"I have always caused you grief," pursued Ferruccio, with difficulty,and his voice quivered; "but I have always loved you. Do you forgiveme?--Forgive me, grandmother."
"Yes, my son, I forgive you with all my heart. Think, how could I helpforgiving you! Rise from your knees, my child. I will never scold youagain. You are so good, so good! Let us light the lamp. Let us takecourage a little. Rise, Ferruccio."
"Thanks, grandmother," said the boy, and his voice was still weaker."Now--I am content. You will remember me, grandmother--will you not? Youwill always remember me--your Ferruccio?"
"My Ferruccio!" exclaimed his grandmother, amazed and alarmed, as shelaid her hands on his shoulders and bent her head, as though to look himin his face.
"Remember me," murmured the boy once more, in a voice that seemed like abreath. "Give a kiss to my mother--to my father--to Luigina.--Good by,grandmother."
"In the name of Heaven, what is the matter with you?" shrieked the oldwoman, feeling the boy's head anxiously, as it lay upon her knees; andthen with all the power of voice of which her throat was capable, and indesperation: "Ferruccio! Ferruccio! Ferruccio! My child! My love! Angelsof Paradise, come to my aid!"
But Ferruccio made no reply. The little hero, the saviour of the motherof his mother, stabbed by a blow from a knife in the back, had renderedup his beautiful and daring soul to God.
THE LITTLE MASON ON HIS SICK-BED.
Tuesday, 18th.
The poor little mason is seriously ill; the master told us to go and seehim; and Garrone, Derossi, and I agreed to go together. Stardi wouldhave come also, but as the teacher had assigned us the description of_The Monument to Cavour_, he told us that he must go and see themonument, in order that his description might be more exact. So, by wayof experiment, we invited that puffed-up fellow, Nobis, who replied"No," and nothing more. Votini also excused himself, perhaps because hewas afraid of soiling his clothes with plaster.
We went there when we came out of school at four o'clock. It was rainingin torrents. On the street Garrone halted, and said, with his mouth fullof bread:--
"What shall I buy?" and he rattled a couple of soldi in his pocket. Weeach contributed two soldi, and purchased three huge oranges. Weascended to the garret. At the door Derossi removed his medal and put itin his pocket. I asked him why.
"I don't know," he answered; "in order not to have the air: it strikesme as more delicate to go in without my medal." We knocked; the father,that big man who looks like a giant, opened to us; his face wasdistorted so that he appeared terrified.
"Who are you?" he demanded. Garrone replied:--
"We are Antonio's schoolmates, and we have brought him three oranges."
"Ah, poor Tonino!" exclaimed the mason, shaking his head, "I fear thathe will never eat your oranges!" and he wiped his eyes with the back ofhis hand. He made us come in. We entered an attic room, where we saw"the little mason" asleep in a little iron bed; his mother hungdejectedly over the bed, with her face in her hands, and she hardlyturned to look at us; on one side hung brushes, a trowel, and aplaster-sieve; over the feet of the sick boy was spread the mason'sjacket, white with lime. The poor boy was emaciated; very, very white;his nose was pointed, and his breath was short. O dear Tonino, my littlecomrade! you who were so kind and merry, how it pains me! what would Inot give to see you make the hare's face once more, poor littl
e mason!Garrone laid an orange on his pillow, close to his face; the odor wakedhim; he grasped it instantly; then let go of it, and gazed intently atGarrone.
"It is I," said the latter; "Garrone: do you know me?" He smiled almostimperceptibly, lifted his stubby hand with difficulty from the bed andheld it out to Garrone, who took it between his, and laid it against hischeek, saying:--
"Courage, courage, little mason; you are going to get well soon and comeback to school, and the master will put you next to me; will that pleaseyou?"
But the little mason made no reply. His mother burst into sobs: "Oh, mypoor Tonino! My poor Tonino! He is so brave and good, and God is goingto take him from us!"
"Silence!" cried the mason; "silence, for the love of God, or I shalllose my reason!"
Then he said to us, with anxiety: "Go, go, boys, thanks; go! what do youwant to do here? Thanks; go home!" The boy had closed his eyes again,and appeared to be dead.
"Do you need any assistance?" asked Garrone.
"No, my good boy, thanks," the mason answered. And so saying, he pushedus out on the landing, and shut the door. But we were not half-way downthe stairs, when we heard him calling, "Garrone! Garrone!"
We all three mounted the stairs once more in haste.
"Garrone!" shouted the mason, with a changed countenance, "he has calledyou by name; it is two days since he spoke; he has called you twice; hewants you; come quickly! Ah, holy God, if this is only a good sign!"
"Farewell for the present," said Garrone to us; "I shall remain," andhe ran in with the father. Derossi's eyes were full of tears. I said tohim:--
"Are you crying for the little mason? He has spoken; he will recover."
"I believe it," replied Derossi; "but I was not thinking of him. I wasthinking how good Garrone is, and what a beautiful soul he has."
COUNT CAVOUR.
Wednesday, 29th.
You are to make a description of the monument to Count Cavour. You can do it. But who was Count Cavour? You cannot understand at present. For the present this is all you know: he was for many years the prime minister of Piemont. It was he who sent the Piemontese army to the Crimea to raise once more, with the victory of the Cernaia, our military glory, which had fallen with the defeat at Novara; it was he who made one hundred and fifty thousand Frenchmen descend from the Alps to chase the Austrians from Lombardy; it was he who governed Italy in the most solemn period of our revolution; who gave, during those years, the most potent impulse to the holy enterprise of the unification of our country,--he with his luminous mind, with his invincible perseverance, with his more than human industry. Many generals have passed terrible hours on the field of battle; but he passed more terrible ones in his cabinet, when his enormous work might suffer destruction at any moment, like a fragile edifice at the tremor of an earthquake. Hours, nights of struggle and anguish did he pass, sufficient to make him issue from it with reason distorted and death in his heart. And it was this gigantic and stormy work which shortened his life by twenty years. Nevertheless, devoured by the fever which was to cast him into his grave, he yet contended desperately with the malady in order to accomplish something for his country. "It is strange," he said sadly on his death-bed, "I no longer know how to read; I can no longer read."
While they were bleeding him, and the fever was increasing, he was thinking of his country, and he said imperiously: "Cure me; my mind is clouding over; I have need of all my faculties to manage important affairs." When he was already reduced to extremities, and the whole city was in a tumult, and the king stood at his bedside, he said anxiously, "I have many things to say to you, Sire, many things to show you; but I am ill; I cannot, I cannot;" and he was in despair.
And his feverish thoughts hovered ever round the State, round the new Italian provinces which had been united with us, round the many things which still remained to be done. When delirium seized him, "Educate the children!" he exclaimed, between his gasps for breath,--"educate the children and the young people--govern with liberty!"
His delirium increased; death hovered over him, and with burning words he invoked General Garibaldi, with whom he had had disagreements, and Venice and Rome, which were not yet free: he had vast visions of the future of Italy and of Europe; he dreamed of a foreign invasion; he inquired where the corps of the army were, and the generals; he still trembled for us, for his people. His great sorrow was not, you understand, that he felt that his life was going, but to see himself fleeing his country, which still had need of him, and for which he had, in a few years, worn out the measureless forces of his miraculous organism. He died with the battle-cry in his throat, and his death was as great as his life. Now reflect a little, Enrico, what sort of a thing is our labor, which nevertheless so weighs us down; what are our griefs, our death itself, in the face of the toils, the terrible anxieties, the tremendous agonies of these men upon whose hearts rests a world! Think of this, my son, when you pass before that marble image, and say to it, "Glory!" in your heart.
THY FATHER.