APRIL.
SPRING.
Saturday, 1st.
THE first of April! Only three months more! This has been one of themost beautiful mornings of the year. I was happy in school becauseCoretti told me to come day after to-morrow to see the king make hisentrance with his father, _who knows him_, and because my mother hadpromised to take me the same day to visit the Infant Asylum in the CorsoValdocco. I was pleased, too, because the little mason is better, andbecause the teacher said to my father yesterday evening as he waspassing, "He is doing well; he is doing well."
And then it was a beautiful spring morning. From the school windows wecould see the blue sky, the trees of the garden all covered with buds,and the wide-open windows of the houses, with their boxes and vasesalready growing green. The master did not laugh, because he neverlaughs; but he was in a good humor, so that that perpendicular wrinklehardly ever appeared on his brow; and he explained a problem on theblackboard, and jested. And it was plain that he felt a pleasure inbreathing the air of the gardens which entered through the open window,redolent with the fresh odor of earth and leaves, which suggestedthoughts of country rambles.
While he was explaining, we could hear in a neighboring street ablacksmith hammering on his anvil, and in the house opposite, a womansinging to lull her baby to sleep; far away, in the Cernaia barracks,the trumpets were sounding. Every one appeared pleased, even Stardi. Ata certain moment the blacksmith began to hammer more vigorously, thewoman to sing more loudly. The master paused and lent an ear. Then hesaid, slowly, as he gazed out of the window:--
"The smiling sky, a singing mother, an honest man at work, boys atstudy,--these are beautiful things."
When we emerged from the school, we saw that every one else was cheerfulalso. All walked in a line, stamping loudly with their feet, andhumming, as though on the eve of a four days' vacation; theschoolmistresses were playful; the one with the red feather trippedalong behind the children like a schoolgirl; the parents of the boyswere chatting together and smiling, and Crossi's mother, thevegetable-vender, had so many bunches of violets in her basket, thatthey filled the whole large hall with perfume.
I have never felt such happiness as this morning on catching sight of mymother, who was waiting for me in the street. And I said to her as I ranto meet her:--
"Oh, I am happy! what is it that makes me so happy this morning?" And mymother answered me with a smile that it was the beautiful season and agood conscience.
KING UMBERTO.
Monday, 3d.
At ten o'clock precisely my father saw from the window Coretti, thewood-seller, and his son waiting for me in the square, and said to me:--
"There they are, Enrico; go and see your king."
I went like a flash. Both father and son were even more alert thanusual, and they never seemed to me to resemble each other so strongly asthis morning. The father wore on his jacket the medal for valor betweentwo commemorative medals, and his mustaches were curled and as pointedas two pins.
We at once set out for the railway station, where the king was to arriveat half-past ten. Coretti, the father, smoked his pipe and rubbed hishands. "Do you know," said he, "I have not seen him since the war of'sixty-six? A trifle of fifteen years and six months. First, three yearsin France, and then at Mondovi, and here, where I might have seen him, Ihave never had the good luck of being in the city when he came. Such acombination of circumstances!"
He called the King "Umberto," like a comrade. Umberto commanded the 16thdivision; Umberto was twenty-two years and so many days old; Umbertomounted a horse thus and so.
"Fifteen years!" he said vehemently, accelerating his pace. "I reallyhave a great desire to see him again. I left him a prince; I see himonce more, a king. And I, too, have changed. From a soldier I havebecome a hawker of wood." And he laughed.
His son asked him, "If he were to see you, would he remember you?"
He began to laugh.
"You are crazy!" he answered. "That's quite another thing. He, Umberto,was one single man; we were as numerous as flies. And then, he neverlooked at us one by one."
We turned into the Corso Vittorio Emanuele; there were many people ontheir way to the station. A company of Alpine soldiers passed with theirtrumpets. Two armed policemen passed by on horseback at a gallop. Theday was serene and brilliant.
"Yes!" exclaimed the elder Coretti, growing animated, "it is a realpleasure to me to see him once more, the general of my division. Ah, howquickly I have grown old! It seems as though it were only the other daythat I had my knapsack on my shoulders and my gun in my hands, at thataffair of the 24th of June, when we were on the point of coming toblows. Umberto was going to and fro with his officers, while the cannonwere thundering in the distance; and every one was gazing at him andsaying, 'May there not be a bullet for him also!' I was a thousand milesfrom thinking that I should soon find myself so near him, in front ofthe lances of the Austrian uhlans; actually, only four paces from eachother, boys. That was a fine day; the sky was like a mirror; but so hot!Let us see if we can get in."
We had arrived at the station; there was a great crowd,--carriages,policemen, carabineers, societies with banners. A regimental band wasplaying. The elder Coretti attempted to enter the portico, but he wasstopped. Then it occurred to him to force his way into the front row ofthe crowd which formed an opening at the entrance; and making way withhis elbow, he succeeded in thrusting us forward also. But theundulating throng flung us hither and thither a little. The wood-sellergot his eye upon the first pillar of the portico, where the police didnot allow any one to stand; "Come with me," he said suddenly, draggingus by the hand; and he crossed the empty space in two bounds, and wentand planted himself there, with his back against the wall.
A police brigadier instantly hurried up and said to him, "You can'tstand here."
"I belong to the fourth battalion of forty-nine," replied Coretti,touching his medal.
The brigadier glanced at it, and said, "Remain."
"Didn't I say so!" exclaimed Coretti triumphantly; "it's a magic word,that fourth of the forty-ninth! Haven't I the right to see my generalwith some little comfort,--I, who was in that squadron? I saw him closeat hand then; it seems right that I should see him close at hand now.And I say general! He was my battalion commander for a good half-hour;for at such moments he commanded the battalion himself, while it was inthe heart of things, and not Major Ubrich, by Heavens!"
In the meantime, in the reception-room and outside, a great mixture ofgentlemen and officers was visible, and in front of the door, thecarriages, with the lackeys dressed in red, were drawn up in a line.
Coretti asked his father whether Prince Umberto had his sword in hishand when he was with the regiment.
"He would certainly have had his sword in his hand," the latter replied,"to ward off a blow from a lance, which might strike him as well asanother. Ah! those unchained demons! They came down on us like the wrathof God; they descended on us. They swept between the groups, thesquadrons, the cannon, as though tossed by a hurricane, crushing downeverything. There was a whirl of light cavalry of Alessandria, oflancers of Foggia, of infantry, of sharpshooters, a pandemonium in whichnothing could any longer be understood. I heard the shout, 'YourHighness! your Highness!' I saw the lowered lances approaching; wedischarged our guns; a cloud of smoke hid everything. Then the smokecleared away. The ground was covered with horses and uhlans, wounded anddead. I turned round, and beheld in our midst Umberto, on horseback,gazing tranquilly about, with the air of demanding, 'Have any of my ladsreceived a scratch?' And we shouted to him, 'Hurrah!' right in his face,like madmen. Heavens, what a moment that was! Here's the train coming!"
The band struck up; the officers hastened forward; the crowd elevatedthemselves on tiptoe.
"Eh, he won't come out in a hurry," said a policeman; "they arepresenting him with an address now."
The elder Coretti was beside himself with impatience.
"Ah! when I think of it," he said, "I always see him there.
Of course,there is cholera and there are earthquakes; and in them, too, he bearshimself bravely; but I always have him before my mind as I saw him then,among us, with that tranquil face. I am sure that he too recalls thefourth of the forty-ninth, even now that he is King; and that it wouldgive him pleasure to have for once, at a table together, all those whomhe saw about him at such moments. Now, he has generals, and greatgentlemen, and courtiers; then, there was no one but us poor soldiers.If we could only exchange a few words alone! Our general of twenty-two;our prince, who was intrusted to our bayonets! I have not seen him forfifteen years. Our Umberto! that's what he is! Ah! that music stirs myblood, on my word of honor."
An outburst of shouts interrupted him; thousands of hats rose in theair; four gentlemen dressed in black got into the first carriage.
"'Tis he!" cried Coretti, and stood as though enchanted.
Then he said softly, "Madonna mia, how gray he has grown!"
We all three uncovered our heads; the carriage advanced slowly throughthe crowd, who shouted and waved their hats. I looked at the elderCoretti. He seemed to me another man; he seemed to have become taller,graver, rather pale, and fastened bolt upright against the pillar.
The carriage arrived in front of us, a pace distant from the pillar."Hurrah!" shouted many voices.
"Hurrah!" shouted Coretti, after the others.
The King glanced at his face, and his eye dwelt for a moment on histhree medals.
Then Coretti lost his head, and roared, "The fourth battalion of theforty-ninth!"
The King, who had turned away, turned towards us again, and lookingCoretti straight in the eye, reached his hand out of the carriage.
Coretti gave one leap forwards and clasped it. The carriage passed on;the crowd broke in and separated us; we lost sight of the elder Coretti.But it was only for a moment. We found him again directly, panting, withwet eyes, calling for his son by name, and holding his hand on high. Hisson flew towards him, and he said, "Here, little one, while my hand isstill warm!" and he passed his hand over the boy's face, saying, "Thisis a caress from the King."
And there he stood, as though in a dream, with his eyes fixed on thedistant carriage, smiling, with his pipe in his hand, in the centre of agroup of curious people, who were staring at him. "He's one of thefourth battalion of the forty-ninth!" they said. "He is a soldier thatknows the King." "And the King recognized him." "And he offered him hishand." "He gave the King a petition," said one, more loudly.
"No," replied Coretti, whirling round abruptly; "I did not give him anypetition. There is something else that I would give him, if he were toask it of me."
They all stared at him.
And he said simply, "My blood."
THE INFANT ASYLUM.
Tuesday, 4th.
After breakfast yesterday my mother took me, as she had promised, to theInfant Asylum in the Corso Valdocco, in order to recommend to thedirectress a little sister of Precossi. I had never seen an asylum. Howmuch amused I was! There were two hundred of them, boy-babies andgirl-babies, and so small that the children in our lower primary schoolsare men in comparison.
We arrived just as they were entering the refectory in two files, wherethere were two very long tables, with a great many round holes, and ineach hole a black bowl filled with rice and beans, and a tin spoonbeside it. On entering, some grew confused and remained on the flooruntil the mistresses ran and picked them up. Many halted in front of abowl, thinking it was their proper place, and had already swallowed aspoonful, when a mistress arrived and said, "Go on!" and then theyadvanced three or four paces and got down another spoonful, and thenadvanced again, until they reached their own places, after havingfraudulently disposed of half a portion. At last, by dint of pushing andcrying, "Make haste! make haste!" they were all got into order, and theprayer was begun. But all those on the inner line, who had to turn theirbacks on the bowls for the prayer, twisted their heads round so thatthey could keep an eye on them, lest some one might meddle; and thenthey said their prayer thus, with hands clasped and their eyes on theceiling, but with their hearts on their food. Then they set to eating.Ah, what a charming sight it was! One ate with two spoons, another withhis hands; many picked up the beans one by one, and thrust them intotheir pockets; others wrapped them tightly in their little aprons, andpounded them to reduce them to a paste. There were even some who did noteat, because they were watching the flies flying, and others coughed andsprinkled a shower of rice all around them. It resembled a poultry-yard.But it was charming. The two rows of babies formed a pretty sight, withtheir hair all tied on the tops of their heads with red, green, and blueribbons. One teacher asked a row of eight children, "Where does ricegrow?" The whole eight opened their mouths wide, filled as they werewith the pottage, and replied in concert, in a sing-song, "It grows inthe water." Then the teacher gave the order, "Hands up!" and it waspretty to see all those little arms fly up, which a few months ago wereall in swaddling-clothes, and all those little hands flourishing, whichlooked like so many white and pink butterflies.
Then they all went to recreation; but first they all took their littlebaskets, which were hanging on the wall with their lunches in them. Theywent out into the garden and scattered, drawing forth their provisionsas they did so,--bread, stewed plums, a tiny bit of cheese, ahard-boiled egg, little apples, a handful of boiled vetches, or a wingof chicken. In an instant the whole garden was strewn with crumbs, asthough they had been scattered from their feed by a flock of birds. Theyate in all the queerest ways,--like rabbits, like rats, like cats,nibbling, licking, sucking. There was one child who held a bit of ryebread hugged closely to his breast, and was rubbing it with a medlar, asthough he were polishing a sword. Some of the little ones crushed intheir fists small cheeses, which trickled between their fingers likemilk, and ran down inside their sleeves, and they were utterlyunconscious of it. They ran and chased each other with apples and rollsin their teeth, like dogs. I saw three of them excavating a hard-boiledegg with a straw, thinking to discover treasures, and they spilled halfof it on the ground, and then picked the crumbs up again one by one withgreat patience, as though they had been pearls. And those who hadanything extraordinary were surrounded by eight or ten, who stoodstaring at the baskets with bent heads, as though they were looking atthe moon in a well. There were twenty congregated round a mite of afellow who had a paper horn of sugar, and they were going through allsorts of ceremonies with him for the privilege of dipping their bread init, and he accorded it to some, while to others, after many prayers, heonly granted his finger to suck.
"THE BOYS HAD DAUBED THEIR HANDS WITH RESIN."--Page 202.]
In the meantime, my mother had come into the garden and was caressingnow one and now another. Many hung about her, and even on her back,begging for a kiss, with faces upturned as though to a third story, andwith mouths that opened and shut as though asking for the breast. Oneoffered her the quarter of an orange which had been bitten, another asmall crust of bread; one little girl gave her a leaf; another showedher, with all seriousness, the tip of her forefinger, a minuteexamination of which revealed a microscopic swelling, which had beencaused by touching the flame of a candle on the preceding day. Theyplaced before her eyes, as great marvels, very tiny insects, which Icannot understand their being able to see and catch, the halfs of corks,shirt-buttons, and flowerets pulled from the vases. One child, with abandaged head, who was determined to be heard at any cost, stammered outto her some story about a head-over-heels tumble, not one word of whichwas intelligible; another insisted that my mother should bend down, andthen whispered in her ear, "My father makes brushes."
And in the meantime a thousand accidents were happening here and therewhich caused the teachers to hasten up. Children wept because they couldnot untie a knot in their handkerchiefs; others disputed, with scratchesand shrieks, the halves of an apple; one child, who had fallen facedownward over a little bench which had been overturned, wept amid theruins, and could not rise.
Before her departure my mother to
ok three or four of them in her arms,and they ran up from all quarters to be taken also, their faces smearedwith yolk of egg and orange juice; and one caught her hands; another herfinger, to look at her ring; another tugged at her watch chain; anothertried to seize her by the hair.
"Take care," the teacher said to her; "they will tear your clothes allto pieces."
But my mother cared nothing for her dress, and she continued to kissthem, and they pressed closer and closer to her: those who were nearest,with their arms extended as though they were desirous of climbing; themore distant endeavoring to make their way through the crowd, and allscreaming:--
"Good by! good by! good by!"
At last she succeeded in escaping from the garden. And they all ran andthrust their faces through the railings to see her pass, and to thrusttheir arms through to greet her, offering her once more bits of bread,bites of apple, cheese-rinds, and all screaming in concert:--
"Good by! good by! good by! Come back to-morrow! Come again!"
As my mother made her escape, she passed her hand once more over thosehundreds of tiny outstretched hands as over a garland of living roses,and finally arrived safely in the street, covered with crumbs and spots,rumpled and dishevelled, with one hand full of flowers and her eyesswelling with tears, and happy as though she had come from a festival.And inside there was still audible a sound like the twittering of birds,saying:--
"Good by! good by! Come again, _madama_!"
GYMNASTICS.
Tuesday, 5th.
As the weather continues extremely fine, they have made us pass fromchamber gymnastics to gymnastics with apparatus in the garden.
Garrone was in the head-master's office yesterday when Nelli's mother,that blond woman dressed in black, came in to get her son excused fromthe new exercises. Every word cost her an effort; and as she spoke, sheheld one hand on her son's head.
"He is not able to do it," she said to the head-master. But Nelli showedmuch grief at this exclusion from the apparatus, at having this addedhumiliation imposed upon him.
"You will see, mamma," he said, "that I shall do like the rest."
His mother gazed at him in silence, with an air of pity and affection.Then she remarked, in a hesitating way, "I fear lest his companions--"
What she meant to say was, "lest they should make sport of him." ButNelli replied:--
"They will not do anything to me--and then, there is Garrone. It issufficient for him to be present, to prevent their laughing."
And then he was allowed to come. The teacher with the wound on his neck,who was with Garibaldi, led us at once to the vertical bars, which arevery high, and we had to climb to the very top, and stand upright on thetransverse plank. Derossi and Coretti went up like monkeys; even littlePrecossi mounted briskly, in spite of the fact that he was embarrassedwith that jacket which extends to his knees; and in order to make himlaugh while he was climbing, all the boys repeated to him his constantexpression, "Excuse me! excuse me!" Stardi puffed, turned as red as aturkey-cock, and set his teeth until he looked like a mad dog; but hewould have reached the top at the expense of bursting, and he actuallydid get there; and so did Nobis, who, when he reached the summit,assumed the attitude of an emperor; but Votini slipped back twice,notwithstanding his fine new suit with azure stripes, which had beenmade expressly for gymnastics.
In order to climb the more easily, all the boys had daubed their handswith resin, which they call colophony, and as a matter of course it isthat trader of a Garoffi who provides every one with it, in a powderedform, selling it at a soldo the paper hornful, and turning a prettypenny.
Then it was Garrone's turn, and up he went, chewing away at his bread asthough it were nothing out of the common; and I believe that he wouldhave been capable of carrying one of us up on his shoulders, for he isas muscular and strong as a young bull.
After Garrone came Nelli. No sooner did the boys see him grasp the barswith those long, thin hands of his, than many of them began to laugh andto sing; but Garrone crossed his big arms on his breast, and dartedround a glance which was so expressive, which so clearly said that hedid not mind dealing out half a dozen punches, even in the master'spresence, that they all ceased laughing on the instant. Nelli began toclimb. He tried hard, poor little fellow; his face grew purple, hebreathed with difficulty, and the perspiration poured from his brow. Themaster said, "Come down!" But he would not. He strove and persisted. Iexpected every moment to see him fall headlong, half dead. Poor Nelli! Ithought, what if I had been like him, and my mother had seen me! How shewould have suffered, poor mother! And as I thought of that I felt sotenderly towards Nelli that I could have given, I know not what, to beable, for the sake of having him climb those bars, to give him a pushfrom below without being seen.
Meanwhile Garrone, Derossi, and Coretti were saying: "Up with you,Nelli, up with you!" "Try--one effort more--courage!" And Nelli made onemore violent effort, uttering a groan as he did so, and found himselfwithin two spans of the plank.
"Bravo!" shouted the others. "Courage--one dash more!" and behold Nelliclinging to the plank.
All clapped their hands. "Bravo!" said the master. "But that will donow. Come down."
But Nelli wished to ascend to the top like the rest, and after a littleexertion he succeeded in getting his elbows on the plank, then hisknees, then his feet; at last he stood upright, panting and smiling, andgazed at us.
We began to clap again, and then he looked into the street. I turned inthat direction, and through the plants which cover the iron railing ofthe garden I caught sight of his mother, passing along the sidewalkwithout daring to look. Nelli descended, and we all made much of him. Hewas excited and rosy, his eyes sparkled, and he no longer seemed likethe same boy.
Then, at the close of school, when his mother came to meet him, andinquired with some anxiety, as she embraced him, "Well, my poor son, howdid it go? how did it go?" all his comrades replied, in concert, "He didwell--he climbed like the rest of us--he's strong, you know--he'sactive--he does exactly like the others."
And then the joy of that woman was a sight to see. She tried to thankus, and could not; she shook hands with three or four, bestowed a caresson Garrone, and carried off her son; and we watched them for a while,walking in haste, and talking and gesticulating, both perfectly happy,as though no one were looking at them.
MY FATHER'S TEACHER.
Tuesday, 11th.
What a beautiful excursion I took yesterday with my father! This is theway it came about.
Day before yesterday, at dinner, as my father was reading the newspaper,he suddenly uttered an exclamation of astonishment. Then he said:--
"And I thought him dead twenty years ago! Do you know that my old firstelementary teacher, Vincenzo Crosetti, is eighty-four years old? I seehere that the minister has conferred on him the medal of merit for sixtyyears of teaching. Six-ty ye-ars, you understand! And it is only twoyears since he stopped teaching school. Poor Crosetti! He lives anhour's journey from here by rail, at Condove, in the country of our oldgardener's wife, of the town of Chieri." And he added, "Enrico, we willgo and see him."
And the whole evening he talked of nothing but him. The name of hisprimary teacher recalled to his mind a thousand things which hadhappened when he was a boy, his early companions, his dead mother."Crosetti!" he exclaimed. "He was forty when I was with him. I seem tosee him now. He was a small man, somewhat bent even then, with brighteyes, and always cleanly shaved. Severe, but in a good way; for he lovedus like a father, and forgave us more than one offence. He had risenfrom the condition of a peasant by dint of study and privations. He wasa fine man. My mother was attached to him, and my father treated himlike a friend. How comes it that he has gone to end his days at Condove,near Turin? He certainly will not recognize me. Never mind; I shallrecognize him. Forty-four years have elapsed,--forty-four years, Enrico!and we will go to see him to-morrow."
And yesterday morning, at nine o'clock, we were at the Susa railwaystation. I should have liked to have Garrone
come too; but he could not,because his mother is ill.
It was a beautiful spring day. The train ran through green fields andhedgerows in blossom, and the air we breathed was perfumed. My fatherwas delighted, and every little while he would put his arm round my neckand talk to me like a friend, as he gazed out over the country.
"Poor Crosetti!" he said; "he was the first man, after my father, tolove me and do me good. I have never forgotten certain of his goodcounsels, and also certain sharp reprimands which caused me to returnhome with a lump in my throat. His hands were large and stubby. I cansee him now, as he used to enter the schoolroom, place his cane in acorner and hang his coat on the peg, always with the same gesture. Andevery day he was in the same humor,--always conscientious, full of goodwill, and attentive, as though each day he were teaching school for thefirst time. I remember him as well as though I heard him now when hecalled to me: 'Bottini! eh, Bottini! The fore and middle fingers on thatpen!' He must have changed greatly in these four and forty years."
As soon as we reached Condove, we went in search of our old gardener'swife of Chieri, who keeps a stall in an alley. We found her with herboys: she made much of us and gave us news of her husband, who is soonto return from Greece, where he has been working these three years; andof her eldest daughter, who is in the Deaf-mute Institute in Turin. Thenshe pointed out to us the street which led to the teacher's house,--forevery one knows him.
We left the town, and turned into a steep lane flanked by blossominghedges.
My father no longer talked, but appeared entirely absorbed in hisreminiscences; and every now and then he smiled, and then shook hishead.
Suddenly he halted and said: "Here he is. I will wager that this is he."Down the lane towards us a little old man with a white beard and a largehat was descending, leaning on a cane. He dragged his feet along, andhis hands trembled.
"It is he!" repeated my father, hastening his steps.
When we were close to him, we stopped. The old man stopped also andlooked at my father. His face was still fresh colored, and his eyes wereclear and vivacious.
"Are you," asked my father, raising his hat, "Vincenzo Crosetti, theschoolmaster?"
The old man raised his hat also, and replied: "I am," in a voice thatwas somewhat tremulous, but full.
"Well, then," said my father, taking one of his hands, "permit one ofyour old scholars to shake your hand and to inquire how you are. I havecome from Turin to see you."
The old man stared at him in amazement. Then he said: "You do me toomuch honor. I do not know--When were you my scholar? Excuse me; yourname, if you please."
My father mentioned his name, Alberto Bottini, and the year in which hehad attended school, and where, and he added: "It is natural that youshould not remember me. But I recollect you so perfectly!"
The master bent his head and gazed at the ground in thought, andmuttered my father's name three or four times; the latter, meanwhile,observed him with intent and smiling eyes.
All at once the old man raised his face, with his eyes opened widely,and said slowly: "Alberto Bottini? the son of Bottini, the engineer? theone who lived in the Piazza della Consolata?"
"The same," replied my father, extending his hands.
"Then," said the old man, "permit me, my dear sir, permit me"; andadvancing, he embraced my father: his white head hardly reached thelatter's shoulder. My father pressed his cheek to the other's brow.
"Have the goodness to come with me," said the teacher. And withoutspeaking further he turned about and took the road to his dwelling.
In a few minutes we arrived at a garden plot in front of a tiny housewith two doors, round one of which there was a fragment of whitewashedwall.
The teacher opened the second and ushered us into a room. There werefour white walls: in one corner a cot bed with a blue and white checkedcoverlet; in another, a small table with a little library; four chairs,and one ancient geographical map nailed to the wall. A pleasant odor ofapples was perceptible.
We seated ourselves, all three. My father and his teacher remainedsilent for several minutes.
"Bottini!" exclaimed the master at length, fixing his eyes on the brickfloor where the sunlight formed a checker-board. "Oh! I remember well!Your mother was such a good woman! For a while, during your first year,you sat on a bench to the left near the window. Let us see whether I donot recall it. I can still see your curly head." Then he thought for awhile longer. "You were a lively lad, eh? Very. The second year you hadan attack of croup. I remember when they brought you back to school,emaciated and wrapped up in a shawl. Forty years have elapsed sincethen, have they not? You are very kind to remember your poor teacher.And do you know, others of my old pupils have come hither in years goneby to seek me out: there was a colonel, and there were some priests, andseveral gentlemen." He asked my father what his profession was. Then hesaid, "I am glad, heartily glad. I thank you. It is quite a while nowsince I have seen any one. I very much fear that you will be the last,my dear sir."
"Don't say that," exclaimed my father. "You are well and still vigorous.You must not say that."
"Eh, no!" replied the master; "do you see this trembling?" and he showedus his hands. "This is a bad sign. It seized on me three years ago,while I was still teaching school. At first I paid no attention to it; Ithought it would pass off. But instead of that, it stayed and kept onincreasing. A day came when I could no longer write. Ah! that day onwhich I, for the first time, made a blot on the copy-book of one of myscholars was a stab in the heart for me, my dear sir. I did drag on fora while longer; but I was at the end of my strength. After sixty yearsof teaching I was forced to bid farewell to my school, to my scholars,to work. And it was hard, you understand, hard. The last time that Igave a lesson, all the scholars accompanied me home, and made much ofme; but I was sad; I understood that my life was finished. I had lost mywife the year before, and my only son. I had only two peasantgrandchildren left. Now I am living on a pension of a few hundred lire.I no longer do anything; it seems to me as though the days would nevercome to an end. My only occupation, you see, is to turn over my oldschoolbooks, my scholastic journals, and a few volumes that have beengiven to me. There they are," he said, indicating his little library;"there are my reminiscences, my whole past; I have nothing elseremaining to me in the world."
Then in a tone that was suddenly joyous, "I want to give you a surprise,my dear Signor Bottini."
He rose, and approaching his desk, he opened a long casket whichcontained numerous little parcels, all tied up with a slender cord, andon each was written a date in four figures.
After a little search, he opened one, turned over several papers, drewforth a yellowed sheet, and handed it to my father. It was some of hisschool work of forty years before.
At the top was written, _Alberto Bottini, Dictation, April 3, 1838_. Myfather instantly recognized his own large, schoolboy hand, and began toread it with a smile. But all at once his eyes grew moist. I rose andinquired the cause.
He threw one arm around my body, and pressing me to his side, he said:"Look at this sheet of paper. Do you see? These are the corrections madeby my poor mother. She always strengthened my _l_'s and my _t_'s. Andthe last lines are entirely hers. She had learned to imitate mycharacters; and when I was tired and sleepy, she finished my work forme. My sainted mother!"
And he kissed the page.
"See here," said the teacher, showing him the other packages; "these aremy reminiscences. Each year I laid aside one piece of work of each of mypupils; and they are all here, dated and arranged in order. Every timethat I open them thus, and read a line here and there, a thousand thingsrecur to my mind, and I seem to be living once more in the days that arepast. How many of them have passed, my dear sir! I close my eyes, and Isee behind me face after face, class after class, hundreds and hundredsof boys, and who knows how many of them are already dead! Many of them Iremember well. I recall distinctly the best and the worst: those whogave me the greatest pleasure, and those who caused me to pass sorrowful
moments; for I have had serpents, too, among that vast number! But now,you understand, it is as though I were already in the other world, and Ilove them all equally."
He sat down again, and took one of my hands in his.
"And tell me," my father said, with a smile, "do you not recall anyroguish tricks?"
"Of yours, sir?" replied the old man, also with a smile. "No; not justat this moment. But that does not in the least mean that you neverplayed any. However, you had good judgment; you were serious for yourage. I remember the great affection of your mother for you. But it isvery kind and polite of you to have come to seek me out. How could youleave your occupations, to come and see a poor old schoolmaster?"
"Listen, Signor Crosetti," responded my father with vivacity. "Irecollect the first time that my poor mother accompanied me to school.It was to be her first parting from me for two hours; of letting me outof the house alone, in other hands than my father's; in the hands of astranger, in short. To this good creature my entrance into school waslike my entrance into the world, the first of a long series of necessaryand painful separations; it was society which was tearing her son fromher for the first time, never again to return him to her intact. She wasmuch affected; so was I. I bade her farewell with a trembling voice, andthen, as she went away, I saluted her once more through the glass in thedoor, with my eyes full of tears. And just at that point you made agesture with one hand, laying the other on your breast, as though tosay, 'Trust me, signora.' Well, the gesture, the glance, from which Iperceived that you had comprehended all the sentiments, all the thoughtsof my mother; that look which seemed to say, 'Courage!' that gesturewhich was an honest promise of protection, of affection, of indulgence,I have never forgotten; it has remained forever engraved on my heart;and it is that memory which induced me to set out from Turin. And here Iam, after the lapse of four and forty years, for the purpose of sayingto you, 'Thanks, dear teacher.'"
The master did not reply; he stroked my hair with his hand, and his handtrembled, and glided from my hair to my forehead, from my forehead to myshoulder.
In the meanwhile, my father was surveying those bare walls, thatwretched bed, the morsel of bread and the little phial of oil which layon the window-sill, and he seemed desirous of saying, "Poor master!after sixty years of teaching, is this all thy recompense?"
But the good old man was content, and began once more to talk withvivacity of our family, of the other teachers of that day, and of myfather's schoolmates; some of them he remembered, and some of them hedid not; and each told the other news of this one or of that one. Whenmy father interrupted the conversation, to beg the old man to come downinto the town and lunch with us, he replied effusively, "I thank you, Ithank you," but he seemed undecided. My father took him by both hands,and besought him afresh. "But how shall I manage to eat," said themaster, "with these poor hands which shake in this way? It is a penancefor others also."
"We will help you, master," said my father. And then he accepted, as heshook his head and smiled.
"This is a beautiful day," he said, as he closed the outer door, "abeautiful day, dear Signor Bottini! I assure you that I shall rememberit as long as I live."
My father gave one arm to the master, and the latter took me by thehand, and we descended the lane. We met two little barefooted girlsleading some cows, and a boy who passed us on a run, with a huge load ofstraw on his shoulders. The master told us that they were scholars ofthe second grade; that in the morning they led the cattle to pasture,and worked in the fields barefoot; and in the afternoon they put ontheir shoes and went to school. It was nearly mid-day. We encountered noone else. In a few minutes we reached the inn, seated ourselves at alarge table, with the master between us, and began our breakfast atonce. The inn was as silent as a convent. The master was very merry, andhis excitement augmented his palsy: he could hardly eat. But my fathercut up his meat, broke his bread, and put salt on his plate. In order todrink, he was obliged to hold the glass with both hands, and even thenhe struck his teeth. But he talked constantly, and with ardor, of thereading-books of his young days; of the notaries of the present day; ofthe commendations bestowed on him by his superiors; of the regulationsof late years: and all with that serene countenance, a trifle redderthan at first, and with that gay voice of his, and that laugh which wasalmost the laugh of a young man. And my father gazed and gazed at him,with that same expression with which I sometimes catch him gazing at me,at home, when he is thinking and smiling to himself, with his faceturned aside.
The teacher allowed some wine to trickle down on his breast; my fatherrose, and wiped it off with his napkin. "No, sir; I cannot permit this,"the old man said, and smiled. He said some words in Latin. And, finally,he raised his glass, which wavered about in his hand, and said verygravely, "To your health, my dear engineer, to that of your children, tothe memory of your good mother!"
"To yours, my good master!" replied my father, pressing his hand. And atthe end of the room stood the innkeeper and several others, watching us,and smiling as though they were pleased at this attention which wasbeing shown to the teacher from their parts.
At a little after two o'clock we came out, and the master wanted toescort us to the station. My father gave him his arm once more, and heagain took me by the hand: I carried his cane for him. The peoplepaused to look on, for they all knew him: some saluted him. At one pointin the street we heard, through an open window, many boys' voices,reading together, and spelling. The old man halted, and seemed to besaddened by it.
"This, my dear Signor Bottini," he said, "is what pains me. To hear thevoices of boys in school, and not be there any more; to think thatanother man is there. I have heard that music for sixty years, and Ihave grown to love it. Now I am deprived of my family. I have no sons."
"No, master," my father said to him, starting on again; "you still havemany sons, scattered about the world, who remember you, as I have alwaysremembered you."
"No, no," replied the master sadly; "I have no longer a school; I haveno longer any sons. And without sons, I shall not live much longer. Myhour will soon strike."
"Do not say that, master; do not think it," said my father. "You havedone so much good in every way! You have put your life to such a nobleuse!"
The aged master inclined his hoary head for an instant on my father'sshoulder, and pressed my hand.
We entered the station. The train was on the point of starting.
"Farewell, master!" said my father, kissing him on both cheeks.
"Farewell! thanks! farewell!" replied the master, taking one of myfather's hands in his two trembling hands, and pressing it to his heart.
Then I kissed him and felt that his face was bathed in tears. My fatherpushed me into the railway carriage, and at the moment of starting hequickly removed the coarse cane from the schoolmaster's hand, and in itsplace he put his own handsome one, with a silver handle and hisinitials, saying, "Keep it in memory of me."
The old man tried to return it and to recover his own; but my father wasalready inside and had closed the door.
"Farewell, my kind master!"
"Farewell, my son!" responded the master as the train moved off; "andmay God bless you for the consolation which you have afforded to a poorold man!"
"Until we meet again!" cried my father, in a voice full of emotion.
But the master shook his head, as much as to say, "We shall never seeeach other more."
"Yes, yes," repeated my father, "until we meet again!"
And the other replied by raising his trembling hand to heaven, "Upthere!"
And thus he disappeared from our sight, with his hand on high.
CONVALESCENCE.
Thursday, 20th.
Who could have told me, when I returned from that delightful excursionwith my father, that for ten days I should not see the country or thesky again? I have been very ill--in danger of my life. I have heard mymother sobbing--I have seen my father very, very pale, gazing intentlyat me; and my sister Silvia and my brother talking in a low vo
ice; andthe doctor, with his spectacles, who was there every moment, and whosaid things to me that I did not understand. In truth, I have been onthe verge of saying a final farewell to every one. Ah, my poor mother! Ipassed three or four days at least, of which I recollect almost nothing,as though I had been in a dark and perplexing dream. I thought I beheldat my bedside my kind schoolmistress of the upper primary, who wastrying to stifle her cough in her handkerchief in order not to disturbme. In the same manner I confusedly recall my master, who bent over tokiss me, and who pricked my face a little with his beard; and I saw, asin a mist, the red head of Crossi, the golden curls of Derossi, theCalabrian clad in black, all pass by, and Garrone, who brought me amandarin orange with its leaves, and ran away in haste because hismother is ill.
Then I awoke as from a very long dream, and understood that I was betterfrom seeing my father and mother smiling, and hearing Silvia singingsoftly. Oh, what a sad dream it was! Then I began to improve every day.The little mason came and made me laugh once more for the first time,with his hare's face; and how well he does it, now that his face issomewhat elongated through illness, poor fellow! And Coretti came; andGaroffi came to present me with two tickets in his new lottery of "apenknife with five surprises," which he purchased of a second-handdealer in the Via Bertola. Then, yesterday, while I was asleep, Precossicame and laid his cheek on my hand without waking me; and as he camefrom his father's workshop, with his face covered with coal dust, heleft a black print on my sleeve, the sight of which caused me greatpleasure when I awoke.
How green the trees have become in these few days! And how I envy theboys whom I see running to school with their books when my fathercarries me to the window! But I shall go back there soon myself. I am soimpatient to see all the boys once more, and my seat, the garden, thestreets; to know all that has taken place during the interval; to applymyself to my books again, and to my copy-books, which I seem not to haveseen for a year! How pale and thin my poor mother has grown! Poorfather! how weary he looks! And my kind companions who came to see meand walked on tiptoe and kissed my brow! It makes me sad, even now, tothink that one day we must part. Perhaps I shall continue my studieswith Derossi and with some others; but how about all the rest? When thefourth grade is once finished, then good by! we shall never see eachother again: I shall never see them again at my bedside when I amill,--Garrone, Precossi, Coretti, who are such fine boys and kind anddear comrades,--never more!
FRIENDS AMONG THE WORKINGMEN.
Thursday, 20th.
Why "never more," Enrico? That will depend on yourself. When you have finished the fourth grade, you will go to the Gymnasium, and they will become workingmen; but you will remain in the same city for many years, perhaps. Why, then, will you never meet again? When you are in the University or the Lyceum, you will seek them out in their shops or their workrooms, and it will be a great pleasure for you to meet the companions of your youth once more, as men at work.
I should like to see you neglecting to look up Coretti or Precossi, wherever they may be! And you will go to them, and you will pass hours in their company, and you will see, when you come to study life and the world, how many things you can learn from them, which no one else is capable of teaching you, both about their arts and their society and your own country. And have a care; for if you do not preserve these friendships, it will be extremely difficult for you to acquire other similar ones in the future,--friendships, I mean to say, outside of the class to which you belong; and thus you will live in one class only; and the man who associates with but one social class is like the student who reads but one book.
Let it be your firm resolve, then, from this day forth, that you will keep these good friends even after you shall be separated, and from this time forth, cultivate precisely these by preference because they are the sons of workingmen. You see, men of the upper classes are the officers, and men of the lower classes are the soldiers of toil; and thus in society as in the army, not only is the soldier no less noble than the officer, since nobility consists in work and not in wages, in valor and not in rank; but if there is also a superiority of merit, it is on the side of the soldier, of the workmen, who draw the lesser profit from the work. Therefore love and respect above all others, among your companions, the sons of the soldiers of labor; honor in them the toil and the sacrifices of their parents; disregard the differences of fortune and of class, upon which the base alone regulate their sentiments and courtesy; reflect that from the veins of laborers in the shops and in the country issued nearly all that blessed blood which has redeemed your country; love Garrone, love Coretti, love Precossi, love your little mason, who, in their little workingmen's breasts, possess the hearts of princes; and take an oath to yourself that no change of fortune shall ever eradicate these friendships of childhood from your soul. Swear to yourself that forty years hence, if, while passing through a railway station, you recognize your old Garrone in the garments of an engineer, with a black face,--ah! I cannot think what to tell you to swear. I am sure that you will jump upon the engine and fling your arms round his neck, though you were even a senator of the kingdom.
THY FATHER.
GARRONE'S MOTHER.
Saturday, 29th.
On my return to school, the first thing I heard was some bad news.Garrone had not been there for several days because his mother wasseriously ill. She died on Saturday. Yesterday morning, as soon as wecame into school, the teacher said to us:--
"The greatest misfortune that can happen to a boy has happened to poorGarrone: his mother is dead. He will return to school to-morrow. Ibeseech you now, boys, respect the terrible sorrow that is now rendinghis soul. When he enters, greet him with affection, and gravely; let noone jest, let no one laugh at him, I beg of you."
And this morning poor Garrone came in, a little later than the rest; Ifelt a blow at my heart at the sight of him. His face was haggard, hiseyes were red, and he was unsteady on his feet; it seemed as though hehad been ill for a month. I hardly recognized him; he was dressed all inblack; he aroused our pity. No one even breathed; all gazed at him. Nosooner had he entered than at the first sight of that schoolroom whitherhis mother had come to get him nearly every day, of that bench overwhich she had bent on so many examination days to give him a last bit ofadvice, and where he had so many times thought of her, in his impatienceto run out and meet her, he burst into a desperate fit of weeping. Theteacher drew him aside to his own place, and pressed him to his breast,and said to him:--
"Weep, weep, my poor boy; but take courage. Your mother is no longerhere; but she sees you, she still loves you, she still lives by yourside, and one day you will behold her once again, for you have a goodand upright soul like her own. Take courage!"
Having said this, he accompanied him to the bench near me. I dared notlook at him. He drew out his copy-books and his books, which he had notopened for many days, and as he opened the reading-book at a place wherethere was a cut representing a mother leading her son by the hand, heburst out crying again, and laid his head on his arm. The master made usa sign to leave him thus, and began the lesson. I should have liked tosay something to him, but I did not know what. I laid one hand on hisarm, and whispered in his ear:--
"Don't cry, Garrone."
He made no reply, and without raising his head from the bench he laidhis hand on mine and kept it there a while. At the close of school, noone addressed him; all the boys hovered round him respectfully, and insilence. I saw my mother waiting for me, and ran to embrace her; but sherepulsed me, and gazed at Garrone. For the moment I could not understandwhy; but then I perceived that Garrone was standing apart by himself andgazing at me; and he was gazing at me with a look of indescribablesadness, which seemed to say: "You are embracing your mother, and Ishall never embrace mine again! You have still a mother, and mine isdead!" And then I understood why my moth
er had thrust me back, and Iwent out without taking her hand.
GIUSEPPE MAZZINI.
Saturday, 29th.
This morning, also, Garrone came to school with a pale face and his eyesswollen with weeping, and he hardly cast a glance at the little giftswhich we had placed on his desk to console him. But the teacher hadbrought a page from a book to read to him in order to encourage him. Hefirst informed us that we are to go to-morrow at one o'clock to thetown-hall to witness the award of the medal for civic valor to a boy whohas saved a little child from the Po, and that on Monday he will dictatethe description of the festival to us instead of the monthly story. Thenturning to Garrone, who was standing with drooping head, he said tohim:--
"Make an effort, Garrone, and write down what I dictate to you as wellas the rest."
We all took our pens, and the teacher dictated.
"Giuseppe Mazzini, born in Genoa in 1805, died in Pisa in 1872, a grand,patriotic soul, the mind of a great writer, the first inspirer andapostle of the Italian Revolution; who, out of love for his country,lived for forty years poor, exiled, persecuted, a fugitive heroicallysteadfast in his principles and in his resolutions. Giuseppe Mazzini,who adored his mother, and who derived from her all that there wasnoblest and purest in her strong and gentle soul, wrote as follows to afaithful friend of his, to console him in the greatest of misfortunes.These are almost his exact words:--
"'My friend, thou wilt never more behold thy mother on this earth. Thatis the terrible truth. I do not attempt to see thee, because thine isone of those solemn and sacred sorrows which each must suffer andconquer for himself. Dost thou understand what I mean to convey by thesewords, _It is necessary to conquer sorrow_--to conquer the least sacred,the least purifying part of sorrow, that which, instead of rendering thesoul better, weakens and debases it? But the other part of sorrow, thenoble part--that which enlarges and elevates the soul--that must remainwith thee and never leave thee more. Nothing here below can take theplace of a good mother. In the griefs, in the consolations which lifemay still bring to thee, thou wilt never forget her. But thou mustrecall her, love her, mourn her death, in a manner which is worthy ofher. O my friend, hearken to me! Death exists not; it is nothing. Itcannot even be understood. Life is life, and it follows the law oflife--progress. Yesterday thou hadst a mother on earth; to-day thou hastan angel elsewhere. All that is good will survive the life of earth withincreased power. Hence, also, the love of thy mother. She loves thee nowmore than ever. And thou art responsible for thy actions to her more,even, than before. It depends upon thee, upon thy actions, to meet heronce more, to see her in another existence. Thou must, therefore, out oflove and reverence for thy mother, grow better and cause her joy forthee. Henceforth thou must say to thyself at every act of thine, "Wouldmy mother approve this?" Her transformation has placed a guardian angelin the world for thee, to whom thou must refer in all thy affairs, ineverything that pertains to thee. Be strong and brave; fight againstdesperate and vulgar grief; have the tranquillity of great suffering ingreat souls; and that it is what she would have.'"
"Garrone," added the teacher, "_be strong and tranquil, for that is whatshe would have_. Do you understand?"
Garrone nodded assent, while great and fast-flowing tears streamed overhis hands, his copy-book, and his desk.
CIVIC VALOR.
(_Monthly Story._)
At one o'clock we went with our schoolmaster to the front of thetown-hall, to see the medal for civic valor bestowed on the lad whosaved one of his comrades from the Po.
On the front terrace waved a huge tricolored flag.
We entered the courtyard of the palace.
It was already full of people. At the further end of it there wasvisible a table with a red cover, and papers on it, and behind it a rowof gilded chairs for the mayor and the council; the ushers of themunicipality were there, with their under-waistcoats of sky-blue andtheir white stockings. To the right of the courtyard a detachment ofpolicemen, who had a great many medals, was drawn up in line; and besidethem a detachment of custom-house officers; on the other side were thefiremen in festive array; and numerous soldiers not in line, who hadcome to look on,--cavalrymen, sharpshooters, artillery-men. Then allaround were gentlemen, country people, and some officers and women andboys who had assembled. We crowded into a corner where many scholarsfrom other buildings were already collected with their teachers; andnear us was a group of boys belonging to the common people, between tenand eighteen years of age, who were talking and laughing loudly; and wemade out that they were all from Borgo Po, comrades or acquaintances ofthe boy who was to receive the medal. Above, all the windows werethronged with the employees of the city government; the balcony of thelibrary was also filled with people, who pressed against the balustrade;and in the one on the opposite side, which is over the entrance gate,stood a crowd of girls from the public schools, and many _Daughters ofmilitary men_, with their pretty blue veils. It looked like a theatre.All were talking merrily, glancing every now and then at the red table,to see whether any one had made his appearance. A band of music wasplaying softly at the extremity of the portico. The sun beat down on thelofty walls. It was beautiful.
All at once every one began to clap their hands, from the courtyard,from the balconies, from the windows.
I raised myself on tiptoe to look.
The crowd which stood behind the red table had parted, and a man andwoman had come forward. The man was leading a boy by the hand.
This was the lad who had saved his comrade.
The man was his father, a mason, dressed in his best. The woman, hismother, small and blond, had on a black gown. The boy, also small andblond, had on a gray jacket.
At the sight of all those people, and at the sound of that thunder ofapplause, all three stood still, not daring to look nor to move. Amunicipal usher pushed them along to the side of the table on theright.
All remained quiet for a moment, and then once more the applause brokeout on all sides. The boy glanced up at the windows, and then at thebalcony with the _Daughters of military men_; he held his cap in hishand, and did not seem to understand very thoroughly where he was. Itstruck me that he looked a little like Coretti, in the face; but he wasredder. His father and mother kept their eyes fixed on the table.
In the meantime, all the boys from Borgo Po who were near us were makingmotions to their comrade, to attract his attention, and hailing him in alow tone: _Pin! Pin! Pinot!_ By dint of calling they made themselvesheard. The boy glanced at them, and hid his smile behind his cap.
At a certain moment the guards put themselves in the attitude of_attention_.
The mayor entered, accompanied by numerous gentlemen.
The mayor, all white, with a big tricolored scarf, placed himself besidethe table, standing; all the others took their places behind and besidehim.
The band ceased playing; the mayor made a sign, and every one keptquiet.
He began to speak. I did not understand the first words perfectly; but Igathered that he was telling the story of the boy's feat. Then he raisedhis voice, and it rang out so clear and sonorous through the wholecourt, that I did not lose another word: "When he saw, from the shore,his comrade struggling in the river, already overcome with the fear ofdeath, he tore the clothes from his back, and hastened to hisassistance, without hesitating an instant. They shouted to him, 'Youwill be drowned!'--he made no reply; they caught hold of him--he freedhimself; they called him by name--he was already in the water. Theriver was swollen; the risk terrible, even for a man. But he flunghimself to meet death with all the strength of his little body and ofhis great heart; he reached the unfortunate fellow and seized him justin time, when he was already under water, and dragged him to thesurface; he fought furiously with the waves, which strove to overwhelmhim, with his companion who tried to cling to him; and several times hedisappeared beneath the water, and rose again with a desperate effort;obstinate, invincible in his purpose, not like a boy who was trying tosave another boy, but like a man, like a father w
ho is struggling tosave his son, who is his hope and his life. In short, God did not permitso generous a prowess to be displayed in vain. The child swimmer torethe victim from the gigantic river, and brought him to land, and withthe assistance of others, rendered him his first succor; after which hereturned home quietly and alone, and ingenuously narrated his deed.
"Gentlemen, beautiful, and worthy of veneration is heroism in a man! Butin a child, in whom there can be no prompting of ambition or of profitwhatever; in a child, who must have all the more ardor in proportion ashe has less strength; in a child, from whom we require nothing, who isbound to nothing, who already appears to us so noble and lovable, notwhen he acts, but when he merely understands, and is grateful for thesacrifices of others;--in a child, heroism is divine! I will say nothingmore, gentlemen. I do not care to deck, with superfluous praises, suchsimple grandeur. Here before you stands the noble and valorous rescuer.Soldier, greet him as a brother; mothers, bless him like a son;children, remember his name, engrave on your minds his visage, that itmay nevermore be erased from your memories and from your hearts.Approach, my boy. In the name of the king of Italy, I give you the medalfor civic valor."
An extremely loud hurrah, uttered at the same moment by many voices,made the palace ring.
The mayor took the medal from the table, and fastened it on the boy'sbreast. Then he embraced and kissed him. The mother placed one hand overher eyes; the father held his chin on his breast.
The mayor shook hands with both; and taking the decree of decoration,which was bound with a ribbon, he handed it to the woman.
Then he turned to the boy again, and said: "May the memory of this day,which is such a glorious one for you, such a happy one for your fatherand mother, keep you all your life in the path of virtue and honor!Farewell!"
The mayor withdrew, the band struck up, and everything seemed to be atan end, when the detachment of firemen opened, and a lad of eight ornine years, pushed forwards by a woman who instantly concealed herself,rushed towards the boy with the decoration, and flung himself in hisarms.
Another outburst of hurrahs and applause made the courtyard echo; everyone had instantly understood that this was the boy who had been savedfrom the Po, and who had come to thank his rescuer. After kissing him,he clung to one arm, in order to accompany him out. These two, with thefather and mother following behind, took their way towards the door,making a path with difficulty among the people who formed in line to letthem pass,--policemen, boys, soldiers, women, all mingled together inconfusion. All pressed forwards and raised on tiptoe to see the boy.Those who stood near him as he passed, touched his hand. When he passedbefore the schoolboys, they all waved their caps in the air. Those fromBorgo Po made a great uproar, pulling him by the arms and by his jacketand shouting. "_Pin! hurrah for Pin! bravo, Pinot!_" I saw him pass veryclose to me. His face was all aflame and happy; his medal had a red,white, and green ribbon. His mother was crying and smiling; his fatherwas twirling his mustache with one hand, which trembled violently, asthough he had a fever. And from the windows and the balconies the peoplecontinued to lean out and applaud. All at once, when they were on thepoint of entering the portico, there descended from the balcony of the_Daughters of military men_ a veritable shower of pansies, of bunches ofviolets and daisies, which fell upon the head of the boy, and of hisfather and mother, and scattered over the ground. Many people stooped topick them up and hand them to the mother. And the band at the furtherend of the courtyard played, very, very softly, a most entrancing air,which seemed like a song by a great many silver voices fading slowlyinto the distance on the banks of a river.