js»--,Bj--::' r !) Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/cuoreheartitaliaOOdeamrich i "THE BOY HAD WALKED TEN MILES." — Page 123. CUORE : (HEART) AN ITALIAN SCHOOLBOY'S JOUENAL a Booft for Bogs BY EDMONOO DE AMICIS TRANSLATED FROM THE THIRTY-NINTH ITALIAN EDITIOS BY ISABEL F. HAPGOOD NEW YORK THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY PUBLISHERS 41013, CopYMGHT, 1887, 1895 and 1901. By THOMAS T. CROWELL. & COMPANY Copyright, 1915. By ISABEL F. HAPGOOD Printed in the United States of America 7^3 AUTHOR'S PREFACE >A^ This book is specially dedicated to the boys of the elementary schools between the ages of nine and thir- teen years, and might be entitled: "The Story of a Scholastic Year written by a Pupil of the Third Class of an Italian Municipal School." In saying written by a pupil of the third class, I do not mean to say that it was written by him exactly as it is printed. He noted day by day in a copy-book, as well as he knew how, what he had seen, felt, thought in the school and outside the school; his father at the end of the year wrote these pages on those notes, taking care not to alter the thought, and preserving, when it was possible, the words of his son. Four years later the boy, being then in the lyceum, read over the MSS. and added something of his own, drawing on his memories, still fresh, of persons and of things. Now read this book, boys ; I hope that you will be pleased with it, and that it may do you good. Edmondo De Amicis. ii'r'^ia^iiiij Lit/ CONTENTS. OCTOBER, y^^. The First Dj^ y of School 1 Our Master 3 An Accident 5 The Calabrian Boy 6 My Comrades 8 A Generous Deed 10 My Schoolmistress of the Upper First 12 In an Attic , 14 The School 16 The Little Patriot of Padua 17 The Chimney-Sweep 20 The Day of the Dead 22 NOVEMBER. My Friend Garrone 24 The Charcoal-Man and the Gentleman 26 My Brother's Schoolmistress 28 My Mother 30 My Companion Goretti 31 The Head-Master 35 The Soldiers 38 Nelli's Protector 40 The Head of the Class 42 The Little Vidette of Lomhardy 44 The Poor 60 DECEMBER. The Trader 62 Vanity 64 The First Snow-Storm 56 The Little Mason 58 iv CONTENTS, PAOl A Snowball 61 Thb Mistresses 62 In the House of the Wounded Man 64 The Little Florentine Scribe , 66 Will 75 Geatitude 77 JANUARY. The Assistant Master 79 Stardi's Library 81 The Son of the Blacksmith-Ironmonger 83 A Fine Visit 85 The Funeral of Vittorio Emanuele ; 87 Franti Expelled from School 89 The Sardinian Drummer-Boy 91 The Love of Country 100 Envy 102 Franti's Mother 104 Hope 105 FEBRUARY. A Medal Well Bestowed 108 Good Resolutions 110 The Engine 112 Pride 114 The Wounds of Labor 116 The Prisoner 118 Daddy's Nurse 12i The Workshop 132 The Little Harlequin , 135 The Last Day of the Carnival 135 The Blind Boys 142 The Sick Master 149 The Stbbisi 151 MARCH. The Evening Schools 151 The Fight 15f The Boys' Parents 158 CONTENTS, V PAGB Number 78 ... 160 A Little Dead Boy 163 The Eve of the Fourteenth of March 164 The Distribution of Prizes 166 Strife 172 My Sister 174 Blood of Roynagna 176 The Little Mason on His Sick-Bed 184 Count Cavour 187 APRIL. Spring 189 King Umberto 191 The Infant Asylum 196 Gymnastics 201 t/^ My Father's Teacher 204 Convalescence 215 Friends Among the Workingmen 217 Garrone's Mother 219 Giuseppe Mazzini 221 Civic Valor .223 MAY. Children with the Rickets 229 Sacrifice 231 The Fire 233 From the Apennines to the Andes 237 Summer . . 276 Poetry 278 The Dbaf-Mutb , , , , , 280 JUNE. Garibaldi 290 The Army 291 Italy 293 Thirty-Two Degrees 295 My Father 297 In the Country 298 Vi CONTENTS. PAGS The Distbibution op Pbizes to thb Wobkingmen 302 My Dead Schoolmistress 306 Thanks 308 Shipwreck 309 JULY. The Last Page fbom mt Motheb 317 The Examinations 318 The Last Examination 821 Fabewell 3S^ CHORE. AN ITALIAN SCHOOLBOY'S JOURNAL. OCTOBER. FIRST DAT OF SCHOOL. Monday, 17th- To-DAY is the first day of school These three months of vacation in the country have passed like a dream. This morning my mother conducted me to the Baretti schoolhouse to have me enter for the third elementary course : I was thinking of the country and went unwillingly. All the streets were swarming with boys : the two book-shops were thronged with fathers and mothers who were purchasing bags, portfolios, and copy-books, and in front of the school so many people had collected, that the beadle and the policeman found it difficult to keep the entrance disencumbered. Near the door, I felt myself touched on the shoulder : it was my master of the second class, cheerful, as usual, and with his red hair ruffled, and he said to me : — " So we are separated forever, Enrico ? " I knew it perfectly well, yet these words pained me. We made our way in with difficulty. Ladies, gentle- men, women of the people, workmen, officials, nuns, .servants, all leading boys with one hand, and holding the promotion books in the other, filled the anteroom and the stairs, making such a buzzing, that it seemed as though one were entering a theatre. I beheld again with pleasure that large room on the ground floor, with 2 ' THE Flk'SJl DAT OF SCHOOL, 'tlie doors'lea'dirig' to'tlie seven classes, where I had passed nearly every day for three years. There was a throng ; the teachers were going and coming. My schoohnistress of the first upper class greeted me from the door of the class-room, and said : — '' Enrico, you are going to the floor above this year. I shall never see you pass by any more ! " and she gazed sadly at me. The director was surrounded by women in distress because there was no room for their sons, and it struck me that his beard was a little whiter than it had been last year. I found the boys had grown taller and stouter. On the ground floor, where the divisions had already been made, there were little children of the first and lowest section, who did not want to enter the class-rooms, and who resisted like donkeys : it was necessary to drag them in by force, and some escaped from the benches ; others, when they saw their parents depart, began to cr}-, and the parents had to go back and comfort and reprimand them, and the teachers were in despair. My little brother was placed in the class of Mis- tress Delcati; I was put with Master Perboni, up stairs on the first floor. At ten o'clock we were all in cor classes : fifty-four of us ; only fifteen or sixteen of my companions of the second class, among them, Derossi, the one who always gets the first prize. The school seemed to me so small and gloomy when I thought of the woods and the mountains where I had passed the summer! I thought again, too, of my master in the second class, who was so good, and who always smiled at us, and was so small that he seemed to be one of us, and I grieved that I should no longer see him there, with his tumbled red hair. Our teacher is tall ; he has no beard ; his hair is gray and long ; and OUR MASTER. 8 he has a perpendicular wrinkle on his forehead : he has a big voice, and he looks at us fixedly, one after tb? other, as though he were reading our inmost thoughts ; and he never smiles. I said to myself: " This is my first day. There are nine months more. What toil, what monthly examinations, what fatigue ! " I really needed to see my mother when I came out, and I ran to kiss her hand. She said to me : — " Courage, Enrico ! we will study together." And I returned home content. But I no longer have my master, with his kind, merry smile, and school does not seem pleasant to me as it did before. OUR MASTER. Tuesday, 18th. My new teacher pleases me also, since this morning. While we were coming in, and when he was already seated at his post, some one of his scholars of last year every now and then peeped in at the door to salute him ; they would present themselves and greet him : — '* Good morning, Signor Teacher ! " " Good morning, Signor Perboni ! " Some entered, touched his hand, and ran away. It was evident that they liked him, and would have liked to return to him. He responded, ''Good morning," and shook the hands which were extended to him, but he looked at no one; at every greeting his smile remained serious, with that perpen- dicular wrinkle on his brow, with his face turned towards the window, and staring at the roof of the house opposite ; and instead of being cheered by these greetings, he seemed to suffer from them. Then he sur- veyed us attentively, one after the other. While he was dictating, he descended and walked among the benches, 4 OUR MASTER, and, catching sight of a boy whose face was all red m\h little pimples, he stopped dictating, took the lad's face between his hands and examined it ; then he asked him what was the matter with him, and laid his hand on his forehead, to feel if it was hot. Meanwhile, a boj behind him got up on the bench, and began to play the marionette. The teacher turned round sud- denly ; the boy resumed his seat at one dash, and re- mained there, with head hanging, in expectation of being punished. The master placed one hand ea^is head and said to him : — "Don't do so again." Nothing more. Then he returned to his table and finished the dicta- tion. When he had finished dictating, he looked at us a moment in silence ; then he said, very, very slowly, with his big but kind voice : — '* Listen. We have a year to pass together; let us see that we pass it well. Study and be good. I have no family ; you are my family. Last year I had still a mother : she is dead. I am left alone. I have no one but you in all the world ; I have no other affec- tion, no other thought than you : 3'ou must be my sons. I wish you well, and you must like me too. I do not wish to be obliged to punish any one. Show me that you are boys of heart : our school shall be a family, and jou shall be my consolation and my pride. I do not ask you to give me a promise on your word of honor ; I am sure that in your hearts you have already answered me * yes,* and I thank you." At that moment the beadle entered to announce the Close of school. We all left our seats very, very quietly. The boy who had stood up on the bench upproached the master, and said to him, in a trembling voice : — AN ACCIDENT, 5 "Forgive me, Signor Master." The master kissed him on the Jxrow, and said, " Go, my son." AN ACCIDENT. Friday, 2l8t. The year has begun with an accident. On my way to school this morning I was repeating to my father these wdrds of our teacher, when we perceived that the street was full of people, who were pressing close to the door of the schoolhouse. Suddenly my father said : ' ' An accident ! The year is beginning badly ! " We entered with great difficulty. The big hall was crowded with parents and children, whom the teachers had not succeeded in drawing off into the class-rooms, and all were turning towards the director's room, and we heard the words, '' Poor boy ! Poor Robetti ! " Over their heads, at the end of the room, we could see the helmet of a policeman, and the bald head of the director ; then a gentleman with a tall hat entered, and all said, " That is the doctor." My father in- quired of a master, ''What has happened?" — "A wheel has passed over his foot," replied the latter. " His foot has been crushed," said another. He was a boy belonging to the second class, who, on his way to school through the Via Dora Grossa, seeing a little child of the lowest class, who had run away from its mother, fall down in the middle of the street, a few paces from an omnibus which was bearing down upon it, had hastened boldly forward, caught up the child, and placed it in safet}^ ; but, as he had not withdrawn his own foot quickly enough, the wheel of the omnibus had passed over it. He is the son of a captain of artillery. While we were being told this, a woman 6 THE CALABRIAN BOT, entered the big hall, like a lunatic, and forced her way through the crowd : she was Robetti's mother, who had been sent for. Another woman hastened towards her, and flung her arms about her neck, with sobs : it was the mother of the baby who had been saved. Both flew into the room, and a desperate cry made itself heard : " Oh my Giulio ! My chUd ! " At that moment a carriage stopped before the door, and a little later the director made his appearance, with the boy in his arms ; the latter leaned his head on his shoulder, with pallid face and closed eyes. Every one stood very still ; the sobs of the mother were audible. The director paused a moment, quite pale, and raised the boy up a little in his arms, in order to show him to the people. And then the masters, mistresses, parents, and boys all murmured together : '' Bravo, Robetti ! Bravo, poor child ! " and they threw kisses to him ; the mistresses and boys who were near him kissed his hands and his arms. He opened his eyes and said, " My portfolio ! " The mother of the little boy whom he had saved showed it to him and said, amid her tears, " I will carry it for you, my dear little angel ; I will carry it for you." And in the meantime, the jiother of the wounded boy smiled, as she covered her face with her hands. Thej' went out, placed the lad comfortabl}' in the carriage, and the carriage drove away. Then we all entered school in silence. THE CALABRIAN BOY. Saturday, 22d. Yesterday afternoon, while the master was telling us the news of poor Robetti, who will have to go on crutches, the director entered with a new pupil, a lad THE CALABRIAN BOY. ^ lyith a very brown lace, black hair, large black eyes, and thick eyebrows which met on his forehead : he was dressed entirely in dark clothes, with a black morocco belt round his waist. The director went away, after speaking a few words in the master's ear, leaving beside the latter tlie boy, who glanced about with his big black eyes as though frightened. The master took him by the hand, and said to the class : " You ought to be glad. To-day there enters our school a little Italian born in Reggio, in Calabria, more than five hun- dred miles from here. Love your brother who has come from so far away. He was born in a glorious land, which has given illustrious men to Italy, and which now furnishes her with stout laborers and brave soldiers ; in one of the most beautiful lands of our Boantry, where there are great forests, and great moun- teiins, inhabited by people full of talent and courage. Treat him well, so that he shall not perceive that he is far away from the city in which he was born ; make him see that an Italian boy, in whatever Italian school he sets his foot, will find brothers there." So saying, he rose and pointed out on the wall map of Italy the spot where lay Reggio, in Calabria. Then he called loudly : — " Ernesto Derossi ! " — the boy who always has the first prize. Derossi rose. '' Come here," said the master. Derossi left his bench and stepped up to the little table, facing the Calabrian. *' As the head boy in the school,'* said the master to him, '' bestow the embrace ot welcome on this new companion, in the name ol the whole class — the em- '^race of the sons of Piedmont to the son oi Calnbria." Derossi embraced the Calabrian, saying in his clear S MY COMRADES. voice, *' Welcome ! " and the other kissed him im petuously on the cleeks. All clapped their hands. *' Silence ! " cried the master ; '' don't clap your handa in school ! " But it was evident that he was pleased. And the Calabrian was pleased also. The master assigned him a place, and accompanied him to the bench. Then he said again : — " Bear well in mind what I have said to you. In order that this case might occur, that a Calabrian boy should be as though in his own house at Turin, and that a boy from Turin should be at home in Calabria, our country fought for fifty years, and thirty thousand Italians died. You must all respect and love each other ; but any one of you who should give offence to this comrade, because he was not born in our province, would render himself unworthy of ever again raising his eyes from the earth when he passes the tricolored flag." Hardly was the Calabrian seated in his place, when his neighbors presented him with pens and sl print; and another boy, from the last bench, sent him a Swisfl poetage-stamp. UY COMRADES. Tuesday, 25th. The boy who sent the postage-stamp to the Ca- labrian is the one who pleases me best of all. His name is Garrone : he is the biggest boy in the class ; he is about fourteen years old ; his head is large, his shoulders broad ; he is good, as one can see when he smiles ; but it seems as though he always thought like a man. I already know : any :f my comrades, ^.nother one pleases me, too, by the name of Corettl, MY COMRADES. 9 und he wears chocolate-colored trousers and a catskin cap : he is always jolly ; he is the son of a huckster of wood, who was a soldier in the war of 1866, in the squadron of Prince Umberto, and they say that he has three medals. There is little Nelli, a poor hunch- back, a weak boy, with a thin face. There is one who is very well dressed, who always wears fine Florentine plush, and is named Votini. On the bench in front of me there is a boy who is called "the little mason" because his father is a mason : his face is as round as an apple, with a nose like a small ball ; he possesses a special talent : he knows how to make a hare's face^ and they all get him to make a hare's face, and then they laugh. He wears a little ragged cap, which h?; carries rolled up in his pocket like a handkerchief. Beside the little mason there sits Garoffi, a long, thin, silly fellow, with a nose and beak of a screech • owl, and very small eyes, who is always trafficking in little pens and images and match-boxes, and who writes the lesson on his nails, in order that he may read it on the sly. Then there is a young gentleman, Carlo Nobis, who seems very haughty ; and he is between two boys who are sympathetic to me, — the son of a blacksmith-ironmonger, clad in a jacket which reaches to his knees, who is pale, as though from illness, who always has a frightened air, and who never laughs ; and one with red hair, who has a useless arm, and wears it suspended from his neck ; his father has gone away to America, and his mother goes about peddling pot-herbs. And there is another curious type, — my neighbor on the left, — Stardi — small and thickset, with no neck, — a gruff fellow, who speaks to no one, and seems not to understand much, but stands attending to the master without winking, his brow corrugated witii 10 A GENEROUS DEED, wrinkles, and his teeth clenched ; and if he is ques- tioned when the master is speaking, he makes no reply the first and second times, and the third time he gives a kick : and beside him there is a bold, cunning face, belonging to a boy named Franti, who has already been expelled from another district. There are, in addition, two brothers who are dressed exacth' alike, who resemble each other to a hair, and both of whom wear caps of Calabrian cut, with a peasant's plume. But handsomer than all the rest, the one who has the most talent, who will sure'..y be the head this year also, is Derossi ; and the master, who has already perceived this, always questions him. But I like Precossi, the son of the blacksmith-ironmonger, the one with the long jacket, who seems sickly. They sa}- that his father beats him ; he is very timid, and every time that he addresses or touches any one, he sa^'s, "Excuse me," and gazes at them with his kind, sad eyes. But Garrone is the biggest and the nicest. J A GENEROUS DEED. Wednesday, 26th. It was this very morning that Garrone let us know what he is like. When I entered the school a little late, because the mistress of the upper first had stopped me to inquire at what hour she could find me at home, the master had not yet arrived, and three or four boys were tormenting poor Crossi, the one with the red hair, who has a dead arm, and whose mother sells vegeta- bles. They were poking him with rulers, hitting him in the face with chestnut shells, and were making him out to be a cripple and a monster, by mimicking A GENEROUS DEED. 1] him, with his arm hanging from his neck. And he, alone on the end of the bench, and quite pale, began to be affected by it, gazing now at one and now at another with beseeching eyes, that they might leave him in peace. But the others mocked him worse than ever, and he began to tremble and to turn crimson witli rage. All at once, Franti, the boy with the repulsive face, sprang upon a bench, and pretending that he was car- rying a basket on each arm, he aped the mother of Crossi, when she used to come to wait for her son at the door ; for she is ill now. Many began to laugh loudly. Then Crossi lost his head, and seizing an ink- stand, he hurled it at the other's head with all his strength ; but Franti dodged, and the inkstand struck the master, who entered at the moment, full in the breast. All flew to their places, and became silent with terror. The master, quite pale, went to his table, and said in a constrained voice : — '^Whodidit?" No one replied. The master cried out once more, raising his voice still louder, " Who is it? " Then Garrone, moved to pity for poor Crossi, rose abruptly and said, resolutely, " It was I." The master looked at him, looked at the stupefied scholars ; then said in a tranquil voice, '* It was not you." And, after a moment: "The culprit shall not be punished. Let him rise ! " Crossi rose and said, weeping, " They were strik- ing me and insulting me, and I lost my head, and threw it." 12 MT SCHOOLMISTRESS OF THE UPPER FIRST. ''Sit down," said the master. "Let those w^# provoked him rise." Fom* rose, and hung their heads. " You," said the master, "have insulted a compan- ion who had given you no provocation ; you have scoffed at an unfortunate lad, you have struck a weak person who could not defend himself. You have committed one of the basest, the most shameful acts with which a human creature can stain himself. Cowards ! " Having said this, he came down among the benches, jiut his hand under Garrone's chin, as the latter stood ^fith drooping head, and having made him raise it, he looked him sti'aight in the eye, and said to him, "You are a noble soul." Garrone profited by the occasion to murmur some TTords, I know not what, in the ear of the master ; si,nd he, turning towards the four culprits, said, abruptly, " I forgive jou." MY SCHOOLMISTRESS OF THE UPPER FIRST. Thursday, 27th. My schoolmistress has kept her promise which she made, and came to-day just as I was on the point of going out with my mother to carry some Unen to a poor woman recommended by the Gazette. It was a year since I had seen her in our house. We all made a great deal of her. She is just the same as ever, a little thing, with a green veil wound about her bonnet, care- lessly dressed, and with untidy hair, because she has not time to keep herself nice; but with a little less MY SCHOOLMISTRESS OF THE UPPER FIRST. 13 color than last year, with some white hairs, and a constant cough. My mother said to her : — " And your health, my dear mistress? You do not take sufl3cient care of yourself ! " " It does not matter," the other replied, with her smile, at once cheerful and melancholy. " You speak too loud," my mother added ; " you ex- ert yourself too much with your boys." That is true ; her voice is always to be heard ; I remember how it was when I went to school to her ; she talked and talked all the time, so that the boys might not divert their attention, and she did not remain seated a moment. I felt quite sure that she would come, because she never forgets her pupils ; she re- members their names for years ; on the days of the monthly examination, she runs to ask the director what marks they have won ; she waits for them at the entrance, and makes them show her their compositions, in order that she may see what progress the}^ have made ; and many still come from the gymnasium to see her, who already wear loug trousers and a watch. To- day she had come back in a great state of excitement, from the picture-gallery, whither she had taken her boys, just as she had conducted them all to a museum every Thursday in years gone by, and explained every- thing to them. The poor mistress has grown still thin- ner than of old. But she is always brisk, and always becomes animated when she speaks of her school. She wanted to have a peep at the bed on which she had seen me lying very ill two years ago, and which is now occupied by my brother ; she gazed at it for a while, and could not speak. She was obliged to go away soon to visit a boy belonging to her class, the son of a sad- dler, who is ill with the measles ; and she had besides 14 IN AN ATTIC. a package of sheets to correct, a whole evening's work, and she has still a private lesson in arithmetic to give to the mistress of a shop before nightfall. '' Well, Enrico," she said to me as she was goings " are 3'ou still fond of your schoolmistress, now that you solve difficult problems and write long composi- tions? " She kissed me, and called up once more from the foot of the stairs : "You are not to forget me, you know, Enrico ! " Oh, my kind teacher, never, never will I forget thee ! Even when I grow up I will re- member thee and will go to seek thee among thy boys ; and every time that I pass near a school and hear the voice of a schoolmistress, I shall think that I hear thy voice, and 1 shall recall the two years that I passed in thy school, where I learned so many things, where I so often saw thee ill and weary, but always earnest, al- ways indulgent, in despair when any one acquired a bad trick in the writing-fingers, trembling when the ex- aminers interrogated us, happy when we made a good appearance, always kind and loving as a mother. Never, never shall I forget thee, my teacher ! IN AN ATTIC. Friday, 28th. Yesterday afternoon I went with my mother and my sister Sylvia, to carry the linen to the poor woman rec- ommended by the newspaper : I carried the bundle ; Sylvia had the paper with the initials of the name and the address. We climbed to the ver3' roof of a tall house, to a long corridor with many doors. My mother knocked at the last ; it was opened by a woman who Was still young, blond and thin, and it instantly struck IN AN ATTIC, II me that I had seen her many times before, with that very same bkie kerchief that she wore on her head. "Are you the person of whom the newspaper says so and so? '* asked my mother. " Yes, signora, I am." " "Well, we have brought you a little linen." Then the woman began to thank us and bless us, and could not make enough of it. Meanwhile I espied in one corner of the bare, dark room, a bo}' kneeling in front of a chair, with his back turned towards us, who ap- peared to be writing ; and he really was writing, with his paper on the chair and his inkstand on the floor. How did he manage to write thus in the dark? Whi^e I was sajing this to myself, I suddenly recognized the red hair and the coarse jacket of Crossi, the son of the vegetable-pedler, the boy with the useless arm. 1 told my mother softly, while the woman was putting awa}' the things. *' Hush ! " replied my mother ; " perhaps he will fe(il ashamed to see you giving alms to his mother : don' t speak to him." But at that moment Crossi turned round ; I was em • barrassed ; he smiled, and then my mother gave me a push, so that I should run to him and embrace him. i did embrace him : he rose and took me b}^ the hand. " Here I am," his mother was saying in the mean- time to my mother, " alone with this boy, my husband in America these seven years, and I sick in addition, so that I can no longer make my rounds with my vege- tables, and earn a few cents. We have not even a table left for my poor Luigino to do his work on. When there was a bench down at the door, he could, at least, write on the bench ; but that has been taken away. He has not even a little light so that he can 16 THE SCHOOL. study without ruining his eyes. And it is a mercy thai £ can send him to school, since the city provides him mlh. books and copy-books. Poor Luigino, who would be so glad to study ! Unhappy woman, that I am ! " My mother gave her all that she had in her purse, kissed the boy, and almost wept as we went out. And she had good cause to say to me : " Look at that poor boy ; see how he is forced to work, when you have every comfort, and yet study seems hard to you ! Ah ! Enrico, there is more merit in the work which he does in one day, than in your work for a year. It is to Buch that the first prizes should be given I" THE SCHOOL. Friday, 28th. Yes, study comes hard to you, my dear Enrico, as youi mother says : I do not yet see you set out for school with tiiat resolute mind and that smiling face which I should like. You are still intractable. But listen; reflect a little 1 What a miserable, despicable thing your day would be ii you did not go to school ! At the end of a week you would beg with clasped hands that you might return there, for you would be eaten up with weariness and shame ; disgusted with your sports and with your existence. Everybody, everybody studies now, my child. Think of the workmen who go to school in the evening after having toiled all the day ; think of the women, of the girls of the people, who go to school on Sunday, after having worked all the week; of the sol* diers who turn to their books and copy-books when thej return exhausted from their drill ! Think of the dimib and of the boys who are blind, but who study, nevertheless ; and last of all, think of the prisoners, who also learn to read and write. Reflect in the morning, when you set out, that at that very moment, in your own city, thirty thousand other THE LITTLE PATRIOT OF PADUA. 17 boys are going like yourself, to shut themselves up in a room for three hours and study. Think of the innumerable boys who, at nearly this precise hour, are going to school in all countries. Behold them with your imagination, going, going, through the lanes of quiet villages ; through the streets of the noisy towns, along the shores of rivers and lakes; here beneath a burning sun ; there amid fogs, in boats, in countries which are intersected with canals; on horseback on the far-reaching plains ; in sledges over the snow ; through valleys and over hills ; across forests and torrents, over the solitary paths of mountains ; alone, in couples, in groups, in long files, all with their books under their arms, clad in a thousand ways, speaking a thousand tongues, from the most remote schools in Russia. Almost lost in the ice to the fur- thermost schools of Arabia, shaded by palm-trees, millions and millions, all going to learn the same things, in a hun- dred varied forms. Imagine this vast, vast throng of boys of a hundred races, this immense movement of which you form a part, and think, if this movement were to cease, humanity would fall back into barbarism ; this movement is the progress, the hope, the glory of the world. Courage, then, little soldier of the immense army. Your books are your arms, your class is youi* squadron, the field of battle is the whole earth, and the victory is human civilization. Be not a cowardly soldier, my Enrico. Thy Father. LIOT O THE LITTLE PATRIOT OF PADUA. (The Monthly Story.) Saturday, 29th. I will not be a cowardly soldier, no ; but I should be much more willing to go to school if the master would tell us a story every day, like the one he told us this morning. " Every month," said he, "I shall tell you one ; I shall give it to you in writing, and it will always be the tale of a fine pnd noble deed performed by a 18 THE LITTLE PATRIOT OF PADUA. boy. This one is called The Little Patriot of Padua, Here it is. A French steamer set out from Barce- lona, a cit}' in Spain, for Genoa ; there were on board Frenchmen, Italians, Spaniards, and Swiss. Among the rest was a lad of eleven, poorly clad, and alone, who always held himself aloof, like a wild animal, and stared at all with gloomy eyes. He had good reasons for looking at every one with forbidding eyes. Two years previous to this time his parents, peasants in the neighborhood of Padua, had sold him to a company of mountebanks, who, after they had taught him how to perform tricks, by dint of blows and kicks and starv- ing, had cari'ied him all over France and Spain, beat- i'ig him continuall}' and never giving him enough to eat On his arrival in Barcelona, being no longer able to endure ill treatment and hunger, and being reduced to a pitiable condition, he had fled from his slave-mas- t»er and had betaken himself for protection to the Ital- ian consul, who, moved with compassion, had placed liim on board of this steamer, and had given him a letter to the treasurer of Genoa, who was to send the boy back to his parents — to the parents who had sold him like a beast. The poor lad was lacerated and weak. lie had been assigned to the second-class cabin. Every one stared at him ; some questioned him, but he made no reply, and seemed to hate and despise every one, to such an extent had privation And aflliction saddened and irritated him. Nevertheless, three trav- eJlers, by dint of persisting in their questions, suc- ceeded in making him unloose his tongue ; and in a few rough words, a mixture of Venetian, French, and Spanish, he related his story. These three travellers were not Italians, but they understood him ; and partly out of compassion, partly because they were excited THE LITTLE PATRIOT OF PADUA. 19 with wine, they gave him soldi, jesting with him and urging him on to tell them other things ; and as several ladies entered the saloon at the moment, they gave him some more money for the purpose of making a show, and cried : ' Take this ! Take this, too ! ' as they made the money rattle on the table. ''The boy pocketed it all, thanking them in a low voice, with his surly mien, but with a look that was for the first time smiling and affectionate. Then he climbed into his berth, drew the curtain, and lay quiet, thinking over his affairs. With this money he would be able to purchase some good food on board, after having suffered for lack of bread for two years ; he could buy a jacket as soon as he landed in Genoa, after having gone about clad in rags for two years; and he could also, by carrying it home, insure for himself from his father and mother a more humane reception than would have fallen to his lot if he had arrived with empty pockets. This money was a little fortune for him ; and he was taking comfort out of this thought behind the curtain of his berth, while the three travellers chatted away, as they sat round the dining-table in the second-class saloon. They were drinking and discussing their travels and the countries which they had seen ; and from one topic to another they began to discuss Italy. One of them began to complain of the inns, another of the railways, and then, growing warmer, they all began to speak evil of everything. One would have preferred a trip in Lapland ; another declared that he had found nothing but swindlers and brigands in Italy ; the third said that Italian officials do not know how to read. '' 'If s an ignorant nation,' repeated the first. 'A filthy nation,' added the second. ' Ro — ' exclaimed 20 THE CmMNET-SWEEP, the third, meaning to say ' robbers ' ; but he was not allowed to finish the word : a tempest of soldi and half-lire descended upon then- heads and shoulders, and leaped upon the table and the floor with a demoni- acal noise. All three sprang up in a rage, looked up, and received another handful of coppers in their faces. '' 'Take back your soldi !' said the lad, disdainfully, thrusting his head between the curtains of his berth ; * I do not accept alms from those who insult n^y country.' " THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP. November Ist. Yesterday afternoon I went to the girls' school build* ing, near ours, to give the story of the boy from Padua to Silvia's teacher, who wished to read it. There are seven hundred girls there. Just as I ar- rived, they began to come out, all greatly rejoiced at the holiday of All Saints and All Souls ; and here is a beautiful thing that I saw : Opposite the door of the school, on the other side of the street, stood a very small chimney-sweep, his face entu*ely black, with his sack and scraper, with one arm resting against the wall, and his head supported on his arm, weeping copiously and sobbing. Two or three of the girls of the second grade approached him and said, "What is the matter, that you weep like this ? " But he made no reply, and went on crying. '* Come, tell us what is the matter with you and why you are crying," the girls repeated. And then he raised his face from his arm, — a baby face, — and said through his tears that he had been to several houses to sweep the chimneys, and had earned thirty THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP. 21 soldi, and that he had lost them, that they had slipped through a hole in his pocket, — and he showed the hole, — and he did not dare to return home without the money. *' The master will beat me," he said, sobbing; and again dropped his head upon his arm, like one in despair. The children stood and stared at him very seriously. In the meantime, other girls, large and small, poor girls and girls of the upper classes, with their portfolios under their arms, had come up ; and one large girl, who had a blue feather in her hat, pulled two soldi from her pocket, and said : — "I have only two soldi; let us make a collec- tion." '' I have two soldi, also," said another girl, dressed in red ; " we shall certainly find thirty soldi among the whole of us " ; and then they began to call out : — ''Amalia! Luigia! Annina! — A soldo. Who has any soldi ? Bring your soldi here ! " Several had soldi to buy flowers or copy-books, and they brought them; some of the smaller girls gave centesimi ; the one with the blue feather collected all, and counted them in a loud voice : — "Eight, ten, fifteen!" But more was needed. Then one larger than any of them, who seemed to be an assistant mistress, made her appearance, and gave half a lira; and all made much of her. Five soldi were still lacking. " The girls of the fourth class are coming ; they will have it," said one girl. The members of the fourth class came, and the soldi showered down. All hur- ried forward eagerly ; and it was beautiful to see thai poor chimney-sweep in the midst of all those many- colored dresses, of all that whirl of feathers, ribbons, 22 THE DAT OF THE DEAD, and curls. The thirty soldi were already obtained, and more kept pouring in ; and the very smallest who had no money made their way among the big girls, and offered their bunches of flowers, for the sake of giving something. All at once the portress made her appearance, screaming : — " The Signora Directress ! '* The girls made their escape in all directions, like a flock of sparrows ; and then the little chimney-sweep was visible, alone, in the middle of the street, wiping his eyes in perfect con- tent, with his hands full of money, and the button- holes of his jacket, his pockets, his hat, were full of ftowers ; and there were even flowers on the ground at kis feet THE DAY OF THE DEAD. (^AU'Soxds-Day.) November 2d. This day is consecrated to the commemoration of the (lead. Do you know, Enrico, that all you boys should, on t his day, devote a thought to those who are dead ? To those who have died for you, — for boys and little children. How many have died, and how many are dying continually 1 Have you ever reflected how many fathers have worn out tneir lives in toil ? how many mothers have descended to the grave before their time, exhausted by the privations to which they have condemned themselves for the sake of sustaining their children ? Do you know how many men have planted a knife in their hearts in despair at beholding their children in misery? how many women have drowned themselves or have died of sorrow, or have gone mad, through having lost a child ? Think of all these dead on this day, Enrico. Think of how many schoolmistresses have died young, have pined away through the fatigues of the school, through love of the ckildren, from whom they had not the heart to tear them- THE CHARCOAL MAN AND THE GENTLEMAN. — Page 27. THI^ DAT OF THE DEAD. 23 selves away; think of the doctors who have perkhed ol contagious diseases, having courageously sacrificed them- selves to cure the children ; think of all those who in shipwrecks, in conflagrations, in famines, in moments of supreme danger, have yielded to infancy the last morsel of bread, the last place of safety, the last rope of escape from the flames, to expire content with their sacrifice, since they preserved the life of a little innocent. Such dead as these are innumerable, Enrico ; every graveyard contains hun- dreds of these sainted beings, who, if they could rise for a moment from their graves, would cry the name of a child to whom they sacrificed the pleasures of youth, the peace of old age, their affections, their intelligence, their life : wives of twenty, men in the flower of their strength, octogenarians, youths, — heroic and obscure martyrs of infancy, — so grand and so noble, that the earth does not produce as many flowers as should strew their graves. To such a degree are ye loved, O children! Think to-day on those dead with gratitude, and you will be kinder and more affectionate to all those who love you, and who toil for you, my dear, fortunate son, who, on the day of the dead, have, as yet, no one to grieve for. Thy Mother. 24 MY FRIEND GARRONJL NOVEMBER. MY FRIEND GARRONE. Friday, 4th. Thebe had been but two days of vacation, yet it peemed to me as though I had been a long time without seeing Garrone. The more I know him, the better I like him ; and so it is with all the rest, except with the overbearing, who have nothing to say to him, because he does not permit them to exhibit their oppres- sion. Every time that a big boy raises his hand against a little one, the little one shouts, " Garrone !" and the big one stops striking him. His father is an engine-driver on the railway ; he has begun school late, because he was ill for two years. He is the tallest and the strongest of the class ; he lifts a bench with one hand ; he is always eating ; and he is good. What- ever he is asked for, — a pencil, rubber, paper, or pen- knife, — he lends or gives it ; and he neither talks nor laughs in school : he alwa3'S sits perfectly motionless en a bench that is too narrow for him, with his spine curved forward, and his big head between his shoulders ; and when I look at him, he smiles at me with his eyes half closed, as much as to say, "TVell, Enrico, are we friends?" He makes me laugh, because, tall and broad as he is, he has a jacket, trousers, and sleeves which are too small for him, and too short ; a cap which will not stay on his head ; a threadbare cloak ; coarse MTt^ FRIEND GAHRONM. 25 shoes ; and ft necktie which is always twisted into a cord. Dear Garrone ! it needs but one glance in thy face to inspire love for thee. All the little boys would like to be near his bench. He knows arithmetic well. He carries his books bound together with a strap of red leather. He has a knife, with a mother-of-jDearl han- dle, which he found in the field for military manoeu- vres, last year, and one day he cut his finger to the bone ; but no one in school envies him it, and no one breathes a word about it at home, for fear of alarming his parents. He lets us say anything to him in jes^, and he never takes it ill ; but woe to any one who saye to him, " That is not true," when he aflSrms a thing : then fire flashes from his eyes, and he hammers dowu blows enough to split the bench. Saturday morning he gave a soldo to one of the upper first class, who was crying in the middle of the street, because his own had been taken from him, and he could not buy his copy- book. For the last three days he has been working over a letter of eight pages, with pen ornaments on the margins, for the saint's day of his mother, who often comes to get him, and who, like himself, is taH and large and sympathetic. The master is alway>,< glancing at him, and every time that he passes ne^r him he taps him on the neck with his hand, as though h he were a good, peaceable young bull. I am very fond of him. I am happy when I press his big hand, which seems to be the hand of a man, in mine. I am almost certain that he would risk his life to save that of a comrade ; that he would allow himself to be killed in his defence, so clearly can I read his eyes ; and al- though he always seems to be grumbling with that big voice of his, one feels that it is a voice that comes from A gentle heart. 586 THE CHARCOAL-MAN AND THE GENTLEMAN THE CHAKCOAIr-MAN AND THE GENTLEMAN. Monday, 7th. Garrone would certainly never ha.e uttered the words which Carlo Nobis spoke yesterday morning to Betti. Carlo Nobis is proud, because his father is a great gentleman ; a tall gentleman, with a black beard, and very serious, who accompanies his son to school nearly every day. Yesterday morning Nobis quar- relled with Betti, one of the smallest boys, and the son of a charcoal-man, and not knowing what retort to make, because he was in the wrong, said to him vehe- mently, ''Your father is a tattered beggar!" Betti reddened up to his very hair, and said nothing, but the tears came to his eyes ; and when he returned home, he repeated the words to his father ; so the charcoal- dealer, a little man, who was black all over, made his appearance at the afternoon session, leading his boy by the hand, in order to complain to the master. While he was making his complaint, and every one was silent, the father of Nobis, who was taking off his son's coat at the entrance, as usual, entered on hearing his name pronounced, and demanded an explanation. "This workman has come,*' said the master, "to complain that 30ur son Carlo said to his boy, ' Your father is a tattered beggar.' '* Nobis's father frowned and reddened slightly. Then he asked his son, '^Did you say that?" His son, who was standing in the middle of the school, with his head hanging, in front of little Betti, made no reply. Then his father grasped him by one arm and pushed him forward, facing Betti, so that they nearly touched, and said to him, " Beg his pardon." THE CHARCOAL-MAN AND THE GENTLEMAN. 27 The charcoal-man tried to interpose, saying, " No, no ! " but the gentleman paid no heed to him, and re- peated to his son, " Beg his pardon. Repeat my words. ' I beg your pardon for the insulting, foolish, and ignoble words which I uttered against your father, whose hand my father would feel himself honored to press.' " The charcoal-man made a resolute gesture, as though to say, *' I will not allow it." The gentleman did not second him, and his son said slowly, in a very thread of a voice, without raising his eyes from the ground, "1 beg your pardon — for the insulting — foolish — igno- ble — words which I uttered against your father, whose hand my father — would feel himself honored — to press." Then the gentleman offered his hand to the charcoal- man, who shook it vigorously, and then, with a sudden push, he thrust his son into the arms of Carlo Nobis. " Do me the favor to place them next each other,'* said tha gentleman to the master. The master put Betti on Nobis' s bench. When they were seated, the father of Nobis bowed and went away. The charcoal-man remained standing there in thought for several moments, gazing at the two boys side by side ; then he approached the bench, and fixed upon Nobis a look expressive of affection and regret, as though he were desirous of saying something to him, but he did not say anything ; he stretched out his hand to bestow a caress upon him, but he did not dare, and merely stroked his brow with his large fingers. Then he made his way to the door, and turning round for one last look, he disappeared. '' Fix what you have just seen firmly in your minds, boys," said the master; "this is the finest lesson of the year." \ MY BROTHER'S SCHOOLMISTRESS. MY BROTHER'S SCHOOLMISTRESS. Thursday, lOth. The son of the charcoal-man had been a pupil of that schoolmistress Delcati who had come to see my brother when he was ill, and who had made us laugh by telling us how, two years ago, the mother of this boy had brought to her house a big apronful of char- coal, out of gratitude for her having given the medal to her son ; and the poor woman had persisted, and Itad not been willing to carry the coal home again, and had wept when she was obliged to go away with her *pron quite full. And she told us, also, of another good woman, who had brought her a very heavy bunch of flowers, inside of which there was a little hoard of soldi. We had been greatly diverted in listening to her, and so my brother had swallowed his medicine, which he had not been willing to do before. How much patience is necessary with those boys of the lower first, all toothless, like old men, who cannot pro- lounce their r's and s's ; and one coughs, and another lias the nosebleed, and another loses his shoes under ijhe bench, and another bellows because he has pricked himself with his pen, and another one cries because he has bought copy-book No. 2 instead of No. 1. Fifty in a class, who know nothing, with those flabby little hands, and all of them must be taught to write ; they carry in their pockets bits of licorice, buttons, phial corks, pounded brick, — all sorts of little things, and ^he teacher has to search them ; but they conceal these objeiis even in their shoes. And they are not atten- tive : a fly enters through the window, and throws them aU into confusion ; and in summer they bring MY BROTHER'S SCHOOLMISTRESS. 29 grass into school, and horn-bugs, which fly round in circles or fall into the inkstand, and then streak the copy-books all over with ink. The schoolmistress has to play mother to all of them, to help them dress them- selves, bandage up their pricked fingers, pick up their caps when they drop them, watch to see that they dt not exchange coats, and that they do not indulge iis cat-calls and shrieks. Poor schoolmistresses ! Anf% then the mothers come to complain : ' ' How comes it, signorina, that my boy has lost his pen ? How does it happen that mine learns nothing ? Why is not my boy mentioned honorably, when he knows so much ? Why don't you have that nail which tore my Piero's trou- sers, taken out of the bench?" Sometimes my brother's teacher gets into a rage with the boys ; and when she can resist no longer, she bites her finger, to keep herself from dealing a blow ; she loses patience, and then she repents, and caresses the child whom she has scolded ; she sends a little rogue out of school, and then swallows her tears, and flies into a rage with parents who make the little ones fast by way of punishment. Schoolmistress Delcati is young and tall, well-dressed, brown of complexion, and restless ; she does everything vivaciousl}', as though on springs, is affected by a mere trifle, and at such times speaks with great tenderness. *' But the children become attached to you, surely," my mother said to her. *' Many do," she replied ; " but at the end of the year the majority of them pay no further heed to us. When they are with the masters, they are almost ashamed of having been with us — with a woman teacher. After two years of cares, after having loved a child so much, it makes us feel sad to part from him ; but we say to 50 MY MOTHER, ourselves, 'Oh, I am sure of that one ; he is fond of me.' But the vacation over, he comes back to school. I run to meet him ; ' Oh, my child, m^- child ! ' And he turns his head away." Here the teacher interrupted herself. "But you will not do so, little one?" she said, raising her humid eyes, and kissing my brother. "You will pot turn aside your head, will you? You will not deny your poor friend ? " MY MOTHER. Thursday, November 10th. In the presence of your brother's teacher you failed in respect to your mother ! Let this never happen again, my Enrico, never again ! Your irreverent word pierced my heart like a point of steel. I thought of your mother when, years ago, she bent the whole of one night over your little bed, measuring your breathing, weeping blood in her an- guish, and with her teeth chattering with terror, because she thought that she had lost you, and I feared that she would lose her reason ; and at this thought I felt a sentiment of horror at you. You, to offend your mother! your mother, who would give a year of happiness to spare you one hour ot pain, who would beg for you, who would allow herself to be kiUed to save your life ! Listen, Enrico. Fix this though^t well in your mind. Reflect that you are destined to expert ence many terrible days in the course of your life : the most terrible will be that on which you lose your mother. A thousand times, Enrico, after you are a man, strong, and in- ared to all fates, you will invoke her, oppressed with an in- tense desire to hear her voice, if but for a moment, and to see once more her open arms, into which you can throw yourself Bobbing, like a poor child bereft of comfort and protection. How you will then recall eveiy bitterness that you have caused her, and with what remorse you will pay for all, un- happy wretch ! Hope for no peace in your life, if you have MY COMPANION CORETTL 31 caused yonr mother grief. You will repent, you will beg her forgiveness, jou. will venerate her memory — in vain; con- science will give you no rest ; that sweet and gentle image will always wear for you an expression of sadness and of re- proach whicb will put your soul to torture. Oh, Enrico, be- ware ; this ip the most sacred of human affections ; unhappy he who tramples it under foot. The assassin who respects his mother has still something honest and noble in his heart; the most glorious of men who grieves and offends her is but a vile creature. Never again let a harsh word issue from your lips, for the oeing who gave you life. And if one should ever escape j ^u, let it not be the fear of your father, but let it be the impulse of your soul, which casts you at her feet, to beseech her that she will cancel from your brow, with the kiss of forgiveness, the stain of ingratitude. I love you, my son ; you are the dearest hope of my life ; but I would rather see you dead than ungrateful to your mother. Go away, for a little space ; offer me no more of your caresses ; I should not be able to return them from my heart. MY COMPANION CORETTI. Sunday, JSth. My father forgave me ; but I remained rather sad and then my mother sent me, with the porter^s big son, to take a walk on the Corso. Half-way down the Oorso, as we were passing a cart which was standing in front of a shop, I heard some one call me by name : I turned round ; it was Coretti, my schoolmate, with chocolate-colored clothes and his catskin cap, all in a perspiration, but merry, with a big load of wood on his shoulders. A man who was standing in the cart was handing him an armful of wood at a time, which he took and carried into his father's shop, where he piled it up in the greatest haste. 82 ^I' COMPANION CORETTL " What are you doing, CJoretti?" I asked him. "Don't you see?" he answered, reaching out his arms to receive the load; "I am reviewing my lesson." I laughed ; but he seemed to be serious, and, having grasped the armful of wood, he began to repeat as ha ran, '' Tlie conjugation of the verb — consists in its van aJtions according to number — a/xording to number ana person — " And then, throwing down the wood and piling it, *' according to the time — according to the time to whidk the action refers." And turning to the cart for another armful, " aO'- cording to the mode in which the a^ion is enunciated.*' It was our grammar lesson for the following day, ** What would you have me do?" he said. "I am putting my time to use. My father has gone off with the man on business ; my mother is ill. It falls to me to do the unloading. In the meantime, I am going over my grammar lesson. It is a difficult lesson to- day ; I cannot succeed in getting it into my head. — My father said that he would be here at seven o'clock to give you your money," he said to the man with the cart. The cart drove off. " Come into the shop a minute," Coretti said to me. I went in. It was a large apart- ment, full of piles of wood and fagots, with a steel- yard on one side. " This is a busy day, I can assure you," resumed Coretti ; *' I have to do my work by fits and starts. I was writing my phrases, when some customers came in. I went to writing again, and behold, that cart arrived. I have alread}' made two trips to the wood market in the Piazza Venezia this morning. My legs MY COMPANION CORETTI. 33 are so tired that I cannot stand, and my hands are all swollen. I should be in a pretty pickle if I had to draw I " And as he spoke he set about sweeping up the dry leaves and the straw which covered the brick- paved floor. "But where do you do your work, Coretti?" I inquired. " Not here, certainly," he replied. " Come and see " ; and he led me into a little room behind the shop, which serves as a kitchen and dining-room, with a table in one corner, on which there were books ana copy-books, and work which had been begun. *'Here it is," he said ; " I left the second answer unfinished : with which shoes are made^ and belts. Now I will add, and valises.'* And, taking his pen, he began to write in his fine hand. " Is there any one here?" sounded a call from the shop at that moment. It was a woman who had come to buy some little fagots. '' Here I am !" replied Coretti ; and he sprang out, weighed the fagots, took the money, ran to a corner to enter the sale in a shabby old account-book, and re- turned to his work, saying, " Let's see if I can finish that sentence." And he wrote, travelling-bags, and knapsacks for soldiers. *' Oh, my poor coffee is boiling over !" he exclaimed, and ran to the stove to take the coffee-pot from the fire. "It is coffee for mamma," he said; "I had to learn how to make it. Wait a while, and we will carry it to her ; you'll see what pleasure it will give her. She has been in bed a whole week. — Conjugation of the verb ! I always scald my fingers with this coffee-pot. What is there that I can add after the soldiers' knapsacks? Something more is needed, and I can think of nothing. Come to mamma." $1 'JfT COMPAmOJi aORETT) He opened ft door, and we entered another small room : there Coretti's mother lay in a big bed, with a white kerchief wound round her head. "Ah, brave little master!" said the woman to me; '' you have come to visit the sick, have you not? '* Meanwhile, Coretti was arranging the pillows be- hind his mother's back, readjusting the bedclothes, brightening up the fire, and driving the cat off the chest of drawers. "Do you want anything else, mamma?" lie asked, as he took the cup from her. "Have you taken the two spoonfuls of syrup? When it is all gone, I will make a trip to the apothecary's. The wood is un- loaded. At four o'clock I will put the meat on the stove, as you told me ; and when the butter- woman passes, I will give her those eight soldi. Everything will go on well ; so don't give it a thought." '* Thanks, my son ! " replied the woman. "Gr^, my poor boy ! — he thinks of everything." She insisted that I should take a lump of sugar ; and then Coretti showed me a little picture, — the photo- graph portrait of his father dressed as a soldier, with the medal for bravery which he had won in 1866, in the troop of Prince Umberto : he had the same face as his son, with the same vivacious eyes and his merry smile. VVe went back to the kitchen. " I have found the thing,'* said Coretti ; and he added on his copy-book, horse-trapp^igs are also made of it. " The rest I wiU do this evening; I shall sit up later. How happy you are, to have time to study and to go to walk, too ! " And still gay and active, he re-entered the shop, and began to place pieces of wood on the horse and to saw them, saying : '* This is gymnastics : it is qiii^fi differ- THE HEAD-MASTER. 33 ent from the throw your arms forwards, I want m^ father to find all this wood sawed when he gets home ; how glad he will be I The worst part of it is that after sawing I make T's and L's which look like snakes, so the teachei' says. What am I to do ? I will tell him that I have to move my arms about. The important thing is to have mamma get well quickly. She is better to-day, thank Heaven ! I will study my gram- mar to-morrow morning at cock-crow. Oh, here's the cart with logs ! To work ! " A small cart laden with logs halted in front of th-e shop. Coretti ran out to speak to the man, then re- turned : '* I cannot keep your company any longer now," he said; ''farewell until to-morrow. You did right to come and hunt me up. A pleasant walk to you ! happy fellow ! " And pressing my hand, he ran to take the first log, and began once more to trot back and forth between the cart and the shop, with a face as fresh ^8 a ro»e beneath his catskin cap, and so alert thai it ntm a pleasure to see him. '' Happy fellow ! " he had said to me. Ah, no, Cor- etti, no ; you are the happier, because you study and work too ; because you are of use to your father and your mother ; because you are better — a hundred times better — and more courageous than I, my deal Bcboolmate. THE HEAD-MASTER. Friday, 18th. Coretti was pleased this morning, because his mastei of the second class, Coatti, a big man, with a huge head ^ curly hair, a great black beard, big dark eyes, and S6 THE HEAB-MASTER, a i^ce titee a cannon, had come to assist in the work of the monthly examination. He is always threatening the bovs that he will break them in pieces and cari-y them by the nape of the neck to the quaestor, and he makes all sorts of frightful faces ; but he never pun- ishes any one, but always smiles the while behind his beard, so that no one can see it. There are eight mas- ters in all, including Coatti, and a little, beardless assistant, who looks like a boy. There is one master of the fourth class, who is lame and always wrapped up in a big woollen scarf, and who is always suffering from pains which he contracted when he was a teacher in the country, in a damp school, where the walls were dripping with moisture. Another of the teachers of the fourth is old and perfectly white-haired, and has been a teacher of the blind. There is one well-dressed master, with e3e-glas8es, and a blond mustache, who is called the little lawyer^ because, while he was teaching, he studied law and took his diploma ; and he is also making a book to teach how to write letters. On the other hand, the one who teaches gymnastics is of a soldierly type, and was with Garibaldi, and has on his neck a 5car from a sabre wound received at the battle of Milazzo. Then there is the head-master, who is tall and bald, and wears gold spectacles, with a gray beard that flows down upon his breast ; he dresses entirely in black, and is always buttoned up to the chin. He is so kind to the boys, that when they enter the director's room, all in a tremble, because they have been sum- moned to receive a reproof, he does not scold them, but takes them by the hand, and tells them so many reasons why ihey ought not to behave so, and why they should be sorry, and promise to be good, and he speaks in such a kind manner, and in so gentle a voice, that they all THE HEAD-MASTER. 37 come out with red eyes, more confused than if they had been punished. Poor head-master ! he is always the first at his post in the morning, waiting for the scholars and lending an ear to the parents ; and when the other masters are already on their way home, he is stiill hov- ering about the school, and looking out that the boys do not get under the carriage- wheels, or hang about the streets to stand on their heads, or fill their bags with sand or stones ; and the moment he makes his appear- ance at a corner, so tall and black, flocks of boys scamper off in all directions, abandoning their games of coppers and marbles, and he threatens them from afar with his forefinger, with his sad and loving air. No one has ever seen him smile, my mother says, since the death of his son, who was a volunteer in the army : he always keep^ the latter' s portrait before his eyes, on a little table it the head-master's room. He wanted to go away after this misfortune ; he prepared bis application for retirement to the Municipal Council.^ and kept it always on his table, putting off sending it from day to day, because it grieved him to leave the boys. But the other day he seemed undecided ; and my father, who w^s in the director's room with him, was just saying to Jbdm, '' What a shame it is that you are going away, Signor Director ! " when a man entered for the purpose of inscribing the name of a boy who was to be trans- ferred from another schoolhouse to ours, because he had changed his residence. At the sight of this boy, the head-master made a gesture of astonishment, gazed at him for a while, gazed at the portrait that he keeps on his little table, and then stared at the boy again, as he drew him between his knees, and made him hold up his head. This boy resembled his dead son. the head-master said, ''It is all right," wrote dowL 38 THE SOLDIERS. his name, dismissed the father and son, and remained absorbed in thought. " What a pitv that yo'i are going away ! " repeated my father. And then the head- master took up his application for retirement, tore it in two, and said, " I shall remain." THE SOLDIERS. Tuesday, 22d. His son had been a volunteer in the army when he died : this is the reason why the head-master always goes to the Corso to see the soldiers pass, when we come out of school. Yesterda}' a regiment of infantry was passing, and fifty boys began to dance around the band, singing and beating time with their rulers on their bags and portfolios. We were standing in a group on the sidewalk, watching them : Gnrrone, squeezed into his clothes, which were too tight for him, was biting at a large piece of bread ; Votini, the well-dressed boy, who always wears Florence plush ; Precossi, the son of the blacksmith, with his father's jacket ; and the Gala- brian ; and the ''little mason"; and Crossi, with his red head ; and Franti. with his bold face ; and Robetti, too, the son of the artillery captain, the boy who saved the child from the omnibus, and who now walks on crutches. Franti burst into a derisive laugh, in the face of a soldier who was limping. But all at once he felt a man's hand on his shoulder : he turned round ; it was the head-master. "Take care," said the master to him ; " jeering at a soldier when he is in the ranks, when he can neither avenge himself nor reply, is like insulting a man who is bound : it is baseness." Franti disappeared. The soldiers were marching by tours, all perspiring and covered with dust, and thex? THE SOLDIERS. 3tf guns were gleaming in the sun. The head-master said : — "You ought to feel kindly towards soldiers, boys They are our defenders, who would go to be killed for our sakes, u a foreign army were to menace our country to-morrow. .They are boys too; they are not man\ years older than you ; and they, too, go to school ; and there are poor men and gentlemen among them, just as there are among you, and they come from every part of Italy. See if you cannot recognize them by their faces ; Sicilians are passing, and Sardinians, and Neapolitans, and Lombards. This is an old regiment, one of those which fought in 1848. They are not the same soldiers, but the flag is still the same. How many have already died for our country around that banner twenty years before you were born ! " '' Here it is ! " said Garrone. And in fact, not far off, the flag was visible, advancing, above the heads of the soldiers. "Do one thing, my sons," said the head-master; " make your scholar's salute, with your hand to your brow, when the tricolor passes." The flag, borne by an officer, passed before us, all tattered and faded, and with the medals attached to the staff. We put our hands to our foreheads, all together. The oflScer looked at us with a smile, and returned our salute with his hand. " Bravi, boys ! " said some one behind us. We turned to look ; it was an old man who wore in his but- ton-hole the blue ribbon of the Crimean campaign — a pensioned oflScer. " Bravi ! " he said ; " you have done a fine deed." In the meantime, the band of the regiment had made ft turn at the end of the Corso, surrounded by a throng 40 NELLrS PROTECTOH. of boys, and a hundred merry shouts accompanied the blasts of the trumpets, like a war-song. ' ' Bravi ! " repeated the old officer, as he gazed upon us; "he who respects the flag when he is little will l|now how to defend it when he is grown up." NELLI'S PROTECTOR. Wednesday, 23d. Nelli, too, poor little hunchback ! was looking at the soldiers 3'esterday, but with an air as though he were thinking, "I can never be a soldier!'* He is good, and he studies ; but he is so puny and wan, and he breathes with difficulty. He always wears a long apron of shining black cloth. His mother is a little blond woman who dresses in black, and always comes to get him at the end of school, so that he may not come out in the confusion with the others, and she caresses him. At first man}' of the boys ridiculed him, and thumped him on the back with their bags, because he is so un- fortunate as to be a hunchback ; but he never offered any resistance, and never said anything to his mother, in order not to give her the pain of knowing that her son was the laughing-stock of his companions : they derided him, and he held his peace and wept, with his head laid against the bench. But one morning Garrone jumped up and said, " The first person who touches Nelli will get such a box on the ear from me that he will spin round three times ! " Franti paid no attention to him ; the box on the ear was delivered : the fellow spun round three times, and from that time forth no one ever touched Nelli again. IfELLPS PROTECTOR. 41 The master placed Garrone near him, on the same bench. They have become friends. Nelli has grown very fond of Garrone. As soon as he enters the schoolroom he looks to see if Garrone is there. He never goes away without saying, " Good by, Gar- rone," and Garrone does the same with him. When Nelli drops a pen or a book under the bench, Garrone stoops quickly, to prevent his stooping and tiring himself, and hands him his book or his pen, and then he helps him to put his things in his bag and tour health, and the health of all belonging to you! "you nannot understand the sweetness which these words produce \q. my heart, the gratitude that I feel for that poor man. It ieems to me certain that such a good wish must keep one in ^ood health for a long time, and I return home content, and think, " Oh, that poor man has returned to me very much wore than I gave him ! " Well, let me sometimes feel that good wish called forth, merited by you ; draw a soldo from ;^our little purse now and then, and let it fall into the hand of a blind man without means of subsistence, of a mother without bread, of a child without a mother. The poor love the alms of boys, because it does not humiliate them, and because boys, who stand in need of everything, resemble themselves: you see that there are always poor people around the schoolhouses. The alms of a man is an act of charity ; but that of a child is at one and the same time an act of charity and a caress — do you understand? It is as though a soldo and a flower fell from your hand together. Reflect that you lack nothmg, and that they lack everything; THE POOR. 51 that while you aspire to be happy, they are content simply with not dying. Reflect, that it is a horror, in the midst of so many palaces, along the streets thronged with carriages, and children clad in velvet, that there should be women and children who have nothing to eat. To have nothing to eat ! O God ! Boys like you, as good as you, as intelligent as you, who, in the midst of a great city, have nothing to eat, like wild beasts lost in a desert ! Oh, never again, Enrico, pass a mother who is begging, without placing a soldo in her handl Thy Father. 62 THE TRADER. DECEMBER. THE TRADER. Th»Mday, lot. Mt father wishes me to have some one of my com- panions come to the house every holiday, or that I should go to see one of them, in order that I may gradually become friends with all of them. Sunday I shall go to walk with Votini, the well-dressed boy who is always polishing himself up, and who is so envious of Derossi. In the meantime, Garoffi came to the house to-day, — that long, lank boy, with the nose like an owl's beak, and small, knavish ej^es, which seem to be ferreting everywhere. He is the son of a grocer; he is an eccentric fellow ; he is always counting the soldi that he has in his pocket ; he reckons them on his fingers very, very rapidly, and goes through some process of multiplication without any tables ; and he hoards his money, and already has a book in the Scholars' Savings Bank. He never spends a soldo, I am positive ; and if he drops a centesimo under the benches, he is capable of hunting for it for a week. He does as magpies do, so Derossi says. Everything that he finds — worn-out pens, postage- stamps that have been used, pins, candle-ends — he picks up. He has been collecting postage-stamps for more than two years now ; and he already has hundreds of them from every country, in a large album, which he will THE TRADER. f^ «<*11 to a bofvkseller later on, when he has got it quite full. MfcaBwhile, the bookseller gives him his copy- books gratis, because he takes a great many boys to %he shop. In school, he is always bartering ; he effects sales of little articles every day, and lotteries and exchanges ; then he regrets the exchange, and wants his stuff back ; he buys for two and gets rid of it for four ; he plays at pitch-penny, and never loses ; he sells old newspapers over again to the tobacconist; and he keeps a little blank-book, in which he sets down his transactions, which is completely filled with sums and subtractions. At school he studies nothing but arithmetic ; and if he desires the medal, it is only that he may have a free entrance into the puppet-show. But he pleases me ; he amuses me. We played at keeping a market, with weights and scales. He knows the exact price of everything ; he understands weigh- ing, and makes handsome paper horns, like shop- keepers, with great expedition. He declares that as soon as he has finished school he shall set up in busi- ness — in a new business which he has invented him- self. He was very much pleased when I gave him some foreign postage-stamps ; and he informed me exactly how each one sold for collections. My father pretended to be reading the newspaper ; but he listened to him, and was greatly diverted. His pockets are bulging, full of his little wares ; and he covers them up with a long black cloak, and always appears thoughtful and preoccupied with business, like a mer- chant. But the thing that he has nearest his heart is his collection of postage-stamps. This is his treas- ure ; and he always speaks of it as though he were going to get a fortune out of it. His companions accuse him of miserliness and usury. I do not know : 44 VANITY, I like him ; he teaches me a great many things ; h« seems a man to me. Coretti, the son of the wood- merchant, says that he would not give him his postage- stamps to save his mother's life. My father does not believe it. '' Wait a little before you condemn him," he said to me ; '* he has this passion, but he has heart as well.** VANITY. Monday, 6th. Yesterday I went to take a walk along the Rivoli road with Votini and his father. As we were passing through the Via Dora Grossa we saw Stardi, the boy who kicks disturbers, standing stiffly in front of the window of a book-shop, with his eyes fixed on a geographical map ; and no one knows how long he had been there, because he studies even in the street. He barely returned our salute, the rude fellow ! Votini '«ras well dressed — even too much so. He had on morocco boots embroidered in red, an embroidered coat, small silken frogs, a white beaver hat, and a watch ; and he strutted. But his vanit}' was destined to come to a bad end on this occasion. After having run a tolerably long distance up the Rivoli road, leav- ing his father, who was walking slowly, a long way in the rear, we halted at a stone seat, beside a modestly clad boy, who appeared to be weary, and was meditat- ing, with drooping head. A man, who must have been his father, was walking to and fro under the trees, reading the newspaper. We sat down. Votini placed himself between me and the boy. All at once he recollected that he was well dressed, and wanted to make his neighbor admire and envy him. STOP THAT, YOU LITTLE RASCALS !" — Page 60. VANITY. 5i He lifted one foot, and said to me, *' Have you seen my officer's boots?" He said this in order to make the other boy look at them; but the latter paid no attention to them. Then he dropped his foot, and showed me his silk frogs, glancing askance at the boy the while, and said that these frogs did not please him, and that he wanted to have them changed to silver buttons ; but the boy did not look at the frogs either. Then Votini fell to twirling his very handsome white castor hat on the tip of his forefinger ; but the boy — and it seemed as though he did it on purpose — did not deign even a glance at the hat. Votini, who began to become irritated, drew cut his watch, opened it, and showed me the wheels ; but the boy did not turn his head. "Is it of silver gilt?" I asked him. " No," he replied ; '' it is gold." " But not entirely of gold," I said ; ** there must be some silver with it." '^Why, no! " he retorted; and, in order to compel the boy to look, he held the watch before his tace, and said to him, " Say, look here! isn't it true that it is entirely of gold?" The boy replied curtly, " I don't know." '* Oh ! oh ! " exclaimed Votini, full of wrath, '' what pride ! " As he was saying this, his father came up, and heard him ; he looked steadily at the lad for a moment, then said sharply to his son, "Hold your tongue!" and, bending down to his ear, he added, "he is blind !** Votini sprang to his feet, with a shudder, and stared the boy in the face : the latter's eyeballs were gUssy. without expression, without sight. 56 rifS: FIRST SNOW-STORM. Votini stood humbled, — speechless, — with his eyea fixed on the ground. At length he stammered, *'I am sorry ; I did not know." But the blind boy, who had understood it all, said, with a kind and melanchoh' smile, *' Oh, it's no matter ! " Well, he is vain; but Votini has not at all a bad heart. He never laughed again during the whole of the walk. THE FIRST SNOW-STORM. Saturday, 10th. Farewell, walks to Rivoli! Here is the beauti/ul 1/riend of the boys ! Here is the first snow ! Ever since yesterday evening it has been falling in thick ttakes as large as gillyflowers. It was a pleasure this morning at school to see it beat against the panes and ^^ile up on the window-sills ; even the master watched if., and rubbed his hands ; and all were glad, when they thought of making snowballs, and of the ice which will come later, and of the hearth at home. Stardi, entirelj' absorbed in his lessons, and with his fists pressed to his temples, was the only one who paid no attention to it. What beauty, what a celebration there was when we left school ! All danced down the streets, shouting and tossing their arms, catching up handfuls of snow, and dashing about in it, like poodles in water. The umbrellas of the parents, who were waiting for them outside, were all white ; the police- man's helmet was white ; all our satchels were white in a few moments. Every one appeared to be beside himself with joj" — even Precossi, the son of the blacksmith, that pale boy who never laughs ; and THE FIRST SNOW-STORM. 57 Robetti, the lad who saved the little child from the omnibus, poor fellow ! jumped about on his crutches. The Calabrian, who had never touched snow, made himself a little ball of it, and began to eat it, as though it had been a peach ; Crossi, the son of the vegetable- vendor, filled his satchel with it ; and the little mason made us burst with laughter, when my father invited him to come to our house to-morrow. He had his mouth full of snow, and, not daring either to spit it out or to swallow it, he stood there choking and star- ing at us, and made no answer. Even the school^ mistress came out of school on a run, laughing ; an4 my mistress of the first upper class, poor little thing ! ran through the drizzling snow, covering her face wita her green veil, and coughing ; and meanwhile, hun- dreds of girls from the neighboring schoolhouse passed by, screaming and frolicking on that white carpet; and the masters and the beadles and the policemen shouted, ''Home! home!" swallowing flakes of snow, and whitening their moustaches and beards. But they, too, laughed at this wild hilarity of the scholars, as they celebrated the winter. You hail the arrival of winter; but there are boys who have neither clothes nor shoes nor fire. There are thousands of them, who descend to their villages, over a long road, carrying in hands bleeding from chilblains a bit of wood to warm the schoolroom. There are hundreds of schools almost buried in the snow, bare and dismal as caves, where the boys suffocate with smoke or chatter their teeth with cold as they gaze in terror at the white flakes which descend unceasingly, which pile up without cessation on their distant cabins threatened by avalanches. Yoii rejoice in the winter, boys. Think of the thousands o! creatures to whom winter brings misery and death. Thy Fathbh. iS THE LITTLE MASOlf, THE LITTLE MASON. Sunday, 11th. The little mason came to-day, in a liunting-jacket, entirely dressed in the cast-off clothes of his father, which were still white with lime and plaster. My father was even more anxious than I that he should come. How much pleasure he gives us ! No sooner had he entered than he pulled off his ragged cap, which was all soaked with snow, and thrust it into one of his pockets ; then he advanced with his listless gait, like a weary workman, turning his face, as smooth as an apple, with its ball-like nose, from side to side ; and when he entered the dining-room, he cast a glance round at the furniture and fixed his eyes on a small picture of Rigoletto, a hunchbacked jester, and made a '' hare's face." It is impossible to refrain from laughing when one sees him make that hare's face. We went to playing with bits of wood : he possesses an extraordinary skiU at making towers and bridges, which seem to stand as though by a miracle, and he works at it quite seriously, with the patience of a man. Between one tower and another he told me about his f amih^ : they live in a garret ; his father goes to the evening school to learn to read, and his mother is a washerwoman. And they must love him, of course, for he is clad like a poop boy, but he is well protected from the cold, with neatly mended clothes, and with his necktie nicely tied by his mother's hands. His father, he told me, is a fine man, — a giant, who has trouble in getting through doors ^ but he is kind, and always calls his son " hare's face": the son, on the contrary, is rather small. THE LITTLE MASON, 5f At four o'clock we lunched on bread and goat's-milk cheese, as we sat on the sofa ; and when we rose, I do not know why, but my father did not wish me to brush off the back, which the little mason had spotted with white, from his jacket : he restrained my hand, and then rubbed it '>ff himself on the sly. While we were playing, the little mason lost a button from his hunting- jacket, and m}- mother sewed it on, and he grew quite red, and began to watch her sew, in perfect amazement and confusion, holding his breath the while. Then we gave him some albums of caricatures to look at, and he, without being aware of it himself, imitated the gri- maces of the faces there so well, that even my father laughed. He was so much pleased when he went away that he forgot to put on his tattered cap ; and when we reached the landing, he made a hare's face at me once more in sign of his gratitude. His name i8 Antonio Rabucco, and he is eight years and eight months old. Do you know, my son, why I did not wish you to wipe off the sofa ? Because to wipe it while your companion was look- ing on would have been almost the same as administering a reproof to him for having soiled it. And this was not well, in the first place, because he did not do it intentionally, and in the next, because he did it with the clothes of his father, who had covered them with plaster while at work ; and what is contractcx'' while at work is not dirt; it is dust, lime, varnish, whatever yoa like, but it is not dirt. Labor does not engen- der dirt. Never say of a laborer coming from his work, " He is filthy. You should say, " He has on his garments the signs, the traces, of his toil." Remember this. And you must love the little jnason, first, because he is your comrade; and next, because he is the son of a workingman. Thy Father. 10 ^ SNOWBALL, A SNOWBALL. Friday, IGth. It is still snow, snow. A shameful thing happened in connection with the snow this morning when we came out of school. A flock of boys had no sooner got into the Corso than they began to throw balls of that watery snow which makes missiles as solid and heavy as stones. Man}" persons were passing along the sidewalks. A gentleman called out, "Stop that, you little rascals ! " and just at that moment a sharp cry rose from another part of the street, and we saw an old man who had lost his hat and was staggering about, covering his face with his hands, and beside him a boy who was shouting, " Help ! help ! " People instantly ran from all directions. He had been struck in the eye with a ball. All the boys dis- persed, fleeing like arrows. I was standing in front of the bookseller's shop, into which my father had jgone, and I saw several of my companions approaching J it a run, mingling with others near me, and pretending ^:> be engaged in staring at the windows : there was 25th. The boy who wrote the best composition of all on our country was Derossi, as usual. And Votini, who thought himself sure of the first medal — I like Votini well enough, although he is rather vain and does polish himself up a trifle too much, — but it makes me scorn him, now that I am his neighbor on the bench, to see how envious he is of Derossi. He would like to vie with him ; he studies hard, but he cannot do it by any possibility, for the other is ten times as strong as he is on every point ; and Votini rails at him. Carlo Nobis envies him also ; but he has so much pride in his body that, purely from pride, he does not allow it to be per- ceived. Votini, on the other hand, betrays himself: he complains of his difficulties at home, and says that the master is unjust to him ; and when Derossi replies so promptly and so well to questions, as he always does, his face clouds over, he hangs his head, pretends not to hear, or tries to laugh, but he laughs awkwardly. And thus every one knows about it, so that when the master praises Derossi they all turn to look at Votini, who chews his venom, and the little mason makes a hare's face at him. To-day, for instance, he was put to the torture. The head- master entered the school and announced the result of the examination, — '' De- rossi ten tenths and the first medal." Votini gave a huge sneeze. The master looked at him : it was not hard to understand the matter. *' Vo- tini," he said, " do not let the serpent of envy enter 5 >ur body ; it is a sei-pent which gnaws at the brain tiiid corrupts the heart.'* Every one stared at him except Derossi. Votini 'THEN THE TROOP DARTED OUT OF THE DOOR."— Page 97. C C O fc I u ENVY. 103 tried to make some answer, but could not; he sat here as though turned to stone, and with a white face. Then, while the master was conducting the lesson, he began to write in large characters on a sheet of paper, "7 am not envious of those wJio gain the first medal throv^h favoritism and injustice.'" It was a note which he meant to send to Derossi. But, in the meantime, I perceived that Derossi's neighbors were plotting among themselves, and whispering in each other's ears, and one cut with penknife from paper a big medal on which they had drawn a black serpent. But Votini did not notice this. The master went out for a few moments. All at once Derossi's neighbors rose and left their seats, for the purpose of coming and solemnly presenting the paper medal to Votini. The whole class was prepared for a scene. Votini had already begun to quiver all over. Derossi exclaimed : — "Give that tome !" *' So much the better," they replied; *' you are the one who ought to carry it." Derossi took the medal and tore it into bits. At that moment the master returned, and resumed the lesson. I kept my eye on Votini. He had t^irned as red as a coal. He took his sheet of paper very, very quietly, as though in absence of mind, rolled it into a ball, on the sly, put it into his mouth, chewed it a little, and then spit it out under the bench. When school broke up, Votini, who was a little confused, let fall his blotting-paper, as he passed Derossi. Derossi politely picked it up, put it in his satchel, and helped him to buckle the straps. Votini dared not raise hit eyes. 104 FRANTrs MOTHEH, FRANTI'S MOTHER. Saturday, 28th. But Votini is incorrigible. Yesterday morning, dur- ing the lesson on religion, in the presence of the head- master, the teacher asked Derossi if he knew by heart the two couplets in the reading-book, — " Where'er I turn my gaze, 'tis Thee, great Grod, 1 see." Derossi said that he did not, and Votini suddenly exclaimed, " I know them ! " with a smile, as though to pique Derossi. But he was piqued himself, instead, for he could not recite the poetry, because Franti's mother suddenly flew into the schoolroom, breathless, with her graj^ hair dishevelled and all wet with snow, and pushing before her her son, who had been sus- pended from school for a week. What a sad scene we were doomed to witness ! The poor woman flung her- self almost on her knees before the head-master, with clasped hands, and besought him : — " Oh, Signor Director, do me the favor to put my boy back in school ! He has been at home for three days. I have kept him hidden ; but God have mercy on him, if his father finds out about this affair : he will murder him ! Have pitj^ ! I no longer know what to do ! I entreat you with my whole soul ! " The director tried to lead her out, but she resisted, still continuing to pray and to weep. " Oh, if you only knew the trouble that this boy has caused me, you would have compassion ! Do me this favor ! I hope that he will reform. I shall not live long, Signor Director ; I bear death within me ; but I should like to see him reformed before my death, be- cause " — and she broke into a passion of weeping— HOPE. 105 " he Is my son — I love him — I shall die in despair ! Take him back once more, Signor Director, that a misfortune may not happen m the family ! Do it out of pity for a poor woman ! " And she covered her face with her hands and sobbed. Franti stood impassive, and hung his head. The head-master looked at him, reflected a little, then said, ** Franti, go to your place." Then the woman removed her hands from her face, quite comforted, and began to express thanks upon thanks, without giving the director a chance to speak, and made her way towards the door, wiping her eyes, and saying hastilj^ : " I beg of you, my son. — May all have patience. — Thanks, Signor Director; you have performed a deed of mercy. — Be a good boy. — Good day, boys. — Thanks, Signor Teacher ; good by, ana forgive a poor mother." And after bestowing another supplicating glance at her son from the door, she went away, pulling up the shawl which was trailing after her, pale, bent, with a head which still trembled, and we heard her coughing all the way down the stairs. The head-master gazed intently at Franti, amid the silence of the class, and said to him in accents of a kind to make him tremble : — *' Franti, you are killing your mother ! " We all turned to look at Franti ; and that infamonff boy smiled. HOPE. Sunday, 29tlL Very beautiful, Enrico, was the impetuosity with whic> you flung yourself on your mother's heart on your return from your lesson of religion. Yes, your master said grand 106 HOPE. and consoling things to you. God threw you in each othei^i arms ; he will never part you- When I die, when your father dies, we shall not speak to each other these despairing words, " Mamma, papa, Enrico, I shall never see you again ! '' We shall see each other again in another life, where he who has suffered much in this life will receive compensation; where he who has loved much on earth will find again the souls whom he has loved, in a world without sin, without Borrow, and without death. But we must all render oor- gelves worthy of that other life. Reflect, my son. Every good action of yours, every impulse of affection for those who love you, every courteous act towards your companions, every noble thought of yours, is like a leap towards that other world. And every misfortune, also, serves to raise you towards that world ; every sorrow, for every sorrow is the expiation of a sin, every tear blots out a stain. Make it your rule to become better and more loving every day than the day before. Say every morning, "To-day I will do something for which my conscience will praise me, and with which my father will be satisfied ; something which will render me beloved by such or such a comrade, by my teacher, by my brother, or by others." And beseech God to give you the strength to put your resolution into practice. " Lord, I wish to be good, noble, courageous, gentle, sincere; help me ; grant that every night, when my mother gives me her last kiss, I may be able to say to her, ' You kiss this night a nobler and more worthy boy than you kissed last night.' ** Keep always in your thoughts that other superhuman and blessed Enrico which you may be after this life. And pray. You cannot imagine the sweetness that you experience, — how much better a mother feels when she sees her child with "hands clasped in prayer. WTien I behold you pray- ing, it seems impossible to me that there should not be some one there gazing at you and listening to you. Then I believe more firmly that there is a supreme goodness and an infinite pity ; T love you more, I work with more ardor, I endure with more force, I forgive with aU my heart, and HOPE. 107 ( think of death with serenity. O great and good God I To hear once more, after death, the voice of my mother, to meet my children again, to see my Enrico once more, my Enrico, blessed and immortal, and to clasp him in an embrace which shall nevermore be loosed, nevermore, never- more to all eternity ! Oh, pray ! let us pray, let us love each other, let us be good, let us bear this celestial hope in oui hearts and souls, my adored child ! I'»Y Mother, tQg A MEDAL WELL BESTOWED. FEBRUARY. A MEDAL WELL BEST0WE1>. Saturday, 4th. This morning the superintendent of the schools, a gentleman with a white beard, and dressed in black, came to bestow the medals. He entered with the head-master a little before the close and seated himself beside the teacher. He questioned a few, then gave the first medal to Derossi, and before giving the &«cond, he stood for a few moments listening to the t«acher and the head-master, who were talking to him JR a low voice. All were asking themselves, "To whom will he give the second ? " The superintendent said aloud : — " Pupil Pietro Precossi has merited the second medal this week, — merited it by his work at home, by his lessons, by his handwriting, by his conduct in every way." All turned to look at Precossi, and it was evident that all took pleasure in it. Precossi rose in such confusion that he did not know where he stood. "Come here," said the superintendent. Precossi sprang up from his seat and stepped up to the master's table. The superintendent looked attentively at that little waxen face, at that puny body enveloped in turned and ill-fitting garments, at those kind, sad eyes, which avoided his, but which hinted at a story of suffering ; then he said to him, in a voice full of affection, as he fastened the medal on his shoulder:— A MEDAL WELL BESTOWED. 109 " I give you the medal, Precossi. No one is more r^rthy to wear it than you. I bestow it not only on /our intelligence and your good will ; I bestow it on your heart, I give it to your courage, to your character of a brave and good son. Is it not true," he added, turning to the class, " that he deserves it also on that score?" " Yes, yes ! " all answered, with one voice. Precossi made a movement of the throat as though he were swallowing something, and cast upon the benches a very sweet look, which was expressive of immense grat- itude. " Go, my dear boy," said the superintendent; " and ma}^ God protect you ! " It was the hour for dismissing the school. Our class got out before the others. As soon as we were outside the door, whom should we espy there, in the large hall, just at the entrance? The father of Precossi, the blacksmith, pallid as was his wont, with fierce face, hair hanging over his eyes, his cap awry, and unsteady on his legs. The teacher caught sight of him instant- ly, and whispered to the superintendent. The latter sought out Precossi in haste, and taking him by the hand, he led him to his father. The boy was trembling. The boy and the superintendent approached ; many boys collected around them. " Is it true that you are the father of this lad?" demanded the superintendent of the blacksmith, with a cheerful air, as though they were friends. And, with- out awaiting a reply : — "I rejoice with you. Look: he has won the sec- ond medal over fifty-four of his comrades. He has de- served it by his composition, his arithmetic, everything He is a boy of great intelligence and good will, who will 110 OOOD RESOLUTIONS. accomplish great things ; a fine boy, who possesses the affection and esteem of all. You may feel proud of him, I assure you." The blacksmith, who had stood there with open mouth listening to him, stared at the superintendent and the head-master, and then at his son, who was standing before him with downcast eyes and trembling ; and as though he had remembered and comprehended then, for the first time, all that he had made the little fellow suf- fer, and all the goodness, the heroic constancy, with which the latter had borne it, he displayed in his coun- tenance a certain stupid wonder, then a sullen remorse, and finally a sorrowful and impetuous tenderness, and with a rapid gesture he caught the boy round the head and strained him to his breast. We all passed before them. I invited him to come to the house on Thurs- day, with Garrone and Crossi ; others saluted him ; one bestowed a caress on him, another touched his medal, all said something to him ; and his father stared at us in amazement, ''as he still held his son's head pressed to his breast, while the boy sobbed. GOOD RESOLUTIONS. Sunday, 5th. That medal given to Precossi has awakened a re- morse in me. I have never earned one yet ! For some time past I have not been studying, and I am discontented with myself, and the teacher, my father and mother are' discontented with me. I no longer experience the pleasure in amusing myself that I did formerly, when I worked with a will, and then sprang up from the table and ran to my games full of mirth. GOOD RESOLUTIONS. HI as though I had not played for a month. Neither do I sit down to the table with my family with the same contentment as of old. I have always a shadow in my soul, an inward voice, that says to me continually, *' It won't do ; it won't do." In the evening I see a great many boys pass through the square on their return from work, in the midst of a group of workingmen, weary but merry. They step briskl}' along, impatient to reach their homes and sup- pers, and they talk loudly, laughing and slapping each other on the shoulder with hands blackened with coal, or whitened with plaster ; and I reflect that the}' have been working since daybreak up to this hour. And with them are also many others, who are still smaller, who have been standing all day on the summits of roofs, in front of ovens, among machines, and in the water, and underground, with nothing to eat but a little bread ; and I feel almost ashamed, I, who in all that time have accomplished nothing but scribble four small pages, and that reluctantly. Ah, I am discon- tented, discontented ! I see plainly that my father is out of humor, and would like to tell me so ; but he is sorry, and he is still waiting. My dear father, who works so hard ! all is yours, all that I see around me in the house, all that I touch, all that I wear and eat, all that affords me instruction and diversion, — all is the fruit of your toil, and I do not work ; all has cost you thought, privations, trouble, effort; and I make no effort. Ah, no ; this is too unjust, and causes me too much pain. I will begin this very day ; I will apply myself to my studies, like Stardi, with clenched fists and set teeth. I will set about it with all the strength of my will and my heart. I will conquer m}- drowsiness in the evening, I will come down promptly 112 THE ENGINE. in the morning, I will cudgel my brains without ceas- ing, I will chastise my laziness without mercy. I wHI toil, suffer, even to the extent of making myself ill; but I will put a stop, once for all, to this languishing and tiresome life, which is degrading me and causing sorrow to others. Courage ! to work ! To work with all my soul, and all my nerves ! To work, which will restore to me sweet repose, pleasing games, cheerful meals ! To work, which will give me back again the kindly smile of my teacher, the blessed kiss of my father ! THE ENGINE. Friday, 10th. Precossi came to our house to-day with Garrone. I do not think that two sons of princes would have been received with greater delight. This is the first time that Garrone has been here, because he is rather shy, and then he is ashamed to show himself because he is so large, and is still in the third grade. We all went to open the door when they rang. Crossi did not come, because his father has at last arrived from Amer- ica, after an absence of seven years. My mother kissed Precossi at once. My father introduced Gar- rone to her, saying : — *' Here he is. This lad is not only a good boy ; he is a man of honor and a gentleman." And the boy dropped his big, shagg}^ head, with a sly smile at me. Precossi had on his medal, and he was happy, because his father has gone to work again, and has not drunk anything for the last five days, wants him to be always in the workshop to keep him company, and seems quite another man. THE ENGINE. 118 We began to play, and I brought out all my things. Precossi was enchanted with my train of cars, with the engine that goes of itself on being wound up. He had never seen anything of the kind. He devoured the little red and yellow cars with his eyes. I gave him the key to play with, and he knelt down to his amusement, and did not raise his head again. I have never seen him so pleased. He kept saying, '' Excuse me, excuse me," to everything, and motioning to us with his hands, that we should not stop the engine ; and then he picked it up and replaced the cars with a thousand precautions, as though they had been made of glass. He was afraid of tarnishing them with his breath, and he polished them up again, examining them top and bottom, and smiling to himself. We 1] stood around him and gazed at him. We looke„ a1 that slender neck, those poor little ears, which I .^ad seen bleeding one day, that jacket with the sleeves turned up, from which projected two sickly little arms, which had been upraised to ward off blows from his face. Oh ! at that moment I could have cast all my playthings and all my books at his feet, I could have torn the last morsel of bread from my lips to give to him, I could have divested myself of my clothing to clothe him, I could have flung myself on my knees to kiss his hand. "I will at least give you the train," I thought; but - was necessary to ask permission of my father. At that moment I felt a bit of paper thrust into my hand. I looked ; it was written in pencil by my father ; it said : *'Your train pleases Precossi. He has no play- things. Does your heart suggest nothing to you?" Instantly I seized the engine and the cars in botli hands, and placed the whole in his arms, saying : — " Take this ; it is yours." 114 PRIDE. He looked at me, and did not understand. **Itia yours," I said ; " I give it to you." Then he looked at my father and mother, in still greater astonishment, and asked me : — ''But why?" My father said to him : — ''Enrico gives it to you because he is your friend^ because he loves 3'ou — to celebrate your medal." Precossi asked timidly : — " I may carry it away — home ? " "Of course!" we all responded. He was already at the door, but he dared not go out. He was happy ! He begged our pardon with a mouth that smiled and quivered. Garrone helped him to wrap up the train in a handkerchief, and as he bent over, he made the things with which his pockets were filled rattle. " Some day," said Precossi to me, " you shall come to the shop to see my father at work. I will give you some nails." My mother put a little bunch of flowers into Gar- rone's buttonhole, for him to carry to his mother in her name. Garrone said, "Thanks," in his big voice, without raising his chin from his breast. But all his kind and noble soul shone in his eyes. PRIDE. Saturday, 11th. The idea of Carlo Nobis rubbing off his sleeve affect- edly, when Precossi touches him in passing ! That fellow is pride incarnate because his father is a rich man. But Derossi's father is rich too. He would like to have a bench to himself ; he is afraid that the rest PRIDE. 115 will soil it ; he looks down on everybody and always has a scornful smile on his lips : woe to him who stumbles over his foot, when we go out in files two by two ! For a mere trifle he flings an insulting word in your face, or a threat to get his father to come to the school. It is true that his father did give him a good lesson when he called the little son of the charcoal-man a ragamuffin. I have never seen so disagreeable a schoolboy ! No one speaks to him, no one says good by to him when he goes out; there is not even a dog who would give him a suggestion when he does not know his lesson. And he cannot endure any one, and he pretends to despise Derossi more than all, because he is the head boy ; and Garrone, because he is beloved by all. But Derossi pays no attention to him when he is by ; and when the boys tell Garrone that Nobis has been speaking ill of him, he says : — *' His pride is so senseless that it does not deser\ut your old master, do you not ? " I was on the point of saying " no'' ; he interrupted me. " Come, come, I know that you do not hate me ! " knd he heaved a sigh. I glanced at some photographs fastened to the wall. " Do you see?" he said to me. ''All of them are of boys who gave me their photographs more than twenty years ago. They were good boys. These are my souvenirs. When I die, m}- last glance will be at them ; at those roguish urchins among whom my life has been passed. You will give me your portrait, also, will you not, when jou have finished the elemen- tary course ? " Then he took an orange from his night- stand, and put it in my hand. " I have nothing else to give you," he said ; " it is the gift of a sick man." I looked at it, and my heart was sad ; I know nolt why. THE STREET. 151 " Attend to me,'* he began again. " I hope to get over this; but if I should not recover, see that you strengthen yourself in arithmetic, which is your weak point ; make an effort. It is merely a question of a first effort : because sometimes there is no lack of aptitude ; there is merely an absence of a fixed purpose — of stability, as it is called." But in the meantime he was breathing hard ; and it was evident that he was suffering. *'I am feverish," he sighed; "I am half gone; I beseech you, therefore, apply yourself to arithmetic, to problems. If you don't succeed at first, rest a little and begin afresh. And press forward, but quietly,* without fagging yourself, without straining your mind. Go! My respects to youv mamma. And do not mount these stairs again. We shall see each other again in school. And if we do not, you must now and then call to mind your master of the third grade, who was fond of 3'OU." I felt inclined to cry at these words. " Bend down your head," he said to me. I bent my head to his pillow ; he kissed my hair. Then he said to me, "Go!" and turned his face towards the wall. And I flew down the stairs ; for I longed to embrace my mother. THE STREET. Saturday, 25th. I was watching you from the window this afternoon, when you were on your way home from the master's ; you came in collision with a woman. Take more heed to your manner of walking in the street. There are duties to be fulfilled even there. If you keep your steps and gestures 152 THE STREET, within bounds in a private house, why should you not do th« Bame in the street, which is everybody's house. Remember this, Enrico. Every time that you meet a feeble old man, K poor person, a woman with a child in her arms, a cripple with his crutches, a man bending beneath a burden, a family dressed in mourning, make way for them respectfully. We must respect age, misery, maternal love, infirmity, labor, death. Whenever you see a person on the point of being run down by a vehicle, drag him away, if it is a child; warn him, if he is a man ; always ask what ails the child who is crying all alone ; pick up the aged man's cane, when he lets it fall. If two boys are fighting, separate them ; if it \i two men, go away : do not look on a scene of brutal vio- lence, which offends and hardens the heart. And when a j*ian passes, bound, and walking between a couple of police- wien, do not add your curiosity to the cruel curiosity of the x*owd ; he may be innocent. Cease to talk with your com ('anion, and to smile, when you meet a hospital litter, which A**, perhaps, bearing a dying person, or a funeral procession \ PfnT one may issi;8 from your own home on the morrow. Looli with reverence upon all boys from the asylums, who waU * vo and two, — the blind, the dumb, those afflicted with th* J'ckets, orphans, abandoned children ; reflect that it is mis- i/>rtune and human charity which is passing by. Always pre- t'md not to notice any one who has a repulsive or laughter- provoking deformity. Always extinguish every match that you find in your path ; for it may cost some one his life. Always answer a passer-by who asks you the way, with politeness. Do not look at any one and laugh ; do not run without necessity ; do not shout. Respect the street. The education of a people is judged first of all by their behavior on the street. Where you find offences in the streets, there you will find offences in the houses. And study the streets; study the city in which you live. If you were to be hurled far away from it to-morrow, you would be glad to have it clearly present in your memory, to be able to traverse it all again in memory. Your own city, and your little country — that which has been for so many years your world ; where THEStreET. 153 you took your first steps at your mother's side ; where yoa experienced your first emotions, opened your mind to its first ideas; found your first friends. It has been a mother to you : it has taught you, loved you, protect'rd you. Study it in its streets and in its people, and love it ; and when you hear it insulted, defend it. Thy Father. 154 THE EVENING SCHOOLS, MAECR. THE EVENING SCHOOLS. Thursday, 2d. Last night my father took me to see the evening schools in our Baretti schoolhouse, which were all lighted up already, and where the workingmen were already beginning to enter. On our arrival we found the head-master and the other masters in a great rage, because a little while before the glass in one window had been broken by a stone. The beadle had darted forth and seized a boy by the hair, who was passing ; but thereupon, Stardi, who lives in the house opposite, had presented himself, and said : — *' This is not the right one ; I saw it with my own ej^es ; it was Franti who threw it ; and he said to me, ' Woe to you if you tell of me ! ' but I am not 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 seen anything so fine as the evening school. There were boys of twelve and upwards ; bearded men who were on their wa}' from their work, carrjung their books and copy-books ; there were carpenters, en- gineers with black faces, masons with hands white with plaster, bakers' boys with their hair full of flour ; and THE EVENING SCHOOLS. 155 there was perceptible the odor of varnish, hides, fish, oil, — odors of all the various trades. There also entered a squad of artillery workmen, dressed like soldiers and headed by a corporal. They all filed briskly to their benches, removed the board underneath, on which we put our feet, and immediately bent their heads over their work. Some stepped up to the teachers to ask explanations, with their open copy-books in their hands. I caught sight of that young and well-dressed master, ' ' the little lawyer," who had three or four workingmen clus- tered round his table, and was making corrections with his pen ; and also the lame one, who was laughing with a dyer who had brought him a copy-book all adorned with red and blue dyes. My master, who had recov- ered, and who will return to school to-morrow, was there also. The doors of the schoolroom were open. I was amazed, when the lessons began, to see how at- tentive they all were, and how they kept their eyes fixed on their work. Yet the greater part of them, so the head-master said, for fear of being late, had not even been home to eat a mouthful of supper, and they were hungry. But the younger ones, after half an hour of school, were falling off the benches with sleep ; one even went fast asleep with his head on the bench, and the master waked him up by poking his ear with a pen. But the grown-up men did nothing of the sort ; they kept awake, and listened, with their mouths wide open, to the lesson, without even winking ; and it made a deep impression on me to see all those bearded men on our benches. We also ascended to the story floor above, and I ran to the door of my schoolroom and saw in my seat a man with a big mustache and a bandaged hand, who 156 THE FIGHT, might have injured himself while at work about some machine ; but he was trying to write, though very, Yery slowly. But what pleased me most was to behold in the seat of the little mason, on the vary same bench and in the very same corner, his father, the mason, as huge as a giant, who sat there all coiled up into a narrow space, with his chin on his fists and his eyes on his book, so absorbed that he hardh' breathed. And there was no chance about it, for it was he himself who said to the head-master the first evening he came to the school : — *' Signor Director, do me the favor to place me in the seat of *my hare's face.' " For he always calls his son so. My father kept me there until the end, and in the street we saw many women with children in their arms, waiting for their husbands ; and at the entrance a change was effected : the husbands took the children in their arms, and the women made them surrender their books and copy-books ; and in this wise they proceeded to their homes. For several minutes the street was filled with people and with noise. Then all grew silent, and all we could see was the tall and weary form of the head-master disappearing in the distance. THE FIGHT. Sunday, 5th. It was what might have been expected. Franti, od being expelled by the head-master, wanted to revenge himself on Stardi, and he waited for Stardi at a corner, when he came out of school, and when the latter was passing with his sister, whom he escorta every day from an institution in the Via Dora Grossa. THE FIGHT, 157 My sister Silvia, on emerging from her scboolhouse, witnessed the whole affair, and came home thoroughly terrified. This is what took place. Franti, with his cap of waxed cloth canted over one ear, ran up on tiptoe behind Stardi, and in order to provoke him, gave a tug at his sister's braid of hair, — a tug so violent that it almost threw the girl flat on her back on the ground. The little girl uttered a cry ; her brother whirled round ; Franti, who is much taller and stronger than Stardi, thought : — '' He'll not utter a word, or I'll break his skin fox him ! " But Stardi never paused to reflect, and small and ill-made as he is, he flung himself with one bound on that big fellow, and began to belabor him with his fists. He could not hold his own, however, and he got more than he gave. There was no one in the street but girls, so there was no one who could sep- arate them. Franti flung him on the ground ; but the other instantly got up, and then down he went on hia back again, and Franti pounded away as though upon a door : in an instant he had torn away half an ear, and bruised one eye, and drawn blood frcir. the other's nose. But Stardi was tenacious ; he roared : — " You may kill me, but I'll make you pay for it ! " And down went Franti, kicking and cufllng, and Stardi under him, butting and lungeing out with his 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 him well ! " And they screamed at Franti, " You overbearing brute ! you coward ! " But Franti had grown ferocious ; he held out his leg ; Stardi tripped and fell, and Franti on top of him. 158 THE BOYS* PARENTS. ^'Surrender!" — "No!"— "Surrender!" — ''No 1* and in a flash Stardi recovered his feet, clasped Frantj by the body, and, with one furious effort, hurled him on the pavement, and fell upon him with one knee on his breast. "Ah, the infamous fellow 1 he has a knife ! " shouted a man, rushing up to disarm Franti. But Stardi, beside himself with rage, had already grasped Franti' s arm with both hands, and bestowed on the fist such a bite that the knife fell from it, and the hand began to bleed. More people had run up in the meantime, who separated them and set them on their feet. Franti took to his heels in a sorry plight, and Stardi stood still, with his face all scratched, and a black eye, — but triumphant, — beside his weeping sister, while some of the girls collected the books and copy-books which were strewn 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 see whether anything was missing or injured. He rubbed them oflf with his sleeve, scrutinized his pen, put everything back in its place, and then, tranquil and serious as usual, he said to his sister, " Let us go home quickly, for I have a problem to solve." THE BOYS* PARENTS. Monday, 6th. This morning big Stardi, the father, came to wait for his son, fearing lest he should again encounter Franti. But they say that Franti will not be seen .again, because he will be put in the penitentiary. THE BOYS' PARENTS. 159 There were a great many parents there this morning. Among the rest there was the retail wood-dealer, the father of Coretti, the perfect image of his son, slender, brisk, with his mustache brought to a point, and a ribbon of two colors in the button-hole of his jacket. I know nearly all the parents of the boys, through con- stantl}^ seeing them there. There is one crooked grand- mother, with her white cap, who comes four times a day, whether it rains or snows or storms, to accompany and to get her little grandson, of the upper primary ; and she takes off his little cloak and puts it on for him, adjusts his necktie, brushes off the dust, polishes him up, and takes care of the copy-books. It is evident that she has no other thought, that she sees nothing in the world more beautiful. The captain of artillery also comes frequently, the father of Robetti, the lacf with the crutches, who saved a child from the omnibus, and as all his son's companions bestow a caress on him in passing, he returns a caress or a salute to every one, and he never forgets any one ; he bends over all, and the poorer and more badly dressed they are, the more pleased he seems to be, and he thanks them. At times, however, sad sights are to be seen. A gentleman who had not come for a month because one of his sons had died, and who had sent a maid- servant for the other, on returning yesterday and beholding the class, the comrades of his little dead boy, retired into a corner and burst into sobs, with both hands before his face, and the head-master took him b}' the arm and led him to his office. There are fathers and mothers who know all theii sons' companions by name. There are girls from the neighboring schoolhouse, and scholars in the gymna- sium, who come to wait for their brothers. There is IM NUMBER 78. one old gentleman y^hj was a colonel formerly, and who, when a boy drops a cop^'-book or a pen, picks it up for him. There are also to be seen well-dressed men, who discuss school matters with others, who have kerchiefs on their heads, and baskets on their arm, and who say : — '*0h! the problem has been a difficult one this time." — " That grammar lesson will never come to an end this morning ! " And when there is a sick boy in the class, they a/ know it; when a sick boy is convalescent, they >.il rejoice. And this morning there were eight or ten gentlemen and workingmen standing around Crossi'a mother, the vegetable-vender, making inquiries about a poor baby in my brother's class, who lives in her court, and who is in danger of his lifp. The school 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 gazed and 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 the useless arm ; and he helps him to do his work in school, suggests answers to am, gives him paper, pens, and pencils ; in short, he tehaves to him lik*» a brother, as though to compen- ate him for his f>'''^er's misfortune, which has affected him, although he does not know it. The vegetable-vender had been gazing at Derossi NUMBER 78. l^\ for several days, and she seemed loath to take hei eyes from him, for she is a good woman who lives onl}^ for her son ; and Derossi, who assists him and makes him appear 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 seenried desirous of say- ing something to him, yet ashamed to do it. But at last, yesterday morning, she took courage, stopped him in front of a gate, and said to him : — "I beg a thousand pardons, little master! Will you, who are so kind to my son, and so fond of him, do me the favor to accept this little memento from a poor mother?" and she pulled out of her vegetable- basket a 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 ex- cuse : — " I had no idea of offending you. It is only cara- mels." But Derossi said "no," again, and shook his head. Then she timidly lifted 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 for Crossi, but I cannot accept any- thing. 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, in great delight : — 162 NUMBER 78. '*0h, what a good boy ! I have never seen so fine and handsome a boy as he ! " And that appeared to be the end of it. But in the afternoon, at four o'clock, instead of Crossi's mother, his father approached, with that gaunt and melancholy face of his. He stopped Derossi, and from the way in which he looked at the latter I instantly understood that he suspected Derossi of knowing his secret. He looked at him intently, and said in his sorrowful, affec- tionate 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: "I am fond of him because he has been unfortunate ; because you, his father, have been more unfortunate than guilty, and have nobly ex- piated your crime, and are a man of heart." But he bad not the courage to say it, for at bottom he still felt fear and almost loathing in the presence of this man who had shed another's blood, and had been six years in prison. But the latter divined it all, and low- ering his voice, he said in Derossi's ear, almost trem- bling the while : — "You love the son; but you do not hate, do not wholly despise the father, do you ? '* " Ah, no, no ! Quite the reverse ! " exclaimed De- rossi, with a soulful impulse. And then the man made an impetuous movement, as though to throw one arm round his neck ; but he dared not, and instead he took one of the lad's golden curls between two of his fingers, smoothed it out, and released it ; then he placed his hand on his mouth and kissed his palm, gazing at De- rossi with moist eyes, as though to say that this kiss was for him. Then he took his son by the hand, and went away at a rapid pace. A LITTLE DEAD BOY, 163 A LITTLE DEAD BOY. Mouday, 13th. The little boy who lived in the vegetable-vender's eourt, the one who belonged to the upper primary, and was the companion of my brother, is dead. Schoolmis- tress Delcati came in great affliction, on Saturday after- noon, to inform the master of it ; and instantly Garrone and Coretti volunteered to carry the coffin. He was a fine little lad. He had won the medal last week. He was fond of my brother, and he had presented him with 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 on the rail- way. Yesterday (Sunday) afternoon, at half -past four o'clock, we went to his house, to accompan}^ him to the church. They live on the ground floor. Many boys of the upper primary, with their mothers, all holding candles, and five or six teachers and several neighbors were already collected in the courtyard. The mistress with the red feather and Signora Delcati had gone inside, and through an open window we beheld thorn weeping. We could hear the mother of the child sobbing loudly. Two ladies, mothers of two school companions of the dead child, had brought two garlands of flowers. Exactly at five o'clock we set out. In front went a boy caa-rying a cross, then a priest, then the coffin, — a very, very small coffin, poor child ! — covered with a black cloth, and round it were wound the garlands of flowers brought b}' the two ladies. On the black cloth, on one side, were fastened the medal and honorable mentions which the little boy had won in the course of 164 THE EVE OF THE FOURTEENTH OF MARCH, the year. Garrone, Coretti, and two boys from the courtyard bore the coffin. Behind the coffin, first came Signora Delcati, who wept as though the little dead boy were her own ; behind her the other schoolmistresses ; and behind the mistresses, the boys, among whom were some very little ones, who carried bunches of violets in one hand, and who stared in amazement at the bier, while their other hand was 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 from the window. It was the child's mother ; but they made her draw back into the room immediately. On arriving in the street, we met the boys from a college, who were passing in double file, and on catching sight of the coffin with the medal and the schoolmistresses, they all pulled off their hats. Poor little boy ! he went to sleep forever with his medal. We shall never see his red cap again. He was in perfect health ; in four days he was dead. On the last day he made an effort to rise and do his little task in nomenclature, and he insisted on keeping his medal on his bed for fear it would be taken from him. No one will ever take it from you again, poor boy ! Farewell, farewell ! We shall always remember thee at the Baretti School I Sleep in peace, dear little boy I 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 Emanuele, the greatest and most beautiful festival of the whole year ! Bat THE EVE OF THE FOURTEENTH OF MARCH. 165 this time the boys who are to go upon the stage and present the certificates of the prizes to the gentlemen who are to bestow them are not to be taken at hap- hazard. The head-master came in this morning, at the close of school, and said : — ''Good news, boys!" Then he called, " Coraci ! " the Calabrian. The Calabrian rose. " Would you like to be one of those to carry the certificates 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 a representative of Calabria there ; and that will be a fine thing. The municipal authorities are desirous that this year tlie ten or twelve lads who hand the prizes should be from all parts of Italy, and se- lected from all the public school buildings. We have twenty buildings, with five annexes — seven thousand pupils. Among such a multitude there has been no diflSculty in finding one boy for each region of Italy. Two representatives of the Islands were found in the Torquato Tasso schoolhouse, a Sardinian, and a Sicil- ian ; the Boncompagni School furnished ?, little Floren- tine, the son of a wood-carver ; there is a Roman, a native of Rome, in the Tommaseo building; several Venetians, Lombards, and natives of Rcaiagna have been found ; the Monviso School gives us a Neapolitan, the son of an oflScer ; we furnish a Genoese and a Calabrian, — you, Corax3i, — with the Piemontese : that will make twelve. Does not this strike you as nice? It will be your brothers from all quarters of Italy who will give you your prizes. Look out! the whole twelve will appear on the stage together. Re- ceive them with hearty applause. They are only boys, but they represent the country just as though they were 166 '^BE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES. men. A small tricolored flag is the symbol of Italy as much as a huge banner, is it not ? "Applaud them warmly, then. Let it be seen that your little. hearts are all aglow, that your souls of ten years grow enthusiastic in the presence 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 the street, we surrounded Coraci, seized him by the legs, lifted him on high, and set out to carry him in triumph, shouting, " Hurrah for the Deputy of Calabria ! " by way of makiug a noise, of course ; and not in jest, but quite the contrary, for the sake of making a celebration for him, and with a good will, for he is a boy who pleases every one ; and he smiled. And thus we bore him as far as the corner, where we ran into a gentleman 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 and ran 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 of heads and hands, a flutter of feathers, ribbons, and curls, and loud and merry murmur which inspired cheerfulness. The theatre was all decorated with fes' C"'"^ HURRAH FOR THE DEPUTY OF CALABRIA !" — Page 166. « « ' ' ' ' b* «■ <- % a t c ' • - e THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES. 167 toons of white, red, and green cloth. In the pit two little stairways had been erected : one on the right, which the winners of prizes were to ascend in order to reach the stage ; the other, on the left, which they were to descend after receiving their prizes. On the front of the platform there was a row of red chairs; and from the back of the one in the centre hung two laurel crowns. At the back of the stage was a trophy of flags ; on one side stood a small green table, and upon it lay all the certificates of premiums, tied with tri- colored ribbons. The band of music was stationed in the pit, under the stage ; the schoolmasters and mis- tresses filled all one side of the first balcony, which had been reserved for them ; the benches and passages of the pit were crammed with hundreds of boys, who were to sing, and who had written music in their hands. At the back and all about, masters and mistresses could be seen going to and fro, arranging the prize scholars in lines ; and it was full of parents who were giving a last touch to their hair and the last pull to their neck- ties. No sooner had I entered my box with my family than I perceived in the opposite box the young mis- tress with the red feather, who was smiling and show- ing all the pretty dimples in her cheeks, and with her my brother's teacher and " the little nun," dressed wholly in black, and my kind mistress of the upper first ; but she was so pale, poor thing ! and coughed so hard, that she could be heard all over the theatre. In the pit I instantly espied Garrone's dear, big face and the little blond head of Nelli, who was clinging close to the other's shoulder. A little further on I saw GaroflS, with his owl's-beak nose, who was making great efforts to collect the printed catalogues of the 168 THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES. prize-winners ; and he already had a large bundle of them which he could put to some use in his bartering — we shall find out what it is to-morrow. Near the door was the wood-seller with his wife, — both dressed in fes- tive attire, — together with their boy, who has a third prize in the second grade. I was amazed at no longer beholding the catskin cap and the chocolate- colored tights : on this occasion he was dressed like a little gentleman. In one balcony I caught a momentary glimpse of Votini, with a large lace collar ; then he dis- appeared. In a proscenium box, filled with people, was the artiller}' captain, the father of Robetti, the boy with the crutches who saved the child from the omnibus. On the stroke of two the band struck up, and at the same moment the mayor, the prefect, the judge, the provveditore, and many other gentlemen, all dressed in black, mounted the stairs on the right, and seated themselves on the red chairs at the front of the plat- form. The band ceased playing. The director of singing in the schools advanced with a baton in his hand. At a signal from him all the boys in the pit rose to their feet ; at another sign they began to sing. There were seven hundred singing a very beautiful song, — seven hundred boys' voices singing 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 distribution of 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 the prize-winners, had already advanced to the front of the stage. The entrance of the twelve boys who were to present the certificates was what they were waiting for. The newspapers had already; THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES. 16§ stated that there would be boys from all the provinces of Italy. Every one knew it, and was watching for them and gazing curiously towards the spot where they were to enter, and the mayor and the other gen- tlemen gazed also, and the whole theatre was silent. All at once the whole twelve arrived on the stage at ei run, and remained standing there in line, with a smile. The whole theatre, three thousand persons, sprang up simultaneously, breaking into applause which sounded like a clap of thunder. The boys stood for a moment as though disconcerted. "Behold Italy!'* said a voice on the stage. All at once I recognized Coraci, the Calabrian, dressed in black as usual. A gentleman belonging to the municipal government, who was with us and who knew them all, pointed them out to my mother. " That little blond is the represen- tative of Venice. The Roman is that tall, curly-haired lad, yonder." Two or three of them were dressed like gentlemen ; the others were sons of workingmen, but all were neatly clad and clean. The Florentine, who was the smallest, had a blue scarf round his body. They all 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 the names of their cities: "Florence, Naples, Bologna, Palermo." And as each passed by, the whole theatre clapped. Then they all ran to the green table, to take the certifi- cates. The master began to read the list, mentioning the schoolhouses, the classes, the names ; and the prize-winners began to mount the stage and to file past. The foremost ones had hardly reached the stage, when behind the scenes there became audible a very, very faint music of violins, which did not cease during the whole time that they were filing past — a soft and 170 THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES. always even air, like the murmur of many subdued voices, the voices of all the mothers, and all the mas- ters and mistresses, giving counsel in concert, and be- seeching and administering loving reproofs. And meanwhile, the prize-winners passed one by one in front of the seated gentlemen, who handed them their certificates, and said a word or bestowed a caress on each. The boys in the pit and the balconies applauded loudly every time that there passed a very small lad, or one who seemed, from his garments, to be poor ; and also for those who had abundant curly hair, or who were clad in red or white. Some of those who filed past belonged to the upper primary, and once arrived there, they became confused and did not know where to turn, and the whole theatre laughed. One passed, three spans high, with a big knot of pink ribbon on his back, so that he could hardly walk, and he got entan- gled in the carpet and tumbled down ; and the prefect set him on his feet again, and all laughed and clapped. Another rolled headlong down the stairs, when descend- ing again to the pit : cries arose, but he had not hurt himself. Boys of all sorts passed, — boys with roguish faces, with frightened faces, with faces as red as cher- ries ; comical little fellows, who laughed in every one's face : and no sooner had they got back into the pit, than they were seized upon by their fathers and mothers, who carried them away. When our schoolhouse's turn came, how amused I was ! Man}' whom I knew passed. Coretti filed by, dressed in new clothes from head to foot, with his fine, merry smile, which displayed all his white teeth ; but who knows how many myriagrammes of wood he had already carried that morning! The mayor, on pre- THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES. 171 senting him with his certificate, inquired the meaning of a red mark on his forehead, and as he did so, laid one hand on his shoulder. I looked in the pit for his father and mother, and saw them laughing, while they covered their mouths with one hand. Then Derossi passed, all dressed in bright blue, with shining buttons, with all those golden curls, slender, easy, with his head held high, so handsome, so sympathetic, that I could have blown him a kiss ; and all the gentlemen wanted to speak to him and to shake his hand. Then the master cried, " Giulio Robetti!" and we saw the captain's son come forward on his crutches. Hundreds of boys knew the occurrence ; a rumor ran round in an instant ; a salvo of applause broke forth, and of shouts, which made the theatre tremble : men sprang to their feet, the ladies began to wave their handkerchiefs, and the poor boy halted in the middle of the stage, amazed and trembling. The mayor drew him to him, gave him his prize and a kiss, and remov- ing the two laurel crowns which were hanging from the back of the chair, he strung them on the cross-bars of his clutches. Then he accompanied him to the prosce- nium box, where his father, the captain, was seated ; and the latter lifted him bodily and set him down inside, amid an indescribable tumult of bravos and hurrahs. Meanwhile, the soft and gentle music of the violins continued, and the boys continued to file by, — those from the Schoolhouse della Consolata, nearly all the sons of petty merchants ; those from the Vanchiglia School, the sons of workingmen ; those from the Bon- compagni School, many of whom were the sons of peas- ants ; those of the Rayneri, which was the last. As soon as it was over, the seven hundred boys in the pit sang another very beautiful song; then the mayor 172 STRIFE. spoke, and after him the judge, who terminated his discourse by saying to the bojs : — " But do not leave this place without sending a salute to those who toil so hard for you ; who have con- secrated to you all the strength of their intelligence and of their hearts ; who live and die for you. There thej^ are ; behold them ! " And he pointed to the bal- cony of teachers. Then, from the balconies, from the pit, from the boxes, the boys rose, and extended their arms towards the masters and mistresses, with a shout, and the latter responded by waving their hands, their hats, and handkerchiefs, as they all stood up, in their emotion. After this, the band played once more, and the audience sent a lai^t noisy salute to the twelve lads of all the provinces of Italy, who presented themselves at the front of the stage, all drawn up in line, witb their hands interlaced, beneath a shower 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 Qn\y. But I was in the wrong. The teacher had placed him beside me, and I was writing in my copy-book for calligraphy ; he jogged my elbow and made me blot and soil the monthly stoiy, Blood of Romagna^ which I was to copy for the little mason, who is ill. I got angry, and said a rude word to him. He replied, with a smile, "I did not do it intentionally." I should have believed him, because I know him ; but it displeased me that he should smile, find I thought : — " Oh ! now that he has had a prize, he has grown STRIFE. yj% saucy ! " and a little while afterwards, to revenge my- self, I gave him a jog which made him spoil his page. Then, all crimson with wrath, "You did that on pur- pose," 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 had simmered away ; I repented. No ; Coretti could not have done it intentionally. He is good, I thought. I recalled how I had seen him in his own home ; how he had worked and helped his sick mother ; and then how heartily he had been welcomed in my house ; and how he had pleased my father. 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 my father had given to me : " Have you done wrong?" — " Yes." — " Then beg hi« pardon." But this I did not dare to do ; I was ashamed to humiliate myself. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, and I saw his coat ripped on the shoulder, — perhaps because he had carried too much wood, — and J felt that I loved him ; and I said to myself, " Cour- age ! " But the words, "excuse me," stuck in my throat. He looked at me askance from time to time, and he seemed to me to be more grieved than angry. But at such times I looked malevolently at him, to show him that I was not afraid. He repeated, "We shall meet outside!" And I said, "We shall meet outside ! " But I was thinking of what my father had once said to me, "If you are wronged, defend yourself, but do not fight." And I said to myself, " I will defend myself, but I will not fight." But I was discontented, and I no longer listened to the master. At last the moment of dismissal arrived. When I was alone in the street 174 MY SISTER. I perceived that 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 aside with his hand; ''let us be friends again, as before." I stood still in amazement, and then I felt what seemed to be a hand dealing a push on my shoulders, and I found myself in his arms. He kissed 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 I returned home, and told m}' father all about it, thinking to give him pleasure, his face clouded over, and he said : — ' ' You should have been the first to offer your hand, since 30U were in the wrong." Then he added, "You should not raise your mler at a comrade who is better than you are — at the son of a soldier ! " and snatching the ruler 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 MY SISTER. 175 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 gi'ew 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 and say: "Silvia, sister, let m« stay with you ; let us talk of the days when we were happy — do you remember? Let us talk of our mother, of oi^r 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 tic reproof that I am administering to you now. I shall nev«^f recall any wrong of yours ; and if you should give me othu" sorrows, what matters it ? You will always be my brothe, ., the game brother ; I shall never recall you otherwise than b^ having held you in my arms when a baby, of having lov6«i our father and mother with you, of having watched you grow up, of having been for years your most faithful companiotv. But do you write me a kind word in this same copy-boo)l, 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. 17€ BLOOD OF ROMAGNA, BLOOD OF ROMAGNA. (^Monthly Story.) That evening the house of Ferruccio was more silent than was its wont. The father, who kept a Httle haberdasher's shop, had gone to Forli to make some purchases, and his wife had accompanied him, with Luigina, a baby, whom she was taking to a doctor, that he might operate on a diseased 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 had gone away at nightfall. In the house there was only the grandmother with the para- lyzed legs, and Ferruccio, a lad of thirteen. It was a small house of but one story, situated on the high- wa}', at a gunshot's distance ^rom a village not far from Forli, a town of Romagna ; and there was near it only an uninhabited house, ruined two months previously by fire, on which the sign of an inn was still to be seen. Behind the tiny house was a 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 the highway. AH around spread the solitary campagna, vast cultivated fields, planted with mulberry-trees. It was nearl}' midnight ; it was raining and blowing. Ferruccio and his grandmother, who was still up, were in the dining-room, between which and the garden there was a small, closet-like room, encumbered with old furniture. Ferruccio had only returned home at eleven o'clock, after an absence of many hours, and his grandmother had watched for him with eyes wide BLOOD OF ROMAGNA. 177 i^en, filled with anxiety, nailed to the large arm-chair, upon which she was accustomed to pass the entire day, and often the whole night as well, since a difficulty of breathing did not allow her to lie down in bed. It was raining, and the wind beat the rain against the window-panes : the night was very dark. Fer- ruccio had returned weary, muddy, with his jacket torn, and the livid mark of a stone on his forehead. He had engaged in a stone fight with his comrades ; they had come to blows, as usual ; and in addition he had gambled, and lost all his soldi, and left his cap in a ditch. Although the kitchen was illuminated only by a small oil lamp, placed on the corner of the table, near the arm-chair, his poor grandmother had instantly per- ceived the wretched condition of her grandson, and had partly divined, partly brought him to confess, his misdeeds. She loved this boy with all her soul. When she had learned all, she began to cry. "Ah, no!" she said, after a long silence, "you have no heart for your poor grandmother. You have no feeling, to take advantage in this manner of the absence of your father and mother, to cause me sor- row. You have left me alone the whole day long. You had not the slightest compassion. Take care, Fer- ruccio ! You are entering on an evil path which will lead you to a sad end. I have seen others begin like you, and come to a bad end. If you begin by running away from home, by getting into brawls with the other boys, by losing soldi, then, gradually, from stone fights you will come to knives, from gambling to other vices, and from other vices to — theft." Feruccio stood listening three paces away, leaning 178 BLOOD OF ROMAGNA. against a cupboard, with his chin on his breast and his brows knit, being still hot with wrath from the brawl. A lock of fine chestnut hair fell across his forehead, and his blue eyes were motionless. *'From gambling to theft!" repeated his grand- mother, continuing to weep. *' Think of it, Ferruccio ! Think of that scourge of the country about here, 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 made that poor woman, his mother, die of a broken heart — I knew her; and his father has fled to Switzerland in despair. Think of that bad fellow, whose salute your father is ashamed to return : he is always roaming with miscreants 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 that you will reduce your father and mother to the same end as his." Ferruccio held his peace. He was not at all remorse- ful at heart ; quite the reverse : his misdemeanors arose rather from superabundance of life and audacity than from an evil mind ; and hits father had managed him badly in precisely this particular, that, holding him capable, at bottom, of the finest sentiments, and also, when put to the proof, of a vigorous and generous ac- tion, he left the bridle loose upon his neck, and waited for him to acquire judgment for himself. The lad was good rather than perverse, but stubborn ; and it was hard for him, even when his heart was oppressed with repentance, to allow those good words which win pardon to escape his lips, ''If I have done wrong, J will do so no more ; I promise it ; forgive me." His soul was full of tenderness at times ; but pride would not permit it to manifest itself. BLOOD OF ROMAGNA. 17^ ** Ah, Ferruccio," continued his grandmother, per- ceiving that he was thus dumb, '' not a word of peni- tence do you utter to me ! You see to what a condition I am reduced, so that I am as good as actually buried. You ought not to have the heart to make me suffer so, to make the mother of your mother, who is so old and so near her last day, weep ; the poor grandmother 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 did not eat for amusing you, — you do not know that ! I always said, ' This boy will be my consolation ! ' And now you are killing me ! I would willingly give the little life that remains to me if I could see you become a good bo}'', and an obedient one, as you were in those days when I used to lead you to the sanctuary — do you remember, Ferruccio ? You used to fill my pockets with pebbles and weeds, and I carried you home in my arms, fast asleep. You used to love your poor grandma then. And now I am a paralytic, and in need of your affection as of the air to breathe, since I have no one else in the world, poor, half-dead woman that I am : my God ! " Ferruccio was on the point of throwing himself on his grandmother, overcome with emotion, when he fancied that he heard a slight noise, a creaking in the small adjoining room, the one which opened on the garden. But he could not make out whether it was the window- shutters rattling 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 perturba- tion, after a momentary pause. 180 BLOOD OF ROMAGNA. " The rain," murmured the boj. " Then, Ferruccio," said the old woman, drying her eyes, ''you promise me that you will be good, that you will not make your poor grandmother we§p again — " Another faint sound interrupted her. "But it seems to me that it is not the rain!" she exclaimed, turning pale. " Go and see ! " But she instantly added, " No ; remain here! " and seized Ferruccio by the hand. Both remained as they were, and held their breath. All they heard was the 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 of terror. Two men sprang into the room. One of them grasped the boy and placed one hand over his mouth ; the other clutched the old woman by the throat. 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, the patter of the rain ; the old woman emitted frequent rattles from her throat, and her eyes were starting from her head. BLOOD OF ROMAGNA. 181 The man who held the boy said in his ear, " Where does your father keep his money ? " The lad replied in a thread of a voice, with chatter- ing teeth, '' Yonder — in the cupboard." '' Come with me," said the man. And he dragged him into the closet room, holding him securely by the throat. 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 knees in front of the cupboard, and, pressing his neck closely between his own legs, in such a way that he could throttle him if he shouted, and holding his knife in his teeth and his lantern in one hand, with the other he pulled from his pocket a pointed iron, drove it into the lock, fumbled about, broke it, threw the doors wide open, tumbled every- thing over in a perfect fury of haste, filled his pockets, shut the cupboard again, opened it again, made another search ; then he seized the boy by the windpipe again, and pushed him to where the other man was still grasp- ing the old woman, who was convulsed, with her head thrown back and her 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 to see if there were any one there, and called in from the little room, in a voice that re- sembled 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 eyes again, and 182 BLOOD OF ROMAGNA. said, *' Not a sound, or I'll come back and cut yout throat." And he glared at the two for a moment. At this juncture, a song sung b}^ many voices be- came audible far off on the highway. The robber turned his head hastily toward the door, and the violence of the 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, " you shall die ! " And he hurled himself, with his knife raised, against the old woman, who swooned on the spot. The assassin dealt the blow. But Ferruccio, with an exceedingly rapid movement, and uttering a cry of desperation, had rushed to his grandmother, and covered her body with his own. The assassin fled, stumbling against the table and over- turning the light, which was extinguished. The boy slipped slowly from above his grandmother, fell on his knees, and remained in that attitude, with his arms arouud her body and his head upon her breast. Several moments passed ; it was very dark ; the song of the peasants graduall}' died away in the campagna. The old woman recovered her senses. " Ferruccio ! " she cried, in a voice that was barely intelligible, with chattering teeth. *' Grandmamma ! " replied the lad. The old woman made an effort to speak ; but terrot had paralyzed her tongue. She remained silent for a while, trembling violently. Then sue succeeded in asking : — ** They are not here now?" BLOOD OF kOMAGNA. I85 *« 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, dear grandmother. They carried off the money. But daddy had taken nearly all of it witli him." His grandmother drew a deep breath. "Grandmother," said Ferruccio, still kneeling, and pressing her close to him, '' iear grandmother, you love me, don't you?" "O Ferruccio! m}' poor little son!" she replied, placing her hands on his head ; " what a fright you must have had ! — O Lord God of mercy ! — Light the iimp. 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 of that again ; I have forgotten every- thing, I love 30U so dearly ! " '' I have always caused you grief," pursued Ferruccio, with difficulty, and his voice quivered; "but I have always loved you. Do you forgive me? — Forgive me, grandmother." "Yes, my son, I forgive you with all my heart. Think, how could I help forgiving you ! Rise from your knees, my child. I will never scold you again. You are so good, so good I Let us light the lamp. Let us take courage 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? YoB will always remember me — your Ferruccio?" 184 THE LITTLE MASON ON HIS SICK-BED, " My Femiccio ! " exclaimed his grandmother, amazed and alarmed, as she laid her hands on his shoulders and bent her head, as though to look him in his face. " Remember me," murmured the boy once more, in a voice that seemed like a breath. " 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 old woman, feeling the boy's head anxiousl}^, as it lay upon her knees ; and then with all the power of voice of which her throat was capable, and in desperation : '' Ferruccio ! Ferruccio ! Ferruccio! My child ! My love ! Angels of Paradise, come to my aid ! " But Ferruccio made no reply. The little hero, the saviour of the mother of his mother, stabbed by a blow from a knife in the back, had rendered up 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 see him ; and Garrone, Derossi, and I agreed to go together. Stardi would have 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 the monument, in order that his description might be more exact. So, by way of experiment, we Invited that puffed-up fellow. Nobis, who replied '' No," and nothing more. Votini also excused himself, perhaps because he was afraid of soiling his clothes with plaster THE LITTLE MASON ON HIS SICK-BED. 185 We went there when we came out of school at four o'clock. It was raining in torrents. On the street Garrone halted, and said, with his mouth full of bread : — '' What shall I buy ? " and he rattled a couple of 8old\ in his pocket. We each contributed two soldi, and purchased three huge oranges. We ascended to the garret. At the door Derossi removed his medal and put it in his pocket. ' I asked him why. "I don't know," he answered; "in order not to have the air : it strikes me 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 was distorted so that he appeared terrified. "Who are you?" he demanded. Garroae re- plied : — " We are Antonio's schoolmates, and we have brought him three oranges." " Ah, poor Tonino ! " exclaimed the mason, shaking his head, " I fear that he will never eat your oranges !" and he wiped his eyes with the back of his 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 hung dejectedly over the bed, with her face in her hands, and she hardly turned to look at us ; on one side hung brushes, a trowel, and a plaster-sieve ; over the feet of the sick boy was spread the mason's jacket, White with lime. The poor boy was emaciated ; very, very white ; his nose was pointed, and his breath wa? short. O dear Tonino, my little comrade ! you who were so kind and merry, how it pains me ! what would I not give to see you make the hare's face once more, poor little mason ! Garrone laid an orange on his pil- low, close to his face ; the odor waked him ; he grasped 186 THE LITTLE MASON ON HIS SICK-BED. it instantly ; then let go of it, and gazed intently ai Garrone. "It is I," said the latter; "Garrone: do you know me ? " He smiled almost imperceptibly, lifted his stubby hand with diflSculty from the bed and held it out to Garrone, who took it between his, and laid it against his cheek, saying : — " Courage, courage, little mason ; you are going to get well soon and come back to school, and the master will put you next to me ; will that please you?" But the little mason made no reply. His mother burst into sobs: "Oh, my poor Tonino J My poor Tonino ! He is so brave and good, and God is going to take him from us ! *' " Silence ! " cried the mason ; " silence, for the love of God, or I shall lose my reason ! " Then he said to us, with anxiety : " Go, go, boys, thanks ; go ! what do you want 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 pushed us out on the landing, and shut the door. But we were not half-way down the stairs, when we heard him calling, "Garrone! Grar- rone ! " We all three mounted the stairs once more in haste "Garrone!" shouted the mason, with a changed countenance, "he has called you by name; it is two days since he spoke ; he has called you twice ; he wants you ; come quickly ! Ah, holy G^, if this is only a good sign ! " " Farewell for the present," said Garrone to us ; "I COUNT CAVOUR. 187 shall remain," and he ran in with the father. Derossi*8 eyes were full of tears. I said to him : — ''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 was thinking how good Garrone is, and what a beautiful soul he has." COUNT CAVOUR. Wednesday, 29tlL 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 thou- sand Frenchmen descend from the Alps to chase the Aus- trians 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 earth- quake. Hours, nights of struggle and anguish did he pass, suffi- cient 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 188 COUNT CAVOUR. 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 increas- ing, 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 T 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 imited with us, round the many things which still remained to be done. When delirium seized him, " Educate the children ! " he ex- claimed, between his gasps for breath, — " educate the chil- dren 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 stiU 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 measure- less 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 youl heart Thy Fathkb. 8PBINQ. 19$ APRIL. SPRING. Saturday, 1st. The first of April ! Only three months more ! Thia has been one of the most beautiful mornings of the year. I was happy in school because Coretti told me to come day after to-morrow to see the king make his entrance with his father, who knows him, and because my mother had promised to take me the same day to visit the Infant Asylum in the Corso Valdocco. I was pleased, too, because the little mason is better, and because the teacher said to my father yesterday even- ing as he was passing, " He is doing well ; he is doing well." And then it was a beautiful spring morning. From the school windows we could 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 vases already growing green. The master did not laugh, be- cause he never laughs ; but he was in a good humor, so that that perpendicular wrinkle hardly ever appeared on his brow ; and he explained a problem on the black- board, and jested. And it was plain that he felt a pleasure in breathing the air of the gardens which entered through the open window, redolent with the fresh odor of earth and leaves, which suggested thoughts of country rambles. 190 SPRING. While he was explaining, we could hear in a neigh- boring street a blacksmith hammering on his anvil, and in the house opposite, a woman singing to lull her baby to sleep ; far away, in the Cernaia barracks, the trum- pets were sounding. Every one appeared pleased, even Stardi. At a certain mom^jnt the blacksmith began to hammer more vigorousl} , the woman to sing more loudly. The master paused and lent an ear. Then he said, slowly, as he gazed out of the window : — " The smiling sky, a singing mother, an honest man at work, boys at study, — these are beautiful things." When we emerged from the school, we saw that every one else was cheerful also. All walked in a line, stamping loudly with their feet, and humming, as though on the eve of a four days' vacation ; the schoolmistresses were playful ; the one with the red feather tripped along behind the children like a school- girl; the parents of the boys were chatting together and smiling, and Crossi's mother, the vegetable-vender, had so many bunches of violets in her basket, that they filled the whole large hall with perfume. I have never felt such happiness as this morning on catching sight of my mother, who was waiting for me in the street. And I said to her as I ran to meet her: — " Oh, I am happy ! what is it that makes me so happy this morning?" And my mother answered me with a smile that it was the beautiful season and a good con. science. KING UMBERTO. ISl KING UMBERTO. Monday, 3d. At ten o'clock precisely my father saw from the window Coretti, the wood-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 than usual, and they never seemed to me to resemble each other so strongly as this morning. The father wore on his jacket the medal for valor be- tween two commemorative medals, and his mustaches were curled and as pointed as two pins. We at once set out for the railway station, where the king was to arrive at half-past ten. Coretti, the father, smoked his pipe and rubbed his hands. "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 years in France, and then at Mondovi, and here, where I might have seen him, I have never had the good luck of being in the city when he came. Such a combination of circumstances ! " He called the King "Umberto," like a comrade. Umberto commanded the 16th division ; Umberto was twenty-two years and so many days old ; Umberto mounted a horse thus and so. "Fifteen years!" he said vehemently, accelerating his pace. "I really have a great desire to see him again. I left him a prince ; I see him once more, a king. And I, too, have changed. From a soldier I have become a hawker of wood." And he laughed. His son asked him, " If he were to see you, would he remember you ? " 192 KI^^G UMBERTO. He began to laugh. '' You are crazy ! " he answered. " That's quite an« other thing. He, Umberto, was one single man ; we were as numerous as flies. And then, he never looked at us one by one." We turned into the Corso Vittorio Emanuele ; there were many people on their way to the station. A com- pany of Alpine soldiers passed with their trumpets. Two armed policemen passed by on horseback at a gal' lop. The day was serene and brilliant. "Yes!" exclaimed the elder Coretti, growing ani- mated, " it is a real pleasure to me to see him once more, the general of my division. Ah, how quickly I have grown old ! It seems as though it were only the other day that I had my knapsack on my shoul' ders and my gun in my hands, at that affair of the 24th of June, when we were on the point of coming to blows. Umberto was going to and fro with his offi- cers, while the cannon were thundering in the distance ; and every one was gazing at him and saying, ' May there not be a bullet for him also ! ' I was a thousand miles from thinking that I should soon find myself so near him, in front of the lances of the Austrian uhlans; actually, only four paces from each other, boys. That was a fine day ; the sky was like a mirror ; but so hot I 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 was playing. The elder Coretti attempted to enter the portico, but he was stopped. Then it occurred to him to force his way into the front row of the crowd which formed an open- ing at the entrance ; and making way with his elbow, he succeeded in thrusting us forward also. But the KING UMBER TO. l^$ undulating throng flung us hither and thither a little. The wood-seller got his eye upon the first pillar of the portico, where the police did not allow any one to stand ; " Come with me," he said suddenly, dragging us by the hand ; and he crossed the empty space in two bounds, and went and planted himself there, with his back against the wall. A police brigadier instantly hurried up and said to him, " You can't stand 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 general with some little comfort, — I, who was in that squadron? I saw him close at hand then ; it seems right that I should see him close at hand now. And I sa}" general ! He was my battalion commander for a good half-hour ; for at such moments he commanded the battalion himself, while it was in the heart of things, and not Major Ubrich, by Heavens ! " In the meantime, in the reception-room and outside, a great mixture of gentlemen and officers was visible, and in front of the door, the carriages, with the lack- eys dressed in red, were drawn up in a line. Coretti asked his father whether Prince Umberto had his sword in his hand 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 as another. Ah ! those unchained demons ! They came down on us like the wrath of God ; they descended on us. They swept between the groups, the squadrons, the cannon, as 194 SING UMBERTO. though tossed by a huiTicane, crushing down every- thing. There was a whirl of light cavaky of Ales- sandria, of lancers of Foggia, of infantry, of sharp- shooters, a pandemonium in which nothing could any longer be understood. I heard the shout, ' Your High- ness ! your Highness ! ' I saw the lowered lances approaching ; we discharged our guns ; a cloud of smoke hid everything. Then the smoke cleared away. The ground was covered with horses and uhlans, wounded and dead. I turned round, and beheld in our midst Umberto, on horseback, gazing tranquilly 9.bout, with the air of demanding, * Have any of my lads received 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 elevated themselves on tiptoe. " Eh, he won't come out in a hurry," said a police- man ; " they are presenting 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 earth- quakes ; and in them, too, he bears himself 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 the fourth of the forty-ninth, even now that he is King ; and that it would give him pleas- ure to have for once, at a table together, all those whom he saw about him at such moments. Now, he has gen- erals, and great gentlemen, and courtiers ; then, there was no one but us poor soldiers. If we could only ex- change a few words alone ! Our general of twenty- two ; our prince, who was intrusted to our bayonets ! I have not seen him for fifteen years. Our Umberto! KING UMBERTO. 195 that's what he is ! Ah ! that music stirs my blood, on my word of honor." An outburst of shouts interrupted him ; thousands of hats rose in the air ; four gentlemen dressed io black got into the first carriage. *''Tis he!" cried Coretti, and stood as though en- chanted. Then he said softly, " Madonna mia, how gray he has grown ! '* "We all three uncovered our heads ; the carriage ad- vanced slowly through the crowd, who shouted and waved their hats. I looked at the elder Coretti. 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 his three medals. Then Coretti lost his head, and roared, " The fourth battalion of the forty-ninth ! " The King, who had turned away, turned towards us again, and looking Coretti 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, with wet eyes, calling for his son by name, and holding his hand on high. His son flew towards him, and he said, " Here, little one, while my hand is still warm ! " and he passed his hand over the boy's face, sayingt ^' This is a caress from the King." 196 THE INFANT ASYLUM, And there he stood, as though in a dream, with his e^'es fixed on the distant carriage, smiling, with his pipe in his hand, in the centre of a group of curious people, who were staring at him. '' He's one of the fourth battalion of the forty-ninth ! " they said. " He is a soldier that knows the King." "And the King recognized him." " And he offered him his hand." " He gave the King a petition," said one, more loudly. " No," replied Coretti, whirling round abruptly ; " I did not give him any petition. There is something else that I would give him, if he were to ask 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 the Infant Asylum in the Corse Valdocco, in order to recommend to the directress a little sister of Precossi. I had never seen an asylum. How much amused I was ! There were two hundred of them, boy -babies and girl-babies, and so small that the children in our lower primary schools are men in comparison. We arrived just as they were entering the refectory in two files, where there were two very long tables, with a great many round holes, and in each hole a black bowl filled with rice and beans, and a tin spoon beside it. On entering, some gi-ew confused and remained on the floor until the mistresses ran and picked them up. Many halted in front of a bowl, thinking it was their proper place, and had already THE INFANT ASYLUM, 19f swallowed a spoonful, when a mistress arrived and said, " Go on ! " and then they advanced three or four pacea and got down another spoonful, and then advanced again, until they reached their own places, after having fraudulently disposed of half a portion. At last, by dint of pushing and crying, "Make haste! make haste ! " they were all got into order, and the prayer was begun. But all those on the inner line, who had to turn their backs on the bowls for the prayer, twisted their heads round so that they could keep an eye on them, lest some one might meddle ; and then they said their prayer thus, with hands clasped and their eyes on the ceiling, 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 with his hands ; many picked up the beans one by one, and thrust them into their pockets •, others wrapped them tightly in their little aprons, and pounded them to reduce them to a paste. There were even some who did not eat, because they were watching the flies flying, and others coughed and sprinkled a shower of rice all around them. It resembled a poultr}^- yard. But it was charming. The two rows of babies formed a prett}^ sight, with their hair all tied on the tops of their heads with red, green, and blue ribbons. One teacher asked a row of eight children, "Where does rice grow?" The whole eight opened their mouths wide, filled as they were with the pottage, and replied in concert, in a sing-song, "It grows in the water." Then the teacher gave the order, " Hands up ! " and it was pretty to see all those little arms fly up, which a few months ago were all in swaddling- clothes, and all those little hands flourishing, which looked like so many white and pink butterflies. 198 THE INFANT ASYLUM, Then they all went to recreation ; but first they all took their little baskets, which were hanging on the wall with their lunches in them. They went out into the garden and scattered, drawing fortli their pro- visions as they did so, — bread, stewed plums, a tiny bit of cheese, a hard-boiled Qgg, little apples, a hand- ful of boiled vetches, or a wing of chicken. In an instant the whole garden was strewn with crumbs, as though they had been scattered from their feed by a flock of birds. They ate in all the queerest ways, — like rabbits, like rats, like cats, nibbling, licking, suck- ing. There was one child who held a bit of rye bread hugged closely to his breast, and was rubbing it with a medlar, as though he were polishing a sword. Some of the little ones crushed in their fists small cheeses, which trickled between their fingers like milk, and ran down inside their sleeves, and they were utterly unconscious of it. They ran and chased each other with apples and rolls in their teeth, like dogs. I saw three of them excavating a hard-boiled egg with a straw, thinking to discover treasures, and they spilled half of it on the ground, and then picked the crumbs up again one by one with great patience, as though they had been pearls. And those who had anything extraordinary were surrounded by eight or ten, who stood staring at the baskets with bent heads, as though they were looking at the moon in a well. There were twenty congregated round a mite of a fellow who had a paper horn of sugar, and they were going through all sorts of ceremonies with him for the privilege of dipping their bread in it, and he accorded it to some, while to others, after many prayers, he only granted his finger to suck. In the meantime, my mother had come into the "THE BOYS HAD DAUBED THEIR HANDS WITH RESIN." — Page 202. THE INFANT ASYLUM, 199 garden and was caressing now one and now ailothor. Many hung about her, and even on her back, begging ibr a kiss, with faces upturned as though to a third story, and with mouths that opened and shut as though asking for the breast. One offered her the quarter of an orange which had been bitten, another a small crust of bread ; one little girl gave her a leaf ; another showed her, with all seriousness, the tip of her forefinger, a minute examination of which re- vealed a microscopic swelling, which had been caused by touching the flame of a candle on the preceding day. They placed before her eyes, as great marvels, very tiny insects, which I cannot understand their being able to see and catch, the halfs of corks, shirt- buttons, and flowerets pulled from the vases. One child, with a bandaged head, who was determined to be heard at any cost, stammered out to her some story about a head-over-heels tumble, not one word of which was intelligible ; another insisted that my mother should bend down, and then whispered in her ear, " My father makes brushes." And in the meantime a thousand accidents were happening here and there which caused the teachers to hasten up. Children wept because they could not untie a knot in their handkerchiefs ; others disputed, with scratches and shrieks, the halves of an apple ; one child, who had fallen face downward over a little bench which had been overturned, wept amid the ruins, ard couia not rise. Before her departure my mother took three or four of them in her arms, and they ran up from all quar- ters to be taken also, their faces smeared with yolk of egg and orange juice ; and one caught her hands ; another her finger, to look at her ring ; ^.nother tugged 200 THE INFANT ASYLUM, at her watch chain ; another tried to seize her by the hair. ''Take care," the teacher said to her; "they will tear 3'our clothes all to pieces." But my mother cared nothing for her di-ess, and she continued to kiss them, and they pressed closer and closer to her : those who were nearest, with their arms extended as though they were desirous of climbing ; the more distant endeavoring to make their way through the crowd, and all screaming : — '' Good by ! good by ! good b}' ! " At last she succeeded in escaping from the garden. And they all ran and thrust their faces through the railings to see her pass, and to thrust their 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 those hundreds of tiny out- stretched 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 eyes swelling 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 : — " Gx)od by I good by ! Come again, Tnadamal" GYMNASTICS, 201 GYMNASTICS. Tuesday, 6th. As the weather continues extremely fine, they have made us pass from chamber 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 from the new exercises. Every word cost her an effort ; and as she spoke, she held one hand on her son's head. " He is not able to do it," she said to the head-mas- ter. But Nelli showed much grief at this exclusion from the apparatus, at having this added humiliation 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 hesitat- ing way, " I fear lest his companions — " What she meant to say was, " lest they should make sport of him." But Nelli replied : — " The}^ will not do anything to me — and then, there is Garrone. It is sufficient for him to be present, to prevent their langhing." And then he was allowed to come. The teachei with the wound on his neck, who was with Garabaldi, led us at once to the vertical bars, which are very high, and we had to climb to the very top, and stand up- right on the transverse plank. Derossi and Coretti went up like monkeys ; even little Precossi mounted briskly, in spite of the fact that he was embarrassed with that jacket which extends to his knees • nnd in 202 GYMNASTICS, order to make him laugh while he was climbing, all th^ boys repeated to him his constant expression, *' Excuse me ! excuse me ! " Stardi puffed, turned as red as a turkey-cock, and set his teeth until he looked like a mad dog ; but he would have reached the top at the expense of bursting, and he actually did get there ; and so did Nobis who, when he reached the summit, as- sumed the attitude of an emperor ; but Votini slipped back twice, notwithstanding his fine new suit with azure stripes, which had been made expressly for gym- nastics. In order to climb the more easily, all the boys had daubed their hands with resin, which they call coloph- ony, and as a matter of course it is that trader of a GaroflS who provides every one with it, in a powdered form, selling it at a soldo the paper hornful, and turn- ing a pretty penny. Then it was Garrone's turn, and up he went, chew*^ ing away at his bread as though it were nothing out of the common ; and I believe that he would have been capable of carrying one of us up on his shoulders, foi he is as muscular and strong as a young bull. After Garrone came Nelli. No sooner did the boys see him grasp th§ bars with those long, thin hands of his, than many of them began to laugh and to sing ; but Garrone crossed his big arms on his breast, and darted round a glance which was so expressive, which so clearly said that he did not mind dealing out half a dozen punches, even in the master's presence, that they all ceased laughing on the instant. Nelli began to climb. He tried hard, poor little fellow ; his face grew purple, he breathed with diflSculty, and the per- spiration poured from his brow. The master said, " Come down ! ** But he would not. He strove and C^tMMASTiCiS, 263 persisted. I expected every moment to see him fall headlong, half dead. Poor Nelli ! I thought, what if I had been like him, and my mother had seen me! How she would have suffered, poor mother ! And as I thought of that I felt so tenderly towards Nelli that I could have given, I know not what, to be able, for the sake of having him climb those bars, to give him a push from below without being seen. Meanwhile Garrone, Derossi, and Coretti were say- ing : "Up with you, Nelli, up with you!" "Try — one effort more — courage ! " And Nelli made one more violent effort, uttering a groan as he did so, and found himself within two spans of the plank. "Bravo!" shouted the others. "Courage — one dash more ! " and behold Nelli clinging to the plank. All clapped their hands. " Bravo ! " said the mas- ter. " But that will do now. Comedown." But Nelli wished to ascend to the top like the rest, and after a little exertion he succeeded in getting his elbows on the plank, then his knees, then his feet ; at last he stood upright, panting and smiling, and gazed at us. We began to clap again, and then he looked into the street. I turned in that direction, and through the plants which cover the iron railing of the garden I caught sight of his mother, passing along the sidewalk without daring to look. Nelli descended, and we all made much of him. He was excited and rosy, his eyes sparkled, and he no longer seemed like the same boy. Then, at the close of school, when his mother came to meet him, and inquired with some anxiety, as she embraced him, " Well, my poor son, how did it go? how did it go?" all his comrades replied, in concert, •^'He did well — he climbed like the rest of us — he's 204 ^^ FATHER'S TEACHER, strong, you know — he*s active — he does exactly likt the others." And then the joy of that woman was a sight to see. She tried to thank us, and could not ; she shook hands with three or four, bestowed a caress on 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 |iy father ! This is the way it came about. Day before yesterday, at dinner, as my father was reading the newspaper, he suddenly uttered an ex- clamation of astonishment. Then he said: — " And I thought him dead twenty years ago ! Do you know that my old first elementary teacher, Vin- cenzo Crosetti, is eighty-four j^ears old? I see here that the minister has confeiTed on him the medal of merit for sixty years of teaching. Six-ty ye-ars, you understand! And it is only two years since he stopped teaching school. Poor Crosetti ! He lives an hour's journey from here by rail, at Condove, in the countr}' of our old gardener's wife, of the town of Chi- eri." And he added, " Enrico, we will go and see him." And the whole evening he talked of nothing but him. The name of his primary teacher recalled to his mind a thousand things which had happened when he was a boy, his early companions, his dead mother. " Cro- getti!" he exclaimed. "He was forty when I was MY FATHER'S TEACHER. 205 with him. I seem to see him now. He was a small man, somewhat bent even then, with bright eyes, and always cleanly shaved. Severe, but in a good way ; for he loved us like a father, and forgave us more than one offence. He had risen from the condition of a peasant by dint of study and privations. He was a fine man. My mother was attached to him, and my father treated him like 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 shall recognize 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 railway station. 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 and hedgerows in blossom, and the air we breathed was perfumed. My father was delighted, and every little while he would put his arm round my neck and 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, to love me and do me good. I have never forgotten certain of his good counsels, and also certain sharp reprimands which caused me to return home with a lump in my throat. His hands were large and stubby. I can see him now, as he used to enter the schoolroom, place his cane in a corner and hang his coat on the peg, always with the same gesture. And every day he was in the same humor, — always con- scientious, full of good will, and attentive, as though each day he were teaching school for the first time. I 206 ^^ FATHER'S TEACHER. remember him as well as though I heard him now when he called to me : ' Bottini ! eh, Bottini ! The fore and middle fingers on that pen ! ' 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's wife of Chieri, who keeps a stall in an alley. We found her with her boys : she made much of us and gave us news of her husband, who is soon to return from Greece, where he has been working these three years ; and of her eldest daughter, who is in the Deaf-mute Institute in Turin. Then she pointed out to us the street which led to the teacher's house, — for every one knows hhn. We left the town, and turned into a steep lane flanked by blossoming hedges. My father no longer talked, but appeared entirely absorbed in his reminiscences ; and every now and then (le smiled, and then shook his head. 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 large hat was descending, leaning on a cane. He dragged his feet along, and his hands trembled. *' It is he ! " repeated my father, hastening his steps. When we were close to him, we stopped. The old man stopped also and looked at my father. His face was still fresh colored, and his eyes were clear and vivacious. " Are you," asked my father, raising his hat, '' Vin- cenzo Crosetti, the schoolmaster ? " The old man raised his hat also, and replied: "I am," in a voice that was somewhat tremulous, but full. *'Well, then," said my father, taking one of his hands, " permit one of your old scholars to shake youi MY FATHER'S TEACHER, 207 hand and to inquire how you are. I have come from Turin to see you." The old man stared at him in amazement. Then he said : *' You do me too much honor. I do not know — When were you my scholar ? Excuse me ; your name, if you please." My father mentioned his name, Alberto Bottini, and the year in which he had attended school, and where, and he added: " It is natural that you should not re- member me. But I recollect you so perfectly ! '* The master bent his head and gazed at the ground in thought, and muttered 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 Bot- tini? the son of Bottini, the engineer? the one 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 " ; and advancing, he embraced my father: his white head hardly reached the latter' s shoulder. My father pressed his cheek to the other's brow. "Have the goodness to come with me," said the teacher. And without speaking 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 tinj' house with two doors, round one of which there was a fragment of whitewashed wall. The tea^iher opened the second and ushered us into a room. There were four white walls : in one corner a cot bed with a blue and white checked coverlet ; in 208 ^^ FATHER'S TEACHER. another, a small table with a little library ; four chairs, and one ancient geographical map nailed to the wall. A pleasant odor of apples was perceptible. We seated ourselves, all three. My father and his teacher remained silent for several minutes. '*Bottini!" exclaimed the master at length, fixing his eyes on the brick floor 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 win- dow. Let us see whether I do not recall it. I can still see your curly head." Then he thought for a while longer. "You were a lively lad, eh? Very. The second year you had an attack of croup. I remember when they brought you back to school, emaciated and wrapped up in a shawl. Forty years have elapsed since then, 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 gone by to seek me out : there was a colonel, and there were some priests, and several gentlemen." He asked m}- father what his profession was. Then he said, " I am glad, heart- ily glad. I thank you. It is quite a while now since 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 showed us 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; I thought it would pass off. But instead of that, it sta3'ed and kept on increasing. A day came when I could no longer write. Ah ! that day c»n which MY FATHER'S TEACHER, 209 I, for the first time, made a blot on the copy-book of one of my scholars was a stab in the heart for me, my dear sir. I did drag on for a while longer ; but I was at the end of my strength. After sixty years of teach- ing 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 I gave a lesson, all the schol- ars accompanied me home, and made much of me ; but I was sad ; I understood that my life was finished. J had lost m}^ wife the year before, and my only son. I had only two peasant grandchildren 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 never come to an end. My only occupation, you see, is to turn over my old schoolbooks, my scholastic journals, and a few volumes that have been given to me. There they are," he said, indicating his little library ; " there are my reminiscences, my whole past; I have nothing else remaining to me in the world." Then in a tone that was suddenly joj'ous, " I want to give you a surprise, my dear Signor Bottini." He rose, and approaching his desk, he opened a long casket which contained numerous little parcels, all tied up with a slender cord, and on each was written a date in four figures. After a little search, he opened one, turned over sev- eral papers, drew forth a yellowed sheet, and handed it to my father. It was some of his school work of forty years before. At the top was written, Alberto Bottini, Dictation, April 3, 1838. My father instantly recognized his own large, schoolboy hand, and began to read it with a smile. But all at once his eyes grew moist. I rose and inquired the cause. ?10 MY FATHER'S TEACHER, He threw one arm around my body, and pressmg me to his side, he said : " Look at this sheet of paper. Do you see ? These are the corrections made by my poor mother. She always strengthened my Z's and my fs. And the last lines are entirely hers. She had learned to imitate my characters ; and when I was tired and sleepy, she finished my work for me. My sainted mother ! " And he kissed the page. '' See here," said the teacher, showing him the other packages; "these are my reminiscences. Each year I laid aside one piece of work of each of my pupils ; and they are all here, dated and arranged in order. Every time that I open them thus, and read a line here and there, a thousand things recur to my mind, and I seem to be living once more in the days that are past. How many of them have passed, my dear sir ! I close my eyes, and I see behind me face after face, class af- ter class, hundreds and hundreds of boys, and who knows how many of them are already dead ! Many of them I remember well. I recall distinctly the best and the worst: those who gave 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 I love 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 any roguish tricks ? " "Of yours, sir?" replied the old man, also with a smile. " No ; not just at this moment. But that does not in the least mean that j'ou never played any. However, you had good judgment; you were seriooi MY FATHER'S TEACHER. 211 for your age. I remember the great affection of youJ mother for you. But it is very kind and polite of you to have come to seek me out. How could you leave your occupations, to come and see a poor old school- master ? " *' Listen, Signor Crosetti," responded my father with vivacity. ' ' I recollect 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 out of the house alone, in other hands than my father's ; in the hands of a stranger, in short. To this good creature my en- trance into school was like my entrance into the world, the first of a long series of necessary and painful sep- arations ; it was society which was tearing her son from her for the first time, never again to return him to her intact. She was much affected ; so was I. I bade her farewell with a trembling voice, and then, as she went away, I saluted her once more through the glass in the door, with my eyes full of tears. And just at that point you made a gesture with one hand, laying the other on your breast, as though to say, ' Trust me, signora.' Well, the gesture, the glance, from which I perceived that you had comprehended all the sentiments, all the thoughts of my mother ; that look which seemed to say, ' Courage ! ' that gesture which was an honest prom- ise 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 I am, after the lapse of four and forty years, for the purpose of saying to ycu, 'Thanks, dear teacher.*'* The master did not reply ; he stroked my hair with his hand, and his hand trembled, and glided from my hair to my forehead, from my forehead to my shoulder y 212 MY FATHER* S TEACHER. In the meanwhile, my father was surveying those bare walls, that wretched bed, the morsel of bread and the little phial of oil which lay on 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 with vivacity of our family, of the other teachers of that day, and of my father's schoolmates ; some of them he remembered, and some of them he did not; and each told the other news of this one or of that one. When my father interrupted the conversa- tion, to beg the old man to come down into the town and lunch with us, he replied effusively, "I thank you, I thank you," but he seemed undecided. My father took him by both hands, and besought him afresh. " But how shall I manage to eat," said the master, "with these poor hands which shake in this wa}^? It is a penance for others also." " We will help you, master," said my father. And then he accepted, as he shook his head and smiled. " This is a beautiful day," he said, as he closed the outer door, " a beautiful day, dear Signor Bottini ! I assure you that I shall remember it fis long as I live." My father gave one arm to the master, and the latter took me by the hand, and we descended the lane. We met two little barefooted girls leading some cows, and a boy who passed us on a run, with a huge load of straw on his shoulders. The master told us that they were scholars of the second grade ; that in the morning they led the cattle to pasture, and worked in the fields barefoot ; and in the afternoon they put on their shoes and went to school. It was nearh^ mid-day. We en- countered no one else. In a few minutes we reached the inn, seated ourselves at a large table, with the mas* Jlfy FATHER'S TEACHER, 218 ter between us, and began our breakfast at once. The inn was as silent as a convent. The master was very merry, and his excitement augmented his palsy : he could hardly eat. But my father cut up his meat, broke his bread, and put salt on his plate. In order to drink, he was obliged to hold the glass with both hands, and even then he struck his teeth. But he talked constantly, and with ardor, of the reading-books of his young days ; of the notaries of the present day ; of the commendations bestowed on him by his su- periors ; of the regulations of late years : and all with that serene countenance, a trifle redder than at first, and with that gay voice of his, and that laugh which was almost the laugh of a young man. And my fathei 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, witli his face turned aside. The teacher allowed some wine to trickle down on his breast ; my father rose, 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 very gravely, "To your health, my dear engineer, to that of your children, to the memory of your good mother ! " "To yours, my good master!" replied my father, pressing his hand. And at the end of the room stood the innkeeper and several others, watching us, and smiling as though thej^ were pleased at this attention which was being shown to the teacher from their parts. At a little after two o'clock we came out, and the master wanted to escort us to the station. My faoher gave him his arm once more, and he again took me \ff 214 MY FATHER'S TEACHES. the hand: I carried his cane for him. The people paused to look on, for they all knew him : some saluted him. At one point in the street we heard, through an open window, many boys' voices, reading together, and spelling. The old man halted, and seemed to be sad- dened by it. "This, my dear Signor Bottini," he said, ''is what pains me. To hear the voices of boys in school, and not be there any more ; to think that another man is there. I have heard that music for sixty years, and I have grown to love it. Now I am deprived of my fam- ily. I have no sons." '*No, master," my father said to him, starting on again ; " you still have many sons, scattered about the world, who remember you, as I have always remem- bered you." "No, no," replied the master sadly; "I have no longer a school ; I have no longer any sons. And without sons, I shall not live much longer. My hour will soon strike." " Do not say that, master ; do not think it," said my father. '' You have done so much good in every wa}- ! You have put your life to such a noble use ! " The aged master inclined his hoary head for an in- stant on my father's shoulder, 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 my father'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 father pushed me into the railway car* CONVALESCENCE, 215 riage, and at the moment of starting he quickly removed the coarse cane from the schoolmaster's hand, and in its place he put his own handsome one, with a silver handle and his initials, saying, " Keep it in memory of me." The old man tried to return it and to recover his own ; but my father was already inside and had closed the door. *' Farewell, laxy kind master ! " "Farewell, my son!" responded the master as the train moved off; "and may God bless you for the consolation which you have afforded to a poor old 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 see each other more." "Yes, yes," repeated my father, "until we meet again ! " And the other replied by raising his trembling hand to heaven, " Up there ! " And thus he disappeared from our sight, with hia hand on high. CONVALESCENCE. Thursday, 20th. Who could have told me, when I returned from that delightful excursion with my father, that for ten days I should not see the country or the sky again ? I have been very ill — in danger of my life. I have heard my mother sobbing — I have seen my father very, very pale, gazing intently at me ; and my sister Silvia an(3 my brother talking in a low voice ; and the doctor, with hk spectacles, who was there every moment, and wha 2ie CONVALESCENCE. said things to me that I did not understand. In truth, I have been on the verge of saying a final farewell to every one. Ah, my poor mother ! I passed three or four da3's at least, of which I lecollect almost nothing, as though I had been in a dark and perplexing dream. I thought I beheld at my bedside my kind schoolmis- tress of the upper primary, who was trying to stifle her cough in her handkerchief in order not to disturb me. In the same manner I confusedly recall my master, who bent over to kiss me, and who pricked my face a little with his beard ; and I saw, as in a mist, the red head of Crossi, the golden curls of Derossi, the Calabrian clad in black, all pass by, and Garrone, who brought me a mandarin orange with its leaves, and ran away in haste because his mother is ill. Then I awoke as from a very long dream, and under- stood that I was better from seeing my father and mother smiling, and hearing Silvia singing softly. Oh, what a sad dream it was ! Then I began to improve every da}-. 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 is somewhat elongated through illness, poor fellow ! And Coretti came ; and GaroflS came to present me with two tickets in his new lottery of " a penknife with five surprises,*' which he purchased of a second-hand dealer in the Via Bertola. Then, yesterday, while I was asleep, Pre- cossi came and laid his cheek on my hand without wak- mg me ; and as he came from his father's workshop, with his face covered with coal dust, he left a black print on my sleeve, the sight of which caused me great pleasure when I awoke. How green the trees have become in these few days ! And how I envy the boys whom I see running to schoo) FRIENDS AMONG THE WORKINGMEN. 217 with their books when my father carries me to the window ! But I shall go back there soon myself. I am so impatient to see all the hojs once more, and my seat, the garden, the streets ; to know all that has taken place during the interval ; to apply myself to my books again, and to my copy-books, which I seem not to have seen for a year ! How pale and thin my poor mother has grown ! Poor father ! how weary he looks ! And my kind companions who came to see me and walked on tiptoe and kissed my brow ! It makes me sad, even now, to think that one day we must part. Perhaps I shall continue my studies with Derossi and with some others ; but how about all the rest ? When the fourth grade is once finished, then good by ! we shall never see each other again : I shall never see them again at my bedside when I am ill, — Garrone, Precossi, Coretti, who are such fine boys and kind and dear comrades, — never more ! FRIENDS AMONG THE WORKINGMEN. Thursday, 20th. Why "never more," Enrico? That will depend on your- self. 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. J I should like to see you neglecting to look up Coretti or Precossi, wherever they may be I \ 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 218 FRIENDS AMONG THE WORKINGMEN, jou can learn from them, which no one else is capable o| teaching you, both about their arts and their society and your own country. And have a care ; for if you do not pre- serve 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 asso- ciates 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 sep- arated, 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 for- tmie 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 senatoi of the kingdom. Thy Father. OARRONE'S MOTHER. 21$ 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 was seriously ill. She died on Saturday. Yesterday morning, as soon as we came into school, the teacher said to us : — "The greatest misfortune that can happen to a boy has happened to poor Garrone : his mother is dead. He will return to school to-morrow. I beseech you now, boys, respect the terrible sorrow that is now rending his soul. When he enters, greet him with affection, and gravely ; let no one jest, let no one laugh at him, I beg of you." And this morning poor Garrone came in, a little iater than the rest ; I felt a blow at my heart at the sight of him. His face was haggard, his eyes were red, and he was unsteady on his feet ; it seemed as though he had been ill for a month. I hardly recog- nized him ; he was dressed all in black ; he aroused oui pity. No one even breathed ; all gazed at him. No sooner had he entered than at the first sight of that schoolroom whither his mother had come to get him nearly every day, of that bench over which she had bent on so many examination days to give him a last bit of advice, and where he had so many times thought of her, in his impatience to run out and meet her, he burst into a desperate fit of weeping. The teacher 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 longer here; but she sees yoU| 220 GARRONE*S MOTHER, she still loves you, she still lives by your side, and one day you will behold her once again, for you have a good and upright soul like her own. Take courage ! " Having said this, he accompanied him to the bench near me. I dared not look at him. He drew out his copy-books and his books, which he had not opened for many days, and as he opened the reading-book at a place where there was a cut representing a mother leading her son by the hand, he burst out crying again, and laid his head on his arm. The master made us a sign to leave him thus, and began the lesson. I should have liked to say something to him, but I did not know what. I laid one hand on his arm, and whispered in his ear : — " Don't cry, Garrone." He made no reply, and without raising his head from the bench he laid his hand on mine and kept it there a while. At the close of school, no one ad- dressed him ; all the boys hovered round him respect- fully, and in silence. I saw my mother waiting for me, and ran to embrace her ; but she repulsed me, and gazed at Garrone. For the moment I could not understand why ; but then I perceived that Garrone was standing apart by himself and gazing at me ; and he was gazing at me with a look of indescribable sadness, which seemed to say: "You are embracing your mother, and I shall never embrace mine again ! You have still a mother, and mine is dead ! " And then I understood why my mother had thrust me back, «md I went out without taking her hand. GIU8EPPE MAZZINL 221 GIUSFPPE MAZZINI. Saturday, 29th. This morning, also, Garrone came to school with a pale face and his eyes swollen with weeping, and he hardly cast a glance at the little gifts which we had placed on his desk to console him. But the teacher had brought a page from a book to read to him in order to encourage him. He first informed us that we are to go to-morrow at one o'clock to the town- hall to witness the award of the medal for civic valor to a boy who has saved a little child from the Po, and that on Monday he will dictate the description of the festival to us instead of the monthly story. Then turning to Garrone, who was standing with drooping head, he said to him : — *' Make an effort, Garrone, and write down what I dictate to you as well as 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 and apostle of the Italian Revolution ; who, out of love for his country, lived for forty years poor, exiled, persecuted, a fugitive heroically steadfast in his principles and in his resolutions. Giuseppe Mazzini, who adored his mother, and who derived from her all that there was noblest and purest in her strong and gentle soul, wrote as follows to a faithful friend of his, to console him in the greatest of misfortunes. These are almost his exact words : — " ' My friend, thou wilt never more behold th^ 222 GIUSEPPE MAZZINI. mother on this earth. That is the terrible truth. 1 do not attempt to see thee, because thine is one oi those solemn and sacred sorrows which each must suffer and conquer for himself. Dost thou understand what I mean to convey by these words, It is necessary to conquer sorrow — to conquer the least sacred, the least purifying part of sorrow, that which, instead of rendering the soul better, weakens and debases it? But the other part of sorrow, the noble part — that which enlarges and elevates the soul — that must remain with thee and never leave thee more. Nothing here below can take the place of a good mother. In the griefs, in the consolations which life ma}- still bring to thee, thou wilt never forget her. But thou must recall her, love her, mourn her death, in a manner which is worthy of her. O my friend, hearken to me ! Death exists not ; it is nothing. It cannot even be understood. Life is life, and it fol- lows the law of life — progress. Yesterday thou hadst a mother on earth ; to-day thou hast an angel elsewhere. All that is good will survive the life of earth with increased power. Hence, also, the love of thy mother. She loves thee now more than ever. And thou art responsible for thy actions to her more, even, than before. It depends upon thee, upon thy actions, to meet her once more, to see her in another existence. Thou must, therefore, out of love and reverence for thy mother, grow better and cause her joy for thee. Henceforth thou must say to thyself at every act of thine, "Would my mother approve this?" Her transformation has placed a guardian angel in the world for thee, to whom thou must refer in all thy affairs, in everything that pertains to thee Be strong and brave ; fight against desperate and aiVIG VALOR. 223 vulgar grief; have the tranquillity of great suffering in great souls ; and that it is what she would have.' " " Garrone," added the teacher, "6e strong and tran* quil, for that is what she would have. Do you under- stand?" GaiTone nodded assent, while great and fast-flow- ing tears streamed over his hands, his copy-book, and tiis desk. CrVIC VALOR. (^Monthly Story.) At one o'clock we went with our schoolmaster to the front of the town-hall, to see the medal for civic valor bestowed on the lad who saved one of his com- rades 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 was visible a table with a red cover, and papers on it, and behind it a row of gilded chairs for the mayor and the council ; the ushers of the munici- pality were there, with their under-waistcoats of sky- blue and their white stockings. To the right of the courtyard a detachment of policemen, who had a great many medals, was drawn up in line ; and beside them a detachment of custom-house oflScers ; on the other side were the firemen in festive array ; and numerous soldiers not in line, who had come to look on, — cavalry- men, sharpshooters, artillery-men. Then all around were gentlemen, country people, and some officers and women and boys who had assembled. We crowded into a corner where many scholars from other build* 224 CIVIC VALOR. ings were already collected with their teachers; and near us was a group of boys belouging to the common people, between ten and eighteen years of age, who were talking and laughing loudly ; and we made out that they were all from Borgo Po, comrades or acquaint- ances of the boy who was to receive the medal. Above, all the windows were thronged with the employ- ees of the city government ; the balcony of the library 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 of military 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 was playing softly at the extremit}' of the portico. The sun beat down on the lofty walls. It was beautiful. All at once every one began to clap their hands, from the courtyard, from the balconies, from the win- dows. I raised myself on tiptoe to look. The crowd which stood behind the red table had parted, and a man and woman had come forward. The man was leading a boy bj' the hand. This was the lad who had saved his comrade. The man was his father, a mason, dressed in his best. The woman, his mother, small and blond, had on a black gown. The boy, also small and blond, had on a gray jacket. At the sight of all those people, and at the sound oi that thunder of applause, all three stood still, not dar- ing to look nor to move. A municipal usher pushed Vhem along to the side of the table on the right. CIVIC VALOR. 225 All remained quiet for a moment, and then one© more the applause broke out on all sides. The boy glanced up at the windows, and then at the balcony with the Daughters of military men; he held his cap in his hand, and did not seem to understand very thor- oughly where he was. It struck me that he looked a little like Coretti, in the face; but he was redder. 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 making motions to their comrade, to attract his attention, and hailing him in a low tone : Pin ! Pin ! Pinot! By dint of calling they made them- selves heard. 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 gen- tlemen. The mayor, all white, with a big tricolored scarf, placed himself beside the table, standing ; all the others took their places behind and beside him. The band ceased playing ; the mayor made a sign, and every one kept quiet. He began to speak. I did not understand the first words perfectly ; but I gathered that he was telling the story of the boy's feat. Then he raised his voice, and it rang out so clear and sonorous through the whole court, that I did not lose another word : " When he saw, from the shore, his comrade struggling in the river, already overcome with the fear of death, he tore the clothes from his back, and hastened to his assist- ance, without hesitating an instant. The}' shouted to him, ' You will be drowned ! * — he made no reply ; they caught hold of him — he freed himself; they called him CIVIC VALOR. by name — he was already in the water. The rivef was swollen ; the risk terrible, even for a man. But he flung himself to meet death with all the strength of his little body and of his great heart ; he reached the un- fortunate fellow and seized him just in time, when he was already under water, and dragged him to the sur- face ; he fought furiously with the waves, which strove to overwhelm him, with his companion who tried to cling to him ; and several times he disappeared beneath the water, and rose again with a desperate effort ; ob- stinate, invincible in his purpose, not like a boy who was trying to save another boy, but like a man, like a father who is struggling to save his son, who is his hope and his life. In short, God did not permit so generous a prowess to be displayed in vain. The child swimmer tore the victim from the gigantic river, and brought him to land, and with the assistance of others, rendered him his first succor; after which he returned home quietly and alone, and ingenuously nar- rated his deed. *' Gentlemen, beautiful, and worthy of veneration is heroism in a man ! But in a child, in whom there can be no prompting of ambition or of profit whatever ; in a child, who must have all the more ardor in proportion as he has less strength ; in a child, from whom we re- quire nothing, who is bound to nothing, who already appears to us so noble and lovable, not when he acts, but when he merely understands, and is grateful for the sacrifices of others ; — in a child, heroism is divine I I will say nothing more, gentlemen. I do not care to deck, with superfluous praises, such simple 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 youj CIVIC VALOR. 221 minds his visage, that it may 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 medal for civic valor." An extremely loud hurrah, uttered at the same mo» ment by many voices, made the palace ring. The mayor took the medal from the table, and fas* tened it on the boy's breast. Then he embraced and kissed him. The mother placed one hand over her 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 father and mother, keep you all your life in the path of virtue and honor ! Farewell ! " The mayor withdrew, the band struck up, and every- thing seemed to be at an end, when the detachment of firemen opened, and a lad of eight or nine years, pushed forwards by a woman who instantly concealed herself, rushed towards the boy with the decoration, and flung himself in his arms. Another outburst of hurrahs and applause made the courtyard echo ; every one had instantly understood that this was the boy who had been saved from 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 the father and mother following behind, took their way towards the door, making a path with difficulty among the people who formed in line to let them pass, — policemen, boys, soldiers, women, all mingled together in confusion. All pressed 228 (^lyiC VALOh. forwards and raised on tiptoe to st)e the boy. Those who stood near him as he passed, touched his hand. When he passed before the schoolboys, they all waved their caps in the air. Those from Borgo Po made a great uproar, pulling him by the arms and by his jacket and shouting, ''Pm/ hurrah for Pin! bravo, Pinot!** I saw him pass very close 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 father was twirling his mustache with one hand, which trembled violentl}', as though he had a fever. And from the windows and the balconies the people continued to lean out and applaud. All at once, when they were on the point of entering the portico, there descended from the balcony of the Daughters of mili- tary men a veritable shower of pansies, of bunches of violets and daisies, which fell upon the head of the boy, and of his father and mother, and scattered over the ground. Many people stooped to pick them up and hand them to the mother. And the band at the further end of the courtyard played, very, very softly, a most entrancing air, which seemed like a song by a great many silver}^ voices fading slowly into the distance ou the banks of a river. iiBlLPRElf WITH THE RICKETS. 229 MAT. CHILDREN WITH THE RICKETS. Friday, 5th. To-DAT I took a vacation, because I was not well, and my mother took me to the Institution for Chil- dren with the Rickets, whither she went to recommend a child belonging to our porter ; but she did not allow me to go into the school. You did not understand, Enrico, why I did not permit you to enter ? In order not to place before the eyes of those unfor- tunates, there in the midst of the school, as though on exhibi- tion, a healthy, robust boy : they have already but too many opportunities for making melancholy comparisons. What a sad thing ! Tears rushed from my heart when I entered. There were sixty of them, boys and girls. Poor tortured bones ! Poor hands, poor little shrivelled and distorted feet I Poor little deformed bodies ! I instantly perceived many charming faces, with eyes full of intelligence and affection. There was one little child's face with a pointed nose and a sharp chin, which seemed to belong to an old woman ; but it wore a smile of celestial sweetness. Some, viewed from the front, are handsome, and appear to be without defects ; but when they turn round — they cast a weight upon your «oul. The doctor was there, visiting them. He set them upright on their benches and pulled up their little garments, to feel their little swollen stomachs and enlarged joints ; but ihey felt not the least shame, poor creatures I it was evident 230 CHILDREN WITH THE RICKETS, that they were children who were used to being undressed, examined, turned round on all sides. And to think that they are now in the best stage of their malady, when they hardly suffer at all any more ! But who can say what they suffered during the first stage, while their bodies were under- going the process of deformation, when with the increase of their infirmity, they saw affection decrease around them, poor children ! saw themselves left alone for hour after hour in a corner of the room or the courtyard, badly nourished, and at times scoffed at, or tormented for months by ban- dages and by useless orthopedic apparatus ! Now, however, thanks to care and good food and gymnastic exercises, many are improving. Their schoolmistress makes them practise gymnastics. It was a pitiful sight to see them, at a certain command, extend aU those bandaged legs under the benches, squeezed as they were between splints, knotty and deformed ; legs which should have been covered with kisses! Some could not rise from the bench, and remained there, with their heads resting on their arms, caressing their crutches with their hands; others, on making the thrust with their arms, felt their breath fail them, and fell back on their seats, all pale; but they smiled to conceal their panting. Ah, Enrico! you other children do not prize your good health, and it seems to you so small a thing to be well I I thought of the strong and thriving lads, whom theii mothers carry about in triumph, proud of their beauty ; and I could have clasped all those poor little heads, I could have pressed them to my heart, in despair ; I could have said, had I been alone, " I will never stir from here again ; I wish to consecrate my life to you, to serve you, to be a mother to you all, to my last day." And in the meantime, they sang ; sang in peculiar, thin, sweet, sad voices, which pene- trated the soul ; and when their teacher praised them, they looked happy ; and as she passed among the benches, they kissed her hands and wrists ; for they are very grateful for what is done for them, and very affectionate. And these little angels have good minds, and study well, the teacher told me. The teacher is young and gentle, with a face full SACRIFICE. 231 of kindness, a certain expression of sadness, like a reflection of the misfortunes which she caresses and comforts. The dear girl ! Among all the human creatures who earn their livelihood by toil, there is not one who earns it more holily than thou, my daughter 1 Thy Mothkr. SACRIFICE. Tuesday, 9th. My mother is good, and my sister Silvia is like hei, and has a large and noble heart. Yesterday evening I was copying a part of the monthly story, From the Apennines to the Andes ^ — which the teacher has distributed among us all in small portions to copy, because it is so long, — when Silvia entered on tiptoe, and said to me hastily, and in a low voice : "Come to mamma with me. I heard them talking together this morning : some affair has gone wrong with papa, and he was sad ; mamma was encouraging him : we are in diflSculties — do you understand? We have no more money. Papa said that it would be necessary to make some sacrifices in order to recover himself. Now we must make sacrifices, too, must we not? Are you read}' to do it? Well, I will speak to mamma, and do you nod assent, and promise her on your honor that you will do everything that I shall say." Having said this, she took me by the hand and led me to our mother, who was sewing, absorbed in thought. I sat down on one end of the sofa, Silvia on the other, and she immediately said : — *' Listen, mamma, I have something to say to you. Both of us have something to say to you." Mamma stared at us in surprise, and Silvia began : — " Papa has no money, has he ? " 232 SACRIFICE. ** What are you saying ? " replied mamma, turning crimson. "Has he not indeed! What do you know •bout it? Who has told you? " *' I know it," said Silvia, resolutely. *' Well, then, listen, mamma ; we must make some sacrifices, too. You promised me a fan at the end of May, and Enrico expected his box of paints ; we don't want anything now ; we don't want to waste a soldo ; we shall be just as well pleased — you understand ? " Mamma tried to speak; but Silvia said: "No; it must be thus. We have decided. And until papa has money again, we don't want any fruit or anything else ; broth will be enough for us, and we will eat bread in the morning for breakfast : thus we shall spend less on the table, for we already spend too much ; and we promise you that you will always find us perfectly contented. Is it not so, Enrico? " I replied that it was. " Always perfectly con- tented," repeated Silvia, closing mamma's mouth with one hand. " And if there are any other sacrifices to be made, either in the matter of clothing or anything else, we wiU make them gladly ; and we wiU even sell our presents ; I will give up all my things, I will serve you as your maid, we will not have anything done out of the house any more, I will work all da}^ long with you, I will do everything you wish, I am ready for anything ! For anything ! " she exclaimed, throwing her arms around my mother's neck, "if papa and mamma can only be saved further troubles, if I can only behold you both once more at ease, and in good spirits, as in former days, between your Silvia and your Enrico, who love you so dearly, who would give their lives for you ! " Ah ! T have never seen my mother so happy as sIm THE FIRE. 293 was on hearing these words ; she never before kissed us on the brow in that way, weeping and laughing, and incapable of speech. And then she assured Silvia that she had not understood rightly ; that we were not in the least reduced in circumstances, as she imagined ; and she thanked us a hundred times, and was cheerful all the evening, until my father came in, when she told him all about it. He did not open his mouth, poor father! But this morning, as we sat at the table, I felt at once both a great pleasure and a great sad- ness : under my napkin I found my box of colors, and under hers, Silvia found her fan. THE FIRE. Thursday, 11th. This morning I had finished copying my share of thi story, From the Apennines to the Andes ^ and was seek- ing for a theme for the independent composition which the teacher had assigned us to write, when I heard an unusual talking on the stairs, and shortly after two firem^ entered the house, and asked permission of my father to inspect the stoves and chimneys, because a smoke-pipe was on fire on the roof, and they could not tell to whom it belonged. My father said, "Pray do so." And although we had no fire burning an}^ where, they began to make the round of our apartments, and to lay their ears to the walls, to hear if the fire was roaring in the flues which run up to the other floors of the house. And while they were going through the rooms, my faftier said to me, " Here is a theme for your compo- sition, Enrico, — the firemen. Try to write down whal I am about to tell you. 234 THE FIRE. " I saw them at work two years ago, one evening, when I was coming out of the Balbo Theatre late at night. On entering the Via Roma, I saw an unusual light, and a crowd of people collecting. A house was on fire. Tongues of flame and clouds of smoke were bursting from the windows and the roof ; men and women appeared at the windows and then disappeared, uttering shrieks of despair. There was a dense throng in front of the door : the crowd was shouting : ' They will be burned alive ! Help ! The firemen ! * At that moment a carriage arrived, four firemen sprang out of it — the first who had reached the town-hall — and rushed into the house. They had hardly gone in when a horrible thing happened : a woman ran to a window of the third story, with a yell, clutched the balcony, climbed down it, and remained suspended, thus cling- ing, almost suspended in space, with her back out- wards, bending beneath the flames, which flashed out from the room and almost licked her head. The crowd uttered a cry of horror. The firemen, who had been stopped on the second floor by mistake by the terrified lodgers, had already broken through a wall and pre- cipitated themselves into a room, when a hundred shouts gave them warning : — *' ' On the thu'd floor ! On the third floor ! * *'They flew to the third floor. There there was an infernal uproar, — beams from the roof crashing in, cor- ridors filled with a suffocating smoke. In order to reach the rooms where the lodgers were imprisoned, there was no other way left but to pass over the roof. They in- stantly sprang upon it, and a moment later something which resembled a black phantom appeared on the tiles, in the midst of the smoke. It was the corporal, who had been the first to arrive. But in order to get from THE FIRE, 285 the roof to the small set of rooms cut off by the fire, he was forced to pass over an extremely narrow space comprised between a dormer window and the eaves^ trough : all the rest was in flames, and that tiny space was covered with snow and ice, and there was no place to hold on to. *' 'It is impossible for him to pass!' shouted the crowd below. '' The corporal advanced along the edge of the roof. All shuddered, and began to observe him with bated breath. He passed. A tremendous hurrah rose towards heaven. The corporal resumed his way, and on ar- riving at the point which was threatened, he began to break away, with furious blows of his axe, beams, tiles, and rafters, in order to open a hole through which he might descend within. "In the meanwhile, the woman was still suspended outside the window. The fire raged with increased violence over her head ; another moment, and she would have fallen into the street. "The hole was opened. We saw the corporal pull off his shoulder-belt and lower himself inside : the other firemen, who had arrived, followed. " At that instant a very lofty Porta ladder, which had just q,rrived, was placed against the entablature of the house, m front of the windows whence issued flames, and howls, as of maniacs. But it seemed as though they were too late. " ' No one can be saved now ! ' they shouted. ' The firemen are burning ! The end has come ! They are dead ! ' "All at once the black form of the corporal made its appearance at the window with the balcony, lighted up by the flames overhead. The woman clasped him 236 THE FIRE. round the neck ; he caught her round the body with both arms, drew her up, and laid her down inside the room. "The crowd set up a shout a thousand voices strong, which rose above the roar of the conflagration. " But the others? And how were they to get down? The ladder which leaned against the roof on the front of another window was at a good distance from them. How could they get hold of it ? " While the people were saying this to themselves, one of the firemen stepped out of the window, set his right foot on the window-sill and his left on the ladder, and standing thus upright in the air, he grasped the lodgers, one after the other, as the other men handed them to him from within, passed them on to a comrade, who had climbed up from the street, and who, after securing a firm grasp for them on the rungs, sent them down, one after the other, with the assistance of more fire- men. "First came the woman of the balcony, then a baby, then another woman, then an old man. All were saved. After the old man, the fireman who had remained inside descended. The last to come down was the cor- poral who had been the first to hasten up. The crowd received them all with a burst of applause ; but when the last made his appearance, the vanguard of the rescuers, the one who had faced the abyss in advance of the rest, the one who would have perished had it been fated that one should perish, the crowd saluted him like a conqueror, shouting and stretching out their arras, with an affectionate impulse of admiration and of gratitude, and in a few minutes his obscure name — Giuseppe Robbino — rang from a thousand throats. "Have you understood? That is courage — the courage of the heart, which does not reason, whicb FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES- 231 does not waver, which dashes blindly on, like a light- ning flash, wherever it hears the cry of a dying man. One of these days I will take you to the exercises of the firemen, and I will point out to you Corporal Rob- bino ; for you would be very glad to know him, would you not ? " I replied that I should. " Here he is," said my father. I turned round with a start. The two firemen, hav- ing completed their inspection, were traversing the room in order to reach the door. My father pointed to the smaller of the men, who had straps of gold braid, and said, " Shake hands with Corporal Robbino.'* The corporal halted, and offered me his hand ; I pressed it ; he made a salute and withdrew. " And bear this well in mind," said my father ; " for out of the thousands of hands which you will shake in the course of your life there will probably not be ten which possess the worth of his." FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. {Monthly Story.) Many years ago a Genoese lad of thirteen, the son of a workingman, went from Genoa to America all alone to seek his mother. His mother had gone two years before to Buenos Ay res, a city, the capital of the Argentine Republic, to take service in a wealthy family, and to thus earn in a short time enough to place her family once more in easy circumstances, they having fallen, through 238 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES, various misfortunes, into poverty and debt. There are courageous women — not a few — who take this long voj'age with this object in view, and who, thanks to the large wages which people in service receive there, return home at the end of a few years with several thousand lire. The poor mother had wept tears of blood at parting from her children, — the one aged eighteen, the other, eleven ; but she had set out cour- ageously and filled with hope. The voyage was prosperous: she had no sooner arrived at Buenos Ayres than she found, through a Genoese shopkeeper, a cousin of her husband, who had been established there for a very long time, a good Argentine family, which gave high wages and treated her well. And for a short time she kept up a regular correspondence with her family. As it had been set- tled between them, her husband addressed his letters to his cousin, who transmitted them to the woman, anu the latter handed her replies to him, and he de- spatched them to Genoa, adding a few lines of his own. As she was earning eighty lire a month and spending nothing for herself, she sent home a hand- some sum every three months, with which her husband, who was a man of honor, gradually paid off their most urgent debts, and thus regained his good reputation. And in the meantime, he worked away and was satis- fied with the state of his affairs, since he also cherished the hope that his wife would shortly return ; for the house seemed empty without her, and the younger son in particular, who was extremely attached to his mother, was very much depressed, and could not resign himself to having her so far away. But a year had elapsed since they had parted ; aftef a brief letter, in which she said that her health was not FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 239 very good, they heard nothing more. They wrote twice to the cousin ; the cousin did not reply. They wrote to the Argentine family where the woman was at ser- vice ; but it is possible that the letter never reached them, for they had distorted the name in addressing it j they received no answer. Fearing a misfortune, they wrote to the Italian Consulate at Buenos Ayres to have inquiries made, and after a lapse of three months they received a response from the consul, that in spite of advertisements in the newspapers no one had pre- sented herself nor sent any word. And it could not have happened otherwise, for this reason if for no other : that with the idea of sparing the good name of her family, which she fancied she was discrediting by becoming a servant, the good woman had not given her real name to the Argentine family. Several months more passed by; no news. The father and sons were in consternation ; the youngest was oppressed by a melancholy which he could not con- quer. What was to be done ? To whom should they have recourse ? The father's first thought had been to set out, to go to America in search of his wife. But his work ? Who would support his sons ? And neither could the eldest son go, for he had just then begun to earn something, and he was necessary to the family. And in this anxiety they lived, repeating each day the same sad speeches, or gazing at each other in silence ; when, one evening, Marco, the youngest, declared with decision, "I am going to America to look for my mother." His father shook his head sadly and made no reply. It was an affectionate thought, but an impossible thing. To make a journe}^ to America, which required a month, alone, at the age of thirteen ! But the boy patiently 240 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. insisted. He persisted that day, the day after, every day, with great calmness, reasoning with the good sense of a man. "Others have gone thither," he said ; "and smaller boys than I, too. Once on board the ship, I shall get there like anybody else. Once arrived there, I only have to hunt up our cousin's shop. There are plenty of Italians there who will show me the street. After finding our cousin, my mother is found ; and if I do not find him, I will go to the con- sul : I will search out that Argentine family. What- ever happens, there is work for all there ; I shall find work also ; sufficient, at least, to earn enough to get home." And thus little by little he almost succeeded in persuading his father. His father esteemed him ; he knew that he had good judgment and courage ; that he was inured to privations and to sacrifices ; and that all these good qualities had acquired double force in his heart in consequence of the sacred project of finding his mother, whom he adored. In addition to this, the captain of a steamer, the friend of an acquaintance of his, having heard the plan mentioned, undertook to procure a free third-class passage for the Argentine Republic. And then, after a little hesitation, the father gave his consent. The voyage was decided on. They filled a sack with clothes for him, put a few crowns in hia pocket, and gave him the address of the cousin ; and one fine evening in April they saw him on board. " Marco, my son," his father said to him, as he gave him his last kiss, with tears in his eyes, on the steps of the steamer, which was on the point of starting, "take courage. Thou hast set out on a holy undertaking, and God will aid thee." Poor Marco! His heart was strong and prepared FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 241 for the hardest trials of this voyage ; but when he be- held his beautiful Genoa disappear on the horizon, and found himself on the open sea on that huge steamer thronged with emigrating peasants, alone, unacquainted with any one, with that little bag which held his entke fortune, a sudden discouragement assailed him. For two days he remained crouching like a dog on the bows, hardly eating, and oppressed with a great desire to weep. Every description of sad thoughts passed through his mind, and the saddest, the most terrible, was the one which was the most persistent in its re- turn, — the thought that his mother was dead. In his broken and painful slumbers he constantly beheld a strange face, which surveyed him with an air of com- passion, and whispered in his ear, "Your mother is dead ! " And then he awoke, stifling a shriek. Nevertheless, after passing the Straits of Gibraltar, at the first sight of the Atlantic Ocean he recovered his spirits a little, and his hope. But it was only a brief respite. That vast but always smooth sea, the increas- ing heat, the misery of all those poor people who sur- rounded him, the consciousness of his own solitude, overwhelmed him once more. The empty and monoto- nous days which succeeded each other became con- founded in his memory, as is the case with sick people. It seemed to him that he had been at sea a year. And every morning, on waking, he felt surprised afresh at finding himself there alone on that vast watery expanse, on his way to America. The beautiful flying fish which fell on deck every now and then, the marvellous sun- sets of the tropics, with their enormous clouds colored like flame and blood, and those nocturnal phospho- rescences which make the ocean seem all on fire like a sea of lava, did not produce on him the effect of real 242 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES, things, but of marvels beheld in a dream. There were days of bad weather, during which he remained con- stantly in the dormitory, where everything was rolling and crashing, in the midst of a temble chorus of lamen- tations and imprecations, and he thought that his last hour had come. There were other days, when the sea was calm and yellowish, of insupportable heat, of infinite tediousness ; interminable and wretched hours, during which the enervated passengers, stretched motionless on the planks, seemed all dead. And the voyage was endless : sea and sky, sky and sea ; to-day the same as yesterday, to-morrow like to-day, and so on, always, eternally. And for long hours he stood leaning on the bulwarks, gazing at that intenninable sea in amazement, thinking vaguely of his mother, until his eyes closed and his head was drooping with sleep ; and then again he beheld that unknown face which gazed upon him with an air of compassion, and repeated in his ear, ^' Your mother is dead ! " and at the sound of that voice he awoke with a start, to resume his dreaming with wide- open eyes, and to gaze at the unchanging horizon. The voyage lasted twenty -seven days. But the last days were the best. The weather was fine, and the air cool. He had made the acquaintance of a good old man, a Lombard, who was going to America to find his son, an agriculturist in the vicinity of the town of Rosario ; he had told him his whole story, and the old man kept repeating ever}- little while, as he tapped him on the nape of the neck with his hand, " Courage, my lad ; you will find your mother well and happy." This companionship comforted him ; his sad present- iments were turned into joyous ones. Seated on the bow, beside the aged peasant, who was smoking his FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 243 pipe, beneath the beautiful stariy heaven, in the midst of a group of singing peasants, he imagined to himself in his own mind a hundred times his arrival at Buenos Ayres ; he saw himself in a certain street ; he found the shop, he flew to his cousin. " How is my mother? Come, let us go at once! Let us go at once ! " They hurried on together ; they ascended a staircase ; a door opened. And here his mute solil- oquy came to an end ; his imagination was swallowed up in a feeling of inexpressible tenderness, which made him secretly pull forth a little medal that he wore on his neck, and murmur his prayers as he kissed it. On the twenty-seventh day after their departure they arrived. It was a beautiful, rosy May morning, when the steamer cast anchor in the immense river of the Plata, near the shore along which stretches the vast city of Buenos Ayres, the capital of the Argentine Re- public. This splendid weather seemed to him to be a good augury. He was beside himself with jo}^ and im- patience. His mother was only a few miles from him ! In a few hours more he would have seen her ! He was in America, in the new world, and he had had the dar- ing to come alone ! The whole of that extremely long voyage now seemed to him to have passed in an in- stant. It seemed to him that he had flown hither in a dream, and that he had that moment waked. And he was so happy, that he hardly experienced any surprise or distress when he felt in his pockets and found only one of the two little heaps into which he had divided his little treasure, in order to be the more sure of not losing the whole of it. He had been robbed ; he had only a few lire left ; but what mattered that to him, when he was near his mother ? With his* bag in his 244 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. hand, he descended, in company with many other Ital- ians, to the tug-boat which carried him within a short distance of the shore ; clambered down from the tug into a boat which bore the name of Andrea Doria; was landed on the wharf ; saluted his old Lombard friend, and directed his course, in long strides, towards the city. On arriving at the entrance of the first street, he stopped a man who was passing by, and begged him to show him in what direction he should go in order to reach the street of los Artes. He chanced to have stopped an Italian workingman. The latter surve3'ed him with curiosit}', and inquired if he knew how to read. The lad nodded, '' Yes." " Well, then," said the laborer, pointing to the street from which he had just emerged, "keep straight on through there, reading the names of all the streets on the corners ; you will end by finding the one ^ou want." The boy thanked him, and turned into the street which opened before him. It was a straight and endless but narrow street, bor- dered by low white houses, which looked like so many little villas, filled with people, with carriages, with carts which made a deafening noise ; here and there floated enormous banners of various hues, with an- nouncements as to the departure of steamers for sti'ange cities inscribed upon them in large letters. At every little distance along the street, on the right and left, he perceived two other streets which ran straight away as far as he could see, also bordered by low white houses, filled with people and vehicles, and bounded at their extremity bj^ the level line of the measureless plains of Ajnerica, like the horiaon at sea. The city seemed in' FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES, 245 finite to him ; it seemed to him that he might wander for days or weeks, seeing other streets like these, on one hand and on the other, and that all America must be covered with them. He looked attentively at the names of the streets : strange names which cost him an effort to read. At every fresh street, he felt his heart beat, at the thought that it was the one he was in search of. He stared at all the women, with the thought that he might meet his mother. He caught sight of one in front of him who made his blood leap ; he overtook ner : she was a negro. And accelerating his pace, he walked on and on. On arriving at the cross-street, he read, and stood as though rooted to the sidewalk. It was the street del los Artes. He turned into it, and saw the number 117 ; his cousin's shop was No. 175. He quickened his pace still more, and almost ran ; at No. 171 he had to pause to regain his breath. And he said to himself, ' ' O my mother ! my mother ! It is really true that I shall see you in another moment ! " He ran on ; he arrived at a little haberdasher's shop. This was it. He stepped up close to it. He saw a woman with gray hair and spectacles. " What do you want, boy?" she asked him in Span- ish. *' Is not this," said the boy, making an effort to utter a sound, ' ' the shop of Francesco Merelli ? " " Francesco Merelli is dead," replied the woman in Italian. The boy felt as though he had received a blow on his breast. "When did he die?" "Eh? quite a while ago," replied the woman. "Months ago. His affairs were in a bad state, and he ran away. They say he went to Bahia Blanca, vexw 246 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. far from here. And he died just after he reached there. The shop is mine." The boy turned pale. Then he said quickly, " Merelli knew my mother; my mother who was at service with Signor Mequinez. He alone could tell me where she is. I have come to America to find my mother. Merelli sent her our let- ters. I must find my mother." '' Poor boy ! " said the woman ; " I don't know. I can ask the boy in the courtyard. He knew the young man wlio did Merelli's errands. He may be able to tell us something." She went to the end of the shop and called the lad, who came instantly. ''Tell me," asked the shop^ woman, '' do you remember whether Merelli's young man went occasionally to carry letters to a woman in service, in the house of the son of the country f "To Signor Mequinez," replied the lad; "yes, sig- nora, sometimes he did. At the end of the street del las Artes." "Ah! thanks, signora ! " cried Marco. "Tell me the number ; don't you know it ? Send some one with me ; come with me instantly, my boy ; I have still a few soldi." And he said this with so much warmth, that without waiting for the woman to request him, the boy replied, " Come," and at once set out at a rapid pace. They proceeded almost at a run, without uttering a word, to the end of the extremely long street, made their way into the entrance of a little white house, and halted in front of a handsome iron gate, through which they could see a small yard, filled with vases of ^weifu Marco gave a tug at the bell. A young lady made her appearance. FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 247 "The Mequinez family lives here, does it not?" demanded the lad anxiously. "They did live here," replied the young lady, pro- nouncing her Italian in Spanish fashion. " Now we, the Zeballos, live here." "And where have the Mequinez gone?" asked Marco, his heart palpitating. " They have gone to Cordova." " Cordova ! " exclaimed Marco. " Where is Cor- dova? And the person whom they had in their ser- vice? The woman, my mother! Their servant was my mother ! Have they taken my mother away, too ? " The young lady looked at him and said : '' I do not know. Perhaps my father may know, for he knew them when they went away. Wait a moment." She ran away, and soon returned with her father, a tall gentleman, with a gray beard. He looked intently for a minute at this sympathetic type of a little Genoese sailor, with his golden hair and his aquiline nose, and asked him in broken Italian, " Is your mother a Genoese ? " Marco replied that she was. "Well then, the Genoese maid went with them; that I know for certain." " And where have they gone? " " To Cordova, a city." The boy gave vent to a sigh; then he said with resignation, " Then I will go to Cordova." " Ah, poor child ! " exclaimed the gentleman in Spanish ; " poor boy ! Cordova is hundreds of miles from here." Marco turned as white as a corpse, and clung with one hand to the railings. **Let us see, let us see," said ttie gentleman, moved 248 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. to pity, and opening the door; ^'come inside a moment; let us see if an3^thing can be done." He sat down, gave the boy a seat, and made him tell his story, listened to it very attentively, meditated a little, then said resolutely, "You have no money, have you?" '' I still have some, a little," answered Marco. The gentleman reflected for five minutes more ; then seated himself at a desk, wrote a letter, sealed it, and handing it to the boy, he said to him : — " Listen to me, little Italian. Take this letter to Boca. That is a little city which is half Genoese, and lies two hours' journey from here. Any one will be able to show you the road. Go there and find the gentleman to whom this letter is addi*essed, and whom every one knows. Carry the letter to him. He will send you off to the town of Rosario to-morrow, and will recommend you to some one there, who will think out a way of enabling you to pursue your journey to Cordova, where you will find the Mequinez family and your mother. In the meanwhile, take this." And he placed in his hand a few lire. " Go, and keep up your courage ; you will find fellow-countrymen of yours in every direction, and you will not be deserted. Adios !'* The boy said, " Thanks," without finding any other words to express himself, went out with his bag, and having taken leave of his little guide, he set out slowly in the direction of Boca, filled with sorrow and amaze- ment, across that great and noisy town. Everything that happened to him from that moment nntil the evening of that day ever afterwards lingered in his memory in a confused and uncertain form, like the wild vagaries of a person in a fever, so weary was be, so troubled, so despondent. And at nightfall on FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES, 249 the following day, after having slept over night in a poor little chamber in a house in Boca, beside a harbor porter, after having passed nearly the whole of that day seated on a pile of beams, and, as in delirium, in sight of thousands of ships and boats and tugs, he found himself on the poop of a large sailing vessel, loaded with fruit, which was setting out for the town of Rosario, managed by three robust Genoese, who were bronzed by the sun ; and their voices and the dialect which they spoke put a little comfort into his heart once more. They set out, and the voyage lasted three days and four nights, and it was a continual amazement to the little traveller. Three days and four nights on that wonderful river Parang, in comparison with which our great Po is but a rivulet ; and the length of Italy quadrupled does not equal that of its course. The barge advanced slowly against this immeasurable mass of water. It threaded its way among long islands, once the haunts of serpents and tigers, covered with orange-trees and willows, like floating coppices ; now they passed through narrow canals, from which it seemed as though they could never issue forth ; now they sailed out on vast expanses of water, having the aspect of great tranquil lakes ; then among islands again, through the intricate channels of an archipelago, amid enormous masses of vegetation. A profound silence reigned. For long stretches the shores and very vast and solitary waters produced the impression of an unknown stream, upon which this poor little sail was the first in all the world to venture itself. The further they advanced, the more this monstrous river dismayed him. He imagined that his mother was at its source, and that their navigation must last foi 250 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. years. Twice a day he ate a little bread and salted meat with the boatmen, who, perceiving that he was sad, never addressed a word to him. At night he slept on deck and woke every little while with a start, astounded by the limpid light of the moon, which sil- vered the immense expanse of water and the distant shores; and then his heart sank within him. ''Cor- dova!" He repeated that name, ''Cordova!" like the name of one of those mysterious cities of which he had heard in fables. But then he thought, "My mother passed this spot ; she saw these islands, these shores ; " and then these places upon which the glance of his mother had fallen no longer seemed strange and solitary to him. At night one of the boatmen sang. That voice reminded him of his mother's songs, when she had lulled him to sleep as a little child. On the last night, when he heard that song, he sobbed. The boatman inteiTupted his song. Then he cried, "Courage, courage, my son! What the deuce! A Genoese crying because he is far from home ! The Genoese make the circuit of the world, glorious and triumphant ! " And at ^hese words he shook himself, he heard the voice of the Genoese blood, and he raised his head aloft with pride, dashing his fist down on the rudder. "Well, yes," he said to himself; "and if I am also obliged to travel for years and years to come, all over the world, and to traverse hundreds of miles on foot, I will go on until I find my mother, were I to arrive in a dying condition, and fall dead at her feet ! If only I can see her once again ! Courage ! " And with this frame of mind he arrived at daybreak, on a cool and rosy morning, in front of the cit}' of Rosario, situated on the high bank of the Parang, where the beflagged f'KOM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 251 yards of a hundred vessels of every land were mirrored in the waves. Shortly after landing, he went to the town, bag in hand, to seek an Argentine gentleman for whom his protector in Boca had intrusted him with a visiting- card, with a few words of recommendation. On entering Rosario, it seemed to him that he was coming into a city with which he was already familiar. There were the straight, interminable streets, bordered with low white houses, traversed in all directions above the roofs by great bundles of telegraph and telephone wires, which looked like enormous spiders' webs ; and a great confusion of people, of horses, and of vehicles. His head grew confused ; he almost thought that he had got back to Buenos Ayres, and must hunt up his cousin once more. He wandered about for nearly an hour, making one turn after another, and seeming always to come back to the same street ; and by dint of inquiring, he found the house of his new protector. He pulled the bell. There came to the door a big, light-haired, gruff man, who had the air of a steward, and who demanded awkwardly, with a foreign ac- cent : — *' What do you want?" The boy mentioned the name of his patron^ " The master has gone away," replied the steward; " he set out yesterday afternoon for Buenos Ayres, with his whole family." The boy was left speechless. Then he stammered, " But I — I have no one here ! I am alone ! " and he offered the card. The steward took it, read it, and said surlily : " T don't know what to do for you. I'll give it to him when he returns a month hence." 252 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. '' But I, I am alone ; I am in need ! " exclaimed the lad, in a supplicating voice. '* Eh? come now," said the other ; " just as though there were not a plenty of your sort from your country in Rosario ! Be off, and do your begging in Italy ! " And he slammed the door in his face. The boy stood there as though he had been turned to stone. Then he picked up his bag again slowly, and went out, his heart torn with anguish, with his mind in a whirl, assailed all at once by a thousand anxious thoughts. What was to be done? Where was he to go? From Rosario to Cordova was a day's journey, by rail. He had only a few lire left. After deducting what he should be obliged to spend that day, he would have next to nothing left. Where was he to find the money to pay hie fare ? He could work — but how ? To whom should he apply for work? Ask alms? Ah, no ! To be repulsed, insulted, humiliated, as he had been a little while ago ? No ; never, never more — rather would he die ! And at this idea, and at the sight of the very long street which was lost in the distance of the bound- less plain, he felt his courage desert him once more, flung his bag on the sidewalk, sat down with his back against the wall, and bent his head between his hands, in an attitude of despair. People jostled him with their feet as they passed ; the vehicles filled the road with noise ; several boyfl stopped to look at him. He remained thus for a while. Then he was staitled by a voice saying to him in a mixture of Italian and Lombard dialect, '' What is tha matter, little boy ? " He raised his face at these words, and instantly sprang to his feet, uttering an exclamation of wonder ; "You here!" FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 253 It was the old Lombard peasant with whom he had struck up a friendship during the voyage. The amazement of the peasant was no loss than his own ; but the boy did not leave him time to question him, and he rapidly recounted the state of his affairs. " Now I am without a soldo. I must go to work. Find me work, that I may get together a few lire. I will do anything ; I will carry rubbish, I will sweep the streets ; I can run on errands, or even work in the country ; I am content to live on black bread ; but only let it be so that I may set out quickly, that I may find my mother once more. Do me this charity, and find me work, find me work, for the love of God, for I can do no more ! " ''The deuce ! the deuce ! " said the peasant, looking about him, and scratching his chin. " What a story is this ! . To work, to work ! — that is soon said. Let us look about a little. Is there no way of finding thirty lire among so many fellow-countrymen ? " The boy looked at him, consoled by a ray of hope. " Come with me," said the peasant. "Where?" asked the lad, gathering up his bag again. " Come with me." The peasant started on ; Marco followed him. They traversed a long stretch of street together without speaking. The peasant halted at the door of an inn which had for its sign a star, and an inscription be- neath. The Star of Italy. He thrust his face in, and turning to the boy, he said cheerfully, " We have arrived at just the right moment." They entered a large room, where there were numer- ous tables, and many men seated, drinking and talking loudly. The old Lombard approached the first table, 254 FROM TBS APENNINES TO THE ANDES. and from the manner in which he saluted the sis guests who were gathered around it, it was evident that he had been in their company until a short time previously. They were red in the face, and were clinking their glasses, and vociferating and laughing. " Comrades," said the Lombard, without any pref- ace, remaining on his feet, and presenting Marco, '* here is a poor lad, our fellow-countryman, who has come alone from Genoa to Buenos Ayres to seek his mother. At Buenos Ayres they told him, ' She is not here ; she is in Cordova.' He came in a bark to Rosario, three days and three nights on the way, with a couple of lines of recommendation. He presents th< card ; they make an ugly face at him : he hasn't f centesimo to bless himself with. He is here alone ani in despair. He is a lad full of heart. Let us see w bit. Can't we find enough to pay for his ticket to gG to Cordova in search of his mother ? Are we to leav* him here like a dog?" " Never in the world, by Heavens ! That shall nevel be said ! " they all shouted at once, hammering on tha table with their fists. *' A fellow-countryman of ours ! Come hither, little fellow ! We are emigrants ! Sea what a handsome young rogue ! Out with your cop* pers, comrades ! Bravo ! Come alone ! He has dar- ing ! Drink a sup, patriotta ! We'll send you to your mother ; never fear ! " And one pinched his cheek, another slapped him on the shoulder, a third relieved him of his bag ; other emigrants rose from the neigh- boring tables, and gathered about; the boy's story made the round of the inn ; three Argentine guests hur- ried in from the adjoining room ; and in less than ten minutes the Lombard peasant, who was passing round the hat, had collected forty-two lure. P'ROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 255 "Do you see," he then said, turning to the boy, " how fast things are done in America ? " " Drink ! '* cried another to him, offering him a glass of wine ; " to the health of your mother ! " AH raised their glasses, and Marco repeated, "To the health of my — " But a sob of joy choked him, and, setting the glass on the table, he flung himself on the old man's neck. At daybreak on the following morning he set out for Cordova, ardent and smiling, filled with presentiments of happiness. But there is no cheerfulness that rules for long in the face of certain sinister aspects of nature. The weather was close and dull; the train, which was nearly empty, ran through an immense plain, destitute of every sign of habitation. He found himself alone in a very long car, which resembled those on trains for the wounded. He gazed to the right, he gazed to the left, and he saw nothing but an endless solitude, strewn with tiny, deformed trees, with contorted trunks and branches, in attitudes such as were never seen before, almost of wrath and anguish, and a sparse and melancholy vegetation, which gave to the plain the aspect of a ruined cem- etery. He dozed for half an hour ; then resumed his survey : the spectacle was still the same. The railway stations were deserted, like the dwellings of hermits ; and when the train stopped, not a sound was heard ; it seemed to him that he was alone in a lost train, abandoned in the middle of a desert. It seemed to him as though each statiou must be the last, and that he should then enter the mysterious regions of the savages. An icy breeze nipped his face. On em- barking at Genoa, towards the end of April, it had 256 J'ROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES, not occurred to him that he should find winter ii America, and he was di'essed for summer. After several hours of this he began to suffer frou cold, and in connection with the cold, from the fatigue of the days he had recently passed through, filled as they had been with violent emotions, and from sleep* less and harassing nights. He fell asleep, slept 8 long time, and awoke benumbed ; he felt ill. Then a vague terror of falling ill, of dying on the journey, seized upon him ; a fear of being thrown out there, in the middle of that desolate prairie, where his bodj would be torn in pieces by dogs and birds of prey, like the corpses of horses and cows which he had caught sight of every now and then beside the track, and from which he had turned aside his eyes in dis* gust. In this state of anxious illness, in the midst of that dark silence of nature, his imagination gre^ excited, and looked on the dark side of things. "Was he quite sure, after all, that he should find his mother at Cordova? And what if she had not gone there ? What if that gentleman in the Via del los Artes had made a mistake ? And what if she were dead ? Thug meditating, he fell asleep again, and dreamed that he was in Cordova, and it was night, and that he heard criet from all the doors and all the windows : " She is not here ! She is not here ! She is not here ! " Thij roused him with a start, in terror, and he saw at th< other end of the car three bearded men enveloped ii shawls of various colors who were staring at him anc talking together in a low tone ; and the suspicioi flashed across him that they were assassins, and tha they wanted to kill him for the sake of stealing hi bag. Fear was added to his consciousness of illnea axxd to the cold ; his fancy, already perturbed, becam FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 251 distorted: the three men kept on staring at himj one of them moved towards him ; then his reason wan* dered, and rushing towards him with arms wide open, he shrieked, "I have nothing; I am a poor boy; ] have come from Italy ; I am in quest of my mother ; ] am alone : do not do me any harm ! ** They instantly understood the situation ; they tooh compassion on him, caressed and soothed him, speak- ing to him many words which he did not hear nor com- prehend ; and perceiving that his teeth were chatter- ing with cold, they wrapped one of their shawls around him, and made him sit down again, so that he might go to sleep. And he did fall asleep once more, when the twilight was descending. When they aroused him, he was at Cordova. Ah, what a deep breath he drew, and with what impetuosity he flew from the car! He inquired of one of the station employees where the house of the engineer Mequinez was situated ; the latter mentioned the name of a church ; it stood beside the church : the boy hastened away. It was night. He entered the city, and it seemed to him that he was entering Rosario once more ; that he again beheld those straight streets, flanked with little white houses, and intersected by other very long and straight streets. But there were very few people, and under the light of the rare street lanterns, he en- countered strange faces of a hue unknown to him, between black and greenish ; and raising his head fron: time to time, he beheld churches of bizarre architectun which were outlined black and vast against the sky. The city was dark and silent, but after having trav- ersed that immense desert, it appeared lively to him He inquired his way of a priest, speedily found thf 258 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES, church and the house, pulled the bell with one trem* bling hand, and pressed the other on his breast to re« press the beating of his heart, which was leaping Inta his throat. An old woman, with a light in her hand, opened the door. The boy could not speak at once. *'Whom do you want?'* demanded the dame in Spanish. "The engineer Mequinez," replied Marco. The old woman made a motion to cross her arms on her breast, and replied, with a shake of the head : "So you, too, have dealings with the engineer Mequinez I It strikes me that it is time to stop this. We have been worried for the last three months. It is not enough that the newspapers have said it. We shall have to have it printed on the corner of the street, that Signor Mequinez has gone to live at Tucuman ! " The boy gave way to a gesture of despair. Then he gave way to an outburst of passion. " So there is a curse upon me ! I am doomed to die on the road, without having found my mother ! I shall go mad ! I shall kill myself ! My God ! what is the name of that country? Where is it? At what dis- tance is it situated ? " "Eh, poor boy," replied the old woman, moved to pity; "a mere trifle! We are four or five hundred miles from there, at least." The boy covered his face with his hands ; then he asked with a sob, " And now what am I to do ! ** "What am I to say to you, my poor child?" re- sponded the dame : " I don't know." But «5uddenly an idea struck her, and she added has- iilv » " Listen, now that I think of it. There is one FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 259 thing that you can do. Go down this street, to the right, and at the third house you will find a courtyard ; there there is a capataz, a trader, who is setting out to- morrow for Tucuman, with his wagons and his oxen. Go and see if he will take you, and offer him your ser- vices ; perhaps he will give you a place on his wagons : go at once." The lad grasped his bag, thanked her as he ran, and two minutes later found himself in a vast courtyard, lighted by lanterns, where a number of men were engaged in loading sacks of grain on certain enormous carts which resembled the movable houses of mounte- banks, with rounded tops, and very tall wheels ; and a tall man with mustaches, enveloped in a sort of mantle of black and white check, and with big boots, was dij-ect- ing the work. The lad approached this man, and timidly proffered his request, saying that he had come from Italy, and that he was in search of his mother. The capataz, which signifies the head (the head conductor of this convoy of wagons), surveyed him from head to foot with a keen glance, and replied drily, " I have no place." " I have fifteen lire," answered the boy in a suppli* eating tone ; '' I will give you my fifteen lire. I will work on the journey ; I will fetch the water and fodder for the animals ; I will perform all sorts of services. A little bread will suffice for me. Make a little place for me, signor." The capataz looked him over again, and replied with a better grace, "There is no room; and then, we are not going to Tucuman ; we are going to another town, Santiago deir Estero. We shall have to leave you at 260 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES, a certain point, and you will still have a long way ts go on foot." *'Ah, I will make twice as long a journey!" ex- claimed Marco ; " I can walk ; do not worry about that ; I shall get there by some means or other : make a little room for me, signor, out of charity ; for pity's sakC; do not leave me here alone ! " '' Beware ; it is a journey of twenty days.'* *' It matters nothing to me.*' " It is a hard journey." " I will endure everything." *' You will have to travel alone." " I fear nothing, if I can only find my mothei. Have compassion ! " The capcUaz drew his face close to a lantern, and scrutinized him. Then he said, " Very well." The lad kissed his hand. " You shall sleep in one of the wagons to-night," added the capataz, as he quitted him; "to-morrow morning, at four o'clock, I will wake you. Good night." At four o'clock in the morning, by the light of the stars, the long string of wagons was set in motion with a great noise ; each cart was drawn by six oxen, and all were followed by a great number of spare ani- mals for a change. The boy, who had been awakened and placed in one of the carts, on the sacks, instantly fell again into a deep sleep. When he awoke, the convo}' had halteQ the bow, holding by the hand a little girl ; and toming to a halt in front of the little Sicilian, he said V> him : — "Here's a travelling companion for you, Mario." '>'hen he went away. The girl seated herself on the pile of cordage beside the boy. They surveyed each other. " Where are you going?" asked the Sicilian. The girl repHed : " To Malta on the way of Naples." Then she added: ''I am going to see my father and mother, who are expecting me. My name is Giulietta Faggiani." The boy said nothing. After the lapse of a few minutes, he drew some bread from his pouch, and some dried fruit; the girl had some biscuits : they began to eat. " Look sharp there ! " shouted the Italian sailor, as he passed rapidly ; " a lively time is at hand ! " SHIPWRECK, 811 The wind continued to increase, the steamer pitched heavily ; but the two children, who did not suffer from seasickness, paid no heed to it. The little girl smiled. She was about the same age as her compan- ion, but was considerably taller, brown of complexion, slender, somewhat sickly, and dressed more than mod- estly. Her hair was short and curling, she wore a red kerchief over her head, and two hoops of silver in her ears. As they ate, they talked about themselves and their affairs. The boy had no longer either father or mother. The father, an artisan, had died a few days previously in Liverpool, leaving him alone ; and the Italian consul had sent him back to his country, to Palermo, where he had still some distant relatives left. The little girl had been taken to London, the year before, by a wid- owed aunt, who was very fond of her, and to whom her parents — poor people — had given her for a time, trusting in a promise of an inheritance ; but the aunt had died a few months later, run over by an omnibus, without leaving a centesimo ; and then she too had had recourse to the consul, who had shipped her to Italy. Both had been recommended to the care of the Italian sailor. — " So," concluded the little maid, " my father and mother thought that I would return rich, and in- stead I am returning poor. But they will love me all the same. And so will my brothers. I have four, all small. I am the oldest at home. I dress them. They will be greatly delighted to see me. They will come in on tiptoe — The sea is ugly ! " Then she asked the boy: "And are you going Co stay with your relatives?" ** Yes — if they want me.** " Do not they love you?" 81f SHIPWRECK, " I don't know." " I shall be thirteen at Christmas," said the girl. Then they began to talk about the sea, and the people on board around them. They remained near each other all day, exchanging a few words now and then. The passengers thought them brother and sister. The girl knitted at a stocking, the boy meditated, the sea continued to grow rougher. At night, as they parted to go to bed, the girl said to Mario, *' Sleep well." '* No one will sleep well, my poor children!" ex- claimed the Italian sailor as he ran past, in answer to a call from the captain. The boy was on the point of replying with a " good night " to his little friend, when an unexpected dash of water dealt him a violent blow, and flung him against a seat. " My dear, you are bleeding ! " cried the girl, fling- ing herself upon him. The passengers who were mak- ing their escape below, paid no heed to them. The child knelt down beside Mario, who had been stunned by the blow, wiped the blood from his brow, and pull- ing the red kerchief from her hair, she bound it about his head, then pressed his head to her breast in order to knot the ends, and thus received a spot of blood on her yellow bodice just above the girdle. Mario shook himself and rose : " Are you better? " asked the girl. '* I no longer feel it," he replied. »* Sleep well,'* said Giulietta. '' Good night," responded Mario. And they de- scended two neighboring sets of steps to their dormitoi rie«. The sailor's prediction proved correct. Before they could get to sleep, a frightful tempest had broken SHIPWRECK, 313 loose. It was like the sudden onslaught of furious great horses, which in the course of a few minutes split one mast, and carried away three boats which were suspended to the falls, and four cows on the bow, like leaves. On board the steamer there arose a confusion, a terror, an uproar, a tempest of shrieks, wails, and prayers, sufficient to make the hair stand on end. The tempest continued to increase in fury all night. At daybreak it was still increasing. The formidable waves dashing the craft transversely, broke over the deck, and smashed, split, and hurled everything into the sea. The platform which screened the engine was destroyed, and the water dashed in with a terrible roar ; the fires were extinguished ; the engineers fled ; huge and impetuous streams forced their way everywhere. A voice of thunder shouted : " To the pumps ! " It was the captain's voice. The sailors rushed to the pumps. But a sudden burst of the sea, striking the vessel on the stern, demolished bulwarks and hatchways, and sent a flood within. All the passengers, more dead than alive, had taken refuge in the grand saloon. At last the captain made his appearance. " Captain ! Captain ! " they all shrieked in concert. " What is taking place? Where are we? Is there any hope ! Save us ! " The captain waited until they were silent, then said coolly ; " Let us be resigned." One woman uttered a cry of "Mercy!" No one else could give vent to a sound. Terror had frozen them all. A long time passed thus, in a silence like that of the grave. All gazed at each other with blanched faces. The sea continued to rage and roar. The ves- sel pitched heavily. At one moment the captain 814 SHIPWRECK, attempted to launch one life-boat ; five sailors entered it ; the boat sank ; the waves turned it over, and two of the sailors were drowned, among them the Italian : the others contrived with diflSculty to catch hold of the ropes and draw themselves up again. After this, the sailors themselves lost all courage. Two hours later, the vessel was sunk in the water to the height of the port-holes. A terrible spectacle was presented meanwhile on the deck. Mothers pressed their children to their breasts in despair ; friends exchanged embraces and bade each other farewell ; some went down into the cabins that they might die without seeing the sea. One passenger shot himself in the head with a pistol, and fell head- long down the stairs to the cabin, where he expired. Many clung frantically to each other ; women writhed in horrible convulsions. There was audible a chorus of sobs, of infantile laments, of strange and piercing voices ; and here and there persons were visible motion- less as statues, in stupor, with eyes dilated and sight- less, — faces of corpses and madmen. The two chil- dren, Giulietta and Mario, clung to a mast and gazed at the sea with staring eyes, as though senseless. The sea had subsided a little ; but the vessel contin- ued to sink slowly. Only a few minutes remained to them. " Launch the long-boat ! " shouted the captain. A boat, the last that remained, was thrown into the water, and fourteen sailors and three passengers de- scended into it. The captain remained on board. ** Come down with us ! " they shouted to him from below. ** I must die at my post," replied the captain. SHIPWRECK. 315 " We shall meet a vessel," the sailors cried to him ; ** we shall be saved ! Come down ! you are lost ! " ** I shall remain." '* There is room for one more ! " shouted the sailors, turning to the other passengers. '' A woman ! " A woman advanced, aided by the captain ; but on seeing the distance at which the boat la}^, she did not feel sufficient courage to leap down, and fell back upon the deck. The other women had nearly all fainted, and were as dead. *' A boy ! " shouted the sailors. At that shout, the Sicilian lad and his companion, who had remained up to that moment petrified as by a supernatural stupor, were suddenly aroused again by a violent instinct to save their lives. They detached themselves simultaneously from the mast, and rushed to the side of the vessel, shrieking in concert: " Take me ! " and endeavoring in turn, to drive the other back, like furious beasts. "The smallest !" shouted the sailors. ''The boat is overloaded ! The smallest ! " On hearing these words, the girl dropped her arms, as though struck by lightning, and stood motionless, staring at Mario with lustreless eyes. Mario looked at her for a moment, — saw the spot of blood on her bodice, — remembered — The gleam of a divine thought flashed across his face. " The smallest ! " shouted the sailors in chorus, with imperious impatience. " We are going ! " And then Mario, with a voice which no longer seemed his own, cried : " She is the lighter ! It is for you, Giulietta ! You have a father and mother ! I am alone ! I give you my place ! Go down ! " " Throw her into the sea ! " shouted the sailors. 516 SHIP WRECK. Mario seized Giulietta by the bod}-, and threw het into the sea. The girl uttered a cry and made a splash ; a sailor seized her by the arm, and dragged her into the boat. The boy remained at the vessel's side, with his heaeg him to forget it. Is there no one ? " " No one," I answered. " Farewell, then," said my father with a voice fuB of emotion, bestowing a last glance on the schoolhouse And mv mother repeated : ' ' Fai*eweU I ** jkmX I could not say aaythiug. i •HT UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY BERKELEY Return to desk from which borrowed. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 27Se'50BBU7tRLiBRAftV Mar L MAY 2 9 1956 LF LOAN MAY 1 1981 U'^IV.OFCALIf..BERKJ^'^ ffYusE 1952 V 30 1987 -. NOV 2 8 1997 INTERLIBRARY LOAN AUG 2 01981 UNIV. OF CALIF.. BEff( May 2 2 1982 21 • LD 21-100m-ll,'49(B71468l6) uJLm 16)476-' s^ VB 00814 U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES coomemoD r*^ 672069 APfl 17 1933 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY •?>.'-.''V- A-. ,,