第4章 十一月 NOVEMBER
好友卡隆 四日
虽然只有两天的休假,我好像已有许多日子不见卡隆了。我愈和卡隆熟悉,愈觉得他可爱。不但我如此,大家都是这样,只有几个傲慢的人,嫌恶卡隆,不和他讲话。这是因为卡隆一贯不受他们压制的缘故。那大的孩子们正在举起手来要去打幼小的孩子的时候,幼的只要叫一声“卡隆!”那大的就会缩回手去的。卡隆的父亲是铁道的司机。卡隆小时候曾得过病,所以入学已迟;在我们一级里身材最高,气力也最大。他能用一手举起椅子来;常常吃着东西;为人很好,有人请求于他,不论铅笔、橡皮、纸类、小刀,都肯借给或赠与。上课时,不言、不笑、不动,石头般地安坐在狭小的课椅上,两肩上装着大大的头,把背脊向前弯曲着。我去看他的时候,他总半闭了眼给我笑脸看。好像在那里说:“喂,安利柯,我们大家做好朋友啊!”我一见卡隆,总是要笑起来。他身子又长,背膊又阔,上衣、裤子、袖子都太小太短,至于帽子,小得差不多要从头上落下来;外套露出绽缝,皮靴是破了的,领带时常搓扭得成一条线。他的相貌,一见都使人喜欢,全级中谁都欢喜和他并坐。他算术很好,常用红皮带束了书本拿着。他有一把螺钿镶柄的大裁纸刀,这是去年陆军大操的时候,他在野外拾得的。他有一次,因这刀伤了手,几乎把指骨都切断了。他不论人家怎样嘲笑他,都不发怒,但是当他说着什么的时候,如果有人说他“这是谎话”,那就不得了了:他立刻火冒起来,眼睛发红,一拳打下来,可以把椅子击破。有一天星期六的早晨,他看见二年级里有一个小孩因失掉了钱,不能买笔记簿,立在街上哭,就把钱给他。他在母亲的生日,费了三天工夫,写了一封有八页长的信,纸的四周,还曾用笔画了许多装饰的花样呢。先生常注视着他,从他旁边走过的时候,时常用手轻轻地去拍他的后颈,好像爱抚柔和的小牛的样子。我真喜欢卡隆。当我握着他那大手的时候,那种欢喜真是非常!他的手和我的相比,就像大人的手了。我的确相信:卡隆真是能牺牲自己的生命而救助朋友的人。这种精神,在他的眼光里很显明地可以看出,又从他那粗大的喉音中,也谁都可以听辨出他所含有的优美的真情的。
卖炭者与绅士 七日
昨天卡罗·诺琵斯向培谛说的那样的话,如果是卡隆,决不会说的。卡罗·诺琵斯因为他父亲是上等人,很是傲慢。他的父亲是个身材很高有黑须的沉静的绅士,差不多每天早晨伴了诺琵斯到学校里来的。昨天,诺琵斯忽然和培谛相骂起来了。培谛是个顶年小的小孩子,是个卖炭者的儿子。诺琵斯因为自己的理错了,无话可辩,就说:“你父亲是个叫花子!”培谛气得连发根都红了,一声不响,只簌簌地流着眼泪。好像后来他回去向父亲哭诉了,他那卖炭的父亲——全身墨黑的矮小的男子——午后上课时,就携他儿子的手同到学校里来,把这事告诉了先生。我们大家都默不做声。诺琵斯的父亲正照例在门口替他儿子脱外套,听见有人说起他的名字,就问先生说:“什么事?”
“你们的卡罗对这位的儿子说:‘你父亲是个叫花子!’这位正在这里告诉这事呢。”先生回答说。
诺琵斯的父亲脸红了起来,对着自己的儿子问:“你,曾这样说的吗?”诺琵斯低了头立在教室中央,什么都不回答,于是,他父亲捉了他的手臂,拉他到培谛身旁,说:“快道歉!”
卖炭的好像很对不住他的样子,说“不必,不必!”想上前阻止,可是绅士却不答应,仍对了他儿子说:
“快道歉!照我所说的样子快道歉:‘对于你的父亲,说了非常失礼的话,这是我所不应该的。请原谅我。让我的父亲来握你父亲的手。’要这样说。”
卖炭的越发现出不安的神情来,好像在那里说“那不敢当”的样子,绅士总不肯答应,于是诺琵斯俯了头,用了断断续续的声音说:
“对于……你的父亲,……说了……非常失礼的话,这是……我所不应该的。……请你……原谅我。让我的父亲……来握……你父亲的手。”
绅士把手向卖炭的伸去,卖炭的就握着使劲地摇起来。还把自己的儿子推近卡罗·诺琵斯,叫用两手去抱他。“从此,请叫他们两个坐在一处。”绅士这样向先生请求,先生就令培谛坐在诺琵斯的位上,诺琵斯的父亲等他们坐好了,就行了礼出去,卖炭的注视着这并坐的两孩,立着沉思了一会儿,走到座位旁,对着诺琵斯,好像要说什么,好像很依恋,好像很对不起他的样子,终于什么都不说,他张开了两臂,好像要去抱诺琵斯了,可是也终于没有去抱,只用了那粗大的手指,在诺琵斯的额上碰了一碰,等走出门口,还回头向里面一瞥,这才出去。
先生对我们说:“今天的事情,大家不要忘掉,因为这可算这学年中最好的教训了。”
弟弟的女先生 十日
我的弟弟病了,那个女教师代尔卡谛先生来探望。原来,卖炭者的儿子,从前也是由这先生教过的,先生讲出可笑的故事来,引得我们都笑。两年前,那卖炭家小孩的母亲,因为她儿子得了奖牌,用很大的围裙包了炭,拿到先生那里,当做谢礼,先生无论怎样推辞,她终不答应,等拿了回家去的时候,居然哭了。先生又说,还有一个女人,曾把金钱装入花束中送给她。先生的话,使我们听了有趣发笑,弟弟在平日无论怎样不肯吃的药,这时也好好地吃了。
教导一年级的小孩,多少费力啊!有的牙齿未全,像个老人,发音发不好;有的要咳嗽;有的淌鼻血;有的因为靴子在椅子下面,说“没有了”哭着;有的因钢笔尖触痛了手叫着;有的把习字帖的第一册和第二册掉错了,吵不清。要教会五十个有着软软的手的小孩写字,真是一件不容易的事。他们的袋里,藏着什么甘草、纽扣、瓶塞、碎瓦片等等的东西,先生要去搜查他们的时候,他们连鞋子里也会去藏。先生的话他们是一点也不听的,有时从窗口飞进一只苍蝇来,他们就大吵。夏天呢,把草拿进来,有的提了甲虫在里面放;甲虫在室内东西飞旋,有时落入墨水瓶中,弄得习字帖里都溅污了墨水。先生代替了小孩们的母亲,替他们整理衣服;他们的手指受了伤,替他们裹绷带;帽子落了,替他们拾起;替他们留心别拿错了外套;用尽了心叫他们不要吵闹。女先生真辛苦啊!可是,学生的母亲们还要来提意见:什么“先生,我儿子的钢笔尖为什么不见了?”什么“我的儿子一点都不进步,究竟为什么?”什么“我的儿子成绩那样的好,为什么得不到奖牌?”什么“我们配罗的裤子,被钉刺破了,你为什么不把那钉去了呢?”
据说:这先生有时对于小孩,受不住气闹,不觉举起手来,终于用牙齿咬住了自己的手指,把气忍住了。她发了怒以后,非常后悔,就去抚慰方才被骂过的小孩。也曾把顽皮的小孩赶出教室,赶出以后,自己却咽着泪。有时,学生的父母要责罚他们自己的小孩,不给食物吃,先生听见了,总是很不高兴,要去阻止他们这样做的。
先生年纪真轻,身材高长,衣装整齐,很是活泼。无论做什么事都像弹簧样地敏捷。是个多感而柔慈、易出眼泪的人。
“孩子们都非常和你亲热呢。”母亲说。
“是这样的,可是一到学年完结,就大都不顾着我了。他们到了要受男先生教的时候,就以受女先生的教为耻哩。两年间,那样地爱护了他们,一旦离开,真有点难过。那个孩子是一向亲热我的,大概不会忘记我吧。心里虽这样自忖,可是一到放了假以后,你看!他回到学校里来的时候,我虽‘我的孩子,我的孩子!’地叫着走近他去,他却把头向着别处,睬也不睬你了哩。”
先生这样说了,暂时住了口。又举起她的湿润的眼睛,吻着弟弟说:
“但是,你不是这样的吧?你是不会把头向着别处的吧?你是不会忘记我的吧?”
我的母亲 十日
安利柯!你当你弟弟的先生来的时候,对于母亲,说了非常失礼的话了!像那样的事,不要再有第二次啊!我听见你那话,心里苦得好像针刺!我记得:数年前你病的时候,你母亲恐怕你病不会好,终夜坐在你床前,数你的脉搏,算你的呼吸,担心得至于啜泣,我以为你母亲要发疯了,很是忧虑。一想到此,我对于你的将来,有点恐怖起来,你会对了你这样的母亲说出那样不该的话!真是怪事!那是为要救你一时的痛苦不惜舍去自己一年间的快乐,为要救你生命不惜舍去自己生命的母亲哩。
安利柯啊!你须记着!你在一生中,当然难免要尝种种的艰苦,而其中最苦的一事,就是失去了母亲。你将来年纪大了,尝遍了世人的辛苦,必有时候会几千次地回忆起你的母亲来的。一分钟也好,但求能再听听母亲的声音,只一次也好,但求再在母亲的怀里,作小儿样的哭泣:像这样的时候,必定会有的。那时,你忆起了对于亡母曾经给予种种苦痛的事来,不知要怎样地流后悔之泪呢!这不是可悲的事吗?你如果现在使母亲痛心,你将终生受良心的责备吧!母亲的优美慈爱的面影,将来在你眼里,将成了悲痛的轻蔑的样子,不绝地使你的灵魂痛苦吧!
啊!安利柯!须知道亲子之爱,是人间所有的感情中最神圣的东西,破坏这感情的人,实是世上最不幸的。人虽犯了杀人之罪,只要他是敬爱自己的母亲的,其胸中还有美的贵的部分留着;无论怎样有名的人,如果他是使母亲哭泣、使母亲痛苦的,那就真是可鄙可贱的人物。所以,对于亲生的母亲,不该再说无礼的话,万一一时不注意,把话说错了,你该自己从心里忏悔,投身于你母亲的膝下,请求赦免的接吻,在你的额上拭去不孝的污痕。我原是爱着你,你在我原是最重要的珍宝,可是,你对于你母亲如果不孝,我宁愿还是没有了你好。不要再走近我!不要来抱我!我现在没有心来还抱你!
——父亲
朋友可莱谛 十三日
父亲饶恕了我了,我还悲痛着。母亲送我出去,叫我和门房的儿子大家到河边去散步。在河边走着,到了一家门口停着货车的店前,觉有人在叫我,回头去看,原来是同学可莱谛。他身上流着汗正在活泼地扛着柴。立在货车上的人抱了柴递给他,可莱谛接了运到自己的店里,急急地堆积着。
“可莱谛,你在做什么?”我问。
“你不看见吗!”他把两只手伸向柴去,一面回答我。“我正在复习功课哩!”他又这样接续着说。
我笑了,可是可莱谛却认真地在嘴里这样念着:“动词的活用,因了数——数与人称的差异而变化——”一面抱着一捆柴走去,放下了柴,把它堆好了:“又因动作起来的时而变化——”走到车旁取柴:“又因表出动作的法而变化。”
这是明日文法的复习。“我真忙啊!父亲因事出门去了,母亲病了在床上卧着,所以我不能不做事。一面做事,一面读着文法。今日的文法很难呢,无论怎样记,也记不牢。——父亲说过,七点钟回来付钱的哩。”他又向了货车的人说。
货车去了。“请进来!”可莱谛说。我进了店里,店屋广阔,满堆着木柴,木柴旁还挂着秤。
“今天是一个忙日,真的!一直没有空闲过。正想作文,客人来了。客人走了以后,执笔要写,方才的货车来了。今天跑了柴市两趟,腿麻木得像棒一样,手也硬硬的,如果想画画,一定弄不好的。”说着又用扫帚扫去散在四周的枯叶和柴屑。
“可莱谛,你用功的地方在哪里?”我问。
“不在这里。你来看看!”他引我到了店后的小屋里,这屋差不多可以说是厨房兼食堂,桌上摆着书册、笔记簿,和已开了头的作文稿。“在这里啊!我还没有把第二题做好——用革做的东西。有靴子、皮带——还非再加一个不可呢——及皮袍。”他执了钢笔写着端正的字。
“有人吗?”喊声自外面进来,原来买主来了。可莱谛回答着“请进来!”奔跳出去,称了柴,算了钱,又在壁角污旧的卖货簿上把账记了,重新走进来:“非快把这作文写完了不可。”说着执了笔继续写上:“旅行包,兵士的背包——咿哟!咖啡滚了!”跑到暖炉旁取下咖啡瓶:“这是母亲的咖啡。我已学会了咖啡煮法了哩。请等一等,我们大家拿了这个到母亲那里去吧。母亲一定很欢喜的。母亲这个星期一直卧在床上。——呃,动词的变化——我好几次因这咖啡瓶烫痛了手呢,——兵士的背包以后,写些什么好呢?——非再写点上去不可——一时想不出来——且到母亲那里去吧!”
可莱谛开了门,我和他同入那小室。母亲卧在阔大的床上,头部包着白的头巾。
“啊!好哥儿?你是来望我的吗?”可莱谛的母亲看着我说。可莱谛替母亲摆好了枕头,拉直了被,往炉子里加上了煤,赶出卧在箱子上的猫。
“母亲,不再饮了吗?”可莱谛说着从母亲手中接过杯子:“药已喝了吗?如果完了,让我再跑药店去。柴是已经卸好了。四点钟的时候,把肉拿来烧了吧。卖牛油的如果走过,把那八个铜子还了他就是了。诸事我都会弄好的,你不必多劳心了。”
“亏得有你!你可以去了。一切留心些。”他母亲这样说了,还叫我必定须吃块方糖。可莱谛指着他父亲的照相给我看。他父亲穿了军服,胸间挂着勋章,据说是在温培尔脱亲王部下的时候得来的。相貌和可莱谛一模一样,眼睛也是活泼泼的,也作着很快乐的笑容。
我们又回到厨房里来了。“有了!”可莱谛说着继续在笔记簿上写,“——马鞍也是革做的——以后晚上再做吧。今天非迟睡不可了。你真幸福,用功的工夫也有,散步的闲暇也有呢。”他又活泼地跑出店堂,将柴搁在台上用锯截断:
“这是我的体操哩。可是和那‘两手向前!’的体操是不同的了。我在父亲回来以前把这柴锯了,使他见了欢喜吧。最讨厌的,就是手拿了锯以后,写起字来,笔画要同蛇一样。但是也无法可想,只好在先生面前把事情直说了。——母亲快点病好才好啊!今天已好了许多,我真快活!明天鸡一叫,就起来预备文法吧。——咿哟!柴又来了。快去搬吧!”
货车满装着柴,已停在店前了。可莱谛走向车去,又回过来:“我已不能奉陪你了。明日再会吧。你来得真好,再会,再会!快快乐乐地散你的步吧,你真是幸福啊!”他把我的手紧握了一下,仍去来往于店车之间,脸孔红红地像蔷薇,那种敏捷的动作,使人看了也爽快。
“你真是幸福啊!”他虽对我这样说,其实不然,啊!可莱谛!其实不然。你才是比我幸福呢。因为你既能用功,又能劳动,能替你父母尽力。你比我要好一百倍,勇敢一百倍呢!好朋友啊!
校长先生 十八日
可莱谛今天在学校里很高兴,因为他三年级时的先生到校里来做考试监督来了。这位先生名叫考谛,是个肥壮、大头、缩发、黑须的先生,眼光炯炯的,话声响如大炮。这先生常恐吓小孩们,说什么要撕断了他们的手足交付警察,有时还要装出种种可怕的脸孔。可是,他其实决不会责罚小孩的。他无论何时,总在胡须底下作着笑容,不过被胡须遮住,大家都看不出来。男先生共有八人,考谛先生之外,还有像小孩样的助手先生。五年级的先生是个跛子,平常围着大的毛围巾,据说,他在乡间学校的时候,因为校舍潮湿,壁里满是湿气,就得了病,到现在身上还是要作痛哩。那级里还有一位白发的老先生,据说以前是曾做过盲人学校的教师的。另外还有一位衣服华美,戴了眼镜,留着好看的颊须的先生。他在教书的时候,又自己研究法律,曾得过证书,所以得着一个 “小律师”的绰号,这先生又曾著过《书简文教授法》的书。教体操的先生,是一位军人那样的人。据说曾经隶属于格里巴第将军的部下,项颈上留着弥拉查战争时的刀伤。还有一个就是校长先生,高身秃头,戴着金边的眼镜,花白的须,长长地垂在胸前。平常穿着黑色的衣服,纽扣一直扣到腮下。他是个很和善的先生。学生犯了规则被唤到校长室里去的时候,总觉得是战战兢兢的,先生并不责骂,只是携了那小孩的手,好好开导,叫他下次不要再有那种事,并且安慰他,叫他以后做好孩子。因为他是用了和善的声气,亲切地说的,小孩出来的时候总是红着眼睛,觉得比受罚还要难过。校长先生每晨第一个到校,等学生来,候父兄来谈话。别的先生回去了以后,他一个人还自己留着,在学校附近到处巡视,恐怕有学生被车子碰倒,或在路上恶顽的。只要一看见先生的那高而黑的影子,群集在路上逗留的小孩们,就会弃了玩具东西逃散。 先生那时,总远远地用了难过而充满了情爱的脸色,唤住正在逃散的小孩们的。
据母亲说:先生自爱儿入了志愿兵死去以后,就不见有笑容了。现在校长室的小桌上,放着他爱儿的照相。先生遭了那不幸以后,一时曾想辞职,据说已将向市政所提出的辞职书写好,藏在抽屉里,因为不忍与小孩别离,还踌躇着未曾决定。有一天,我父亲在校长室和先生谈话,父亲向着先生说道:“辞职是多少乏味的事啊!”这时,恰巧有一个人领了孩子来见校长,是请求他许可转学的。校长先生见了那小孩,似乎吃了一惊,将那小孩的相貌和桌上的照相比较打量了好久,拉小孩靠近膝旁,托了他的头,注视一会儿,说了一声“可以的”,记出姓名,叫他们父子回去,自己仍沉思着。我父亲又继续着说:“先生一辞职,我们不是困难了吗?”先生听了,就从抽屉里取出辞职书,撕成两段,说:“已把辞职的意思打消了。”
兵士 二十二日
校长先生自爱儿在陆军志愿兵中死去了以后,课外的时间,常常出去看兵队的通过。昨天又有一个联队在街上通过,小孩们都集拢了一处,合了那乐队的调子,把竹尺敲击皮袋或书夹,依了拍子跳旋着。我们也站在路旁,看着军队进行。卡隆穿了狭小的衣服,也嚼着很大的面包在那里站着看。还有衣服很漂亮的华梯尼呀;铁匠的儿子,穿着父亲的旧衣服的泼来可西呀;格拉勃利亚少年呀;“小石匠”呀;赤发的克洛西呀;相貌很平常的勿兰谛呀;炮兵大尉的儿子,因从马车下救出幼儿自己跛了脚的洛佩谛呀;都在一起。有一个跛了足的兵士走过,勿兰谛笑了起来。忽然,有人去抓勿兰谛的肩头,仔细一看,原来是校长先生。校长先生说:“注意!嘲笑在队伍中的兵士,好像辱骂在缚着的人,真是可耻的事!”勿兰谛立刻躲避到不知哪里去了。兵士们分作四列进行,身上都流着汗,沾满了灰尘,枪映在日光中闪烁地发光。
校长先生对我们说:
“你们不能不感谢兵士们啊!他们是我们的保卫者。一旦有外国军队来侵犯我国的时候,他们就是代我们去拼命的人。他们和你们年纪相差不多,都是少年,也是在那里用功的。看哪!你们一看他们的面色就可知道全意大利各处的人都有在里面:西西利人也有,那不勒斯人也有,赛地尼亚人也有,隆巴尔地人也有。这是曾经加入过一八四四年战争的古联队,兵士虽经变更,军旗还是当时的军旗。在你们未诞生以前,为了国家,在这军旗下战死过的人,不知有多少呢!”
“来了!”卡隆叫着说。真的,军旗就在眼前兵士们的头上了。
“大家听啊!那三色旗通过的时候,应该行举手注目的敬礼的哩!”
一个士官捧了联队旗在我们面前通过,已是块块破裂褪了色的旗帜了,旗杆顶上挂着勋章。大家向着行举手注目礼,旗手对了我们微笑,举手答礼。
“诸位,难得,”后面有人这样说。回头去看,原来是年老的退职士官,纽孔里挂着克里米亚战役的从军徽章,“难得!你们做了好事了!”他反复着说。
这时候,乐队已沿着河岸转了方向了,小孩们的哄闹声与喇叭声彼此和着。老士官注视着我们说:“难得,难得!从小尊敬军旗的人,大起来就是拥护军旗的。”
耐利的保护者 二十三日
驼背的耐利,昨天也在看兵士的行军,他的神气很可怜,好像说:“我不能当兵士了。”耐利是个好孩子,成绩也好,身体小而弱,连呼吸都似乎困苦的。他母亲是个矮小白色的妇人,每到学校放课时,总来接她儿子回去。最初,别的学生,都要嘲弄耐利,有的用了书包去碰他那突出的背,耐利却毫不反抗,且不将人家以他为玩物的话告诉他母亲,无论怎样被人玩弄,他只是靠在座位里无言哭泣罢了。
有一天,卡隆突然跳了出来对大家说:
“你们再碰耐利一碰,我一个耳光,要他转三个圈子!”
勿兰谛不相信这话,当真尝了卡隆的老拳,果然一拳去转了三个圈子。从此以后,再没有敢玩弄耐利的人了。先生知道这事,使卡隆和耐利同坐在一张桌子里。两个人很要好,耐利尤爱着卡隆,他到教室里,必要先看卡隆有没有到,回去的时候,没有一次不说“卡隆再会”的。卡隆也同样,耐利的钢笔书册等落到地下时,卡隆不要耐利费力,立刻俯下去替他拾起;此外,又替他帮种种的忙,或替他把用具装入书包里,或替他穿外套。耐利平常总向着卡隆,听见先生称赞卡隆,他就欢喜得如同称赞自己一样。耐利到了后来,好像已把从前受人玩弄、暗泣,幸赖一个朋友保护的事,告诉了他的母亲了。今天在学校里有这样的一件事:先生有事差我到校长室去,恰巧来了一个着黑衣服的小而白色的妇人,这就是耐利的母亲。“校长先生,有个名叫卡隆的,是在我儿子的一级里的吗?”这样问。
“是的。”校长回答。
“有句话要和他说,可否请叫了他来?”
校长命校役去叫卡隆,不一会儿,卡隆的大而短发的头已在门框间看见了。他不知叫他为了何事,正露出着很吃惊的样子。那妇人一看见他,就跳了过去。将腕弯在他的肩上,不绝地吻他的额:
“你就是卡隆!是我儿子的好朋友!帮助我儿子的!就是你!好勇敢的人!就是你!”说着,急忙地用手去摸衣袋,又取出荷包来看,一时找不出东西,就从颈间取下带着小小十字架的链子来,套上卡隆的颈项:
“将这给你吧,当做我的纪念!——当做感谢你,时时为你祈祷着的耐利的母亲的纪念!请你挂着吧!”
级长 二十五日
卡隆令人可爱,代洛西令人佩服。代洛西每次总是第一,取得一等奖,今年大约仍是如此的。可以敌得过代洛西的人,一个都没有,他什么都好,无论算术、作文、图画,总是他第一。他一学即会,有着惊人的记忆力,凡事不费什么力气,学问在他,好像游戏一般。先生昨天向着他说:
“你从上帝享受得非常的恩赐,不要自己暴弃啊!”
并且,他身材高大,神情挺秀,黄金色的发,蓬蓬地覆着头额。身体轻捷,只要用手一撑,就能轻松地跳过椅子。剑术也已学会了。年纪十二岁,是个富商之子。穿着青色的金纽扣的衣服,平常总是高兴活泼,待什么人都和气,测验的时候肯教导别人。对于他,谁都不曾说过无礼的话。只有诺琵斯和勿兰谛白眼对他,华梯尼看他时,眼里也闪着嫉妒的光。可是他却似毫不介意这些的。同学见了他,谁也不能不微笑,他做了级长,来往桌位间收集成绩的时候,大家都要去捉他的手。他从家里得了画片来,如数分赠朋友,还画了一张小小的格拉勃利亚地图送给那格拉勃利亚小孩。他给东西与别人的时候,总是笑着,好像不以为意地。他不偏爱哪一个,待哪一个都一样。我有时候比不过他,不觉难过,啊!我也和华梯尼一样,嫉妒着代洛西呢!当我拼了命思索难题的时候,想到代洛西此刻早已完全做好,无气可出,常常要气怒他,但是一到学校,见了他那秀美而微笑的脸孔,听着他那可爱的话声,接着他那亲切的态度,就把气怒他的念头消释,觉得自己可耻,觉得和他在一处读书,是很可喜的了。他的神情,他的声音,都好像替我鼓吹勇气热心和快活喜悦的。
先生把明天的“每月例话”稿子交给代洛西,叫他誊清。他今天正写着。好像他对于那篇讲演的内容非常感动,脸孔烧着火红,眼睛几乎要下泪,嘴唇也颤着。那时他的神气,看去真是纯正!我在他面前,几乎要这样说:“代洛西!你什么都比我高强,你比了我,好像一个大人!我真正尊敬你,崇拜你啊!”
少年侦探(每月例话) 二十六日
一八五九年,法意两国联军因救隆巴尔地,与奥地利战争,曾几次打破奥军。这正是那时候的事:六月里一个晴天的早晨,意国骑兵一队,沿了间道徐徐前进,一面侦察敌情。这队兵是由一士官和一军曹指挥着的,都噤了口注视着前方,看有没有敌军前哨的光影。一直到了在树林中的一家农舍门口,见有一个十二岁光景的少年立在那里,用小刀切了树枝削作杖棒。农舍的窗间飘着三色旗,人已不在了。因为怕敌兵来袭,所以插了国旗逃了的。少年看见骑兵来,就弃了在做的杖,举起帽子。是个大眼活泼而面貌很好的孩子,脱了上衣,正露出着胸脯。
“在做什么?”士官停了马问,“为什么不和你家族逃走呢?”
“我没有家族,是个孤儿。也会替人家做点事,因为想看看打仗,所以留在这里的。”少年答说。
“见有奥国兵走过么?”
“不,这三天没有见到过。”
士官沉思了一会儿,下了马,命兵士们注意前方,自己爬上农舍屋顶去。可是那屋太低了,望不见远处,士官又下来,心里想,“非爬上树去不可。”恰巧农舍面前有一株高树,树梢在空中飘动着。士官考虑了一会儿,把树梢和兵士的脸孔,上下打量,忽然,向着少年:
“喂!孩子!你眼力好吗?”
“眼力吗,一哩外的雀儿也看得见呢。”
“你能上这树梢吗?”
“这树梢!我?那真是不要半分钟的工夫。”
“那么,孩子!你上去替我望望前面有没有敌兵,有没有烟气,有没有枪刺的光和马那种东西?”
“就这样吧。”
“应该给你多少?”
“你说我要多少钱吗?不要!我欢喜做这事。如果是敌人叫我,我哪里肯呢?为了国家才肯如此。我也是隆巴尔地人哩!”少年微笑着回答。
“好的,那么你上去。”
“且慢,让我脱了皮鞋。”
少年脱了皮鞋,把腰带束紧了,将帽了掷在地上,抱向树干去。
“当心!”士官的叫声,好似要他转来,少年用了那青色的眼,回过头去看着士官,似乎问他什么。
“没有什么,你上去。”
少年就像猫样地上去了。
“注意前面!”士官向着兵士叫喊。少年已爬上了树梢。身子被枝条网着。脚虽因树叶遮住了不能看见,上身却可从远处望见。那蓬蓬的头发,在日光中闪作黄金色。树真高了,从下面望去,少年的身体缩得很小了。
“一直看前面!”士官叫着说。少年将右手放了树干,遮在眼上望去。
“见到什么吗?”士官问。
少年向了下面,用手圈成喇叭套在嘴上回答说:“有两个骑马的在路上站着呢。”
“离这里多少?”
“半哩。”
“在那里动吗?”
“只是站着的。”
“别的还看见什么?向右边看。”
少年向右方望:“近墓地的地方,树林里有什么亮晶晶的东西,大概是枪刺吧。”
“不看见有人吗?”
“没人,恐是躲在稻田中吧。”
这时,“嘶”地子弹从空中掠了过来,落在农舍后面。
“下来,已被敌人看见你了。已经好了,下来!”士官叫着说。
“我不怕。”少年回答。
“下来!”士官又叫,“左边不见有什么吗?”
“左边?”
“唔,是的。”
少年把头向左转去。这时,有一种比前次更尖锐的声音就在少年头上掠过。少年一惊,不觉叫道:“他们向我射击起来了。”枪弹正从少年身旁飞过,真是只有一发之差。
“下来!”士官着急地叫。
“立刻下来了。但是现在已有树叶遮住,不要紧了。你说看左边吗?”
“唔,左边。但是,可下来了!”
少年把身体突向左方,大声地:“左边有寺的地方——”话犹未完,又一声很尖锐的声音,掠过空中。少年像是忽然下来了,还以为他正在靠住树干,不料即张开了手,石块似的落在地上。
“完了!”士官绝叫着跑上前去。
少年仰天横在地上,伸了两手死了。军曹与两个兵士,从马上飞跳下来。士兵伏在少年身上,解开了他的衬衫一看,见枪弹正中在右肺。“没有希望了!”士官叹息着说。
“不,还有气呢!”军曹说。
“唉!可怜!难得的孩子!喂!当心!”士官说着,用手巾抑住伤口,少年两眼炯炯地张了一张。头就向后垂下,断了气了。士官苍白着脸对少年看了一看,就把少年的上衣铺在草上,将尸体静静横倒,自己立了看着,军曹与两个兵士也立视着不动。别的兵士注意着前方。“可怜!把这勇敢的少年——”士官这样反复地说了,忽然转念,把那窗口的三色旗取下,罩在尸体上当做尸衣,军曹集拢了少年的皮鞋、帽子、小刀、杖等,放在旁边。他们一时都静默地立着,过了一会儿,士官向军曹说道:“叫他们拿担架来!这孩子是当做军人而死,可以用军人的礼仪来葬他的。”说着,向着少年的尸体,吻了自己的手再用手加到尸体上,代替接吻。立刻向兵士们命令说:“上马!”
一声令下,全体上了马继续前进,经过数小时之后,这少年就在军队里受到了下面那样的敬礼:
日没时,意大利军前卫的全线,向敌行进,数日前把桑马底诺小山染成血红的一大队射击兵,从今天骑兵通行的田野路上作了两列进行。少年战死的消息,出发前已传遍全队,这队所取的路径,与那农舍相距只隔几步。在前面的将校等,见大树下的用三色旗遮盖着的少年,通过时都捧了剑表示敬意。一个将校俯身到小河的岸摘取东西散开着的花草,洒在少年身上,全队的兵士也都模仿着摘了花向尸上投洒,一瞬间,少年已埋在花的当中了。将校兵士大家齐声叫说:“勇敢啊!隆巴尔地少年!”“再会!朋友啊!”“金发儿万岁!”一个将校把自己挂着的勋章投了过去,还有一个走近去吻他的额。草花仍继续地有人投过去,落雨般地洒在那可怜的脚上、染着血的臂上、黄金色的头上,少年包了旗横卧在草上,露出苍白的笑脸。啊!他好像是听了许多人的称赞,把为国丧生的事当做了自己的最大的满足!
贫民 二十九日
安利柯啊!像隆巴尔地少年的为国捐身,固然是大大的德行,但你不要忘记,我们此外不可不为的小德行,不知还有多少啊!今天你在我的前面走过街上时,有一个抱着瘦小苍白的小孩的女乞丐向你讨钱,你什么都没有给,只看着走开罢咧!那时,你袋中是应该有着铜币的。安利柯啊!好好听着!不幸的人伸了手求乞时,我们不该假装不知的啊!尤其是对于为了自己的小儿而求乞的母亲,不该这样。这小儿或者正饥饿着也说不定,如果这样,那母亲的难过将怎样呢?假定你母亲不得已要至于对你说:“安利柯啊!今日不能再给你食物了呢!”的时候,你想;那时的母亲,心里是怎样?
给予乞丐一个铜币,他就会从真心感谢你,说:“神必保佑你和你家族的健康。”听着这祝福时的快乐,是你所未曾尝到过的。受着那种言语时的快乐,我想,真是可以增加我们的健康的。我每从乞丐听到这种话时,觉得反不能不感谢乞丐,觉得乞丐所报我的比我所给他的更多:常这样怀着满足回到家里来。你碰着无依无靠的盲人,饥饿的母亲,无父母的孤儿的时候,可从钱包中把钱分给他们。仅在学校附近看,不是已有许多贫民了吗?贫民所欢喜的,特别是小孩的施与,因为:大人施与他们时,他们觉得比较低下,从小孩手里接受则是觉得不足耻的。大人的施与不过只是慈善的行为,小儿的施与于慈善外还有着亲切,——你懂吗?用譬喻说,好像从你手里落下花和钱来的样子。你要想想:你什么都不缺乏,世间有缺乏着一切的;你在求奢侈,世间有但求不死就算满足的。你又要想想:在充满了许多殿堂车马的都市之中,在穿着华美服装的小孩们之中,竟有着无衣无食的女人和小孩,这是何等可寒心的事啊!他们没有食物吃哪!不可怜吗?在这大都市中,有许多品质也同样的好,很有才能的小孩,穷得没有食物,像荒野的兽类一样。啊!安利柯啊!从此以后,如遇有乞食的母亲,不要再不给一钱管自走开!
——父亲
MY FRIEND GARRONE. Friday, 4th.
There had been but two days of vacation, yet it seemed 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 oppression. 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. Whatever he is asked for, —a pencil, rubber, paper, or penknife, —he lends or gives it; and he neither talks nor laughs in school: he always sits perfectly motionless on 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, “Well, 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 shoes; and a 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-pearl handle, which he found in the field for military manœuvres, 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 jest, and he never takes it ill; but woe to any one who says to him, “That is not true,” when he affirms a thing: then fire flashes from his eyes, and he hammers down 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 tall and large and sympathetic. The master is always glancing at him, and every time that he passes near him he taps him on the neck with his hand, as though 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 although 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.
THE CHARCOAL-MAN AND THE GENTLEMAN. Monday, 7th.
Garrone would certainly never have 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 quarrelled 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 vehemently, “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 your 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 tried to interpose, saying, “No, no!” but the gentleman paid no heed to him, and repeated 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, “I beg your pardon—for the insulting—foolish—ignoble—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 the 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. Thursday, 10th.
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 charcoal, out of gratitude for her having given the medal to her son; and the poor woman had persisted, and had not been willing to carry the coal home again, and had wept when she was obliged to go away with her apron 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 pronounce their r's and s's; and one coughs, and another has the nosebleed, and another loses his shoes under the 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 the teacher has to search them; but they conceal these objects even in their shoes. And they are not attentive: a fly enters through the window, and throws them all into confusion; and in summer they bring 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 themselves, bandage up their pricked fingers, pick up their caps when they drop them, watch to see that they do not exchange coats, and that they do not indulge in cat-calls and shrieks. Poor schoolmistresses! And 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 trousers, 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 vivaciously, 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 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, my 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 not 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 anguish, 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 of pain, who would beg for you, who would allow herself to be killed to save your life! Listen, Enrico. Fix this thought well in your mind. Reflect that you are destined to experience 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 inured to all fates, you will invoke her, oppressed with an intense desire to hear her voice, if but for a moment, and to see once more her open arms, into which you can throw yourself sobbing, like a poor child bereft of comfort and protection. How you will then recall every bitterness that you have caused her, and with what remorse you will pay for all, unhappy wretch! Hope for no peace in your life, if you have caused your mother grief. You will repent, you will beg her forgiveness, you will venerate her memory—in vain; conscience will give you no rest; that sweet and gentle image will always wear for you an expression of sadness and of reproach which will put your soul to torture. Oh, Enrico, beware; this is 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 being who gave you life. And if one should ever escape you, 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.
Thy Father.
MY COMPANION CORETTI. Sunday, 13th.
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 Corso, 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.
“What are you doing, Coretti?” 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 he ran, “The conjugation of the verb—consists in its variations according to number—according to number and person—”
And then, throwing down the wood and piling it, “according to the time—according to the time to which the action refers.”
And turning to the cart for another armful, “according to the mode in which the action 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 apartment, full of piles of wood and fagots, with a steelyard 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 already made two trips to the wood market in the Piazza Venezia this morning. My legs 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!” 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 and 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 returned 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.”
He opened a 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 behind 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?” he 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 unloaded. 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. “Go, 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 photograph 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.
We went back to the kitchen. “I have found the thing,” said Coretti; and he added on his copy-book, horse-trappings are also made of it. “The rest I will 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 quite different from the throw your arms forwards. I want my father to find all this wood sawed when he gets home; how glad he will be! The worst part of it is that after sawing I make T's and L's which look like snakes, so the teacher 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 grammar 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 the shop. Coretti ran out to speak to the man, then returned: “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 as a rose beneath his catskin cap, and so alert that it was a pleasure to see him.
“Happy fellow!” he had said to me. Ah, no, Coretti, 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 dear schoolmate.
THE HEAD-MASTER. Friday, 18th.
Coretti was pleased this morning, because his master of the second class, Coatti, a big man, with a huge head of curly hair, a great black beard, big dark eyes, and a voice like a cannon, had come to assist in the work of the monthly examination. He is always threatening the boys that he will break them in pieces and carry them by the nape of the neck to the quæstor, and he makes all sorts of frightful faces; but he never punishes any one, but always smiles the while behind his beard, so that no one can see it. There are eight masters 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 eye-glasses, 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 scar 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 summoned to receive a reproof, he does not scold them, but takes them by the hand, and tells them so many reasons why they 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 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 still hovering 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 appearance 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 keeps the latter's portrait before his eyes, on a little table in the head-master's room. He wanted to go away after this misfortune; he prepared his 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 was in the director's room with him, was just saying to him, “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 transferred 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 down his name, dismissed the father and son, and remained absorbed in thought. “What a pity that you 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. Yesterday 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: Garrone, 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 Calabrian; 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 fours, all perspiring and covered with dust, and their 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, if a foreign army were to menace our country to-morrow. They are boys too; they are not many 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 officer 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 button-hole the blue ribbon of the Crimean campaign—a pensioned officer. “Bravi! ”he said; “you have done a fine deed.”
In the meantime, the band of the regiment had made a turn at the end of the Corso, surrounded by a throng 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 know how to defend it when he is grown up.”
NELLI's PROTECTOR. Wednesday, 23d.
Nelli, too, poor little hunchback! was looking at the soldiers yesterday, 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 many of the boys ridiculed him, and thumped him on the back with their bags, because he is so unfortunate 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. 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, Garrone,” 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 to twist himself into his coat. For this Nelli loves him, and gazes at him constantly; and when the master praises Garrone he is pleased, as though he had been praised himself. Nelli must at last have told his mother all about the ridicule of the early days, and what they made him suffer; and about the comrade who defended him, and how he had grown fond of the latter; for this is what happened this morning. The master had sent me to carry to the director, half an hour before the close of school, a programme of the lesson, and I entered the office at the same moment with a small blond woman dressed in black, the mother of Nelli, who said, “Signor Director, is there in the class with my son a boy named Garrone? ”
“Yes,” replied the head-master.
“Will you have the goodness to let him come here for a moment, as I have a word to say to him? ”
The head-master called the beadle and sent him to the school, and after a minute Garrone appeared on the threshold, with his big, close-cropped head, in perfect amazement. No sooner did she catch sight of him than the woman flew to meet him, threw her arms on his shoulders, and kissed him a great many times on the head, saying:—
“You are Garrone, the friend of my little son, the protector of my poor child; it is you, my dear, brave boy; it is you!” Then she searched hastily in all her pockets, and in her purse, and finding nothing, she detached a chain from her neck, with a small cross, and put it on Garrone's neck, underneath his necktie, and said to him:—
“Take it! wear it in memory of me, my dear boy; in memory of Nelli's mother, who thanks and blesses you.”
THE HEAD OF THE CLASS. Friday, 25th.
Garrone attracts the love of all; Derossi, the admiration. He has taken the first medal;he will always be the first, and this year also; no one can compete with him; all recognize his superiority in all points. He is the first in arithmetic, in grammar, in composition, in drawing; he understands everything on the instant; he has a marvellous memory; he succeeds in everything without effort; it seems as though study were play to him. The teacher said to him yesterday:—
“You have received great gifts from God; all you have to do is not to squander them.”He is, moreover, tall and handsome, with a great crown of golden curls; he is so nimble that he can leap over a bench by resting one hand on it; and he already understands fencing. He is twelve years old, and the son of a merchant; he is always dressed in blue, with gilt buttons; he is always lively, merry, gracious to all, and helps all he can in examinations;and no one has ever dared to do anything disagreeable to him, or to say a rough word to him. Nobis and Franti alone look askance at him, and Votini darts envy from his eyes; but he does not even perceive it. All smile at him, and take his hand or his arm, when he goes about, in his graceful way, to collect the work. He gives away illustrated papers, drawings, everything that is given him at home; he has made a little geographical chart of Calabria for the Calabrian lad; and he gives everything with a smile, without paying any heed to it, like a grand gentleman, and without favoritism for any one. It is impossible not to envy him, not to feel smaller than he in everything. Ah! I, too, envy him, like Votini. And I feel a bitterness, almost a certain scorn, for him, sometimes, when I am striving to accomplish my work at home, and think that he has already finished his, at this same moment, extremely well, and without fatigue. But then, when I return to school, and behold him so handsome, so smiling and triumphant, and hear how frankly and confidently he replies to the master's questions, and how courteous he is, and how the others all like him, then all bitterness, all scorn, departs from my heart, and I am ashamed of having experienced these sentiments. I should like to be always near him at such times; I should like to be able to do all my school tasks with him: his presence, his voice, inspire me with courage, with a will to work, with cheerfulness and pleasure.
The teacher has given him the monthly story, which will be read to-morrow, to copy, —The Little Vidette of Lombardy. He copied it this morning, and was so much affected by that heroic deed, that his face was all aflame, his eyes humid, and his lips trembling; and I gazed at him: how handsome and noble he was! With what pleasure would I not have said frankly to his face: “Derossi, you are worth more than I in everything! You are a man in comparison with me! I respect you and I admire you! ”
THE LITTLE VIDETTE OF LOMBARDY. (Monthly Story.) Saturday, 26th.
In 1859, during the war for the liberation of Lombardy, a few days after the battle of Solfarino and San Martino, won by the French and Italians over the Austrians, on a beautiful morning in the month of June, a little band of cavalry of Saluzzo was proceeding at a slow pace along a retired path, in the direction of the enemy, and exploring the country attentively. The troop was commanded by an officer and a sergeant, and all were gazing into the distance ahead of them, with eyes fixed, silent, and prepared at any moment to see the uniforms of the enemy's advance-posts gleam white before them through the trees. In this order they arrived at a rustic cabin, surrounded by ash-trees, in front of which stood a solitary boy, about twelve years old, who was removing the bark from a small branch with a knife, in order to make himself a stick of it. From one window of the little house floated a large tricolored flag; there was no one inside: the peasants had fled, after hanging out the flag, for fear of the Austrians. As soon as the lad saw the cavalry, he flung aside his stick and raised his cap. He was a handsome boy, with a bold face and large blue eyes and long golden hair: he was in his shirt-sleeves and his breast was bare.
“What are you doing here?” the officer asked him, reining in his horse. “Why did you not flee with your family? ”
“I have no family,” replied the boy. “I am a foundling. I do a little work for everybody. I remained here to see the war.”
“Have you seen any Austrians pass? ”
“No; not for these three days.”
The officer paused a while in thought; then he leaped from his horse, and leaving his soldiers there, with their faces turned towards the foe, he entered the house and mounted to the roof. The house was low; from the roof only a small tract of country was visible. “It will be necessary to climb the trees,” said the officer, and descended. Just in front of the garden plot rose a very lofty and slender ash-tree, which was rocking its crest in the azure. The officer stood a brief space in thought, gazing now at the tree, and again at the soldiers;then, all of a sudden, he asked the lad:—
“Is your sight good, you monkey? ”
“Mine?” replied the boy. “I can spy a young sparrow a mile away.”
“Are you good for a climb to the top of this tree? ”
“To the top of this tree? I? I'll be up there in half a minute.”
“And will you be able to tell me what you see up there—if there are Austrian soldiers in that direction, clouds of dust, gleaming guns, horses? ”
“Certainly I shall.”
“What do you demand for this service? ”
“What do I demand?” said the lad, smiling. “Nothing. A fine thing, indeed! And then—if it were for the Germans, I wouldn't do it on any terms; but for our men! I am a Lombard! ”
“Good! Then up with you.”
“Wait a moment, until I take off my shoes.”
He pulled off his shoes, tightened the girth of his trousers, flung his cap on the grass, and clasped the trunk of the ash.
“Take care, now!” exclaimed the officer, making a movement to hold him back, as though seized with a sudden terror.
The boy turned to look at him, with his handsome blue eyes, as though interrogating him.
“No matter,” said the officer; “up with you.”
Up went the lad like a cat.
“Keep watch ahead!” shouted the officer to the soldiers.
In a few moments the boy was at the top of the tree, twined around the trunk, with his legs among the leaves, but his body displayed to view, and the sun beating down on his blond head, which seemed to be of gold. The officer could hardly see him, so small did he seem up there.
“Look straight ahead and far away!” shouted the officer.
The lad, in order to see better, removed his right hand from the tree, and shaded his eyes with it.
“What do you see?” asked the officer.
The boy inclined his head towards him, and making a speaking-trumpet of his hand, replied, “Two men on horseback, on the white road.”
“At what distance from here? ”
“Half a mile.”
“Are they moving? ”
“They are standing still.”
“What else do you see?” asked the officer, after a momentary silence. “Look to the right.” The boy looked to the right.
Then he said: “Near the cemetery, among the trees, there is something glittering. It seems to be bayonets.”
“Do you see men? ”
“No. They must be concealed in the grain.”
At that moment a sharp whiz of a bullet passed high up in the air, and died away in the distance, behind the house.
“Come down, my lad!” shouted the officer. “They have seen you. I don't want anything more. Come down.”
“I'm not afraid,” replied the boy.
“Come down!” repeated the officer. “What else do you see to the left? ”
“To the left? ”
“Yes, to the left.”
The lad turned his head to the left: at that moment, another whistle, more acute and lower than the first, cut the air. The boy was thoroughly aroused. “Deuce take them!” he exclaimed. “They actually are aiming at me!” The bullet had passed at a short distance from him.
“Down!” shouted the officer, imperious and irritated.
“I'll come down presently,” replied the boy. “But the tree shelters me. Don't fear. You want to know what there is on the left? ”
“Yes, on the left,” answered the officer; “but come down.”
“On the left,” shouted the lad, thrusting his body out in that direction, “yonder, where there is a chapel, I think I see—”
A third fierce whistle passed through the air, and almost instantaneously the boy was seen to descend, catching for a moment at the trunk and branches, and then falling headlong with arms outspread.
“Curse it!” exclaimed the officer, running up.
The boy landed on the ground, upon his back, and remained stretched out there, with arms outspread and supine; a stream of blood flowed from his breast, on the left. The sergeant and two soldiers leaped from their horses; the officer bent over and opened his shirt: the ball had entered his left lung. “He is dead!” exclaimed the officer.
“No, he still lives!” replied the sergeant.—“Ah, poor boy! brave boy!” cried the officer.“Courage, courage!” But while he was saying “courage,” he was pressing his handkerchief on the wound. The boy rolled his eyes wildly and dropped his head back. He was dead. The officer turned pale and stood for a moment gazing at him; then he laid him down carefully on his cloak upon the grass; then rose and stood looking at him; the sergeant and two soldiers also stood motionless, gazing upon him: the rest were facing in the direction of the enemy.
“Poor boy!” repeated the officer. “Poor, brave boy! ”
Then he approached the house, removed the tricolor from the window, and spread it in guise of a funeral pall over the little dead boy, leaving his face uncovered. The sergeant collected the dead boy's shoes, cap, his little stick, and his knife, and placed them beside him.
They stood for a few moments longer in silence; then the officer turned to the sergeant and said to him, “We will send the ambulance for him: he died as a soldier; the soldiers shall bury him.” Having said this, he wafted a kiss with his hand to the dead boy, and shouted “To horse!” All sprang into the saddle, the troop drew together and resumed its road.
And a few hours later the little dead boy received the honors of war.
At sunset the whole line of the Italian advance-posts marched forward towards the foe, and along the same road which had been traversed in the morning by the detachment of cavalry, there proceeded, in two files, a heavy battalion of sharpshooters, who, a few days before, had valiantly watered the hill of San Martino with blood. The news of the boy's death had already spread among the soldiers before they left the encampment. The path, flanked by a rivulet, ran a few paces distant from the house. When the first officers of the battalion caught sight of the little body stretched at the foot of the ash-tree and covered with the tricolored banner, they made the salute to it with their swords, and one of them bent over the bank of the streamlet, which was covered with flowers at that spot, plucked a couple of blossoms and threw them on it. Then all the sharpshooters, as they passed, plucked flowers and threw them on the body. In a few minutes the boy was covered with flowers, and officers and soldiers all saluted him as they passed by: “Bravo, little Lombard!” “Farewell, my lad!” “I salute thee, gold locks!” “Hurrah!” “Glory! ”“Farewell!” One officer tossed him his medal for valor; another went and kissed his brow. And flowers continued to rain down on his bare feet, on his blood-stained breast, on his golden head. And there he lay asleep on the grass, enveloped in his flag, with a white and almost smiling face, poor boy! as though he heard these salutes and was glad that he had given his life for his Lombardy.
THE POOR. Tuesday, 29th.
To give one's life for one's country as the Lombard boy did, is a great virtue; but you must not neglect the lesser virtues, my son. This morning as you walked in front of me, when we were returning from school, you passed near a poor woman who was holding between her knees a thin, pale child, and who asked alms of you. You looked at her and gave her nothing, and yet you had some coppers in your pocket. Listen, my son. Do not accustom yourself to pass indifferently before misery which stretches out its hand to you and far less before a mother who asks a copper for her child. Reflect that the child may be hungry; think of the agony of that poor woman. Picture to yourself the sob of despair of your mother, if she were some day forced to say, “Enrico, I cannot give you any bread even to-day!” When I give a soldo to a beggar, and he says to me, “God preserve your health, and the health of all belonging to you!” you cannot understand the sweetness which these words produce in my heart, the gratitude that I feel for that poor man. It seems to me certain that such a good wish must keep one in good health for a long time, and I return home content, and think, “Oh, that poor man has returned to me very much more than I gave him! ”Well, let me sometimes feel that good wish called forth, merited by you; draw a soldo from your 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 nothing, and that they lack everything, 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 hand!
Thy Father.