Friday, 21st.
The year has begun with an accident. On my way to school this morning I
was repeating to my father these words 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 inquired
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 safety; 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not withdrawn his own foot quickly enough, the wheel of the omnibus had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 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 child!"
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 mother of the
wounded boy smiled, as she covered her face with her hands. They went
out, placed the lad comfortably in the carriage, and the carriage drove
away. Then we all entered school in silence.