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 second, he stood for a few moments listening to the
teacher and the head-master, who were talking to him in 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:--
"I give you the medal, Precossi. No one is more worthy to wear it than
you. I bestow it not only on your 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 gratitude.
"Go, my dear boy," said the superintendent; "and may 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 instantly, 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, without awaiting a reply:--
"I rejoice with you. Look: he has won the second medal over fifty-four
of his comrades. He has deserved it by his composition, his arithmetic,
everything. He is a boy of great intelligence and good will, who will
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 suffer, and all the goodness, the
heroic constancy, with which the latter had borne it, he displayed in
his countenance 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 Thursday, 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.