Saturday, 25th.
Yesterday afternoon, on coming out of school, I went to pay a visit to
my sick master. He made himself ill by overworking. Five hours of
teaching a day, then an hour of gymnastics, then two hours more of
evening school, which is equivalent to saying but little sleep, getting
his food by snatches, and working breathlessly from morning till night.
He has ruined his health. That is what my mother says. My mother was
waiting for me at the big door; I came out alone, and on the stairs I
met the teacher with the black beard--Coatti,--the one who frightens
every one and punishes no one. He stared at me with wide-open eyes, and
made his voice like that of a lion, in jest, but without laughing. I
was still laughing when I pulled the bell on the fourth floor; but I
ceased very suddenly when the servant let me into a wretched,
half-lighted room, where my teacher was in bed. He was lying in a little
iron bed. His beard was long. He put one hand to his brow in order to
see better, and exclaimed in his affectionate voice:--
"Oh, Enrico!"