The distribution of our daily occupations was strictly laid down for
Matilde and me in black and white, and these rules were not to be broken
with impunity. We were thus accustomed to habits of order, and never to
make anybody wait for our convenience; a fault which is one of the most
troublesome that can be committed either by great people or small.
I remember one day that Matilde, having gone out with Teresa, came home
when we had been at dinner some time. It was winter, and snow was
falling. The two culprits sat down a little confused, and their soup was
brought them in two plates, which had been kept hot; but can you guess
where? On the balcony; so that the contents were not only below
freezing-point, but actually had a thick covering of snow!
At dinner, of course my sister and I sat perfectly silent, waiting our
turn, without right of petition or remonstrance. As to the other
proprieties of behavior, such as neatness, and not being noisy or
boisterous, we knew well that the slightest infraction would have
entailed banishment for the rest of the day at least. Our great anxiety
was to eclipse ourselves as much as possible; and I assure you that
under this system we never fancied ourselves the central points of
importance round which all the rest of the world was to revolve,--an
idea which, thanks to absurd indulgence and flattery, is often forcibly
thrust, I may say, into poor little brains, which if left to themselves
would never have lost their natural simplicity.
The lessons of 'Galateo' were not enforced at dinner only. Even at other
times we were forbidden to raise our voices or interrupt the
conversation of our elders, still more to quarrel with each other. If
sometimes as we went to dinner I rushed forward before Matilde, my
father would take me by the arm and make me come last, saying, "There is
no need to be uncivil because she is your sister." The old generation in
many parts of Italy have the habit of shouting and raising their voices
as if their interlocutor were deaf, interrupting him as if he had no
right to speak, and poking him in the ribs and otherwise, as if he could
only be convinced by sensations of bodily pain. The regulations observed
in my family were therefore by no means superfluous; and would to
Heaven they were universally adopted as the law of the land!
On another occasion my excellent mother gave me a lesson of humility,
which I shall never forget any more than the place where I received it.
In the open part of the Cascine, which was once used as a race-course,
to the right of the space where the carriages stand, there is a walk
alongside the wood. I was walking there one day with my mother, followed
by an old servant, a countryman of Pylades; less heroic than the latter,
but a very good fellow too. I forget why, but I raised a little cane I
had in my hand, and I am afraid I struck him. My mother, before all the
passers-by, obliged me to kneel down and beg his pardon. I can still see
poor Giacolin taking off his hat with a face of utter bewilderment,
quite unable to comprehend how it was that the Chevalier Massimo
Taparelli d'Azeglio came to be at his feet.
An indifference to bodily pain was another of the precepts most
carefully instilled by our father; and as usual, the lesson was made
more impressive by example whenever an opportunity presented itself. If,
for instance, we complained of any slight pain or accident, our father
used to say, half in fun, half in earnest, "When a Piedmontese has both
his arms and legs broken, and has received two sword-thrusts in the
body, he may be allowed to say, but not till then, 'Really, I almost
think I am not quite well.'"
The moral authority he had acquired over me was so great that in no case
would I have disobeyed him, even had he ordered me to jump out
of window.
I recollect that when my first tooth was drawn, I was in an agony of
fright as we went to the dentist; but outwardly I was brave enough, and
tried to seem as indifferent as possible. On another occasion my
childish courage and also my father's firmness were put to a more
serious test. He had hired a house called the Villa Billi, which stands
about half a mile from San Domenico di Fiesole, on the right winding up
toward the hill. Only two years ago I visited the place, and found the
same family of peasants still there, and my two old playmates, Nando and
Sandro,--who had both become even greater fogies than myself,--and we
had a hearty chat together about bygone times.
Whilst living at this villa, our father was accustomed to take us out
for long walks, which were the subject of special regulations. We were
strictly forbidden to ask, "Have we far to go?"--"What time is it?" or
to say, "I am thirsty; I am hungry; I am tired:" but in everything else
we had full liberty of speech and action. Returning from one of these
excursions, we one day found ourselves below Castel di Poggio, a rugged
stony path leading towards Vincigliata. In one hand I had a nosegay of
wild flowers, gathered by the way, and in the other a stick, when I
happened to stumble, and fell awkwardly. My father sprang forward to
pick me up, and seeing that one arm pained me, he examined it and found
that in fact the bone was broken below the elbow. All this time my eyes
were fixed upon him, and I could see his countenance change, and assume
such an expression of tenderness and anxiety that he no longer appeared
to be the same man. He bound up my arm as well as he could, and we then
continued our way homewards. After a few moments, during which my father
had resumed his usual calmness, he said to me:--
"Listen, Mammolino: your mother is not well. If she knows you are hurt
it will make her worse. You must be brave, my boy: to-morrow morning we
will go to Florence, where all that is needful can be done for you; but
this evening you must not show you are in pain. Do you understand?"
All this was said with his usual firmness and authority, but also with
the greatest affection. I was only too glad to have so important and
difficult a task intrusted to me. The whole evening I sat quietly in a
corner, supporting my poor little broken arm as best I could, and my
mother only thought me tired by the long walk, and had no suspicion of
the truth.
The next day I was taken to Florence, and my arm was set; but to
complete the cure I had to be sent to the Baths of Vinadio a few years
afterward. Some people may, in this instance, think my father was cruel.
I remember the fact as if it were but yesterday, and I am sure such an
idea never for one minute entered my mind. The expression of ineffable
tenderness which I had read in his eyes had so delighted me, it seemed
so reasonable to avoid alarming my mother, that I looked on the hard
task allotted me as a fine opportunity of displaying my courage. I did
so because I had not been spoilt, and good principles had been early
implanted within me: and now that I am an old man and have known the
world, I bless the severity of my father; and I could wish every Italian
child might have one like him, and derive more profit than I did,--in
thirty years' time Italy would then be the first of nations.
Moreover, it is a fact that children are much more observant than is
commonly supposed, and never regard as hostile a just but affectionate
severity. I have always seen them disposed to prefer persons who keep
them in order to those who constantly yield to their caprices; and
soldiers are just the same in this respect.
The following is another example to prove that my father did not deserve
to be called cruel:--
He thought it a bad practice to awaken children suddenly, or to let
their sleep be abruptly disturbed. If we had to rise early for a
journey, he would come to my bedside and softly hum a popular song, two
lines of which still ring in my ears:--
"Chi vuol veder l'aurora
Lasci le molli plume."
(He who the early dawn would view
Downy pillows must eschew.)
And by gradually raising his voice, he awoke me without the slightest
start. In truth, with all his severity, Heaven knows how I loved him.