爱的教育(中文导读英文版)

October

十 月

十月

October

周一，17日，开学第一天

Monday, 17th. The First Day of School

今天是开学第一天。我还没有从长假中缓过神

来，就要上四年级了！许多家长来送孩子报名上学。

街道上人来人往，学校里也熙熙攘攘，一年级学生

那里更加乱糟糟。我发现许多同学和老师都有了变

化，还碰见了以前的老师。我找到了自己的班级，

却想着过去的假期和以前的老师，心中升起一丝

伤感。

T

oday is the first day of school. The three months of vacation in the

country have passed like a dream. This morning my mother took me to the

Baretti schoolhouse to have me enter for the third elementary grade: I was

thinking of the country, and went unwillingly.

The streets were swarming with boys: the two book-shops were thronged

with fathers and mothers who were purchasing bags, portfolios, and

copy-books, and in front of the school so many people had collected, that the

beadle and the policeman found it hard to keep the entrance clear. Near the

door, I felt myself touched on the shoulder: it was my master of the second

grade, cheerful, as usual, and with his red hair ruffled.

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He said to me: “So we are to part forever, Enrico?”

I knew it well, yet the words pained me.

We made our way in with difficulty. Ladies, gentlemen, women of the

people, workmen, officials, nuns, and servants, all leading boys with one hand,

and holding the promotion books in the other, filled the anteroom and the stairs,

making such a buzzing, that it seemed like entering a theatre. I was glad to see

once more that large room on the ground floor, with the doors leading to the

seven classes, where I had passed nearly every day for three years. There was a

throng of teachers going and coming. My schoolmistress of the first upper class

greeted me from the door of the classroom, and said:

“Enrico, you are going to the floor above, this year. I shall not even see

you pass by any more!” And she gazed sadly at me.

The principal was surrounded by women who were much worried because

there was no room for their sons; and it struck me that his beard was a little

whiter than it had been last year.

I found the boys had grown taller and stouter. On the ground floor, where

the divisions had already been made, there were little children of the first and

lowest section, who did not want to enter the classrooms, and who pulled back

like donkeys: they had to be dragged in by force, and some ran away from the

benches; others, when they saw their parents leave, began to cry, and the

parents had to go back and comfort them, or take them away; while the

teachers were in despair.

My little brother was placed in the class of Mistress Delcati: I was put

with Master Perboni, upstairs on the first floor.

At ten o’clock we were all in our classes: fifty-four of us; only fifteen or

sixteen of my companions of the second class, among them, Derossi, the one

who always gets the first prize.

The school seemed so small and gloomy to me when I thought of the

woods and the mountains where I had passed the summer! I thought again, too,

of my master in the second class, who was so good, and who always smiled at

us, and was so small that he seemed to be one of us; and I grieved that I should

no longer see him, with his tumbled red hair. Our present teacher is tall; he has

no beard; his hair is gray and long; and he has a straight line running crosswise

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on his forehead. He has a big voice, and he looks at us fixedly, one after the

other, as though he were reading our very thoughts; and he never smiles.

I said to myself: “This is my first day. There are nine months more. What

work, what monthly examinations, what weariness!” I wanted to see my

mother when I came out, and I ran to kiss her hand!

She said to me: “Courage. Enrico! We will study together.”

And I returned home content. But I no longer have my master, with his

kind, merry smile, and school does not seem so nice to me as it did before.

周二，18日，我们的班主任

Tuesday, 18th. Our Master

新班主任佩伯尼老师端坐在教室里，他看上去历经沧桑，不苟言笑。

许多从门口经过的同学都同他打招呼。老师看到一个同学脸上长了痘痘，

就关切地询问他。老师缓慢地告诉我们：他在这世上已经没有亲人，我们

这些孩子就是他的一切。课后，一个之前在他背后做鬼脸的同学向老师道

歉。我忽然喜欢上了佩伯尼老师。

I

like my new teacher too, since this morning. While we were coming

in, and when he was already seated, some of his scholars of last year every now

and then peeped in at the door to salute him; they would present themselves

and greet him:

“Good morning, Signor Teacher!” “Good morning, Signor Perboni !”

Some came in, touched his hand, and ran away. It was plain that they liked

him, and would have been glad to return to him. He responded “Good

morning” and shook the hands which were held out to him, but he looked at no

one: at every greeting his smile remained serious, with that deep wrinkle on his

brow, with his face turned towards the window, and staring at the roof of the

house opposite; and instead of being cheered by these greetings, he seemed to

suffer from them. Then he looked at us closely, one after the other. While he

was dictating, he got down and walked among the benches. Catching sight of a

boy whose face was all red with little pimples, he stopped dictating, took the

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lad’s face between his hands and examined it; then he asked him what was the

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matter with him, and laid his hand on his forehead to feel if it were hot.

Meanwhile, a boy behind him got up on the bench, and began to play the

marionette. The teacher turned round suddenly; the boy sat down at one dash,

and remained there, with head hanging, in dread of being punished. The master

placed one hand on his head and said to him:

“Don’t do so again.” Nothing more.

Then he returned to his table and finished the dictation. When he was done,

he looked at us a moment in silence; then he said, very, very slowly, with his

big but kind voice: “Listen. We have a year to pass together; let us see that we

pass it well. Study and be good. I have no family; you are my family. Last year

I had mother; she is dead. I am left alone. I have no one but you in all the world;

I have no other affection, no other thought than you: you must be my sons. I

wish you well, and you must like me too. I do not wish to be obliged to punish

any one. Show me that you are boys of heart: our school shall be a family, and

you shall be my comfort and my pride. I do not ask you to give me a promise; I

am sure that in your hearts you have already answered ‘yes’, and I thank you.”

Just then the beadle came in to announce the close of school. We all left

our seats as quietly as could be. The boy who had stood up on the bench went

up to the master, and said to him, in a trembling voice:

“Forgive me, Signor Master.”

The master kissed him on the brow, and said, “Go, my son.”

周五，21日，不幸事件

Friday, 21st. An Accident

早上，我看到许多人在学校门口和校长办公室门口围着，其中夹杂着

医生和警察。原来，今早在街道十字路口处，三年级的罗贝蒂为了救一个

低年级的同学不幸被汽车轧伤了脚。罗贝蒂是一位炮兵上尉的孩子。他的

妈妈发疯般地挤了过来，不停地哭泣。很快，一些人簇拥着罗贝蒂去医

院了。

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T

he year has begun with an accident. On my way to school this

morning I was repeating to my father the words of our teacher, when we

noticed 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 passed through with some difficulty. The big hall was crowded with

parents and children, whom the teachers had not succeeded in placing in the

classrooms, and all were turning towards the principal’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 principal; 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 Dora Grossa street, 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 forward boldly, 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 mad, 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 desperate cry made itself heard: “Oh my Giulio ! My

child !”

At that moment a carriage stopped before the door, and a little later the

principal 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 principal 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

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mistresses and boys who were near him kissed his hands and his arms. He

opened his eyes and said, “My satchel !” 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, she bore up the

mother of the wounded boy, who 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.

周六，22日，卡拉布利亚的孩子

Saturday, 22nd. The Calabrian Boy

我们班来了一位新同学。老师说，新同学来自卡拉布利亚，他的家乡

是意大利的一片光荣土地，出过许多名人，风景也很优美，要我们善待他。

老师请我们的班长德罗西上台，代表大家拥抱他，以示欢迎。老师又说，

我们意大利人不论在哪里，都要互相尊重和爱护。我们都非常高兴，送给

这位新同学许多学习用品。

Y

esterday afternoon, while the master was telling us the news of poor

Robetti, who will have to go on crutches, the principal entered with a new pupil,

a lad with a very brown face, black hair, large black eyes, and thick eyebrows

which met on his forehead: he was dressed entirely in dark clothes, with a

black morocco belt round his waist. The principal went away, after speaking a

few words in the master’s ear, leaving beside the latter the boy, who glanced

about with his big black eyes as though frightened. The master took him by the

hand, and said to the class:

“You ought to be glad. Today there enters our school a little Italian born in

Reggio, in Calabria, more than five hundred miles from here. Love your

brother who has come from so far a way. He was born in a glorious land, which

has given illustrious men to Italy, and which now furnishes her with stout

laborers and brave soldiers; in one of the most beautiful lands of our country,

where there are great forests, and great mountains, inhabited by people full of

talent and courage. Treat him well, so that he shall not feel that he is far away

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from the city in which he was born; make him see that an Italian boy, in

whatever Italian school he sets his foot will find brothers there.” So saying, he

rose and pointed out on the wall map of Italy the spot where lay Reggio, in

Calabria. Then he called:

“Ernesto Derossi!” the boy who always gets the first prize. Derossi rose.

“Come here,” said the master Derossi left his bench and stepped up to the

little table, facing the Calabrian.

“As the head of the class,” said the master to him, “give a welcome to this

new companion, in the name of the whole school — the embrace of the sons

of Piedmont to the son of Calabria.”

Derossi embraced the Calabrian, saying in his clear voice, “Welcome!”

and the other kissed him impetuously on the cheeks. All clapped their hands.

“Silence!” cried the master, “we don’t clap hands in school!” But it was clear

that he was pleased. And the Calabrian was pleased also. The master gave him

a place, and went with him to the bench. Then he said again:

“Bear well in mind what I have said to you. In order that this case might

occur, that a Calabrian boy should be as though in his own house at Turin, and

that a boy from Turin should be at home in Calabria, our country fought for

fifty years, and thirty thousand Italians died. You must all respect and love

each other; but any one of you who should give offence to this comrade,

because he was not born in our province, would render himself unworthy of

ever again raising his eyes from the earth when he passes the tricolored flag.”

Hardly was the Calabrian seated in his place, when his neighbors

presented him with pens and a picture; and another boy, from the last bench,

sent him a Swiss postage-stamp.

周二，25日，同窗

Tuesday, 25th. My Schoolmates

我已经认识了好几位同学。比如，高大的加罗内，为人正义友好；幽

默的柯雷蒂，他爸爸开了间柴火店；“小泥瓦匠”最会做好玩的兔子脸；

一只胳膊残废的克罗西，他妈妈是卖菜的；脸色苍白的普雷科西，据说他

那当铁匠的爸爸经常打他；小眼睛的加罗非，他整日拿着钢笔、贴画等和

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同学做买卖；此外，还有总是穿着考究的沃蒂尼、非常傲慢的诺比斯、驼

背的奈利等；其中，成绩最好，人也很帅很好的是德罗西；最沉默寡言却

脾气暴躁的是斯达蒂。

T

he boy who sent the postage-stamp to the Calabrian is the one I like

best of all. His name is Garrone: he is the biggest boy in the class; he is about

fourteen years old; his head is large, his shoulders broad; he is good, as one can

see when he smiles; but it seems as though he always thought like a man.

I already know several of my classmates. Another one I am taken with is

named Coretti, and he wears chocolate-colored trousers and a catskin cap: he is

always jolly; he is the son of a huckster of wood, who was a soldier in the war

of 1866, in the squadron of Prince Umberto, and they say that he has three

medals. There is little Nelli, a poor hunchback, a weak boy, with a thin face.

There is one who is very well dressed, who always wears fine Florentine plush,

and is named Votini. On the bench in front of me there is a boy who is called

Muratorino ( “the little mason”) because his father is a mason; his face is as

round as an apple, with a nose like a small ball; he possesses a special talent: he

knows how to make a hare’s face, and they all get him to do it, and then they

laugh. He wears a little ragged cap, which he carries rolled up in his pocket like

a handkerchief. Beside Muratorino sits Garoffi, a long, thin, silly fellow, with

the nose and beak of a screech-owl, and very small eyes, who is always trading

in little pens and images and match-boxes, and who writes the lesson on his

nails, in order that he may read it on the sly. Then there is a young gentleman,

Carlo Nobis, who seems very haughty; and he is between two boys I

like, —one the son of a blacksmith, clad in a jacket which reaches to his knees,

who is pale, as though from illness, who always has a frightened air, and who

never laughs; and the other with red hair, who has a withered arm, and carries it

hung in a sling from his neck; his father has gone away to America, and his

mother goes about peddling potherbs.

And there is another curious fellow, my neighbor on the left, Stardi, small

and thickset, with no neck, —a gruff fellow, who speaks to no one, and

doesn’t seem to understand much, but stands watching the master without

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winking, his brow lined with wrinkles, and his teeth set: and if he is questioned

when the master is speaking, he makes no reply the first and second times, and

the third time he gives a kick. And beside him there is a bold, cunning face,

belonging to a boy named Franti, who has already been expelled from another

district. There are, in addition, two brothers who are dressed exactly alike, who

resemble each other to a hair, and both of whom wear caps of Calabrian cut,

with a pheasant’s plume. But handsomer than all the rest, the one who has the

most talent, who will surely be the head this year also, is Derossi; and the

master, who has already perceived this, always questions him. But I like

Precossi, the son of the blacksmith, the one with the long jacket, who seems

sickly. They say that his father beats him; he is very timid, and every time that

he addresses or touches any one, he says “Excuse me,” and gazes at them with

his kind, sad eyes. But Garrone is the biggest and the best.

周三，26日，高尚的行为

Wednesday, 26th. A Generous Deed

今早，我一走进教室，就看到几个同学在欺负胳膊残废的克罗西，克

罗西哀求也不管用后，就拿起一瓶墨水朝他们砸去，正好砸在刚进门的老

师身上。老师责问肇事者是谁，一阵沉默后，加罗内站起来说是自己砸的；

之后，克罗西战战兢兢地承认了，并向老师说明了事情的原委。欺侮克罗

西的四名同学受到了老师的批评。

I

t was this very morning that Garrone let us know what he is like.

When I entered the school a little late, because the mistress of the upper first

had stopped me to inquire at what hour she could find me at home, the master

had not yet come, and three or four boys were teasing poor Crossi, the one with

the red hair, who has a dead arm, and whose mother sells vegetables. They

were poking him with rulers, hitting him in the face with chestnut shells, and

making him out to be a cripple and a monster, by mimicking him, with his arm

hanging in the sling. And he, alone on the end of the bench, and quite pale, was

gazing now at one and now at another with beseeching eyes, that they might

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leave him in peace. But the others mocked him worse than ever, and he began

to tremble and to turn red with rage. All at once, Franti, the boy with the bad

face, sprang upon a bench, and pretending that he was carrying a basket on

each arm, he aped the mother of Crossi, when she used to come to wait for her

son at the door; for she is ill now. Many began to laugh loudly. Then Crossi

lost his head, and seizing an inkstand, he hurled it at the other’s head with all

his strength; but Franti dodged, and the inkstand struck the master, who entered

at the moment, full in the breast.

All flew to their places, and became silent with terror.

The master, quite pale, went to his table, and said in a stern voice: “Who

did it?”

No one replied.

The master raised his voice, and said again, “Who was it?”

Then Garrone, moved to pity for poor Crossi, rose abruptly and said,

resolutely, “It was I.”

The master looked at him, and at the stupefied scholars; then said in a

quiet voice, “It was not you.”

And, after a moment: “The guilty one shall not be punished. Let him rise!”

Crossi rose and said, weeping, “They were striking me and insulting me,

and I lost my head, and threw—”

“Sit down,” said the master, “Let those who provoked him rise.”

Four rose, and hung their heads.

“You,” said the master, “have insulted a companion who had given you no

provocation; you have scoffed at an unfortunate lad, you have struck a weak

person who could not defend himself. You have committed one of the basest,

the most shameful acts with which a human creature can stain himself.

Cowards!”

Having said this, he came down among the benches, put his hand under

Garrone’s chin, as the latter stood with drooping head, and having made him

raise it, he looked him straight in the eye, and said, “You are a noble soul.”

Garrone profited by the occasion to murmur something in the ear of the

master; and he, turning towards the four culprits, said, abruptly, “I forgive

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you.”

周四，27日，我二年级的女老师

Thursday, 27th. My Schoolmistress of the Upper First

今天，二年级时教我的女老师来到我家。她没怎么打扮自己，脸色苍

白。妈妈说她是操心太多了。这位女老师记得住每一个学生的名字，即使

没有再教那些学生了，也仍然很关心他们。眼下，她刚刚带一群学生从博

物馆回来，又要去看望一个生病的孩子。临走，她请我不要忘了她。这位

好老师教会我许多东西，我怎么会忘记她呢！

M

y schoolmistress kept her promise, and came today just as I was

on the point of going out with my mother to carry some linen to a poor woman

recommended by the Gazette. It was a year since I had seen her in our house.

We all made a great deal of her. She is just the same as ever, a little thing, with

a green veil wound about her bonnet, carelessly dressed, and with untidy hair,

because she has no time to adorn herself; but with a little less color than last

year, with some white hairs, and a constant cough. My mother said to her:

“And your health, my dear mistress? You do not take sufficient care of

yourself!”

“It does not matter,” the other replied, with her smile, at once bright and

sad.

“You speak too loud,” my mother added, “you exert yourself too much

with your boys.”

That is true; her voice is always to be heard; I remember how it was when

I went to school to her; she talked and talked all the time, so that the boys

might not lose their attention, and she did not remain seated a moment. I felt

quite sure that she would come, because she never forgets her pupils; she

remembers their names for years. On the days of the monthly examination, she

runs to ask the director what marks they have won; she waits for them at the

entrance, and makes them show her their compositions, in order that she may

see what progress they have made; and many, who are now in the grammar

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school and wear long trousers and a watch, still come to see her.

Today she had come back in a great state of excitement, from the

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picture-gallery, whither she had taken her boys, just as she had conducted them

all to a museum every Thursday in years gone by, and explained everything to

them. The poor mistress has grown still thinner than of old. But she is always

brisk, and always becomes animated when she speaks of her school. She

wanted to have a peep at the bed on which she had seen me lying very ill two

years ago, and which is now occupied by my brother; she gazed at it for a while,

and could not speak. She was obliged to go away soon to visit a boy belonging

to her class, the son of a saddler, who is ill with the measles; and she had

besides a package of sheets to correct, a whole evening’s work; and she had

still a private lesson in arithmetic to give to the mistress of a shop before

nightfall.

“Well, Enrico,” she said to me as she was going, “are you still fond of

your schoolmistress, now that you do hard sums and write long compositions?”

She kissed me, and called up once more from the foot of the stairs, “You are

not to forget me, you know, Enrico!”

Oh, my kind teacher, never, never shall I forget you! Even when I grow up

I shall remember you and shall go to seek you among your boys; and every

time I pass near a school and hear the voice of a schoolmistress, I shall think

that I hear your voice, and I shall recall the two years I passed in your school,

where I learned so many things, where I so often saw you ill and weary, but

always earnest, always indulgent, in despair when any one was clumsy with his

pen, trembling when the examiners asked us questions, happy when we made a

good showing, always kind and loving as a mother. Never, never shall I forget

you, my teacher!

周五，28日，阁楼里的故事

Friday, 28th. In An Attic

昨晚，妈妈、姐姐和我在报纸上看到一位贫困妇女的情况报道，打算

送些衣服给她。找到她的住处以后，我发现黑洞洞的屋子里空无一物，一

个小孩正趴在椅子前写作业，我认出来那正是克罗西。我正要退出房间以

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免克罗西觉得尴尬，克罗西刚好转过脸来认出了我，我们俩拥抱在了一起。

克罗西的妈妈说，孩子爸爸去美国好几年了，她靠卖菜维持生计，家里很

穷，在别人的帮助下，克罗西才上了学。我们很同情她们母子。

Y

esterday evening I went with my mother and my sister Sylvia, to

carry the linen to the poor woman recommended by the newspaper. I carried

the bundle; Sylvia had the paper with the initials of the name and the address.

We went up to the very roof of a tall house, and through a long corridor with

many doors. My mother knocked at the last; it was opened by a thin, fair

woman who was still young, and it instantly struck me that I had seen her many

times before, with that very same blue kerchief that she wore on her head.

“Are you the person of whom the newspaper says so and so?” asked my

mother.

“Yes, signora, I am.”

“Well, we have brought you a little linen.”

The woman began to thank us and bless us, and could not make enough of

it. Just then I noticed, in one corner of the bare, dark room, a boy kneeling in

front of a chair, with his back turned towards us, who appeared to be writing;

and he really was writing, with his paper on the chair and his inkstand on the

floor. How did he manage to write in the dark? While I was saying this to

myself, I suddenly recognized the red hair and the coarse jacket of Crossi, the

son of the vegetable peddler, the boy with the useless arm. I told this to my

mother softly, while the woman was putting away the things.

“Hush!” replied my mother, “perhaps he will feel ashamed to see you

giving alms to his mother, don’t speak to him.”

But at that moment Crossi turned round; I was embarrassed; he smiled,

and then my mother gave me a push, so that I should run to him and embrace

him. I did so: he rose and took me by the hand.

“Here I am,” his mother was saying in the meantime to my mother, “alone

with this boy, my husband in America these seven years, and I sick in addition,

so that I can no longer make my rounds with my vegetables, and earn a few

cents. We have not even a table left for my poor Luigino to do his work on.

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When there was a bench down at the door, he could, at least, write on the bench;

but that has been taken away. He has not even light enough to study without

ruining his eyes. And it is a mercy that I can send him to school, since the city

provides him with books and copybooks. Poor Luigino, who would be so glad

to study! Unhappy woman, that I am!”

My mother gave her all that she had in her purse, kissed the boy, and

almost wept as we went out. And she had good cause to say to me: “Look at

that poor boy; see how he is forced to work, when you have every comfort, and

yet study seems hard to you! Ah! Enrico, there is more merit in the work which

he does in one day, than in your work for a year. It is to such that the first

prizes should be given!”

周五，28日，学校（爸爸的信）

Friday, 28th. The School

亲爱的恩瑞克，你老怕吃苦，不爱学习。现在大家都在学习，他们中

有辛苦一天的工人、劳动一周的穷人家的姑娘、精疲力竭的士兵、残疾人

和囚犯。此时，全世界都有学生走在去往学校的路上，有的在乡间小道，

有的在繁华大街，有的在雪地，有的在草原；成千上万的孩子，所处的地

点天气不一样，肤色语言不一样，以不同的方式学习知识。你是学习大军

中的一员，要加油，不要做卑怯的士兵！

Y

es, study comes hard to you, my dear Enrico, as your mother says: I

do not yet see you set out for school with that resolute mind and that smiling

face which I should like. You are still unwilling. But listen; reflect a little! How

poor and pitiable your day would be if you did not go to school! At the end of a

week you would beg with clasped hands that you might return there, for you

would be eaten up with weariness and shame; disgusted with your sports and

with your existence. Everybody studies now, my child. Think of the workmen

who go to school in the evening after having toiled all the day; think of the

women, of the girls of the people, who go to school on Sunday, after having

worked all the week; think of the soldiers who turn to their books and

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copy-books when they return exhausted from their drill! Think of the dumb and

the blind who study, nevertheless; and last of all, think of the prisoners, who

also learn to read and write. Reflect in the morning, when you set out, that at

that very moment, in your own city, thirty thousand other boys are going like

yourself, to shut themselves up in a room for three hours of study. Think of the

army of boys who, at nearly this precise hour, are going to school in all

countries. Behold them with your imagination, going, going, through the lanes

of quiet villages; through the streets of the noisy towns, along the shores of

rivers and lakes; here beneath a burning sun; there amid fogs, in boats, in

countries which are cut with canals; on horseback on the far-reaching plains; in

sledges over the snow; through valleys and over hills; across forests and

torrents, over the solitary paths of mountains; alone, in couples, in groups, in

long files, all with their books under their arms, clad in a thousand ways,

speaking a thousand tongues, from the most remote schools in Russia, almost

lost in the ice, to the furthermost schools of Arabia, shaded by palm trees,

millions and millions, all going to learn the same things, in a hundred varied

forms. Imagine this vast, vast throng of boys of a hundred races, this immense

movement of which you form a part, and remember, if this movement were to

cease, humanity would fall back into barbarism; this movement is the progress,

the hope, the glory of the world.

Courage, then, little soldier of the immense army! Your books are your

arms, your class is your squadron, the field of battle is the whole earth, and the

victory is human civilization. Be not a cowardly soldier, my Enrico.

Your father

周六，29日，派多瓦的小爱国者（每月故事）

Saturday, 29th. The Little Patriot of Padua (Monthly

Story)

一艘从巴塞罗那驶往的热亚那的轮船上，载着许多来自法国、意大利、

西班牙和瑞士的人，还有一个衣衫褴褛的、来自意大利派多瓦的11岁孩

子。两年前，他的农民父母把他卖给了一个卖艺戏班，他在戏班里受尽虐

待，终于逃了出来，意大利领事馆要将他送回家。眼下，这个孩子沉默地

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待着。在一些乘客的询问下，他讲出了自己的经历，有几位乘客和几位女

士便给了这个孩子一些钱。孩子道谢后收下了钱，接着就回到自己的舱位

上想着，该用这些钱做些什么事。他听见外面给他钱的几位乘客在讨论意

大利，说意大利人无知、下等。男孩将刚拿到的钱朝这些人砸去，说：他

不会要这些侮辱自己祖国的人的施舍。

I

will not be a “cowardly soldier”, no; but I should be much more

willing to go to school if the master would tell us a story every day, like the one

he told us this morning.

“Every month,” said he, “I shall tell you one; I shall give it to you in

writing, and it will always be the tale of a fine and noble deed performed by a

boy. This one is called The Little Patriot of Padua. Here it is.

“A French steamer set out from Barcelona, a city in Spain, for Genoa;

there were on board Frenchmen, Italians, Spaniards, and Swiss. Among the rest

was a lad of eleven, poorly clad, and alone, who always held himself aloof, like

a wild animal, and stared at all with gloomy eyes. He had good reasons for

looking at every one with forbidding eyes. Two years previous to this time his

parents, peasants in the neighborhood of Padua, had sold him to a company of

mountebanks, who, after they had taught him how to perform tricks, by dint of

blows and kicks and starving, had carried him all over France and Spain,

beating him continually and never giving him enough to eat.

“On his arrival in Barcelona, being no longer able to endure ill treatment

and hunger, and being reduced to a pitiable condition, he had fled from his

slave-master and had betaken himself for protection to the Italian consul, who,

moved with compassion, had placed him on board of this steamer, and had

given him a letter to the guardsman of Genoa, who was to send the boy back to

his parents—to the parents who had sold him like a beast. The poor lad was

weak and ragged. He had been put in the second-class cabin. Every one stared

at him; some questioned him, but he made no reply, and seemed to hate and

despise every one, to such an extent had privation and suffering borne him

down and saddened him. Nevertheless, three travellers, persisting in their

questions, succeeded in making him unloose his tongue; and in a few rough

words, a mixture of Venetian, French, and Spanish, he related his story. These

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three travellers were not Italians, but they understood him; and partly out of

compassion, partly because they were excited with wine, they gave him a few

coins, jesting with him and urging him on to tell them other things; and as

several ladies entered the salon at the moment, they gave him some more

money for the purpose of making a show, and cried: ‘Take this! Take this, too!’

as they made the money rattle on the table.

“The boy pocketed it all, thanking them in a low voice, and with his sad

face, but with a look that was for the first time smiling and affectionate. Then

he climbed into his berth, drew the curtain, and lay quiet, thinking over his

affairs. With this money he would be able to purchase some good food on

board, after having suffered for lack of bread for two years; he could buy a

jacket as soon as he landed in Genoa, after having gone about clad in rags for

two years; and he could also, by carrying it home, insure for himself from his

father and mother a kinder greeting than would fall to his lot if he arrived with

empty pockets. This money was a little fortune for him; and he was taking

comfort out of the thought behind the curtain of his berth, while the three

travellers chatted away, as they set round the dining-table in the second-class

salon.

“They were drinking and discussing their travels and the countries which

they had seen; and from one topic to another they began to discuss Italy. One of

them began to complain of the inns, another of the railways, and then, growing

warmer, they all began to speak evil of everything. One would have preferred a

trip in Lapland; another declared that he had found nothing but robbers and

brigands in Italy; the third said that Italian officials do not know how to read.

“ ‘It’s an ignorant nation,’ continued the first.

“ ‘A filthy nation,’ added the second.

“ ‘Rob—’exclaimed the third, meaning to say ‘robbers’; but he was not

allowed to finish the word, a tempest of small coin came down upon their

heads and shoulders, fell over the table and the floor with a great clatter. All

three sprang up in a rage, looked up, and received another handful of coppers in

their faces.

“ ‘Take back your money!’ said the lad, disdainfully, thrusting his head

between the curtains of his berth, ‘ I do not accept alms from those who insult

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my country!’ ”

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