GIUSEPPE MAZZINI
This morning, also, Garrone came to school with a pale face and his eyes swollen with weeping, and he hardly cast a glance at the little gifts which we had placed on his desk to console him. But the teacher had brought a page from a book to read to him, in order to encourage him. He first informed us that we are to go to-morrow at one o'clock to the town-hall to witness the award of the medal for civic valor to a boy who has saved a little child from the Po, and that on Monday he will dictate the description of the festival to us instead of the monthly story. Then turning to Garrone, who was standing with drooping head, he said to him:—
“Make an effort, Garrone, and write down what I dictate to you as well as the rest.”
We all took our pens, and the teacher dictated.
“Giuseppe Mazzini was born in Genoa in 1805 and died in Pisa in 1872, a grand, patriotic soul, the mind of a great writer, the first inspirer and apostle of the Italian Revolution; who, out of love for his country, lived for forty years poor, exiled, persecuted, a fugitive heroically steadfast in his principles and in his resolutions. Giuseppe Mazzini, who adored his mother, and who derived from her all that there was noblest and purest in her strong and gentle soul, wrote as follows to a faithful friend of his, to console him in the greatest of misfortunes. These are almost his exact words:—
“ ‘My friend, you will never more behold your mother on this earth. That is the terrible truth. I do not attempt to see you, because yours is one of those solemn and sacred sorrows which each must suffer and conquer for himself. Do you understand what I mean to convey by the words, One must conquer sorrow—conquer the least sacred, the least purifying part of sorrow, that which, instead of rendering the soul better, weakens and debases it? But the other part of sorrow,—the noble part—that which enlarges and elevates the soul—that must remain and never leave you more. Nothing here below can take the place of a good mother. In griefs, in the consolations which life may still bring you, you will never forget her. But you must recall her, love her, mourn her death, in a manner which is worthy of her.
“ ‘O my friend, hearken to me! Death exists not; it is nothing. It cannot even be understood. Life is life, and it follows the law of life—progress. Yesterday you had a mother on earth; to-day you have an angel elsewhere. All that is good will survive the life of the earth with increased power. Hence, also, the love of your mother. She loves you now more than ever. And you are responsible for your actions to her more, even, than before. It depends upon you, upon your actions, to meet her once more, to see her in another existence. You must, therefore, out of love and reverence for your mother, grow better and cause her to joy for you. Henceforth you must say at every act, “Would my mother approve this?” Her transformation has placed a guardian angel in the world for you, to whom you must refer in all your affairs, in everything that pertains to you. Be strong and brave; fight against desperate and vulgar grief; have the tranquillity of great suffering in great souls; and that is what she would have.’ ”
“Garrone,” added the teacher, “be strong and tranquil, for that is what she would have. Do you understand?"
Garrone nodded assent, while great and fast-flowing tears streamed over his hands, his copy-book, and his desk.