Kindness of Teachers
The First Four Grades
After the loss of so much time, it was finally decided to send me to Chieri, where I could continue seriously with my schooling. That was in 1830. One raised in the backwoods finds plenty of novelties to wonder at in even a small country village. I lodged with a woman from my own town, Lucy Matta, a widow with one son. She used to stay in the city to help him and keep an eye on him.
The first person I met was Fr Eustace Valimberti, of revered memory. He gave me a lot of good advice on how to keep out of trouble. He invited me to serve his Mass and thus he could always advise me well. He brought me to see the headmaster of the school and introduced me to my other teachers. Up to now, my studies had been a little of everything and amounted almost to nothing. Accordingly, I was advised to enrol in the sixth class, which today would correspond to the first year of ginnasio.
My teacher was Dr Pugnetti, also of dear memory. He was very kind to me. He helped me in school, invited me to his home, and was very sympathetic to me because of my age and my goodwill. He went out of his way to help me as much as he could.
My age and my size made me look like a pillar amongst my little companions. I was anxious to get out of that situation. After two months of the sixth class, I was at its head. I took an examination and moved up to the fifth class. I went gladly to my new class because my classmates were more my size, and my teacher was the beloved Fr Valimberti. After two more months, I led the class again and, by exception, was allowed to take another examination and so was promoted to the fourth class, which is equivalent to the second year of ginnasio.
Here my teacher was Joseph Cima, a strict disciplinarian. When he saw this student as big and stocky as himself coming into his class in midyear, he joked in front of the whole class,
He’s either a simpleton or a genius.
What do you make of him?
Taken aback by that harsh introduction, I answered,
Something in-between. I’m just a poor young fellow who has the goodwill to do his work and get along in his studies.
He was mollified by my reply and went on with unusual kindness,
If you have goodwill, you’re in good hands. I’ll see that you won’t be idle here. Don’t worry; if you have any problems, tell me promptly and I’ll sort them out for you.
I thanked him with all my heart.
After a couple of months in this class, something happened that gave rise to some comment about me. One day the teacher was explaining the life of Agesilaus in Cornelius Nepos. I did not have my book with me that day, and to cover my forgetfulness, I kept my Donato open in front of me. My companions noticed, and first one and then another began to laugh. Suddenly the whole classroom was in an uproar. The teacher shouted,
What’s going on here? What’s going on?
He shot a look at me, this time. Everyone was looking at me. He told me to construe the text and repeat his explanation. I got to my feet, still holding my Donato. From memory I repeated the text, construed it, and explained it. Instinctively my companions expressed their admiration and burst into applause. The teacher was angry beyond description. It was the first time, according to him, that he had failed to maintain discipline. He swung at me, but I saw it coming and ducked. Next he placed his hand on my Donato and demanded of my neighbours the reason for all the commotion.
Bosco had his Donato in front of him all the time, my companions explained, but he read and explained the lesson as if he had the Cornelius text.
The teacher took the Donato and insisted I go on for two sentences more. Then he said to me,
In tribute to your wonderful memory, I’ll overlook your forgetfulness. You’re blessed. Only see that your gift is put to good use.
At the end of that school year (1830-1831), as a result of my high marks, I was promoted to the third class, equivalent to the third year of ginnasio.