Humanities and Rhetoric
Louis Comollo
When we had finished the first courses of ginnasio, we had an inspection. The man who came to examine us on behalf of the School Reform Board was a lawyer of outstanding merit, Prof Fr Joseph Gazzani. He was very kind to me and we have maintained a close, friendly relationship ever since. This good priest is still living in Upper Moltedo near Oneglia, where he was born. Amongst his many charitable works, he endowed a scholarship at our college in Alassio for a boy desirous of studying for the priesthood.
Though the examinations were conducted strictly, all forty-five in our class were promoted to the next class, which corresponds to our fourth year of ginnasio. I myself nearly failed for giving a copy of my work to others. If I was let through, I am indebted to the protection of my revered teacher Fr Giusiana, a Dominican. He set an extra paper for me, at which I did very well, and I was passed unanimously.
In those days there was a praiseworthy practice by which the town awarded a prize to at least one student in each grade, remitting the twelve-franc tuition. To win this prize one had to be approved unanimously in both studies and conduct. I was lucky enough to be excused from this fee every year.
That year I lost one of my dearest companions. Young Paul Braje, my dear, intimate friend, died after a long illness. He was a model of piety, resignation, and living faith. He thus went to join St Aloysius, whose faithful disciple he had been all his life. He was mourned by the whole college, and all the students turned out for his funeral. For a long time afterwards, during their holidays they would receive Holy Communion and recite the Little Office of Our Lady or the Rosary for the soul of their dead friend.
To make up for this loss, however, God sent me another companion every bit as virtuous as Paul, and even more remarkable in his deeds. This was Louis Comollo, of whom I will have more to say in a moment.
At the end of my humanities year, I did very well. On the strength of my results, my teachers, especially Doctor Peter Banaudi, suggested I should ask to take the exam in philosophy; and, in fact, I was promoted. But as I enjoyed my study of literature, I thought it better to continue my programme normally and take the rhetoric course, i.e. the fifth year of ginnasio, during 1833-34. It was during that year that I met Comollo. The life of this precious friend has been told elsewhere, and those who want can read it there. Here I mention only the incident that led to my noticing him amongst the humanities group.
There was a rumour in the top form that a saintly pupil was to join us that year. He was said to be the nephew of the provost of Cinzano, an elderly priest with a reputation for sanctity. I was keen to get to know him, but I did not know his name. This is how we met. At that time it was common practice to initiate new students through a dangerous game called cavallina. The giddy and less studious ones loved it, and generally they were the most skilful at it.
For several days they watched a reserved youngster of fifteen years who had just registered at the college take his seat and settle down to read or study, heedless of the din going on round him. A boorish fellow came up to him, grabbed his arm, and insisted that he join them at cavallina.
I don’t know how, was the other’s mortified and humble reply.
I don’t know how; I’ve never played these games before.
You better join us, said the aggressor, or I’ll kick and beat you till you do.
You can treat me as you please, but I don’t know what the game is, nor do I care to learn.
His crude and ill-natured fellow student grabbed his arm, shoved him, and gave him two slaps that were heard all over the room. That made my blood boil. But I held back for a moment to see if the boy under attack would give the offender what he had coming. He could easily have done so because he was older and stronger than the bully. You can imagine everyone’s astonishment when the good youth, countenance red and almost livid, looked with pity at his malicious companion, and replied only,
Are you satisfied? Now go in peace; I’ve already forgiven you.
That heroic act made me want to know his name. It was, in fact, Louis Comollo, nephew of the provost of Cinzano, whose praises I had heard so often. From that moment on, he became my close friend, and I can say that from him I began to learn how to live as a Christian. I trusted him completely and he trusted me. We needed each other: I needed spiritual help; he needed a bodyguard.
The shy and retiring Comollo never even tried to stand up to the vicious insults of our companions, whereas all of them – including those older and bigger than I – respected my mettle and my strength.
That became evident one day when certain boys were bent on making fun of Comollo and another good-natured lad called Anthony Candelo. I wanted to intervene on their behalf, but the bullies gave me no heed. Another day when the harmless pair were being abused again, I shouted,
You’d better watch out. I’ll deal with the next one who lays a finger on them.
A considerable number of the taller and bolder spirits ganged together to threaten me while Comollo got two smacks in the face. At that I forgot myself completely. Brute strength moved me, not reason. With no chair or stick within reach, I grabbed one of my fellow students by the shoulders and swung him round like a club to beat the others. I knocked down four of them; the rest took to their heels yelling for mercy. Then what? At that moment the teacher came into the room. Seeing arms and legs flying everywhere amidst an out-of-this-world uproar, he began to shout and to strike blows left and right. The storm was about to burst upon me when he learned the cause of the disturbance. He demanded a replay of the action, or at least a show of my strength. The teacher laughed, and so did all the pupils. Everyone was so amazed that I escaped the punishment I deserved.
Comollo had a different lesson to teach me. When we could speak between ourselves, he said to me,
John my friend, I’m amazed how strong you are. But, believe me, God didn’t give you strength to massacre your companions. His will is that we should love one another, forgive one another, and return good for evil.
I could only wonder at my companion’s charity. I put myself entirely into his hands and let him guide me where and how he wished. By agreement with our friend Garigliano, we went together for Confession, Holy Communion, meditation, spiritual reading, visits to the Blessed Sacrament, and serving Holy Mass. Comollo knew how to organise us with such gentle courtesy and sweetness that we could not refuse him.
I remember one day when we were passing a church; I was so engaged in chattering with a companion that I forgot to raise my cap. He corrected me at once, but so graciously:
John my friend, he said, you’re so lost in talking to men
that you forget even the Lord’s house.