Part 31 (1/2)
THE DEAF-MUTE.
Sunday, 28th.
The month of May could not have had a better ending than my visit of this morning. We heard a jingling of the bell, and all ran to see what it meant. I heard my father say in a tone of astonishment:--
”You here, Giorgio?”
Giorgio was our gardener in Chieri, who now has his family at Condove, and who had just arrived from Genoa, where he had disembarked on the preceding day, on his return from Greece, where he has been working on the railway for the last three years. He had a big bundle in his arms.
He has grown a little older, but his face is still red and jolly.
My father wished to have him enter; but he refused, and suddenly inquired, a.s.suming a serious expression:
”How is my family? How is Gigia?”
”She was well a few days ago,” replied my mother.
Giorgio uttered a deep sigh.
”Oh, G.o.d be praised! I had not the courage to present myself at the Deaf-mute Inst.i.tution until I had heard about her. I will leave my bundle here, and run to get her. It is three years since I have seen my poor little daughter! Three years since I have seen any of my people!”
My father said to me, ”Accompany him.”
”Excuse me; one word more,” said the gardener, from the landing.
My father interrupted him, ”And your affairs?”
”All right,” the other replied. ”Thanks to G.o.d, I have brought back a few soldi. But I wanted to inquire. Tell me how the education of the little dumb girl is getting on. When I left her, she was a poor little animal, poor thing! I don't put much faith in those colleges. Has she learned how to make signs? My wife did write to me, to be sure, 'She is learning to speak; she is making progress.' But I said to myself, What is the use of her learning to talk if I don't know how to make the signs myself? How shall we manage to understand each other, poor little thing?
That is well enough to enable them to understand each other, one unfortunate to comprehend another unfortunate. How is she getting on, then? How is she?”
My father smiled, and replied:--
”I shall not tell you anything about it; you will see; go, go; don't waste another minute!”
We took our departure; the inst.i.tute is close by. As we went along with huge strides, the gardener talked to me, and grew sad.
”Ah, my poor Gigia! To be born with such an infirmity! To think that I have never heard her call me _father_; that she has never heard me call her _my daughter_; that she has never either heard or uttered a single word since she has been in the world! And it is lucky that a charitable gentleman was found to pay the expenses of the inst.i.tution. But that is all--she could not enter there until she was eight years old. She has not been at home for three years. She is now going on eleven. And she has grown? Tell me, she has grown? She is in good spirits?”
”You will see in a moment, you will see in a moment,” I replied, hastening my pace.
”But where is this inst.i.tution?” he demanded. ”My wife went with her after I was gone. It seems to me that it ought to be near here.”
We had just reached it. We at once entered the parlor. An attendant came to meet us.
”I am the father of Gigia Voggi,” said the gardener; ”give me my daughter instantly.”
”They are at play,” replied the attendant; ”I will go and inform the matron.” And he hastened away.
The gardener could no longer speak nor stand still; he stared at all four walls, without seeing anything.
The door opened; a teacher entered, dressed in black, holding a little girl by the hand.