et diligentia studiosior."1
At Easter-tide, those who have any curiosity on the subject may hear Bellarmine's Catechism, as it is squealed, bawled, or otherwise intonated by the young children of the different Riones, and commented on and explained for their edification by the pedagogue priest of the district. He is generally surrounded at such times by a bevy of from forty to fifty scholars, gamins or gamines as the case may be; and to work they set with such earnestness of vociferation that all Bedlam and Parnassus, raving and reciting together, could not well surpass the discord: the shrill diapason, peeling through nave and aisle, shakes the floating Baldaquino, and makes the trembling walls bellow again, furnishing an apt and lively illustration of the "convulsaque marmora clamant" of the poet.
Though we had often frequented the churches at this season, and had scores of times heard questions both asked and answered therein, yet, generally intent on the marbles or monuments of the edifice, we had not hitherto given ear to the proceedings of these obstreperous young bull-calves: but, before leaving Rome definitely, it seemed fair to give them an hour's attention on some convenient opportunity, in order to form an unbiassed judgment of how their early religious education was carried on. One soon presented itself in the above-named church of the Minerva; for, chancing to be there at the right hour on an examination-day, in crossing in front of the black-columned chapel of St Dominick, we came suddenly upon a covey of little girls nestling in one of its corners, under the sumptuous tomb of the thirteenth Benedict, and waiting, all primed, for their instructor. Some, absorbed in the contemplation of the silver crown and faded finery of St Philomel – we trust, at so tender an age, without infringement of the tenth commandment – were delighting themselves in anticipating the day when they too might become saints, and wear similar decorations; others, too young for such speculations, were staring with intense vacancy at the flickering of a tiny lamp, in front of a very dingy-looking madonna, to which one or two, in baby simplicity, were repeating Latin creeds, paternosters, and aves. Not knowing exactly how long the preceptor of these small folk might keep them waiting, we left them, and proceeded to the body of the building, where a detachment of boys was already drawn up for action, with their padre in the midst. Approaching as softly as might be, we stood against a neighbouring pilaster to hear what might be required of such young pupils, and how they were prepared to acquit themselves. Their incessant movements did not promise a very sustained attention, whatever might be the business in hand: many of them were evidently plagued with fleas – all with fidgets; some shrugged up their shoulders, others swung themselves by their hands on the form; these were buttoning, those unbuttoning their dress; and not a few warmed their feet by kicking the sounding pavement, and then listening to the echoes from the vaults. Every boy carried a book in his hand; but on these no wandering eye ever looked, not even for an instant, in its numerous glancings round. As soon as the additional commotion, occasioned by the approach of a stranger, had subsided, the priest, harking back to what he had just been saying, and not quite sure of his whereabouts, asks his class touching the last question. "You asked that boy," said one, pointing to a comrade near him, "how he supposed he ought to come to church." "Well," said the priest, resuming his cue, and reverting to the last examinee; "and how did you tell me you were to come?" "Colle mani giunte così," said the boy, locking his hands, and standing up as he did so. "Niente avanti?" said the priest, glancing at two very dirty paws. "Oh yes! I was to wash them." "Poi?" "I was to cross myself as I came out of my room, and to cast down my eyes, like the Mater Indolorata yonder." "And then?" "As I came to church, besides looking grave, I was to walk, not così" – and he walked a few paces as he ought not to walk, – "but così" – changing the rhythm of his march – "as if I were following my brother's funeral. E poi finalmente," (as he resumed his place with a jerk,) "I was to be seated so, and hold my tongue till the padre should address me." "Well, my little man," (to another of the motley class,) "were we not talking about the sacrament?" "Oh yes! no one may receive that who has been guilty of any mortal sin." "Bene, that's quite right; but why not?" The following gabble, to which it was quite obvious that none were of an age to attach any meaning, served for a reply, and was received as perfectly satisfactory by the priest: – "Siccome il pane naturale non può dare vita ad un corpo morto; così il pane della Santissima, Eucaristia non può dare vita ad un anima morta." "And what may mortal sins be?" turning to the next scholar. "Eh! chi lo sa; who is to tell you that?" said a young butcher's boy, turning off the question, and freely offering it to any one who would take it up. Upon this the boys made much noise, and laughed out lustily, not encountering any reprimand from the padre, or so gentle a one as to prove no check to their mirth. At length, quiet being partially restored, he resumed his task, and asked a child of six years old to give him an example of mortal sin! Not receiving an answer, this question travelled nearly to the end of the first line before any one would take upon himself to venture even a random response; then, at last, by dint of prompting, one boy suggested, that the tasting food before receiving the sacrament was of such a kind; and having been first much commended for his erudition, was next subjected to a long list of suppositions from the examiner; such as, "Suppose I were to drink a little water merely?" "Niente! no, you mus'nt." "Well; but suppose I only took a small piece of consecrated wafer?" "Ne anchè; not that neither." "What! would even these small indulgences be infringing the rule?" But as the boy had received an approving "bene" for his first negative, he had no difficulty in keeping to his text; and at last the whole class, enjoying the joke of punishing their padre by cutting him off from all supplies at every fresh demand, roared out in chorus, "Niente, niente– you mus'nt touch a bit;" till, tired of the shouting, the good man proceeded to the next interrogatory. We were tiring too; but being really desirous of hearing, if possible, something more to the purpose, remained, notwithstanding, yet another half hour at our post – indeed quite long enough to be sure that "niente" was all we were likely to get for our pains. Some of the questions were simply frivolous, many jesuitical, others deeply profound; and whatever their character, all were answered in the same careless and irreverent tone; à tort et à travers, according to the fancy of the young respondent. In a word, a more complete waste of time for both teacher and taught could not have been easily devised. The instruction of this and similar classes – for we have no reason to suppose that others differ from it – seems about as intellectual and useful (and no more so) than that of an aviary of parrots in the town of Havre, where the young French psittaci chiefly learn their χαιρης, and their "petits dejeuners." Alike in quality, it is not very dissimilar neither in the mode of its administration. The shopman proposes the first word of a sentence to the whole community, and the greater or less accuracy with which it is taken up and completed, evinces the relative aptitudes of his tyros; and though great allowance is always made, in the case of both boy and bird, for transpositions or leavings out, yet the priest, like the parrot-merchant, keeps an eye on the pupil who promises to do most credit to his training, and brings him forward on every public occasion. "In all labour," says Solomon, "there is profit, but the talk of the lips tendeth only to poverty." It requires no Solomon to see how completely this is the case here; but there is one particular in which the padre really deserves praise, and we cheerfully accord it. The forbearance, the patience, meekness, and bonhomie which he exercises in proposing the dull routine of questions, and in listening while the pupils "ring round the same unvaried chimes" in reply, cannot be too much admired. Like the patient schoolmaster in Juvenal, he puts up with all their idleness and inattention – in the very doubtful proficiency of many of his scholars, gives them the favour of the doubt – and, above all, never loses his temper! This drilling and preparation of the district classes has for ulterior object a general field-day,2 which occurs once a-year; when the congregated schools, in the presence of the canons and other dignitaries of the church, being now supposed fully supplied
"With stores of spiritual provision,
And magazines of ammunition,"
for the warfare, are expected
"To rise and start the ready wherefore,
To all that sceptic may inquire for;
Then
