Glimpses inside the Master's School: Ottorino Scognamiglio

Much time has been spent on this blog over the years discussing the various controversies surrounding the Military Fencing Master's School in Rome as well as the technical details of its curriculum, but very rarely do the sources provide much insight into how those who trained at the school themselves experienced it. Decades after the closure of the school, its graduates were still among the most revered figures in Italian fencing, and thankfully a very small number of these graduates did eventually share some memories from their time at the school.

Over two posts we will be reading two first-hand accounts from graduates of the Master's School, who give their rose-tinted retrospectives on one of the most exciting and formative periods of their lives. Naturally, the fact that these were both written more than half a century after the events they recount, they should not be considered fully reliable from a factual perspective; their greatest value lies in the humanising effect of their genuine emotional insights. Nevertheless, many of the details they share can be corroborated by contemporary sources.

Both articles were published in the official magazine of the Italian Fencing Federation, then bearing the title Scherma: bollettino della F.I.S.¹ This first account, appearing in the December 1955 issue, comes from Ottorino Scognamiglio, who trained at the Master's School from 1901 to 1904. Scognamiglio's account is certainly the most sentimental of the two we will be reading, perfectly capturing the youthful exuberance of the students as well as the sense of prestige that accompanied all those who successfully emerged from the school's halls.

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Memories of an old master

With his 'recollections', Maestro Ottorino Scognamiglio brings us back to a distant and glorious past which cannot help but arouse deep emotion in those who saw it. How many survivors are there of those bygone courses? Of those whom Scognamiglio recalls, it seems, only two in Italy: Scognamiglio himself and Cesare De Leonibus, the founder and technical director of the most glorious Circolo della Spada in Venice, which was located in the halls of La Fenice, and from whose training emerged champions of great fame.
Both are now close to eighty years old, they are...watching the new generations, perhaps shaking their heads and thinking wistfully of the old days.
Dear old masters, it is with true pleasure that we publish your recollections, hoping that others follow you, glad to help you emerge from oblivion and remind us of you so that—and this is consolation for your venerable grey hair—we, young and not so young, despite the transience of time, remember you with sincere affection and commemorate your deeds and your work with admiration. And may God long preserve you in our affection.

Nine o' clock on the 15th of September 1901. The barracks at Santa Caterina a Magnanapoli, Rome. In the interior corridor of the Military Fencing Master's School, lined up in full dress, the 25 candidates for the master's course (and I among them) were introduced to the commanding captain of the student company. The famous Captain Sinopoli, the terror of the school. A 50-year-old Calabrian, moustached and stocky, with the typical complexion of his native region, his penetrating gaze and thundering voice which, after a single intense 'inspection!', began with a lyrical greeting. Changing tone, he then took great care to point out to us that we had not given him a good impression. Some of us—in his opinion—did not keep the perfect position of attention. He continued by saying that he would expect from us the utmost irreproachability—on penalty of going back to our original regiment—and finally that, where necessary—as was his system—he would be liberal in giving out punishments. The comments on this reception were rather spicy. Someone whispered: 'We get the point. How will we be able to survive three years with this Cerberus?'

The medical examination which we were subjected to later was long and meticulous. I remember that the first phalanx of my right little finger—naturally bent to the inside—caused a lively discussion between the medical officer and the school's technical director. The first considered this 'anomaly' in conflict with the perfect physical harmony required. The other maintained that that hand, with that finger, was ideal for holding the sword firmly. The director's argument prevailed and I, like all the others, were declared fit. And then appeared F. M. Berardi, our paymaster, always fatherly and sympathetic, who promptly provided each of us with the fencing equipment issued to the school's students.

The hour we had anxiously awaited finally arrived. The bell rang in the distance. Here we were in the Great Hall of the University of Fencing. The spacious fencing hall appeared festive and welcoming to our eyes. That hall where, for three long years and for a good six hours a day, we gave our entire being with almost insane enthusiasm. Our deities appeared. Here were the two vice-directors, civil masters Pecoraro and Pessina, both of average stature, stocky and moustached, open countenances, eyes gleaming. Nothing at all suggested that these two fencers were unbeatable. They were the champions of the age. Then the masters Laudati, Drosi, and Nappi with their modest and friendly appearance. Next was the group of military masters: the Mephistophelian goatee of mean Maestro Ori stood out, as well as the hairy mole of Maestro Cavalli; we noted the austere demeanour of Maestro Zane and the friendly smile of Maestro Gaudini.

The great star, the autocrat of fencing, the technical director of the school appeared. He is the honorary fencing master of the King, the author of the army's official fencing treatise, the great Masaniello Parise. He was the typical figure of an old-fashioned aristocrat. A long face with fine features and a well-groomed blond beard. Very elegant. D'Annunzio called him the King of the Sword.

The course began. The exhausting and meticulous lessons follow each other day after day. Enduring that exertion, tolerating those continual corrections, the fastidiousness of the teachers, and the rigorous observance of the rules inherent to the school's environment seriously put our nervous systems to the test. Our youthful exuberance was stifled. Humiliation, bitterness, and disappointment was our daily bread. Endure was our motto. The students of the course above urged us to not give up. The suffocating strictness of the school finally ended. The dread captain retired. Called to replace him—for a short time—was a great man, a Sardinian, Captain Alagna, who then in turn was replaced by the late Captain Alessandrini, who was able to win the affection and respect of everyone.

The 2nd year of the course began with new teachers. Civil master De Simone replaced Drosi and military masters Prampolini, Selmi, Genovesi, and Angelillo took over from masters Cavalli, Ori, Zane, and Gaudini. The fruits of the work accomplished in the previous school year were truly admirable. Compared to us, D'Artagnan, a fond delusion for us all, was a total dud.

We experienced the full glamour of Rome. The sympathy that the Romans felt towards the students of the Master's School was clear. We were welcome everywhere. In military inspections our school always aroused a special sense of admiration. To tell you the truth, the choreographic spectacle it presented was exceptional. It was a mixture of uniforms, colours, weapons, plumes, glittering helms, black bearskins, kepis, and most of all a sample of bold and daring youth that paraded impeccably. The parades in honour of the shah of Persia, the emperor of Germany, the king of England, the president of the French Republic at the time followed one another, and the ever-applauded Master's School continuously excited the public's lively curiosity. There were frequent visits by military attachés of foreign ambassadors, high-ranking personages, and foreign and Italian missions. The usual noisy spectacle of a dozen pairs of fencers fighting always aroused a sense of amazement, and then our director offered plenty of information and explanations to the attentive listeners.

We are now in the 3rd year, the finishing course, with another change of masters. The group of soldiers was substituted by the masters Abita, Bonioli, and Gandini, all three coming from the previous intake at the Master's School and previously our companions in the course above. We began to breathe more air. By now we were wiser, and in the art of coping we were peerless. Our group, unfortunately, had thinned. There were fourteen of us left.

A visit from our King was memorable. At 10 o' clock in the evening a telegram from the Quirinale announced that His Majesty would come to visit at 9 o' clock the following day. Good heavens! We all had long hair... Without delay the two barbers at the school were mobilised and...'point blank' we were shaved like prisoners. Our protests were to no avail. Someone earned themselves a few days in the guardroom for trying to escape that affront. Looking like this, and perhaps also because we were excited, His Majesty noticed that our faces were emaciated—owing, in his view, to excessive work. The following day, a medical commission captained by His Excellency Inspector General of the Army Medical Corps came to visit us. We were presented almost in birthday suits and examined individually. Conclusion: the fencing schedule was changed but not reduced, and the food was improved slightly...

What made our school exceptionally fun and pleasant on the whole was the psychological diversity that one noticed among the students of the three courses. There was no lack of amusing characters, as well as dangerous hotheads. There was a considerable number of lady-killers and also players of various instruments, renowned singers, circus gymnasts, ballet dancers, painters, impromptu poets, photographers, conjurors, jokers, and even a seller of wine by the glass. A regionalistic spirit often peeped out, but always within the appropriate limits. A gentlemanly humour predominated, and making merry was the agreement. Excursions and clandestine nocturnal outings were the order of the day, but all with happy endings. Unforgettable times!...

Mak P 100 was now approaching.² Perfect fencing technique had been acquired. The most perfect aesthetics—not separated from powerful efficacy—were in our possession. The long-awaited and long-desired day was approaching: the day of our final exams. The day of our ordination as fencing masters. On 7 July 1904 in the fencing hall, in full regalia, the director wished to personally give us our master's diploma. Deeply moved, we listened to the customary exhortation, closed with a powerful handshake. We knew to suppress our cry of farewell, but deep in our hearts that cry was beating strong.

Dear unforgettable companions in arms, I remember you all. I still see you like I did then. I will always love you greatly, more than fraternally, like 50 years ago. Zanni, Schiavo, Galli, Canzano, Giovannelli, Coltro, Anzillotti, Altea, Tattoli—well known names in fencing—why did you leave us so soon? Voltolini, Rossi, Macrì—where are you? Dearest De Leonibus, it is to you that I dedicate these recollections of mine. You who, for 54 years, I have been bound to in sincere mutual affection. I have finished.

I put down my pen with a mindful and thankful thought for my dear late master. For Salvatore Angelillo, who in heart, science, and knowledge was 'second to none'.

Ottorino Scognamiglio

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1 Past issues of this magazine can be viewed for free here on the FIE's website.^↩
2 Translator's Note: 'Mak P 100' is the term, deriving from the Piedmontese dialect, given to the celebrations that take place at Italian military schools 100 days before graduation.^↩