From Benevento to Naples (Part 3)

The third and final part of our fencing tour of Naples features many of the people introduced in part two, with the additions of notable Neapolitan journalists Vittorio Argento and Enrico Casella, some of whose articles I have translated for this blog in the past.

In addition to Ferruccio's observation of the large number of beggars in the streets of Naples, the last portion of the article in particular, while unrelated to fencing, serves as a poignant reminder of the great economic disparity between the northern and southern parts of Italy which still lingers today.

It also demonstrates the highly skewed perspective offered by sporting magazines like the Gazzetta dello Sport. Ferruccio and his fencing friends were undoubtedly all very wealthy men, with time for leisure and the means to travel wherever they liked, at a whim, to attend exclusive sporting clubs and social events. Not only that, but at the beginning of the 1910s literacy rates in many parts of Southern Italy were still under 50%, especially so for women, making the audience for articles such as these a very select portion of Italy's population.¹

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From Benevento to Naples

III.

A great idea; before returning to Benevento, where my affairs and bills are calling me, I thought it would be good, in order to make your Gazzetta dello Sport more well-known and popular, to penetrate various fencing halls not only as your Benevento correspondent, but as a man of arms for your newspaper, and with that said, I pulled from my trunk a fencing jacket, canvas pants, and my little 'service' sword, which had been sleeping peacefully for months and months.

You can easily understand how excellent a result this decision of mine has yielded if you consider that I made sure it was very clear that the armiger of the Gazzetta dello Sport would only cross blades with gentlemen of the 'Order of Subscribers'.

Once this decision was made, it goes without saying that I had to work like a dog. Incidentally, I do not know why people use this expression when dogs are known for spending the whole day…lounging about.

It was Maestro Galimi Lacaria, whom I believe I spoke to you about in my previous correspondences, who first obliged me with a sword bout in Cerchione's hall.

Galimi is a clean, elegant, and very correct fencer: a gentleman fencer.

Felice Galimi Lacaria, c. 1913.
Source: byterfly.eu

Then I 'went at it' with Maestro De Simone, whom I can assert with complete certainty has become much stronger than he was years ago at the Mantua tournament, and then again with Captain Pinelli who, like a good wine when bottled, improves with age.

I had a sabre bout with Marquis Mastelloni, a fencer with a good eye and a firm parry, and endured a sword bout with Mr. Vittorio Argento, fencing editor of Napoli-Sport.

'Press versus press,' I said as I came on guard.

Vittorio Argento, an excellent writer on fencing matters, from his ever-sound judgement and that competence which his eyes exude, as evident as the nose of Cyrano de Bergerac, he is also a fencer of uncommon strength, from his wide, flying, and somewhat irregular game, perhaps carried out more by intuition and personal conviction than by an assimilation of lessons, but enough to bewilder even the oldest sly foxes of the piste. With the utmost ease he touches and takes the blade from any position, and I assure you that once he has launched into action, his final thrust or remise rarely misses.

I freely admit that even my 'metal grinders', as your man Weysi called them when I was in Milan, had little effect with him; but I was nevertheless very pleased to have pitted myself against this opponent, because I have always liked when those who usually wield a pen when discussing matters of fencing can also wield a sword and a sabre.

For the record: recently in one of Greco's exhibitions, the closing sabre bout was reserved for him and Argento. Greco, who can serve as wonderful touchstone between the various opponents who are pitted against him, was still Greco, naturally, and there would be no reason for a parallel between him and the opponent; but I was told that Vittorio Argento had an 'edge' which many other fencers must have envied.

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To cut it short, I endured seven long bouts in less than three days, with different opponents, in various halls, and I can tell you that, for me, who for a long time has found himself in an auxiliary position, they were Herculean tasks.

I cannot claim that your Benevento correspondent left too good an impression as a fencer. Certainly if my place had been taken by Weysi, Balossi, Galbiati, Tiboldi, Carabelli, Mossotti,² or someone else, things would have gone better; but on this sublunar planet you have to know how to be satisfied or resign yourself, and even the most beautiful girl on earth cannot give more than she has.

When it was the seventh day of my sojourn in Naples, I felt the need to rest, just like good Lord felt many years ago...in the time of the world's creation, so I went wandering here and there through this vast and noisy metropolis, which would be so beautiful if not for the plague of three thousand carriages and their coachmen, as bothersome and insistent as flies and as arrogant as the genuine professional beggars here who, in numbers ten times greater than the coachmen, scour every road, every street corner, every café, every theatre, day and night, at all hours.

So it was that, while idling about with Maestro Cerchione, I had the pleasure to again see Edoardo Casella, a distinguished amateur foilist, whom I had seen at the Palermo tournament—and so it was that, while idling about, I had the pleasure to be introduced for the first time to his brother,

Source: gallica.fr

Enrico Casella.

Enrico Casella—very well-known for his sporting articles and for organising Le Figaro's first tournament in Paris—was with Miceli, the Baron of San Giuseppe, Baron Anzani, Dusmet, and other very talented amateurs of the Neapolitan fencing tradition, whose flag he held high for many years, with the pen and the sword, in the French capital, where he took up permanent residence.

Enrico Casella, who was in Naples for just a few days, is the one who recently played a very important and likeable role in the Dreyfus affair.

Tall, elegant, a speaker endowed with a wholly Southern accent and wholly Parisian wit, he is the model sportsman in the loosest sense of the word.

After Cerchione introduced me—and I told him that I was your correspondent—Enrico Casella was drawn by me to talk about fencing and sport in general, and his words flowed as easily and rapidly as water from a swollen creek, and in less than half an hour he was rattling on—lucidly—about so many sport-related projects that, if it had been possible for me to record them on a dictaphone, I would have no difficulty sending you at least a dozen excellent articles for the various columns of the Gazzetta dello Sport.

But there was one thing that I aimed to do when talking with Enrico Casella, and it was to encourage him to send me some of his writings, from Paris, for your newspaper—in short, to make him one of your correspondents; and, God willing, when I left him I took with me an almost formal promise.

Are you pleased with my work, or will you dare ask for more and better?

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When I had achieved this unexpected success, I 'turned my prow' towards Benevento; but to have a little bit of fun and rest my eyes in the still dense greenery of these lands blessed by nature but not by the farmers—who barely feel the sting of progress and who still break up dirt clods with the plow of Virgil—I thought to follow the road through Cancello, Arienzo, Montesarchio, Benevento, as picturesque as any other.

The journey from Naples to Cancello is half an hour by train; then a one-horse carriage, which in less than half an hour leads to Arienzo, where you leave the carriage for a prehistoric stagecoach with two horses as thin as temporary government employees, with which you bounce along directly to Benevento.

While in Arienzo, a pleasant, pretty, and modern town of over 4,000 inhabitants, as the carriage was being sheltered in the depot and the stagecoach horses were prepared and harnessed with that slowness which these regions are typically known for, I thought of going to get a cup of coffee.

And on seeing in the piazza a shop bearing the heavy sign 'Café del Genio'³, I headed there, looking forward to the delight of my mocha or my Puerto Rican coffee, at the owner's pleasure.

But the single hall, which served both as an entrance and the rest of it, I found deserted. And do you want to know what furniture adorned it? A double bed with a red quilt covered in stains; a rickety kitchen table; in one corner, a brick fireplace with two burners and above this, hanging on nails, three frying pans, a skimmer, and a coppino (a ladle); against the wall in front of the bed, a large maple cupboard which the flies had slowly but surely varnished with small, shiny black dots; on the ground, a small tub of water; next to the bed, a chest of drawers, with exquisite wood perforations owing to the brilliant nocturnal work of a friendly woodworm; four chairs dangling from the walls like four hanged men; six chickens pecking around and under the bed, where towered a vase as large as Pandora's, but which certainly wasn't the real one—and nothing else.

As soon as I had entered, I unhooked one of the four chairs from the gallows and sat down comfortably, waiting for the owners, taking these notes undisturbed to kill time. After a good quarter of an hour I thought of going to take a seat in the stagecoach and, still undisturbed, I headed off.

However, when I was almost halfway across the piazza a dark-haired young lady, with her bulging breast 'to the wind'⁴ and in her arm a rosy young baby angrily gnawing at the breast, explained to me that coffee could be served to me at the opposite side of the piazza, there, behind a door with the word 'Club' written on it.

I set forth; I knocked with my hands and my feet three times; I waited five minutes—nobody came to open it, and I started thinking that maybe in Arienzo coffee is a luxury that is only displayed on signs.

What sacrifices the work of a correspondent demands!

And to think there are those who dare suggest that this wage is stolen!

Ferruccio.

*******

1 Gabriele Cappelli and Michelango Vasta, 'A "Silent Revolution": school reforms and Italy's educational gender gap in the Liberal Age (1861-1921),' Cliometrica 15 (2021): 203–229, https://doi.org/10.1007/s11698-020-00201-6.^↩
2 All prominent amateur fencers in the Milanese scene.^↩
3 The word genio can refer to both a genius or an engineers corps in the military.^↩
4 A pun on the word poppa, which can mean both a human breast or the stern of a ship.^↩

From Benevento to Naples (Part 1)

Within the wealth of sporting magazines and newspaper articles which commented on fencing in late 19th century Italy, there are several journalists who stand out for their entertaining or unique writing styles, providing a refreshing break from simple tournament reports or the often dry, technical writing of fencing treatises. Journalists of this calibre such as Jacopo Gelli and Roderico Rizzotti have been recurring characters in this blog over the years, and even some fencing masters like Luigi Barbasetti could demonstrate a respectable command of language suitable for newspaper and magazine formats.

The three-part series of articles I will be sharing today and in the following weeks is an amusing and informative tour of the vibrant fencing scene in late-1890s Naples, in which the pseudonymous author provides intimate snap-shots of famous civilian fencing halls such as the National Academy of Fencing as well as the gymnasia of the local military garrison. We will meet figures such as Enrichettian-turned-Radaellian master Saverio Cerchione, the humble yet formidable amateur Filippo Salvati, the young scion of the Rome Master's School Edoardo De Simone, and many more.

The articles in question were published in Milan's Gazzetta dello Sport between 25 November and 5 December 1898, written by a correspondent with the pseudonym 'Ferruccio'. I have yet been unable to identify who this author was, although given the fact that they claim to have recently moved to Benevento from Milan, the pseudonym 'Ferruccio' may be hinting that they were a former member of the Circolo Tiratori Milanesi e Ferruccio, a popular fencing club in Milan that had closed a little over a year before these articles were published. Aside from Roderico Rizzotti, who was co-director of the Gazzetta della Sport and published under his own name, the two most prominent members of the club at the time of its closure were Primo Tiboldi and Andrea Weysi, but all were still living in Milan at the time, suggesting a less well-known figure.

To complement the articles, where possible I have provided some photos of the various characters encountered throughout our tour of Naples, starting off here with Saverio Cerchione.

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From Benevento to Naples

I.

When, three months ago, I moved my curtains from Milan to Benevento and I was given the honour of becoming a correspondent for your newspaper, more than in any other sporting movement that I have found in this ancient city, I felt confident in how much my energy could do in favour of sport in general and fencing in particular.

A vain illusion of mine!

Here all the energy of my muscles and my will is subdued or is such a deep sleep that it cannot be shaken even by the bestial and vulgar cry with which the donkey drivers urge their long-eared quadrupeds to hasten their sluggish pace.

For centuries and centuries, Benevento's only energy has been of the tectonic variety. Ten times it was shaken from its foundations, being struck by ten earthquakes in little more than a millennium, sometimes leaving it almost half destroyed.

Here is the sad and unenviable record of such beautiful, picturesque, and brilliant land!

While few cities present, like Benevento, such a richness of environs and picturesque outings, favoured by smooth and clean roads, cycling, which had a vertiginous development across the globe, is the same here as it was as it was ten years ago, and the best means of locomotion for the fellow citizens of Niccolò Franco¹ is still a one-horse carriage, no matter how narrow and ramshackle, or the bare back of a docile donkey.

I knew that Benevento used to have a fencing master—a very good one, even. It was Pisanelli, whom I had met at Palermo in 1892, and with whose help I was hoping to achieve something. But I had counted my chickens before they hatched, or rather, counted on Pisanelli, who, after having spent several years doing all he could to encourage the otherwise intelligent youth of Benevento to attend his fencing hall, he was forced to close up shop and move to Lucera in search of better luck.

Another young volunteer, Mr. Peluso, previously a non-commissioned officer of the cavalry and now a gymnastics master and fencing teacher at the local boarding school, hoped to do what Pisanelli could not; but the fencing hall, which is also a venue for target shooting, remained empty and silent.

It is therefore natural that, given these surroundings, I too shut myself away.

However, when days ago I received your letter reminding me of my duty as a correspondent, I sprang up like an animal lashed by the tamer's whip, as it dawned on me that I had been stealing my stipends for too long. With no other way to go digging for material to prove my good will to you, I immediately set out for Naples.

I had a feeling that I would straight away be in my element, and my feeling did not deceive me. Indeed, while I was idling around for a short time in Via Toledo, I was approached by a man, short in stature, slightly lame, and leaning on a cane due to the arthritis he suffers from.

It was Saverio Cerchione, the talented master and a correspondent of yours who, as soon as he sees me, bursts into an exclamation of joy and greets me with a truly fraternal warmth.

'Oh it's you! Well, how are you?' he asks.²

'Still standing!,' I respond with that wit which so distinguishes me, and I embrace him.

'Yes,' he replies, 'I can see that, you f-' and here, in place of the f he gives an energetic exclamation which I cannot recall, even though it did not seem new to me, and which I think rhymes with pucker.

Straight away I take the small, kind Cerchione arm-in-arm, as if he were a treasure given to me by chance, and I immediately think, without a double meaning, that I am finally 'on the right track'.³

Saverio Cerchione

For those who don't know him, he is the most highly regarded of Neapolitan masters.

Having come here 11 years ago from the Rome Master's School with well-established fame as a talented teacher and fencer, he, who was one of the purest Radaellians, had to endure a great struggle to carve a path through professionalism and prevail over amateurism, which in Southern Italy has a lot more weight than in Northern Italy.

Yet his adamantine character, heart of gold, tirelessness, and above all his artistic talent, being made abundantly clear in a hundred public and private exhibitions, soon helped him move onwards and upwards.

Saverio Cerchione, unlike many other masters, never renounced the principles of the school he came from, and the merits of this can be felt with sword in hand, with sabre in hand.

So it was that in Naples the word 'Radaellism'—which in the field of fencing once sounded almost like artistic blasphemy, certainly like barbarism—could be pronounced and carve out a space.

For several years Cerchione, afflicted by painful arthritis, no longer performs in public, but his work as a teacher is still the same as ever, and his fencing hall in Via Santa Lucia still produces students who give great credit to their master, as well as themselves.

It is enough to mention Filippo Salvati, whom I will tell you about later, and Vittorio Argento, the highly competent fencing editor of Napoli-Sport and a challenging amateur for any opponent, able to take on even the best fencers.

I also note Marquis Mastelloni, whom I have had the pleasure to bout with in sabre, and finally Mr. Giurato, still a young sapling, but who will not take long to bear good fruit.

Of the Grand National Academy, the fencing hall of Maestro Vega, the 10th Bersaglieri regiment, and still other halls which, thanks to the courtesy of my mentor Cerchione, I have been able to visit, I will talk about in another issue, because I think today I have taken up enough of your space.

Ferruccio.

22 November

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1 A 16th century poet and writer from Benevento. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Niccol%C3%B2_Franco_(pamphleteer).^↩
2 In contrast to the author’s use of standard Italian, Cerchione’s replies here are written in Neapolitan dialect.^↩
3 The potential for a double meaning is, unfortunately, lost in translation.^↩

Radaellians Respond to Pecoraro and Pessina (Part 1)

Having exposed and discussed the differences between the two editions of Pecoraro and Pessina's sabre treatise in the previous post, we can now turn our attention to what the public debate around the treatise was like before and after the publication of the first edition. The digital availability of Italian newspapers leaves a lot to be desired at present, thus it is not feasible to capture the full scope of discussion taking place in the public press; however, thankfully for us, Ferdinando Masiello took this debate rather seriously and reproduced several of his own articles and the authors' replies in his 1910 booklet of commentary on the treatise (the main subject of a later post), which we will avail ourselves of here.

The saga begins in April 1910 when Masiello received two letters from Pecoraro and Pessina announcing the imminent publication of their new sabre treatise:

Dear Colleague,

So that sabre fencing may be held in the regard it deserves and so that the diversity of methods and views do not hinder it or retard its gradual improvement, we have decided to compile a theoretical-practical treatise, which will bear the title:

Sabre Fencing

and will be published by the publishing house Giuseppe Romagna of Rome.

With this we do not intend to make a vain display of theories or untimely rhetoric, nor do we attempt speculation of a commercial nature, but we aim to bring the modest contribution of our experience for the complete triumph of the art which has constituted the ideal and the sole aspiration of our whole life.

To better achieve our aim, we count not only on your kind assent—of which we do not doubt—but also on that of your friends who are sincerely devoted to our art.

S. Pecoraro - C. Pessina

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Dear Colleague,

We confirm to you what we already said in the published circular which you will now certainly have received regarding the publication of our theoretical-practical treatise: 'Sabre Fencing'.

We will be grateful if, for the triumph and perfecting of the art so dear to us, you will assist us in the aim of unifying the various pre-existing systems and methods.

We also hope that, in time, that is to say after having examined the treatise, you will us give your sincere and impartial opinion on it.

Thanking you for everything, we are glad to reaffirm ourselves as,

Your dear colleagues

S. Pecoraro - C. Pessina¹

Rather than waiting patiently until read the book was published, Masiello immediately penned a harsh response to the aspiring authors, which first appeared in the Roman newspaper La Tribuna on 1 May 1910 and then in Florence's La Nazione on 3 May.² Masiello begins by reminding readers that he is someone who has been fighting for  his views in the public sphere since 1876, and that as a result of his tireless efforts he has produced a well-regarded treatise of his own and seen his method be officially adopted in the British and German armies. He had spent his entire public career 'glorifying' Radaelli and fighting against both 'Enrichetti, my master' and Masaniello Parise purely for the sake of the art, not personal interest. In contrast, Pecoraro and Pessina had instead spent the last 20+ years supporting Parise and training young fencing masters in accordance with Parise's method. He is therefore unable to conceal his sense of 'pained astonishment' on reading their announcement where they call on Masiello specifically to assist them in 'unifying the various pre-existing systems'.

Masiello clearly feels a sense of betrayal, as he feels that Pecoraro and Pessina have abused their high positions in the Master's School to push their own theories and deny recognition to those such as Masiello who have achieved so much outside of official Italian spheres. If their work were simply a compilation of the best Italian sabre had to offer, then why had Masiello and his colleagues not been asked by the Ministry of War or even the nascent Italian Fencing Federation (founded only one year prior) to contribute to this new method, even anonymously? If the work were not in fact a simple compilation, then that would mean Pecoraro and Pessina were attempting to impose their original work on the country's fencers; yet would provide no benefit to Italian fencing, because thanks to the labours of Masiello and his colleagues, 'nothing truly new, nothing truly useful and rational, and therefore nothing substantially practical and combative can now be added'.

If the authors intend to follow 'pure Radaellian theories', then this would simply be a return to the outdated theories of 30 years prior, thus negating all subsequent developments; if they were to follow the theories of Parise, then their method would be immediately ostracised as fundamentally flawed, just as Parise's was. A middle road between these two paths would also be impossible, because they are too contradictory on a fundamental level. After all this speculation, Masiello unsurprisingly did not have high hopes for the new treatise, but he now had no choice but to sit and wait for its publication.

In the meantime, Pecoraro and Pessina chose to respond to Masiello's hasty judgement and provide some clarification to hopefully temper attitudes and preconceptions prior to the book's publication. On 4 May in La Tribuna the two authors address Masiello directly and assure him that they have not simply resorted to republishing outdated Radaellian theories, but have followed the inevitable evolution and development that the field has since experienced. They also claim to have no pretence of creating an original work, because just like Masiello himself, they are only building on what has been written by those who came before. This does not mean, however, that their book is a 'simple compilation', because they are convinced that they have presented some ideas not yet contemplated in Masiello's work, and that the era they are writing in marks a new phase of fencing's evolution. So, in their own view, their treatise has 'no originality, but only improvement, which brings us closer to a relative perfection, in the belief that, strictly speaking, absolute perfection is never achievable.' They again ask for readers to withhold further judgement until the book is released.

Masiello granted them at least this wish, since it was only after the book was published a few months later that he gave his response, in the form of a lengthy review of the work. The article occupied more than half a page (just over three of the page's six columns) of La Nazione on 19 August, which indicates the respect the newspaper's editors must have had for Masiello and how important the topic was among some sections of Italy's literate public. Given his negative preconceptions prior to the treatise's publication, it should be unsurprising that after a thorough reading Masiello found within it 'nothing truly useful, substantially new and practical which has not already been said'. So extensive was his criticism that he admitted being already in the process of writing a standalone booklet which will go into greater detail on all the treatise's flaws and omissions. Thus his article in La Nazione should only be considered a summary of his full thoughts.

Thankfully for everyone, Masiello decided in his critique to overlook the 'many inaccuracies of language which, together with a true deluge of commas, render the reader asthmatic, and often obscure the author's intentions for those who are not well acquainted with the material.' This still left plenty for Masiello to remark on of course, with a particular bugbear being the authors' definitions, which he finds to be either poorly stated when they are not absent entirely. For one example, Pecoraro and Pessina chose to use the phrase 'in the full hand' to describe their method of gripping the sabre (a phrase also used by Settimo Del Frate in his 1868 book which later proved to be controversial), which by all appearances was likely intended to be the standard Radaellian method. Other instances of poor or imprecise language maligned by Masiello are the authors' use of non-metric units such as dita, palmi, and piedi, or their description of the sabre blade as 'slightly curved'. The fact that the authors would prescribe something as old-fashioned as a curved blade was itself a sin to Masiello (apparently even the army had ceased using curved blades), but they could at least have been precise in what an appropriate amount of curvature should be!

In instances where the authors are more precise, even then their decisions are questionable. Masiello finds it absurd that the lunge is discretely described as extending the foot 40 cm from the guard position, which surely cannot apply to both children and adults. The authors state that there are five invitations and that same number of engagements, yet simultaneously they add that low 3rd and low 4th can be performed as invitations, so would that not mean there are in fact seven engagements and invitations? Masiello's nit-picking extends to the terminology introduced for various techniques, such as the authors replacing the term 'coupé' with the nebulous 'fendente' or their referring to the thrust as a 'colpo di punta'. Nor could they even be consistent with this terminology, such as their many different phrases throughout the book (Masiello counts at least five) to refer to the 'azioni circolate di punta', which are themselves never defined very well. Masiello wonders why the authors did not simply use his well-thought-out terminology rather than their own inconsistent and imprecise versions.

Aside from just word choice, Masiello still finds much to criticise in the more technical details. Pecoraro and Pessina's first innovation, the preliminary exercises, are only detrimental for students, claims Masiello, as they habituate them to move the sabre without any coordination with the body, a key feature of the traditional Radaellian exercise molinelli. Although he admits that movements very similar to Pecoraro and Pessina's preliminary exercises are very commonly done by Italian fencers prior to bouts, just as a singer does vocal exercises before a performance, such warm-ups have no place in a formal fencing course. He also points out the close similarity to exercises first proposed by Nicolò Bruno in his 1891 treatise (where they are called 'flexion exercises'), perhaps implying a degree of plagiarism.

A more obvious appropriation by the authors is the inclusion of what they call 'parries in the opposite direction' from what Masiello calls the 'old Radaellian school' (which Del Frate simply designated 'counter parries'). This is clear evidence of their poor judgement, as these parries had supposedly been 'discarded' by other Radaellians by then. As for perceptible elements of Parise's system, Masiello recalls that the 'fili sottomessi' (forced glides) described by the authors were jokingly referred to as 'fili compromessi' (compromising glides) when they were first introduced by Parise, due to them being so dangerous for the one attempting them. Parise was at least lucid enough to only include them in his foil material, while Pecoraro and Pessina inexplicably consider them perfectly serviceable in sabre fencing too. The same could be said for their inclusions of the contrazione and the inquartata, which Masiello points out are lacking in the vast majority of Italian sabre treatises released up to that point, clearly indicating their unsuitability. Masiello assumes that these (supposedly ill-advised) inclusions are what the authors were referring to when they claimed in their May article that the treatise contained some ideas and views 'not contemplated' in Masiello's work. Masiello asserts that the reason he did not include such techniques was not because he never considered them, but because his judgement and experience showed that they were altogether unsuitable for sabre fencing, judgement which Pecoraro and Pessina do not seem to possess themselves.

At several points in his critique Masiello compares his own publications with that of Pecoraro and Pessina to emphasise that they have not improved on what has already been written. One example Masiello points to is the lengthy justification provided in the 2nd and 3rd editions of his sabre treatise for why a fully-inclined lunge is to be preferred over the fully upright posture adopted by Pecoraro and Pessina, for which they provide no explanation. Masiello also gives a list of ten concepts which are not explained in any significant detail, such as the method of wielding the sabre, its mechanics when considered as a lever, nor whether the cuts should be done by slicing (as per Parise) or as hammer blows (Radaelli). These are, of course, all things which Masiello asserts to have expounded on in great detail in his own work.

Although Masiello cannot completely refute the assertion made by Pecoraro and Pessina in their article from La Tribuna that even his treatise did not reveal anything truly original in the field of fencing, in his concluding remarks he maintains that he at least replaced 'baroque empiricism' with rational rules, using physical, anatomical, and physiological reasoning. This, in his eyes, was at least an original approach, and for the past 25 years nobody had been able to incontrovertibly invalidate any of his conclusions, even if many did disagree with them. Pecoraro and Pessina, on the other hand, have not evolved the field, only retrodden old paths and committed the errors of previous authors, while adding their own new errors.

Masiello expresses great doubt in the stated aim of the publication. If the treatise were to be adopted by the Master's School, not only would it worsen the confusion around sabre fencing that supposedly already exists in the army, but it would also be an insult to those who were ranked below Parise in the government's infamous fencing treatise competition of 1882 and 1883. That is, the last time a fencing treatise was officially adopted by the Italian military, it ostensibly underwent a process which placed it in contrast with works submitted from around the country. In mentioning this event, Masiello assures he cannot be accused of self-interest, since, as he claims, he never submitted a work of his own to that competition.

When looking past the rather nit-picky character that Masiello's critique often assumes, one must note how his remarks could just as easily be aimed at other Radaellian authors who had published works prior to 1910. Many of the elements Masiello was critical of in Pecoraro and Pessina's treatise, such as their inclusion of the 'parries in the opposite direction', the upright lunge, imprecise terminology, brief definitions, and so on, can all be found in the treatises of Giordano Rossi, Nicolò Bruno, and Luigi Barbasetti, yet he never took such a strong public position to denounce these perceived flaws. Despite the fact that these authors had all published their works over a decade ago, the main reason Pecoraro and Pessina received such a harsh reaction from Masiello was likely due to their positions as vice-directors of the most authoritative institution in Italian fencing, the Military Fencing Master's School in Rome. The stakes were simply too high for Masiello to remain silent.

In part 2 we will read criticism from another Radaellian, Giovanni Pagliuca, as well as hear how Pecoraro and Pessina were reacting to the lively debate around their work.

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1 Reproduced in Ferdinando Masiello, La Scherma di Sciabola: osservazioni sul Trattato dei Maestri Pecoraro e Pessina Vice-Direttori della Scuola Magistrale militare di Scherma (Florence: G. Ramella, 1910), 17–8.^↩
2 The full article was also reproduced in Masiello, op. cit., 18–20.^↩

The Early Career of Luigi Barbasetti

In the Radaellian tradition, no other fencing master boasts quite the same level of name recognition as Luigi Barbasetti. As a result of his trailblazing work introducing Italian fencing to the Austro-Hungarian Empire, as well as boasting the only Radaellian sabre and foil treatises to be translated in their entirety into English prior to the 21st century, Barbasetti's work was what introduced many Europeans to Radaellian fencing in the late 19th and 20th centuries, and it continues to do so for many fencers around the world today.

Less known to modern readers are the many articles Barbasetti wrote across many periodicals throughout his career, particularly those written in the two-year between him leaving military service in 1892 and his fateful move to Vienna in late 1894. By nature of the period in which these articles were written, they give significant insight into Barbasetti's motivations as well as his perceptions on the development of Italian fencing up to that point.

In the document below I have provided a selection of sixteen articles from the magazines La Rivista Sportiva and Scherma Italiana, ten of which were authored by Luigi Barbasetti himself, signed either with his full name or more commonly merely his initials 'L. B.', and in one instance simply 'B.' The remaining six articles provide the context for those Barbasetti references and responded to.

*** Supplementary articles ***

Other articles of Barbasetti's appeared in these two magazines during this period, but those presented in the provided document are the most pertinent in understanding the frustrations and disillusionment which undoubtedly gave Barbasetti the motive to leave Italy for greener pastures abroad. What follows in the rest of this article is my own attempt to provide a biographical background for Barbasetti's writings and highlight how they were influenced by his prior experiences.

——————

Giuseppe Luigi Barbasetti was born on 21 February 1859 in the city of Udine.¹ As a teenager he joined the military, receiving training as a non-commissioned officer at the 3rd Training Battalion in Verona, where he quickly distinguished himself in fencing under the tutelage of Carlo Guasti. Due to his fencing talents, Barbasetti was selected to become a fencing master, for which he spent an additional year at the Training Battalion with Maestro Guasti and then in 1880 he entered the great Fencing Master's School in Milan, whose acting director at the time was Giovanni Monti, in place of the ailing Giuseppe Radaelli. Barbasetti's personal copy of the fencing textbook used at the school, along with all the meticulous notes he wrote alongside it, is still preserved today at KU Leuven in Belgium.²

Barbasetti's first master, Carlo Guasti.

After graduating in 1881, Barbasetti became the regimental fencing instructor of the 36th infantry.³ Soon after his assignment to this regiment it transferred to Palermo, which proved to be a fruitful experience for Barbasetti. While stationed here he had the opportunity to train with the highly regarded amateur fencer Antonino Palizzolo, who ran a popular fencing club in Palermo. Although Barbasetti's regiment was stationed in Palermo for less than two years, under the guidance of Palizzolo Barbasetti greatly improved his foil fencing and developed an appreciation for the Sicilian fencers, whom he described as being particularly adherent to their traditional methods and equipment.⁴

By the start of 1885 the 36th infantry regiment had moved, as had the Military Fencing Master's School, which had its new seat in the Italian capital under the direction of the young Neapolitan master Masaniello Parise, a significant controversy in the Italian fencing world. Before the Rome school could resume the task of training fencing masters, the new, non-Radaellian, fencing method that formed the curriculum at Parise's school had to be taught to the military's existing masters. In April 1885 Luigi Barbasetti began his 3-month conversion course in Rome, where he made enough of an impression on the new director that he, along with several other Radaellians, was asked to remain at the school as an assistant instructor. This role had the benefit of providing a slight pay increase as well as being a more fulfilling role, as instructors here would be teaching students who were much more interested in learning fencing than the average officer in a regimental fencing hall would be.⁵

Barbasetti first came to the attention of the fencing public in 1887 at the 'international' tournament in Florence, his first such appearance. Although overshadowed by others in the foil elimination competition (he did not compete in sabre), his classification bouts resulted in him receiving the second highest score among 42 fencing masters in foil and fourth out of 61 masters in sabre. In addition to the two gold medals he received for these rankings, Barbasetti was also awarded a yataghan, one of 28 special prizes donated by various clubs, politicians, and nobles.⁶

Barbasetti's reputation continued to rise over the following years, repeating similarly noteworthy performances at no fewer than seven tournaments by 1892 in addition to his first Florentine outing. By 1891 Barbasetti was one of the longest-serving instructors at the Master's School, alongside his old master Carlo Guasti and Carlo Pessina. Despite this apparent loyalty, however, Barbasetti's later writings show that at this point he was growing increasingly frustrated and resentful of the institution he served. Rather than being loyal to Parise and his method, Barbasetti was in fact adamantly opposed to the sabre method he was being forced to teach, and had never abandoned his Radaellian principles. By mid-1891 Barbasetti had been transferred to the Modena Military School. It is unclear why this happened—one journalist later wrote that Barbasetti left voluntarily 'in order to not share moral responsibility deriving from fallacious teaching'—but it is likely that by this point he was greatly disillusioned with his role at the Master's School.⁷ At the Modena Military School Barbasetti found a brief reprieve from this feeling, being able to teach alongside a large cohort of like-minded Radaellians free from the watchful eye of Parise.

What separated him from his colleagues at the military school, however, was the fact that his efforts at the school had not yet been rewarded with a promotion to civil master. 'Civil master' was the designation the Ministry of War gave to fencing masters under their direct employ as civilians, distinct from regular military instructors like Barbasetti, who were first and foremost soldiers and who were for the most part attached to a specific regiment or, in rare cases such as Barbasetti's, temporarily assigned to a military school or college to act as an assistant instructor. The relevance of this particular promotion here is the effect it had on a given fencing instructor's willingness to remain in military service.

Long-term retention of military fencing masters was dismal in the late 19th century. Several commentators, including Barbasetti, asserted that most masters left the military at the end of their five-year mandatory service period. This service period included the time spent training at the Master's School, so given that the course lasted two years until 1890, and thereafter three years, most masters would only be required to serve for a couple of years after graduating.⁸ If the instructor achieved a civil master promotion, however, it is almost certain that they would keep that position for many years, often decades. The position of civil master was greatly coveted as with it came: the benefit of a much higher starting salary which increased further with seniority; a generally more enthusiastic group of students; the consistency of being attached to an institution rather than a regiment which was constantly redeployed; freedom from the menial day-to-day tasks foisted on military instructors (such as delivering mail and acquiring firewood); the ability to also give private fencing lessons outside of regular work hours, among several other factors.

From a purely practical standpoint, military instructors found themselves in a contradictory position in their role as an instructor: every day they had to act as teachers to officers as well as NCOs, but they were unable to discipline students on their own, having to rely on the hall supervisor, who was not always present. While civil masters had no rank, given that they were civilian employees, they were nevertheless free of the military hierarchy and had the ability to engage with officers in more informal social contexts outside of their work. This put them on a much more equal social level than they would be had they remained soldiers, one much more in keeping with the respect they themselves felt they deserved.

To reach the rank of civil master, military instructors had to undergo an examination similar to those the masters would have undergone to graduate from the Master's School, which consisted of giving example lessons, answering questions about the regulation fencing text, and bouting. However, since all the competing candidates had several years of experience by the time they applied for the position, the level of competency required to rise above the crowd was understandably very high. The sum of the scores candidates received for each exam element would create an overall ranking for all candidates, and soon after the highest ranking candidates would be given any civil master positions vacant at the time. Any other positions that became vacant in the following two years would be awarded to the next highest-ranking candidate, provided they were still serving in the military. If a candidate did not end up receiving a promotion at the end of this period, they were considered unsuccessful, and would have to go through the exams again if they still wished to earn a promotion. However, individuals were only permitted to apply for the civil master promotion twice; if they did not receive a promotion after two attempts, they could not apply again and had to either be content as a lowly military instructor or, as most eventually did, leave the military altogether.⁹

This was the position our Barbasetti found himself in when, in October 1892, he returned to the Master's School one last time, this time not as an instructor, but as a candidate for civil master. Given that Barbasetti had been a military instructor for over a decade now, this was probably his second (and final) chance to get the promotion. At the end of the civil master exams, Barbasetti ranked a respectable 5th out of likely several dozen candidates. Unfortunately for Barbasetti though, this ranking was not high enough to secure him one of the two already vacant civil master positions, which instead went to two younger masters, Agesilao Greco and Vincenzo Drosi.¹⁰ To add insult to injury, not only did all the other masters who ranked higher than Barbasetti have less experience than he, as per the regular rules governing who could apply to the civil master role Greco would not have had the requisite seniority, so he would have had to receive special permission from Parise to take part in the exams.¹¹

Despite spending six respectable years as an instructor at the Military Master's School, Parise and the army had implicitly deemed Barbasetti's teaching skills to be lacking in comparison to several of his less experienced peers. This proved to be the last straw for Barbasetti, and a few months later he left the army entirely. Curiously, if Barbasetti had remained in the army for another year, he indeed would have received his promotion. From when the exams took place in October 1892 and until the possible advancement period ended in September 1894, a total of 8 civil master vacancies were filled, a high but not unprecedented number. Since he had already been discharged from the army, however, he was no longer eligible to receive the promotion, and it instead went to one of his Radaellian colleagues.¹² Barbasetti was likely aware of this possibility when he received his discharge papers, thus it cannot be said for certain that the results of the civil master exam were the deciding factor for Barbasetti.

Despite these no doubt demoralising circumstances, it was as a free agent that Barbasetti would finally receive the recognition and remuneration he felt was owed to him, in all likelihood surpassing anything he might have achieved by staying in the military. The opportunity to employ this highly experienced and reputable young master was quickly seized by the the popular and well-funded Trieste Fencing Society, and in December that same year Barbasetti arrived in Trieste to a rapturous welcome. Although still part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire at this time, Trieste had a significant and growing Italian minority who was well up-to-date on the latest fencing trends in Italy. Even before Barbasetti's arrival, the fencers of Trieste were by no means ignorant of Radaellian fencing, indeed the city was somewhat of a Radaellian outpost in the late 19th century. The famous master Salvatore Arista had spent a couple of years in Trieste in the same role a decade earlier, and by the time Barbasetti arrived in 1892 two other ex-military Radaellian masters, G. T. Angelini and Augusto Garagnani, were teaching in the city. Barbasetti's reputation naturally overshadowed the two incumbents; a banquet was held to celebrate his arrival, which was billed as the beginning of a revival of fencing activity in the city.¹³

As well as marking a new era in his teaching career, Barbasetti's move to Trieste resulted in the emergence of his public persona through the Italian sporting press. His first forays into writing appeared in mid-1893 in the pro-Radaellian fencing magazine Scherma Italiana, responding to comments made about a recent exhibition of his with Eugenio Pini and discussions on duelling codes and ongoing efforts at their standardisation in Italy.¹⁴ But it was at the end of the year when he truly came to the attention of the literate fencing public by becoming an editor of Trieste's La Rivista Sportiva. This magazine had been in circulation since the beginning of 1893, featuring only a modest and intermittent fencing column, but in December the Rivista began an ambitious shift and published a 6-page special edition fencing supplement to inaugurate the addition of Luigi Barbasetti to the magazine's editorial staff.¹⁵

For the last five months of La Rivista Sportiva's existence, fencing became the largest single section of the magazine, often comprising half of an individual issue's total material. The magazine boasted of having received commitments for the collaboration of many other prominent Radaellians, but very few of them (at least in name) would actually contribute an article in the magazine's short lifetime. While the magazine did not manage to serve as the collaborative and enduring platform that some Radaellians had hoped for, it did at least provide an effective soapbox for its newest editor, Barbasetti, who immediately took to expounding his views on the current state of fencing in Italy, declaring that it is 'on the path of regression, perhaps primarily because of the teaching method introduced in the army, which we cannot declare to be in agreement with.'¹⁶

Barbasetti was highly critical of his old boss, Masaniello Parise, and the oppressive institution he ruled over. Although Barbasetti had spent 6 years teaching at the Master's School, this had not made him more amenable to Parise's teachings, at least not with respect to sabre fencing. He makes explicit his regret at having attempted to make change from within the system:

Parise's collaborators, or rather the executors, all pure Radaellians, wanted to repaint something…decayed and covered in patches, so as to make a ramshackle thing pass off as new. It was junkyard business and for my part I now deplore having lent a hand.¹⁷

Barbasetti depicts Parise and the school as oppressive and detrimental to the development of fencing in Italy; adherence to the defective official method stifles the artistic freedom of fencing masters in the army, whom Barbasetti asserts are all of a lower quality than those who emerged from the schools of Radaelli and Enrichetti. His first example of this oppression was the fact that the famed Ferdinando Masiello had in late 1893 resigned from his respected teaching position at the Florence military college. This followed only a few months after another master, Barbasetti's dear master Carlo Guasti, left the halls of the Rome Master's School and was transferred to a military academy in Turin.¹⁸ Barbasetti believes both events to be proof that more and more masters were becoming disillusioned with the curriculum and being subordinate to Parise.

Today it is Masiello who renounces government teaching. Tomorrow, who knows? But if we go on at this trot we can hope for at least one thing: which is that soon nobody will receive a master's licence from the state without proving that they have hung Masaniello Parise's treatise at the foot of their bed and that every morning they recite this prayer: 'I believe in the impeccable, infallible official fencing treatise and I renounce all other authors and common sense if by chance I find it.'¹⁹

Barbasetti asserted that in the past eight years 'not one truly strong sabre fencer has emerged from the Master's School', which immediately caught the ire of at least one of Parise's disciples, Antonio Conte, whose response to Barbasetti's diatribes appeared on the front page of Scherma Italiana.²⁰ Conte points to the recent competitive successes of himself and his fellow graduates as proof of the school's accomplishments, a point which the Radaellians themselves made in defence of the Milan school in previous years. In his response, Barbasetti shows himself to be fiercely protective of his reputation as a competitor, downplaying Conte's victories by asserting that most of his victories took place when he did not have to face someone like Barbasetti. When he is willing to concede that a graduate of Parise's school is worthy of praise, it is mostly because their instructor at the school deviated from the regulation method (as was supposedly the case with Carlo Guasti) or because of their own extraordinary physical attributes (e.g. Agesilao Greco).²¹

Regular readers of this blog may also appreciate the additional details Barbasetti provides on the Parise-Pecoraro reforms from a few years prior. While the actual substance of Parise's reformed sabre method is well known to us through later sources, Barbasetti directly credits General Giovanni Corvetto, then Undersecretary of State at the Ministry of War, for initiating this process. Barbasetti claims that Corvetto was 'a bitter enemy of the Parise system' and attempted to replace Parise with Pecoraro as head of the Master's School, but he was overruled by others in the government. As a compromise, Pecoraro was permitted to make changes to the cavalry's sabre instruction, the result of which was the Parise-Pecoraro method that was taught to the cavalry and students at the Master's School from 1891 onwards.²² Yet these changes were evidently insufficient for Barbasetti, as they did not address the underlying problems with how the Italian military trained its fencing masters.

In expounding on how to improve what Barbasetti perceives to be a decline in the quality of sabre fencing and fencing masters in Italy, he draws inspiration partly from his personal experience of over 12 years of military service. He has positive memories of the 'training unit' model that he experienced in his youth, where the Master's School acted more as a finishing school rather than one which takes up the burden of providing a comprehensive training programme.²³ Yet there is one new perspective that Barbasetti has recently gained greater access to with his move to Trieste, and that is the fencing programme of the Austro-Hungarian army's school in Wiener Neustadt.

Several articles in the Rivista Sportiva strongly suggest that Barbasetti was interacting with Austro-Hungarian military personnel and those who had close knowledge of the kind of fencing carried out in both military and civilian circles.²⁴ These contacts gave him the strong impression that life for a fencing master in the Austro-Hungarian military was far better than in Italy, for several reasons. The first was due to the fact that Austrian military fencing masters are officers, and they can continue receiving promotions while acting as fencing masters. The second factor was that the fencing course at Wiener Neustadt lasted only a year, which meant the empire was able to produce fencing masters quickly, albeit with less training than an Italian master. Barbasetti's imagined emulation of the Wiener Neustadt system would have seen the Modena Military School turned into a training unit of 'fencing specialists', with this location most likely being selected as a result of his personal experience there two years earlier.²⁵

The most fruitful aspect of Barbasetti's interaction with Austrian military personnel, however, turned out not to be the importing of new ideas into Italy, but rather the beginning of the exporting of Italian fencing to the rest of Europe. In the penultimate issue of La Rivista Sportiva in April 1894 Barbasetti mentions a visit from Eugen Bothmer and Amon Gregurich, both fencing masters in the Austrian army. These masters had given Barbasetti an invitation to hold a course on Italian fencing at the cavalry school at Mährisch Weißkirchen (Hranice na Moravě, today part of Czechia), where they had already begun teaching in accordance with the Italian method, likely learnt through their contact with Gustav Ristow and Pietro Arnoldo.²⁶ He was then taken to the Wiener Neustadt school where he gave another demonstration of the Radaellian method, which was so well received that already in August 1894 some were claiming that Barbasetti's method was to be adopted by all military schools in Austria-Hungary.²⁷

By the end of the year, Barbasetti had packed his bags and moved to Vienna, and thus began a new and remarkable period in European fencing which saw the Radaellian spread rapidly across the continent. The last issue of the Rivista Sportiva was published on 10 May 1894, but this was by no means the end of Barbasetti's writing career. Aside from his books—namely his duelling code (1898), sabre treatise (1899), and foil treatise (1900)—Barbasetti continued to contribute the occasional article to various newspapers and magazines both in Austria and Italy, but he never again assumed such a direct role in affecting the public discourse like he did with the Rivista.

Much has been said about Barbasetti's fascinating career over the past 130 years, and surely much more remains to be said, particularly regarding the years following his departure from Vienna at the outbreak of the Great War. What I hope to have provided here at least is a deeper insight into the events which shaped Barbasetti's decisions in the early 1890s, events which eventually led to him becoming one of the most recognised names in the history of both Italian and Austrian fencing.

*******

1 Unless stated otherwise, biographical details regarding Barbasetti are drawn from the following sources: Fleuret, "Luigi Barbasetti," Allgemeine Sport-Zeitung, 5 January 1896, 19; Roderico Rizzotti, "Luigi Barbasetti," Scherma Italiana, 1 October 1896, 47–9; Camillo Müller, "Barbasetti," Allgemeine Sport-Zeitung, 1 March 1903, 220–1.^↩
2 KU Leuven Libraries Special Collections, R4A552b.^↩
3 Cesare Francesco Ricotti-Magnani, "CIRCOLARE N. 47. — Corsi eventuali presso la scuola magistrale militare di scherma. — (Segretariato generale). — 11 aprile," Giornale Militare 1885: Parte Seconda, no. 17 (15 April 1885): 196–7.^↩
4 Luigi Barbasetti, "La miglior parata è la botta," Gazzetta dello Sport, 20 August 1897; Barbasetti, La Scherma di Spada (Milan: Tipografia Alessandro Gattinoni, 1902), 24.^↩
5 On the salary of military instructors at the Master's School, see Jacopo Gelli, Brevi note sulla scherma di sciabola per la cavalleria (Florence: Tipografia di Luigi Niccolai, 1889), 9^↩
6 Daily reports on the tournament can be found in the Florentine newspaper La Nazione between 5 and 18 May 1887.^↩
7 "Accademie, tornei e notizie," Scherma Italiana, 17 December 1894, 91–2.^↩
8 For some examples of contemporary discussion regarding the poor morale of military fencing masters, see Giuseppe Perez, "I Maestri di Scherma nell'Esercito," Baiardo: periodico schermistico bimensile, 16 May 1891, 4; D'Artagnan, "I Maestri di Scherma nell'Esercito," Baiardo: periodico schermistico bimensile, 1 June 1891, 4; Ricasso, "Il grado ai maestri di scherma militari," Lo Sport Illustrato, 20 August 1891, 406; Luigi Barbasetti, "La Scuola Magistrale Militare di Scherma in Italia," La Rivista Sportiva, 25 March 1894, 63. On the mandatory service period of military fencing instructors, see Raccolta ufficiale delle leggi e dei decreti del regno d'Italia, vol. 97 (Rome: Stamperia Reale, 1890), 2366.^↩
9 Giovanni Corvetto, "CIRCOLARE N. 129. — Norme per l'esame di concorso alla nomina a maestro civile di scherma. — (Segretariato generale). — 22 agosto," Giornale Militare 1888: Parte Seconda, no. 40 (25 August 1888): 496–8; Ministero della Guerra, Regolamento per la scuola magistrale militare di scherma (Rome: Voghera Enrico, 1897), 23–4.^↩
10 Results on these exams are mentioned in "Accademie, tornei e notizie," Scherma Italiana, 27 October 1892, 70. The promotions of Greco and Drosi are announced in Ministero della Guerra, Bollettino ufficiale delle nomine, promozioni e destinazioni negli uffiziali dell'esercito italiano e nel personale dell'amministrazione militare, no. 48 (24 December 1892): 612.^↩
11 Candidates had to have a seniority dating prior to 1 January 1882. See Luigi Pelloux, "CIRCOLARE N. 96. — Concorso per la nomina a maestro aggiunto di 1a classe nel personale dei maestri civili di scherma. — (Segretariato generale). — 19 agosto," Giornale Militare 1892: Parte Seconda, no. 28 (20 August 1892): 250–1.^↩
12 The civil master promotions that were awarded between 1892 and 1894 are announced in the Bollettino ufficiale delle nomine, promozioni e destinazioni negli uffiziali dell'esercito italiano e nel personale dell'amministrazione militare.^↩
13 "Luigi Barbasetti," Il Piccolo, 1 December 1892, 1.^↩
14 "Sfida Barbasetti-Pini," Scherma Italiana, 8 May 1893, 31; "Il codice unico," Scherma Italiana 20 July 1893, 50–1; "Ancora sul codice unico," Scherma Italiana, 1 November 1893, 78.^↩
15 The copy of this first fencing supplement for the Rivista Sportiva I consulted bears no date, but given that it cites letters from the end of November 1893, a publication date in December seems likely.^↩
16 Luigi Barbasetti, "Ai miei lettori!," La Rivista Sportiva, [December 1893], 1.^↩
17 Luigi Barbasetti, "Commenti e.... Commenti," Scherma, La Rivista Sportiva, 10 January 1894, 3–4.^↩
18 Fieravespa, "E due!....," Scherma Italiana, 19 June 1893, 41.^↩
19 Luigi Barbasetti, "Ancora uno che se ne và," La Rivista Sportiva, [December 1893], 1–2.^↩
20 Luigi Barbasetti, "La decadenza della sciabola," La Rivista Sportiva, [December 1893], 4–5; Antonio Conte, Scherma Italiana, 15 February 1894, 17.^↩
21 Luigi Barbasetti, Scherma Italiana, 15 March 1894, 21–2.^↩
22 "Comunicati," Scherma Italiana, 5 August 1894, 65–6.^↩
23 Luigi Barbasetti, "La Scuola Magistrale Militare di Scherma in Italia," Scherma, La Rivista Sportiva, 25 March 1894, 63.^↩
24 In addition to the above-cited article, see Cap. Otto, "La scherma di sciabola in Austria," La Rivista Sportiva, [December 1893], 4; Cornelio Agrippa, "I maestri di scherma nell'esercito austro-ungarico," Scherma, La Rivista Sportiva, 25 January 1894, 13; Burlone, "La Scherma in Austria," Scherma, La Rivista Sportiva, 10 February 1894, 33–4.^↩
25 Luigi Barbasetti, "La Scuola Magistrale Militare di Scherma in Italia," Scherma, La Rivista Sportiva, 25 March 1894, 63.^↩
26 Luigi Barbasetti, "La Scherma Italiana in Austria," La Rivista Sportiva, 25 April 1894, 87–8. On Pietro Arnoldo's work in Austria, see this article.^↩
27 "Comunicati," Scherma Italiana, 5 August 1894, 65–6.^↩

Glimpses inside the Master's School: Giovanni Franceschinis

Continuing on from last week's article from Ottorino Scognamiglio, today is part two of our glimpse into the Mecca of pre-war Italian fencing, the Military Fencing Master's School in Rome.

This second account comes from Giovanni Franceschinis, who after graduating from the school had a long and successful career teaching in Vienna, following in the footsteps of Luigi Barbasetti, whom he spent some time training under during his time at the Master's School. This article was originally published in the July 1956 issue of the Italian Fencing Fedaration's magazine Scherma. It is the first of three articles by Franceschinis that the magazine published, with the other two dedicated to his career in Austria. While these are also interesting in their own right, only the first article will be translated here due to its relevance to the Rome Fencing Master's School.

Contrary to what Franceschinis claims, his course at the school took place from 1890 to 1893, so any of the dates he gives regarding his time there should be shifted a year earlier. Compared to Scognamiglio's account, Franceschinis pays a little more attention to the individuals involved in the training as well as their and his own achievements during the early stages of his career. These details partly set the stage for Franceschinis' subsequent articles in which he describes the glories and successes of Italian fencing throughout Europe at the turn of the 20th century, in addition to simply allowing Franceschinis to associate himself with the more famous figures at the centre of these events.

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Biographies of great masters: Maestro Giovanni Franceschinis

On the occasion of the dispute at the Gaudini Cup in Milan last March, we had the pleasure of meeting Maestro Giovanni Franceschinis in person (we already knew him by reputation), and since we knew that he had had a rather interesting life, we asked him to dictate something for the readers of Scherma, a request which he immediately granted with pleasure.

Perhaps few fencers, even among the masters, will remember him; most do not know who he is. This is not very surprising, since, aside from belonging to that privileged and, unfortunately, now quite...rarefied category of fencers and masters who are well into their 80s, Franceschinis lived abroad for many years; and as we know, 'out of sight, out of mind'. But not so for us, having imposed on ourselves the dutiful task (not always easy, to tell the truth, and least of all supported by the interested parties themselves) of pulling from oblivion those who have given to our sport their best energies and—whether as amateurs or as professionals—brought prestige and honour to Italian fencing. As Franceschinis occupies a very worthy place among these people, we are glad to take advantage of the occasion which put us in contact with him in order to introduce him to readers.

We intended to make this introduction immediately after the interview; unfortunately we were forced to postpone month after month because the competitive activity was such that it completely absorbed the available space. However, as we are not dealing with topical matters, the postponement does not harm either the story or its presentation.

Franceschinis, for those who do not know, is a vigorous and venerable old man who wears his 86 years of age with ease, and his upright body still maintains some of that proud bearing acquired in the Nizza Cavalry, which he was a part of in his distant youth. He now lives, almost in solitude, in Milanino, living on nostalgic memories and a very poor pension, something which these days happens often to many survivors of the previous century. But even if life for him now is somewhat sad and difficult, he has not lost the spiritual serenity that was his faithful companion and solid support in the fight for existence, carefree and beautiful while the years were carefree and beautiful, but tough and sad when it should have been easy and peaceful.

May he be comforted by the thought that those who knew him remember him with affection and respect, and we at the columns of Scherma wish him all the best. Having made this introduction, here is what the good Franceschinis told us:

How I became a fencing master

I was born in Udine on 15 August 1869, and I am the son of an Italian patriot, one of the brave defenders of Osoppo Fortress (1848) who was deported in 1861 to Olmutz, in Moravia, for having participated in the revolutionary revolts for Italian independence in that year, then he was a captain commissioner in the Italian army. Like most old fencing masters, I too come from the famous Military Master's School, which was founded in Rome in 1884 and in which I attended the 4th course (1891–1894), under the direction of the great Maestro Masaniello Parise.¹

To tell the truth, my career was not supposed to be that of a fencing master. My father wanted to make me a brilliant officer, and to that aim he made sure to send me through the strict classrooms of the Milan Military College, where I lived for four years, from 1884 to 1888. In 4th year, however, while I was getting by quite well in other subjects, I stumbled in mathematics, and since I would have to repeat the year, no longer with half-board (until then I had been able, as the son of an officer, to enjoy this benefit), but full board, and my father was unable to support me, I thus volunteered in the army, enlisting as a student sergeant in the 1st Nizza Cavalry regiment in Milan. Two years after promotion to sergeant, I applied and was accepted into the Fencing Master's School.

When I entered the school I was not ignorant of fencing, because both at the college—under the guidance of the civil masters Guarisco and Cavallo—as well as in the Nizza Regiment, I was successfully frequenting the fencing hall, falling in love with this most noble art.² At the Master's School I passionately applied myself under the guidance of Maestro Guasti.

The school was then, as is known, at the Santa Caterina barracks (Salita Magnanapoli), with modest facilities, but a now rich tradition of seriousness and intention: a true school of character and art. The school was subordinate to the Ministry of War. Militarily it was commanded by an army captain, and—for its technical aspect—it was under the direction of Maestro Masaniello Parise, winner of the competition for a unified text on sabre and foil fencing, announced by the Ministry. The courses at the school, to achieve the Military Master diploma with an army or navy regiment, lasted two years, later increased to three years in 1892.

The school had a first-rate teaching body, selected from among the best and most capable masters in all of Italy. Aside from the director Parise, there were two vice-directors (civil masters Pecoraro and Pessina); the teaching masters: Guasti and Laudati (civil), Drosi, Nappi, and others.

There were six hours of lessons per day: three in the morning, two in the afternoon, plus one for theory. An hour of gymnastics early in the morning. In addition to the lessons with one's master, there were set exercises in pairs—always, however, under the supervision of the master. Even the vice-directors gave lessons, occasionally, taking turns. For the first year of the course there was no sabre, only foil. There were competitions, to touch with a lunge, by direct thrust or parry-riposte, but never in close measure. Exercises which developed the fencer greatly.

In the second year Maestro Agesilao Greco joined the school, employed as a bouting master, without a student group.³ He was already a very strong fencer, with exceptional physical strength and endurance, more enamoured with and passionate about his art than any other. To give an idea of this passion of his, I will tell you an anecdote. We were both in the guardhouse in the barracks, he for eight days and I for fifteen, through common military shortcomings. One day I see him arrive at the guardhouse with foils, masks, and Indian clubs. For us the days of confinement in the guardhouse were...days of rest. Anything but rest! Agesilao made me work like a dog.⁴

During the year various military masters, already in the service and blessed with special talents, were called to the school for supplementary courses of two or three months, such as Santelli, Tagliapietra, Conte, Tagliaferri, and Schiavoni. These masters were, for us students, of great benefit in every respect. During the 2nd year of the course (1892) the director, on behalf of the Ministry of War and at the invitation of the English ministry, went on a mission to London with a group of the best masters and fencers for a demonstration of Italian fencing. Taking part were the masters: A. Greco, I. Santelli, E. Torricelli, and Schiavoni.⁵ Their exhibitions enraptured the cold and formal English public.

The school's students often participated in national and even international tournaments. For example, at the Grand Palermo Tournament during the 1893 National Exposition the school—by order of the Ministry—sent seven students from the 3rd year as amateurs (registration was free for masters), in particular: Alesiano, Berti, Gazzera, Miserocchi, Morellini, Olimpico, and this author. All were among the best classified with a gold medal. In addition to my two medals in foil and sabre, I received an English Colt carbine, which was a special gift from the Commanding General of the Army Corps. There were around 300 participants, and the unforgettable tournament lasted 14 days. Agesilao Greco was first among the masters, in foil and sabre. They were the best and strongest blades in Italy.

During my last year at the school the director Parise often entrusted me with special assignments, and on one such occasion I had the fortune of witnessing the civil master exams (students at the school were excluded). The committee was composed of General Manacorda, president, and masters Parise, Pecoraro, Pagliuca, Masiello, Pessina, and others. In such circumstances, performances were made. It was in one of them that I saw the most thrilling bout of my life. The protagonists were masters A. Greco and Vittorio Sartori (the dynamite Bersaglieri, as he was called). It was a masterpiece of fencing and art. The bout lasted 35 minutes. Greco won 4 hits to 1.

In July 1894 I was appointed master, with 24 other colleagues, one of whom from the navy. 63 people were admitted to my course.⁶ As you can see, it was a real sifting. I was assigned to the 7th Milan Cavalry, stationed at Nola.

Partly due to the uninviting headquarters, largely due to the fascination that young masters had for the international fame that surrounded our fencing masters—who at that time were in demand everywhere—the fact was that I too was looking for an escape and an adventure beyond the borders of the fatherland, and for this purpose I turned to Maestro Barbasetti, who was then teaching in Vienna and whom I, for a few months, had had as a teacher at the Rome Master's School.

Having left the army not long before in order to fill the more remunerative instructor position at the Trieste Fencing Society, whose president was the great fencer Count Sordina (a position subsequently occupied by Maestro Tagliapietra, who held it until his death in 1948), Barbasetti moved to Vienna for a few months at the military school in Wiener Neustadt and the Union Fechtclub. While waiting for the anticipated call, I put my attention to perfecting myself, going to the National Academy in Naples, where I worked with the masters Russomando, Macrì, and others.

But Barbasetti did not get in touch, and then, without thinking about it too much, I requested and obtained overseas leave—I had relatives in Trieste and it was not difficult for me to get; I left, bag over my shoulder, first for Triste, then for Vienna, where I was welcomed with justified astonishment but also delight by Barbasetti, who immediately put me to the test. It was August 1895.⁷ The lasting impression on the Viennese fencing scene was excellent. Three months later, I was called by telegraph to be professor of fencing at the Wiener Athletiksport Club, in the process of being founded. I obtained my discharge in advance. I hurried to my family in Udine, then, with two scraps of civilian clothing, my trusty bag over my shoulder, I arrived in Vienna with a metre and a half of snow, but with my heart boiling over, happy.

I began by helping Barbasetti with private lessons, waiting for my club to settle in, as I will discuss later. Incidentally, I will mention that, almost at the same time as Barbasetti, our great Italo Santelli was called to Budapest, being already very famous, and who immediately gave a remarkable boost and a very personal imprint on fencing in Hungary, the results of which we can see!

At that time, fencing was at its height everywhere. Imagine that at the time I was in Vienna, in Budapest alone there were no less than 1,000 fencing connoisseurs, among whom distinguished personalities in politics, science, and the arts. I had the honour of having as my student in Vienna the then captain Gömbös, who was later Prime Minister of Hungary and whose manuscripts I hold dear.

Giovanni Franceschinis

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1 Many of the dates Franceschinis gives, particularly those early in his career, are off by a year, as in this instance. He in fact attended the school from 1890 to 1893, and his was the 5th full-length course at the Rome school.^↩
2 If Antonio Guarisco was teaching at the Milan Military College during this time, he would have been a regular military master, not a civil master. The fencing master of the Nizza cavalry at this time was most likely Ercole Baldi.^↩
3 As the name suggests, bouting masters were employed by the school purely to serve as bouting partners for the students.^↩
4 Here Franceschinis uses the racial slur negro.^↩
5 Almost correct. The masters who went were Agesilao Greco, Italo Santelli, Angelo Torricelli, and Vincenzo Drosi.^↩
6 Franceschinis graduated in July 1893. Sources differ on how many students were initially admitted to the course, but the actual figure is probably closer to 44. The number he states as graduating after third year, however, is likely correct.^↩
7 These events in fact took place in 1896, not 1895.^↩

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 FIS'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.^↩