THE PARDON OF ASISI.1

THE PARDON OF ASISI.1St. Felix,2St. Vincent,3and St. Philip went together once upon a time to the Pardon of Asisi.As they were three great saints, the Pope sent for them as soon as they came back, saying he had a question to ask them. It was Innocent IX. or X., I am not sure which; but I know it was an Innocent.4He took them one by one, separately, and began with St. Felix.‘Were there a great many people at the Pardon?’ said the Pope.‘Oh yes, an immense number,’ answered simple St. Felix; ‘I had not thought the whole world contained such a number.’‘Then a vast number of sins must have been remitted that day?’ said the Pope.St. Felix only sighed in reply.‘Why do you sigh?’ asked the Pope.St. Felix hesitated to reply, but the Pope bade him tell him what was in his mind.‘There were but few who gained the indulgence in all that multitude,’ replied the Saint; ‘for among them all were few who came with the contrition required.’‘How many were there who did receive it?’ again asked the Pope.Once more St. Felix hesitated till the Pope ordered him to speak.‘There were only four,’ he then said.‘Only four!’ exclaimed the Pope. ‘And who were they?’St. Felix showed even more reluctance to answer this question than the others; but the Pope made it a matter of obedience, and then he said,‘The four were Father Philip, Father Vincent, one old man, and one other.’5The Pope next called for Father Vincent, and went through nearly the same dialogue with him, and his list was‘Father Philip, Father Felix, one old man, and one other.’Then the Pope sent for St. Philip, and held the same discourse with him, and his list was‘Father Vincent, Father Felix, one old man, and one other.’And the Pope saw that their testimony agreed together, and that each out of humility had abstained from naming that he was one of the four.But when the people heard the story, they all began demanding that the three fathers should be canonized.[Concerning St. Philip’s devotion to the Portiuncula, Cancellieri, ‘Mercato,’ § xxi. note 7, records that he never missed attending it every August at the little Church of S. Salvatore, in Onda, near Ponte Sisto, now a hospice for infirm priests (he gives a curious inscription in note * * *), then in the hands of the Franciscans for many years, while he lived in the neighbouring Palazzo Caccia.]1‘Il Perdon di Asisi.’The indulgences attached to visiting the Church ofS. Maria degli Angelinear Asisi (otherwise called the Porziuncula), received this name on occasion of its consecration on the 1st and 2nd August, 1225. The visit on the anniversary became one of the most popular of Italian pilgrimages.↑2San Felice di Cantaliccio, 1513–87, is a very popular saint among the Romans, for one reason because he was born of poor parentage. Though of low origin, and only a lay brother in his convent, he was frequently consulted by important people on account of his piety and prudence. St. Charles Borromeo took great note of his advice. He was a contemporary of St. Philip.↑3St. Vincent Ferrer, who is so popular a saint among the Romans, so continually coupled with St. Philip and his acts, and always spoken of as if he had all his life been an inhabitant of Rome, lived just two centuries earlier(1351–1419) than the ‘Apostle of Rome.’ Though he went about preaching and reforming all over Europe, and even in England and Ireland at the invitation of Henry IV., he was yet never in Rome at all, though much at Avignon under the so-called Benedict XIII., his countryman, with whom he used all his influence to make him put an end to the schism.↑4Innocent IX., who reigned 1590–1, took a great deal of notice of St. Philip. It is curious the narrator should have been so far out concerning St. Vincent and so correct about this.↑5‘Un vecchietto e un’altro.’↑PADRE VINCENZO.1There was Padre Vincenzo too, who wasn’t much less than Good Philip himself. He was a miracle of obedience. One day when he was ill the Father-General sent him a codfish. Padre Vincenzo sent back word to thank him, but said he couldn’t eat it. ‘Nonsense!’ answered the Father-General, who thought he spoke out of regard to his love of abstinence. ‘Nonsense! tell him he is to eat it all.’ The message was given to Padre Vincenzo, who was really too ill to eat anything; but in his simplicity thinking he ought to obey, he ate the whole fish, head, tail, bones, and all.By-and-by the Father-General came to see him. He seemed almost at the last gasp, suffocated by the effort he had made, and his throat all lacerated with swallowing the fish-bones. The Father-General praised the simplicity of his obedience, but told the brother who took the message that he ought to have explained it better.But Padre Vincenzo did not lose anything by his obedience, for that same evening he was cured of his illness altogether, and was quite well again.2Padre Vincenzo worked so many miracles that all Rome was talking about him, and the Father-General thought he would get vain, so he told him not to work any more miracles. Padre Vincenzo therefore worked no more miracles; but one day as he was walking along the street, he passed under a high scaffolding of a house that was being built. Just as he came by, a labourer missed his footing and fell over from the top. ‘Padre Vincenzo, save me!’ cried the man, for everybody knew Padre Vincenzo, and he had just seen him turn into the street. ‘Stop there!’ said Padre Vincenzo; ‘I mustn’t save you, as the Padre-Generale says I’m not to work miracles; but wait there, and I’ll go and ask if I may.’ Then he left him suspended in the air while he ran breathless to ask permission of the Father-General to work the miracle of saving him.3One morning Padre Vincenzo had to pass through the Rotonda1on business of his community. A temptation of the throat2took him as he saw a pair of fine plump pigeons such as you, perhaps, cannot see anywhere out of the Rotonda hanging up for sale. Padre Vincenzo bought the pigeons, and took them home secretly under his cloak. In his cell he plucked the pigeons, and cooked them over a little fire. The unwonted smell of roast pigeon soon perfumed the corridor, and two or three brothers, having peeped through the keyhole and seen what was going on in Padre Vincenzo’s cell, ran off to say to the Father-General,‘What do you think Padre Vincenzo, whom we all reckon such a saint, is doing now! He is cooking pigeons privately in his cell.’‘It’s a calumny! I can’t believe it of him,’ answered the Father-General indignantly.The spying brothers bid him come and see.‘I am certain if I do, it will be to cover you with confusion in some way or other for telling tales!’ replied the Father-General as he went with them.As they passed along the corridor there was the smell of roast pigeon most undeniably; but when the Father-General opened the cell door what did they see?Padre Vincenzo was on his knees, praying for forgiveness in a tone of earnest contrition; round his throat were tied the two pigeons, burning hot, as he had taken them from the fire. A spirit of compunction had seized him as he was about to accomplish the unmortified act of eating in his cell in contravention of his rule, and he had adopted this penance for yielding in intention to the temptation.1‘Rotonda,’ the vulgar name of the Pantheon, gives its appellation to the market which is held in the ‘Salita de’ Cresconzi’ and other adjoining streets.↑2‘Gola,’ the throat; used for ‘gluttony.’↑PADRE FONTANAROSA.1There was Padre Fontanarosa too. Did you never hear of him? He was a good friend to the poor; and all Rome loved him. He was a Jesuit; but somehow there were some Jesuits who didn’t like him. Papa Braschi1was very fond of him, and used to make him come every day and tell him all that went on in Rome, for he was very good to the people, and that way the Pope heard what the people wanted; and many things that were wrong got set right when Padre Fontanarosa explained to the Pope the real state of the case.One day Padre Fontanarosa said to the Pope, ‘People say I have been talking too freely, and call it telling tales; but I have only obeyed the wishes of Your Holiness. If I have done wrong send me away.’ But Papa Braschianswered, ‘You have done me good service. Fear nothing.’The next day after that Padre Fontanarosa did not come to the Vatican, or the next, or the next.Then Papa Braschi called for his carriage, and said, ‘Drive to the Gesù!’ Arrived at the Gesù, he said, ‘I want Padre Fontanarosa; where is he?’They answered, ‘In his cell.’But he had been confined in his cell on bread and water for chattering.‘Then let him be brought out of his cell; for I want him!’ answered Papa Braschi.That time he took Padre Fontanarosa away in his carriage, and no one durst say anything to him any more.2Father Fontanarosa was very simple in his habits himself; and he thought the best way to keep the Order simple was to keep it poor. Whenever anyone wanted to leave money to it, instead of encouraging them, he used to tell them of some other good work to which they might leave it.One day there was a penitent of his who was very devoted to the Jesuits, a very rich nobleman, who came to die, and, as he was making his will, he would have Padre Fontanarosa and the notary present together. ‘I leave all of which I die possessed to the Church of the Gesù,’ dictated the rich nobleman.‘What! do you leave all to the Son and nothing to the Mother!’ said Padre Fontanarosa, who knew he was too weak to argue with him as to whether the Order was better without the money or not, and therefore adopted this mode of avoiding the snare, without damaging the good purpose of the testator.‘Ah! you are right,’ answered the dying man. ‘Thank you for reminding me. Make a codicil,’ he said to the notary, ‘and say I meant it for GesùandMaria.’The notary wrote just what he was bid, and the dying man and the witnesses signed all duly. But the money had to go, not to ‘the Gesù’ at all, but to the church of ‘Gesù e Maria’—you know where, at the end of the Corso, which doesn’t belong to the Jesuits at all, but to the Augustinians.3Others give him not quite such a good character, and tell the following story of him:—The reason why the Jesuits did not look favourably on Father Fontanarosa was that they thought he went too often to the house of a certain lady. He perceived that they had found out that he visited her, but he went on all the same, only he said to her, ‘If anything happens that the fathers send after me, and anyone comes into the room suddenly; fall down on your knees before the crucifix, and I will speak so that I may seem to be here to give you a penitential warning.’There happened to be a handsome crucifix, kept more for ornament than devotion, on a slab in her boudoir, and she promised to heed his caution.One day, when they were together, they heard a ring at the outer door; then a whispering in the passage; then footsteps in the adjoining room. Padre Fontanarosa looked at the lady, and the lady looked at Padre Fontanarosa. Each understood that they were under surveillance. She fell down on her knees before the crucifix, and he exhorted her to take a pattern from the Magdalen; and, as she knelt clasping the foot of the cross, with her beautiful hair all loose over her shoulders, she really looked like a living picture of the Magdalen. Still no one came into the room. But they felt they were being watched; so it was necessary to keep up the deception. Padre Fontanarosa had to speak loudly and fervently in order to make his words resound well in the adjoiningroom; the lady had to sob to show she was attending to them. Still no one came in; and Padre Fontanarosa had to continue his discourse till, partly through fear lest his courage should fail, and partly lest he should be discovered, he forced himself to forget present circumstances, and to throw himself into his exhortation to such an extent that he preached with a force and eloquence he had never exercised in his life before.At last those who had been listening felt satisfied of his sincerity, and went back to the General and told him there was no fault to be found in him.But so effectually had he preached, and so salutary had been his warnings, that the next day the lady entered a convent, to be a penitent all her days.1Pius VI., who reigned 1775–1799.↑S. GIUSEPPE LABRE.11‘There was Giuseppe Labre too, and many wonderful things he did; he was a great saint, as all the people in the Monti2knew. I don’t know if they’ve put all about him in books yet; if so, you may have read it; but I can’t read.’‘I know a Life of him has been published; but tell me what you have heard about him all the same.’Giuseppe Labre, you know, passed much of his time in meditation in the Coliseum; the arch behind the picture of the Second Station,3that’s where he used to be all day, and where he slept most nights, too. There was a butcher in the Via de’ Serpenti who knew him, and kept a little room for him, where he made him come and sleep when the nights were bad and cold, or stormy. These people were very good to him, and, though not well offthemselves, were ready to give him a great deal more than he in his love for poverty would consent to accept.One great affliction this butcher had; his wife was bedridden with an incurable disorder. One night there was a terrible storm, it was a burning hot night in summer, and Giuseppe Labre came to sleep at the butcher’s. He was lying on his bed in the little room, which was up a step or two higher than the butcher’s own room, where his wife lay, just as it might be where that cupboard is there. Presently the butcher’s wife heard him call her, saying,‘Sora Angela, bring me a cup of water for the love of God!’‘My friend, you know how gladly I would do anything to help you, but my husband is not come up, and I have no one to send, and you know I cannot move.’Nevertheless Giuseppe called again, ‘Sora Angela, bring me a cup of water for the love of God!’‘Don’t call so, good friend,’ replied she; ‘it distresses me; you know how gladly I would come if I could only move.’Yet still the third time Giuseppe Labre said,‘Sora Angela, hear me! Bring me a cup of water for the love of God!’ And he spoke the words so authoritatively that the good woman felt as if she was bound to obey him, she made the effort to rise, and, can you believe it! she got up as if there was nothing the matter with her; and from that time forward she was cured.2There was a poor cobbler who always had a kind word for Giuseppe too. One day Giuseppe Labre came to him, and said he wanted him to lend him a pair of shoes as he was going a pilgrimage to Loreto. The cobbler knew what a way it was from Rome to Loreto, and that there would not be much left of a pair of shoes after theyhad done the way there and back. Had Labre asked him togivethem, his regard for him would have prompted him to assent however ill he could afford it; but to talk of lending shoes to walk to Loreto and back seemed like making game of him, and he didn’t like it. Nevertheless he couldn’t find it in his heart to refuse, and he gave him a pretty tidy pair which he had patched up strong to sell, but without expecting ever to see them again.Giuseppe Labre took the shoes and went to Loreto, and when he came back his first call was at the cobbler’s shed; and sure enough he brought the shoes none the worse for all the wear they had had. So perfectly uninjured were they that the cobbler would have thought they were another pair had it not been that he recognised the patches of his own clumsy work.3Another more matter-of-fact account of this story was that he did not wear the shoes on the journey, as he did that barefoot, i.e. with wooden sandals, and only borrowed the shoes to be decent and reverent in visiting the Sanctuary. In this case the story was told me to illustrate his conscientiousness both in punctually returning the shoes and in taking so much care of his trust.1S. Joseph Labre was born at Boulogne, of parents of the lower middle class, in 1749, and died 1783. He came to Rome on a pilgrimage when young, and remained here the rest of his days, passing his time in prayer and contemplation in the various shrines of Rome. He every year made the pilgrimage to Loreto on foot. He was supported entirely by the alms of the people.↑2In the Rione Monti are the streets chiefly inhabited by the poor and working classes of Rome. Joseph Labre passed his life in their midst, and they always speak of him with affection, as a hero of their own order. It only needs to go to the Church of the Madonna de’ Monti on the day of his ‘Patrocinio’ to see how popular he is.↑3The stations of the ‘Way of the Cross’ are arranged round the interior of the Coliseum; and until out-of-door devotions were forbidden by the new Government, the Via Crucis was constantly performed here, led by a Capuchin and by various confraternities, and always well attended.↑THE TWELVE WORDS OF TRUTH.1This is a ‘ritornella,’ the whole being repeated over as each new sentence is added. I remember, years ago, meeting the same in Wiltshire, and then there was this additional refrain to be repeated:‘When want is all the go;And it evermore shall be so.’Then it went on:‘I’ll sing you three O;Three O are rivo.’If I remember right, there were no numbers before three-o. Four, were the four Evangelists, and nine, the nine orders of angels, as in the text; but the seventh line was ‘seven are the seven bright stars in the sky,’ and this, taken in connexion with the text, establishes a curious link in popular mythology between the mysterious Seven-branch Candlestick and the Pleïades. Subjoined is a translation of the text.‘One, and first, is the Lord God, ever ready to help us.’ (‘Domeniddio’ is a popular way of naming God, like the French ‘le bon Dieu,’ identical with the German ‘unser Herrgott.’)2‘Two stands for the keys of heaven. There is gold.’ (This would be the literal rendering of this line, but it has manifestly been lamed by bad memory.)3‘Three stands for three patriarchs, &c.’4‘Four stands for the four columns which support the world, &c.’5‘Five stands for the five wounds of Jesus Christ.’6‘Six stands for the six cocks which crowed in Galilee.’7‘Seven are the seven tapers that burnt in Jerusalem.’ (‘Cantorno’ for cantarono, a vulgar transposition, like ‘hunderd,’ and ‘childern,’ in English; ‘ardorno’ similarly,instead of ‘arderono,’ though ‘arsero’ would be the correct form.)8‘Eight’ stands for the octave of Christ. (Probably in allusion to the ‘octave,’ or eight days’ festival, of Christmas.)9‘Nine’ stands for the nine quires of angels.10‘Ten’ stands for the ten years of Christ. (What‘ten years’ it is not easy to see.)11‘Eleven’ stands for the crowning with thorns. (St. Bridget or Sœur Emmerich, in their minute meditations or ‘Revelations’ on the Passion, have fixed a number for the thorns in our Lord’s crown, but I do not remember what they make it; theremaybe a tradition that it was eleven.)12‘Twelve’ stands for the Twelve Apostles.131Le dodici Parole della Verità.↑2‘Uno e primo è Domeniddio, che sempre c’aiuta.’↑3‘Due sono le chiavi del cielo, c’è l’oro.’↑4‘Tre sono tre Patriarchi Abramine, Giacobbe, e Isaache.’↑5‘Quattro sono le quattro colonne che il mondo mantiene; Luca, Giovanni, Marco, e Matteo.’↑6‘Cinque sono le piaghe de Gesù Cristo.’↑7‘Sei sono i sei galli che cantorno in Galilea.’↑8‘Sette sono i sette cerini ch’ ardorno in Gerusalemme.’↑9‘Otto è l’ottava di Cristo.’↑10‘Nove sono i nove cori degli angeli.’↑11‘Dieci è la diecenna di Cristo.’↑12‘Undici è la coronazione di spine.’↑13‘Dodici sono i dodici Apostoli.’↑

St. Felix,2St. Vincent,3and St. Philip went together once upon a time to the Pardon of Asisi.As they were three great saints, the Pope sent for them as soon as they came back, saying he had a question to ask them. It was Innocent IX. or X., I am not sure which; but I know it was an Innocent.4He took them one by one, separately, and began with St. Felix.‘Were there a great many people at the Pardon?’ said the Pope.‘Oh yes, an immense number,’ answered simple St. Felix; ‘I had not thought the whole world contained such a number.’‘Then a vast number of sins must have been remitted that day?’ said the Pope.St. Felix only sighed in reply.‘Why do you sigh?’ asked the Pope.St. Felix hesitated to reply, but the Pope bade him tell him what was in his mind.‘There were but few who gained the indulgence in all that multitude,’ replied the Saint; ‘for among them all were few who came with the contrition required.’‘How many were there who did receive it?’ again asked the Pope.Once more St. Felix hesitated till the Pope ordered him to speak.‘There were only four,’ he then said.‘Only four!’ exclaimed the Pope. ‘And who were they?’St. Felix showed even more reluctance to answer this question than the others; but the Pope made it a matter of obedience, and then he said,‘The four were Father Philip, Father Vincent, one old man, and one other.’5The Pope next called for Father Vincent, and went through nearly the same dialogue with him, and his list was‘Father Philip, Father Felix, one old man, and one other.’Then the Pope sent for St. Philip, and held the same discourse with him, and his list was‘Father Vincent, Father Felix, one old man, and one other.’And the Pope saw that their testimony agreed together, and that each out of humility had abstained from naming that he was one of the four.But when the people heard the story, they all began demanding that the three fathers should be canonized.[Concerning St. Philip’s devotion to the Portiuncula, Cancellieri, ‘Mercato,’ § xxi. note 7, records that he never missed attending it every August at the little Church of S. Salvatore, in Onda, near Ponte Sisto, now a hospice for infirm priests (he gives a curious inscription in note * * *), then in the hands of the Franciscans for many years, while he lived in the neighbouring Palazzo Caccia.]

St. Felix,2St. Vincent,3and St. Philip went together once upon a time to the Pardon of Asisi.

As they were three great saints, the Pope sent for them as soon as they came back, saying he had a question to ask them. It was Innocent IX. or X., I am not sure which; but I know it was an Innocent.4He took them one by one, separately, and began with St. Felix.

‘Were there a great many people at the Pardon?’ said the Pope.

‘Oh yes, an immense number,’ answered simple St. Felix; ‘I had not thought the whole world contained such a number.’

‘Then a vast number of sins must have been remitted that day?’ said the Pope.

St. Felix only sighed in reply.

‘Why do you sigh?’ asked the Pope.

St. Felix hesitated to reply, but the Pope bade him tell him what was in his mind.

‘There were but few who gained the indulgence in all that multitude,’ replied the Saint; ‘for among them all were few who came with the contrition required.’

‘How many were there who did receive it?’ again asked the Pope.

Once more St. Felix hesitated till the Pope ordered him to speak.

‘There were only four,’ he then said.

‘Only four!’ exclaimed the Pope. ‘And who were they?’

St. Felix showed even more reluctance to answer this question than the others; but the Pope made it a matter of obedience, and then he said,

‘The four were Father Philip, Father Vincent, one old man, and one other.’5

The Pope next called for Father Vincent, and went through nearly the same dialogue with him, and his list was

‘Father Philip, Father Felix, one old man, and one other.’

Then the Pope sent for St. Philip, and held the same discourse with him, and his list was

‘Father Vincent, Father Felix, one old man, and one other.’

And the Pope saw that their testimony agreed together, and that each out of humility had abstained from naming that he was one of the four.

But when the people heard the story, they all began demanding that the three fathers should be canonized.

[Concerning St. Philip’s devotion to the Portiuncula, Cancellieri, ‘Mercato,’ § xxi. note 7, records that he never missed attending it every August at the little Church of S. Salvatore, in Onda, near Ponte Sisto, now a hospice for infirm priests (he gives a curious inscription in note * * *), then in the hands of the Franciscans for many years, while he lived in the neighbouring Palazzo Caccia.]

1‘Il Perdon di Asisi.’The indulgences attached to visiting the Church ofS. Maria degli Angelinear Asisi (otherwise called the Porziuncula), received this name on occasion of its consecration on the 1st and 2nd August, 1225. The visit on the anniversary became one of the most popular of Italian pilgrimages.↑2San Felice di Cantaliccio, 1513–87, is a very popular saint among the Romans, for one reason because he was born of poor parentage. Though of low origin, and only a lay brother in his convent, he was frequently consulted by important people on account of his piety and prudence. St. Charles Borromeo took great note of his advice. He was a contemporary of St. Philip.↑3St. Vincent Ferrer, who is so popular a saint among the Romans, so continually coupled with St. Philip and his acts, and always spoken of as if he had all his life been an inhabitant of Rome, lived just two centuries earlier(1351–1419) than the ‘Apostle of Rome.’ Though he went about preaching and reforming all over Europe, and even in England and Ireland at the invitation of Henry IV., he was yet never in Rome at all, though much at Avignon under the so-called Benedict XIII., his countryman, with whom he used all his influence to make him put an end to the schism.↑4Innocent IX., who reigned 1590–1, took a great deal of notice of St. Philip. It is curious the narrator should have been so far out concerning St. Vincent and so correct about this.↑5‘Un vecchietto e un’altro.’↑

2San Felice di Cantaliccio, 1513–87, is a very popular saint among the Romans, for one reason because he was born of poor parentage. Though of low origin, and only a lay brother in his convent, he was frequently consulted by important people on account of his piety and prudence. St. Charles Borromeo took great note of his advice. He was a contemporary of St. Philip.↑

3St. Vincent Ferrer, who is so popular a saint among the Romans, so continually coupled with St. Philip and his acts, and always spoken of as if he had all his life been an inhabitant of Rome, lived just two centuries earlier(1351–1419) than the ‘Apostle of Rome.’ Though he went about preaching and reforming all over Europe, and even in England and Ireland at the invitation of Henry IV., he was yet never in Rome at all, though much at Avignon under the so-called Benedict XIII., his countryman, with whom he used all his influence to make him put an end to the schism.↑

4Innocent IX., who reigned 1590–1, took a great deal of notice of St. Philip. It is curious the narrator should have been so far out concerning St. Vincent and so correct about this.↑

5‘Un vecchietto e un’altro.’↑

PADRE VINCENZO.1There was Padre Vincenzo too, who wasn’t much less than Good Philip himself. He was a miracle of obedience. One day when he was ill the Father-General sent him a codfish. Padre Vincenzo sent back word to thank him, but said he couldn’t eat it. ‘Nonsense!’ answered the Father-General, who thought he spoke out of regard to his love of abstinence. ‘Nonsense! tell him he is to eat it all.’ The message was given to Padre Vincenzo, who was really too ill to eat anything; but in his simplicity thinking he ought to obey, he ate the whole fish, head, tail, bones, and all.By-and-by the Father-General came to see him. He seemed almost at the last gasp, suffocated by the effort he had made, and his throat all lacerated with swallowing the fish-bones. The Father-General praised the simplicity of his obedience, but told the brother who took the message that he ought to have explained it better.But Padre Vincenzo did not lose anything by his obedience, for that same evening he was cured of his illness altogether, and was quite well again.2Padre Vincenzo worked so many miracles that all Rome was talking about him, and the Father-General thought he would get vain, so he told him not to work any more miracles. Padre Vincenzo therefore worked no more miracles; but one day as he was walking along the street, he passed under a high scaffolding of a house that was being built. Just as he came by, a labourer missed his footing and fell over from the top. ‘Padre Vincenzo, save me!’ cried the man, for everybody knew Padre Vincenzo, and he had just seen him turn into the street. ‘Stop there!’ said Padre Vincenzo; ‘I mustn’t save you, as the Padre-Generale says I’m not to work miracles; but wait there, and I’ll go and ask if I may.’ Then he left him suspended in the air while he ran breathless to ask permission of the Father-General to work the miracle of saving him.3One morning Padre Vincenzo had to pass through the Rotonda1on business of his community. A temptation of the throat2took him as he saw a pair of fine plump pigeons such as you, perhaps, cannot see anywhere out of the Rotonda hanging up for sale. Padre Vincenzo bought the pigeons, and took them home secretly under his cloak. In his cell he plucked the pigeons, and cooked them over a little fire. The unwonted smell of roast pigeon soon perfumed the corridor, and two or three brothers, having peeped through the keyhole and seen what was going on in Padre Vincenzo’s cell, ran off to say to the Father-General,‘What do you think Padre Vincenzo, whom we all reckon such a saint, is doing now! He is cooking pigeons privately in his cell.’‘It’s a calumny! I can’t believe it of him,’ answered the Father-General indignantly.The spying brothers bid him come and see.‘I am certain if I do, it will be to cover you with confusion in some way or other for telling tales!’ replied the Father-General as he went with them.As they passed along the corridor there was the smell of roast pigeon most undeniably; but when the Father-General opened the cell door what did they see?Padre Vincenzo was on his knees, praying for forgiveness in a tone of earnest contrition; round his throat were tied the two pigeons, burning hot, as he had taken them from the fire. A spirit of compunction had seized him as he was about to accomplish the unmortified act of eating in his cell in contravention of his rule, and he had adopted this penance for yielding in intention to the temptation.1‘Rotonda,’ the vulgar name of the Pantheon, gives its appellation to the market which is held in the ‘Salita de’ Cresconzi’ and other adjoining streets.↑2‘Gola,’ the throat; used for ‘gluttony.’↑

1There was Padre Vincenzo too, who wasn’t much less than Good Philip himself. He was a miracle of obedience. One day when he was ill the Father-General sent him a codfish. Padre Vincenzo sent back word to thank him, but said he couldn’t eat it. ‘Nonsense!’ answered the Father-General, who thought he spoke out of regard to his love of abstinence. ‘Nonsense! tell him he is to eat it all.’ The message was given to Padre Vincenzo, who was really too ill to eat anything; but in his simplicity thinking he ought to obey, he ate the whole fish, head, tail, bones, and all.By-and-by the Father-General came to see him. He seemed almost at the last gasp, suffocated by the effort he had made, and his throat all lacerated with swallowing the fish-bones. The Father-General praised the simplicity of his obedience, but told the brother who took the message that he ought to have explained it better.But Padre Vincenzo did not lose anything by his obedience, for that same evening he was cured of his illness altogether, and was quite well again.

There was Padre Vincenzo too, who wasn’t much less than Good Philip himself. He was a miracle of obedience. One day when he was ill the Father-General sent him a codfish. Padre Vincenzo sent back word to thank him, but said he couldn’t eat it. ‘Nonsense!’ answered the Father-General, who thought he spoke out of regard to his love of abstinence. ‘Nonsense! tell him he is to eat it all.’ The message was given to Padre Vincenzo, who was really too ill to eat anything; but in his simplicity thinking he ought to obey, he ate the whole fish, head, tail, bones, and all.By-and-by the Father-General came to see him. He seemed almost at the last gasp, suffocated by the effort he had made, and his throat all lacerated with swallowing the fish-bones. The Father-General praised the simplicity of his obedience, but told the brother who took the message that he ought to have explained it better.But Padre Vincenzo did not lose anything by his obedience, for that same evening he was cured of his illness altogether, and was quite well again.

By-and-by the Father-General came to see him. He seemed almost at the last gasp, suffocated by the effort he had made, and his throat all lacerated with swallowing the fish-bones. The Father-General praised the simplicity of his obedience, but told the brother who took the message that he ought to have explained it better.

But Padre Vincenzo did not lose anything by his obedience, for that same evening he was cured of his illness altogether, and was quite well again.

2Padre Vincenzo worked so many miracles that all Rome was talking about him, and the Father-General thought he would get vain, so he told him not to work any more miracles. Padre Vincenzo therefore worked no more miracles; but one day as he was walking along the street, he passed under a high scaffolding of a house that was being built. Just as he came by, a labourer missed his footing and fell over from the top. ‘Padre Vincenzo, save me!’ cried the man, for everybody knew Padre Vincenzo, and he had just seen him turn into the street. ‘Stop there!’ said Padre Vincenzo; ‘I mustn’t save you, as the Padre-Generale says I’m not to work miracles; but wait there, and I’ll go and ask if I may.’ Then he left him suspended in the air while he ran breathless to ask permission of the Father-General to work the miracle of saving him.

Padre Vincenzo worked so many miracles that all Rome was talking about him, and the Father-General thought he would get vain, so he told him not to work any more miracles. Padre Vincenzo therefore worked no more miracles; but one day as he was walking along the street, he passed under a high scaffolding of a house that was being built. Just as he came by, a labourer missed his footing and fell over from the top. ‘Padre Vincenzo, save me!’ cried the man, for everybody knew Padre Vincenzo, and he had just seen him turn into the street. ‘Stop there!’ said Padre Vincenzo; ‘I mustn’t save you, as the Padre-Generale says I’m not to work miracles; but wait there, and I’ll go and ask if I may.’ Then he left him suspended in the air while he ran breathless to ask permission of the Father-General to work the miracle of saving him.

3One morning Padre Vincenzo had to pass through the Rotonda1on business of his community. A temptation of the throat2took him as he saw a pair of fine plump pigeons such as you, perhaps, cannot see anywhere out of the Rotonda hanging up for sale. Padre Vincenzo bought the pigeons, and took them home secretly under his cloak. In his cell he plucked the pigeons, and cooked them over a little fire. The unwonted smell of roast pigeon soon perfumed the corridor, and two or three brothers, having peeped through the keyhole and seen what was going on in Padre Vincenzo’s cell, ran off to say to the Father-General,‘What do you think Padre Vincenzo, whom we all reckon such a saint, is doing now! He is cooking pigeons privately in his cell.’‘It’s a calumny! I can’t believe it of him,’ answered the Father-General indignantly.The spying brothers bid him come and see.‘I am certain if I do, it will be to cover you with confusion in some way or other for telling tales!’ replied the Father-General as he went with them.As they passed along the corridor there was the smell of roast pigeon most undeniably; but when the Father-General opened the cell door what did they see?Padre Vincenzo was on his knees, praying for forgiveness in a tone of earnest contrition; round his throat were tied the two pigeons, burning hot, as he had taken them from the fire. A spirit of compunction had seized him as he was about to accomplish the unmortified act of eating in his cell in contravention of his rule, and he had adopted this penance for yielding in intention to the temptation.

One morning Padre Vincenzo had to pass through the Rotonda1on business of his community. A temptation of the throat2took him as he saw a pair of fine plump pigeons such as you, perhaps, cannot see anywhere out of the Rotonda hanging up for sale. Padre Vincenzo bought the pigeons, and took them home secretly under his cloak. In his cell he plucked the pigeons, and cooked them over a little fire. The unwonted smell of roast pigeon soon perfumed the corridor, and two or three brothers, having peeped through the keyhole and seen what was going on in Padre Vincenzo’s cell, ran off to say to the Father-General,‘What do you think Padre Vincenzo, whom we all reckon such a saint, is doing now! He is cooking pigeons privately in his cell.’‘It’s a calumny! I can’t believe it of him,’ answered the Father-General indignantly.The spying brothers bid him come and see.‘I am certain if I do, it will be to cover you with confusion in some way or other for telling tales!’ replied the Father-General as he went with them.As they passed along the corridor there was the smell of roast pigeon most undeniably; but when the Father-General opened the cell door what did they see?Padre Vincenzo was on his knees, praying for forgiveness in a tone of earnest contrition; round his throat were tied the two pigeons, burning hot, as he had taken them from the fire. A spirit of compunction had seized him as he was about to accomplish the unmortified act of eating in his cell in contravention of his rule, and he had adopted this penance for yielding in intention to the temptation.

‘What do you think Padre Vincenzo, whom we all reckon such a saint, is doing now! He is cooking pigeons privately in his cell.’

‘It’s a calumny! I can’t believe it of him,’ answered the Father-General indignantly.

The spying brothers bid him come and see.

‘I am certain if I do, it will be to cover you with confusion in some way or other for telling tales!’ replied the Father-General as he went with them.

As they passed along the corridor there was the smell of roast pigeon most undeniably; but when the Father-General opened the cell door what did they see?

Padre Vincenzo was on his knees, praying for forgiveness in a tone of earnest contrition; round his throat were tied the two pigeons, burning hot, as he had taken them from the fire. A spirit of compunction had seized him as he was about to accomplish the unmortified act of eating in his cell in contravention of his rule, and he had adopted this penance for yielding in intention to the temptation.

1‘Rotonda,’ the vulgar name of the Pantheon, gives its appellation to the market which is held in the ‘Salita de’ Cresconzi’ and other adjoining streets.↑2‘Gola,’ the throat; used for ‘gluttony.’↑

1‘Rotonda,’ the vulgar name of the Pantheon, gives its appellation to the market which is held in the ‘Salita de’ Cresconzi’ and other adjoining streets.↑

2‘Gola,’ the throat; used for ‘gluttony.’↑

PADRE FONTANAROSA.1There was Padre Fontanarosa too. Did you never hear of him? He was a good friend to the poor; and all Rome loved him. He was a Jesuit; but somehow there were some Jesuits who didn’t like him. Papa Braschi1was very fond of him, and used to make him come every day and tell him all that went on in Rome, for he was very good to the people, and that way the Pope heard what the people wanted; and many things that were wrong got set right when Padre Fontanarosa explained to the Pope the real state of the case.One day Padre Fontanarosa said to the Pope, ‘People say I have been talking too freely, and call it telling tales; but I have only obeyed the wishes of Your Holiness. If I have done wrong send me away.’ But Papa Braschianswered, ‘You have done me good service. Fear nothing.’The next day after that Padre Fontanarosa did not come to the Vatican, or the next, or the next.Then Papa Braschi called for his carriage, and said, ‘Drive to the Gesù!’ Arrived at the Gesù, he said, ‘I want Padre Fontanarosa; where is he?’They answered, ‘In his cell.’But he had been confined in his cell on bread and water for chattering.‘Then let him be brought out of his cell; for I want him!’ answered Papa Braschi.That time he took Padre Fontanarosa away in his carriage, and no one durst say anything to him any more.2Father Fontanarosa was very simple in his habits himself; and he thought the best way to keep the Order simple was to keep it poor. Whenever anyone wanted to leave money to it, instead of encouraging them, he used to tell them of some other good work to which they might leave it.One day there was a penitent of his who was very devoted to the Jesuits, a very rich nobleman, who came to die, and, as he was making his will, he would have Padre Fontanarosa and the notary present together. ‘I leave all of which I die possessed to the Church of the Gesù,’ dictated the rich nobleman.‘What! do you leave all to the Son and nothing to the Mother!’ said Padre Fontanarosa, who knew he was too weak to argue with him as to whether the Order was better without the money or not, and therefore adopted this mode of avoiding the snare, without damaging the good purpose of the testator.‘Ah! you are right,’ answered the dying man. ‘Thank you for reminding me. Make a codicil,’ he said to the notary, ‘and say I meant it for GesùandMaria.’The notary wrote just what he was bid, and the dying man and the witnesses signed all duly. But the money had to go, not to ‘the Gesù’ at all, but to the church of ‘Gesù e Maria’—you know where, at the end of the Corso, which doesn’t belong to the Jesuits at all, but to the Augustinians.3Others give him not quite such a good character, and tell the following story of him:—The reason why the Jesuits did not look favourably on Father Fontanarosa was that they thought he went too often to the house of a certain lady. He perceived that they had found out that he visited her, but he went on all the same, only he said to her, ‘If anything happens that the fathers send after me, and anyone comes into the room suddenly; fall down on your knees before the crucifix, and I will speak so that I may seem to be here to give you a penitential warning.’There happened to be a handsome crucifix, kept more for ornament than devotion, on a slab in her boudoir, and she promised to heed his caution.One day, when they were together, they heard a ring at the outer door; then a whispering in the passage; then footsteps in the adjoining room. Padre Fontanarosa looked at the lady, and the lady looked at Padre Fontanarosa. Each understood that they were under surveillance. She fell down on her knees before the crucifix, and he exhorted her to take a pattern from the Magdalen; and, as she knelt clasping the foot of the cross, with her beautiful hair all loose over her shoulders, she really looked like a living picture of the Magdalen. Still no one came into the room. But they felt they were being watched; so it was necessary to keep up the deception. Padre Fontanarosa had to speak loudly and fervently in order to make his words resound well in the adjoiningroom; the lady had to sob to show she was attending to them. Still no one came in; and Padre Fontanarosa had to continue his discourse till, partly through fear lest his courage should fail, and partly lest he should be discovered, he forced himself to forget present circumstances, and to throw himself into his exhortation to such an extent that he preached with a force and eloquence he had never exercised in his life before.At last those who had been listening felt satisfied of his sincerity, and went back to the General and told him there was no fault to be found in him.But so effectually had he preached, and so salutary had been his warnings, that the next day the lady entered a convent, to be a penitent all her days.1Pius VI., who reigned 1775–1799.↑

1There was Padre Fontanarosa too. Did you never hear of him? He was a good friend to the poor; and all Rome loved him. He was a Jesuit; but somehow there were some Jesuits who didn’t like him. Papa Braschi1was very fond of him, and used to make him come every day and tell him all that went on in Rome, for he was very good to the people, and that way the Pope heard what the people wanted; and many things that were wrong got set right when Padre Fontanarosa explained to the Pope the real state of the case.One day Padre Fontanarosa said to the Pope, ‘People say I have been talking too freely, and call it telling tales; but I have only obeyed the wishes of Your Holiness. If I have done wrong send me away.’ But Papa Braschianswered, ‘You have done me good service. Fear nothing.’The next day after that Padre Fontanarosa did not come to the Vatican, or the next, or the next.Then Papa Braschi called for his carriage, and said, ‘Drive to the Gesù!’ Arrived at the Gesù, he said, ‘I want Padre Fontanarosa; where is he?’They answered, ‘In his cell.’But he had been confined in his cell on bread and water for chattering.‘Then let him be brought out of his cell; for I want him!’ answered Papa Braschi.That time he took Padre Fontanarosa away in his carriage, and no one durst say anything to him any more.

There was Padre Fontanarosa too. Did you never hear of him? He was a good friend to the poor; and all Rome loved him. He was a Jesuit; but somehow there were some Jesuits who didn’t like him. Papa Braschi1was very fond of him, and used to make him come every day and tell him all that went on in Rome, for he was very good to the people, and that way the Pope heard what the people wanted; and many things that were wrong got set right when Padre Fontanarosa explained to the Pope the real state of the case.One day Padre Fontanarosa said to the Pope, ‘People say I have been talking too freely, and call it telling tales; but I have only obeyed the wishes of Your Holiness. If I have done wrong send me away.’ But Papa Braschianswered, ‘You have done me good service. Fear nothing.’The next day after that Padre Fontanarosa did not come to the Vatican, or the next, or the next.Then Papa Braschi called for his carriage, and said, ‘Drive to the Gesù!’ Arrived at the Gesù, he said, ‘I want Padre Fontanarosa; where is he?’They answered, ‘In his cell.’But he had been confined in his cell on bread and water for chattering.‘Then let him be brought out of his cell; for I want him!’ answered Papa Braschi.That time he took Padre Fontanarosa away in his carriage, and no one durst say anything to him any more.

One day Padre Fontanarosa said to the Pope, ‘People say I have been talking too freely, and call it telling tales; but I have only obeyed the wishes of Your Holiness. If I have done wrong send me away.’ But Papa Braschianswered, ‘You have done me good service. Fear nothing.’

The next day after that Padre Fontanarosa did not come to the Vatican, or the next, or the next.

Then Papa Braschi called for his carriage, and said, ‘Drive to the Gesù!’ Arrived at the Gesù, he said, ‘I want Padre Fontanarosa; where is he?’

They answered, ‘In his cell.’

But he had been confined in his cell on bread and water for chattering.

‘Then let him be brought out of his cell; for I want him!’ answered Papa Braschi.

That time he took Padre Fontanarosa away in his carriage, and no one durst say anything to him any more.

2Father Fontanarosa was very simple in his habits himself; and he thought the best way to keep the Order simple was to keep it poor. Whenever anyone wanted to leave money to it, instead of encouraging them, he used to tell them of some other good work to which they might leave it.One day there was a penitent of his who was very devoted to the Jesuits, a very rich nobleman, who came to die, and, as he was making his will, he would have Padre Fontanarosa and the notary present together. ‘I leave all of which I die possessed to the Church of the Gesù,’ dictated the rich nobleman.‘What! do you leave all to the Son and nothing to the Mother!’ said Padre Fontanarosa, who knew he was too weak to argue with him as to whether the Order was better without the money or not, and therefore adopted this mode of avoiding the snare, without damaging the good purpose of the testator.‘Ah! you are right,’ answered the dying man. ‘Thank you for reminding me. Make a codicil,’ he said to the notary, ‘and say I meant it for GesùandMaria.’The notary wrote just what he was bid, and the dying man and the witnesses signed all duly. But the money had to go, not to ‘the Gesù’ at all, but to the church of ‘Gesù e Maria’—you know where, at the end of the Corso, which doesn’t belong to the Jesuits at all, but to the Augustinians.

Father Fontanarosa was very simple in his habits himself; and he thought the best way to keep the Order simple was to keep it poor. Whenever anyone wanted to leave money to it, instead of encouraging them, he used to tell them of some other good work to which they might leave it.One day there was a penitent of his who was very devoted to the Jesuits, a very rich nobleman, who came to die, and, as he was making his will, he would have Padre Fontanarosa and the notary present together. ‘I leave all of which I die possessed to the Church of the Gesù,’ dictated the rich nobleman.‘What! do you leave all to the Son and nothing to the Mother!’ said Padre Fontanarosa, who knew he was too weak to argue with him as to whether the Order was better without the money or not, and therefore adopted this mode of avoiding the snare, without damaging the good purpose of the testator.‘Ah! you are right,’ answered the dying man. ‘Thank you for reminding me. Make a codicil,’ he said to the notary, ‘and say I meant it for GesùandMaria.’The notary wrote just what he was bid, and the dying man and the witnesses signed all duly. But the money had to go, not to ‘the Gesù’ at all, but to the church of ‘Gesù e Maria’—you know where, at the end of the Corso, which doesn’t belong to the Jesuits at all, but to the Augustinians.

One day there was a penitent of his who was very devoted to the Jesuits, a very rich nobleman, who came to die, and, as he was making his will, he would have Padre Fontanarosa and the notary present together. ‘I leave all of which I die possessed to the Church of the Gesù,’ dictated the rich nobleman.

‘What! do you leave all to the Son and nothing to the Mother!’ said Padre Fontanarosa, who knew he was too weak to argue with him as to whether the Order was better without the money or not, and therefore adopted this mode of avoiding the snare, without damaging the good purpose of the testator.

‘Ah! you are right,’ answered the dying man. ‘Thank you for reminding me. Make a codicil,’ he said to the notary, ‘and say I meant it for GesùandMaria.’

The notary wrote just what he was bid, and the dying man and the witnesses signed all duly. But the money had to go, not to ‘the Gesù’ at all, but to the church of ‘Gesù e Maria’—you know where, at the end of the Corso, which doesn’t belong to the Jesuits at all, but to the Augustinians.

3Others give him not quite such a good character, and tell the following story of him:—The reason why the Jesuits did not look favourably on Father Fontanarosa was that they thought he went too often to the house of a certain lady. He perceived that they had found out that he visited her, but he went on all the same, only he said to her, ‘If anything happens that the fathers send after me, and anyone comes into the room suddenly; fall down on your knees before the crucifix, and I will speak so that I may seem to be here to give you a penitential warning.’There happened to be a handsome crucifix, kept more for ornament than devotion, on a slab in her boudoir, and she promised to heed his caution.One day, when they were together, they heard a ring at the outer door; then a whispering in the passage; then footsteps in the adjoining room. Padre Fontanarosa looked at the lady, and the lady looked at Padre Fontanarosa. Each understood that they were under surveillance. She fell down on her knees before the crucifix, and he exhorted her to take a pattern from the Magdalen; and, as she knelt clasping the foot of the cross, with her beautiful hair all loose over her shoulders, she really looked like a living picture of the Magdalen. Still no one came into the room. But they felt they were being watched; so it was necessary to keep up the deception. Padre Fontanarosa had to speak loudly and fervently in order to make his words resound well in the adjoiningroom; the lady had to sob to show she was attending to them. Still no one came in; and Padre Fontanarosa had to continue his discourse till, partly through fear lest his courage should fail, and partly lest he should be discovered, he forced himself to forget present circumstances, and to throw himself into his exhortation to such an extent that he preached with a force and eloquence he had never exercised in his life before.At last those who had been listening felt satisfied of his sincerity, and went back to the General and told him there was no fault to be found in him.But so effectually had he preached, and so salutary had been his warnings, that the next day the lady entered a convent, to be a penitent all her days.

Others give him not quite such a good character, and tell the following story of him:—The reason why the Jesuits did not look favourably on Father Fontanarosa was that they thought he went too often to the house of a certain lady. He perceived that they had found out that he visited her, but he went on all the same, only he said to her, ‘If anything happens that the fathers send after me, and anyone comes into the room suddenly; fall down on your knees before the crucifix, and I will speak so that I may seem to be here to give you a penitential warning.’There happened to be a handsome crucifix, kept more for ornament than devotion, on a slab in her boudoir, and she promised to heed his caution.One day, when they were together, they heard a ring at the outer door; then a whispering in the passage; then footsteps in the adjoining room. Padre Fontanarosa looked at the lady, and the lady looked at Padre Fontanarosa. Each understood that they were under surveillance. She fell down on her knees before the crucifix, and he exhorted her to take a pattern from the Magdalen; and, as she knelt clasping the foot of the cross, with her beautiful hair all loose over her shoulders, she really looked like a living picture of the Magdalen. Still no one came into the room. But they felt they were being watched; so it was necessary to keep up the deception. Padre Fontanarosa had to speak loudly and fervently in order to make his words resound well in the adjoiningroom; the lady had to sob to show she was attending to them. Still no one came in; and Padre Fontanarosa had to continue his discourse till, partly through fear lest his courage should fail, and partly lest he should be discovered, he forced himself to forget present circumstances, and to throw himself into his exhortation to such an extent that he preached with a force and eloquence he had never exercised in his life before.At last those who had been listening felt satisfied of his sincerity, and went back to the General and told him there was no fault to be found in him.But so effectually had he preached, and so salutary had been his warnings, that the next day the lady entered a convent, to be a penitent all her days.

Others give him not quite such a good character, and tell the following story of him:—

The reason why the Jesuits did not look favourably on Father Fontanarosa was that they thought he went too often to the house of a certain lady. He perceived that they had found out that he visited her, but he went on all the same, only he said to her, ‘If anything happens that the fathers send after me, and anyone comes into the room suddenly; fall down on your knees before the crucifix, and I will speak so that I may seem to be here to give you a penitential warning.’

There happened to be a handsome crucifix, kept more for ornament than devotion, on a slab in her boudoir, and she promised to heed his caution.

One day, when they were together, they heard a ring at the outer door; then a whispering in the passage; then footsteps in the adjoining room. Padre Fontanarosa looked at the lady, and the lady looked at Padre Fontanarosa. Each understood that they were under surveillance. She fell down on her knees before the crucifix, and he exhorted her to take a pattern from the Magdalen; and, as she knelt clasping the foot of the cross, with her beautiful hair all loose over her shoulders, she really looked like a living picture of the Magdalen. Still no one came into the room. But they felt they were being watched; so it was necessary to keep up the deception. Padre Fontanarosa had to speak loudly and fervently in order to make his words resound well in the adjoiningroom; the lady had to sob to show she was attending to them. Still no one came in; and Padre Fontanarosa had to continue his discourse till, partly through fear lest his courage should fail, and partly lest he should be discovered, he forced himself to forget present circumstances, and to throw himself into his exhortation to such an extent that he preached with a force and eloquence he had never exercised in his life before.

At last those who had been listening felt satisfied of his sincerity, and went back to the General and told him there was no fault to be found in him.

But so effectually had he preached, and so salutary had been his warnings, that the next day the lady entered a convent, to be a penitent all her days.

1Pius VI., who reigned 1775–1799.↑

S. GIUSEPPE LABRE.11‘There was Giuseppe Labre too, and many wonderful things he did; he was a great saint, as all the people in the Monti2knew. I don’t know if they’ve put all about him in books yet; if so, you may have read it; but I can’t read.’‘I know a Life of him has been published; but tell me what you have heard about him all the same.’Giuseppe Labre, you know, passed much of his time in meditation in the Coliseum; the arch behind the picture of the Second Station,3that’s where he used to be all day, and where he slept most nights, too. There was a butcher in the Via de’ Serpenti who knew him, and kept a little room for him, where he made him come and sleep when the nights were bad and cold, or stormy. These people were very good to him, and, though not well offthemselves, were ready to give him a great deal more than he in his love for poverty would consent to accept.One great affliction this butcher had; his wife was bedridden with an incurable disorder. One night there was a terrible storm, it was a burning hot night in summer, and Giuseppe Labre came to sleep at the butcher’s. He was lying on his bed in the little room, which was up a step or two higher than the butcher’s own room, where his wife lay, just as it might be where that cupboard is there. Presently the butcher’s wife heard him call her, saying,‘Sora Angela, bring me a cup of water for the love of God!’‘My friend, you know how gladly I would do anything to help you, but my husband is not come up, and I have no one to send, and you know I cannot move.’Nevertheless Giuseppe called again, ‘Sora Angela, bring me a cup of water for the love of God!’‘Don’t call so, good friend,’ replied she; ‘it distresses me; you know how gladly I would come if I could only move.’Yet still the third time Giuseppe Labre said,‘Sora Angela, hear me! Bring me a cup of water for the love of God!’ And he spoke the words so authoritatively that the good woman felt as if she was bound to obey him, she made the effort to rise, and, can you believe it! she got up as if there was nothing the matter with her; and from that time forward she was cured.2There was a poor cobbler who always had a kind word for Giuseppe too. One day Giuseppe Labre came to him, and said he wanted him to lend him a pair of shoes as he was going a pilgrimage to Loreto. The cobbler knew what a way it was from Rome to Loreto, and that there would not be much left of a pair of shoes after theyhad done the way there and back. Had Labre asked him togivethem, his regard for him would have prompted him to assent however ill he could afford it; but to talk of lending shoes to walk to Loreto and back seemed like making game of him, and he didn’t like it. Nevertheless he couldn’t find it in his heart to refuse, and he gave him a pretty tidy pair which he had patched up strong to sell, but without expecting ever to see them again.Giuseppe Labre took the shoes and went to Loreto, and when he came back his first call was at the cobbler’s shed; and sure enough he brought the shoes none the worse for all the wear they had had. So perfectly uninjured were they that the cobbler would have thought they were another pair had it not been that he recognised the patches of his own clumsy work.3Another more matter-of-fact account of this story was that he did not wear the shoes on the journey, as he did that barefoot, i.e. with wooden sandals, and only borrowed the shoes to be decent and reverent in visiting the Sanctuary. In this case the story was told me to illustrate his conscientiousness both in punctually returning the shoes and in taking so much care of his trust.1S. Joseph Labre was born at Boulogne, of parents of the lower middle class, in 1749, and died 1783. He came to Rome on a pilgrimage when young, and remained here the rest of his days, passing his time in prayer and contemplation in the various shrines of Rome. He every year made the pilgrimage to Loreto on foot. He was supported entirely by the alms of the people.↑2In the Rione Monti are the streets chiefly inhabited by the poor and working classes of Rome. Joseph Labre passed his life in their midst, and they always speak of him with affection, as a hero of their own order. It only needs to go to the Church of the Madonna de’ Monti on the day of his ‘Patrocinio’ to see how popular he is.↑3The stations of the ‘Way of the Cross’ are arranged round the interior of the Coliseum; and until out-of-door devotions were forbidden by the new Government, the Via Crucis was constantly performed here, led by a Capuchin and by various confraternities, and always well attended.↑

1‘There was Giuseppe Labre too, and many wonderful things he did; he was a great saint, as all the people in the Monti2knew. I don’t know if they’ve put all about him in books yet; if so, you may have read it; but I can’t read.’‘I know a Life of him has been published; but tell me what you have heard about him all the same.’Giuseppe Labre, you know, passed much of his time in meditation in the Coliseum; the arch behind the picture of the Second Station,3that’s where he used to be all day, and where he slept most nights, too. There was a butcher in the Via de’ Serpenti who knew him, and kept a little room for him, where he made him come and sleep when the nights were bad and cold, or stormy. These people were very good to him, and, though not well offthemselves, were ready to give him a great deal more than he in his love for poverty would consent to accept.One great affliction this butcher had; his wife was bedridden with an incurable disorder. One night there was a terrible storm, it was a burning hot night in summer, and Giuseppe Labre came to sleep at the butcher’s. He was lying on his bed in the little room, which was up a step or two higher than the butcher’s own room, where his wife lay, just as it might be where that cupboard is there. Presently the butcher’s wife heard him call her, saying,‘Sora Angela, bring me a cup of water for the love of God!’‘My friend, you know how gladly I would do anything to help you, but my husband is not come up, and I have no one to send, and you know I cannot move.’Nevertheless Giuseppe called again, ‘Sora Angela, bring me a cup of water for the love of God!’‘Don’t call so, good friend,’ replied she; ‘it distresses me; you know how gladly I would come if I could only move.’Yet still the third time Giuseppe Labre said,‘Sora Angela, hear me! Bring me a cup of water for the love of God!’ And he spoke the words so authoritatively that the good woman felt as if she was bound to obey him, she made the effort to rise, and, can you believe it! she got up as if there was nothing the matter with her; and from that time forward she was cured.

‘There was Giuseppe Labre too, and many wonderful things he did; he was a great saint, as all the people in the Monti2knew. I don’t know if they’ve put all about him in books yet; if so, you may have read it; but I can’t read.’‘I know a Life of him has been published; but tell me what you have heard about him all the same.’Giuseppe Labre, you know, passed much of his time in meditation in the Coliseum; the arch behind the picture of the Second Station,3that’s where he used to be all day, and where he slept most nights, too. There was a butcher in the Via de’ Serpenti who knew him, and kept a little room for him, where he made him come and sleep when the nights were bad and cold, or stormy. These people were very good to him, and, though not well offthemselves, were ready to give him a great deal more than he in his love for poverty would consent to accept.One great affliction this butcher had; his wife was bedridden with an incurable disorder. One night there was a terrible storm, it was a burning hot night in summer, and Giuseppe Labre came to sleep at the butcher’s. He was lying on his bed in the little room, which was up a step or two higher than the butcher’s own room, where his wife lay, just as it might be where that cupboard is there. Presently the butcher’s wife heard him call her, saying,‘Sora Angela, bring me a cup of water for the love of God!’‘My friend, you know how gladly I would do anything to help you, but my husband is not come up, and I have no one to send, and you know I cannot move.’Nevertheless Giuseppe called again, ‘Sora Angela, bring me a cup of water for the love of God!’‘Don’t call so, good friend,’ replied she; ‘it distresses me; you know how gladly I would come if I could only move.’Yet still the third time Giuseppe Labre said,‘Sora Angela, hear me! Bring me a cup of water for the love of God!’ And he spoke the words so authoritatively that the good woman felt as if she was bound to obey him, she made the effort to rise, and, can you believe it! she got up as if there was nothing the matter with her; and from that time forward she was cured.

‘I know a Life of him has been published; but tell me what you have heard about him all the same.’

Giuseppe Labre, you know, passed much of his time in meditation in the Coliseum; the arch behind the picture of the Second Station,3that’s where he used to be all day, and where he slept most nights, too. There was a butcher in the Via de’ Serpenti who knew him, and kept a little room for him, where he made him come and sleep when the nights were bad and cold, or stormy. These people were very good to him, and, though not well offthemselves, were ready to give him a great deal more than he in his love for poverty would consent to accept.

One great affliction this butcher had; his wife was bedridden with an incurable disorder. One night there was a terrible storm, it was a burning hot night in summer, and Giuseppe Labre came to sleep at the butcher’s. He was lying on his bed in the little room, which was up a step or two higher than the butcher’s own room, where his wife lay, just as it might be where that cupboard is there. Presently the butcher’s wife heard him call her, saying,

‘Sora Angela, bring me a cup of water for the love of God!’

‘My friend, you know how gladly I would do anything to help you, but my husband is not come up, and I have no one to send, and you know I cannot move.’

Nevertheless Giuseppe called again, ‘Sora Angela, bring me a cup of water for the love of God!’

‘Don’t call so, good friend,’ replied she; ‘it distresses me; you know how gladly I would come if I could only move.’

Yet still the third time Giuseppe Labre said,

‘Sora Angela, hear me! Bring me a cup of water for the love of God!’ And he spoke the words so authoritatively that the good woman felt as if she was bound to obey him, she made the effort to rise, and, can you believe it! she got up as if there was nothing the matter with her; and from that time forward she was cured.

2There was a poor cobbler who always had a kind word for Giuseppe too. One day Giuseppe Labre came to him, and said he wanted him to lend him a pair of shoes as he was going a pilgrimage to Loreto. The cobbler knew what a way it was from Rome to Loreto, and that there would not be much left of a pair of shoes after theyhad done the way there and back. Had Labre asked him togivethem, his regard for him would have prompted him to assent however ill he could afford it; but to talk of lending shoes to walk to Loreto and back seemed like making game of him, and he didn’t like it. Nevertheless he couldn’t find it in his heart to refuse, and he gave him a pretty tidy pair which he had patched up strong to sell, but without expecting ever to see them again.Giuseppe Labre took the shoes and went to Loreto, and when he came back his first call was at the cobbler’s shed; and sure enough he brought the shoes none the worse for all the wear they had had. So perfectly uninjured were they that the cobbler would have thought they were another pair had it not been that he recognised the patches of his own clumsy work.

There was a poor cobbler who always had a kind word for Giuseppe too. One day Giuseppe Labre came to him, and said he wanted him to lend him a pair of shoes as he was going a pilgrimage to Loreto. The cobbler knew what a way it was from Rome to Loreto, and that there would not be much left of a pair of shoes after theyhad done the way there and back. Had Labre asked him togivethem, his regard for him would have prompted him to assent however ill he could afford it; but to talk of lending shoes to walk to Loreto and back seemed like making game of him, and he didn’t like it. Nevertheless he couldn’t find it in his heart to refuse, and he gave him a pretty tidy pair which he had patched up strong to sell, but without expecting ever to see them again.Giuseppe Labre took the shoes and went to Loreto, and when he came back his first call was at the cobbler’s shed; and sure enough he brought the shoes none the worse for all the wear they had had. So perfectly uninjured were they that the cobbler would have thought they were another pair had it not been that he recognised the patches of his own clumsy work.

Giuseppe Labre took the shoes and went to Loreto, and when he came back his first call was at the cobbler’s shed; and sure enough he brought the shoes none the worse for all the wear they had had. So perfectly uninjured were they that the cobbler would have thought they were another pair had it not been that he recognised the patches of his own clumsy work.

3Another more matter-of-fact account of this story was that he did not wear the shoes on the journey, as he did that barefoot, i.e. with wooden sandals, and only borrowed the shoes to be decent and reverent in visiting the Sanctuary. In this case the story was told me to illustrate his conscientiousness both in punctually returning the shoes and in taking so much care of his trust.

Another more matter-of-fact account of this story was that he did not wear the shoes on the journey, as he did that barefoot, i.e. with wooden sandals, and only borrowed the shoes to be decent and reverent in visiting the Sanctuary. In this case the story was told me to illustrate his conscientiousness both in punctually returning the shoes and in taking so much care of his trust.

1S. Joseph Labre was born at Boulogne, of parents of the lower middle class, in 1749, and died 1783. He came to Rome on a pilgrimage when young, and remained here the rest of his days, passing his time in prayer and contemplation in the various shrines of Rome. He every year made the pilgrimage to Loreto on foot. He was supported entirely by the alms of the people.↑2In the Rione Monti are the streets chiefly inhabited by the poor and working classes of Rome. Joseph Labre passed his life in their midst, and they always speak of him with affection, as a hero of their own order. It only needs to go to the Church of the Madonna de’ Monti on the day of his ‘Patrocinio’ to see how popular he is.↑3The stations of the ‘Way of the Cross’ are arranged round the interior of the Coliseum; and until out-of-door devotions were forbidden by the new Government, the Via Crucis was constantly performed here, led by a Capuchin and by various confraternities, and always well attended.↑

2In the Rione Monti are the streets chiefly inhabited by the poor and working classes of Rome. Joseph Labre passed his life in their midst, and they always speak of him with affection, as a hero of their own order. It only needs to go to the Church of the Madonna de’ Monti on the day of his ‘Patrocinio’ to see how popular he is.↑

3The stations of the ‘Way of the Cross’ are arranged round the interior of the Coliseum; and until out-of-door devotions were forbidden by the new Government, the Via Crucis was constantly performed here, led by a Capuchin and by various confraternities, and always well attended.↑

THE TWELVE WORDS OF TRUTH.1This is a ‘ritornella,’ the whole being repeated over as each new sentence is added. I remember, years ago, meeting the same in Wiltshire, and then there was this additional refrain to be repeated:‘When want is all the go;And it evermore shall be so.’Then it went on:‘I’ll sing you three O;Three O are rivo.’If I remember right, there were no numbers before three-o. Four, were the four Evangelists, and nine, the nine orders of angels, as in the text; but the seventh line was ‘seven are the seven bright stars in the sky,’ and this, taken in connexion with the text, establishes a curious link in popular mythology between the mysterious Seven-branch Candlestick and the Pleïades. Subjoined is a translation of the text.‘One, and first, is the Lord God, ever ready to help us.’ (‘Domeniddio’ is a popular way of naming God, like the French ‘le bon Dieu,’ identical with the German ‘unser Herrgott.’)2‘Two stands for the keys of heaven. There is gold.’ (This would be the literal rendering of this line, but it has manifestly been lamed by bad memory.)3‘Three stands for three patriarchs, &c.’4‘Four stands for the four columns which support the world, &c.’5‘Five stands for the five wounds of Jesus Christ.’6‘Six stands for the six cocks which crowed in Galilee.’7‘Seven are the seven tapers that burnt in Jerusalem.’ (‘Cantorno’ for cantarono, a vulgar transposition, like ‘hunderd,’ and ‘childern,’ in English; ‘ardorno’ similarly,instead of ‘arderono,’ though ‘arsero’ would be the correct form.)8‘Eight’ stands for the octave of Christ. (Probably in allusion to the ‘octave,’ or eight days’ festival, of Christmas.)9‘Nine’ stands for the nine quires of angels.10‘Ten’ stands for the ten years of Christ. (What‘ten years’ it is not easy to see.)11‘Eleven’ stands for the crowning with thorns. (St. Bridget or Sœur Emmerich, in their minute meditations or ‘Revelations’ on the Passion, have fixed a number for the thorns in our Lord’s crown, but I do not remember what they make it; theremaybe a tradition that it was eleven.)12‘Twelve’ stands for the Twelve Apostles.131Le dodici Parole della Verità.↑2‘Uno e primo è Domeniddio, che sempre c’aiuta.’↑3‘Due sono le chiavi del cielo, c’è l’oro.’↑4‘Tre sono tre Patriarchi Abramine, Giacobbe, e Isaache.’↑5‘Quattro sono le quattro colonne che il mondo mantiene; Luca, Giovanni, Marco, e Matteo.’↑6‘Cinque sono le piaghe de Gesù Cristo.’↑7‘Sei sono i sei galli che cantorno in Galilea.’↑8‘Sette sono i sette cerini ch’ ardorno in Gerusalemme.’↑9‘Otto è l’ottava di Cristo.’↑10‘Nove sono i nove cori degli angeli.’↑11‘Dieci è la diecenna di Cristo.’↑12‘Undici è la coronazione di spine.’↑13‘Dodici sono i dodici Apostoli.’↑

THE TWELVE WORDS OF TRUTH.1

This is a ‘ritornella,’ the whole being repeated over as each new sentence is added. I remember, years ago, meeting the same in Wiltshire, and then there was this additional refrain to be repeated:‘When want is all the go;And it evermore shall be so.’Then it went on:‘I’ll sing you three O;Three O are rivo.’If I remember right, there were no numbers before three-o. Four, were the four Evangelists, and nine, the nine orders of angels, as in the text; but the seventh line was ‘seven are the seven bright stars in the sky,’ and this, taken in connexion with the text, establishes a curious link in popular mythology between the mysterious Seven-branch Candlestick and the Pleïades. Subjoined is a translation of the text.‘One, and first, is the Lord God, ever ready to help us.’ (‘Domeniddio’ is a popular way of naming God, like the French ‘le bon Dieu,’ identical with the German ‘unser Herrgott.’)2‘Two stands for the keys of heaven. There is gold.’ (This would be the literal rendering of this line, but it has manifestly been lamed by bad memory.)3‘Three stands for three patriarchs, &c.’4‘Four stands for the four columns which support the world, &c.’5‘Five stands for the five wounds of Jesus Christ.’6‘Six stands for the six cocks which crowed in Galilee.’7‘Seven are the seven tapers that burnt in Jerusalem.’ (‘Cantorno’ for cantarono, a vulgar transposition, like ‘hunderd,’ and ‘childern,’ in English; ‘ardorno’ similarly,instead of ‘arderono,’ though ‘arsero’ would be the correct form.)8‘Eight’ stands for the octave of Christ. (Probably in allusion to the ‘octave,’ or eight days’ festival, of Christmas.)9‘Nine’ stands for the nine quires of angels.10‘Ten’ stands for the ten years of Christ. (What‘ten years’ it is not easy to see.)11‘Eleven’ stands for the crowning with thorns. (St. Bridget or Sœur Emmerich, in their minute meditations or ‘Revelations’ on the Passion, have fixed a number for the thorns in our Lord’s crown, but I do not remember what they make it; theremaybe a tradition that it was eleven.)12‘Twelve’ stands for the Twelve Apostles.13

‘When want is all the go;And it evermore shall be so.’

‘When want is all the go;

And it evermore shall be so.’

Then it went on:

‘I’ll sing you three O;Three O are rivo.’

‘I’ll sing you three O;

Three O are rivo.’

If I remember right, there were no numbers before three-o. Four, were the four Evangelists, and nine, the nine orders of angels, as in the text; but the seventh line was ‘seven are the seven bright stars in the sky,’ and this, taken in connexion with the text, establishes a curious link in popular mythology between the mysterious Seven-branch Candlestick and the Pleïades. Subjoined is a translation of the text.

‘One, and first, is the Lord God, ever ready to help us.’ (‘Domeniddio’ is a popular way of naming God, like the French ‘le bon Dieu,’ identical with the German ‘unser Herrgott.’)2

‘Two stands for the keys of heaven. There is gold.’ (This would be the literal rendering of this line, but it has manifestly been lamed by bad memory.)3

‘Three stands for three patriarchs, &c.’4

‘Four stands for the four columns which support the world, &c.’5

‘Five stands for the five wounds of Jesus Christ.’6

‘Six stands for the six cocks which crowed in Galilee.’7

‘Seven are the seven tapers that burnt in Jerusalem.’ (‘Cantorno’ for cantarono, a vulgar transposition, like ‘hunderd,’ and ‘childern,’ in English; ‘ardorno’ similarly,instead of ‘arderono,’ though ‘arsero’ would be the correct form.)8

‘Eight’ stands for the octave of Christ. (Probably in allusion to the ‘octave,’ or eight days’ festival, of Christmas.)9

‘Nine’ stands for the nine quires of angels.10

‘Ten’ stands for the ten years of Christ. (What‘ten years’ it is not easy to see.)11

‘Eleven’ stands for the crowning with thorns. (St. Bridget or Sœur Emmerich, in their minute meditations or ‘Revelations’ on the Passion, have fixed a number for the thorns in our Lord’s crown, but I do not remember what they make it; theremaybe a tradition that it was eleven.)12

‘Twelve’ stands for the Twelve Apostles.13

1Le dodici Parole della Verità.↑2‘Uno e primo è Domeniddio, che sempre c’aiuta.’↑3‘Due sono le chiavi del cielo, c’è l’oro.’↑4‘Tre sono tre Patriarchi Abramine, Giacobbe, e Isaache.’↑5‘Quattro sono le quattro colonne che il mondo mantiene; Luca, Giovanni, Marco, e Matteo.’↑6‘Cinque sono le piaghe de Gesù Cristo.’↑7‘Sei sono i sei galli che cantorno in Galilea.’↑8‘Sette sono i sette cerini ch’ ardorno in Gerusalemme.’↑9‘Otto è l’ottava di Cristo.’↑10‘Nove sono i nove cori degli angeli.’↑11‘Dieci è la diecenna di Cristo.’↑12‘Undici è la coronazione di spine.’↑13‘Dodici sono i dodici Apostoli.’↑

1Le dodici Parole della Verità.↑

2‘Uno e primo è Domeniddio, che sempre c’aiuta.’↑

3‘Due sono le chiavi del cielo, c’è l’oro.’↑

4‘Tre sono tre Patriarchi Abramine, Giacobbe, e Isaache.’↑

5‘Quattro sono le quattro colonne che il mondo mantiene; Luca, Giovanni, Marco, e Matteo.’↑

6‘Cinque sono le piaghe de Gesù Cristo.’↑

7‘Sei sono i sei galli che cantorno in Galilea.’↑

8‘Sette sono i sette cerini ch’ ardorno in Gerusalemme.’↑

9‘Otto è l’ottava di Cristo.’↑

10‘Nove sono i nove cori degli angeli.’↑

11‘Dieci è la diecenna di Cristo.’↑

12‘Undici è la coronazione di spine.’↑

13‘Dodici sono i dodici Apostoli.’↑

Back to Index Next