CHAPTER III.
THE POOR ITALIAN PEASANT, ROSA GOVONA.
I was lost in thought, and dreaming of the incidents I had been permitted to see, when the vast hall and its dark recesses recurred to my mind, and the radiant angels, the recorders of noble actions, were again before me, lofty figures of light holding back the cloudy draperies, and bringing before me now an Italian countryside, hilly, rocky, its distant town, and campanile, the angelus sounding in the air; up the mountains and rugged hillsides a few peasants’ huts, and in woods and valleys, brooks and waterfalls making a music of their own, through which the angelus seemed to breathe the peace and rest of religion.
The evening sunshine threw a golden glow over woods and mountain, valleys and chestnut woods, and in one of those huts I saw a woman—a working woman past the first bloom of youth—alone, noted for her skill in needlework, one of dignified, calm, and modest demeanour. She was troubled at the distress of a friend, a young orphan girl who was forsaken and helpless, and, unfortunately, too young to live in that country without some responsible protector. She had come to Rosa in her trouble. “Come to me,” Rosa said. Her name was Rosa Govona. “Here shalt thou abide with me. Thou shalt sleep in my bed, thou shalt drink of my cup, and thou shalt live by the labours of thine own hands.”
I saw the young guest docile and industrious, a success and a comfort. Her safety and happiness became evident, and I saw inmate after inmate, young, helpless, and orphaned, gathered into Rosa’s home in the hills, working and learning, adding one industry after another amidst calumny and persecution. Ignorance and Vice lost no time in attacking them, and only their silence and patience, loyalty to their Head, and blameless lives, could, and did at last, quiet their enemies.
I saw, after a while, the authorities of the town (Mondovi) offer Rosa, whose community had grown too large for the little village where they first lived, a large house in the flowery plains of Carcassonne, but the foundress of the home still could not receive all who flocked to her. Lonely and poor girls, exposed to so many temptations of want and evil, pleaded for admission to the shelter and order of her home, and a still larger house at Brao rose, with its serene religion, its peaceful order, its intelligent work, its ceaseless industry.
Years went by, and lo! another scene arose before me—Turin, the bright capital of Piedmont, girt with its snow mountains, Monte Viso and the lesser heights around it—Turin, its stately palaces and white streets; and into this city came a poor working peasant, Rosa Govona, on whose wisdom and goodness a large household now depended, her suite two or three of the poor friendless orphan girls whom she had saved and befriended.
“I saw the Fathers of the Oratory of St. Philip moved for the love of God to give her a few rooms, and the soldiers at the barracks, roused to enthusiasm by the reports ringing through the town of the good work she had done, ransacked the place for straw mattresses and tables.
“Blessing and praising God, the little army of working women and girls march into Turin, and in a short time large buildings which belonged to a suppressed monastery are given over to Rosa and her people. The buildings are large, but they are soon filled with forsaken orphan girls, and the King (Charles Emanuel III.) considers and approves the judicious rules laid down by Rosa, and orders the factories of the establishment to be organised and registered by the magistrates who regulate commercial matters.
“I see this vast organisation under the special patronage of the Sardinian Government.”
Two great factories under the Rosinas (so called in honour of their foundress) have risen into public usefulness, the one of cloth for the army, the other of the best silks and ribands.
Thanks to this single-handed, poor working woman, Rosa Govona, I see three hundred women, without dowry, without any resource save their own labour and their conscientious discipline, earning an honest and comfortable livelihood, and able to provide in youth for the comfort and independence of old age.
I see houses depending on that at Turin established at Novara, Fossano, Savigliano, Saluzzo, Chieri, and St. Damian of Asti.
I see over every house which she founded, engraved over the entrance, the words she addressed to her first guest, “Tu mangerai col lavoro delle tue mani”—“Thou shalt live by the labour of thine own hands.”
I see twenty-one years spent in going over the provinces of Piedmont, and founding asylums for the unprotected and industrious poor of her own sex, until, exhausted by her labours, she died at Turin.
I see her remains deposited in the chapel of the establishment, and there, on the simple monument which covers them, may still be read the following epitaph:—
“Here lies Rosa Govona of Mondovi. From her youth she consecrated herself to God. For His glory she founded in her native place and in other towns, retreats, opened for forsaken young girls, so that they might serve God. She gave them excellent regulations, which attach them to piety and labour. During an administration of thirty years she gave constant proofs of admirable charity and of unshaken firmness. She entered on eternal life on the 28th day of February in the year 1776, the sixtieth year of her age. Grateful daughters have raised this monument to their mother and benefactress.”
I saw this noble and dignified life come to a close amidst those she had saved and blessed. “They say of her that she was ever doing, ever thoughtful and silent. In aspect she was grave, earnest, and resolute. I beheld her as they describe her, a serious and beneficent apparition. A plain cap, a white kerchief across her bosom, and a brown robe constituted the attire of the foundress of the Rosinas. She imposed no tie upon her people. They can leave their abode and marry if they wish, but they rarely do so.
“I saw, in a later vision of the Rosinas, they are still prosperous and happy. They are admitted from thirteen to twenty. They must be wholly destitute, healthy, active, and both able and willing to work. The old and infirm are supported by their younger companions.[2] To preserve the spirit of the modest and retired life which Rosa wished her daughters to lead, no commercial matters are transacted save at the establishment in Turin, which governs the other houses.
“The labours of the Rosinas are varied and complete. Whatever they manufacture they do with their own hands from beginning to end. They buy the cocoons in spring, and perform every one of the delicate operations which silk undergoes before it is finally woven into gros de Naples, levantines, and ribands. Their silks are of the best quality, but plain, in order to avoid the expense and inconvenience of changing their looms with every caprice of fashion. They also fabricate linen, but only a limited number of Rosinas can undergo the fatigue of weaving. In order not to interfere with the silk establishment at Turin, the manufacture of woollen stuffs is now carried on at Chieri. Government buys all the cloth of the army from the Rosinas. They even manufacture all the necessary ornaments, and make up the uniforms, with one cut out for them by tailors. Gold lace and the rich vestments of priests are likewise produced by these industrious women ... who are renowned for their skill in embroidery.
“There is a large magazine at Turin where the produce of their labours is gathered and sold by trustworthy persons, and is patronised by Government and by the population, for their goods are excellent in quality and fair in price, and there is a general preference for the work of these pure and innocent women. The house in Turin alone spends eighty thousand francs a year. It holds three hundred women, and is governed by six mistresses and one director, a woman, and an ecclesiastic administers and directs it; and it is frequently visited by the Queen, who grants it a special protection and interest.”
And this was the work of one poor and obscure workwoman, inspired by love of her orphan and helpless sisters, and in her devotion to her God.
(To be concluded.)