Francesco di Gironimo was born in 1642, and of him and his impressive preaching his chronicler says, “To all this greater credit was given, on account of the appearance of St. Francis, bodily, in divers places at the same time; of the power he had of curing the sick; of his multiplying victuals miraculously, and (last and greatest) on account of the speech of an infamous woman, whose soul having been, suddenly and still impenitent, borne to the divine presence, was interrogated by the saint, who said ‘Where art thou?’ to which she replied, ‘I am in hell!’”
San Giovanni Giuseppe was, like the other two, of noble blood, born in 1654. It is said, that eminent in the practice of all virtues, but most particularly of that of humility, during sixty-four years he wore on his bare skin a single tunic, so joined and pieced, that from it he received the nickname of Father Hundred Patches, Padre Cento Pezze. He wore beneath it an iron cross, garnished with sharp nails. At last, having suffered from a stroke of apoplexy, he passed five days in quiet contemplation before he died, at the close of which, fixing his eyes on the image so dear to him of the holy Virgin, and remembering, to his great comfort, how that very Mary had many times spoken to him, and, on one anniversary of the Saviour’s birthday, had placed him in his arms that he might caress him, he died; commencing his triumph in paradise in the year 1734.
Santo Pacifico da San Severino, when but four years old, was accustomed to mix ashes with the bread of his breakfast, and to say, with a taste of paradise (gusto di Paradiso), that it was good. Grown up, he passed, safe and sound and dry-footed, over the swollen river Menacchia. The brute creatures were submissive to him as to Adam, yet innocent; and the gift of working miracles was accorded to him. He died 1790.
Veronica Cappucina was born in 1660. When a baby at the breast, though habitually requiring much nourishment, three days of the week she refrained from swallowing more than a few mouthsfull of milk. When hardly six months old, one Trinity Sunday, she sprang from her mother’s arms to the ground, on which she walked with a firm step; but very little older, she admonished with grave words a man in the market-place, being herself in her nurse’s arms, and prevented an injustice of which he was about to be guilty; and at this time she enjoyed the familiarity of the child Jesus and of the Virgin, and several times it happened that the Holy Child visited to console her when she wept, and days there were in which the sainted mother consigned the blessed Jesus to her innocent arms, predicting her spiritual union with him. When she grew up, she was now inclosed in prison, now suffered under accusation of practising magic arts; but the only sorrow which cast her down was the feeling abandoned by her celestial Spouse when he failed to comfort her, as was his wont, and this tormented her more bitterly than the worst adversity, and forced her to utter loving complaints. She died 1727. The pamphlet is entitled, “Descrizione del Ceremoniale e Cenni sulla Vita de cinque Beati canonizzati dal Sommo Pontefice Gregorio XVI, l’anno 1839;” and I have literally translated the above passages, though belief in them would seem impossible in our time.
CHAPTER XI.
La Steccata—The Teatro Farnese—Its magnificence—Its ruin—Would contain 9000—St. Jeronimo—Sir Thomas Lawrence—Alti Relievi—The overflowed Po—The infant saved—Placentia again—Misery of Piedmontese—Voghera—Tortona—Plains of Marengo—The wrong road—The Tanaro overflowed—Asti—The Angelo and its reception—Moncaglieri—The vow, and the Virgin, who resembled a Duchess—The old Italian gentleman—Victor Amedée’s abdication—The old man’s arrest—His death at Moncaglieri—Susa—Its waterspouts—A chimney on fire—Mont Cenis—Fog and snow-storm—A postilion’s wonder—Danger of tourmente—Lanslebourg—A thick smoke and ill scent—Modane—Lesseillon—St. Michel.
Oct. 23rd.
Our morning perambulations commenced inauspiciously, for the spedizioniere, to whom here also it was necessary to apply, to order back our luggage, was in bed, and we went thence to La Steccata. Its choir is now under repair. Curtained from curious eyes, there are here paintings from the hand of Correggio and Carracci; the frescoes of the fine dome so faded as to renew a regret for the wasting of genius on an art so perishable. I noticed two vessels for holy water, remarkable for their execution; in the centre of each stands a small and beautiful figure, like the Bénitier itself, in white marble; one being that of the Redeemer, the other, I think, of John the Baptist.
A priest conducted us to the subterranean chapel below, which contains the tombs of the Farnese. He raised his torch to show that on the most ancient of these (I think that of Alessandro) lay, harmless and rusting, the sword which had been grasped by the mouldering hand below.