EAO: 4 February
2014
-- So,
you thought you'd seen it all. Now it's Don Bosco on a
horse! The one
time that we know Don Bosco rode one, he managed to fall
off! To
jog
your memory, you might like to read the extract
further on, lifted from
Chapter 26 of the Memoirs of the Oratory.
Of course, if he tried the 'Look mum, no hands!' approach
you see
above, it's no wonder he fell off. But Don Bosco wasn't the
only one to
do this. We know from the life of St Francis de Sales that
he actually
fell off his horse three times in a single day - as a young
man, and
took it as a sign he should become a priest!
All that aside, both Don Bosco and Francis de Sales had what
we term
these days 'horse sense' or good native intelligence, sound
practical
judgement - so it's a good occasion to welcome in the
Chinese New Year
of the Horse ...
This year, the Chinese New Year
fell on
31st January, so imagining Don Bosco on a horse is not so far
off the
mark. Many a Salesian missionary has used this magnificent
animal to
take the Gospel 'where no man has gone before', to borrow a
line from
Star Trek.
But it does seem that Don Bosco was fond enough of the animal
to make
very frequent reference to it in all kinds of instances. He
describes
Michael Magone, not unkindly, as like 'an unbridled horse' in
the
playground. And when he wrote his primer on the metric decimal
system,
the horse came in handy as an example more than once, since
the kids
would have understood that: "An ox or an ordinary-sized horse
weighs
around 400 kilograms"; "A horse trotting for an hour can cover
10
kilometres. If it is galloping it can cover up to 40
kilometres." And
in his collection of pleasant tales (his effort to get the
Oratory kids
to read) he tells a Pope Francis-like story, but this time
obviously
about his favourite Pope, Pius IX:
An inhabitant of
(La Trinità) dei Monti in Rome [think Spanish Steps]
had just a cart and
an old horse which he had the misfortune to lose. The horse
was the
livelihood for him and his elderly mother whom he looked
after. His
love for her encouraged him to front up at the Quirinale,
the ancient
abode of the Pontiffs, to tell the Pope of his misfortune
and ask him
for the oldest and worst horse from his stables.
"If
I give you a reject horse," good Pius IX said to him, "how
would
you get it to work?"
"I
will help it, Holy Father! I am young and strong, I and will
carry
the heaviest load."
"But
your mother is elderly, you should not abuse your strength,
or
your youth; and on the contrary should preserve this for her
sake."
"That's
why I have come to ask you for a horse, Holy Father."
"And
I want to thank you for having thought of me, rather than
someone
else."
The
Pope then immediately gave him a good, strong horse with two
gold
coins, each worth 20 francs: the horse was for him, the 40
francs were
for his mother.
If
happiness will not kill you, it can sometimes send you
crazy. It
didn't take long for the poor man to go absolutely crazy. He
jumped on
his horse, as proud as a Roman Emperor, and galloped all day
around
Trinità dei Monti, with the two gold coins in his
hand, shouting at the
top of his voice; ' Viva Pio nono! Long live Pius IX!' And then there's his own little story of how
not to ride a horse, or rather, why not to ride one under
certain
circumstances, trotting or galloping:
Memoirs of the Oratory Chapter 26
But God wanted to teach a terrible lesson to my pride. It was
a feast
day, and I had to say Mass for the people before setting off.
To get
there in time for the sermon I had to go on horseback.
Sometimes
trotting, sometimes galloping, I was about halfway along and
had
reached the valley of Casalborgone between Cinzano and
Bersano.
As I passed a millet field, a flock of sparrows took sudden
flight. The
noise of their flight frightened the horse, and he bolted down
the road
and across the fields and meadows. Somehow I managed to stay
in the
saddle, but then I realised that it was slipping under the
horse's
belly. I tried an equestrian maneuver, but the saddle was out
of place
and forced me upwards, and I fell head first onto a heap of
broken
stones. From a hill close by, a man could see this regrettable
accident; he ran to my assistance with one of his workers and,
finding
me unconscious, carried me to his house and laid me on his
best bed.
They gave me the most loving care, and after an hour I came to
and
realised that I was in a strange house.
"Don't let that worry you," my host said, "and don't be upset
that
you're in a strange house. Here you'll want for nothing. I've
sent for
the doctor, and someone has gone to catch your horse. I'm a
farmer, but
I have everything I need. Do you feel any pain?"
"God reward you for your charity, my good friend," I said. "I
don't
think I've done much damage. A broken collarbone, maybe. I
can't move
it. Where am I?"
"You're on Bersano Hill in the house of John Calosso, better
known as
Brina. I'm at your service. I, too, have got round a bit and
know what
it is to need help. How many adventures I’ve had going to
fairs and
markets!"
"While we're waiting for the doctor, tell me some of your
stories."
"Oh," he said, "I have lots of things I could tell you. Like
this one.
One autumn a few years ago, I was going to Asti on my donkey
to collect
winter provisions. On my way home, when I got to the valley of
Murialdo, my poor beast, quite overloaded, fell in a mud hole
and lay
there in the middle of the road unable to move. Every effort
to get her
up again proved useless. It was midnight, dark and wet. Not
knowing
what else to do, I shouted for help. In a few minutes someone
answered
from a little house nearby. They came, a seminarian and his
brother,
and two other men with a lamp to light their way. They got her
out of
the muck, having first unloaded her. They took me and all my
baggage to
their house. I was half dead and covered with mud. They
cleaned me up
and put new life into me with a magnificent supper. Then they
gave me a
nice, soft bed. In the morning before I left I wanted to pay
them for
all they had done for me, but the seminarian turned everything
down
flat, ” saying, "Who knows? Someday we may need your help."
I was moved to tears by his words. When he saw my reaction, he
asked me
if I were ill.
"No," I replied, "your story gives me great pleasure, and
that's what
moves me."
"How happy I would be," he went on, "if I knew what I could do
for that
good family! What fine people!"
"What was their name?"
"Bosco," he said, "popularly known as Boschetti. But why are
you so
moved? You know them, maybe? How is that seminarian?"
"That seminarian, my good friend, is this priest whom you have
repaid a
thousand times for what he did for you. The very one whom
you've
carried to your home and put into this bed. Divine Providence
wants to
teach us through this incident that one good turn deserves
another."
