austraLasia #3364
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."
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."
