The New Church
Even though this new church was really a hovel, still, since we held our lease by a formal contract, we were freed from the anxiety and the grievous inconvenience of having to move so often from one place to another. To me it seemed then truly to be the place of which I had dreamed and seen written: Haec Est Domus Mea, Inde Gloria Mea. Heaven, however, had other plans.
The house close beside us caused no little difficulty: it was a house of ill fame; and there were difficulties from the Gardener’s Inn, now called the Bellezza house, where all hedonistic men of the city congregated, especially on feast days. Nevertheless, we were able to overcome all the problems and began to hold our meetings regularly.
When our work was done, the archbishop granted the faculty of blessing and consecrating that humble building for divine worship. That was done in April 1846. To show his satisfaction the archbishop renewed the faculty already granted while we were at the Refuge to have sung Masses; to offer triduums, novenas, and retreats; to admit to Confirmation and to Holy Communion; and to certify that all those who regularly attended our programme had fulfilled their Easter duty.
A regular meeting place, the signs of the archbishop’s approval, our solemn ceremonies, the music, the noise from our play garden attracted children from all directions. Several priests began to drift back. Amongst those who helped in our work should be noted Dr Joseph Trivero, Dr Hyacinth Carpano, Dr John Vola, Dr Robert Murialdo, and the intrepid Dr Borrelli.
This is how we arranged our functions. The church was opened early in the morning on holy days, and we heard Confessions until it was time for Mass, which was scheduled for eight o’clock. Often, because there were so many for Confession, Mass had to be put off till nine or even later. One of the priests, when they were present, assisted, and the prayers were recited in alternating choirs. Those who were prepared went to Holy Communion during Mass.
When Mass was over and the vestments put away, I stood up on a low rostrum to explain the gospel. Then this was changed in order to begin a regular presentation of Bible history. These narratives were presented in simple and popular language, vividly portraying the customs of the times, the places, the geographical names and locations. This pleased very much the youngest, the adults, and even the priests who were present. After the instruction, there were classes till noon.
At one o’clock recreation began, with bocce, stilts, muskets, wooden swords, and our first gymnastics equipment. At two-thirty we started catechism. On the whole, ignorance abounded. Many times I began to sing the Ave Maria, but not one of the approximately four hundred youngsters present could continue if I stopped.
After catechism was over, since we were not yet able to sing vespers, we recited the rosary. Later we began to sing Ave Maris Stella, then the Magnificat, then Dixit, and on to the other psalms, and finally an antiphon. In the space of a year, we had become capable of singing the whole vespers of our Lady. These practices were followed by a short sermon, usually a story in which some virtue or vice was personified. It all concluded with the singing of the litanies and with benediction of the Blessed Sacrament.
When we came out of church, there was a period of free time for each to do as he pleased. Some continued their catechism class, some practised their singing, some worked at their reading. Most of them, however, jumped about, ran, and enjoyed themselves in various games and pastimes. All those exploits of jumping, running, juggling, tightrope walking, stick balancing that I had learned long before from acrobats, were practised under my instruction. In this way I could control that crowd, which, in the main, could be described thus:
Like a horse or a mule, without understanding.
I must say, however, that despite their great ignorance I always admired the great respect they had for everything in church and for the sacred ministers, and their eagerness to learn more about their religion.
I made use of that recreation period to introduce my pupils quietly to thoughts of religion and use of the holy sacraments. To one I might whisper a recommendation to be more obedient, to be more prompt in attending to his duty; to another I would suggest regular attendance at catechism, or at Confession, or so on. In this way these play periods provided me with an opportune means of making personal contact with a crowd of youngsters who, on Saturday evening or Sunday morning, would willingly come for Confession.
Sometimes I would even call them away from their games to lead them to Confession when I had seen some resistance to that important obligation. I will mention one case out of many.
One youngster had been constantly reminded about his Easter duty. Every Sunday he promised to do it, but then he never kept his word. One feast day when our devotions were over, he was in the thick of the games, running and jumping everywhere and bathed in perspiration, his face flushed; he no longer knew whether he was in this world or in the other. I stopped him in his tracks and asked him to help me with something in the sacristy. He wanted to come just as he was, in shirt sleeves.
No, I told him, put on your jacket and come.
When we got to the sacristy, I led him to the apse and said,
Kneel on this prie-dieu.
He did, but he wanted to move the kneeler.
No, I replied. Leave everything as it is.
Then what do you want me to do?
Make your Confession.
I’m not ready.
I know.
What then?
Then get ready, and I’ll hear your Confession.
Fine, that’s fine, he exclaimed. I really need it. You did well to catch me like this; otherwise I wouldn’t have come, out of fear of my companions.
While he prepared, I read part of my breviary. Then he made a good Confession and a devout thanksgiving. From that time on, he was always amongst the most diligent boys in fulfilling his religious duties. He used to tell the story to his companions, concluding thus:
Don Bosco used a clever stratagem to cage the blackbird.
As night fell, we all returned to church when the bell rang. There we said a few prayers or recited the Rosary and the Angelus, and everything ended with the singing of Praised For Ever Be.
As they left the church, I went in their midst and accompanied them while they sang and shouted. When we reached the Rondò, we would sing a few more verses from some hymn. Then I would invite them back for the following Sunday, and with a loud chorus of Good Nights all round, each went his way.
Quite unusual was the scene of the departure from the Oratory. As they came out of church, each would wish the others good night a thousand times without making any move to leave his companions.
Off home with you, I would urge them repeatedly. It’s getting late. Your people are waiting for you.
To no avail. I had to let them gather round. Six of the strongest made a kind of seat by linking hands, and on this improvised throne I had to sit. Then they organised a procession, carrying Don Bosco over the heads of the tallest boys on that platform of arms, and wended their way with laughter, song, and yelling to the roundabout commonly called the Rond. There they sang some more hymns and ended with a solemn rendition of Praised For Ever Be.
When they finally settled into a deep silence, I was able to wish them all a good night and a happy week. They all answered as loud as they could, Good night!
And then I was let down from my throne. Each headed for his own family, while some of the oldest accompanied me as far as my home; I would be half dead with fatigue.