“What Do You Want from Me?”

In pre-Risorgimento Turin, the work and testimony of St. Giuseppe Benedetto Cottolengo. Concrete answers to the needs of the poor, without any of the trappings of philanthropy. All propelled by the charity of Christ. The propelling force of a temperament fulfilling itself

by PAOLA BERGAMINI

It was a warm September evening. The sun was sending its last rays onto the dome of Turin Cathedral. In the library of the renowned Congregation of the Canons of Corpus Domini, canon Giuseppe Benedetto Cottolengo, his fists pressed against his temples, his large head between his hands, was reading yet one more time the life of St. Vincent de Paul. Next to him on the table was the latest letter from his father asking advice about some of the family’s financial affairs. He didn’t feel like answering it. He loved his father, but he didn’t want to hear about these things any more. He was tired, tired inside. At the age of 41, he could be satisfied with his life; he was esteemed by all, his superiors were happy with him, his confessional was always crowded, his theological studies were going well… his was a fulfilling life, and yet a question tormented him day and night: “What does the Lord want from me?” Something a young boy had written in a notebook kept coming into his mind: “I want to become a saint with the help of God.” He read and prayed. Someone was knocking at the door. “Canon, come quickly, someone needs you. A woman is very sick down at the San Giorgio Inn.” Giuseppe shut his book, went into the sacristy to get the holy oil and hurried to the inn. In a large and filthy room a young pregnant woman, Giovanna Maria Gonnet, who had tuberculosis, was dying. Near her were her five silent children, while her husband was inveighing against the health care service: “We are just passing through Turin on our way back to Lyon. My wife’s health has worsened. We went to the main hospital, but they refused to accept her because she is pregnant. At the maternity hospital the same thing happened–they won’t take her because she has an infectious disease. We didn’t know where to go. Look, Father. She is dying in the midst of drunkards and bums.” The canon gave her the sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick before she died giving birth to a little girl, who died too after being baptized. Giuseppe, deeply upset, made his way home, thinking, “How can I speak of the goodness of God, the Providential Father, to creatures who die in such a miserable state? Why has God wanted to make me see and participate in what just happened?” He stopped in front of the door of the Basilica of Corpus Domini: “What do You want from me?” He went into the church and kneeled in prayer. Then he called the sacristan and ordered him to ring the bells and light all the candles in front of the altar of Our Lady of Graces. The bells ringing at an odd hour made all the faithful come running. The canon recited the litanies of the Virgin. At the end he turned to those present and exclaimed, “Grace has been granted! Grace has been granted! May the Blessed Virgin be praised!” The miracle had happened. Giuseppe had said his “Yes.” Divine Providence had revealed His plan. “My heart is restless until it rests in You” (St. Augustine). It was September 2, 1827. This event was the starting point of all the great work Cottolengo accomplished. In the climate of pre-Risorgimento (the independence movement for Italian political unity) Italy, in a heated political situation in which men debated and plotted and some priests wasted time on theological diatribes, the figure emerged of this saint who, with his example, responded to people’s needs through the witness of his service to the most humble and through the concreteness of his charity.

The Red Vault
Giuseppe Benedetto Cottolengo was born in Bra, in the province of Cuneo, on May 3, 1786, the eldest of twelve children, of whom six died at an early age. Besides Giuseppe, two of his brothers also became priests. His father was a textile merchant, his mother a very devout woman. In 1811 he was ordained in the seminary of Turin. In 1816 he received his degree in theology with high honors. In 1818 he was called to become part of the Congregation of Canons of Corpus Domini, which included prestigious names among the clergy of Turin. The library there was used by important figures like Cesare Cantù, Silvio Pellico, and Alessandro Manzoni. He spent years in devotion to his studies and all the tasks the congregation assigned to him. Until that fateful September 2nd. In just a few months, with the financial help of five canons, he rented a couple of little rooms in the center of Turin, facing the Church of Corpus Domini, in a house called the “Volta Rossa” (“Red Vault”). On January 17, 1828, the “Deposit of the Sick Poor of Corpus Domini under the Protection of St. Vincent de Paul,” better known as the Deposit of Providence, was opened. It was a center of care and first aid, whose purpose was to take in those who were refused by other hospitals and who were living in a state of abandonment; it answered to the sudden needs of poor people. Day by day, demand for its services grew. Beds, medicines, and food were needed. Giuseppe asked. Providence answered. Always. He was helped in his work by lay people of his parish, his penitents. Within three years the Volta Rossa took in 210 people, while those working with it numbered 170. The figure of a widow named Marianna Nasi emerged. At a certain point the canon realized that the volunteers were not enough. He entrusted to the Widow Nasi some girls who were willing to place their lives permanently on the line for love of God in gratuitous service to the poor. This was the beginning of the Cottolengo Sisters. Marianna was Mother Superior. It was November 30, 1830. Their day began at 4 in the morning and ended in the middle of the night. The Sisters divided their time between adoration of the Blessed Sacrament and service to the poor in the hospital or their homes. Father Giuseppe would repeat to them, “Your text book is Christ and these crucified ones.” He refused to let himself be called a benefactor and eschewed the concept of alms. These were the terms of philanthropy.

Valdocco
1831. Cholera broke out in Turin. A government commission saw the Volta Rossa as a potential hotbed of infection. The government ordered it closed as a precautionary measure. Cottolengo distributed the sick among various families and asked the Sisters to take care of them. In the structure left vacant by this move, the children of poor workers were taken in and taught reading, writing, and the rudiments of Catechism, and they were given a meal and a piece of bread to take home. Girls who lived by begging in the streets were also taken in and taught a skill. They came to be called the family of the Ursulines. Charity urged Cottolengo on, inflamed him. He started looking for new space. When Canon Valletti tried to dissuade him, he replied, “My dear Rector, I am from Bra, the Cabbage Center. There, I have always seen that transplanted cabbage plants make the biggest heads.” On October 27, 1832, just seven months after the Volta Rossa was closed, the Piccola Casa della Divina Provvidenza was opened under the protection of St. Vincent de Paul. It was a semi-abandoned farmhouse rented for two months in a rundown neighborhood called Valdocco on the outskirts of Turin. For months Cottolengo had worked with volunteers to renovate it. On the door he nailed a sign saying, “Caritas Christi urget nos!” (“The love of Christ overwhelms us,” as St. Paul said in 2 Cor 5:14). After a few months he rented another house nearby. And then another… His project grew and enlarged. In 1833, 300 persons were taken in and cared for. It was an important year. On August 27th, King Carlo Alberto recognized the legal status of the Piccola Casa as a work whose main purpose was to take in the sick refused by other hospitals, and to take in various categories of abandoned persons through the service of its religious families. Three days later, the king named Cottolengo a Knight of Sts. Maurice and Lazarus, an honor bestowed on his subjects who had distinguished themselves in works of particular abnegation and generosity. At the end of the year he founded a family of lay religious: nurses for the sick and for care in the home, educators and vocational masters, teachers and animators sent into small town parishes. Between 1833 and 1836 he completed the great building project of the hospital: six wards, special medical equipment, a first-class staff of doctors. His work became famous throughout Europe. And he went on to establish families of deaf-mutes, invalids, epileptics, and orphans. He opened schools and kindergartens for the poor. He never rested. It was the mystery of faith that brought all this about. For men it is impossible, but with God all things are possible. Cottolengo had no capital. His works were accomplished on credit and in the name of Divine Providence: “The One Who does everything in the Piccola Casa is Divine Providence, and you don’t draw up accounts with Divine Providence. Only Providence knows how to settle accounts, and settles them well. What we do, we do for God, God knows it, and this is enough.” In 1835, Montyon and Franklin awarded him the company medal. A sort of Nobel Prize.

Laus perennis
Then came the dark years. Cholera decimated his Sisters. Some benefactors withdrew their support. The debts grew out of hand. Lawsuits poured in. Supplies ran out. Even a government inquiry was set in motion. Cottolengo could often be seen praying in the chapel. He was certain that Providence would not fail him. He wrote to Count Castegnetto, “I firmly trust that before Easter comes I will see the hand of God opening onto the Piccola Casa.” And thus it was. The king sent 5,000 lire. Canon Valletti died, leaving an inheritance of 36,000 lire. By Easter the debt was covered. It was a purifying experience, and a regenerating one. Other works, other families were born, to meet new needs. He founded a seminary and some monasteries devoted to the contemplative life. He instituted the Laus Perennis (Perennial Praise) to the Most Holy Trinity. In 1842 a typhoid epidemic struck the capital of the Savoy kingdom, and in particular the area of Valdocco. Cottolengo grew ill. Even though he knew he was sick, he paid no attention to it. He worked and prayed unceasingly. Then his strength failed. On April 29th, in Chieri, in the house of his priest brother, he received the sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick. He died the next evening. Without blessing his children, without designating a successor, without any solemn gestures. The 1,300 inhabitants of the Piccola Casa were told of his death the next day. Turin was in a festive mood, celebrating the wedding of Prince Vittorio Emanuele. For this reason, so as not to spread a veil of sadness, his body was transported by night to the Church of the Piccola Casa, for a restrained funeral without any trace of showiness. Divine Providence had laid the foundations for his project. Now Cottolengo’s charism belongs to the universal Church, who proclaimed him a saint on March 19, 1934.