1
'There was Giuseppe Labre too, and many wonderful things he did;
he was a great saint, as all the people in the Monti [221] knew. I
don't know if they've put all about him in books yet; if so, you may
have read it; but I can't read.'
'I know a Life of him has been published; but tell me what you have
heard about him all the same.'
Giuseppe Labre, you know, passed much of his time in meditation in the
Coliseum; the arch behind the picture of the Second Station, [222]
that's where he used to be all day, and where he slept most nights,
too. There was a butcher in the Via de' Serpenti who knew him, and kept
a little room for him, where he made him come and sleep when the nights
were bad and cold, or stormy. These people were very good to him,
and, though not well off themselves, were ready to give him a great
deal more than he in his love for poverty would consent to accept.
One great affliction this butcher had; his wife was bedridden with
an incurable disorder. One night there was a terrible storm, it was
a burning hot night in summer, and Giuseppe Labre came to sleep at
the butcher's. He was lying on his bed in the little room, which was
up a step or two higher than the butcher's own room, where his wife
lay, just as it might be where that cupboard is there. Presently the
butcher's wife heard him call her, saying,
'Sora Angela, bring me a cup of water for the love of God!'
'My friend, you know how gladly I would do anything to help you,
but my husband is not come up, and I have no one to send, and you
know I cannot move.'
Nevertheless Giuseppe called again, 'Sora Angela, bring me a cup of
water for the love of God!'
'Don't call so, good friend,' replied she; 'it distresses me; you
know how gladly I would come if I could only move.'
Yet still the third time Giuseppe Labre said,
'Sora Angela, hear me! Bring me a cup of water for the love of
God!' And he spoke the words so authoritatively that the good woman
felt as if she was bound to obey him, she made the effort to rise,
and, can you believe it! she got up as if there was nothing the matter
with her; and from that time forward she was cured.
2
There was a poor cobbler who always had a kind word for Giuseppe
too. One day Giuseppe Labre came to him, and said he wanted him to
lend him a pair of shoes as he was going a pilgrimage to Loreto. The
cobbler knew what a way it was from Rome to Loreto, and that there
would not be much left of a pair of shoes after they had done the
way there and back. Had Labre asked him to give them, his regard for
him would have prompted him to assent however ill he could afford it;
but to talk of lending shoes to walk to Loreto and back seemed like
making game of him, and he didn't like it. Nevertheless he couldn't
find it in his heart to refuse, and he gave him a pretty tidy pair
which he had patched up strong to sell, but without expecting ever
to see them again.
Giuseppe Labre took the shoes and went to Loreto, and when he came
back his first call was at the cobbler's shed; and sure enough he
brought the shoes none the worse for all the wear they had had. So
perfectly uninjured were they that the cobbler would have thought they
were another pair had it not been that he recognised the patches of
his own clumsy work.
3
Another more matter-of-fact account of this story was that he did
not wear the shoes on the journey, as he did that barefoot, i.e. with
wooden sandals, and only borrowed the shoes to be decent and reverent
in visiting the Sanctuary. In this case the story was told me to
illustrate his conscientiousness both in punctually returning the
shoes and in taking so much care of his trust.