So much became clear in the last days. He had endured the struggles of his crippling disease quietly so that care and attention would not be drawn away from the mourning of his grandmother. His humility, which should have been cherished but was ignored, had ultimately led to his demise. But his family, sitting quietly together, sat with a single acknowledgment; they had all neglected his needs, drowning in their own self-absorbed nature. Their guilt quelled their tongues from uttering his name. But if only they could read the heart of their son and brother, they would know he held no resentment toward them. Only love.
Mariscia walked into the room. “It’s time.”
They followed her to the front door, their heads hung low as they stepped onto the front steps. They wanted to shield their eyes from his casket.
But Mariscia spoke suddenly and with shock.
“Signor and Signora Frassati, Luciana, look …”
Upon raising their eyes, they saw thousands of people lining the streets. There were so many, standing in drab clothing and remaining so still and quiet their presence would be forgotten if one closed his eyes. Words escaped the family as they walked down the steps toward the horse-drawn carriage that would follow behind Pier Giorgio’s casket. They climbed inside as Pier Giorgio’s friends lifted him up onto their shoulders.
The procession lurched forward. As they ushered their way up the street, the mourners flooded behind them, yet still there were more with each block they passed waiting patiently to get a glimpse of the casket. Women groaned and cried as they passed by, many threw flowers before the procession, and others joined in common prayer.
“Who are all these people?” Adelaide asked her husband. “I don’t understand this.”
“I don’t know,” Alfredo replied. He was dumbfounded that he could not locate many of his friends from politics and business in the crowd. Luciana cried at the realization of how much these people loved her brother.
When they neared the church, the procession came to a halt. Alfredo helped his wife and daughter down, and together they approached the front steps, still filing behind the casket. Meanwhile, watching from within the crowd and waiting to follow the procession into the church for the funeral, stood many whose eyes dripped with tears, tears that drained from a place deep inside them. In their depths rested a wellspring which Pier Giorgio had filled with love throughout the days of his life. But he had not filled these wells by means of a powerful waterfall gushing over a mountain cliff; rather, he had filled the wells one bucket at a time. Small, virtuous acts of kindness, overlooked by the world of men, poured forth from his soul and into theirs. These acts of charity and tenderness came as constant as sunrises, lighting up their lives and warming them as they walked through a cold world. But only now, as Pier Giorgio’s sun was setting below the horizon, did their eyes gaze upon the dawn of his virtues.
A young man stood watching the casket go by, about Pier Giorgio’s age, with a skin disease that plagued his face and body. His name was Vincent. He had not known Pier Giorgio well, but many years ago they had shared a bowl of soup in a dark corner of a school cafeteria. Pier Giorgio had simply been his friend, perhaps his first friend, perhaps his only friend.
An elderly man, a former school custodian named Ernesto, also watched. He crossed himself as the casket passed, noting the date of Pier Giorgio’s death. Pier Giorgio had been kind enough to remember his own deceased son at Mass one year after his death. In thanksgiving, Ernesto would return to this church in one year to honor Pier Giorgio.
A gardener stood with his wife. Signora Gola cried into her husband’s chest. Even now she could still hear the church bells in the town of Pollone, ringing just above the shouting of Pier Giorgio’s ecstatic voice as he shouted to her that her husband was coming home from war.
There also stood a soldier, beside several other wounded veterans. Gianni Brunelli had never forgotten how Pier Giorgio begged him to come to Mass, along with his fellow soldiers. Gianni could not speak for the others, but because of Pier Giorgio he had been to Mass nearly every Sunday since returning from the war years ago.
A young man, a friend of Pier Giorgio, stood beside a sick and dying man many years in age. Pier Giorgio had introduced the two of them in 1918, and they had been friends ever since. Carlo and Signor Cavetti smiled to each other as the casket passed them, remembering their friend. Carlo, through Pier Giorgio’s example, had become an ardent member of the St. Vincent de Paul Society, helping countless other men and women like Signor Cavetti.
Beside Carlo and Signor Cavetti stood another caretaker and patient. Teresa Vigna had helped a young man named Anthony sneak out of the leprosy hospital, for he would not miss Pier Giorgio’s funeral. He did his best to cover up his lesions, but it mattered little, for no one looked anywhere other than the casket. Pier Giorgio had always hoped that the rest of society could look past the physical maladies of people like Anthony and see the humanity resting within them. Today, through their love of Pier Giorgio, they were not afraid to brush shoulders with a leper.
Several priests stood praying beside one another; Fr. Lombardi, who taught Pier Giorgio in grade school, Fr. Robotti, whom Pier Giorgio had served as a bodyguard for on numerous occasions, Monsignor Pinardi, who would often say Mass for the Shady Characters at the Little St. Bernard, and Fr. Righini, who’d heard Pier Giorgio’s last confession, a confession that was filled sparsely with the most trivial of sins, yet from the penitent’s mouth they were treated with the utmost gravity. Fr. Righini knew now why Pier Giorgio had been so adamant about receiving the sacrament of reconciliation, sitting right there in the streets of Turin. Somehow, he knew the suffering and quick demise that awaited him. And still there one was more priest—a German—Fr. Sonnenschein, whom Pier Giorgio had loved dearly. He was much older than Pier Giorgio, but something told him his young Italian friend would beat him to heaven.
Also from Germany stood a family of nine in the crowd; the Rahner family, with their seven children, each wiping at their eyes. The youngest children cried the hardest, knowing they would never see their beloved Pier Giorgio again. They longed for the days when he stayed with them in their home, warming it with his smile.
Another family cried beside them, the Costa family. Teresina and Ettore were older now, but still they bawled like young children. Their mother had overcome her sickness—she was healthy now—and she nodded toward the casket, letting Pier Giorgio know he no longer had to watch over her family. He could rest now.
Signora Converso cried the hardest of anyone. Who would come fix her broken doors? Who would bring her fresh bread from the market? Who would visit her and bring her flowers? She cried as if her own son passed in that casket.
Yet another cried as well, a woman who had held Pier Giorgio’s heart in her hands, though she never knew it. Laura Hidalgo knew that she had taken her friend for granted. Never again would she see his smiling face, never again would she receive one of his letters. Her and Christina and the other female members of the Shady Characters hugged each other and wept.
Below the casket were his friends, the lives Pier Giorgio had perhaps touched the most. Upon their shoulders he rested, and within their memories he would live forever. Camillo recalled the simple nights they sat talking and smoking cigars. Marco remembered the days they spent together fighting the Fascists. Guardia, Tonino, Isidoro, and Giuseppe all recalled their adventures together, and Guido, who was present for Pier Giorgio’s last mountain expedition, wished the two of them could journey just one more time toward the heights. They each lifted him up, hoping if their arms could reach high enough they could somehow repay him by sending him to heaven, though they each knew he needed no help at all.
And still there were more, members of the St. Vincent de Paul Society, the Cesare Balbo, the Third Dominican Order, the Eucharistic Crusade, the Apostolate of Prayer, and the Marian Sodality, all organizations Pier Giorgio had a tremendous impact on. Others had traveled from Germany, from the slums of Alexanderplatz, where Pier Giorgio sp
ent nearly a year of his life serving the poor, joining alongside the sick and poor of Turin.
All these souls stood together, weeping common tears of sadness. And in that moment, two of the littlest souls sprung forth from the crowd and ran toward Mr. and Mrs. Frassati, the parents of the fallen.
“Signora!” one of them shouted. “Signora!”
Adelaide turned and watched the two young boys run toward her, dressed in rags and covered in grime. One held a rose.
“I wanted to give this to Pier Giorgio,” one of them said, “but … are you his mother?”
She nodded.
“Then, I feel he’d want you to have it. He spoke of you often, and the rest of his family. He loved you dearly. I’ll miss his visits to the orphanage. He always played games with us, and brought us treats. He was always so funny. I want to be like him when I grow up, okay?”
She took the rose. “Yes, that would be nice.”
The other boy grabbed at his sleeve and pulled him back into the crowd. Adelaide began to cry. Alfredo and Luciana held her.
“How blind we were to the man our son was. How did we not see all this?” she asked through her tears.
“I don’t know,” Alfredo confessed.
“And what can be done now? Nothing, he’s gone.”
“No, Adelaide, we can do something. We have the rest of our lives to follow the path our son has blazed for us. He’ll still be with us through all these people who loved him so much. He’ll still be with us if we strive to have the faith he once had. Come, let us go inside and honor him.”
He wrapped his arm around his wife and daughter and led them up the stairs, following behind the casket which held their son and brother.
And so, after many years of trying, Pier Giorgio was finally able to lead his family into church, where the presence of Christ awaited them.
Epilogue
One of the struggles that came with writing a novel about Pier Giorgio was that his life cannot be summed up in one glorious epiphany, moment or accomplishment; rather, his life was filled with a multitude of simple acts of charity and kindness. Thus, the book reads more like a collection of short stories.
In contemplating his life and the manner in which he lived each day, one might be reminded of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, the Little Flower, who stressed the importance of little virtuous deeds, knowing that through these small acts of love we grow closer to God. This truth contrasts the reality of how we drift away from God through the momentum of our “little” venial sins.
For this reason, Pier Giorgio and Thérèse are both excellent models of how we all have the ability to become Saints, despite not having any superb talents, blessings, or prestige. All we have to do is take baby steps toward God, and I assure you, He will give us the time required to reach Him. Coincidentally, both Pier Giorgio and Thérèse died at age 24, but even with their years cut short, they managed to touch millions of lives (in life and death). Meanwhile, the memories of other leaders, dictators, kings and queens fade into the shadows of history.
I attempted to convey this facet of Pier Giorgio’s life, this beautiful simplicity, with the following passage, found in the last chapter:
Meanwhile, watching from within the crowd and waiting to follow the procession into the church for the funeral, stood many whose eyes dripped with tears, tears that drained from a place deep inside them. In their depths rested a wellspring which Pier Giorgio had filled with love throughout the days of his life. But he had not filled these wells by means of a powerful waterfall gushing over a mountain cliff; rather, he had filled the wells one bucket at a time. Small, virtuous acts of kindness, overlooked by the world of men, poured forth from his soul and into theirs. These acts of charity and tenderness came as constant as sunrises, lighting up their lives and warming them as they walked through a cold world. But only now, as Pier Giorgio’s sun was setting below the horizon, did their eyes gaze upon the dawn of his virtues.
The metaphor of a well being filled up one bucket at a time poetically represents how Pier Giorgio brought kindness, charity, and sanctity to everyone in his life. It was not a “waterfall” of love, just drips and drops and puddles and buckets, but even the ocean could be called a collection of drips and drops and puddles and buckets.
It’s important to note too that many of his righteous deeds were overlooked. Just as with many others, and especially the Saints, he was not fully appreciated until after his death.
Thus comes perhaps the only common storyline throughout Pier Giorgio’s life.
One of the first things I found amazing about Pier Giorgio when I began my research of him was that his family had such a tepid faith. How could a young man of zealous faith be raised in such a household? Where did his fire for Christ come from? It’s what makes his story so unique and powerful, and so inspirational for anyone who feels sorrow over his own family’s indifference to God.
Throughout his life, Pier Giorgio strove to bring his family closer to God, though for the most part he failed. His patience with them was otherworldly, something that surely tested him each and every day. At times he became frustrated, but he loved them dearly and honored and respected his parents. He never turned on them. He was loyal to the end.
I feel Pier Giorgio would be upset with me if I didn’t, in closing, speak well of his family; this is what they deserve for giving him to us.
The way I have the last chapter depicted is, of course, literary license. It’s not likely that his parents and sister, the very day of his funeral, had a change of heart and began to see the importance of God and their Catholic faith. However, they were brought to God through the death of Pier Giorgio, albeit over the course of the rest of their lives.
Alfredo, while not becoming as passionate in his faith as his son, did embark on a journey that led him back into the Church and Her Sacraments, as did Adelaide. It should also be pointed out that the two of them reconciled their marriage, making something Pier Giorgio once said to a friend seem prophetic: “I would gladly give my life if my parents would stay together.”
Luciana, meanwhile, lived a long life, much of it devoted to furthering the cause of her brother’s Sainthood. She wrote books and did her best to spread the word about his life. It should come as no surprise that a study of Pier Giorgio’s life sparked within her a strong passion for Christ and His Church.
One may give her more room for error than her parents during those years when they all overlooked Pier Giorgio’s holiness, as well as God altogether. She was young, only in her early twenties when Pier Giorgio died, and nearly all of us seem to treat God like a stranger throughout our youth. The temptation toward fun and games and anything carefree presents a difficult challenge for young people, but perhaps God understands this. We must all start out as caterpillars before His grace turns us into butterflies.
So considering Luciana’s youth, and the simple fact that she had the same parents as Pier Giorgio, with their lukewarm faith and attraction to the glamour of high society, it’s hard to hold her responsible for not being as pious and holy as her brother. Still, by the winter of her life, she became a woman who walked hand-in-hand with Christ. Without Luciana, it’s possible that none of us today would know who Pier Giorgio is, and for this, I give her my own personal thanks.
And so, rather fittingly, Pier Giorgio was able to accomplish his greatest goal. As Christ resurrected us all through His sacrifice, Pier Giorgio did the same for his family. The image of him finally leading his family into the church, but doing so in a casket, is both tragic and splendid, as tragic and splendid as the Cross.
We may not all join the ranks of Sainthood, but we can all strive to do what Pier Giorgio did, bringing our families as close to holiness as possible, and ultimately leading them to heaven. This is all God asks of us, to help each other, especially those closest to us, come to rest in Him. With the help of this young Italian, perhaps we will.
Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati, pray for us.
Prayer for the Canonization of
Pier Giorgio Frassati
“O merciful God,
Who through the perils of the world
deigned to preserve by Your grace
Your servant Pier Giorgio Frassati
pure of heart and ardent of charity,
listen, we ask You, to our prayers and,
if it is in Your designs that he be glorified by the Church,
show us Your will,
granting us the graces we ask of You,
through his intercession,
by the merits of Jesus Christ, Our Lord, Amen.”
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To the Heights: A Novel Based on the Life of Pier Giorgio Frassati Page 19