Religion: The Good Boy

“I am not a little saint,” said Vittorio Francescone over and over again last week. But the fact remained that the 16-year-old boy’s behavior had seemed sufficiently saintly to land him on the front pages of the Italian press—and in trouble.

In the village of Boscotrecase near Naples, people who had been used to the knock of Tax Collector Eugenic Francescone on their doors began about a year ago to grow accustomed to the knock of his son. Young Vittorio begged clothes to distribute among the village poor; he even persuaded the five beggars who had enjoyed Boscotrecase’s old-clothes monopoly to give up part of their haul. Rumors spread about the goodness of young Vittorio—that at school he gave away his lunch to poorer boys, that he supported 13 families with his charity. He denied the rumors, but people began to call him santariello (little saint).

The good works of Vittorio grew and so did his piety. He began collecting money for the poor as well as clothes. In his room was a small altar dedicated to St. Anthony of Padua, and he spent more and more of his free time in church, singing hymns and learning psalms. Even on the hottest days he never removed his jacket, considering it indecent to show his bare arms. But his priest, Don Aniello Noto, was displeased to learn that the good boy had been expanding his charity operations. In some of his fan letters he received substantial checks, even from two Protestant groups in Switzerland and Austria. Inevitably the time came when the laws of Caesar collided with service to God. The carabinieri threatened to arrest Vittorio for collecting money without a license and to put him in jail.

Vittorio defended himself: “I find that when I preach for a cause I am often successful, and discover that I can help people in many ways. That is a source of profound joy to me. I never go to a movie, I have never been to the theater, I never listen to the radio. I like to be with my fellow humans, not lose myself in fantasies.” Last week a chastened Vittorio was back in the good graces of the law and the bosom of the church. “From now on,” he said, “all my activity will be under the direction of our parish priest.”

But fan mail continued to arrive. “You are a fragrant lily in a valley of abject passions,” wrote a woman in Florence. ”Forward, good Vittorio; yours is a holy way.”