Catherine Benincasa of Siena (1347 - 1380)

I was born in Siena on the feast of the Annunciation, in the year 1347. I, and my twin sister who did not long survive, were the youngest of twenty-five children. My father, Giacomo Benincasa, was a prosperous wool dyer, and lived with my mother Lapa and our extended family, in a spacious house which the Sienese have preserved to the present day.

As a child, I was so merry that the family gave me the pet name of Euphrosyne, which is Greek for Joy and also the name of an early Christian saint.  At the age of six I had the remarkable experience which may be said to have determined my vocation.  With my brother, I was on the way home from a visit to a married sister, when suddenly I stopped still in the road, gazing up into the sky.  I did not hear the repeated calls of the boy, who had walked on ahead.  Only after he had gone back and seized me by the hand did I wake as from a dream.  I burst into tears.  My vision of Christ seated in glory with the Apostles Peter, Paul, and John had faded.  A year later, I made a secret vow to give my whole life to God.  I loved prayer and solitude, and when I mingled with other children it was to teach them.  This made me happy. 

Benincasa House in Siena

When Catherine I was twelve, my mother, with marriage in mind, began to urge me to pay more attention to my appearance.  To please my mother and sister, I dressed in the bright gowns and jewels that were fashionable for young girls.  Soon I repented of this vanity, and declared with finality that I would never marry.  When my parents persisted in their talk about finding me a husband, I cut off the golden-brown hair that was my chief beauty.  As punishment, I was now made to do menial work in the household, and my family, knowing I craved solitude, never allowed me to be alone.  I bore all this with sweetness and patience.  Long afterwards, I wrote that God had shown me how to build in my soul a private cell where no tribulation could enter.

My father at last came to the realization that further pressure was useless, and he permitted me to do as I pleased.  In a small, dimly-lighted room now set apart for my use, a cell nine feet by three, I gave myself up to prayers and fasting.  I scourged myself three times daily with an iron chain, and slept on a board.  At first I wore a hair shirt, subsequently replacing it by an iron-spiked girdle.  Soon I obtained what I ardently desired, permission to assume the black habit of a Dominican tertiary, which was customarily granted only to matrons or widows.  I now increased my asceticism, eating and sleeping very little.  For three years I spoke only to my confessor and never went out except to the neighboring Basilica of Saint Dominic, where the pillar against which I used to lean is still pointed out to visitors.

(Basilica of Saint Dominic)

At times now I was enraptured by celestial visions, but often too I was subjected to severe trials.  Loathsome forms and enticing figures would present themselves to my imagination, and the most degrading temptations assailed me.  There would be long intervals during which I felt abandoned by God.  "O Lord, where wert Thou when my heart was so sorely vexed with foul and hateful temptations?" I asked, when after such a time of agonizing He had once more manifested Himself.  I heard a voice saying, "Daughter, I was in thy heart, fortifying thee by grace," and the voice then said that God would now be with me more openly, for the period of probation was nearing an end.

On Shrove Tuesday, 1366, while the citizens of Siena were keeping carnival, and I was praying in my room, a vision of Christ appeared, accompanied by His mother and the heavenly host.  Taking my hand, Our Lady held it up to Christ, who placed a ring upon it and espoused me to Himself, bidding me to be of good courage, for now I was armed with a faith that could overcome all temptations.  To me, the ring was always visible, though invisible to others.  The years of solitude and preparation were ended and soon afterwards I began to mix with my fellow men and learned to serve them.  Like other Dominican tertiaries, I volunteered to nurse the sick in the city hospitals, choosing those afflicted with loathsome diseases—cases from which others were apt to shrink.

There gathered around me a band of earnest associates.  Prominent among them were my two Dominican confessors, Thomas della Fonte and Bartholomew Dominici, the Augustinian Father Tantucci, Matthew Cenni, rector of the Misericordia Hospital, the artist Vanni, to whom we are indebted for a famous portrait of me, the poet Neri di Landoccio dei Pagliaresi, my own sister-in-law Lisa, a noble young widow, Alessia Saracini, and William Flete, the English hermit. Father Santi, an aged hermit, abandoned his solitude to be near me, because, he said, he found greater peace of mind and progress in virtue by following her than he ever found in his cell.  A warm affection bound me to these whom I called my spiritual family, children given to me by God that I might help them along the way to perfection.  I read their thoughts and frequently knew their temptations when they were away from me.  Many of my early letters were written to one or another of them. 

At this time public opinion about me was divided; many Sienese revered me as a saint, while others called me a fanatic or denounced me as a hypocrite.  Perhaps as a result of charges made against me, I was summoned to Florence to appear before the general chapter of the Dominicans.  Whatever the charges were, they were completely disproved, and shortly afterwards the new lector for the order in Siena, Raymund de Capua, was appointed my confessor.  In this happy association, Father Raymund was in many things of the spirit my disciple.  Later he became my biographer.

After my return to Siena there was a terrible outbreak of the plague, during which me and my circle worked incessantly to relieve the sufferers.  I was always with the plague-stricken; I prepared them for death and buried them with my own hands.  I nursed them with joy and the wonderful efficacy of my words, which brought about many conversions.  Among those who owed their recovery directly to me were Raymund of Capua himself, Matthew Cenni, Father Santi, and Father Bartholomew, all of whom contracted the disease through tending others. My pity for dying men was not confined to those who were sick.  I made it a practice to visit condemned persons in prison, hoping to persuade them to make their peace with God.  On one occasion I walked to the scaffold with a young Perugian knight, sentenced to death for using seditious language against the government of Siena.  His last words were: "Jesus and Catherine! "

My deeds of mercy, coupled with a growing reputation as a worker of miracles, now caused the Sienese to bring many requests upon me.  Three Dominican priests were especially deputed to hear the confessions of those whom I had prevailed on to amend their lives.  In settling disputes and healing old feuds I was so successful that I was constantly called upon to arbitrate at a time when all through Italy every man's hand seemed to be against his neighbor. It was partly, perhaps, with a view to turning the energies of Christendom away from civil wars that I threw myself into Pope Gregory's campaign for another crusade to wrest the Holy Sepulchre from the Turks. This brought me into correspondence with Gregory himself.

In February, 1375, I accepted an invitation to visit Pisa, where I was welcomed with enthusiasm.  I had been there only a few days when I had another of the spiritual experiences which seem to have presaged each new step in my career.  I had made my Communion in the little church of St. Christina, and had been gazing at the crucifix, when suddenly there descended from it five blood-red rays which pierced my hands, feet and heart, causing such acute pain that I swooned.  The wounds remained as stigmata, visible to myself alone during my life, but clearly to be seen after my death.

I was still in Pisa when I received word that the people of Florence and Perugia had entered into a league against the Holy See and the French legates.  The disturbance had begun in Florence, where the Guelphs and the Ghibellines united to raise a large army under the banner of freedom from the Pope's control, and Bologna, Viterbo, and Ancona, together with other strongholds in the papal domain, rallied to the insurgents. Through my untiring efforts, the cities of Lucca, Pisa, and Siena held back.  From Avignon, meanwhile, after an unsuccessful appeal to the Florentines, the Pope, Gregory XI, sent Cardinal Robert of Geneva with an army to put down the uprising, and laid Florence under an interdict. The effects of the ban on the life and prosperity of the city were so serious that its rulers sent to Siena, to ask me to mediate with the Pope.

Always ready to act as a peacemaker, I promptly set out for Florence.  The city's magistrates met me as I drew near the gates, and placed the negotiations entirely in my hands, saying that their ambassadors would follow me to Avignon and confirm whatever I did there.  I arrived in Avignon on June 18, 1376, and was graciously received by the Pope. "I desire nothing but peace," he said; "I place the affair entirely in your hands, only I recommend to you the honor of the Church."  As it happened, the Florentines proved untrustworthy and continued their intrigues to draw the rest of Italy away from allegiance to the Holy See. When their ambassadors arrived, they disclaimed all connection with me, making it clear by their demands that they did not desire a reconciliation.

Although I had failed in this matter, my efforts in another direction were successful.  Many of the troubles which then afflicted Europe were, to some degree at least, due to the seventy-four-year residence of the popes at Avignon, where the Curia was now largely French.  Gregory had been ready to go back to Rome with his court, but the opposition of the French cardinals had deterred him.  Since in my letters, I had urged his return so strongly, it was natural that they should discuss the subject now that we were face to face. "Fulfill what you have promised," I said, reminding him of a vow he had once taken and had never disclosed to any human being.  Greatly impressed by what he regarded as a supernatural sign, Gregory resolved to act upon it at once.

On September 13, 1376, he set out from Avignon to travel by water to Rome, while I and my friends left the city on the same day to return overland to Siena.  On reaching Genoa I was detained by the illness of two of my secretaries, Neri di Landoccio and Stephen Maconi.  The latter was a young Sienese nobleman, recently converted, who had become an ardent follower.  When I got back to Siena, I kept on writing the Pope, entreating him to labor for peace.  At his request I went again to Florence, still rent by factions, and stayed there for some time, frequently in danger of my life.  I did finally establish peace between the city governors and the papacy, but this was in the reign of Gregory's successor.

After I returned to Siena, I occupied myself in the composition of a book which I dictated under the inspiration of the Holy Ghost.  My health was now so impaired by austerities that I was never free from pain; yet my thin face was usually smiling.  I was grieved by any sort of scandal in the Church, especially that of the Great Schism which followed the death of Gregory XI.  Urban VI was elected as his successor by the cardinals of Rome and Clement VII by the rebellious cardinals of Avignon.  Western Christendom was divided; Clement was recognized by France, Spain, Scotland, and Naples; Urban by most of North Italy, England, Flanders, and Hungary.  I wore myself out trying to heal this terrible breach in Christian unity and to obtain for Urban the obedience due to the legitimate head.  I dispatched letter after letter to the princes and leaders of Europe.  To Urban himself I wrote to warn him to control his harsh and arrogant temper.  This was the second pope I had counseled, chided, even commanded.  Far from resenting reproof, Urban summoned me to Rome that he might profit by my advice.  Reluctantly I left Siena to live in the Holy City. I had achieved a remarkable position for a woman of my time.  On various occasions at Siena, Avignon, and Genoa, learned theologians questioned me and I humbled them by the wisdom of my replies.

Although I was only thirty-three, my life was now nearing its close.  On April 21, 1380, a paralytic stroke made me helpless from the waist downwards, and eight days later I passed away in the arms of my cherished friend, Alessia Saracini.  The people of Siena wished to have my body.  A story is told of a miracle whereby they were partially successful.  Knowing that they could not smuggle my whole body out of Rome, they decided to take only my head which they placed in a bag. When stopped by the Roman guards, they prayed to my spirit to help them, confident that I would rather have my body (or at least part thereof) in Siena.  When they opened the bag to show the guards, it appeared no longer to hold my head but to be full of rose petals.  Once they got back to Siena they reopened the bag and my head was visible once more.  Due to this story, I am often depicted holding a rose.  The incorruptible head and thumb were entombed in the Basilica of Saint Domenico, where they remain.

(Basilica of Saint Dominic in Siena)

What remained of my body is buried in the Basilica of Santa Maria sopra Minerva in Rome, which is near the Pantheon.

(Basilica of Santa Maria sopra Minerva in Rome)

Pope Pius II canonized me in 1461.  My talents as a writer caused me to be compared with my countrymen, Dante and Petrarch.  Among my literary remains are four hundred letters, many of them of great literary beauty, and showing warmth, insight, and aspiration.  One of the important women of Europe, my gifts of heart and mind were used in the furtherance of the Christian ideal.

Sandra Benincasa Falconi

and

Austin Falconi

Descendents of Catherine Benincasa of Siena

Here is a must-read novel about Saint Catherine of Siena's life:

Wordless Wednesday - The Flower Seller

The Flower Seller
by
Jacques-Laurent Agasse (1767-1849)

Lady Anne Fanshawe (1625 - 1680)

Lady Anne Fanshawe

1625-1680

Anne Harrison was the eldest daughter and 4th child of Sir John Harrison, and Margaret Fanshawe. She had three older brothers, John, William [killed in 1643] and Simon, and one younger sister, Margaret. Ann's wealthy childhood was spent in Balls Park, Hertfordshire. When Anne was 15, her mother died and her father remarried. Sir John declared for the King in 1642 and Roundhead soldiers arrested him at his house. While ostensibly retrieving some important papers, he slipped out of the house and fled to join King Charles at his exiled court in Oxford, sending for his other children to join him.

The Harrisons lived in genteel poverty in Oxford during the Civil War years before Oxford was seized by Parliament, living in a garret above a baker’s shop. Anne began a friendship with the notorious Lady Isabella Thynne, wife of Sir John Thynne who inveigled Ann into dressing in an angel costume and with Lady Isabella’s page and a singing boy, serenaded the ‘gigantic, choleric, woman-hating Dr Kettle’, President of Trinity College on his lawn.

Whilst at Oxford, Anne grew close to her Royalist cousin, Richard Fanshawe, who served as secretary to the Council of War, Ireland, between 1639 and 1641, and was appointed King's Remembrancer in 1641, and Secretary for War to the Prince of Wales in 1644. Also a close friend and envoy of the king, who reputedly called him 'Dick'.

Richard Fanshawe

(1608 - 1666)

They married at Wolvercot Church in May 1644, the only guests apart from family were Edward Hyde, later Lord Clarendon, and Sir Geoffrey Palmer. The bridegroom was ‘of more than the common height of men,’ and so popular that everyone, even the King, called him Dick. They began married life on 20 pounds and the forlorn hope of their Sovereign's promise of eventual compensation.

In March 1645, Richard went to Bristol with the Prince of Wales, leaving Ann at Oxford, in delicate health, with scarcely a penny and a dying first-born. She relates how she was sitting in the garden of St. John's College breathing the air for the first time after her illness, when a letter came from Bristol, to her ‘unspeakable joy’ containing fifty gold pieces and a summons to join Mr. Fanshawe, and how there was a sound of drums beating in the roadway under the garden wall. She went up to the Mount to see Sir Charles Lee's company of soldiers march past, and as she stood leaning against a tree a volley of shot was fired to salute her, and she narrowly escaped being hit by a brace of bullets which struck the tree two inches above her head.

Thus began the long series of separations, reunions, hardships, and extraordinary adventures. From Red Abbey in Ireland, she and her babies and servants had to fly at the peril of their lives through ‘an unruly tumult with swords in their hands.’ On the Isles of Scilly she was put ashore more dead than alive, and plundered of all her possessions by the sailors. At Portsmouth she and her husband were fired upon by Dutch men-of-war, and another time they were shipwrecked in the Bay of Biscay.

Once, Anne borrowed a cabin boy's blue thrum-cap and tarred coat for half a crown to stand beside her husband on the deck when they were threatened by a Turkish galley on their way to Spain. After the Battle of Worcester, where Sir Richard was made a prisoner, during the wettest Autumn ever known, Ann walked along the Strand every morning to stand beneath his prison window on the bowling-green at Whitehall. She wrote that "the rain went in at her neck and out at her heels."

Sir Richard was released on parole by Cromwell, and for seven years the Fanshawes lived in comparative retirement until after the Lord Protector’s death in 1658, when they joined King Charles II in Flanders. There, Richard Fanshawe was appointed Latin Secretary and Master of Requests, and was knighted at Breda. The King presented him with a portrait of himself framed in diamonds, and sent him to Portugal to negotiate the King’s marriage to Catherine of Braganza, and then appointed him Ambassador to Spain. On June 26, 1666, he died in Madrid of fever at the age of fifty-eight. Ann set off overland to Calais with her baby son, 4 daughters under 14, and the body of her husband.

Her memoirs, dated May 1676, addressed to her only surviving son, Richard, are a vivid and fascinating account of the dangerous life she shared with her husband. Her story of tragedy, poverty and loss do not dilute the Fanshawe's passion for the Royalist cause. Between 1645 and 1665, Ann gave birth to fourteen children, of whom four daughters and one son lived to adulthood. Her account of her lost children is poignantly written in her own words:

My dear husband had six sons and eight daughters, born and christened, and I miscarried of six more, three at several times, and once of three sons when I was about half gone my time. Harrison, my eldest son, and Henry, my second son; Richard, my third; Henry, my fourth; and Richard, my fifth, are all dead; my second lies buried in the Protestant Church-yard in Paris, by the father of the Earl of Bristol; my eldest daughter Anne lies buried in the Parish Church of Tankersley, in Yorkshire, where she died; Elizabeth lies in the Chapel of the French Hospital at Madrid, where she died of a fever at ten days old; my next daughter of her name lies buried in the Parish of Foot's Cray, in Kent, near Frog-Pool, my brother Warwick's house, where she died; and my daughter Mary lies in my father's vault in Hertford, with my first son Henry; my eldest lies buried in the Parish Church of St. John's College in Oxford, where he was born; my second Henry lies in Bengy Church, in Hertfordshire; and my second Richard in the Esperanza in Lisbon in Portugal, he being born ten weeks before my time when I was in that Court. I praise God I have living yourself and four sisters, Katherine unmarried, Margaret married to Vincent Grantham, Esq., of Goltho, in the county of Lincoln, Anne, and Elizabeth.

Richard Fanshawe succeeded his father in 1666, and became the second Baronet. He is said to have been deprived of his hearing, and at length of his speech, in consequence of a fever, and to have died unmarried in 1695.  Ann Fanshawe’s memoirs are available online at Project Gutenberg.




I would like to extend a warm thank-you to my good friend, Anita Davison who kindly offered to share this biography.  Anita is passionate about her English roots and has done years of research into the 17th century, amassing a vast knowledge of its colorful personages and rich history.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Anita Davison Historical Fiction Author 

Anita Davison is a published author of Historical Fiction with two novels set in 17th Century England. Born in London, the city's colourful history has always been part of her life. Fascinated by this era, she chose it as a backdrop to a story about an Exeter family caught up in the Rebellion of 1685. She is currently seeking a home for her latest wip, a Victorian Gothic Romance. 

To learn more about Anita and her work visit her website or her blog, The Disorganised Author

Wordless Wednesday - Portrait of a Lady Mother

The Pendant by Mirella Patzer

I hope you will indulge me and won't mind too much if I veer away from regular posts. Many of my cyberfriends and readers have been asking when my gothic romance novel, The Pendant will be released.  I'm happy to say that it has just been released by Eternal Press.

This novel was great fun to write - a deviation from my usual serious biographical historicals.  In writing it, I indulged my fantasies, my zest for the unusal, my passion for all things Italian, and my desire to tell a fun tale that is pure escapism.

This book was previously released under the title Bloodstone Castle.  However, only weeks after its original release, the publisher became insolvent and I was forced to find it a new home.  It was my good fortune to have found such a great publisher as Eternal Press.

Here's a little bit about the book:

A medieval tale of murder, desperation, and true love.

A lost ancient treasure.  A 100 year family feud.  And a woman with a passion richer than the bloodstone pendant she wears around her neck.  In medieval Italy, as spirited and stalwart as any man, the brazen Contessa Morena is betrothed to the impoverished, black-hearted Count Ernesto, a man desperate to escape his mounting gambling debts by marrying her and laying claim to the ancient treasure secreted somewhere in the underbelly of her castle.  Morena meets her match when Amoro, the handsome and brash heir to the Duchy of Genoa, who swears an oath upon his father's grave to claim her as his bride and end the feud between their families.  Soon, Amoro's virile charm awakens the passion in her steadfast heart. But a treacherous plot ensnares them; Ernesto abducts Morena and renders Amoro helpless.  Embroiled in a life-and-death chase, Morena learns that not even the devious madness of her captor can destroy her love for Amoro as their hearts unite and their destinies become one.

So if you're interested in a bit of a wild ride into mayhem and murder set against a romantic Italian setting, and you want to escape from the hum drum boredom of life, then this charming Italian medieval tale will definitely go a long way towards entertaining you!  A great lighthearted spring and summer read!

A Celebration of Women

My dear cousin sent this to me today. Many of you may have seen it already. If you have, it's definitely worth seeing again. Each time I watch it, I discover something more. It is something that all women can identify with on the deepest emotional level. A powerful reminder to pay attention to the little joys of life and to value the relationships in our lives. Oh, and did I forget to mention to have the hanky ready nearby?

Enjoy.

Viola Desmond - A True Heroine

Viola Desmond

1914 - 1951

Civil Rights Activist

Viola Davis Desmond was born on July 6, 1914 in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. The beautiful and elegant African-Canadian woman owned and operated a successful beauty parlour and beauty college in Halifax. She led a relatively unassuming life until one particular day when she held on tight to her convictions and stood up to the world. What she did became one of the most publicized incidents of racial discrimination in Canadian history.

On a cold and blustery day, November 8, 1946, as Viola Desmond drove from Sydney to Halifax for a meeting, the weather worsened until it became a full-blown Canadian blizzard. As if the weather wasn't enough, her car broke down in town called New Glasgow.

The local mechanic took a look at her car and shook his head. He told her he could not repair it until the next day. A resourceful woman, Rosa booked herself into a local inn and looked around. What better way to wait out a blizzard than to catch a flick at the local movie house!  Her decision was to alter the course of her life forever. 

Viola made her way to the Roseland Theatre, stepped up to the wicket, and asked to purchase a ticket for house seats. Instead, the teller sold her a ticket for the balcony. Unbeknownst to Viola, the house seats were designated for whites only. The balcony was where blacks were to sit.

Viola made her way into the theatre and settled into a seat on the main floor. Before long, the manager approached and ordered her to move to the balcony.

Indignant, Viola refused. Outraged, the manager called the police who immediately arrested her, dragged her from the theatre, and placed her in a jail cell to spend the night.

Bruised and enraged, with her immaculate elbow-length white gloves on herhands, Viola sat primly upright on the hard bench in her cold jail cell the entire night, a total of 12 grueling hours.

In the morning, she was brought before a magistrate who charged her with Attempt to Defraud the Federal Government based upon her refusal to pay the one cent amusement tax difference between the 3 cents charged to balcony patrons and the 2 cents charged to main floor patrons.

Viola immediately offered to pay the difference. But the lawmakers of the time wished to make an example of her. They convicted her for failing to pay the tax. When the short trial was over, Viola received a fine of $20.00, which she immediately paid. But there was a principle at stake, so she challenged the charge in court.

The crown made strong arguments against her. They insisted this was a case of tax evasion and argued that the retail sales tax was calculated based on the price of the theatre ticket. After all, it was not the theatre's fault they could only sell Viola, a black woman, a less expensive balcony ticket. It was Viola who insisted upon sitting in the more expensive main floor

Throughout her trial, no one admitted that Viola Desmond was Black and that the theatre maintained a racist seating policy. No, best to stickk to the facts - the trial was simply about tax evasion and nothing more.

After a brief trial, Viola was found guilty of the charge and additionally fined court costs plus an additional 30 days in jail. All for the sake of a movie seat and a penny.

Attempts were subsequently made to overturn the conviction, but each one failed and the conviction was upheld. Her lawyer returned Viola's fees. Viola used the money to create a fund to support the Nova Scotia Association for the Advancement of Coloured People (NSAACP).

Having lost and done what she could to stand firm to her own convictions, Viola dismantled her beauty business and moved to Montreal where she enrolled in a business college. Afterwards she moved to New York where she lived until her death in 1951.

The case has become one of the most notorious civil rights cases in Canada and she received great fame.  She was dubbed with the monniker "Canada's Rosa Sparks".  

On April 14th, 2010, the Lieutenant Governor of Nova Scotia, Mayann Francis, on the advice of the premier of the province, invoked the Royal Prerogative and granted Viola Desmond a posthumous pardon.

Viola Desmond is a true Canadian heroine!

Book Review: 100 Places in Italy Every Woman Should Go

What a fun, interesting book, one of the finest travel books about Italy I've ever read.  Cleverly written specifically for the female gender, Susan Van Allen takes us to on a wonderful journey through Italy, sharing her delightful discoveries of lesser known areas of interest.

From wineries and museums, luxiurious spas and shoe shopping, villas and sailing, crafts and churches, the author covers a vast array of experiences any woman would delight in.  She has scoured all the nooks and crannies of Italy to bring readers to the best locations, restaurants, and "must see" places. With each location, she provides directions and hours of operation, where is the best places to stay, a bit of the history, and other recommendations to make it easy to visit.

Susan Van Allen's passion for Italy and all things Italian is clear. She has been visiting and travelling the boot-shaped peninsula for over 30 years. Her book is packed with historical and colourful descriptions and plenty of website links so readers can research further.

The author has gone beyond the regular tourist traps to take readers and potential tourists into places we might never discover on our own. This little book is a treasure trove of information which includes food, famous Italians, Italy's rich history, and even how to deal with challenging Italians, fussy waiters, and persnickety tour guides.  

This is a book that will sit in a place of honor on my book shelf, a valuable reference for future travels or simply to page through to re-read and learn about the lesser known enjoyments of Italy.  If you plan on travelling to Italy, then this is a must have book to take with you.  Better yet, use it to make your travel plans.

Wordless Wednesday - Portrait of a Lady

A Portrait of a Young Lady (E. N. Likhachyova). 1790

By

Russian Artist

Yermolai Kamezhenkov

Casilda of Toledo

Casilda of Toledo(950 A.D. - 105 A.D.)
Saint

Casilda lived in Toledo during the 10th century.  She came from a wealthy family.  Her father was a Muslim king. 

Casilda showed showed generosity and great kindness to Christian prisoners by carrying bread hidden in her clothes to feed them.

But one day, Muslim soldiers stopped her and demanded she reveal what she hid in her clothing.  Slowly she unfolded her gown, but instead of bread, a beautiful bouquet of roses appeared.  They released her. 

Although she was raised a Muslim, when she fell ill and refused any help from Arab healers.  Instead, she traveled to northern Iberia, to the shrine of San Vincente near Buezo and Briviesca to indulge in the healing waters there. 

Almost immediately, she was cured.  She was baptized at Burgos and lived a life of solitude and penance not far from the miraculous waters of the spring that healed her.

Casilda lived to be 100 years old and died in 1050 A.D.  The Catholic Church later venerated her as a Saint.

The above painting is by Spanish artist Francisco de Zurbaran.  If you look closely, Casilda is carrying roses in her gown.

Welcome!

Welcome to readers of my Echoes of History and Best of Italy Blogs.  To simplify and streamline things a bit, I've amalgamated those blogs with this one.  Since they all dealt with history, women, and a flavour of my Italian background, it made perfect sense to join them into one.  Tons of variety and topics to keep you interested and reading far into the night!  All the posts and pictures have been moved here.  So don't hesitate to hunt through the archives for things that might interest you.

I hope you have great fun here whenever you visit!  And thanks so much for being so kind to follow my writing.  It means a lot to me.

The Great Boston Molasses Disaster 1919

On an unusually warm day on January 15, 1919, the Purity Distilling Company faced disaster. Molasses, a favourite sweetener was being stored there. It was popular because it could be fermented into rum and ethyl alcohol.

The rather large tank was awaiting transfer to the Purity plant situated between Willow Street and what is now named Evereteze Way in Cambridge, Massachusetts.  It suddenly collapsed.

The rumble resounded loudly and shook the ground.  Huge waves of molasses between broke the girders of the adjacent Boston Elevated Railway's Atlantic Avenue structure and lifted a train off the tracks. Buildings were swept off their foundations and crushed. Waist deep molasses covered the street, sweeping and covering people and animals in its wake.

The Boston Globe reported that people and vehicles alike "were picked up by a rush of air and hurled many feet."

21 people and several horses were killed, most crushed and drowned by the molasses. Coughing fits became one of the most common ailments after the initial blast.

Rescuers ran several blocks toward the accident. They worked to keep the curious from getting in the way of the rescuers while others entered into the knee-deep sticky mess to pull out the survivors.  Some nurses from the Red Cross dove into the molasses, while others tended to the wounded, keeping them warm as well as keeping the exhausted workers fed.  Many of these people worked through the night.  The injured were so numerous that doctors and surgeons set up a makeshift hospital in a nearby building.  Rescuers found it difficult to make their way through the syrup to help the victims.  It took four days before they stopped searching for victims; many dead were so glazed over in molasses, they were hard to recognize.  Two found on the fourth day were never identified.

Clean up efforts took over 87,000 man hours to remove the molasses from the cobblestone streets, theaters, businesses, automobiles, and homes.

The site is currently a recreational complex, officially named Langone Park, featuring a Little League ballfield, a playground, and bocce courts.

Here are the names of some of the men and women who died that day.

Patrick Breen 44 Laborer (North End Paving Yard)
William Brogan 61 Teamster
Bridget Clougherty 65 Homemaker
Stephen Clougherty 34 Unemployed
John Callahan 43 Paver (North End Paving Yard)
Maria Distasio 10 Child
William Duffy 58 Laborer (North End Paving Yard)
Peter Francis 64 Blacksmith (North End Paving Yard)
Flamino Gallerani 37 Driver
Pasquale Iantosca 10 Child
James H. Kinneally Unknown Laborer (North End Paving Yard)
Eric Laird 17 Teamster
George Layhe 38 Firefighter (Engine 31)
James Lennon 64 Teamster/Motorman
Ralph Martin 21 Driver
James McMullen 46 Foreman, Bay State Express
Cesar Nicolo 32 Expressman
Thomas Noonan 43 Longshoreman
Peter Shaughnessy 18 Teamster
John M. Seiberlich 69 Blacksmith (North End Paving Yard)
Michael Sinnott 76 Messenger

A small plaque at the entrance to Puopolo Park, placed by the Bostonian Society, commemorates the disaster.

La Ricciolina - An Italian Folk Song

This is a fun folk song about an Italian wife.  It was performed at a music festival in Samarkand (Central Asia) by an Italian group called I Viulan.

La Ricciolina is a humorous folk tune from the Emilia area of Italy and it recounts the pitfalls of purchasing a wife at the "local wife market"."

 

More Art by Kristin Forbes-Mullane

In addition to themes about women, I found a vast array of other explorations in art on her website and blog including men, women, poison bottles, and sacred hearts.  To get a sense of her creativity and flair, visit her etsy shop at:   http://www.etsy.com/shop/kfmgallery?page=1.  In addition to framed art, she also makes art for pendants so they can be worn and showed off.  

 

I've very much enjoyed discovering and meeting Kristin and I hope you have too and will take the time to view and enjoy her work.  

 

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Wordless Wednesday - Sistine Chapel

Sistine ChapelVatican

Wordless Wednesday - Cook in front of a stove

Cook in front of a Stove

by

Pieter Aertsen (1508-1575)

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Interview with Kristin Forbes-Mullane

Today, I'm thrilled to have artist Kristin Forbes-Mullane join us on History and Women.  I discovered her work accidentally on the internet and was immediately drawn by its beauty and uniqueness. 

Welcome Kristin! Thank you for joining us here today.  Please describe your work for us.

With each acrylic painting, I strive to make the viewer of my work feel something… My thought has always been that if you look at a piece of artwork and don’t feel anything, its not art (or maybe I should say, its not art that I like). I’ve found that the most profound and moving feelings are more on the dark, sinister side. The portrait of the cute little girl is, just that… cute. But, if that little girl is cute and also looks like she bites, the work is that much more intriguing. The work becomes something more than just a painting to look at. The viewer can create their own story or draw their own conclusions as to why the person (or thing) looks the way it does. What happened? I bet it was something bad..

What mediums do you work with?

I mainly work with acrylic paint.. a lot of my work starts its life as a sketch, so I spend a lot of time drawing as well. One of these days I’ll probably try out some oil, but for now, you just cant beat the easy cleanup of acrylic.

Which artist from history do you most admire?

I’m a big fan of El Greco and Caravaggio… it was all so dramatic and kind of scary.

Do you have any formal training or are you self-taught?

I’m a self taught artist.. (or, I think its called “The School of Where Its At”)

How did you discover your talent?

That’s a tough question.. I don’t know that I ever really discovered it, there was no “ah ha!” moment, its just something that I’ve always done.

Where do your ideas come from? Describe your creative process?

Ideas pop into my head constantly.. they come from pretty much everything around me. I really love religious artwork and crazy looking people, especially old family photos. Nobody ever smiled in the those pictures.. I’ve always wondered why. My creative process is usually to let all those ideas have cage match in my head until one comes out the winner.

What challenges do you face in your work?

I think just getting yourself out there… there’s a million artists in this world.

How has the Internet affected you as an artist?

If I was stranded on a desert island and I could only bring one thing, I might bring internet access… oh, or beer.

What is your greatest ambition?

To successfully develop time space travel.

What advice would you give a new aspiring artist who is starting and wondering where to start?

I’d say paint as much as you can, get lots of practice and work at creating a strong body of work. Also, I think getting your work online is important these days… if you want people to notice you, you have to get creative.

  

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The Art of Kristin Forbes-Mullane

A visit to Kristin Forbes-Mullane's website and blog is truly an enjoyable experience.  Recently, she has completed some portraits of Mary and child.  But if you enter the archives section in her website, you'll see she has completed some beautiful portraits of women in various poses and displaying great emotion. 

  

And don't forget to enter the contest announced below to win your choice of any of her art pieces!

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Contest Details - The Art of Kristin Forbes-Mullane

 

All week, History and Women is featuring the hauntingly beautiful art of Kristin Forbes-Mullane, a talented artist in our world today.

Enter to win a copy of her art of your choice from her etsy shop at http://www.kfmgallery.etsy.com/.

All you have to do is leave a comment at the bottom of this blog post and answering the following questions which can be found on her website and blog. 

1.  From who did Kristin inherit her talent and passion for art?   

2.  In which city will Kristin be hosting her Solo Show in April 2010?

3.  What did Kristin recently find in Heber Arizona recently? 

4.  What do you like most about Kristin's art?   

To win, you must leave a comment and answer each of these questions.  Please ensure you provide us with your name and email so that we can notify the winner.

I hope you visit each day as we introduce Kristin and her hauntingly beautiful art!

 

Ettore Roesler Franz

Ettore Roesler Franz (May 11, 1845 - March 26, 1907) was an Italian painter and photographer of German origin.

Roesler Franz was born in Rome and was passionate about the city of his birth. 

He was a true modern master of the difficult techniques used in watercolours.

Ettore Roesler Franz used his art to bear witness to the tremendous changes that took place in Rome once it had been proclaimed capital of Italy in 1870 and following the city’s last, disastrous flood at the end of that same year.

Via e Chiesa di San Bonota dietro la Fortrezza degli Anguillara 1888

After Rome flooded, a rapid modernization swept through the city.  Fearing the loss of its historical integrity, Ettore painted and photograph the parts of the city being redeveloped and those most at risk of being demolished and disappearing forever, in particular, along the banks of the River Tiber – where existing buildings were destroyed in order to make way for the high retaining walls of the embankment built as a defence against future floods – as well as Piazza Venezia, the Ghetto and the historic districts of Borgo, Trastevere and Monti all of which lost important architectural, artistic and other urban features that represented Rome’s past.

His most famous work is a series of 120 aquerelles named "Roma sparita" (disappeared Rome), where he portrayed with great realism parts of the city which he supposed were going to be destroyed in the effort to modernize it. These paintings are now at the Museo di Roma in Palazzo Braschi.

La Via Fiumara nel Ghetto inondata

In 1902 he was portrayed by Giacomo Balla in a famous painting exhibited at the Biennale of Venezia. He died in Rome in 1907.