Viva Italia, Don Camillo and the Pope

Charlie Hegarty Notebook
On a dull, gusty day in early spring sometimes the only way to cheer up is to recall a joke. I heard this one from a fiery Italian lady at a funeral some years ago, so apologise if readers know it already. Silvio Berlusconi and his wife are in a helicopter. Some way above the clouds, she observes him throwing a 1,000 lira note out of the window.
“Why did you do that?” she asks.
“I wanted to make one person happy,” replies our hero.
“Then why not throw out 1,000 one lira notes and make 1,000 people happy?” demands his feisty spouse.
Overhearing this dialogue the helicopter pilot adds his own laconic suggestion: “Why not throw yourself out? Then everybody will be happy!” I am further cheered up by belated good news from Italy, emailed to me by a friend, under the headline “Italy stands up to European high court’s injunction to remove crucifix from classroom walls”. I read of the popular rebellion against this absurd and sinister injunction. Apparently mayors, head teachers, parish priests, entrepreneurs, tradesmen and ordinary citizens took the matter into their own hands. In the province of Vicenza, Mayor Milena Cecchetto pooled her personal resources with those of colleagues to install a twoyard high crucifix at the entrance to the town hall. In Assisi (naturally) the mayor proposed exhibiting not only the crucifix but also Nativity scenes. In Busto Arsizio the township lowered the European flag to half-mast. In Florence, councillor Marco Cordone attended a council meeting wearing a white shirt with the words “Hands off the crucifix!” on it and a gigantic crucifix hanging from a chain round his neck. Parish priests handed out crucifixes to schoolchildren at Mass; non-believers joined the protest. A manufacturer installed a crucifix in his company’s backyard, complete with lights so as to be visible in the dark.
These are only some examples among many, and of course mention of mayors and parish priests recalls another homely facet of Italy’s enduring genius: The Little World of Don Camillo. Readers of a certain generation will remember Don Camillo, parish priest of a small village in northern Italy, but for their children’s children I will add a few details: written by Giovanni Guareschi and first published in 1945, this delightful series of stories concerns the perpetual sparring between the priest and his sworn enemy, the Communist mayor, Peppone. Only in Italy, where radical politics and deep devotion existed side by side in the post-war years, could this running joke make sense.
Don Camillo, full of peccadillos (it has to be an Italian word) himself and exasperated by the antics of his opponent, often takes his troubles to the Lord, suspended on a crucifix in his parish church; the Lord is sympathetic, shrewd in his advice and tolerant of human foibles, though he always counsels Don Camillo to remain within the law. When his bishop sends him away for a rest, Peppone threatens to ban the villagers from entering the church until Don Camillo is reinstated. Finding themselves together at the bottom of a ditch after some escapade, the mayor announces: “I am the servant of the people!” His portly opponent replies: “And I am in God’s service!” At Christmas there is a brief truce between them as they agree to put out the crib figures. Then “This is Peppone!” says Don Camillo, staggering in with the ass; “And this is Don Camillo!” retorts the mayor, hoisting up the ox.
Land of Don Camillo and Donatello, Berlusconi and Brunelleschi, Peppone and the popes: Viva Italia!