For me personally there were two “eureka” moments, both of which took place here in Padua. The first was at the astonishing Basilica of Saint Anthony, one of the most impressive churches anywhere in Italy. Ole’ Ant himself was known as a great scholar and preacher, as noted in one oft-painted episode in which, when going to preach at a seaside village but finding the villagers to not be receptive, he chose to preach to the fishes instead, who listened to him attentively. Normal behaviour for a saint, I suppose, although I’m not sure I could get away with it. Anthony went to his eternal rest in 1231, presumably supposing himself to be safe. Thirty years later, his tomb was opened. According to the legend, he had turned to dust, apart from his tongue, which was perfectly preserved. This was taken as a sign of his ability as a preacher, and so the tongue was later put on display in a reliquary in the Basilica, where it is still to be found today. No word on what happened to the bugger who thought to dig him up in the first place. Out of morbid curiousity, I queued up to see the relic, which meant that I was standing in line, watching on in silent horror as the lady in front of me leaned in to kiss the glass containing the severed tongue. “What are you doing?!” I wanted to shout at her, “that's the tongue of a 700 year-dead man, and you're trying to french-kiss it! EW EW EW EW EWWWWWWWWWW”.
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