Faith and Fire: The Lava Medallion of Bishop Francesco de Marchi
In 1867, while Europe was inventing telephones, laying railways, and discovering germs, southern Italy was busy turning molten rock into saints. Progress comes in many forms.
This small relic — a medallion cast from Vesuvius lava — bears the face of Francesco de Marchi, Bishop of Krk. A man long gone, resurrected two centuries after his death. A portrait forged by fire, belief hardened by geology.
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| Antique 1867 lava medallion of Bishop Francesco de Marchi, cast from Vesuvius stone. |
A Bishop Remembered
Francesco de Marchi was born in 1610, when theology outranked science and bishops ran islands like small kingdoms. Appointed Bishop of Krk — then part of the Venetian Republic — he spent his life balancing faith, politics, and diplomacy across the Adriatic.
He wasn’t a saint, didn’t perform miracles, and never met a martyr’s end. He simply did the job, which in the 17th century was no small feat. He governed, wrote letters, and kept peace between Rome and Venice until his death in 1667.
Then, two hundred years later, his name reappeared — cast in lava.
Faith and the Fire Trade
After Vesuvius erupted in 1794, Naples found a new use for disaster. The lava, once a warning from God, became raw material for the souvenir trade.
Workshops carved cameos, medals, and busts from the cooled stone — dark, smooth, unbreakable.
Tourists loved it. Especially the English. Owning a lava medallion was proof you’d seen the famous volcano and survived both the climb and the locals’ pricing. Each piece carried a whiff of danger and devotion — a mix Victorians found irresistible.
In a way, it was the 19th-century version of owning a piece of the Berlin Wall. Only this one came blessed.
The Politics of Piety
The date tells you everything: 1867, two hundred years after de Marchi’s death.
Italy was newly united, the Pope was losing territory, and the Church was fighting to stay relevant in a modern state.
So when a Neapolitan workshop made a medallion of a long-dead bishop, it wasn’t just nostalgia. It was quiet defiance. A bishop in lava said, we survive the fire. Empires rise and fall, but faith, like rock, doesn’t melt easily.
Small tokens like these were both devotional and political — reminders that belief outlasts governments, and tourists pay cash.
The Art of Endurance
These medallions weren’t carved by hand but pressed from powdered lava, mixed with binders, then hardened by heat. It was early industrial religion — faith by mould.
The “1867” marking likely commemorated de Marchi’s bicentenary. Perhaps the Diocese of Krk or a Neapolitan craftsman commissioned it. Maybe it was sold to passing pilgrims or well-dressed travellers heading north with their luggage full of relics.
Whatever the case, it worked. The faithful saw devotion; collectors saw fashion. By the late 1800s, these small black portraits had spread across Europe — quiet symbols of endurance, faith, and good marketing.
Ashes and Memory
There’s irony in it: a man of faith remembered not in marble or gold, but in the cooled remains of destruction. A bishop made immortal by the same volcano that buried cities.
Touch one of these pieces and you feel both sides of Italy — the sacred and the seismic.
Most now live in drawers, next to old coins and saint cards, their Latin worn soft. But they still hold their story — the Church, the mountain, and the 19th century’s strange belief that even ashes could be holy.
Lava doesn’t rust. It doesn’t rot.
It just cools, and waits.
So does belief.
If You’d Like to Own a Piece of That Story
You can find this very medallion — the Bishop of Krk reborn in stone — in our Etsy shop.
No pilgrimage required. Just curiosity, and maybe a touch of faith in old things.
Further Reading
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Lava Medallions – Amgueddfa Cymru – Souvenirs carved from Vesuvius stone.
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Francesco de Marchi – Wikipedia – Biography of the Bishop of Krk.
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Diocese of Krk – Wikipedia – History of the Adriatic diocese.
