The Saint by Antonio Fogazzaro

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Poor Jeanne Dessalle was more unhappy than ever. During her short visit
at Subiaco she had met her former lover. An exclamation from Giovanni!
Then it was Don Clemente, after all? No, it was the man who came to the
villa with the Padre the night of Jeanne's arrival, the under-gardener
from Santa Scolastica--he who was no longer at the monastery--of whom
all the valley of the Anio was talking, and who was known, even at Rome,
as the "Saint of Jenne." Noemi begged them to forgive her for not having
told them at the time. Woe to her if Jeanne had discovered her breach of
confidence, after her many admonitions. Besides it would have done no
good. Giovanni took his wife's hand almost stealthily, and raised it to
his lips, Maria understood, and smiled. Then both assailed Noemi with
questions.

Yes, Jeanne had recognised him the night of their arrival, and now
Maria and Giovanni could understand the reason of the faintness she had
experienced. Their meeting had taken place the following day at Sacro
Speco. Concerning the meeting Noemi knew only this much, that Jeanne's
hopes had been dashed to the ground, that he was clad as a monk, and
had spoken as one who has given himself to God for ever; that she had
promised him to dedicate her life to good works, and that no direct
correspondence between them was any longer possible.

Jeanne now wrote from Villa Diedo, the home in the Veneto where she had
gone with her brother from Rome, two days after leaving Subiaco. She
wrote in a moment of most bitter despondency. Her brother, surprised at
her devoting so much time to the poor, was irritated by this innovation
in her mode of thought and of life. She might give money, if she
pleased, and as much as she pleased, but to bring a string of beggars
into the house, to visit them in their hovels, that he would not allow!
It was foolish, it was a bore, it was ridiculous, it was eccentric, it
was clerical. There were other difficulties, She would have liked to
join the women's charitable associations of the town, but they drew
back, shrinking into themselves like sensitive plants at the touch of
this woman, who had been the subject of so much gossip on account of
Maironi, and who, though she did sometimes go to church of a Sunday, did
not fulfil her Easter duties. And finally her habits, which were those
of a woman of leisure, were reforming their ranks after the first
defeat, and delaying her progress on the new road, ever more
successfully as the road became more difficult. She felt she must
succumb if no word of counsel reached her, no help from him. She could
not see him, she dared not write, for certainly he had intended to
forbid that also; and she would rather die than do anything to displease
him, if she could avoid it. She had read an article in the _Corriere_ on
the "Saint of Jenne," in which it was stated that the Saint was young,
and had been a day-labourer in the kitchen-garden at Santa Scolastica.
Therefore it must be he! She entreated Noemi to go to Jenne, and beg a
word of comfort for her, for the sake of charity! Noemi was determined
to go. Would Giovanni accompany her? In the humble tone in which she
asked this favour, Giovanni heard a tacit petition for forgiveness and
peace; he held out his hand:

"With all my heart," he said.

Maria offered to join them, and they decided to go the following
morning, starting on foot, at five o' clock, in order to avoid the
blazing sun on the slope of Jenne. Then they spoke of the Saint.

The whole valley was talking about him. The article Jeanne had seen said
that a great number of people were flocking to Jenne to see and hear the
Saint; that miraculous cures were being announced as his work; that the
Benedictines told with admiration of the life of penance and of prayer
he had led for three years at Santa Scolastica, working in the garden.
At Subiaco still more wonderful reports were circulating. A certain
forester called Torquato, a most worthy man and a relative of the
Selvas' servant, told her he had been to Jenne with a stranger, a sort
of poet, who had come all the way from Rome to talk with the Saint. On
the way there and back, they had met perhaps fifty people--real ladies
and gentlemen they were, too; and on the hillside of Jenne they had met
a procession of women singing the litanies. At Jenne he had heard the
whole story. One night the parish priest had dreamed that a globe of
fire rested on the great cross planted on the summit of the hill; this
blazing globe had set the cross itself on fire, and it was burning and
glowing without being consumed, while all the mountains and the valley
were illumined by it. The next day there had appeared before him a young
man, in the habit of a Benedictine lay-brother, who was the bearer of a
letter to him. This letter was from the Abbot of Santa Scolastica, and
said: "I send you an angel whose fire burns clear, through whom Jenne
will become renowned throughout the universe!" It was also written that
this young man was, by birth, a mighty prince, of royal blood, but
that in order to serve God, in all humility he had laboured as
kitchen-gardener at Santa Scolastica for three years. The parish priest
had gone half crazy from the emotion caused by the fire seen in his
dream, and the fire that had come to him, and had been seized by a
raging fever. The next day was a _festa_--a holy-day--and of the two
other priests who live at Jenne, one was ill, and the other had gone to
Filettino two days before to see his sick mother. In the village the
priest's servant had told all about this Benedictine, all about the
dream, had told, in fact, the whole story. The villagers flocked to
church, to hear the Benedictine say Mass; for they had seen him enter,
and would not believe he was not going to officiate. They demanded that
he should preach, at least, although he assured them he had no right to
preach in church; and, keeping him in their midst, they pressed him so
hard, that he finally signed to them with his hand to leave the church,
promising those nearest him to speak outside. And he had spoken outside!
What he had really said the servant could not tell Maria, nor could
Maria herself gather much from Torquatof; but by dint of much
questioning, and with the aid of her own imagination, she succeeded in
reconstructing his discourse somewhat as follows:

Are you fit to enter the church? Are you at peace with your neighbour?
Do you know what the Lord Jesus means, when He says to you that no man
may approach the altar if he be not at peace with his neighbour? Do
you know that you may not enter the church if you have sinned against
charity or justice, and have not made amends, or have not repented when
it was impossible to make amends? Do you know that you may not enter the
church, not only if you bear ill-will against your neighbour, but
also if you have injured him in any manner whatsoever, either in your
dealings with him, or in his honour, if you have slandered him, or
harbour in your heart wicked desires against his body or his soul? Do
you know that all the Masses, all the Benedictions, all the Rosaries,
and all the Litanies, count for less than nothing, if you do not first
purify your hearts, according to the word of Jesus? Are you unclean with
hatred, or with any impurity whatsoever? Then go! Jesus will not have
you in the church! "_Ma che_!" said Torquato, "The discourse was
nothing, it was the face, the voice, the eyes!"

The worthy man spoke as if he himself had been present, telling how the
crowd had thrown themselves upon their knees and wept, and how certain
women, who were enemies, had embraced each other. In fact there had been
only women and old men present, for the men of Jenne are all shepherds
at Nettuno and Anzio, and do not return to the hills before the end of
June. The Saint seeing them so penitent, had said: "Enter and kneel. God
is within you. Worship Him in silence." Then the crowd had entered, a
perfect multitude! They had fallen upon their knees, all of them, and
for a quarter of an hour--according to Torquato--you could have heard
a fly winging in the great church. The Saint had then intoned the "Our
Father" in a loud voice, and, the crowd lifting their voices and joining
in, he had gone through it, stopping at each verse. Torquato told how
the parish priest, having heard all this, kissed his guest, and as
he kissed him he was cured of his fever! Then the people came to the
canonica--the priest's house--bringing the sick, that the Saint might
bless and heal them. He would not do this, but all those who succeeded
in touching his habit, even by stealth were healed. And many had come to
him for advice. Then there had been a great miracle concerning a mule,
which turned ugly on the steep path down the slope, and which was about
to throw its rider upon the rocks. The Saint, who was present, being on
his way up from the Infernillo with water, had stretched out his hand,
and the mule had become quiet on the instant!

Maria told the story as she had heard it from the forester.

"I wonder if it is all as true as the part about the prince of royal
blood!" said Noemi.

"To-morrow we shall know," Giovanni answered, rising.

II

They started at about six o'clock; the sky was cloudy; and a cool breeze
was blowing, fragrant with the odours of the woods and the hills, alive
with the tiny, gay voices of birds, purifying to the soul itself. At the
Baths of Nero they took the mule-path which leads into the narrow, green
ravine, winding upwards on the right of the Anio. High up on the left
they saw Santa Scolastica, the Sacro Speco, and the House of the Blessed
Lawrence, all white below the rocks, which are the colour of iron. They
left the bridge of the Scalilla on the right--only a log, thrown across
to the wild left bank of the turbulent little torrent. On the way they
talked much of the strange Saint. Giovanni wondered that Don Clemente
had never in the past told him anything of the character of this
under-gardener. He approved of the little sermon in the open air. He had
once mentioned the subject of it to Don Clemente, pointing out to Mm
that those words of Christ are neither properly observed, nor taught;
even the best of Christians apply them only to the use of the
sacraments. If the faithful realised that they must not enter the
church, bringing an impure heart, the Christian peoples would indeed
become examples to the world, and no one would then dare affirm that
morality is much the same everywhere, and has nothing to do with
religious beliefs.

He also highly approved of thus reciting "Our Father" in church, but he
did not approve of the miracles. He suspected weakness in a man who did
not know how to break resolutely with popular superstition when it was
flattering to himself.

What could Noemi say about this man's character? What opinion had she
formed of him from Jeanne's confidences? Noemi was embarrassed. All that
Jeanne had told her about him convinced her that Maironi had behaved
very badly to her friend, that he had never really loved her and at the
same time awoke in Noemi an intellectual curiosity, which, though she
struggled against it, was always returning--a curiosity to know if that
man would have loved her better than Jeanne. She replied that Maironi's
character was an enigma to her. And his intellect? His culture? She
could say nothing concerning either his intellect or his culture, but
if such a woman as Jeanne Dessalle had loved him so devotedly, he must
certainly be both intelligent and cultured. And his former religious
views? To this last question Noemi's answer was that from some facts
Jeanne had mentioned, from the decisive influence which the religious
traditions of his family had had upon him at a crisis in their love, she
judged him to have been a Catholic of the old school, not a Catholic
like--Here Noemi broke off blushing and smiling. Giovanni smiled also,
but Maria looked slightly annoyed. The subject was at once dropped.

They proceeded for some time in silence, exchanging only now and then a
word of greeting with some mountaineer on his way down to the mills at
Subiaco, mounted on his mule, laden with grain.

They stopped to rest in the field of San Giovanni, which divides the
territory of Subiaco from that of Jenne. The Blessed Lawrence, now left
far behind, all white under the rocks which are the colour of iron,
looked down upon them from on high. Rays of sunshine, breaking through
the clouds, gilded the hills, and the little party, remembering the arid
hillside of Jenne, had just started forward again, when they met the
doctor from Jenne, who recognised Maria, having seen her some time
before at the house of his colleague at Subiaco. He bowed, and smiling,
reined in his mule.

"You are on the way to Jenne? Are you going to see the Saint? You will
find many people there to-day." Many people! This was disappointing to
Noemi, who feared she would not be able to speak quietly with Maironi.
The Selvas were curious to know all about it. Why so many people?
Because they want the Saint at Filettino, they want him at Vallepietra,
they want him at Trevi, and the women of Jenne intend to keep him for
themselves.

"And all to give me a rest!" the doctor added. "And to give the chemist
a rest also, for now the Benedictine is the doctor, and his tunic is the
chemist!"

He told them that to-day people were coming from Filettino, from
Vallepietra, and from Trevi, to treat with Jenne concerning some means
of dividing the Saint among all those towns, "Who knows but what they
may come to blows!" At any rate the _carabinieri_ were already stationed
at Jenne.

"You call him 'the Saint' also?" said Maria.

"Oh, yes!" the doctor answered, laughing. "They all call him that, all
save those who call him 'the Devil,' for at Jenne some do so already!"

How astonishing! This was news to them! Who called him "the Devil," and
why?

"Ah!" and the doctor put on the knowing look of one who is well
informed, but does not intend to tell all he knows. "Well," said he,
"there are two priests from Rome staying at Jenne for a holiday, two
priests, two priests--! They are very clever! They have not told me what
they think of the Saint, but, at any rate, the parish priest's ardour
has cooled considerably, and it has been the same with others. Those
priests are workers. You do not see it, but they are at work all the
time. They are insects--I say it without intending to speak ill of them,
indeed in this case their action may even be praiseworthy! They are
insects, which, when they wish to kill a plant, do not touch the fruit,
the flowers, the leaves, or the roots I may even say, for there a
poisonous draught might reach them, or a spade reveal their presence,
and they do not wish to be reached, do not wish to be seen. They bore
into the marrow. These two have already reached the marrow. Perhaps it
may not be for a month, perhaps not for two months; but the plant is
doomed to wither, and wither it must!"

"But what do you yourself think about it?" Maria inquired. "Does this
man really pretend to be a saint? Is he pleased that these superstitious
people quarrel about him in this way? Is it true he has healed the
sick?"

The doctor continued to laugh while she was speaking.

"I laugh," he answered. "It is a ease of contagious, mystic psychopathy!
But you must excuse me now, for I am due at Subiaco at eight o'clock. I
hope you will enjoy yourselves. May your visit divert you,"

With this malicious thrust, he shook the reins on the mule's neck, and
rode on, fearing he might be obliged to give proofs of what he asserted.
Noemi, who was the most agitated of the party at the prospect of seeing
the man Jeanne loved, began to feel weary. They halted a second time
at the foot of the slope of Jenne, on the gravel across which shallow
rivulets streak, flowing down to the river from the grotto of the
Infernillo. Someone was approaching them from behind. What a surprise!
What a pleasure! Don Clemente! The Padre's fine face lit up also. He
loved and respected Giovanni for a true Christian, and sometimes had to
struggle against the temptation to judge his superior, the Abbot, who
had forbidden him to visit Giovanni, to struggle against the temptation
to appeal to Someone greater than abbots, greater than pontiffs, in his
own soul. This Someone was saying to him now: "The meeting is My gift!"
and so the monk joined his friends joyfully. Maria presented him to
Noemi, and he blushed again on recognising the woman he had mistaken for
Benedetto's temptress.

"And your friend?" he inquired, trembling lest he be informed of her
presence there. Upon being reassured a look of relief flashed across
his face. Noemi smiled at this, and he, noticing her smile, was greatly
embarrassed. The others smiled also, but no one spoke. Giovanni was the
first to break the silence. Surely Don Clemente was, like themselves, on
his way to Jenne? Perhaps he was going there for the same purpose, to
see the same person, the gardener, eh? the gardener of that famous
evening? Ah! Don Clemente, Don Clemente! Yes, Don Clemente was also
going to Jenne, was going to see Benedetto. And as to the gardener,
there had been no deception, only a desire to bring the two souls
together in the most natural way, without violence, without
recommendations and previous explanations.

They started up the hill together, talking of Benedetto.

Noemi, forgetting her weariness, hung upon the Padre's lips, and the
Padre, precisely on this account, said so little and was so circumspect
that she trembled with impatience, and presently felt tired again.
She took Maria's arm, and allowed Don Clemente to go on with her
brother-in-law. Then Don Clemente confided to Giovanni that his mission
at Jenne was of a painful nature. It seemed some one at Jenne had
written to Rome, speaking in hostile language of Benedetto, accusing
him of preaching what was not perfectly orthodox, of pretending to be
a miracle worker, and of wearing a religious habit to which he had no
right: this greatly enhancing the gravity of the scandal. Certainly they
had written to the Abbot from Rome, for he had ordered Don Clemente to
go to Jenne, and demand of Benedetto the restitution of the habit. Don
Clemente had tried in vain to dissuade the old abbot, who had waved the
matter aside with a jest. "Read the Gospel--the Passion according to
St. Mark. He who follows Christ after all others have forsaken Him must
part with his cloak. It is a mark of holiness." Therefore, as some
one must carry this message to Jenne, Don Clemente preferred to do it
himself. He had, moreover, received a strange letter from the parish
priest of Jenne. This priest, a good man, but timid, had written that
Benedetto was, to his mind, a most pious Christian, but that he talked
too much of religion to the people, and that his discourses sometimes
had a flavour of quietism and of rationalism, that there were those who
accused him of employing a demoniacal power for the furtherance of his
not over-orthodox views, that this accusation was certainly false, but
that, nevertheless, prudence forbade the writer to keep Benedetto with
him any longer. Perhaps the wisest course for him would be to retire to
some town where he was not known, and to live quietly there.

Their conversation was here interrupted by a call from Maria.
Noemi, overpowered by the heat of the burning sun, and seized with
palpitations, must rest again. The sisters had seated themselves in the
shadow of a rock.

Don Clemente took leave of them. They would meet later at Jenne. Maria
was greatly distressed about her sister, and secretly reproached herself
for having allowed her to come on foot. She and Giovanni stood silently
watching Noemi, who, though very pale, smiled at them bravely. Upon that
wilderness of mountains, devoid of beauty, upon those sun-baked rocks,
the silence hung with a mortal weight! It was a relief to all three to
hear the voices of some wayfarers who were coming up. There were six or
seven in the party, and they had two mules with them. As they toiled
upwards they sang the Rosary. When the procession had drawn nearer, a
girl and a man could be seen riding the mules; both were emaciated
and almost cadaverous in appearance. The girl opened her eyes wide on
perceiving the Selvas, but the man kept his closed. The others looked at
them with a rapt expression, continuing their prayers. The monotonous
chant and the beat of the mule's hoofs grew fainter, and at last died
away among the heights above. Soon after this sad procession had passed,
a party of young men from the city appeared, laughing merrily, and
talking of Quirites who were on the lookout rather for Sabine women
than for saints. On perceiving Giovanni and his companions they became
silent, but when they had passed them they again began to laugh and
jest; they jested about Giovanni, who, they said, might be the Saint
between two temptresses.

A great cloud with silver edges, the first of a whole fleet, sailing
towards the west, hid the sun. Noemi, greatly refreshed, proposed that
they should take advantage of the shade, and go forward. A few steps
below the cross of which, according to Torquato, the parish priest had
dreamed, they met a _bourgeons_ dressed in black, who was coming down,
riding a mule.

"I beg your pardon," he said, addressing the ladles and reining in his
mule, "but is either of you Her Excellency the Duchess di Civitella?"

On receiving an answer he apologised, saying that a friend of his--a,
senator--had recommended this duchess to his care; that he himself did
not know her, but that she was coming to Jenne to see the Saint.

"Indeed, perhaps you, gentlemen, have come for the same purpose!" he
said smiling. "Everyone comes for that now. Once upon a time they came
to see a pope! Certainly! There was a pope at Jenne once--Alexander IV,
You will see the inscription: '_Colores aestivos vitandi caussa.'_ Now
they come for a saint. He ought to be more than a pope, but I fear he
is less. Did you see the two sick people? did you see the students from
Rome? Ah! you will see other astonishing things, other astonishing
things! But, after all, I am afraid he is less than a pope! A pleasant
journey to you!"

Beyond the cross, they ascended with the open sky before them, between
the green ridges, which slope downward, forming the lonely hollow of
Jenne, which is crowned on the opposite side with that wretched herd of
poor dwellings, dominated by the carnpanile. Giovanni had been to Jenne
before, but it did not seem to him in any way changed because a saint
now lived there, and miracles were performed there. It impressed his
wife, who now saw it for the first time, as a spot which might inspire
religious contemplation, by that sense of altitude, not suggested by
distant views, by that deep sky behind the village, by its solitude, its
silence. Noemi was thinking with profound pity of poor far-away Jeanne.

III

The innkeeper at Jenne was a worthy, gravely courteous man, in
spectacles, who, having been to America, could be said to know the
world, but who seemed to have escaped its corrupting influences. To the
new-comers he spoke of Benedetto favourably, on the whole, but with a
certain diplomatic reserve. He did not call him "the Saint," he called
him "Fra Benedetto." The Selvas learned from him that Benedetto occupied
a cabin belonging to the innkeeper himself, in payment of which he
tilled a small piece of ground. Those who wished to see him must
wait until eleven o'clock. Now he was mowing the grass. His life was
regulated in the following manner: At dawn he went to hear the parish
priest say Mass, then he worked until eleven. He ate only bread, herbs,
and fruit and drank only water. In the afternoon he worked in the fields
of widows and orphans. In the evening, seated before his door, he talked
of religion.

At half-past eleven, the Selvas and Noemi accompanied by the innkeeper's
wife--a fine, big woman, very neat, very simple, and gay in a quiet
way--went to visit Sant' Andrea, the church of Jenne. Coming out into
the open square from the maze of narrow lanes, where stands the inn,
they found a large assemblage of women, strangers, so the hostess said.
She could distinguish them by their corselets, their fustian skirts,
their foot-gear. Those were from Trevi, those from Filettino, and those
others from Vallepietra. The hostess went into a bakehouse on the
right of the church, where several women of Jenne were having their
_stiacciati_ [1] baked, each having brought her own.

[Footnote 1: _Stiacciati_ a sort of very large, round cake, common
in all parts of Italy. It is made of cornflour, of wheatflour, or of
chestnut-flour, and in some places of vegetables. It is mixed with, oil,
and baked in a flat pan.--_Translators Note_.]

"Strangers, who wish to talk with our Saint," she said to Maria. She did
not, like her husband, say "Fra Benedetto," she called him "the Saint."

"But not to his face," she declared, crimsoning, "because it vexes him."
"No, he does not really get angry, because he is a saint, but he begs
very earnestly not to be called thus."

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