The Saint by Antonio Fogazzaro

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"That is, of course, according to _your_ idea of beauty, signora!" one
of the Friends remarked sourly, while the other added in a low tone,
intended to enhance its sting, a poisonous _"Naturellement!"_

The insipid young woman, her colour deepening with embarrassment and
vexation, replied that he was pale and thin, and the two Friends
exchanged glances and smiles of tacit contempt. But where had she seen
him? Two other insipid young women were curious to know this.

"Why, on both occasions in my sister-in-law's garden," she answered.

"He is always in the garden!" the Marchesa exclaimed. "Does the angel
grow in a flower-bed or in a pot?"

The insipid young woman laughed, and the Friends shot furious glances at
the Marchesa.

Tea, which had been included in Guarnacci's invitation, was then brought
in.

"A delightful conversation, is it not?" Signora Albacina, wife of the
Honourable Albacina, Undersecretary of the Home Office, said softly to
the lady in black, who had not once spoken. She now smiled sadly without
answering.

Tea was served by the Professor and his sister, and put an end to
conversation for a few moments. It soon burst forth again, however, the
topic being Benedetto's discourse. There ensued such a confusion of
senseless remarks, of worthless opinions, of would-be wise sayings
devoid of wisdom that the lady in black proposed to Signora Albacina, in
whose company she had come, that they should take their departure. But
at that point the Marchesa Fermi, having discovered a small bell on the
mantel-shelf, began ringing it, to obtain silence. "I should like to
hear about this garden," she said.

The Friends and the middle-aged spinster, engaged in a warm discussion
of Benedetto's Catholic orthodoxy, would not have left off for ten
bells, had not the spinster's curiosity been roused by the word
"garden." It now burst forth unchecked! Garden indeed! The Professor
must tell them all he knew about this Father Hecker, who was an
Italian and a layman. Partly to display her knowledge, partly from
thoughtlessness, she had already bestowed this title upon Benedetto. The
insipid young woman consulted her watch. Her carriage must be at the
door. Little Signorina Guarnacci said there were already four or five
carriages at the door. The insipid young woman was anxious to reach the
Valle in time for the third act of the comedy, and two other ladies, who
had engagements, left at the same time. The Marchesa Fermi remained.

"Make haste, Professor," she said, "for my daughter is expecting me this
evening, with those other ladies whose shoulders are on view!"

"Do make haste, then!" said the middle-aged spinster, contemptuously.
"Afterwards you can speak for the benefit of the poor creatures who do
not show their shoulders!"

A fair-haired, extremely handsome foreigner, in a very low gown, cast a
withering glance at the poor, lean, carefully covered little shoulders
of the contemptuous spinster, who, greatly vexed, grew as red as a
lobster.

"Well, then," the Professor began, "as the Marchesa, and probably the
other ladies who are in such a hurry, already know as much as I do
myself about the Saint of Jenne, before he left Jenne, I will omit
that part of the story. A month ago, then, in October, I did not
even remember having read in the papers, in June or July, about this
Benedetto, who was preaching and performing miracles at Jenne. Well, one
day, coming out of San Marcello, I met a certain Porretti, who used to
write for the _Osservatore_, but does so no longer. This Porretti walked
on with me, and we spoke of the condemnation of Giovanni Selva's works
which is expected from day to day, and which--by the way--has not yet
been pronounced. Porretti told me there was a friend of Selva's in Rome
at present who would be even more talked of than Selva himself. 'Who is
he?' I inquired. 'The Saint of Jenne,' he replied, and proceeded to tell
me the following story. Two priests, well known in Rome as terrible
Pharisees, caused this man to be driven away from Jenne. He retired to
Subiaco, stayed with the Selvas, who were spending the summer there, and
fell seriously ill. Upon his recovery he came to Rome--about the middle
of July. Professor Mayda, another friend of Selva's, engaged him
as under-gardener at the villa which he built two years ago on the
Aventine, below Sant' Anselmo. The new under-gardener, who wished to be
called simply Benedetto, as at Jenne, soon became popular in the whole
Testaccio quarter. He distributes his bread among the poor, comforts the
sick, and, it seems, has really healed one or two by the laying on of
hands and by prayer. He has, in fact, become so popular that Professor
Mayda's daughter-in-law, notwithstanding her faith and piety, would
gladly dismiss him, on account of the annoyance his many visitors cause.
But her father-in-law treats him with the greatest consideration. If he
allows him to rake the paths and water the flowers, it is only because
he respects his saintly ideals, and he limits the hours of work, making
them as short as possible. He wishes to leave him perfectly free to
fulfil his religious mission. Mayda himself often goes into the garden
to talk of religion with his under-gardener. To please him Benedetto has
abandoned the diet he observed at Jenne, where he ate nothing but bread
and herbs, and drank only water; he now eats meat and drinks wine.
To please Benedetto, the Professor distributes these things in large
quantities among the sick of the district. Many people laugh at
Benedetto and insult him, but the populace venerates him as did the
people of Jenne in the beginning. His deeds of charity to the soul are
even greater than his deeds of charity to the body. He has freed certain
families from moral disorders, and for this his life was threatened by a
woman of evil repute; he has persuaded some to go to church who, since
their childhood, have never set foot inside a church. The Benedictines
of Sant' Anselmo are well aware of these things. Then, two or three
times a week, in the evening, he speaks in the Catacombs."

The middle-aged spinister gasped!

"In the Catacombs?"

She leaned, shuddering, towards the speaker, while one of the Friends
murmured: "_Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu_!" and another voice, laden with reverent
surprise, said:

"How terrifying!"

"Well," the young man continued, smiling, "Porretti said 'in the
Catacombs,' but he meant in a secret place, known to few. At present I
myself know its whereabouts."

"Ah!" ejaculated the spinister. "You know? Where is it?"

Guarnacci did not answer, and, perceiving her indiscretion, she added
hastily.

"I beg your pardon! I beg your pardon!"

"We shall find out, we shall find out!" said the Marchesa. "But tell me,
my dear boy, is not this saint of yours, who preaches in secret, a kind
of heresiarch? What do the priests say to him?"

"To-night you might have seen three or four here who went away perfectly
satisfied."

"They must be very unpriestly priests, badly baked priests, counterfeit
priests. But what do the others say? Mark my words, sooner or later, the
others will apply the _torcibudella_, the 'entrail twister,' to him."

With this pleasing prophecy the Marchesa departed, followed by all the
bare shoulders.

The middle-aged spinister and the Friends, glad to be rid of that
contemptible, mundane bevy, assailed the Professor with questions. Must
he really not tell where the modern Catacombs were? How many people met
there? Women also? What were the subjects of his discourses? What did
the monks of Sant' Anselmo say? And was anything known concerning this
man's previous career? The Professor parried the questions as best he
might, and simply repeated to them the words of one of the fathers at
Sant' Anselmo: "If there were a Benedetto for every parish in Rome, Rome
would indeed become the Holy City." But when--all the others having
left--he found himself alone with Signora Albacina and the silent lady,
who were waiting for their carriage, he intimated to the former--to whom
he was bound by ties of friendship--that he would willingly tell more,
but that he was embarrassed by the presence of a stranger, and he begged
to be presented to her. Signora Albacina had forgotten to perform this
ceremony. "Professor Guarnacci," said she, "Signora Dessalle, a dear
friend of mine."

The "Catacombs" meant the very hall theywere in at the present moment.
At first the meetings had been held at the Selvas' apartment, in Via
Arenula. There were several reasons why that place had not seemed quite
suitable. Guarnacci, becoming a disciple, had offered his own house. The
meetings were held there twice a week. Among those who attended them
were the Selvas, Signora Selva's sister, a few priests, the Venetian
lady who had just left, some young men--among these he might mention a
certain Alberti, a favourite with the Master, who this evening had come
and gone with him, and a Jew, whose name was Viterbo, and who was soon
to become a Catholic; of him the Master expected great things. Besides
these a journeyman printer, several artists, and even two members of
Parliament came regularly. The object of these meetings was to acquaint
such as are drawn to Christ, but who shrink from Catholicism, with what
Catholicism really is, the vital and indestructible essence of the
Catholic religion, and to show the purely human character of those
different forms, which are what render it repugnant to many, but which
are changeable, are changing, and will continue to change, through the
elaboration of the inner, divine element, combined with the external
influences, the influences of science and of the public conscience.
Benedetto was very particular about granting admission to the meetings,
for no one was more skilled than he in the delicate task of dealing with
souls, respecting their purity, bringing himself down to the small ones,
soaring with the high ones, and using with timid souls that careful
language which instructs without troubling.

"The Marchesa," continued the Professor, "says he must be an heresiarch,
and the priests who follow him heretics. No, With Benedetto there is no
danger of heresies or schisms. At the very last meeting he demonstrated
that schisms and heresies, besides being blameworthy in themselves, are
fatal to the Church, not only because they deprive her of souls, but
because they deprive her of elements of progress as well; for if the
innovators remained subject to the Church, their errors would perish,
and that element of truth, that element of goodness, which--in a certain
measure--is nearly always united to error would become vital in the body
of the Church."

Signora Albacina observed that all this was very beautiful, and if that
was how matters really stood, certainly the Marchesa's prophecy would
not be fulfilled.

"The prophecy about the _tordbudella_, the 'entraii twister?' Ah no!"
said the Professor, laughing. "Such things are not done now, and I do
not believe they ever were done. It is all calumny! Only the Marchesa
and certain others like her in Rome believe these things. A Roman
priest, a _priest_, you understand, dared to warn Benedetto, to advise
him to be cautious. But Benedetto let him see he must not speak to him
of caution again. Therefore it will not be the _torcibudella_--no--but
persecution it will be! Yes, indeed!--Those two Roman priests who were
at Jenne have not been asleep. I did not wish to say so before, because
the Marchesa is not the person to tell such things to, but there is much
trouble brewing. Benedetto's every step has been watched; Professor
Mayda's daughter-in-law has been made use of, through the confessional,
to obtain information concerning his language, and they have found out
about the meetings. The presence of Selva is enough to give them the
character these people abhor, and as they are powerless against a
layman, it seems they are trying to obtain the help of the civil law
against Benedetto; they are appealing to the police and to the judges.
You are surprised? But it is so. As yet nothing has been decided,
nothing has been done, but they are plotting. We were informed of this
by a foreign ecclesiastic, who chattered foolishly on a former occasion;
but this time he has chattered to good purpose. Materials for a penal
action are being prepared and invented."

The silent lady shuddered, and opened her lips at last.

"How can that be possible?" she said.

"My dear lady," said the Professor, "you little know of what some of
these _intransigenti_, these non-concessionists in priestly robes, are
capable. The secular non-concessionists are lambs compared to them. They
are going to make use of an unfortunate accident which took place at
Jenne. Now, however, we are greatly encouraged by a fresh incident, of
which it would not be wise to speak to many, without discriminating, but
which is most important."

The Professor paused a moment, enjoying the lively curiosity he had
awakened, and which, though they did not speak, shone in the eager eyes
of the two ladies.

"The other day," he continued, "Cardinal----'s secretary, a young
German priest, went to Sant' Anselmo to confer with the monks. In
consequence of this visit Benedetto was summoned to Sant' Anselmo, where
the Benedictines hold him in great affection and esteem. He was asked
if he did not intend to pay homage to His Holiness, and beg for an
audience. He replied that he had come to Rome with this desire in his
heart; that he had waited for a sign from Divine Providence, and that
now the sign had come. Then he was informed that His Holiness would
certainly receive him most willingly, and he asked for an audience. This
was disclosed to Giovanni Selva by a German Benedictine."

"And when is he to go?" Signora Albacina asked.

"The day after to-morrow in the evening."

The Professor added that the Vatican was maintaining the strictest
secrecy in regard to this matter, that Benedetto had been forbidden to
mention it to any one, and that nothing would have transpired had it not
been for the German monk's indiscretion. Benedetto's friends hoped much
good would come of this visit. Signora Albacina asked what Benedetto
intended to say to the Pontiff. The Professor smiled. Benedetto had not
taken any one into his confidence, and no one had ventured to question
him. The Professor fancied he would speak in favour of Selva, would beg
that his books might not be placed on the Index.

"That would be very little," said Signora Albacina in a low tone.

Jeanne uttered a low murmur of assent.

"Very little indeed!" she exclaimed, almost as if the Professor were to
blame. He appeared much surprised at this sudden outburst, after such a
long silence. He apologised, saying he had not intended to assert that
Benedetto would not speak to the Pope of other matters. He had simply
meant to say that he believed he would certainly mention that subject.
Signora Albacina could not understand this desire of the Pope's to see
Benedetto. How did his friends explain it? What did Selva think about
it? Ah! no one could explain it, neither Selva nor any one else.

"I can explain it!" said Jeanne eagerly, pleased to be able to
understand what puzzled all others. "Was not the Pope once Bishop of
Brescia?"

Guarnacci's smile was half admiring, half ironical, as he answered. Ah!
the Signora was well informed concerning Benedetto's past. The Signora
knew certain things to be facts, things which were whispered in Rome,
but which nevertheless, were doubted by many. Of one fact, however, she
was ignorant. The Pope had never been Bishop of Brescia. He had occupied
two episcopal chairs in the south. Jeanne did not answer; she was vexed
with herself, and mortified at having so nearly betrayed her secret.
Signora Albacina wished to know what opinion Benedetto had of the Pope.

"Oh, in the Pope he sees and venerates the office alone," said the
Professor. "At least, I believe so. I have never heard him speak of the
man, but I have heard him speak of the office. He made it the subject
of a magnificent discourse one evening, comparing Catholicism and
Protestantism, and exposing his ideal of the government of the Church:
a principality and just liberty. As to the new Pope, little is known of
him as yet. He is said to be saintly, intelligent, sickly, and weak."

While accompanying the ladies down the dark stairs to their carriage,
the Professor remarked:

"What is greatly feared is that Benedetto will not live. Mayda at least
fears this."

Signora Albacina, who was descending the stairs leaning on the
Professor's arm, exclaimed, without pausing:

"Oh! poor fellow! What is the matter with him?" "_Ma_! Who can say?"
the Professor replied. "Some incurable disease, it would seem, the
consequence of typhoid fever, which he had at Subiaco, but above all, of
the life of hardship he led, a life of penance and fasting."

And they continued their long descent in silence.

It was only on reaching the foot of the stairs that they perceived their
companion had remained behind. The Professor hastily retraced his
steps, and found Jeanne standing on the second landing, clinging to
the banisters. At first she neither spoke nor moved; but presently she
murmured:

"I cannot see!"

Guarnacci, not knowing, did not notice that moment of silence, or the
low and uncertain tone of her voice. He offered her his arm, and led her
down, apologising for the darkness, and explaining that the proprietor's
avarice was to blame for it. Jeanne entered Signora Albacina's carriage,
which was to take her to the Grand Hotel. On the way Signora Albacina
spoke with regret of what Guarnacci had just told her. Jeanne did not
open her lips. Her silence troubled her friend.

"Were you not pleased with the discourse?" she said. She was in complete
ignorance of Jeanne's religious opinions.

"Yes," her companion answered. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing! I thought you seemed dissatisfied. Then you are not sorry
you came?"

Signora Albacina was greatly astonished when Jeanne seized her hand and
replied: "I am so grateful to you!"

The voice was low and quiet, the pressure of the hand almost violent.

"Indeed! indeed!" thought Signora Albacina. "This is one of the future
'Ladies of the Holy Spirit'!"

"For my part," she said aloud, "I am sure I shall keep to my old
religion, the religion of the non-concessionists. They may be Pharisees
or anything else you like, but I fear that if this old religion is
subjected to so much retouching and restoring, it will tumble down, and
nothing will be left standing. Besides, if we followed these Benedettos,
too many things would have to be changed. No, no! However, the man
interests me extremely. Now we must try to see him. We must see him!
Especially as he seems doomed to speedy death. Don't you think so? How
can we manage it? Let us think!"

"I have no wish to see him," Jeanne said hastily.

"Really?" her friend exclaimed. "But how is that? Explain this riddle!"

"It is quite simple. I have no desire to see him."

"Curious!" thought Signora Albacina. The carriage drew up before the
entrance to the Grand Hotel.

In the hall Jeanne met Noemi and her brother-in-law, who were coming
out. "At last!" said Noemi. "Run, make haste, Your brother is furious
with this Jeanne, who stays away so long! We have just left him, because
the doctor has arrived."

The Dessalles had been in Rome a fortnight. Cold, damp weather at the
beginning of October, a projected essay on Bernini, which had succeeded
the projected novel, had persuaded Carlino to satisfy Signora Albacina
sooner than he had intended, by leaving Villa Diedo before winter set in
for the milder climate of Rome. This to the great joy of his sister. Two
or three days after his arrival he had a slight attack of bronchitis. He
declared he was in consumption, shut himself up in his room, with the
intention of remaining there all winter, wished to see the doctor twice
a day, and tyrannised over Jeanne with merciless egotism, even numbering
her moments of freedom. She made herself his slave; she seemed to
delight in this unreasonable extra burden, of sacrifice which overflowed
the measure of her sisterly affection. In her heart she offered it, with
sweet eagerness, to Benedetto. She often saw the Selvas and Noemi;
not at their home, but at the Grand Hotel. The Selvas themselves were
captivated by the fascination of this woman, so superior, so beautiful,
so gentle and sad. All she had heard from Guarnacci concerning Benedetto
she had already heard from Noemi. But she had not been aware of
Professor Mayda's sad opinion. Partly from kindness, but partly also
that her own emotion might not be revealed, Noemi had hidden it from
her,

* * * * *

Carlino received her unkindly. The doctor, who had found his pulse
rather frequent, concluded at once that it was an angry pulse. He jested
a few minutes about the serious nature of the illness, and then took his
departure. Carlino inquired roughly where Jeanne had been, so long,
and she did not hesitate to tell him. She did not, however, mention
Benedetto's real name.

"Were you not ashamed," said he, "to be eavesdropping like that?"

Without giving her time to answer, he began protesting against the new
tendencies he had discovered in her.

"Tomorrow you will be going to confession, and the day after you will be
reciting the rosary!"

Underneath his usually tolerant and courteous language, and the liking
he displayed for not a few priests, lurked a real anti-religious mania.
The idea that his sister might, some day, draw near to the priests, to
faith, to acts of piety, nearly drove him out of his senses.

Jeanne did not answer, but meekly asked if she should read to him, as
she was in the habit of doing in the evening. Carlino declared shortly
that he did not wish to be read to, and, pretending to feel draughts,
kept her for at least a quarter of an hour, inspecting the doors, the
windows, the walls, and the floor itself, with a lighted candle in her
hand. Then he sent her to bed.

But when Jeanne reached her own room she thought neither of sleeping nor
of undressing. She put out the light, and sat down on the bed.

Carriages rumbled in the street, steps sounded, and women's dresses
rustled in the corridor; sitting motionless there in the dark she did
not hear. She had put out the light that she might think, that she might
see only her own thoughts, only that idea which had taken possession
of her while coming down-stairs at Casa Guarnacci leaning on the
Professor's arm, after she had heard those terrible words: "We fear he
will not live!" and had almost lost consciousness. In the carriage with
Signora Albacina, in the room with her brother, even while obliged
to talk with one or the other, to pay attention to so many different
things, this idea, this proposal, which the burning heart was making to
the will, had been continually flashing within her. Now it flashed no
longer. Jeanne contemplated it lying quiet within her. In that figure
sitting motionless on the bed, in the darkness, two souls were
confronting each other in silence. A humble Jeanne, passionate, sure of
being able to sacrifice all to love, was measuring her strength against
a Jeanne unconsciously haughty, and sure of possessing a hard and cold
truth. The rumbling of the carriages was dying out in the street; the
steps and the rustlings were less frequent in the corridor. Suddenly the
two Jeannes seemed to mingle once more and become one, who thought:

"When they announce his death to me, I shall be able to say to myself:
At least, you did that!"

She rose, turned on the light, seated herself at the writing-table,
chose a sheet of paper, and wrote:

"To Piero Maironi, the night of October 29,----

"I believe.

"JEANNE DESSALLE."

When she had written, she gazed a long, long time at the solemn words.

The longer she gazed, the farther the two Jeannes seemed to draw apart.
The unconsciously proud Jeanne overpowered and crushed the other almost
without a struggle. Filled with a mortal bitterness, she tore the sheet,
stained with the word it was impossible to maintain, impossible even
to write honestly. The light once more extinguished, she accused the
Almighty--if, indeed, He existed--of cruelty, and wept in this darkness
of her own making, wept unrestrainedly.

The clock of St. Peter's struck eight. Benedetto left a little group of
people at the corner of Via di Porta Angelica, and turned, alone, into
Bernini's colonnade, his steps directed towards the bronze portal. He
paused to listen to the roar of the fountains, to gaze at the clustered
lights of the four candelabra round the obelisk, and--tremulous, opaque
against the moon's face--the mighty jet of the fountain on the left. In
five minutes, or, perhaps, in fifteen minutes, he would find himself in
the presence of the Pope. His mind was concentrated on this culminating
point, and vibrated there as did the sparkling, ever-rising water at the
apex of the mighty jet. The square was empty. No one would see him enter
the Vatican save that spectral diadem of saints standing rigid over
there on the summit of the opposite colonnade. The saints and the
fountains were saying to him with one voice, that he believed he was
passing through a solemn hour, but that this atom of time, he himself
and the Pontiff, would soon pass away, would be lost for ever in the
kingdom of forgetfulness, while the fountains continued their monotonous
lament, and the saints their silent contemplation. But he, on the
contrary, felt that the word of truth is the word of eternal life, and,
concentrating his thoughts once more within himself, he closed his eyes
and prayed with intense fervour, as for two days he had prayed that the
Spirit might awaken this word in his breast, might bring it to his lips
when he should stand before the Pope.

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