The Saint by Antonio Fogazzaro

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"I beg your pardon," said the stranger, politely, "are you Signor
Maironi?"

"I no longer bear that name," Benedetto replied, quietly, "but I once
bore it."

"I am sorry to trouble you. I should be greatly obliged if you would
kindly come with me. I will tell you where presently."

The sick man heard the stranger's words, and groaned:

"No, holy man, for the love of God, do not go away!"

Benedetto replied:

"Please tell me your name, and why you wish me to go with you."

The other seemed embarrassed.

"Well," said he, "I am a _delegato_, an officer of the police." The
invalid exclaimed _"Gesummaria!"_ while the terrified hunchback dropped
her rosary and stared at Benedetto, who had not been able to check a
movement of surprise.

The police officer hastened to add, smiling, that his visit was not of a
terrible nature, that he was not come to arrest any one, that he was not
giving an order, but simply an invitation.

The invitations of the police being of a special nature, Benedetto did
not think of refusing this one. He asked to be allowed to remain alone
with the sick man and the woman for five minutes, whispered something
to the man, who appeared to consent with tears in his voice, and then
taking the little hunchback aside, he told her the invalid was now
willing to see a priest, but that he could not tell when he himself
would be free to bring one to him. The poor little creature was
trembling from head to foot, partly with fear, partly with joy, and she
could only repeat over and over again: "Blessed Jesus! Holy Virgin!"
Benedetto sought to reassure her, promised to return as soon as
possible, and, having said good-bye, went down-stairs with the
_delegato_.

In the street the crowd had increased in size, and the people were
pressing noisily and threateningly round the cyclist, who had remained
near the carriage, and in whom they had recognised a policeman in
plain clothes. He would not tell them why he had come first to gather
information, and had then returned with the other individual. They tried
to force the cabman to drive away, and even talked of unharnessing the
horse. When the _delegato_ appeared with Benedetto they surrounded him,
crying: "Away with the ruffian!--Away with him!--Down with him!--Leave
that man alone!--Look out for the thieves, _per Dio!_ You take God's
servants, and let the thieves run free!--Away with you!--Down with you!"
Benedetto came forward, motioned to them with both hands to be quiet,
and begged them over and over again to go away peacefully, for no one
wished to hurt him; he had not been arrested, but was going with this
gentleman of his own free-will. At the same moment thunder pealed in the
sky, a heavy shower began to beat on the pavement. The crowd swayed,
and rapidly dispersed. The _delegato_ gave an order to the cyclist, and
entered the carriage with Benedetto.

They started in the direction of the Tiber, in the midst of thunder,
lightning, and heavy rain. Very quietly Benedetto asked the _delegato_
what was wanted of him at the police station. He replied that it was not
a question of the station. The person who wished to speak with Signor
Maironi was a far more important functionary than the chief of police.

"Perhaps I should not have told you that," he added, "but at any rate he
himself will tell you so."

Then he informed Benedetto that he had sought for him in vain at Villa
Mayda, and said how vexed he would have been not to have found him soon.
Benedetto ventured to inquire if he knew the reason of this call. In
reality the delegate did not know, but he feigned a diplomatic silence,
and drew back into his corner as if to avoid the gusts of rain. A street
lamp showed Benedetto the yellow river, the great black barges of
Ripagrande; another showed him the temple of Vesta. Beyond that he could
no longer see where they were going; it seemed as if they were passing
through an unknown necropolis, a maze of funereal streets, where
sepulchral lamps were burning. At last the carriage rattled into a
courtyard, and drew up at the foot of a broad and dark stairway, flanked
with columns. Benedetto went up with the _delegato_ as far as the second
landing, on to which two doors opened. The one on the left was closed,
the one on the right looked down on the stairs through a shining
bull's-eye window. The _delegato_ pushed it open, and he and Benedetto
entered a stuffy den, evidently a sort of anteroom. An usher, who was
dozing there, rose wearily. The _delegato_ left Benedetto, and went into
the next room. Then the usher bent down as if to pick up something, and
said to Benedetto, offering him a letter:

"See! you have dropped this paper!"

Benedetto was astonished and the usher insisted:

"You have come from the Testaccio, have you not? Well, you will find
that this belongs to you. Make haste."

Make haste? Benedetto stared at the man, who had resumed his seat. He
stared back and confirmed his advice with a short nod which meant: You
suspect there is a mystery here, and indeed there is!

Benedetto examined the envelope. It bore the following address:

"For the Under-Gardener at Villa Mayda." And below, in larger letters:

"IMMEDIATE."

It was in a woman's hand, but Benedetto did not recognize it. He opened
the letter and read:

"This is to inform you that the Director-General of Police will do his
best to induce you to leave Rome of your own free-will. Refuse. You can
read what follows at your leisure."

Benedetto hurriedly replaced the letter, but as no one appeared, and
everything around him seemed to be asleep, he took it out again and read
on. It ran thus:

"Since your visits to the Vatican there has been much dissatisfaction
with the Holy Father. Among other things, he has withdrawn the Selva
affair from the Congregation of the Index. You can have no idea of the
intrigues which are being set on foot against you, of the calumnies
concerning you which are communicated even to your friends, and all
with the object of compelling you to leave Rome and preventing you from
seeing the Pontiff again. This conspiracy has obtained the support of
the Government by means of a promise, in return, not to ratify the
proposed nomination to the Archiepiscopal See of Turin of a person very
obnoxious to the Quirinal. Do not yield. Do not abandon the Holy Father
and your mission. The threat concerning the affair at Jenne is not
serious; it would not be possible to proceed against you, and they know
it. The person who may not write to you discovered all this, and has
asked me to write this note; she will make sure that it reaches you.

"NOEMI D'ARXEL."

Involuntarily Benedetto looked towards the usher, as if he had suspected
him of knowing the contents of this letter which had passed through his
hands. But the usher was dozing again, and was only roused by the return
of the _delegato_, who ordered him to conduct Benedetto to the Signor
Commendatore. [Footnote: Commendatore: a title borne by those upon whom
certain Italian orders have been conferred.--_Translator's Note_.]

Benedetto was introduced into a spacious apartment, all dark save in
one corner, where a gentleman about fifty years of age sat reading the
_Tribuna_ by the light of an electric lamp, which shone upon his bald
head, upon the newspaper, and upon the table, littered with documents.
Above him, in the dim light, a large portrait of the King was dimly
visible.

He did not at once raise his head--heavy with conscious power--from
the newspaper. He raised it when he felt inclined to do so, and looked
carelessly at this atom of the people who stood before him.

"Be seated," he said in a frigid tone.

Benedetto obeyed.

"You are Signor Maironi?"

"Yes, sir."

"I am sorry to have troubled you, but it was necessary."

There was harshness and sarcasm underlying the Signor Commendatore's
courteous words.

"By the way," he said, "why are you not called by your real name?"

Benedetto did not answer this unexpected question at once.

"Well, well," his interlocutor continued. "It is not of much importance
at present. We are not in a court of justice. I hold that if one is
going to do good, it is best to do it in one's own name. But then I do
not go to church, and my views differ from yours. However, as I said
before, it is of no importance. Do you know who I am? Did the _delegato_
tell you?"

"No, sir."

"Very well, then; I am a functionary of the State, who takes some
interest in the public security, and who has a certain amount of power--
yes, a certain amount of power. Now I am going to prove to you that I
take an interest in you also. I regret to say, you are in a critical
position, my dear Signor Maironi, or Signor Benedetto, at your choice.
An accusation of a really serious nature has been lodged against you
with the judicial authorities, and I see that not only your reputation
for saintliness is in danger, but also your personal liberty, and hence
your preaching, at least for several years."

A flame spread over Benedetto's face, and his eyes flashed.

"Leave the saintliness and the reputation alone," said he.

The august functionary of the State continued, unmoved:

"I have wounded you. But you must know that your reputation for
saintliness is threatened by other dangers. Other things are said about
you which have nothing to do with the penal code,--you may be quite
easy on that score--but which are not in perfect harmony with Catholic
morals. I assure you these things are believed by many. I am simply
stating the facts; it is really no business of mine. After all,
saintliness is never a reality; it is always more or less an
idealisation of the image by the mirror. If there is saintliness
anywhere, it is in the mirror, in the people who believe in the saints.
I myself do not believe in them. But let us come to serious matters. I
was obliged to say some unpleasant things to you, I even wounded you;
now I will apply the remedy. I am not a believer, but, nevertheless, I
appreciate the religious principle as an element of public order, and
this is also the view taken by my superiors and the view taken by
the Government itself. Therefore the Government cannot approve of
proceedings of such a scandalous nature against one whom the people
regard as a saint, proceedings which might possibly stir up disorder.
But that is not all! We know that you stand in high favour with the
Pope, who sees you often. Now the 'powers that be' have no desire to
cause the Pope any personal annoyance. They have the good intention to
spare him this unpleasantness if possible. And it will be possible on
one condition. Here in Rome you have active enemies--not on our side,
not on the Liberal side, you know!--who are scheming to ruin you
completely, to rob you of your reputation and everything. If you wish to
know my opinion exactly, I will tell you that I think, from a Catholic
point of view, they are right. I modify somewhat, for my use and for
theirs, the famous motto of the Jesuits, _'Aut sint ut sunt,'_ and I
make it, _'Aut non erunt.'_ They tell me you are a Liberal Catholic.
That simply means that you are not a Catholic. But let us proceed. Your
enemies have denounced you to the Public Prosecutor, and it would be
our duty to send the _carabinieri_ to arrest Signer Pietro Maironi,
condemned, in his absence, by the Assize Court at Brescia, for having
failed to serve on a jury when summoned. But that is a slight matter.
You imagine you healed some people at Jenne, and you are accused not
only of practising medicine unlawfully, but even of having poisoned a
patient--nothing less! Now we have the means of saving you. We will
manage to hush up this accusation. But if you remain in Rome, your
enemies here will make so much noise that it will be impossible for us
to feign deafness. You must go away to some distant place, and go at
once! It would be better to go out of Italy. Try France, where there is
a famine of saintliness. Or, at least--do you not own a house on Lake
Lugano? There are some sisters in it now, are there not? Sisters and
saints go extremely well together. Join the sisters, and let this storm
blow over."

The Commendatore spoke very slowly, very seriously, hiding his irony
under an indifference which was even more insolent.

Benedetto rose, resolute and severe.

"I was with a sick man," he said, "who needed my illegal medicine. It
would have been better to leave me at my post. You and the Government
are my worst enemies if you offer me the means to fly from justice.
Perform your duty by sending the _carabinieri_ to arrest me for not
serving on the jury. I will prove that it was impossible for me to
have received the summons. Let the Public Prosecutor do his duty by
proceeding against me on the strength of the affair at Jenne; you will
always find me at Villa Mayda. Tell your superiors this: tell them that
I shall not stir from Rome, that I fear only one Judge, and let them
fear Him also in their false hearts, for He will be more terrible
against falseness of heart than against honest violence!"

The Commendatore, who had not been prepared for this blow, grew livid
with impotent rage, and was about to burst into a torrent of angry words
when the dull rumble of a carriage was heard entering the courtyard. He
looked away from Benedetto and listened. Benedetto grasped the back of
his chair that he might not be tempted to turn his back on him. The
other man roused himself; the angry light, which for a moment had died
down, blazed forth again in his eyes. He threw aside the newspaper which
he had held in his hand all the time, and bringing his fist down heavily
upon the table, he exclaimed:

"What are you doing? Do not dare to move!"

The two men looked at each other fixedly for a few seconds in silence,
one with a look of majestic authority, the other stern and forbidding.
The official continued violently:

"Shall I have you arrested here?"

Benedetto was still looking at him in silence; at length he answered:

"I am waiting. Do as you please."

An usher, who had knocked several times in vain, now appeared on
the threshold and bowed to the Commendatore without speaking. The
Commendatore answered at once: "I am coming," and, rising hastily,
left the room with a strange expression on his face, where anger was
disappearing, and obsequiousness was dawning.

The usher returned immediately, and told Benedetto to wait.

A quarter of an hour passed. Benedetto, shivering, his heart in a
tumult, his head on fire, excited and exhausted by fever, had once
more sunk upon his chair, while the most disconnected thoughts whirled
through his brain. May God forgive this man! Forgive them all! What joy
if the Pontiff should forbid the condemnation of Selva! How does the
person who may not write to me know? And now, why are they keeping me
waiting? What more can they want with me? Oh! what if with this fever I
should no longer be master of my thoughts or of my words? How terrible!
My God, my God, do not permit that! But what horrible baseness there is
in the world, what shameful, hidden fornication between these people
of the Church and of the State, who hate each other, who despise each
other! Why, why dost Thou permit it, Lord? Still no one comes! This
fever! My God, my God! let me remain master of my thoughts, of my words.
God of Truth! Thy servant is in the hands of his conspiring enemies:
give him strength to glorify Thee, even in the burning fire! Those two
persons are thinking of me now. I must not think of them! They are not
sleeping, but thinking of me! I am not ungrateful, not ungrateful; but
I must not think of them! I will think of thee, venerable Saint of the
Vatican, who sleepest and knowest not! Ah! those narrow stairs which I
shall never more ascend! That sweet face, full of the Holy Spirit, I
shall never see again! Still--God be praised!--I did not behold it in
vain! What am I doing here? Why do I not go away? But could I go away?
Oh! this fever!

He rose, and tried to read the hour on the round face of a clock which
showed white in the darkness. It was five minutes to eleven. Outside,
the thunder-storm still raged. The power of the maddened elements, the
power of time which was pushing the tiny hands there on the face of the
clock, seemed friendly to Benedetto, in their indifferent predominance
over the human power, in whose stronghold he was, and which held him at
its mercy. But the fever, the ever-increasing fever! He was burning with
thirst. If only he could open a window, hold out his mouth to the waters
of heaven!

An electric bell sounded, and at last he hears steps in the anteroom.
Here is the Commendatore, in his hat and overcoat. He closes the door
behind him, gathers up the papers lying on the table, and says to
Benedetto, with a disdainful air:

"Mark this. We give you three days in which to leave Rome. Do you
understand?" Without even waiting for an answer, he pressed a bell. The
usher entered, and he commanded:

"Show him out!"

* * * * *

On reaching the great stairway with his guide, Benedetto, believing
himself free to descend, begged for a little water.

"Water?" the usher replied. "I cannot go for it now. His Excellency is
waiting. Please step this way."

To Benedetto's' great astonishment, he invited him to enter the lift.

"Both their Excellencies," said the usher, correcting himself, and, as
the lift ascended to the second floor, he looked at Benedetto as at one
about to receive a great honour which he does not appear to deserve.
When they reached the second floor, the two traversed an immense hall
dimly lighted. From this hall Benedetto was shown into an apartment so
brilliantly illumined as to cause him discomfort and suffering, and he
was nearly blinded.

Two men, seated in the two corners of a large sofa, were waiting for
him, each in a different attitude, the younger with his hands in his
pockets, his legs crossed, and his head leaning against the back of the
couch; the elder with his body bent forward, and continuously stroking
his grey beard, first with one hand and then with the other. The
first individual had a sarcastic expression, the second a searching,
melancholy, kindly one. The latter, who evidently possessed the greater
authority of the two, invited Benedetto to be seated in an easy-chair,
opposite to him.

"You must not think, dear Signor Maironi," said he in a voice both
harmonious and deep, and which seemed, in a way, to correspond with the
melancholy look in his eyes, "you must not think that we are here as two
powerful arms of the State. We are here, at the present moment, as
two individuals of a very rare species, two statesmen who know their
business well, and who despise it still more. We are two great
idealists, who know how to lie in a most ideal manner to those who
deserve nothing better, and who also know how to adore Truth; two
democrats, but nevertheless two adorers of that recondite Truth which
has never been touched by the dirty hands of old Demos."

Having spoken thus, the man of the flowing grey beard once more began to
stroke it, first with one hand, then with the other, and, puckering his
eyes, which sparkled with a shrewd smile, for he was pleased with his
own words, watched for surprise on Benedetto's face.

"We are, moreover, believers also," he continued.

The other personage, without raising his head from the back of the
couch, lifted his open hands, and said, almost solemnly:

"Steady!" "Let the word pass, my dear friend," the first speaker said,
without looking towards him. "We are both believers, but in different
ways. I believe in God with all my might, and my might is great, and
I shall have Him with me always, You believe in God. with all your
weaknesses, and they are few, and you will not have Him with you until
you are upon your death-bed."

Another shrewd and self-complacent smile, another pause. The friend
shook his head, raising his eyebrows as if he had heard a jest deserving
only of commiseration, but not of an answer.

"I, for my part," the deep and harmonious voice went on, "am also a
Christian. Not a Catholic, but a Christian. Indeed, because I am a
Christian am an anti-Catholic. My heart is Christian, and my brain is
Protestant. It is with joy that I see in Catholicism signs, not of
decrepitude, but of putrefaction. Charity is being dissolved in the most
sincerely Catholic hearts into a dark mud, full of the worms of hatred.
I see Catholicism cracking in many places, and I see the ancient
idolatry upon which it has raised itself bursting forth through the
cracks. What few youthful, healthy, and vital energies appear within it,
all tend to separate from it. I know that you are a radical Catholic,
that you are the friend of a man who is really sound and strong, and
who calls himself a Catholic, but who is pronounced a heretic by true
Catholics; and a heretic he certainly is. I have been told you are a
pupil of this noble heretic, who labours for reforms and who, at the
same time, tries to influence the Pontiff. Now, I myself am looking
for a great reformer, but he must be an antipope; not antipope in the
narrow, historical sense, but an antipope in the Lutheran sense of the
word. Curiosity pricks us to know in what way you believe it possible to
rejuvenate this poor old Papacy, of which we laymen are ahead not only
in the conquest of civilisation, but also in the science of God, even in
the science of Christ, this Papacy which follows us at a great distance,
panting and stopping by the way every now and then, hanging back like an
animal which smells the shambles, and then, when it is pulled very hard,
jumping forward, only to stop again until the rope is twitched once
more. Explain your idea of Catholic reform to us. Let us hear it."

Benedetto remained silent.

"Speak," continued the unknown deity who appeared to reign in that
place. "My friend is not Herod, nor am I Pilate. We might perhaps both
become apostles of your idea."

His friend once more extended his wide-open hands, without raising his
head from the sofa-back, and said again, with a stronger accent on the
first syllable:

"Steady!"

Benedetto was silent.

"It appears to me, _caro mio_," said the friend, turning his head alone
towards his colleague, "that this promises to be the first time your
eloquence has failed you. Here the model of the _nihil respondit_ is
taken very seriously."

Benedetto shuddered, horrified at this allusion to the Divine Master,
and the fear of seeming a presumptuous imitator. At that moment he
ceased to feel his illness--the fever, the thirst, the heaviness of his
head.

"Oh, no!" he exclaimed, "now I will answer! You say you are not Pilate.
But the truth is that I am the least of Christ's servants, because
I have been unfaithful to Him, and you repeat to me Pilate's very
words:--_Quid est veritas?_ Now you are not disposed to receive truth,
as Pilate was not disposed to receive it."

"Oh!" his interlocutor exclaimed. "And why not?"

His friend laughed noisily.

"Because," Benedetto replied, "he who performs deeds of darkness is
surrounded by darkness, and the light cannot reach him. You perform
deeds of darkness. It is not difficult to understand; you are the
Minister of the Interior--I know you by reputation. You were not born
to perform deeds of darkness; there has been much light in some of your
deeds, there is much light in your soul, much light of truth and of
kindness; but at this moment you are performing a deed of darkness. I am
here to-night because you have entered into a shameful bargain. You say
you adore Truth, and you ask a brother if he possess Truth, while you
hide the fact that you have already sold him!"

During Benedetto's speech, the Minister's friend--himself an Excellency,
but of lower rank--had raised his head from the couch at last. He seemed
to be only now beginning to consider the man and what he was saying
worthy of attention. He also seemed amused at the lesson his chief had
received. He admired his friend's great genius, but scoffed in his heart
at his passing fits of idealism. The chief was at first amazed; then he
started to his feet, shouting like a madman:

"You are a liar! You are insolent! You do not deserve my kindness! I
have not sold you, you are not worth anything; I will give you away! Go!
Go away!"

He looked for the button of the electric bell, and not finding it in the
blindness of his rage, he shrieked:

"Usher! Usher!"

The Under-Secretary of State, who was used to these scenes--they were
nothing worse than "fires of straw," for the Minister had a heart of
gold--at first laughed in his sleeve. When, however, he heard his friend
call the usher in that tone, knowing well the indiscretion of ushers and
how much dangerous gossip might arise from this incident, reflecting
ridicule also on himself, he resolutely restrained the Minister, almost
commanding him to calm himself. Then he said sharply to Benedetto:

"Go, at once!" The Minister began to walk up and down the room in
silence, his head bowed, with short, hurried steps, struggling to
conquer the child in him, which would have liked to stamp its feet.

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