The Saint by Antonio Fogazzaro

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A tram was approaching. Some of the passengers made signs to the people,
who shouted and rushed towards the next stopping-place. The citizen
forsook his two questioners and also ran towards the spot, where a
crowd was rapidly gathering round the tram. The slow train of curious
spectators moved forward in the wake of the crowd; the two learned
that the tram had brought six citizens of the district, who--_motu
proprio_--had been to see the Chief of Police. The six alighted among
the crowd, which was impatient to hear, to know. They did not seem
happy, and answered the storm of questions by recommending the people to
be calm. They promised to speak presently, to tell all, but not there in
the open street. Many were already protesting, insults trembled on many
lips. He who appeared to be the leader of the six--a tobacconist--had
himself raised on the shoulders of his colleagues, and briefly harangued
the crowd.

"We have brought news," he said. "We can assure you at once that the
Saint is not in prison."

Applause burst forth, and cries of _viva_ and _bravo_.

"But we do not know exactly where he is," the orator continued.

Howls and hisses! The orator was much dismayed, and, after a weak
attempt to speak, bent before the storm, and slid down from his living
rostrum. But another of the six, braver and more daring, climbed up and
retorted with violence. Then the howls and invectives were redoubled,
"They have fooled you!" the people shouted. "Idiots that you are! They
have put him in prison! In prison!" The cry spread; those at a distance
heard it, who had heard nothing else, and those who could hear neither
the cry nor anything else felt the dark, magnetic waves of wrath pierce
their breasts. Many howled "_Abbasso_! Down with him!" without knowing
whose fall they desired. And here are the _carabinieri's_ big hats
again, and the policemen. In vain the six protest, shouting themselves
hoarse; the yells of "Down with him!" and "Death to him!" drown their
voices. A _delegato_ orders the bugler to sound the "disperse." At the
third blast there is a general stampede. The deputation, led by the
tobacconist, flees also; but each member manages to drag after him in
his flight one or other of the less violent citizens, promising further
information, impossible to give in the open street, when they shall have
reached a fitting place. They take refuge in a yard, where building
material is stored, and which is surrounded by a wooden fence. Several
people follow them, filtering, one by one, through the opening in the
fence. Then the tobacconist, conscious that he hides in his breast
things fit to cause the downfall of the world, speaks, in the presence
of the pyramid of Caio Cestio, rising there indifferent, and waiting
for silence, for ruin, for the coming of the wild forests, when the
centuries shall have rolled away. The tobacconist speaks in measured
tones, surrounded by some thirty eager faces. He says the Saint of Jenne
Is certainly not in prison, that they do not know where he is, but that
they do, alas! know other things! Then he relates the other things! If
he had told them to the mob on leaving the tram, they would have torn
him to pieces. At the police-station they laugh at the Saint, and at
those who believe in him. They say he has a mistress, a very wealthy
lady; that he was examined by the Director-General of Police during the
night on some not over-pleasant matters, and that after the interview he
drove away from the ministry with his mistress, who was waiting for him
in a carriage.

"I would not believe this," the tobacconist concluded, "but then--well,
now let him tell Ms story!"

One of the six, a man who kept a tavern at Santa Sabina, immediately
began to relate that his wife had heard a carriage stop near the tavern,
in the middle of the night; she had gone to the window, and had seen a
private carriage, with coachman and footman in tall hats. The footman,
standing at the carriage door, was helping some one to alight. The
person who got out had then walked past the window, going towards
Sant' Anselmo, and she had recognised in him the Saint of Jenne. The
tavern-keeper added that he had not believed she had really recognised
him, for there was no moon, and it had rained until after eleven
o'clock, so the night must have been quite dark; therefore he had not
spoken. But when he had heard this story at the police-station, he had
been convinced. Besides, his wife could tell something more. She had
risen at six. Between seven and eight a cab had passed, going in the
direction of Sant' Anselmo. Shortly afterwards the cab had returned, and
this time his wife had seen the Saint of Jenne inside it. She was ready
to swear to this.

At this point several of those present slipped out of the enclosure,
and hastened to whisper the news in the district. Thus it happened that
while the tobacconist, the tavern-keeper, and their friends were still
in the enclosure, people began to gather on the road to Santa Sabina,
and a large group started in the direction of the tavern, two policemen
following.

They entered the courtyard. The hostess was gossiping with a client,
under the pergola. They questioned her, and she related the story she
had told her husband. They cross-examined her, wishing to know this and
that, with many details. The woman ended by saying she did not remember
anything more. She would go and fetch something to drink, something to
refresh their throats and her memory. _Che_! Nonsense! They had not come
to drink, and they told her so, rudely. Two railway men, sitting at
a table under the neighbouring pergola, were annoyed by this
cross-examination. One of them called the hostess, and said to her, in a
loud voice:

"What is it they want to know? I myself saw the man they are after. He
left this morning at eight o'clock, with a girl, by the Pisa line."

The crowd turned to him, questioning him now, and he swore, angrily,
that he was telling the truth. Their Saint had started at eight o'clock,
in a second-class carriage, with a handsome fair girl, who was very well
known! Then the people slowly slunk away. When they were all gone, a
policeman in plain clothes approached the railway man, and, in his turn,
asked him if he were quite sure of what he had said.

"I?" the man replied. "Sure? Curse them! I know nothing about it, but I
have quieted them, anyway; and they may go to the devil for all I care,
the silly fools! Now they will run as far as Civitavecchia at least, and
may the sea swallow them and their Saint too!"

"But then, where has he gone?" the hostess exclaimed.

"Go and look for him in the cellar," the man answered. "The flask is
empty, and we are still thirsty."

II

"If you go on like this," Carlino exclaimed, hearing Jeanne order her
maid to bring her hat, gloves, and fur, "if you leave me alone all day
long, I swear to you we will return to Villa Diedo. There, at least, you
will not know where to go." "I have arranged to send Chieco to you," she
said. "To-day at two he is to play for the Queen, and then he will come
to you. Good-bye."

And she went out without giving her brother time to reply. Her
_coupe_ was waiting for her. She gave the footman the address of the
Under-Secretary of the Interior, and entered the carriage.

It was Saturday. For several days Jeanne had not slept and had eaten
little. On Tuesday evening she had learned from Signora Albacina of the
plot against Piero, and how her husband, the Under-Secretary of State,
had been invited by the Minister to join him at the Ministry of the
Interior, where an interview was to take place with this man so greatly
feared and hated at the court of the Sovereign Pontiff, by that
non-concessionist faction which wished to rule at the Vatican. She
hastened to Noemi, got her to write the letter, and then telephoned to
a young secretary, her friend and admirer, begging him to come to the
Grand Hotel. She charged him to find some one to deliver the letter, for
it was probably too late to send it to Villa Mayda. She knew also, for
Noemi had told her so, that Piero was feverish. She determined to
send her carriage to wait for him at the door of the Ministry of the
Interior, with the footman who had known Maironi at Villa Diedo. It was
imprudent, but what did it matter? Nothing mattered save that dear life.
The announcement of the death of Marchesa Nene had reached her that very
evening by the last post. She wished Piero to have it immediately, that
he might at once pray for the poor dead woman. It was strange, but
nevertheless true, that she could merge herself in him, forget herself,
her own incredulity, could feel that which he with his faith must feel
and desire. That same night the footman gave her an account of his
errand. He described Maironi as a ghost, a corpse. She was in
despair. She knew of the conflict between Professor Mayda and his
daughter-in-law, knew the Professor was often called away from Rome; she
considered him a great surgeon, but not a great doctor; she believed
that daring these absences the young lady would take no care of the sick
man, would show him no attentions. And she also knew about the three
days the Director-General had allowed him. Oh! it was not possible to
leave Piero at Villa Mayda! He must be removed! A hiding-place must be
found, where neither the police nor the _carabinieri_ would be able to
unearth him; where he would be well nursed, have every attention, and be
in the hands of a skilful physician.

She did not think of consulting the Selvas. Neither did she communicate
to Noemi her intention of sending the carriage to the Ministry of the
Interior. It did occur to her to propose that they take Piero to their
house, but the idea did not please her; the terms upon which Piero and
Giovanni Selva stood were too well known for his house to be a safe
hiding-place. Within this prudent consideration lurked a secret jealousy
of Noemi, a jealousy of a special nature, neither violent nor burning,
for Noemi did not love Piero with a love like hers, but perhaps--for
this very reason--even more painful, because she understood that Piero
might accept Noemi's mystic sentiment; because she herself was incapable
of such a sentiment, and because she had no just cause of complaint
against her friend, no reason to reproach her, to give way to this
feeling.

Another possible hiding-place occurred to her, the house of an elderly
senator with whom she was acquainted, and who had been an intimate
friend of her father's. He was very religious, and full of affectionate
admiration for Maironi. She held fast to this idea. But if she intended
appealing to the Senator, asking of him no less a favour than to take
into his house a sick man threatened with arrest, she must at least
offer some explanation of her zeal. She did not figure among Piero's
disciples, and the Senator was in complete ignorance of the past. But he
knew Noemi, for he was the old gentleman with the white hair and the red
face who had been present at the meeting in Via della Vite, and Noemi
and he often met in the "Catacombs." Jeanne wrote to him at once,
stating that she did so in the name of her friend Noemi, who did not
dare to come forward. She described the state of Maironi's health, and
the circumstances which, for this reason, rendered it advisable to
remove him from Villa Mayda; she did not, however, allude to the danger
of arrest. She explained her friend's request to him, and added that the
invalid's condition rendered the matter most urgent. Should the Senator
consent, she begged him to give the bearer of her note his card, with a
word or two of invitation for Maironi. She ended by asking him to
grant her an interview at the Senate sometime during the day, and by
requesting him, in the meantime, not to mention the matter to any one.
Then she wrote to Noemi, informing her of what she had done in her name,
and charging her to persuade her brother-in-law--in case the Senator
sent his card--to take a carriage and carry the invitation to Villa
Mayda at once. He must persuade Maironi to accept the offer, and the
Professor to allow him to go, laying before them the political reasons
for taking this step. When she had written these two letters she had an
attack of prostration, with symptoms of such a serious nature that the
maid was alarmed. She did not, however, call Carlino, for Jeanne found
strength to forbid this absolutely, but she sent for the doctor without
telling her mistress she had done so. The doctor himself was alarmed.
During his visits to Carlino he had noticed that she was highly strung,
but he had never before seen her in such a condition. She was livid,
perfectly stiff, and unable to speak. The attack lasted until six
o'clock in the morning, the first sign of improvement being when Jeanne
inquired what time it was. The maid, accustomed to these attacks
whispered to the doctor: "It is passing," and then said aloud:

"Six o'clock, Signora."

The words seemed to have a miraculous effect. Jeanne, whom they had
placed on the bed without undressing her, sat up, rather dazed it is
true, but quite mistress of her limbs and her voice. She inquired for
Carlino immediately and anxiously. Carlino was asleep; he had not heard
anything, and knew nothing of the attack. She breathed more freely, and
said to the doctor, with a smile:

"Now I shall drive you away."

She was not satisfied until the doctor had departed. Then the maid
prepared to undress her, whereupon Jeanne first called her a stupid, and
then apologised almost tearfully.

"Oh!" said the girl. "You wish to send off those letters first! Yes,
yes, do send them off, those horrid letters which did you so much harm!"

Jeanne gave her a kiss. The girl adored her, and she herself was fond of
her, treating her sometimes like a dear, silly little sister.

She sealed the two letters, sent the maid to call the footman, and gave
him his instructions. He was to take a cab and drive to senator----'s
house, 40 Via della Polveriera, present the letter addressed to the
Senator, and wait for an answer. If they told him there was no answer he
was to return to the Grand Hotel and report; but if the Senator gave him
a note, he was to take it to Casa Selva, in Via Arenula, with the other
letter. An hour later the servant returned, and reported that he had
executed the orders. Two hours later a note from the Senator announced
to Jeanne that Benedetto was already at his house. Later on in the
forenoon Noemi came. Jeanne was sleeping at last. Noemi waited for her
to awake, and then told her that her brother-in-law had gone to Villa
Mayda without delay. He had not found the Professor, who had left for
Naples the night before at half-past twelve. Maironi had accepted the
Senator's invitation at once. Knowing her temperament, Giovanni had
judged it wiser not to let young Signora Mayda know what was going on.
He had found Maironi very weak, not feverish, however, so he felt sure
the drive from the Aventine to Via della Polveriera had not harmed him.
Besides, that kind gardener, his eyes full of tears, had wrapped him up
warmly in a heavy blanket. Perhaps Jeanne was mistaken, but it seemed to
her that although Noemi displayed much interest in speaking of Piero,
much consideration for Jeanne's feelings, she spoke to her in a tone
differing from her former tone; as a friend who has not changed her
language, but whose heart has become estranged. Had she perhaps wished
Piero to go to Casa Selva? Probably.

Ever since that Wednesday morning she had been constantly rushing about.
At Palazza Madama they smiled at a certain much respected colleague with
white hair and a red face, who received daily visits in the _sala dei
telegrammi_ from a lady, both handsome and fashionable. From the Senate
Jeanne would rush to the Grand Hotel to give Carlino his medicine; from
the Grand Hotel she would hasten to Via Arenula to give or receive news,
or to Via Tre Pile to see the Senator's doctor, who was attending Piero.
Errands in the daytime, and tears at night! Tears of anguish for him who
was being wasted by a hidden incurable disease, and again consumed by
fever after four-and-twenty hours of perfect freedom from it. Other
tears also, other bitter tears for the accusations which had been spread
among Piero's friends and disciples, and which not all of them had
rejected. Noemi told her these things. The accusations concerning the
presumed love affairs of Piero at Jenne were not credited, but on the
other hand there were many who believed he had secret relations with a
married woman in Rome, with whose name, however, no one was acquainted.
It was not believed that these relations were of the guilty nature
implied by the slanderers. The most faithful--and they were few in
number, did not even credit the existence of an ideal bond. Once when
Noemi was relating to Jeanne certain defections, certain acts of
coldness, she suddenly burst into tears. Jeanne shuddered and frowned;
but presently she saw in her friend's eyes a look so full of despair, of
supplication, that, passing from angry jealousy to an impulse of unheard
of affection, she opened her arms to her, and clasped her to her heart.
This had happened on the Friday evening the last of the three days by
the end of which Maironi was to leave Rome. Towards noon on Saturday
Jeanne received a note from Signora Albacina. The wife of the
Under-Secretary of State was expecting Jeanne at her own home at two
o'clock. It was in consequence of this invitation that Jeanne drove away
shortly before two, regardless of Carlino's protests.

As soon as the carriage had started Jeanne raised her veil and took the
note from her muff, bending her lovely pale face over it, gazing at it,
but not reading it or studying the sense, clear and simple enough, of
the words it contained. She was wondering what Signora Albacina could
have to tell her; imagining all sorts of impossible things. Had they
decided to leave Maironi alone? Or had the police discovered his
dwelling-place and were they about to arrest him?

"It will surely be the worst!" Jeanne said to herself. "_Ah, Dio!_"

And, forgetting herself for a moment, she raised her muff to her face,
and pressed it to her forehead. Ah, perhaps not! Perhaps not! Raising
her head quickly she looked out to see if any one had noticed her. The
carriage was moving rapidly, silently, on its rubber tires. She returned
to her conjectures, losing herself in them to such an extent that she
did not notice that the carnage had stopped until the footman opened the
door.

Signora Albacina met her on the stairs, ready to go out. Jeanne must
come with her at once. At once? And where were they to go? Yes, at once,
at once, and in Jeanne's carriage, because Signora Albacina could not
have her own at the present moment. She herself gave the address to
the coachman, an address with which Jeanne was not familiar. She would
explain on the way. The carriage started off once more.

Ah! Signora Albacina had forgotten her visiting-cards! She stopped the
carriage, but, looking at her watch, saw they would lose too much time.
Drive on! Jeanne was trembling with impatience. Well? Well? Where
were they going? _Ecco!_ They were going to see Cardinal----! Jeanne
shuddered. To see Cardinal----? This Cardinal had the reputation of
being one of the fiercest non-concessionists. Signora Albacina really
must see him, and a quarter of an hour later she might not find him. Ah,
what a complicated affair! She could not explain everything in a few
words. The object of the visit was, of course, still that for which
Donna Rosetta Albacina had laboured for three days, her ostensible
reason for so doing being the interest she took in the ideas and the
person of the Saint of Jenne; her real reason being the pleasure she
took in managing an intrigue, without scruples of conscience. She had
taken a fancy to Jeanne at Vena di Fonte Alta, but knew nothing of her
past. She suspected her of being in love with the Saint, but believed
hers to be a mystic love, born on hearing him speak in the "Catacombs"
of Via della Vite. She was convinced that Jeanne had had a hand in his
disappearance from Villa Mayda, that she knew his hiding-place, and did
not wish to disclose it, having promised secrecy to his friends. But
Jeanne had little confidence in the lady, who seemed to her frivolous,
and who was--this she could not forget--the wife of a powerful enemy,
and she had repeatedly assured her that she did not know. Jeanne's want
of confidence offended her a little because really she, Donna Rosetta,
wife of an Excellency, was risking much; but after all her vanity was
staked on this game, in which the winnings were the permanent freedom of
the Saint of Jenne in Rome, and she was determined to go on with it.

A truly complicated affair then! In the meantime, up to Friday night the
police had not discovered the Saint's place of refuge. Ah, yes! they
believed he was in Rome. Here Donna Rosetta paused, hoping Jeanne would
speak. Not a word. She admitted, continuing her discourse, that her
husband might have some suspicion of the intrigue which she was
concealing from him, that, perhaps, he was not perfectly sincere with
her. This, however, was not likely. When her husband was not speaking
quite sincerely to her, she, Donna Rosetta, could feel it in the air.
As to that, she understood the others also. Donna Rosetta was for once
mistaken concerning her husband. Ever since Wednesday night they had
known at Palazzo Braschi where Maironi was, but he would not tell her
so, for the Under-Secretary of State had still less confidence in his
wife than Jeanne herself.

But the most important news came from the Vatican. The Pope had been
informed of what had taken place in Via della Marmorata, and His
Holiness was much irritated against the Government, for they had given
him to understand that the Government had lent itself, in this matter,
to the hatred of the Freemasons against a man esteemed by the Pope
himself. There was disunion among those about the Pope. The more
fanatical of the non-concessionists, opponents of the Cardinal Secretary
of State, warmly supported the nomination to the archepiscopal see of
Turin, so displeasing to the Quirinal, and disapproved of the secret
intrigues with the Italian Government. According to their leader, who
was the very eminent personage Donna Rosetta now proposed calling upon,
other measures should be adopted to liberate the Holy Father from the
pestiferous influence of a rationalist varnished over with mysticism.
These things Donna Rosetta had learned from the Abbe Marinier, who
smiled knowingly about them in her salon. It was inconceivable how
many poisonous accusations were being sown broadcast with the greatest
cunning by the non-concessionists all united against this poor devil
of a mystical rationalist, at whom the Abbe smiled no less than at his
enemies!

There was news also from the Ministry of the Interior. What news? Donna
Rosetta was about to answer when the carriage stopped before a large
convent, The Cardinal lived here. Donna Rosetta alighted alone. Jeanne's
presence was not necessary at this interview; indeed, it would be
inopportune. It would be necessary somewhere else. Jeanne waited in the
carriage, distressed at not having as yet discovered the object of this
visit, in spite of Donna Rosetta's flow of words. Five minutes, ten
minutes, passed. Jeanne drew herself up out of the corner where she
had leaned, absorbed in her thoughts. She watched the entrance to the
convent to see if Donna Rosetta were not coming. Rare wayfarers, passing
slowly along the quiet street, looked into the carriage. It seemed to
Jeanne almost an offence that there were people who could be so calm.
Ah, God! The doctor had promised to send her a bulletin to the Grand
Hotel at seven o'clock. It was not yet three. More than four hours to
wait. And what would the bulletin say? She bit her lips, stifling a sob
in her throat. Ah! here is Donna Rosetta at last. The footman opens the
door, she gives him an order:

"Palazzo Braschi!" As she enters the carriage she casts a little book at
her feet, and, instead of speaking, rubs her lips vehemently with her
perfumed handkerchief. Finally she says, with a shudder, that she was
obliged to kiss the Cardinal's hand, and that it was anything but clean.
But at any rate the visit was successful. Ah, if her husband only knew!
She had played a really horrible part. The Cardinal was the very one
who had once met Giovanni Selva in the library of Santa Scolastica at
Subiaco, and had assailed him, telling him he was a profaner of the
sacred walls, and promising him that he would most certainly go to hell,
or even further down! Donna Rosetta had fanned his fire, in order to
break up the secret accord between the Vatican and Palazzo Braschi. She
had told him that the religious _haute_ of Turin much desired the
man chosen by the Vatican, and obnoxious to the Quirinal. The wily
Cardinal--whom she had once met in the salon of a French prelate--had
at first answered only, with that accent of his, neither French nor
Italian:

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