The Saint Part 20

"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."

In the large, dilapidated church--which, "one Sunday or another, will crush us all, like so many rats," the hostess said--there were only the two invalids and their party. The sick man and girl had been laid on the floor exactly in the centre of the church, with two pillows under their heads. Their companions, on their knees, were singing psalms, and, without looking at the new-comers, continued their devotions. "Probably they have brought them to be blessed by the Saint," said the hostess under her breath. "That is painful to him; he does not wish it. Perhaps they will try to touch his habit by stealth, but even that is difficult now."

The poor people stopped singing, and a woman came to ask the hostess if it had already struck eleven o'clock? Maria answered, telling her it was only a quarter to eleven, and then inquired about the two sick ones. The man had been ill with fever for two years, and the girl, his sister, had heart disease. They had come from the lowlands of Arcinazzo, a journey of several hours, to be healed by the Saint of Jenne. A woman from Arcinazzo, who had heart disease, had been cured some days before by simply touching his habit. Maria and Noemi spoke to the sufferers. The girl was confident, but the man, who was shaking with fever, seemed to have come simply to satisfy his people, to give this a trial also. He had suffered greatly on the journey.

"These roads lead me into the next world," he said. "I shall be healed in that way."

A woman, his mother perhaps, burst into tears, and besought him to pray, to commend himself to Jesus, to Mary. The two sisters withdrew, in obedience to a summons from Giovanni; for a quarrel had broken out in the square, between the women and the students who had pa.s.sed the Selvas on the Jenne hillside. The students had probably jested broadly concerning the devotion of the women to the Saint, and this had enraged them. The women of Jenne came rus.h.i.+ng out of the bakehouse, while the plumes of a couple of _carabinieri_ appeared in the opposite direction.

Noemi and Maria mingled with the women, trying to pacify them. Giovanni harangued the students, who swaggered and laughed, and might possibly do worse. Chanting was heard in the church, m.u.f.fled at first and then loud, as the door was thrown open:

"_Sancta Maria, ora pro n.o.bis_."

The two sufferers appeared. The girl, supported on either side, was walking; the man, as limp as a corpse, was being borne along, some women carrying his shoulders, others his feet; and the bearers were also chanting, with solemn faces:

"_Sancta Virgo virginum, ora pro n.o.bis_."

The women in the square all fell on their knees, the astonished _carabinieri_ standing in their midst. The students were silent, while a party of ladies and gentlemen, about to enter the square from the Val d'Aniene mule-path, stopped their mules. First Maria, then Noemi, knelt, drawn towards the earth by an impulse which made them tremble with emotion. Giovanni hesitated. This was not his faith. It seemed to him an offence to the Creator, the Giver of reason, to allow a sick man to journey a long distance on a mule, that he might be miraculously healed by an image, a relic, or a man. Still it was faith. It was--enclosed in a rough envelope of frail ignorance--that sense denied, to proud minds, of the hidden truth which is life; that mysterious radium within the ma.s.s of impure ore. It was faith, it was guiltless error, it was love, it was suffering, it was a visible something belonging to the union of the highest mysteries of the Universe. The ground itself, the great sad face of the church, and the small humble faces of the little houses surrounding the square, seem to understand, to reverence it. In his mind's eye Giovanni saw the image of a dead woman who had been dear to him, and who had believed thus; a cold wave flowed through his blood, his knees bent under him. The little band with the sufferers pa.s.sed on, singing, their faces uplifted:

"_Mater Christi_." The kneeling women answered with bowed heads:

"_Ora pro n.o.bis_."

Then they rose, and followed the procession, while three or four women of Jenne said aloud:

"He does not wish it, he does not wish it!"

One of them explained to Maria that the Saint did not wish the sick brought to him. Their words were not heeded, so they also joined the procession, anxious to see what would happen.

Maria and Giovanni also, who, at first, had been loath to do so, started on, following the eager Noemi. Behind them, at a proper distance to indicate that they were spectators and not partic.i.p.ants, came the students. Alone, and at a much greater distance, walked the _carabinieri_, forming the end of this winding, snake-like line of people, which slipped into a crack between the dilapidated houses, huddled together opposite the church, and disappeared.

It disappeared, writhing through dark lanes, with pompous names, which lead to another side of the village, the most miserable, the most deformed part. Here, on the steep and rocky hillside, loosely fastened to projections, to slabs of rock, the hovels, piled one above the other, slide downwards among the stones. The small black windows, like empty sockets in a skull, stare into the silence of the deep and narrow valley. The doors pour out crazy flights of stairs upon the slope, most of them reduced to three or four splintered steps, while some of the doors are entirely widowed of their steps. When one has, with difficulty, succeeded in climbing in at one of these doors, one finds a cave without light or air.

"_So mali pa.s.si, vigoli cattivi_! [Bad walking, bad lanes!]" said a smiling old woman, standing in her doorway, as the ladies pa.s.sed.

One of these caves, so difficult of access, was Benedetto's abode. Two streams of people--the crowd had split coming down the hill--met below the open door. Some women came out of a neighbouring bakehouse to say that Benedetto was not there. The crowd surged round the invalids, and groans were heard. Anxious questions were asked, rumours were carried up through the two streams of people, to the very end of the procession, where the cause of those groans was not understood, and all, eager to see, were struggling downwards. Perhaps the sufferers had become worse, there in the blazing sun. Three students slid down among the women, and were received with grunts and imprecations. Now a woman of the town has spoken:

"Take the poor creatures inside."

Yes, yes! Inside, inside! Into the Saint's house!

The crowd already expects a miracle from the walls between which he dwells, from the floor his foot presses, from all these objects saturated with his holiness. On the Saint's bed! On the Saint's bed!

Some boards are laid upon the broken slabs of stone which lead up to Benedetto's door, and the two invalids are half pushed, half carried up, by the surging crowd. There they lie, crosswise upon the Saint's pallet.

The crowd fills the cave. All fall upon their knees in prayer.

It is indeed a cave. One whole side of it is a wall of yellowish rock, hewn obliquely. The bare, uneven earth forms the floor. Near the couch, raised about two spans, is a fireplace. There are no windows, but a ray of suns.h.i.+ne, falling through the chimney, strikes--like a celestial flame--on the stones of the hearth where there is no trace of ashes. A brown blanket is spread over the couch. A cross is roughly carved on the face of the rock, near the entrance. In one corner appear--the only luxuries--a large pail full of water, a green basin, a bottle, and a gla.s.s. Some books are piled on a rickety cane-seated chair; and a second chair bears a plate of beans and some bread. The place indicates extreme poverty, but is clean and orderly.

The feverish man complains of the cold, of the dampness, of the dark. He says he is worse, that they have brought him here to die. They beseech him to calm himself, to hope. But his young sister, with the diseased heart, begins to feel relief almost as soon as they have placed her on the bed. She proclaims this at once, announces that she is being healed.

Pressing around her they laugh and cry, and praise the Lord all at the same moment. They kiss her garments, as if she herself had become holy; the news is shouted to those outside. Joyous voices answer, more people press into the den, with glowing faces, with eager eyes. But at that moment some one who has gone farther down the hill in search of the Saint, cries from afar: "The Saint is coming! The Saint is coming!" Then the cave pours out a stream of people upon the slope; a din of voices and a rush of feet flow downwards, and in a second the Selvas and the three or four students stand alone, below the door of the cabin. Many of the women of Jenne have gone back to their work in the bakehouse, while others are looking on from the doorway. Maria exchanges a few words with the latter. Are they all strangers, those who have gone down? _Eh, si_!

Not all, but most of them. People from Vallepietra, for the most part.

It would be better if water came to us from Vallepietra. And what do they want? To take the Saint away from Jenne with them? Yes, they have said that; they talked about doing great things. And you of Jenne? We of Jenne know he does not wish to go. And besides--Her companions call out something from within; the woman turns away; a quarrel is going on.

Giovanni, Maria, and the students go in to see the girl who has been miraculously healed. Noemi remains outside. She is impatient to see Benedetto; she trembles, without knowing why; in her heart she calls herself a fool; but she does not move.

Two Benedictine habits are crossing the small field in the distance below. Above the second the blade of a scythe flashes from time to time.

Hearing the hubbub of voices, and steps descending from above, Benedetto turned to his companion with a smile:

"_Padre mio!_"

Upon reaching Jenne, Don Clemente had immediately joined Benedetto in the small field he was mowing. He had given him the painful message, and after a long discussion, had promised to say certain things which Benedetto wished said, to those who called him a saint. He also heard the hubbub of the crowd which was coming down; the cry of "The Saint!

The Saint!" And when Benedetto said to him, smiling: "_Padre mio!_" his face paled, but he made a gesture of acquiescence, and stepped forward.

Benedetto dropped his scythe and went a few steps away from the path.

He sat down behind a rock and a great apple tree covered with blossoms, which hid him from those who were approaching. Don Clemente faced the crowd alone.

On perceiving him they stopped. Several voices said. "It is not he!"

Other voices answered "He is behind!" While others in the rear-guard called out "Press forward!" The column moved on.

Then Don Clemente raised his hand and said:

"Listen!"

This man who could not speak to two strangers without blus.h.i.+ng was now very pale. His soft, sweet voice hardly made itself heard, but the gesture was seen. The beautiful, peaceful face, the tall figure, inspired reverence.

"You seek Benedetto," said he. "You call him a saint. By this you cause him great grief. Since the day of his arrival at Jenne he has repeatedly stated that he was a great sinner, brought by the grace of G.o.d to repentance. Now he wishes me to confirm this to you. I do confirm it; it is the truth. He was a great sinner. To-morrow he may fall again. If he believed you, for one moment only, when you call him a saint, G.o.d would depart from him. Do not again call him thus, and above all do not ask him to perform miracles."

"Padre!" Coming forward, his arms spread wide, an old man, tall, thin, toothless, with the profile of the eagle, interrupted him in a solemn voice. "Padre, we do not ask for a miracle, the miracle is already performed. The woman was healed when she touched the man's dwelling, and we say to you that the man is saintly, and that if there are those in Jenne who speak differently, they are worthy to burn in the very bottom of h.e.l.l! _Padre_, we kiss your hands, but we say this."

"There is another to be healed, another to be healed!" ten, twenty voices cried. "Let the Saint come!"

Among the students forming the rear-guard voices shouted: "Bring the Saint forward! Let the Saint speak!"

"What actions are these?" the old man exclaimed, turning round with the indignation of the popular orator who finds himself deposed. "What actions are these?"

A rumble of angry voices drowned his words, and the students continued to shout louder than ever:

"The Saint! Let the Saint speak! Away with the priest! Away with him!"

The women turned threateningly:

"Away with you, yourselves! Away with you!"

Up above, among the hovels perched on the hillside, the plumes of the _carabinieri_ appeared. Then Benedetto rose, and came out into the open.

As soon as the people perceived him, they greeted him with a great, joyous clamour. The Selvas went to the door of the cave and looked down.

Noemi ran swiftly down the hill. In a second Benedetto found himself surrounded by people kissing his habit, and pouring out blessings upon him. Many were weeping, on their knees. Noemi, who had rushed down alone behind the students, pressed forward, and saw the man, at last!

Jeanne had shown her several photographs of him, telling her at the same time that no one of them was entirely satisfactory. In Piero Maironi's winning face Noemi had noticed a shade of sadness; Benedetto's face shone with extraordinary vivacity. Two days before he had had his hair and beard shaved, because he had heard a woman murmur: "He is as beautiful as Jesus Himself!" The expression of the dominating soul in him had become more marked; the nose had grown more prominent through his increased fleshlessness, there were great dark rings under his eyes.

The eyes had an ineffable fascination. They still wore an expression of sadness, but of sweet sadness, full of vigour, of peace, and of mystic devotion. Standing there, under the little white cloud of the flowering apple tree, in the midst of the prostrate crowd, surrounded by suns.h.i.+ne and moving shadows he seemed an apparition such as visited the old masters. Noemi stood as if turned to stone, a great sob in her throat.

Near her, several women were weeping for the joy of having seen him, and influenced by reciprocal hypnotism. One, who was ill and weary, had seated herself on the edge of the path, where she could not see the Saint, and was weeping from excitement, without knowing why. Some late arrivals came forward, an old man and three women from Vallepietra. The three women immediately mistook Don Clemente for Benedetto, and burst out sobbing and exclaiming: "How beautiful he is, how beautiful!"