The Saint Part 23

"Ah! but--!" the Padre exclaimed, and then stopped suddenly, his face suffused with colour. Benedetto believed he understood what was in his mind: "It is not said that you may not sometime resume the habit you have just laid aside! It is not said that the vision may not yet come true!" He had not wished to utter this thought, either from prudence, or in order not to allude to Benedetto's death. He smiled and embraced his master. The Padre hastened to speak of other things; he apologised for the parish priest, who was much grieved by what was happening, and would not have sent Benedetto away, had he not feared his superiors. He was not a Don Abbondio [1]; he did not fear for himself, but dreaded scandal of a conflict with the authorities.

[Footnote: Don Abbondio-a priest in Mazzoni's work _I Promessi Sposi_.

(Translator's Note.)]

"I forgive him," said Benedetto, "and I pray G.o.d to forgive him, but this lack of moral courage is a great evil in the Church. Many, rather than contend against their superiors, will contend against G.o.d Himself.

And they rid themselves of all responsibility by subst.i.tuting their superiors' conscience to their own wherein G.o.d speaks. They do not comprehend that by striving against what is good, or by refraining from striving against what is evil, in obedience to superiors, they give scandal to the world, they stain the Christian character in the eyes of the world. They do not comprehend that both their duty toward G.o.d and their duty toward their superiors may be fulfilled, by never striving against what is good, by never refraining from striving against what is evil, by never judging their superiors, by obeying them with perfect obedience in everything that is neither opposed to what is good nor in favour of what is evil, by laying even life itself at their feet, but not their conscience; their conscience, never! Thus the Inferior, stripped of everything save conscience and just obedience, becomes a pure grain of the salt of the earth, and where many such grains are united, that to which they adhere will be saved from corruption, and that to which they do not adhere, will rot and fall to pieces!"

As he talked Benedetto became transfigured. With the last words he rose to his feet. His eyes flashed, his brow shone with the august light of the spirit of Truth. He placed his hands on Don Clemente's shoulders.

"Dear Master," he said, his face softening, "I am leaving the roof, the bread, the habit which were offered me, but while I have life, I will not cease telling of Christ, who is the Truth! I go forth, but not to remain silent. Do you remember giving me the letter to read, that St.

Peter Damian wrote to a layman, who preached? That man preached in the church. I will not preach in the church, but if Christ wish me to speak in the dwellings of the poor, I will speak in the dwellings of the poor; if He wish me to speak in the palace, I will speak in the palace; if He wish me to speak in the cubicles, I will speak in the cubicles; if He wish me to speak on the housetops, I will speak on the housetops. Think of the man who laboured in Christ's name, and was forbidden to do so by the disciples. Christ said: 'Forbid him not.' Shall we obey the disciple or shall we obey Christ?"

"You are right about the man in the Gospel, _caro_," Don Clemente replied, "but remember that one may mistake what is really Christ's will."

Don Clemente's heart did not speak precisely thus, but the heart's imprudent, undisciplined words were not allowed to pa.s.s his lips.

"After all, _Padre mio_," Benedetto continued, "believe me, I am not banished because I preached the Gospel to the people. There are two things you must know. The first is this. A proposal was made to me here in Jenne by a person whom I never saw again after that interview, to take holy orders, that I might become a missionary. I replied that I did not feel called to that work. The second incident is this. On one of the first days after my arrival at Jenne, while talking religion with the parish priest, I spoke of the eternal vitality of Catholic doctrine, of the power which the soul of Catholic doctrine possesses, of continually transforming its own body, increasing its strength and beauty unlimitedly. You know _Padre mio_, from whom--through you--these thoughts came to me. The parish priest must have repeated my words, which pleased him. The next day he asked me whether I had met Selva at Subiaco, and had read his books. He said he had not read them himself, but he knew they were to be avoided. _Padre mio_, you will understand now. It is on account of Signor Selva, and of your friends.h.i.+p for him, that I am leaving Jenne thus. I have never loved you as I love you now.

I do not know whither I shall wander, but wherever the Lord may send me, be it far or near, do not let your soul forsake me!"

As he spoke these words, his voice shaking with sorrow and love, Benedetto again threw himself into the arms of his master, who--himself torn by a tempest of conflicting emotions--knew not whether to ask his forgiveness, or promise him glory, the true glory, and could only say, with laboured breath:

"You do not know it, but I, too, have need that your soul should not forsake me!"

Touching it with careful, reverent hands; Don Clemente made the habit his disciple had laid aside into a bundle. When it was folded he told Benedetto that he could not offer him the hospitality of Santa Scolastica; he had intended asking Signor Selva to take him in, but he now doubted if it would be opportune and in the interests of his mission for Benedetto to put himself so openly under the protection of Signor Giovanni.

Benedetto smiled.

"Oh! certainly not!" said he. "Shall we fear the darkness more than we love the light? But I must pray G.o.d to make His will known to me, if it be possible. Perhaps He desires that, perhaps something else. And now will you send me some food and a little wine? And then let those come in, who wish to speak with me."

Don Clemente was secretly astonished that Benedetto should ask him for wine, but he did not allow his astonishment to appear. He said he would also send him the young girl who was with the Selvas. Benedetto looked at him questioningly. He remembered that when the girl, whom he had seen later in the church, had asked for an interview, Don Clemente had pressed his arm, as if silently warning him to be on his guard. Don Clemente grew very red while he explained his action. He had seen the young girl at Santa Scolastica with another person. His movement had been involuntary. The other person was now far away. "We shall not meet again," said he, "because as soon as I have sent you the food, and spoken to these people, I must start for Santa Scolastica."

In speaking of going to Subiaco or elsewhere, Benedetto had said "perhaps that, perhaps something else," with an accent so full of meaning that, when Don Clemente bade him farewell, he murmured:

"Are you thinking of Rome?"

Instead of answering, Benedetto gently took from his hands the bundle containing the poor tunic, which had been bestowed and then withdrawn, and with trembling hands raised it to his lips, pressing them to it; he let them rest there a long time.

Was it regret for the days of peace, of labour, of prayer, of gospel words? Was it the antic.i.p.ation of a luminous hour in the future?

He gave the bundle back into his master's hands.

"Farewell!" said he.

Don Clemente hastened away.

The room the master of the house had set apart for Benedetto's use contained a large sofa, a small square table, covered with a yellowish cloth; over which a blue floral pattern sprawled; a few shaky chairs; one or two armchairs, their stuffing showing through the rents in the old and faded leather; and two portraits of bewigged ancestors in tarnished frames. It had two windows, one almost blinded by a grey wall, the other open to the fields, to a lovely, peaceful hill, to the sky.

Before receiving his visitors Benedetto approached this window to take a last farewell of the fields, the hill, and the poor town itself. Seized with sudden weakness, he leaned against the sill. It was a gentle, pleasant weakness. He was hardly conscious of the weight of his body, and his heart was flooded with mystic beat.i.tude. Little by little, as his thoughts became vague and objectless he was moved by a sense of the quiet, innocent, external life; the drops falling from the roofs, the air laden with odours of the hills, stirring mysteriously at that hour and in that place. The memory of distant hours of his early youth came back to him, of a time when he was still unmarried and had no thought of marriage. He recalled the close of a thunder storm in the upper Valsolda on the crest of the Pian Biscagno. How different his fate would have been had his parents lived thirty or even twenty years longer! At least one of them! In his mind's eye he saw the stone in the cemetery at Oria:

TO FRANCO IN G.o.d HIS LUISA;

and his eyes filled with tears. Then came the violent reaction of his will against this soft langour of the intellect, this temptation of weakness.

"No, no, no!" he murmured, half aloud. A voice behind him answered:

"You do not wish to listen to us?"

Benedetto turned round, surprised. Three young men stood before him.

He had not heard them enter. The one who appeared to be the eldest, a fine-looking young fellow, short of stature, dark, with eyes speaking knowledge of many things, asked him boldly why he had laid aside the clerical dress. Benedetto did not reply.

"You do not wish to say?" the other exclaimed.

"It does not matter, but listen to us. We are students from the University of Rome, men of little faith, that I confess openly and at once. We are enjoying and making the most of our youth, that I will also confess at once."

One of his companions pulled a fold of the spokesman's coat.

"Be quiet!" said the leader. "It is true there is one among us who, though he has no great faith in the saints, is very pure. He, however, is not here before you. There are others missing also, who are playing cards at the tavern. The 'Most Pure' would not come with us. He says he will find a way of speaking with you alone. We are what I have told you. We came from Rome for an excursion, and, if possible, to witness a miracle; in fact, we came to have some fun!"

His companions interrupted him, protesting. "Yes, yes!" he repeated, "to have some fun! Excuse me, I speak frankly. Indeed our fun came near costing us too dear. We joked a little and they wanted to knock us down, you know; and all to your honour and glory! But then we heard the little speech you made to that crowd of fanatics. 'By the Lord Harry,'

we thought, 'this is a new style of language for a priestly or half-priestly mouth! This is a saint who suits us better than the others!' Forgive my familiarity! So we at once decided to ask you for an interview; because even if we be rather sceptical, and fond of worldly pleasures, we are also more or less intellectual, and certain religious truths interest us. I myself, for instance, shall perhaps very shortly become a Neo-Buddhist."

His companions laughed, and he turned upon them angrily.

"Yes indeed! I shall not be a practical Buddhist, but Buddhism interests me more than Christianity!"

Then ensued an altercation among the three students, on account of this inopportune sally, and a second spokesman, tall, thin, and wearing spectacles, took the place of the first. This man spoke nervously, with frequent spasmodic movements of the head and stiff forearms. His discourse was to the following effect. He and his companions had often discussed the question of the vitality of Catholicism. They were all convinced that it was exhausted, and that speedy death could be prevented only by radical reform. Some considered such a reform possible, while others did not. They were anxious to have the opinion of an intelligent and modern-spirited Catholic such as Benedetto had shown himself. They had many questions to ask him.

At this point the third amba.s.sador of the party of students, feeling that his turn had come, poured out upon Benedetto a disordered stream of questions.

Did he feel disposed to become the champion of a reform in the Church?

Did he believe in the infallibility of the Pope, of the Council? Did he approve of the wors.h.i.+p of the Virgin Mary and of the saints in its present form? Was he a Christian Democrat? What were his views concerning the desired reform? They had seen Giovanni Selva at Jenne.

Was Benedetto acquainted with his works? Did he approve of cardinals being forbidden to go out on foot, and of priests not being allowed to ride a bicycle? What was his opinion of the Bible, and what did he believe concerning its inspiration?

Before answering, Benedetto looked steadily and severely at his young interlocutor.

"A physician," he began at last, "was reputed to be able to cure all diseases. A man, who did not believe in medicine, went to him out of curiosity, to question him about his art, his studies, his opinions. The physician let him talk on for some time; then he took his wrist, thus."

Benedetto took the wrist of the one who had spoken first, and continued.

"He took it, and held it a moment in silence; then he said to him, 'My friend, your heart is affected. I read it first in your face, and now I feel the hammering of the carpenter who is making your coffin!"

The young man whose pulse he was pressing could not refrain from wincing.

"I do not mean you," said Benedetto. "The physician was speaking to the man who does not believe in medicine. And he continued, thus: 'Do you come to me for health and life? I will give you both. Are you not come for that? Then I have no time for you!' The man, who had always believed himself to be well, turned pale, and said. 'Master, I place myself in your hands; give me life!'"

The three students stood for a moment dum-founded. When they showed signs of coming to their senses, and of wis.h.i.+ng to answer, Benedetto continued:

"If three blind men ask me for my lamp of truth what shall I reply? I shall reply, 'First go and prepare your eyes for it, because, should I give it unto your hands now, you would receive no light from it, and you would only break it.'"

"I hope," said the tall, lean, bespectacled student, "that in order to see your lamp of truth it may not be necessary to shut out the light of the sun. But, after all, I can easily understand that you do not wish to explain yourself to us, whom you believe to be reporters. To-day we are not--or at least I am not--in the state of mind you desire. I may be blind, but I do not feel inclined to ask the Pope for light, or a Luther either. Nevertheless, if you come to Rome, you will find young men better disposed than I am, than we are. Come, speak, let us also listen to you! To-day it is curiosity with us, to-morrow, who knows? we may feel the right spirit. Come to Rome!"