The Saint Part 33

That day the old man had said to her several times that he would be so happy if he could have a few roses. Then the little hunchback had thought:

"There is the holy man of whom every one is talking,--he works as a gardener. I will go to him and tell him the whole story. I will ask him to bring some roses, and who knows what may come of it!" Such were her thoughts, but at once she said to herself:

"If that thought did not come to me from the Madonna, it certainly came from St. Anthony!"

In her simple, pure heart she had felt a wave of sweetness and joy.

Without losing any time she had started for Villa Mayda, the elegant Pompeian villa, standing out white on the Aventine, among the beautiful palms, almost opposite the window of the old unfrocked monk. Benedetto was about to go to bed, in obedience to the orders of the Professor, who had found him feverish. It was the low, insidious fever which, for several weeks, had been consuming his strength without otherwise causing any suffering. When he had heard what the cripple had to tell, he had come at once with the roses.

The old man still kept his face hidden, for he was ashamed. Presently, without looking at Benedetto, he spoke of the roses, and explained his longing for them. He was the son of a gardener and had himself intended to become a gardener; but he was also fond of going to church, and all his toys had been copies of sacred objects: little altars, candelabra, small busts of bishops wearing mitres. His employers--very religious people--had intimated to his parents that, if he showed a vocation for the ecclesiastical career, they would have him educated at their own expense. Thereupon his parents had promptly determined that he should adopt that career. He soon discovered that his strength was not sufficient to enable him to remain faithful to the priestly vows, but he lacked the courage to take a step which would have caused his family the greatest distress. Instead of that he imagined he might be safe if he withdrew completely from the world, and so, listening to imprudent counsellors, he entered the monastery from which he was to come forth again later in disgrace. In after years he would sometimes allude to his order, when jesting covertly with his friends, and say "When I was in the regiment!" but he did not repeat that now. As a boy he had loved flowers, but, after entering the seminary, he had thought no more about them--thought no more about them for forty years. The night before Benedetto's visit he had dreamed of the big rose garden in which his childhood had been spent. The white roses were all bending towards him, and gazing at him in the dream-world, as pious souls gaze with curiosity on a pilgrim in the world of shadows. They said to him: "Where are you going? where are you going, poor friend? Why do you not return to us?"

On waking he had felt a longing for roses, a tender longing that moved him to tears. And how many roses now lay on his bed, all through the kindness of a saintly person, how many beautiful, sweet-smelling roses!

He was silent, gazing fixedly at Benedetto, his lips parted, his eyes shining with a painful question: "You know, you understand, what do you think of me? Do you believe there is hope of pardon for me?"

Benedetto, bending over the sick man, began to talk to him and caress him. The stream of gentle words flowed on and on in a varying tone, sometimes of joy, sometimes of pain. Now the old man seemed comforted, now anxious questions broke from his lips; then, all of a sudden, the gentle stream of words restored the happy look to his face. Meanwhile, the little crippled woman came and went between her own room and her neighbour's door, clasping her rosary, and divided between her anxiety at that decisive moment to get in as many _Ave Marias_ as possible, and the desire to hear if they were talking in there and what they were saying.

But down below, in the street, a crowd had begun to gather of people who, regardless of the bad weather, were anxious to see the Saint of Jenne. A woman who kept a little shop had seen him enter with his roses, accompanied by the little hunchback. In an instant about fifty persons were standing around the door, women for the most part, some wishing only to see him, others eager for a word from him. They waited patiently, speaking in low tones as if they had been in church; speaking of Benedetto, of the miracles he performed, of the blessings they were going to implore him to grant. A cyclist rode up, got off his machine, and, having inquired why these people were a.s.sembled there, made them tell him exactly where the Saint of Jenne was. Then he mounted his bicycle once more and started off at full speed. Shortly afterwards a close carriage--a so-called "_botte_"--followed by the same cyclist, stopped before the door. A gentleman got out, pushed his way through the crowd, and entered the house. The cyclist remained near the carriage.

The gentleman exchanged a few words with the concierge, whom he desired to accompany him as far as the door, where the little hunchback stood, trembling, and clasping her rosary. He knocked, regardless of her silent gesticulations, as she implored the Madonna to send this intruder away.

It was Benedetto who came to open the door.

"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 G.o.d, do not go away!"

Benedetto replied:

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

The other seemed embarra.s.sed.

"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 rea.s.sure 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 G.o.d'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 pa.s.sing 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 pa.s.sed 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 t.i.tle borne by those upon whom certain Italian orders have been conferred.--_Translator's Note_.]

Benedetto was introduced into a s.p.a.cious 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 doc.u.ments.

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?"