The Saint Part 36

"What a lot of fools for one knave!"

A big, bearded man, who was standing on the threshold of a small shop, heard this, and, coming forward, accosted him threateningly.

"What's that you say?"

The other stopped and stared at him, answering mockingly:

"Get out! Just what I please!"

The big man struck him a blow, and then the other workmen fell upon the big man in defence of their comrade. Cries, oaths, the flashing of knives, the shrieks of women from the windows, people rushing up from the avenue, policemen and guards hurrying to the spot; in an instant the whole street was in a black ferment, while the surging, howling mob was pitching from right to left and from left to right, as if the street were a ship in an angry sea. Two yards from the spot where the guards and the workmen were struggling, it would have been difficult to ascertain what had happened. The crowd was blind in its fury against those who had insulted the Saint. Who these were they did not know; a hundred discordant voices called for the blood of the big man, of the workmen, of the guards, of one who had laughed, of one who had tried to make peace, and of one who was using his elbows to work his way forward, as well as of one who was trying to elbow his way out. The driver of a tram on the San Paolo line, pa.s.sing Via Galvani, saw the tumult, and amused himself by calling out to a group of women, a hundred yards beyond, that the Saint of Jenne had been discovered in Via Galvani. The rumour ran along the avenues, full of chattering groups and isolated onlookers, as fire along a trail of powder. The groups broke up, the people rushed towards Via Galvani, questioning one another as they ran. The isolated onlookers followed more slowly, more cautiously, and presently saw many vexed faces returning. The Saint indeed! It was only one of the usual false alarms. Some one saw people coming down in haste from Sant' Anselmo. Another report went round: they are from Villa Mayda, they are sure to know! And people come from right and left, all hastening towards the mouth of Via di Santa Sabina, as pigeons hasten towards a handful of corn. The isolated onlookers follow, more slowly, more cautiously. _Che_! Nonsense! At Villa Mayda nothing is known, and they will not even answer any more questions, for they are exasperated by the procession of people ringing the bell. A squad of _carabinieri_ comes upon the scene, and charges down Via Galvani in serried ranks.

Hisses are heard, and angry cries: "They know! They took him away!" "No"

shouts a woman who sells fruit, and who was one of a group on the corner of Via Alessandro Volta. "It was a _delegato_! It was the police!"

The members of that group are less enraged with the _delegato_ and the policemen than with the stupid bystanders, who might easily have thrown _delegato_, policemen, cab, horse and driver into the river, and, instead, had allowed themselves to be dispersed by a few words and a few drops of water! The little old woman who had brought Benedetto to the unfrocked monk was there also. They stop her as she is coming out of the bakers' shop, and now she is telling for the hundredth time the story of the arrest, and crying, also for the hundredth time, as she tells of the roses, of the pious words, and describes how very ill the Saint looked.

Her audience is moved also, and mumbles praises of the Saint. One relates a miraculous cure he has effected, another tells of a second cure; one mentions his way of speaking, which goes to the heart; another praises his face, which is as good as a sermon; one speaks of his poverty, and another tells of his charities, which are many, in spite of his poverty. There they come from Via Galvani, _carabinieri_, policemen, prisoners, and the crowd. One of the solitary onlookers, moved by curiosity, approaches another spectator, and inquired what has occurred in the district. The other is in complete ignorance. The two join company, and question a citizen, who appears to have had enough of it; to be about to leave. The citizen replies that up there at a villa near Sant' Anselmo lives a holy man, who is adored by the whole quarter, because he visits the sick, healing many, and talking of religion better than the priests themselves: so they call him "the Saint"; or rather, "the Saint of Jenne," because he performed many miracles in a town in the hills, called Jenne. Why, even the newspapers talked of him! Last night, while he was ministering to a poor sick man, the police carried him off, no one knows why. It was reported that he had been set free again, and had returned to the villa, where he was gardener, but at the villa they deny that he is still there, and will give no explanation.

The people are excited, they want----

A tram was approaching. Some of the pa.s.sengers 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 a.s.sure 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Many howled "_Abba.s.so_! 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 hoa.r.s.e; 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 pa.s.sed, 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-cla.s.s 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 Sat.u.r.day. 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 circ.u.mstances 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 pa.s.sing," 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, pa.s.sing 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 Sat.u.r.day 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 m.u.f.f, 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 m.u.f.f 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 carriage 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 a.s.sured 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!