The Saint Part 21

In the meantime Benedetto, standing under the little white cloud of the flowering apple tree, had succeeded, with words of sorrow, of supplication, of reproach, in repulsing the a.s.sault of the adoring throng, and in bringing the people to their feet. A cry went up from the group of students: "Speak!" Just at that moment the bells of Jenne, far up above them, solemnly announced the hour of noon to the village, to the solitudes, to Monte Leo, to Monte Sant' Antonio, to Monte Altuino, and to the clouds, sailing westwards. Benedetto laid his finger on his lips, the bells alone spoke. He glanced at Don Clemente, and his look seemed to convey a tacit invitation. Don Clemente bared his head, and began to recite the _Angelus Domini_. Benedetto, erect, his hands clasped, said it with him, and, as long as the bells continued to ring, kept his gaze fixed on the young man who had shouted to him to speak; his eyes were full of sadness, of mystic sweetness. That ineffable look, the pealing of the solemn-voiced bells, the trembling of the gra.s.s, the gentle waving in the breeze of the flowery branches, the rapt expression of so many tearful faces, all turned towards this one face, were blended for Noemi into a single word, which thrilled her while it evaded her, as the soul is tormented by the longing for that occult word which underlies a tragic procession of harmonious chords. The bells ceased, and Benedetto said gently to those nearest him:

"Who are you, and what has happened that you come to me as if I were that which I am not?"

Several voices answered at once; he was informed of the miracle, and of how he was wanted in this village and in that.

"You exalt me," said he, "because you are blind. If this girl is healed, not I have healed her, but her faith has made her whole. This power of faith, which has caused her to rise up and walk, is in G.o.d's world, everywhere and always, like the power of terror, which causes us to tremble and fall down. It is a power in the soul, like the powers which are in water, and in fire. Therefore, if the girl is healed, it is because G.o.d has put this great power into His world; praise G.o.d for it, and not me. And now listen! You offend G.o.d by believing His strength and bounty to be greater in miracles. His strength and bounty are everywhere, and always infinite. It is difficult to understand how faith can heal, but it is impossible to understand how these flowers can grow.

The Lord would be no less powerful, no less good, if this girl had not been healed. It is well to pray for health, but pray still more fervently to understand this great thing of which I have just told you; pray to be able to adore the Lord's will, when it gives you death, as when it gives you life. There are men in the world who think they do not believe in G.o.d, and when sickness comes to their homes they say: 'It is the law, it is nature, it is the economy of the Universe; we bow our heads, we accept without a murmur, we march on in the path of duty.'

Have a care that such men do not pa.s.s before you in the kingdom of Heaven! And reflect also on the manner of miracles you demand. You come to be healed of the ills of the body, and for this you wish me to visit your villages. Have faith, and you will be healed without me. But remember that your faith may be used to better purpose, according to the will of G.o.d. Are you, all of you, perfectly healthy in your souls? No, you are not; and what can it profit you that the skin be whole, if the wine be spoiled? You love yourselves and your families better than truth, better than justice, better than divine law. You are always dwelling upon what is due to you and yours, and you seldom dwell upon what is due to others. You believe your souls will be saved by the great number of your prayers, and you do not even know how to pray. You pray in the same manner to the saints, who are the servants, and to G.o.d, who is the Master; when you do not do still worse! You do not reflect that the Master cares little for many words. He desires rather that you serve Him faithfully in silence, your minds fixed always on His will. And you do not understand the nature of your own ills; you are like the dying man who says: 'I am well!' Perhaps some one of you is thinking at this moment. 'If I do not understand that I am doing wrong, then G.o.d will not condemn me.' But the Lord does not judge as do the judges of this world.

He who takes poison unwittingly must fall, as he who takes it wittingly must fall. He who is without the white robe may not come to the Lord's supper, though he be not aware the robe is necessary. He who loves himself above all things, be he ignorant of conscious of his sin, cannot pa.s.s through the gate of the kingdom of Heaven; as the bride's finger, if it be doubled up, cannot pa.s.s through the ring the bridegroom offers.

Know the infirmities of your souls, and pray with faith to be freed from them. In the name of Christ, I say to you, that you will be freed from them. The healing of your body is good for you, for your family, for the animals and plants you tend; but the healing of your soul--believe this, though you do not understand it!--the healing of your soul is good for all the poor souls of the living, which are being tossed between good and evil, is good for all the poor souls of the dead, which by toil and suffering are being purified, as the victory of a soldier is good for the whole nation. It is also good for the angels, who, Jesus has told us, feel immense joy at the healing of a soul. Joy enhances their power; and do you think their power is for the darkness or for the light, for death or for life? Ask with faith, first for the healing of the soul, and then for the healing of the body!" From the steep hillside a sea of faces looked down on him; those highest up, where only the sound of his voice could be heard, were eager, and tear-stained. Of those nearest him, some were astonished, some enthusiastic, some doubtful. The tears were pouring down Noemi's pale face also. The students had put off their air of raillery. When Benedetto ceased, one of them came forward to speak, resolute and serious. At the same moment the old man exclaimed:

"Heal our souls, heal our souls!"

Other voices repeated anxiously:

"Heal our souls, heal our souls!"

In an instant the contagion had spread throughout the vanguard; they flung themselves on their knees, stretching out imploring arms:

"Heal our souls, heal our souls!"

Benedetto sprang forward, his hands clenched in his hair, exclaiming:

"What are you doing again? What are you doing again?"

A shout rang out from above: _"La miracolata!_ The girl who is healed!"

The girl who had felt health returning to her, as she lay on Benedetto's bed, was coming down in search of him, leaning on the arm of an elder sister. He heeded neither the cry nor the movement among those up above, who parted, allowing the two women to pa.s.s. Being unable to persuade the crowd to rise, he himself fell upon his knees. Then those around him rose, and the excited movement and the cry of _"La_ _miracolata, la miracolata!"_ having reached them, they forced him to rise also; he did not seem to have heard. _"La miracolata!"_ each one repeated to him. _"La miracolata!"_ And they searched his face for a trace of satisfaction at the miracle, with eyes that called out "She is coming to you! You have healed her!" They acted as if he had not spoken to them only a few minutes before.

The young girl was coming down, as pale and sallow as the stony, sun-baked path, her gentle, sad, little face, resting against her sister's arm. And the sister looked sad also. The crowd parted before them, and Benedetto, stepping aside sought refuge behind Don Clemente; an involuntary action, which however, seemed premeditated. Every one was trembling and smiling, in the antic.i.p.ation of another miracle. The two women were not deceived; they pa.s.sed Don Clemente without so much as a glance, turned to Benedetto, and the elder said firmly:

"Holy man of G.o.d! You have healed this one, now heal the other also!"

Benedetto replied, almost under his breath, trembling violently:

"I am not a holy man; I did not heal this one, and for the other one of whom you speak, I can only pray."

When they had told him that the sick man was their brother, that he was in the hut, stretched on the bed, and suffering greatly, Benedetto said to Don Clemente: "Let us go and care for him!"

And he started forward with his master. Behind them the divided stream of people flowed together again, noisily. Benedetto turned, and forbade them to follow him; he ordered the women to attend to the young girl, who must not climb the steep hill on foot, under the burning rays of the sun. He ordered them to take her to the inn, put her to bed and refresh her with food and wine. Those who were following stopped, and the others stepped aside, allowing him to pa.s.s. The student who had once before asked to speak, approached him respectfully, and inquired if he and some of his friends might speak a few words with him alone, later on.

"Oh yes!" Benedetto answered, consenting with manly warmth and eagerness. Noemi, who was standing near, took heart.

"I also must ask for five minutes," she said in French, blus.h.i.+ng; and then it immediately occurred to her she had thus shown that she knew him to be a man of culture; her face was aflame, as she repeated her pet.i.tion in Italian.

Almost involuntarily Don Clemente pressed Benedetto's arm gently.

Benedetto replied courteously, but somewhat drily:

"Do you wish to do a kind action? Care for that poor girl."

And he pa.s.sed on.

He and Don Clemente entered the hovel alone. No one had followed them.

An old woman, the sick man's mother, seeing him enter, threw herself weeping at his feet, repeating her daughter's words:

"Are you the holy man? Are you he? You have healed one of my children, now heal this one also."

At first, coming from the sunlight into that darkness, Benedetto could not distinguish anything, but presently he saw the man stretched on the bed; he was breathing hard, groaning and crying, and cursing the Saints, women, the village of Jenne, and his own unhappy fate. On her knees beside the bed, Maria Selva was wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. There was no one else in the cave. Near the luminous entrance the great cross, carved unevenly on the wall of yellowish stone, was repeating at that moment a dark and solemn word.

"Hope in G.o.d!" Benedetto answered the old woman gently. He went to the bed, bent over the sick man and felt his pulse. The old woman stopped crying, the sufferer stopped cursing and groaning. The buzzing of flies in the light fireplace could be heard.

"Have you sent for the doctor?" Benedetto whispered.

The old woman began to sob again,

"You heal him! You heal him! in the name of Jesus and Mary!"

Again the sick man's groans were heard. Maria Selva said softly to Benedetto:

"The doctor is in Subiaco. Signor Selva, whom you perhaps know, has gone to the chemist's. I am his wife."

At this point Giovanni returned, out of breath and worried. The chemist's shop was closed, the chemist absent. The parish priest had given him some Marsala, and some tourists from Rome, who had brought plenty of provisions, had given him brandy and coffee. Benedetto beckoned Don Clemente to his side, and whispered to him to bring the parish priest, for the man was dying. He would go for him himself, but it seemed cruel to the poor mother to leave them. Don Clemente went out without a word. A few steps from the hut, the party of smart people who had come from Rome out of curiosity about the Saint of Jenne, were holding a consultation; the party consisted of three ladies and four gentlemen, and was under the guidance of the citizen of Jenne, whom the Selvas had met on the hillside. On perceiving the Benedictine they spoke together rapidly, in an undertone, and then one of their number, a very fas.h.i.+onably dressed young man, screwed his eyegla.s.s into his eye, and came towards Don Clemente, at whom the ladies were looking with admiration, and also with disappointment, their guide having informed them that he was not the Saint.

These people also wished for an interview with Benedetto. The ladies were especially anxious to speak with him. The young man added, with a derisive smile, that for his part, he did not consider himself worthy, Don Clemente answered very shortly, that for the present it was impossible to speak with Benedetto and he walked away. The young man informed the ladies that the Saint was in the tabernacle, under lock and key!

In the meantime Benedetto--although the distracted mother implored him not to use medicines, but to perform a miracle--was comforting the prostrate man with a few mouthfuls of the cordial Giovanni Selva had brought, but still more comforting were his gentle caresses, and the promise of other saving words, which would soon be brought to him. And the pitying voice, tender and grave, worked a miracle of peace. The sick man breathed with great difficulty, and still groaned, but he no longer cursed. The mother, wild with hope, murmured tearfully, with clasped hands.

"The miracle, the miracle, the miracle!"

"_Caro_ [dear one]," Benedetto said, "you are in G.o.d's hand, and you feel its might. Give yourself up to Him, and you will feel its gentleness. Let His hand place you once more in the ocean of life, or place you in heaven, or place you where it will, but give yourself up, do not think of that. When you were a little child your mother carried you, and you asked neither how, nor when, nor why; you were in her arms, you were in her love, you asked nothing more. It is the same now, _caro_. I, who speak to you, have done much evil in my life, perhaps you also have done a little evil; perhaps you remember it. Weep, weep, resting thus on the bosom of the Father who is calling you, who longs to pardon, who longs to forget it all. Presently the priest will come, and you will tell him everything, all the evil you have done, just as you remember it, without anguish. And then, do you know who will come to you in the great mystery? Do you know, _caro_, what love, what pity, what joy, what life will come?"

Struggling in the shadow of death, his gla.s.sy eyes fixed on Benedetto, eyes which shone with an intense longing, and with the fear of being unable to express it, the poor young man who had misunderstood Benedetto's words, and thought he must confess to him, began telling him of his sins. The mother, who, while Benedetto had been speaking, had flung herself on her knees in front of the wall of rock, and kept her lips pressed to the cross expecting a miracle, started up at the strange ring in that voice, sprang to the bedside and--understanding--gave a cry of despair, flinging her hands towards heaven, while Benedetto, terrified, exclaimed: "No, _caro_, not to me, not to me!" But the sick man did not hear; he put his arm round Benedetto's neck, drawing him to him, and continued his sorrowful confession, Benedetto repeating over and over again "My G.o.d, my G.o.d!" and making a mighty effort not to hear, but lacking the courage to tear himself away from the dying man's embrace. And, in fact, he did not hear, nor would it have been easy to do so, for the words came so slowly, so brokenly, so confusedly. Still the parish priest did not appear, and Don Clemente did not return.

Subdued voices and steps could be heard outside, and, sometimes a curious face peered in at the door, but no one entered. The dying man's words lost themselves in a confusion of weak sounds, and at last he was silent.

"Is there any one outside?" Benedetto inquired. "Let some one go to the parish priest, and bid him hasten."

Giovanni and Maria were attending to the mother, who, quite beside herself, was tossed between grief and anger. After having believed in the miracle, she would not now believe that her son had been reduced to this desperate condition by natural causes; at one moment she wept for him, and at the next cursed the medicines Benedetto had given him, although the Selvas a.s.sured her they were not medicines. Maria had put her arms round her, partly to comfort her and partly to hold her. She signed to Giovanni to go for the priest and Giovanni hurried away. The glistening eyes of the dying man were full of supplication. Benedetto said to him:

"My son, do you long for Christ?"

With an indescribable groan, he bowed his head feebly in a.s.sent.

Benedetto kissed him and kissed him again, tenderly.

"Christ tells me that your sins are forgiven, and that you may depart in peace."

The glistening eyes lighted up with joy. Benedetto called the mother, who, escaping from Maria's open arms, threw herself upon her son. At that moment Don Clemente entered, looking exhausted; Giovanni and the parish priest were with him.