“He is always in the garden!” the Marchesa exclaimed. “Does the angel grow in a flower-bed or in a pot?”
The insipid young woman laughed, and the Friends shot furious glances at the Marchesa.
Tea, which had been included in Guarnacci’s invitation, was then brought in.
“A delightful conversation, is it not?” Signora Albacina, wife of the Honourable Albacina, Undersecretary of the Home Office, said softly to the lady in black, who had not once spoken. She now smiled sadly without answering.
Tea was served by the Professor and his sister, and put an end to conversation for a few moments. It soon burst forth again, however, the topic being Benedetto’s discourse. There ensued such a confusion of senseless remarks, of worthless opinions, of would-be wise sayings devoid of wisdom that the lady in black proposed to Signora Albacina, in whose company she had come, that they should take their departure. But at that point the Marchesa Fermi, having discovered a small bell on the mantel-shelf, began ringing it, to obtain silence. “I should like to hear about this garden,” she said.
The Friends and the middle-aged spinster, engaged in a warm discussion of Benedetto’s Catholic orthodoxy, would not have left off for ten bells, had not the spinster’s curiosity been roused by the word “garden.” It now burst forth unchecked! Garden indeed! The Professor must tell them all he knew about this Father Hecker, who was an Italian and a layman. Partly to display her knowledge, partly from thoughtlessness, she had already bestowed this title upon Benedetto. The insipid young woman consulted her watch. Her carriage must be at the door. Little Signorina Guarnacci said there were already four or five carriages at the door. The insipid young woman was anxious to reach the Valle in time for the third act of the comedy, and two other ladies, who had engagements, left at the same time. The Marchesa Fermi remained.
“Make haste, Professor,” she said, “for my daughter is expecting me this evening, with those other ladies whose shoulders are on view!”
“Do make haste, then!” said the middle-aged spinster, contemptuously. “Afterwards you can speak for the benefit of the poor creatures who do not show their shoulders!”
A fair-haired, extremely handsome foreigner, in a very low gown, cast a withering glance at the poor, lean, carefully covered little shoulders of the contemptuous spinster, who, greatly vexed, grew as red as a lobster.
“Well, then,” the Professor began, “as the Marchesa, and probably the other ladies who are in such a hurry, already know as much as I do myself about the Saint of Jenne, before he left Jenne, I will omit that part of the story. A month ago, then, in October, I did not even remember having read in the papers, in June or July, about this Benedetto, who was preaching and performing miracles at Jenne. Well, one day, coming out of San Marcello, I met a certain Porretti, who used to write for the Osservatore, but does so no longer. This Porretti walked on with me, and we spoke of the condemnation of Giovanni Selva’s works which is expected from day to day, and which—by the way—has not yet been pronounced. Porretti told me there was a friend of Selva’s in Rome at present who would be even more talked of than Selva himself. ‘Who is he?’ I inquired. ‘The Saint of Jenne,’ he replied, and proceeded to tell me the following story. Two priests, well known in Rome as terrible Pharisees, caused this man to be driven away from Jenne. He retired to Subiaco, stayed with the Selvas, who were spending the summer there, and fell seriously ill. Upon his recovery he came to Rome—about the middle of July. Professor Mayda, another friend of Selva’s, engaged him as under-gardener at the villa which he built two years ago on the Aventine, below Sant’ Anselmo. The new under-gardener, who wished to be called simply Benedetto, as at Jenne, soon became popular in the whole Testaccio quarter. He distributes his bread among the poor, comforts the sick, and, it seems, has really healed one or two by the laying on of hands and by prayer. He has, in fact, become so popular that Professor Mayda’s daughter-in-law, notwithstanding her faith and piety, would gladly dismiss him, on account of the annoyance his many visitors cause. But her father-in-law treats him with the greatest consideration. If he allows him to rake the paths and water the flowers, it is only because he respects his saintly ideals, and he limits the hours of work, making them as short as possible. He wishes to leave him perfectly free to fulfil his religious mission. Mayda himself often goes into the garden to talk of religion with his under-gardener. To please him Benedetto has abandoned the diet he observed at Jenne, where he ate nothing but bread and herbs, and drank only water; he now eats meat and drinks wine. To please Benedetto, the Professor distributes these things in large quantities among the sick of the district. Many people laugh at Benedetto and insult him, but the populace venerates him as did the people of Jenne in the beginning. His deeds of charity to the soul are even greater than his deeds of charity to the body. He has freed certain families from moral disorders, and for this his life was threatened by a woman of evil repute; he has persuaded some to go to church who, since their childhood, have never set foot inside a church. The Benedictines of Sant’ Anselmo are well aware of these things. Then, two or three times a week, in the evening, he speaks in the Catacombs.”