“You have come about Sant’ Anselmo?”
That was the question which had been agreed upon. When Benedetto had assented, the priest signed to him to enter.
“Please come this way,” said he.
Benedetto followed him. They passed between the pontifical guards, who gave the priest the military salute. Turning to the right they mounted the Scala Pia. At the entrance to the courtyard of San Damaso there were other guards, other salutes, and an order given by the priest in a low tone; Benedetto did not hear it. They crossed the courtyard, leaving the entrance to the library on their left and on their right the door by which the Pope’s apartments are reached. High above them the glass of the Logge shone in the moonlight. Benedetto, recalling an audience the late Pontiff had granted him, was astonished at being conducted by this strange way. Having crossed the courtyard in a straight line, the priest entered the narrow passage leading to the small stairway called “dei Mosaici,” and stopped before the door opening on the right, where the stairway called “del Triangolo” descends. “Are you acquainted with the Vatican?” he inquired.
“I am acquainted with the Museums and the Logge,” Benedetto replied. “The predecessor of the present Pontiff once received me in his private apartment; but I am not acquainted with any other parts.”
“You have never been here?”
“Never.”
The priest preceded him up the stair, which was dimly illuminated by small electric lights. Suddenly, where the first flight reaches a landing, the lights went out. Benedetto, pausing with one foot on the landing, heard his guide run rapidly up some stairs on the right. Then all was silence. He supposed the light had gone out by accident, and that the priest had gone to turn it on again. He waited. No light, no footfall, no voice. He stepped on to the landing; stretching out his hands in the darkness, he touched a wall on the left; he went forward towards the right, feeling his way. By touching them with his foot he became aware of two flights of stairs which branched from the landing. He waited again, never doubting the priest would return.
Five minutes, ten minutes passed and the priest did not come. What could have happened. Had they wished to deceive him, to make sport of him? But why? Benedetto would not allow himself to dwell upon a suspicion about which it was useless to speculate. He reflected rather upon what it was best to do. It did not seem reasonable to wait any longer. Had he better turn back? Had he better go up still higher? In that case, which stair should he choose? He looked into himself, questioning the Ever-Present One.
No, he would not turn back. The idea was displeasing to him. He started up one of the flights, without choosing—the one leading to the servants’ rooms. It was short; presently Benedetto found himself on another landing. Now, he had heard the priest run up many stairs rapidly and without stopping, and the noise of his steps had been lost far, far above. He came down again, and tried the other flight. It was longer. The priest must have mounted this one. He decided to follow the priest.