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Updated: June 6, 2025
Manisty approached her. They discussed some arrangement for the journey, in the cold tones of mere acquaintance. Not a sign of intimacy in manner or words; beyond the forced intimacy of those who have for the moment a common task. When the short dialogue was over, Manisty mumbled something to Brooklyn to the effect that Father Benecke had some dinner for him at the house at the foot of the hill.
'Father Benecke! you here, said Eleanor, leaning against the wall for support so weak was she, and so startling was this sudden apparition of the man whom she had last seen on the threshold of the glass passage at Marinata, barely a fortnight before. 'I fear, Madame, that I intrude upon you, said the old priest, staring at her with embarrassment. 'I will retire.
'You didn't send me away, you know the other day at the villa. The priest sighed and hesitated. 'I don't know, Madame, why I should trouble you with my poor story. 'It would not trouble me. Besides, I know so much of it already. She pointed to the bench he had just left. 'And I, said Lucy, 'will go and fetch a book I left in the loggia. Father Benecke, Mrs. Burgoyne is not strong.
At last, two days after his arrival, he got an hour to himself while Manisty and Father Benecke were walking, and Lucy was with the Contessa. He began to question her eagerly as to the future. With whom was she to pass the remainder of the year and where? 'With my father and Aunt Pattie of course, said Eleanor, smiling. 'It will be Scotland I suppose till November then London.
Father Benecke was also taken aback. He lifted his eyes from the papers he held. 'I wrote to him through his bankers the other day, Madame. I have always found that letters so addressed to him are forwarded. Then he stopped in distress and perturbation. Mrs. Burgoyne was still apparently struggling for breath and composure. His absent, seer's eyes at last took note of her as a human being.
This has been well brought out by E.F.M. Benecke in his Antimachus of Colophon and the Position of Women in Greek Poetry, a book which contains some hazardous assertions, but is highly instructive from the present point of view. The Greek lyric poets wrote practically no love poems at all to women before Anacreon, and his were only written in old age.
The priest stood hesitating and miserable before them, a hot colour suffusing his hollow cheeks. Lucy saw that he was no longer in clerical dress. He wore a grey alpaca suit, and a hat of fine Leghorn straw with a broad black ribbon. Both ladies almost feared to speak to him. Then Lucy ran forward, her cheeks too a bright red, her eyes wet and sparkling. 'How do you do, Father Benecke?
Her heart, in its natural lovingness, went out to his mother. She found her tongue, and she and the Contessa talked till the twilight fell of the country and the peasants, of the improvements in Italian farming, of the old convent and its history. Not a word of the war; and not a word, Eleanor noticed, of their fellow-lodger, Father Benecke.
What she felt also, tortured as she was by jealousy and angry will, was the sheer longing for human help that must always be felt by the lonely and the weak. Confession, judgment, direction it was on these tremendous things that her inner mind was brooding all the time that she sat talking to Father Benecke of the Jewish influence in Bavaria, or the last number of the 'Civilta Cattolica.
After their midday meal Lucy was sitting idly on the outer wall of the loggia which commanded the bit of road just outside the convent, when she perceived a figure mounting the hill. 'Father Benecke! she said to Eleanor. 'What a climb for him in this heat! Did you say he had gone to Selvapendente? Poor old man! how hot and tired he looks! and with that heavy parcel too!
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