Transcript

Chapter XVI · The White Sister

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Chapter sixteen of The White Sister. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox
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recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please
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visit LibriVox dot org. Read by Marie Christian. The White Sister by F.
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Marion Crawford, Chapter sixteen. Sister Giovanna's nerves were good. The modern
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trained nurse is a machine, and a wonderfully good one on the whole.
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When she is exceptionally endowed for her work, she is quite beyond praise.
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People who still fancy that Rome is a medieval town several centuries behind other great
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capitals in the application of useful discoveries in scientific systems would be surprised if they
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knew the truth and could see what is done there, and not as an
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exception, but as the general rule. The common English and American belief that
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Roman nuns nurse the sick chiefly by prayer and the precepts of the School of
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Salerno is old fashioned nonsense. The Pope's own authority requires that they should attend
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an extremely modern training school, where they receive a long course of instruction,
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probably as good as any in the world, from eminent surgeons and physicians.
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One of the first results of proper training in anything is an increased steadiness of
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the nerves, which quite naturally brings with it the ability to bear a long
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strain better than ordinary persons can, and a certain habitual coolness that is like
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an armor against surprises of all kinds. One reason why Anglo Saxons are generally
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cooler than people of other nations is that they are usually in better physical condition
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than other men. A digression is always a liberty which the story teller takes
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with his readers, and those of us have the fewest readers who make the
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most digressions, hence the little old fashioned civility of apologizing for them. The
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one I have just made seemed necessary to explain why sister Giovanna was able to
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go to her patient directly from Severi's rooms and to take up her work with
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as much quiet efficiency as if nothing unusual had happened. She had found the
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portress in considerable perturbation, for the right carriage had just arrived a quarter of
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an hour late instead of half an hour too soon. Sister Giovanna said that
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there had been a mistake, that she had been taken to the wrong house.
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That the first carriage should not have come to the hospital of the white
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nuns at all, and that she had been kept waiting some time before being
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brought back. All this was strictly true, and without further words, she
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drove away to the Villino Barini, the bruam Severi had hired, having already
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disappeared. As he had foreseen, it was impossible that any one could suspect
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what had happened, for the nun was above suspicion, and when his carriage
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had once left the convent door, no one could ever trace the sham coachman
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and footman in order to question them in that direction. Therefore, there was
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nothing to fear. The authority of an Italian officer over his orderly is great,
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and his power of making the conscript's life singularly easy or perfectly unbearable is
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greater. Even sister Giovanna knew that, and she felt no anxiety about the
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future. Her mind was the more free to serve her conscience in examining her
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own conduct. It was not her right to analyze Giovanni's. However, he
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had made the circumstances in which she had been placed against her will, and
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the only question was whether she had done right in a position she could neither
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have foreseen so as to avoid it, nor have escaped from when once caught
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in it. Examination of conscience are tedious to every one except the subject of
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them, who generally finds them disagreeable and sometimes positively painful. Sister Giovanna was
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honest with herself, and was broad minded enough to be fair. Her memory
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had always been very good. She could recall nearly every word of the long
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interview, and she accused herself of having been weak twice, namely when she
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had admitted that she was tempted, and when she had raised the revolver and
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Giovanni had thrown himself against it. The danger had been great at that moment,
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she knew, for she had felt that her mind was losing its balance,
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but she had not wished to kill him, even for a moment,
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though a terrifying conviction that her finger was going to pull the trigger in spite
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of her had taken away her breath. Looking back, she thought it must
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have been the sensation some people have at the edge of a precipice when they
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feel an insane impulse to jump off, without having the slightest wish to destroy
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themselves. If a man affected in this way should lose his head and leap
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to destruction, his act would assuredly not be suicide. The nun knew it
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very well, and she was equally sure that if she had been startled into
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pulling the trigger and had killed the man she had loved so well, it
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would not have been homicide, whatever the law might have called it, but
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the consequences would have been frightful, and the danger had been real. She
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could be thankful for her good nerves since nothing had happened. That was all.
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Where she had done wrong had been in taking up the weapon, great
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as the provocation to self defense had been morally speaking, and apart from the
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possible fatal result, her main fault lay in having confessed to Giovanni that she
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was really tempted to ask release from her vows. Now that he was not
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near, no such temptation assailed her, but there had been a time and
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when to resist it had seemed the greatest sacrifice that any human being could make.
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She could only draw one conclusion from this fact, but it was a
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grave one. In spite of her past life, her vows, and her
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heart felt faith, she was not free from material and earthly passion. Innocence
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is one thing, Ignorance is another, and a trained nurse of twenty five
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cannot and should not be as ignorant as a child, whether she be a
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nun or a lay woman. Sister Giovanna knew what she had felt. It
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had been the thrill of an awakened sense, not the vibration of a heartfelt
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sympathy. It belonged neither to the immortal spirit, nor to the Kingdom of
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the mind, but to the dying body. Temptation is not sin, but
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it is wrong to expose oneself to it willingly, except for a purpose so
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high as to justify the risk. Sister Giovanna quietly resolved that she she would
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never see Severi again, and she judged that the surest way of abiding by
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her resolution was to join the Mission to the Far East and leave Italy forever.
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Having already thought of taking the step merely in order to get away from
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the possibility of hating a person who had wronged her and robbed her, it
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seemed indeed her duty to take it now for this much stronger reason, since
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she could still be weak. Her first and greatest duty was to put herself
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beyond the reach of weakening influences. Giovanni would not leave Rome while she stayed
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there. That was certain. There was no alternative but to go away herself.
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For a man capable of such a daring and lawless deed as carrying her
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off from the door of the convent under the very eyes of the portress might
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do anything. Indeed, he might even follow her to Rangoon, But she
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must risk that or bury herself in a cloister, which she would not do
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if she could help it. While she was nursing the new case to which
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she had been called, her resolution became irrevocable. When the patient finally recovered,
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she returned to the convent, and it was not till she had been
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doing ordinary work in the hospital during several days that she asked to see the
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Mother Superior alone. Captain Hugo Severi had gone to the baths at Monte Catina
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to complete his cure. Nothing more had been heard of Giovanni, and the
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mother was inclined to believe that his meeting with Sister Giovanna had been final and
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that he would make no further attempt to see her. But the nun herself
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thought otherwise. She sat where she always did when she came to the Mother
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Superior's room, on a straight back chair between the corner of the table and
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the wall, and she told her story without once faltering or hesitating, though
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without once looking up from the moment when she had got into the wrong carriage
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till she had at last reached the Velino Bearini in safety. Though it was
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late in the afternoon and the light was failing, the mother shaded her eyes
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with one hand while she listened. There was neither rule nor tradition under which
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Sister Giovanna could have felt it her duty to tell her superior what had happened,
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and she had necessarily been the only judge of what her confessor should know
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of the matter even now. If she had burst into floods of tears or
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shown any other sign of being on the verge of a nervous crisis, the
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elder woman would probably have stopped her and told her not to make confidences that
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concerned another person until she was calmer. But she evidently had full control of
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her words and outward bearing, and the mother listened in silence. Then the
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young nun expounded the conclusion to which she believed herself forced. She must leave
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a country in which Giovanni might any moment make another meeting inevitable, and the
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safest refuge was the rangoon Leper asylum. She formally asked permission to be allowed
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to join the mission. The Mother Superior's nervous little hand contracted spasmodically upon her
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eyes, and then joined its fellow on her knee. She sat quite still
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for a few seconds, looking towards the window. The evening glow was beginning
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to fill the garden and the cloisters with purple and gold, and a faint
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reflection came up to her suffering face. It kills me to let you go,
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she said, at last, just above a whisper. The words in
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the tone took Sister Giovanna by surprise. Though she had lately understood that the
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Mother's Superior's affection for her was much stronger than she would formerly have believed possible.
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It was something more than the sincere friendship which a middle aged woman might
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feel for one much younger, and it was certainly not founded on the fact
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that the latter was an exceptionally gifted nurse whose presence and activity were of the
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highest importance to the hospital. Neither friendship nor admiration for a fellow worker could
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explain an emotion of such tragic depth and strength that it seemed almost too human
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in a woman otherwise quite above and beyond ordinary humanity. Sister Giovanna could find
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nothing to say, and waited in silence. I did not know that one
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could feel such pain, said Mother Veronica, looking steadily out of the window,
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But her voice was little more than a breath. The sister could not
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understand. But in the midst of her own great trouble, the sight of
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a suffering as great as her own, and born on account of her,
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moved her deeply. All at once, the mother's superior swayed to one side
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on her chair as if she were fainting, and she might have fallen if
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the nun had not darted forward to hold her upright the touch, she straightened
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herself with an effort and gently pushed the young sister away from her. If
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it is for me that you are in such pain, mother, said sister
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Giovanna gently. I cannot thank you enough for being so sorry. But I
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do not deserve that you should care so much. Indeed, I do not
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if I could give my life for yours, it would still be too little.
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You are giving your life for many, Sister Giovanna answered gently, that
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is better. No, it is not better, but it is the best
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I can do. You do not understand, how can I, But I
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am grateful. You owe me nothing, the Mother Superior answered, with sudden
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energy, But I owe you everything. You have given me the happiest hours
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of my life. But it was too much. God sent you to me,
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and God is taking you away from me. God's will be done.
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Sister Giovannah felt that she was near something very strange and great, which she
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might not be able to comprehend if it were shown clearly, and which almost
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frightened her by its mysterious, veiled presence. The evening light penetrated Mother Veronica's
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translucid features as if they were carved out of alabaster, and the hues that
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lingered in them might have been reflected from heaven. Her upturned eyes that sometimes
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looked so small and piercing, were wide and sorrowful. Now the young sister
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saw, but guessed nothing of the truth. The happiest hours in your life,
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She repeated the words, with wonder Yes, said the elder woman slowly,
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The happiest by far. Since you have been here, you have never
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given me one bad moment by word or deed, excepting by the pain you
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yourself have had to bear. If you go away, and if I should
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not live long, remember what I have told you, For if you have
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some affection for me, it will comfort you to think that you have made
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me very, very happy for five long years. I am glad, though
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I have done nothing but my duty, and barely that I cannot see how
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I deserve such praise. But if I have satisfied you, I am most
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glad you have been a mother to me. Slowly, the transfigured face turned
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to her at last, full of radiance. Do you mean it just as
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you say it, my dear Indeed, indeed I do, Sister Giovanna answered,
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wondering more and more, but in true earnest. The dark eyes gazed
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on her steadily for a long time, with an expression she had never seen
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in human eyes before. Then the truth came, soft and low. I
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am your mother. You are a mother to us all, the young sister
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answered, I am your mother, dear, your own mother that bore you
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you, my only child. Do you understand? Sister Giovanna's eyes opened wide
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in amazement, but there was a four lighting of joy in her face.
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You she cried, but I knew my mother, my father. No,
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she whom you called your mother was my elder sister. I ran away with
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the man I loved because he was a Protestant and poor, and my parents
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would not allow the marriage. We were married in his church, but my
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family would have nothing more to do with me. I was an outcast for
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them, disgraced, never to be mentioned. Your own father died of typhoid
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fever a few days before you were born. I was ill, a long
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time ill, and poor, almost starving. I wrote to my sister,
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imploring help. She and her husband bargained with me. They agreed to make
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a long journey and bring you back as their child. They promised that you
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should be splendidly prove I did, for you would be an heiress. All
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that my brother in law could legally dispose of should go to you. But
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I was to disappear forever and never let the truth be known. What could
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I do? You were two months old and I was penniless. I let
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them take you, and I became a nursing sister. It was like tearing
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off a limb, but I let you go to the glorious future that was
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before you. At least you would have all the world held to make up
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for my love. And I knew they would be kind to you. They
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were ashamed of me, that was all they said, that I was not
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married. You know how rigid they were with their traditions and prejudices. That
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is my story. I have kept my word and their secret until to day.
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Sister Giovanna listened with wide eyes and parted lips, for the world she
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had lived in during more than five and twenty years was wrenched from its path
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and sent whirling into space at a tangent she could not follow. There was
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nothing firm under her feet. She had nothing substantial left, not even the
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name she had once called her own. It had all been unreal. The
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dead Knight of Malta lying in state in the Great Palace had not been her
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father. The delicate woman with the ascetic face who had died when she had
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been a little child had not been her mother. They had never registered her
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birth at the municipality because she had not been their child and had not even
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been born in Rome. They had not taken the proper legal steps to adopt
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her and make her their heir, because they had been ashamed of her own
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mother, and her own mother was before her mother, Veronica, the superior
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of the convent in which she had taken refuge, because they had left her
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a destitute, nameless, penniless waif after promising to make her their daughter in
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the eyes of the law. She knew that without a certificate of birth a
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girl could not easily be legally married in Italy. If the prince had lived
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and she had been about to marry, what would he have done about that?
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But he was gone, and she would not ask herself such a question,
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for the answer seemed to be that he would have done something dishonest rather
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than admit the truth. A deep resentment sprang up in her against the dead
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man and woman who had not honorably kept their solemn promise to her mother and
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her aunt's lawless act, and hatred of her sank into insignificance. Beside their
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sin of a mission. If the Princess's confession during her illness had not been
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altogether the invention of a fevered brain, and if there had really been a
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will, it had been worthless, and its destruction had not robbed Angela of
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a farthing. She and her mother had been cheated, and their lives made
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desolate by those other two. She must not think of it, lest she
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should hate the dead as she had dreaded to hate the living. All this
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had flashed upon her mind in one of those quick visions of the truth,
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by which we sometimes become aware of many closely connected facts simultaneously, without taking
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account of each. After the mother's superior had ceased speaking, the silence lasted
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only a few seconds, but it seemed long to her now that she had
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told her secret and was waiting to be answered. Would her daughter forgive her?
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The young nun's face expressed nothing she felt at that moment, for the
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staring eyes and parted lips remained mechanically fixed in a look of blind surprise.
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Long after, her thoughts were on the wing, and her thoughts flew far,
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but their wide circling flight brought them back like swallows, as swiftly as
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they had flown away. Then her heart spoke, and in another moment she
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was at her mother's knee with a little natural cry that had never passed her
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lips before. For a breathing space, both guessed what Heaven might hold of
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rest, refreshment, and peace, and the march of tragic fate was stayed
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while mother and daughter communed together and dreamed of never parting on earth, but
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to meet in heaven, of keeping their sweet secret from all the world as
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something sacred for themselves, of working side by side in one life, one
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love, one faith, one hope, effacing all earthly trouble together, and
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of fighting every battle of the spirit hand in hand, two could bear what
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one could not. Sister Giovanna felt that fresh strength was given her, and
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the long tired elder woman was conscious that her will to do good was renewed
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and doubled and trebled, so that she could accomplish twice in three times as
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much as before. Her daughter would not leave her now to be a martyr
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in the East as the only escape from herself and from the man who loved
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her too daringly. Why should she go. If she still felt that she
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must leave Rome for a time, she could go to one of the orders
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houses far away, but not to the East, the deadly East. Heaven
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did not love useless suffering. The Church condemned all self sacrifice that was not
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meet right and reasonable. In due time, she would come back when all
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danger was over, When Giovanni had lived through the first days of surprise,
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disappointment, and passion, the sunset glow had faded and twilight was coming on
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when the two went down the steps and crossed the cloistered garden to the chapel,
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for it was the hour for vespers. They walked as usual with an
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even noiseless tread, the young nun on the left of her superior and keeping
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step with her, but not quite close to her, for that would not
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have been respectful. Yet each felt as if the other's hand were in hers,
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and their hearts were beating gently with the same loving thought. Peace had
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come upon them, and they felt that it would be lasting. At the
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chapel door, they separated. The mother Superior passed to her high backed,
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carved seat at the end. The three aged nuns who had survived from other
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times sat next to her in order of their years, and Sister Giovanna took
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her appointed place. Much farther down. A number of seats were empty,
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belonging to those nurses who were attending private cases. Cloistered nuns spend many hours
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of the day and night in chapel, but the working orders use short offices
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and have much latitude as to the hours at which their services are held.
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Except on Sundays and at daily Mass. No priest officiates. The mother Superior
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or mother Prioress leads with her side of the choir. The sub Prioress or
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the mistress of the novices, or whoever is second in authority, responds with
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the other nuns. The office of Saint Dominic for vespers practically consists of one
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short psalm, a very diminutive lesson, one hymn, and the beautiful canticle
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my soul doth magnify the Lord. Then follows a little prayer and the short
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responsory, and all is over. The whole service does not last ten minutes.
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The women's voices answered each other peacefully, and then rose together in the
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quaint old melody of the hymn. The sweet notes of the younger ones carried
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high on the stronger tones of the elder sisters, while the three old nuns
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droned on in a sort of patient nasal, half mannished counter tenor, scarcely
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pronouncing the words they sang, but making an accompaniment that was not wholly unpleasing.
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Two versicles of responsory next and then the Mother Superior began to intone the
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Magnificat, and Sister Giovanna took up the Grand plain chant with the others.
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In spite of her deep trouble. The words had never meant to her what
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they meant now, and she felt her world lifted up from earth to the
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gates of peace. But she was not to reach the end of the wonderful
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song that day. And His mercy is on them that fear him from generation
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to generation. The nun sang with a crash, as if a thunderbolt had
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fallen at their feet. In the choir, the Great Unforeseen once more flashed
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from its hiding place and hurled itself into their mist. The chapel rocked to
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and fro twice, with a horrible noise of loosened masonry grinding on itself,
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and the panes of the high windows fell in three separate showers and were smashed
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to thousands of splinters on the stone floor. The lights went out, the
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sacred ornaments on the altar toppled and fell upon each other. The twilight that
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glimmered through the broken windows alone overcame the darkness in the wrecked church. The
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destruction was sudden, violent and quick. In less than fifteen seconds after the
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shock, perfect stillness reigned again. The sisters, in their first terror,
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caught at each other instinctively, or grasped the woodwork with convulsed hands. One
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or two novices had screamed outright, but the most of them uttered an ejaculatory
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prayer, more than half unconscious. The Mother Superior was standing upright and motionless
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in her place. Is any one hurt? She asked steadily, and looking
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round the semicircle in the gloom. No answer came to her question, if
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any one of you was struck by anything, She said again, let her
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speak. No one had been hurt, for the small choir was under the
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apse of the chapel and there were no windows there. Let us go to
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the hospital at once, she said, the patients will need us. Her
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calm imposed itself upon the young novices and one or two of the more nervous
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sisters. The others were brave women and had only been badly startled and shaken,
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for which no one could blame them. They filed out two and two
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by the side door of the choir Mother of Veronica. Coming last from the
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cloister, they could see that the big glass door of the reception hall was
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smashed, and that the windows overhead on that side were also broken. Singularly
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enough, not one of those on the other side was injured. All had
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felt the certainty that a dynamite bomb had been exploded somewhere in the building with
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the intention of blowing up the hospital. As they fell out of their ranks
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and scattered in twos and threes, hastening to the different parts of the establishment
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where each did her accustomed work, Sister Giovanna naturally found herself beside the mother's
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superior, as one of the super advising nurses. She was of course needed
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in the hospital itself with her superior. What do you think it was,
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mother, she asked in a low tone. Nothing but dynamite could have done
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such damage. She was still speaking when a lay sister rushed out of the
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door they were about to enter, with a broom in her hand, which
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she had evidently forgotten to put down. The powder magazine at Monteverde, she
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cried excitedly. I saw it from the window. It was like fireworks.
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It is blown up, with everybody in it. I am sure. End
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of Chapter sixteen