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Chapter XVII · The White Sister

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Chapter seventeen 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 seventeen. The Lay Sister was right. The great powder
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magazine at Monteverde had been blown up. But by what hands no one has
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ever surely known. The destruction was sudden, complete, tremendous, for a
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large quantity of dynamite had been stored in the deep vaults. Today, a
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great hollow in the side of the hill and near the road marks the spot
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where the buildings stood. Many stories have been told of the catastrophe. Many
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tales have been repeated about suspicious characters who had been seen in the neighborhood before
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the fatal event, and for some of these there is fairly good authority.
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All those who were in the city when the explosion took place, and I
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myself was in Rome at the time, will remember how everyone was at first
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convinced that his own house had been struck by lightning or suddenly shaken to its
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foundations. Everyone will remember too, the long and ringing shower of broken glass
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that followed instantly upon the terrific report. Every window looking westward was broken at
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once, except some few on the lower stories of houses protected by buildings opposite.
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Giovanni Severi was in the main building over the vaults a short time before
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the catastrophe, having just finished a special inspection which had occupied most of the
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afternoon. He was moving to leave the place when an unfamiliar sound caught his
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ears, a noise muffled yet sharp, like that of the discharge of musketry
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heard through a thick wall. The June and your officers and the corporal who
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were with him heard it too, but did not understand its meaning. Giovanni,
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however, instantly remembered the story told by one of the survivors from a
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terrible explosion of ammunition near Naples many years previously. That muffled sound of quick
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firing came from metallic cartridges exploding within the cases that held them. Each case
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would burst and set fire to the others beside it, like the spark that
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runs along a fuse. The train of boxes would blow up in quick succession,
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till the large stores of gunpowder were fired and then a mass of dynamite.
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Beyond there were divisions in the vaults. There were doors, there were
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walls, but Giovanni knew well that no such barriers would avail for more than
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a few minutes. Without raising his voice, he led his companions to the
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open door, speaking as he went. The magazine will blow up in two
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or three minutes. At the outside, he said, Send the men running
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in all directions, and go yourselves to warn the people and the cottages near
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by to get out of doors at once. It will be like an earthquake.
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Every house within five hundred yards will be shaken down. Now run,
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run for your lives, and to save the lives of others. Call out
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the men as you pass the gates. The three darted away across the open
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space that lay between the central building and the guard house. Giovanni ran,
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too, but not away from the danger. There were sentry stationed at intervals
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all round the outer wall, as round the walls of a prison, and
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they would have little chance of life if they remained at their posts. Giovanni
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ran like a deer, but even so he lost many seconds in giving his
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orders to each sentinel to run straight for the open fields. To the nearest
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cottages and to give warning. The astonished sentinels obeyed instantly, and Giovanni ran
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on. He reached the very last, just too late. At that moment
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the thunder of the explosion rent the air. He felt the earth rock and
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was thrown violently to the ground. Then something struck his right arm and shoulder,
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pinning him down. He closed his eyes and was beyond hearing or feeling.
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Within three quarters of an hour, the road to Monteverde was thronged with
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vehicles of all sorts, and with crowds of people on foot. The nature
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of the disaster had been understood at once by the soldiery, and the explanation
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had spread among the people, rousing that strange mixture of curiosity and horror that
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draws the common throng to the scene of every accident or crime. But amongst
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the very first, the king was on the spot with half a dozen superior
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officers, and in the briefest possible time, the search for dead and wounded
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began. The story of Geovani A's splendid presence of mind and heroic courage ran
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from mouth to mouth. The junior officers and the men whom he had sent
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in all directions, came in and reported themselves to the officer who had taken
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charge of everything. For the time being, only one man was missing,
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only one man, and Giovanni himself. A few casualties amongst the peasants were
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reported, but not a life had been lost, and hardly a bone was
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broken. Yet Giovanni was missing. With the confidence of men who understood that
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the magazine must have been so entirely destroyed at once as to annihilate all further
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danger. In an instant, the searchers went up to the ruin of the
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outer wall and peered into the great dusty pit, out of which the foundations
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of the magazine had been hurled hundreds of feet into the air. Something of
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the outline of the enclosure could still be traced, and the sentinels whom Giovanni
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had worn from their post had already told their story. They found too that
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the missing man himself had been one of the sentries, and the inference was
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clear. Their commanding officer had been killed before he had reached the last post.
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For a long time they searched in vain. Great masses of masonry had
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shot through the outer wall and had rolled on or been stopped by the inequalities
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of the ground. Most of the wall itself was fallen, and its direction
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could only be traced by a heap of ruins. Twilight had turned to darkness,
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and the search grew more and more difficult. As a fine rain began
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to fall below. The multitude was already ebbing back to Rome. It was
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dark, it was wet, Hardly any one had been hurt, and there
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was nothing to see. The best thing to be done was to go home.
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It was late when a squad of four artillerymen heard a low moan that
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came from under a heap of stones close by them. In an instant,
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they were at work with the pick axes and spades they had borrowed from the
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peasant's houses. Foreseeing what their work would be from time to time, they
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paused a moment and listened. Before long they recognized their comrade's voice. Easy,
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brothers, don't crack my skull with your pickaxes. For heaven's sake,
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is the captain there, asked one of the men dead, answered the prisoner,
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he was warning me when we were knocked down together. Make haste,
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but for goodness sake, be careful. They were trained men, and they
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did their work quickly and well. What happened was this, The heavy and
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irregular mass of masonry that had pinned Giovanni to the ground by his arm had
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helped to make a sort of shelter across which a piece of the outer wall
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had fallen without breaking, followed by a mass of rubbish. By what seemed
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almost a miracle to the soldiers, their companion was entirely unhurt, and no
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part of the officer's body had been touched except the arm that lay crushed beneath
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the stones. They cleared away the rubbish and looked at him as he lay
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on his back, pale and motionless, under the light of their lanterns.
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They knew what he had done. Now they understood that of them all,
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he was the hero. One of the men took off his cap reverently,
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and immediately the others followed his example, and so they all stood for a
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few moments, looking at him in silence and in deference to his brave deeds.
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Then they set to work in silence to move the heavy block of broken
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masonry that had felled him, and their comrade helped them too, though he
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was stiff and bruised and dazed from the terrific shock. As the mass yielded
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at last before their strength and rolled away, one of the men uttered a
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cry. He's alive, he exclaimed. He moved his head before he had
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finished speaking. The man was on his knees beside Giovanni, tearing open his
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tunic and his shirt to listen for the beating of his heart. It was
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faint, but audible. Giovanni severe was not dead yet, and a few
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moments later his artillery men were carrying him down the hill towards the road,
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his injured arms swinging like a rag at his side. They did not wait
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for orders. There were a number of carriages still in the road, and
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the men had no idea where their superiors might be. Their first thought was
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to get Giovanni conveyed to a hospital as soon as possible. We must take
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him to the White Sisters, said the eldest of them. That is where
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his brother was so long. The others assented readily enough, and finding an
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empty cab in the road, they lifted the wounded officer into it, pulled
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up the hood against the rain, whilst two of them crept in under it,
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telling the cabman where to go. In less than a quarter of an
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hour, the cab stopped before the Hospital of the White Sisters, and when
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the Portress opened the door, the two artillery men explained what had happened and
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begged that their officer might be taken in at once, and moreover, that
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the Portress would kindly get some money with which to pay the cabman, as
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they could only raise seven sous between them. The Mother Superior had supposed that
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there would be many wounded, and had directed that the orderly should be ready
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at the door with stretchers. Although the convent hospital did not receive accident cases
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or casualties except in circumstances of extreme emergency, the hospital of the Consolazione,
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close to the Roman Forum, was the proper place for these, but it
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was very much farther, and the White Sisters were so well known in Alle
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of Trastevere that they were sometimes called upon even in the middle of the night
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to take in a wounded man who could have not lived to reach the great
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hospital beyond the Tiber. Under the brilliant electric light in the main hall,
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the Mother Superior recognized Giovanni's unconscious face, his crushed arm hanging down like a
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doll's, and his torn and soiled uniform told the rest. He was taken
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at once to the room his brother had occupied so long. The mother superior
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herself helped the surgeon and another sister to do all that could be done.
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Then Sister Giovanna knew nothing of his coming, for she was in the wards,
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where there was much to be done. The patients who had fever had
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been severely affected by the terrible explosion, and most of them were more or
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less delirious and had to be quieted. In the windows that looked westward,
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every pain of glass was broken, though the outer shutters had been closed at
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sunset a few minutes before the catastrophe. There were heaps of broken glass to
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be cleared away, and the patients whose beds were now exposed to drafts were
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moved. Sister Giovanna, who was not the supervising nurse for the week,
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worked quietly and efficiently with the others, carrying out all directions as they were
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given. But her heart misgave her, and when one of the nuns came
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in and said in a low voice that an officer from Monteverde had been brought
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in with his arm badly crushed. She steadied herself a moment by the foot
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of an iron bedstead in the shaded light of the ward. No one noticed
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her agonized face. Presently she was able to ask where the officer was,
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and the sister who had brought the news announced that he was in number two.
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It was Giovanni now, and not his brother. The unhappy woman was
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sure of that, and every instinct in her nature bade her go to him
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at once. But the unconscious violation of those long trained to duty is stronger
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than almost any impulse except that of downright fear, and Sister Giovanna stayed where
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she was, for there was still much to be done. About half an
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hour later, the mother Superior entered the ward and found her and led her
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quietly out. When they were alone together, the elder woman told her the
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truth. Giovanni Severi has been brought here from Monteverde. She said. His
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right arm is so badly crushed that unless it is amputated, he will certainly
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die. Sister Giovanna did not start, for she had guessed that he had
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received some terrible injury. She answered quietly enough by a question is he conscious?
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She asked, I believe that, but by the law, his consent
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must be obtained before the operation. He came to himself, but the doctor
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thought it best to give him a hypodermic of morphia, and he is asleep.
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Did he speak while he was conscious? The Mother Superior knew what was
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passing in her daughter's mind and looked quietly into the expectant eyes. He did
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not pronounce your name, but he said that he would rather die outright than
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lose his right arm. In any case, it would not be possible to
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amputate it during the night. He had probably dined before the accident, and
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it will not be safe to put him under ether before tomorrow morning. Sister
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Giovanna did not speak for a few moments, though the Mother Superior was almost
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quite sure what her next words would be, and that the young nun was
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mentally weighing her own strength of character with the circumstances that might arise. May
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I take care of him to night? She asked at last, rather suddenly,
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like a person who has decided to run a grave risk. Can you
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be sure of yourself? Asked the elder woman, trying to put the question
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in the authoritative tone which she would have used with any other sister in the
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community. But it was of no use. When she thought of all it
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meant, and of what the delicate girl was to her, all the coldness
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went out of her voice and the deepest motherly sympathy took its place. The
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answer came after a short pause in which the question was finally decided. Yes,
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I can be sure of myself now. Then come with me, answered
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the Mother Superior. They followed the passage to the lift, were taken up
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to the third floor, and a few moments later were standing before the closed
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door of number two. The Mother Superior paused with her hand on the door
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knob. She looked silently at her young companion, as if repeating the question
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she had already asked, and Sister Giovanna understood and slowly bent her head.
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I can bear anything now, she said. She opened the door and the
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two entered the quiet room, where one of the sisters sat reading her bravery
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by the shaded light. In the corner. The wounded man lay fast asleep
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under the influence of the morphia, and the white coverlet was drawn up to
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his chin. He was not very pale, Sister Giovanna thought, but she
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could not see well because there was a green shade over the small electric lamp
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in the corner of the room. Sister, Giovanna, will take your place
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for to night, said the mother, superior to the nun, who had
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risen respectfully and who left the room at once. The mother and daughter turned
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to the bedside and stood looking down at the sleeping man's face. Instinctively,
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their hands touched and then held each other. Experience told them both that in
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all probability, Giovanni would sleep till morning under the drug, and would wait
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in a dreamy state in which he might not recognize his nurse at once,
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but sooner or later the recognition must take place. Words must be spoken,
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and a question must be asked, would he or would he not consent to
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the operation which alone could save his life. So far as the two women
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knew and understood the law, everything depended on that if he deliberately refused,
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it would be because he chose not to live without Angela, not because he
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feared to go through life a cripple. They were both sure of that,
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and they were sure also that if any one could persuade him to choose life
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where the choice lay in his own hands, it would be Sister Giovanna herself.
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The operation was not one which should be attended with great danger, yet,
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so far as the law provided, it was of such gravity as to
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require the patient's own consent. Neither of the two nuns spoke again till the
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Mother Superior was at the door. To go out, if you want me,
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ring for the lay sister on duty and send for me, she said,
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I will come at once. She did not remember that she had ever
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before said as much to a nurse whose night was beginning. Thank you,
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answered Sister Giovanna. I think he will sleep till morning. The door closed,
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and she made two steps forward till she stood at the foot of the
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bed. For a few moments, she gazed intently at the face she knew
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so well. But then her glance turned quickly toward the corner, where the
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other nurse had sat beside the shaded lamp. That should be her place,
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too, but she could not bear to be so far from him. Noiselessly,
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she brought a chair to the bedside and sat down so that she could
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look at his face. Since she had been in the room, she had
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felt something new and unexpected, the deep womanly joy of being alone to take
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care of the beloved one in the hour of his greatest need. She would
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not have thought it possible that a ray of light could penetrate her darkness,
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or that in her deep distress, anything approaching in the most distant degree to
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a sensation of peace and happiness could come near her. Yet it was there,
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and she knew it, and her heart rested. It was an illusion,
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no doubt, a false dawn, such as men see in the tropics,
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only to be followed by a darker night. But while it lasted,
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it was the dawn For all that it was a faint, sweet breath of
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happiness, and every instinct of her heart told her that it was innocent.
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She would have been contented to watch over him thus in his sleep forever,
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Seeing that he too was momentarily beyond suffering. It seemed, indeed, as
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if it might be long before any change came. His breathing was a little
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heavy, but was regular as that of a sleeping animal. His color was
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even and not very pale. His eyes were quite shut, and the eyelids
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did not quiver nor twitch. The tremendous drug had brought perfect calm and dress
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after a shock that would have temporarily shattered the nerves of the strongest man.
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Then, too, there was nothing to be seen, and there was nothing
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in the room to suggest the terrible injury that was hidden under the white coverlet
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nothing but the lingering odor of iodaform to which the nun was so well used
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that she ever noticed it. Hour after hour, she sat motionless on the
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chair, her eyes scarcely ever turning from his face. He was so quiet
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that there was absolutely nothing to be done. To smooth his pillow, or
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to pass a gentle hand over his forehead would have been to risk disturbing his
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perfect quiet, and she felt not the slightest desire to do either. For
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a blessed space, she was able to put away the thought of the question
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which would be asked when he wakened, in which he only could answer.
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It was not a night of weary waiting, nor of anxious watching while its
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length lasted. He was hers to watch, hers alone to take care of.
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And that was so like happiness that the hours ran on too swiftly,
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and she was startled when she heard the clock of the San Michele Hospice strike
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three. She remembered that it had struck nine a few minutes after she had
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sat down beside him, her anxiety awoke again now, and that delicious state
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of peace in which she had passed the night began to seem like a past
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dream. In a little more than an hour, the dawn would begin to
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steal through the outer blinds, the dawn she had watched for and longed for
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a thousand times in five years of nursing. It would be unwelcome now it
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would mean the day, and the day could only mean for her the inevitable
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question. She sat down again to watch him, for she had risen nervously
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in the first moment of returning distress, and she felt the cold of the
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early morning stealing upon her. As she became gradually sure that his breathing was
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softer, and that, from time to time a very slight quivering of the
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closed lids proclaimed the gradual return of consciousness. He would not wake in pain,
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or at least not in any acute suffering. She knew that by experience,
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for in such cases the nerves near the injured part generally remained paralyzed for
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a long time. But he would wake sleepily at first, wondering where he
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was, glancing vaguely from one wall to another, from the foot of the
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bed or the window to her own face, without recognizing it or understanding anything.
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That first stage might last a few minutes or half an hour. He
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might even fall asleep again and not wake till much later. But sooner or
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later recognition would come, and with it a shock to him, a sudden
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tension of the mind and nerves, under which he might attempt to move suddenly
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in his bed, and that might be harmful. Though she could not tell
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how, she wondered whether it would not be her duty to leave him before
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that moment. It was true that he would recognize the room in which he
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had so often spent long hours with his brother. He would know as soon
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as he was conscious that he was in the convent hospital and under the same
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roof with her. Then he would ask for her. Perhaps the surgeon would
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think it better that he should see her, but she would not be left
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alone with him. Possibly she might be asked by the mother's superior or by
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Monseigneur Sara Seneska, if he chanced to come that morning, to use her
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influence with Giovanni in order that he might submit to what alone could save him
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from death. It was going to be one of the hardest days in all
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her life. Would God not stay the dawn one hour? It was stealing
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through the shutters, now gray and soft, and the wounded man's sleep was
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unmistakably lighter. Sister Giovanna drew back noiselessly from the bedside and carried her chair
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to the corner where the little table stood, and sat down to wait again.
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It might be bad for him to wake and see some one quite near
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him looking into his face. At that moment, the door opened quietly,
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and the mother's superior stood on the threshold, looking preternaturally white even for her.
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Sister Giovanna rose at once and went to meet her. They exchanged a
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few words in a scarcely audible whisper. The mother had come in person to
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take the nun's place for a while. Judging that it would not be well
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if Giovanni wakened and found himself alone with her, the sister went to her
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cell, where she had not been since the explosion on the previous evening.
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The brick floor was strewn with broken glass and was damp with the fine rain
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driven through the lattice by the sound southwest wind during the night. Even the
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rush bottomed chair was all wet, and the edge of the white counterpane on
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the little bed, it was all very desolate. End of Chapter seventeen.