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Chapter XIII · The White Sister

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  Chapter number thirteen of The White Sister. This is a LibriVox recording. All
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  LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer,
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  please visit LibriVox dot org. Recording by Kate Rudek. The White Sister by
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  F. Marion Crawford, Chapter thirteen. After a long time, Sister Giovanna
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  lifted her head very slowly, sat up, and passed her hand over her
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  eyes, while the mother superior still kept one arm round her, thinking that
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  she might faint away at any moment. But she did not thank you.
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  She said, with difficulty, you are very good to me. Mother.
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  I think I can walk now. Not yet. The elder woman's hand was
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  on her wrist, keeping her in her seat. I must go back to
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  my work, she said, but not much above a whisper. Not yet.
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  When you are better, you must come to my room for a little
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  while. In rust, Sister Giovanna looked old then, for her face was
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  gray, and the deep lines of suffering were like furrows of age. She
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  seemed much older than Mother of Veronica, who was over forty. A minute
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  or two passed and she made another effort, and this time the mother helped
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  her. She was weak, but not exactly unsteady. Her feet were like
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  leaden weights that she had to lift at every step. When they were alone
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  in the small room and the door was shut, their mother's superior closed the
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  window too, for the cloister was very resonant and voices carried far. She
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  made Sister Giovanna sit in the old horse hair easy chair, leaning her head
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  against the round black and white worst a cushion that was hung across the back
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  by a cotton cord. She herself sat in the chair she used at her
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  writing table. She did not know what had happened in the hall, but
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  what she saw told her that the sister's fainting fit had not been do only
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  to a passing physical weakness. She herself seemed to be suffering when she spoke,
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  and not one of all the many sisters and novices who had come to
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  her in distress at one time or another, had ever seen her so much
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  touched by pity, so humane forbearing in kind. If you would like me
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  to understand what has happened, my dear child, you can trust me,
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  she said. If you would rather keep your secret, tell me if I
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  can help you. Sister Giovanna looked at her gratefully and tried to speak.
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  But it was hard. Not that she was choking or near to shedding tears,
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  but her lips felt stiff in cold, like a dying man's, and
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  would not formwarance. But presently they came at intervals, one by one,
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  though not distinctly, and so low that it was not easy to hear them.
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  Yet Mother Veronica understood Giovanni Savetti, the man Angela had loved, the
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  man who had been called dead for five years. He had come back from
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  death. She had seen him with his brother. He had known her.
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  She was not going to faint again, but she sank forward, bending almost
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  double, her hands on the arms of the chair. Her young head bowed
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  with woe. There was something awful in her suffering. Now that she was
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  silent, The Mother Superior only said three words, but her voice broke as
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  she pronounced the last, my poor child. Her lips were livid, but
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  she ruled the rising storm and sat quite still, her fingers twisted together and
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  straining on her knee. If Sister Giovanna had looked up, she would have
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  wondered how mere sympathy could be so deep and stirring. But she could not.
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  Her own struggle was too desperate. Minutes passed before she spoke again,
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  and then there was a change in her, for her voice was much more
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  steady. It was so easy to be good when he was dead. She
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  had been happy an hour ago, yesterday, last week, working and waiting
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  for the blessed end, believing that he had died to serve his country and
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  that God would let him meet her in heaven. Why had he come back
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  now too late for earth but a lifetime too soon for heaven. Had been
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  so easy to be strong and brave and faithful for his sake when he was
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  dead. It was little enough that she had said, but each word had
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  meant a page of her life. Mother Veronica heard and she understood. Ray,
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  she said after a long time, and her voice came as from very
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  far away, for she too, had told her story in that one syllable.
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  Human nature turned upon her, rebellious, with a rending cries, I
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  cannot he is alive, he is here. Don't you understand? How can
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  I pray for what that he may die again, God of Mercy? And
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  if not that, can I pray to be free? Free, free from
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  what, free to do, what to die? Not even that others will
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  be taken. But I shall live thirty forty fifty years knowing that he is
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  alive, knowing that I may see him any day. The elder woman's white
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  fingers twined around each other more desperately, for Sister Giovanna's face was turned full
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  to her now, and their eyes were meeting. The young nuns were fierce
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  with pain, but the mothers were strangely, lustreless and dull. No,
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  she said, mechanically, answering the last words, you must not see him,
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  not see him. Once, Sister Giovanna leaned far forwards, grasping the
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  arms of the easy chair, and her voice came thick and hoarse. Did
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  the woman with the marble face think that she too was made of stone?
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  Not see the man she had loved, who had been suddenly violently dead,
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  who was alive again and had come back to her? The mother could not
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  be in earnest. If she was, why did she not answer now?
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  Why was she sitting there with that strange look, silently wringing her hands.
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  Even in her cruel distress, Sister Giovanna felt a sort of wonder. Perhaps
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  the mother had not meant what she had said, and would not speak lest
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  she should contradict herself. The mere thought was a hope, whether for good
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  or evil. The tortured girl knew not, but it loosed her tongue.
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  He will come to me, she cried, he will. I tell you,
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  you do not know him. Did you hear his voice as I did
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  when he called me? Did you see his face? Could walls or bars
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  keep such a man from the woman he loves. I must face him myself,
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  and to face him, I must kill something in me, cut it
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  out, tear it up from its roots. I am only a woman,
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  after all, and none can be a woman still, a weak woman who
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  has loved a man, very very dearly. Oh ANGELA hush for the love
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  of Heaven, my child, my child. To sister Giovanna's unspeakable amazement,
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  the unbending nature was breaking down the marble saint with the still white face,
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  who had bidden her prey and never see Giovanni again. She felt herself lifted
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  from her seat and clasped in a despairing embrace. She felt the small,
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  nervous frame shaking in the storm of an emotion she could not understand, though
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  she knew it was as great as her own and as terrible to bear,
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  and that the heart that beat against hers was breaking too. Neither shedded tear.
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  Tears would have been heavenly refreshment, but they would not come another moment,
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  and Angela felt herself sinking back into her chair. And when she opened
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  her eyes, the Mother Superior was at the table, half seated, half
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  lying across it on the heaps of papers and account books, and her outstretching
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  hands clasped the foot of the old crucifix beside the leaden inkstand misarei mae domine.
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  The voice of her prayer broke the stillness like a silver bell. Then
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  she began to recite the greatest of the penitential psalms out of the depths that
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  I cried unto thee O, Lord, Lord, hear my voice, and
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  by long habit yet with some dim hope of peace. Sister Giovanna responded,
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  let thine ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications. They said it
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  to the end verse answering verse in the Prayer of the King, poets stilled
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  the throbbing of hurts too deep to heal. Two hours after she had fainted
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  in the hall, Sister Giovanna was doing her work in the hospital. Again,
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  as usual, a wonderful amount of physical resistance can be got out of
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  moral conviction, and there was no such merciful shelter for mental distress as a
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  uniform from the full dress of a field marshal to a sister of charity's cornet.
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  Of the persons who had been witnesses of the scene, the doctor and
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  Ugo Severi could be trusted, and Princess Chiaro Monte was too much afraid of
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  Giovanni to brew gossip about his love affair. There remained the two orderlies who
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  could not be prevented from telling the story to their wives and friends if they
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  liked. But they were trustee, middle aged men of good character. They
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  shared the affectionate admiration for Sister Giovanna which almost everyone in the convent hospital felt
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  for her, and they would be the very last to say a word to
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  her discredit. These circumstances account well enough for the fact that the story did
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  not get into the newspapers at the time. Sister Giovanna went back to her
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  work, but she did not go near Ugo Severi, and she gave strict
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  orders that his brother, if he came to see him again during the day
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  was to be accompanied to the door of the room by an orderly blie,
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  as Ugo had swallowed nothing but a cup of black coffee before coming to the
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  hospital and was therefore in a condition to take ether. Pieri had given notice
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  that he would operate on the injured foot at two o'clock. There would be
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  no need for the presence of the supervising nurse, who would have no difficulty
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  in keeping out of Giovanni's way for the present, as he would certainly not
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  be allowed to roam the hospital in search of her. She meant to meet
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  him once and alone, no matter how she might be hindered, and nothing
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  that the Mother Superior or Monseigneur Sardisineska could say should make it impossible. She
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  knew that he would try every means of seeing her, and when he succeeded
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  in making an opportunity which she could accept, she would take it. Come
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  what might till then she must wait, and while she was waiting she would
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  find the strength she needed. That was her plan, and it was simple
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  enough. She might be mistaken about many questions, but nothing could make that
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  seem wrong, which her conscience told her was right, and it was right
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  to see him. Once she was sure of it. The rest was confused
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  and uncertain, and she took no thought what she should say. She only
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  knew she must make him understand, though it would be hard, and when
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  that was done, she would not see him again while she lived. She
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  meant to make that final parting a certainty by going to Rangoon with the next
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  mission. Nothing should change her determination. Now. Her feet were heavy that
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  day, and her voice was dull and muffled when she gave her orders,
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  but she made no mistakes. Many a man has fought more stubbornly and bravely
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  after a wound and a fall than at the outset. Two men could tell
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  themselves that they were braver than Sister Giovanna was. When she recovered control of
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  her actions after the first stunning shock, she stayed in her office as much
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  of the time as possible. In due course, the assistant head nurse came
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  to report that Pieri had finished his work and that Captain Ugo had recovered well
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  from the ether. His brother was with him and would stay till eight o'clock,
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  the hour at which all visitors were required to leave the hospital except in
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  cases of extreme danger. Sister Giovanna nodded and wrote a few lines in the
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  day book. It was then half past three. Clearly Giovanni's plan was to
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  spend as many hours as possible under the roof in the hope of seeing her.
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  For though the operation had been a long one, requiring the skill of
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  a great surgeon to perform it well, Ugo was in no danger from it.
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  And it might be supposed that a man who had just come back from
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  such an experience as Giovanni had lived through, would wish to see a few
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  old friends on the first day of his return, or would be obliged,
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  at the very least to attend to some necessary business. Sister Giovanna did not
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  know that his return was being purposely kept a secret from the public press,
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  and that he was far safer from reporters while he stayed in the convent hospital
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  than he could be in his lodging. At five o'clock the door of her
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  office opened, and to her surprise she saw Monseigneur Satisineska standing before her,
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  hat in hand. She could not remember that she had ever seen him there
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  before, but it was an office, after all, and there was no
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  reason why he should not come to it if he had business with her.
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  She rose to receive him. He shut the door, which was the only
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  one, bowed gravely, and took one of the two square rush bottomed chairs
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  and seated himself. Before he spoke. The Mother's Superior sent for me,
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  he said, and I have been with her an hour. She has asked
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  me to come to you. Are you at leisure unless I am called?
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  I am on duty. He noticed a muffled tone in the slowness of her
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  speech. She sat facing him on the other side of the plain table,
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  her open report book before her. You will not blame the Mother's Superior for
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  sending me, sister. She is in the deepest distress for you. You
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  must have seen that when you spoke with her this morning. She was more
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  than kind. Monseigneur sat as se Nesca sighed, but the nun did not
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  notice it. Now that she knew why he had come, she needed all
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  her strength and courage again. He went on quietly with a short explanation.
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  Mother Veronica had told him of what had happened in the hall. He had
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  known the rest long ago from Sister Giovanna herself. That was a substance,
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  and he wasted no words. Then he paused, and she knew what was
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  coming next, for he would speak of a possible meeting, but how he
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  would regard that she could not guess, and she waited steadily for the blow,
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  if it was to be one. The Mother Superior thinks that you should
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  not see him, he said, I know, she told me so.
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  I do not agree with her, said Monseigneur Sada Senesca. Slowly. The
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  nun turned her face from the afternoon light, but said nothing. With the
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  greatest sacrifice of her life before her, she could not feel joy rising like
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  the dawn in her eyes at the mere thought of seeing the man whose love
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  she must renounce. We are human, said the churchman, and our victories
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  must be human to be worth anything. It was in his humanity that Chris
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  suffered and overcame. It is not victory to slink from the fight and shut
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  one's self up in a fortress that is guarded by others. Men and women
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  must be good men and women in this world if they hope to be saints
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  hereafter, And there is no such thing as in active goodness. Sister Giovanna
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  looked at him again, but still she did not speak. Though I am
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  a priest, continued, Monseigneur son of Sineska, I am a man of
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  the world in the sense of having belonged to it, and I now live
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  less apart from it than I could wish. Though it is not such a
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  thoroughly bad place as those say who do not know it. I do not
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  feel that I got rid of all obligations to those who still belonged to it
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  when I was ordained. And I do not think that when you took the
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  veil in a working order, you dropped all obligation to the persons with whom
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  you had lived till then in doing so, you might be depriving some one
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  else of a right. Sister Giovanna listened to this exposition in silence and tried
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  to follow it. In my opinion, the prelate went on, Giovvanni,
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  SEVERI has a just claim to see you. I speak under authority, and
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  I may be wrong, but it can only be a matter of judgment and
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  of opinion. And since your mother's superior has asked for mine, I give
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  it as well as I can. You are not a cloistered non sister.
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  There is no reason why you should not receive a friend whom you have believed
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  to be dead for years, and who has unexpectedly come back to life.
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  Back to the life I left for his sake. Again, She looked away
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  from the light, but her face could not turn whiter than it was.
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  It was terribly sudden, said Monseigneur saw to see Nesca after a moment's pause.
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  You will, no doubt wait a few days before seeing him, till
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  you feel quite able to face what must be a very painful interview. I
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  am not afraid of it now. I was weak when we recognize each other.
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  I cannot quite remember. I heard him call me, and I saw
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  his eyes, and you must have fainted. You were carried out to the
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  well at once? Who carried me? As said nun quickly, doctor Pieri
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  and Giovanni Savetti. She made a slight movement, he carried me. She
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  spoke almost unconsciously, and a very faint glow rose through her paleness, as
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  when white glasses warmed an instant in the mouth of the furnace, and then
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  drawn back and quickly cooled again. Shall I talk with him before you meet,
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  asked the churchman. Presently, Sister Giovanna did not answer. At once.
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  She seemed to be thinking you know better than any one, but my
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  life has been she said at last. It was to you that I went
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  for advice five years ago, and again before I took the veil. If
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  you had thought it even distantly possible that he might be alive, you would
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  not have let me take final vows. Heaven forbid, answered Monseigneur Son and
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  Sineska. Very earnestly, though I believed him dead, you knew that I
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  loved him with all my heart. Yes, as dearly as when you had
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  last seen him alive. I still love him. Is that wrong? No?
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  He said the word without hesitation, in all sincerity and true conviction.
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  But the nun had expected another answer. A quick movement of the head showed
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  that she was surprised. Are you sure, she asked in a low and
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  wondering tone. Yes, because I am sure that your love for him is
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  as innocent as it ever was. The religious life is not meant to kill
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  human affection. Saint Benedict loved his sister Scolastica devotedly. Saint Francis was probably
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  more sincerely attached to Saint Clair than to any living person. I only know
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  that I love him as surely as ever said Sister Giovanna. The churchman looked
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  at her keenly for a moment, and she did not avoid his eyes.
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  Would you break your vows for him? He asked, with sudden directness.
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  The nun started as if he had struck her, and half rose from her
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  chair. Break my vows, she cried, her eyes blazing with indignation,
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  but Monseigneur sat As Sineska only nodded and laid his thin hand flat on the
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  table towards her. She sank to her seat again. Then, I know
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  that although you may love him more than anyone in the world, you do
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  not love him better than the work you have promised to do. Heaven forbid.
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  He had used the very same expression a few moments earlier, but with
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  a different tone. For him, it had been an asseveration of good faith,
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  but with her it was more like a prayer. She had resented his
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  question as if it had been an insult, but when he showed her how
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  much he trusted her, she began to distrust herself. She would die the
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  martyr's death rather than break her vows, indeed, but she was too diffident
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  of her own womanhood not to fear a fall from the dignity of heartfelt resignation
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  to the inward ignominy of an earthly regret. Besides, the work she had
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  promised to do had been promised for his sake, not for its own,
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  not for any gain to her soul, but in the earnest hope that it
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  might profit his by God's mercy. Since he was not dead but alive,
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  the chief purpose of it died with his return to life. She did not
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  love the work she had promised to do more than she loved him. That
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  was not true, and never had been. All had been for him,
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  her vow, her work, and her prayers. Heaven forbid indeed, that
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  she should now set him before them. Yet it was hard not to do
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  so, and there was only one possible way, and it changed sense.
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  They must be given for him still and for his salvation. Else she could
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  not give at all. Monseigneur saw to s Nesca, had watched her progress
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  from her novitiate to her present position of responsible ability, and had often spoken
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  of her with the Mother Superior. He would not have advised every nun to
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  do what he thought best. In her case, there was not another in
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  the community except the Mother herself, whom he would have trusted so fully.
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  But being what she was, his honorable sense of justice to a man who
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  had suffered much and must suffer more, impelled him to act as he did.
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  As he himself said, it was a matter of opinion and judgment,
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  and his own approved the course. Those may blame him who think otherwise,
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  but no one can find fault with sister Giovanna for following his advice. She
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  had a right to believe that it was the best, And as for herself,
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  she had never hesitated. The mere suggestion that she should not see Giovanni
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  at least once and alone looked to her outrageous and contrary to all sense,
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  As perhaps it was. Monseigneur said to Snasca, would see him first and
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  arrange the meeting. He thought it should take place in the cloistered garden.
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  Why not here in my office, asked the nun. But the churchmen objected.
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  If the two were to talk together out of hearing, they must not
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  be out of sight. Never under any circumstances should any one be able to
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  say that there had been any secrecy about their interview. He himself would bring
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  Giovanni to the place, and the mother's superior would accompany the nun, He
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  and the mother would withdraw into the hall and wait until Sister Giovanna dismissed Savetti.
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  The mother would then join her, and Monseigneur Sadasiginska would go away with
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  Giovanni. In order to forestall evil. Speaking more effectually, the two should
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  meet on the afternoon of the day on which the nun's week of duty as
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  supervising nurse came to an end. On that evening she would go away to
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  nurse a private case, and before that patient was recovered, Ugo Savetti would
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  certainly be well enough to go home, and Giovanni's daily visits to the hospital
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  would have ceased. It would thus be easy to prove that, after their
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  only interview in what might be called a public place, they had not been
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  within the same walls. At the same time, no one who has watched
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  the politics of the so called Socialist Party in Rome during the past twenty years
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  will wonder at these precautions, nor even call them exaggerated. To all intents
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  and purposes, the Vatican question has ceased to exist. The Italian government may
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  fairly be said to be at peace with the Church. The old bitterness may
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  survive amongst certain prejudiced people, chiefly in small towns. But the spirit of
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  this time is a spirit of good will and mutual forbearance, and the forces
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  that were once so fiercely opposed actually work together for the common good, and
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  many more cases than the world knows of. The first article of the Italian
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  Constitution states that the religion of the Kingdom is that of the Roman Catholic Church.
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  It is and it will continue to be, and no attempt will ever
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  be made on the part of the monarchy to change or to cancel that opening
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  clause. The danger to which the Church is exposed lies in another quarter,
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  and threatens not only the Church but Christianity in all its forms. Not only
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  Christianity but the monarchy, and not the monarchy only, but all constitutional and
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  civilized government. It is anarchy, and though it boasts itself to be socialism,
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  true socialists disclaim it in its doings, in all its opinions, if
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  it can be so far honored as to be counted as a party. It
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  is the party that murdered King Humbert, that assassinated the Empress of Austria,
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  and that would sooner or later kill the Pope if he left the safe refuge,
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  which some persons still insist on calling his prison. It is the party
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  that continually spies upon all religious and charitable institutions in Rome, and does not
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  hesitate to invent stories of crime outright when it fails to detect one of those
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  little flaws which its press magnifies disdains of abomination. Monseigneur said to Sinesca,
• 26:10
  understood these things better than the others concerned, and at least as well as
• 26:15
  any one in Rome. As for Giovanni, he had known him a little
• 26:18
  in former days, and it took him to be a man of honor who
• 26:22
  would submit to any conditions necessary for protecting the nun from calumny. But he
• 26:26
  could hardly believe that the young officer's feelings had undergone no change in five years.
• 26:33
  For he judged men as most men judge each other. It was one
• 26:37
  thing to fall in love with a charming young girl in her first season.
• 26:40
  It was quite another to love her faithfully for five years without even seeing her
• 26:45
  or hearing from her, and to feel no disappointment on finding her as much
• 26:49
  changed as Angela was now, pale, sorrow worn and of no particular age.
• 26:56
  The true bloom of youth is something real, but it rarely lasts more
• 27:00
  than two years. It is as subtle and indescribable as the bloom of growing
• 27:07
  roses, which is gone within an hour after they are cut, though their
• 27:11
  beauty may be preserved for many years. There was the nun's habit, too,
• 27:15
  and the veil in wimple, proclaiming another and a greater change from which
• 27:19
  there was no return. Ipolito Sadasi Neesca had never been in love, even
• 27:26
  in his early youth. It was no wonder that he was mistaken in such
• 27:30
  a man as Giovanni Savetti. The only danger he reckoned with lay in Sister
• 27:36
  Giovanna's own heart, and he felt that he could count on her courage,
• 27:41
  her self respect, and most of all, on her profoundly religious nature.
• 27:45
  No danger it is ever overcome without danger, said Mimos. In the case
• 27:52
  of such a woman, it was better for her sake to accept such risk,
• 27:56
  as there might be in a single interview, which must be decisive and
• 28:00
  final, than to let her live on, haunted by disturbing memories and harassed
• 28:06
  by regret end of Chapter thirteen.