[_She taps her foot impatiently._]
Well--well--will you come?
[_Atalanta is still silent, her face hard with resolution._]
I might mention it to the Sister Sacristan. She"d fetch you.
[_Atalanta gives her a look of scornful disgust._]
It"s as well you didn"t say that in so many words, Sister.
[_Atalanta looks straight before her, a statue of silence._]
Perhaps there is some one you would prefer to have me call, before the Sister Sacristan comes to fetch you? Sister Rosalba?
[_No response._]
So it must be Sister Benvenuta, must it?
ATALANTA. I would speak with her.
GRIMANA. Oho! You would speak with her! And so you shall--for the love I bore your mother when we were children together. But what good she can do you, with her chatter and laughing--childish laughing and chatter--I can"t see. I"ll send her to you. And meantime, count your b.u.t.tons.
That"s my advice. Count your b.u.t.tons.
[_She comes close and speaks more confidentially._]
That helps greatly--it did when I was your age.
[_Grimana goes off. Atalanta mechanically runs her fingers over the b.u.t.tons of her novice"s cape; as she arrives at the end of the row, she mutters._]
ATALANTA. Even you, Benvenuta!
[_At the second word she rises abruptly, her hands on the veil._]
Heaven forgive me!
[_She tears off the veil just as Benvenuta enters from the left.
Benvenuta limps down around the Mother Superior"s throne, and on seeing Atalanta with her veil off, bursts into laughter._]
ATALANTA. Even you, Benvenuta! What amuses you so?
BENVENUTA. It"s your hair. It"s so funny--it"s so long since I"ve seen your hair, Atalanta, dear.
ATALANTA [_sullenly_]. It"s not that I want to talk to you about. You needn"t have laughed.
BENVENUTA. I know, dear. I shouldn"t have laughed, but I always do. I"m so unworthy. I can"t seem to help it, though I tell myself, often and often, that it"s trifling and worldly to laugh so much, and undignified, too, before the children and novices. I will try not to laugh, Atalanta.
Sister Grimana said you wanted me. What is it, dear?
[_She looks at Atalanta and smothers another laugh._]
Put on your veil, child.
ATALANTA. Don"t call me child--I"m only three years younger than you, and I"m taller.
[_She puts on the veil again, still sullen._]
BENVENUTA. You"re only a novice and I call you a child--very properly, too. And if you want me to talk to you, you must listen--like a good child.
[_A step is heard approaching and a rattle of keys; Atalanta pulls at Benvenuta"s dress as if to draw her down beside her._]
ATALANTA. It"s the Sister Sacristan. Now she"ll make me go, and there"s something you must tell me--you must--I beg of you.
[_The Sister Sacristan comes in and goes straight to Atalanta, ignoring Benvenuta. Her keys are audible as she walks._]
THE SISTER SACRISTAN. Well, Mistress Perverse and Disobedient? Not come to reason yet?
BENVENUTA. Pray you, Sister Sacristan, pardon her. Let me speak with her a little while--only a little while. Her tasks can wait--
SISTER SACRISTAN. Her tasks! Praise the Blessed Mother, in this n.o.ble house we need not depend on the novices for anything. It"s not that--it"s the discipline in the pigeon cot. The Mother Abbess will be displeased--
BENVENUTA. Pray you, Sister Sacristan. This novice has asked of me some spiritual admonition. She is my kinswoman, and I cannot refuse it. So I ask you for a little time with her, to speak to her of spiritual things, and perhaps bring her some comfort, to the end that her holy vocation may the sooner come. I ask it in humility, Sister Sacristan.
SISTER SACRISTAN [_crossing to the closet, which she unlocks_].
Admonition, eh?
[_She takes out some vestments, which she hangs over her arm, closing the door._]
BENVENUTA. I ask you to remember, Sister, that last Thursday I took upon myself the vexed matter of the hair of the two new novices, and that it throve in my charge.
SISTER SACRISTAN. Yes--throve. You so coddled them that they cried for you each night after, and are more trouble to the lay sisters than ever.
But since she"s your kinswoman--have it as you will. I look for little effect from your admonitions, I may as well tell you.
[_She removes her keys and goes out, without locking the closet._]
ATALANTA. That was good of you, Benvenuta. Now, listen to me. I am unworthy. I am unhappy. I feel no call. Tell me--tell me about the world, Sister Benvenuta--I beg you, tell me--
BENVENUTA. I will tell you of G.o.d"s love, and of this holy life--
ATALANTA [_leading her to the stairway, where she sits down_]. Yes--I know. But first, tell me about the world.
BENVENUTA. I only tell you by way of admonition--that you may see how hollow is the world, and full of delusion--
ATALANTA. I understand you. Go on.
[_She draws Benvenuta down beside her._]
BENVENUTA. You must know then, that I--even I, Sister Benvenuta, was a most worldly little girl. I can remember so clearly how I used to run madly through the gardens, and roll on the gra.s.s like--like a wild puppy, and bury my face in the roses--till they scratched my nose and the warm scent made me dizzy. And then I would climb on the wall and watch the barges go by, with the strong men sculling them, and the women under the awnings sorting crabs and prawns.
ATALANTA. Tell me about the barge people.