Tall and motionless in her fearful striped dress she stood, gazing at me
with proud clear eyes; her brow was calm and imperious under the
humiliating prisoner's coif, and her long hands--those delicate hands
whose caresses have driven men to commit murder for her sake--hung
loosely at her side. Her mouth, curving and disdainful, trembled
slightly.
"Signora," I began. Her lips wavered into a faint smile as with a quick
downward sweep of her eyelashes she indicated her dress of shame.
"Signora," I repeated, "I have come here neither out of compassion nor
curiosity."
She was silent, waiting for me to proceed. The three nuns had seated
themselves quietly near the wall, with eyes cast down and meek hands
folded in their laps.
"I have come," I continued, "to vindicate my sisters in your eyes. I
know you think that all women are ruthless and unkind."
Another smile, fleeting, vivid and intelligent, lit up her eyes. Then
the narrow face closed and darkened again.
"For two years," I proceeded, "I have been haunted by the thought that
you, shut in this place, must be saying to yourself that all men are
base and all women pitiless. As to the men--I cannot say. But I wish you
to know that not all women are without pity."
She was silent a few moments. Then in a weak voice she spoke:
"In the name of how many women do you bring this message to me?"
I smiled in my turn. "There are four of us," I said, cheerfully. "Two
Englishwomen, a Norwegian, who is deaf and dumb--and myself. The deaf and
dumb one," I added, "is really very intelligent."
Marie Tarnowska laughed! It was a low, sudden trill of laughter, and she
herself seemed startled at the unaccustomed sound. The Sisters turned to
look at her with an air of gentle amazement.
But in my eyes Marie Tarnowska had ceased to be the murderess, the
Erinnys. Through the criminal in her dress of shame I had caught a
glimpse of the little girl in the blue spectacles, the happy little girl
who felt that every one loved her. That lonely, tremulous trill of
laughter astray on the tragic lips stirred me to the depths; and sudden
tears filled my eyes.
Marie Tarnowska saw this, and turned pale. Then she sat down,
unconsciously assuming the same chastened attitude as the Sisters, her
hands submissively folded, her dark lashes cast down over her long light
eyes. For some time there was silence.
"I have read your notes," I said at last.
"My notes? I do not remember writing them." Suddenly her voice sounded
harsh and her glance flashed at me keen as a blade of steel.
"You wrote them in the prison at Venice, in pencil, in a child's
exercise book."
"It may be so." Marie Tarnowska breathed a long sigh. "That was a time
of dreams," she said, raising her stricken eyes to mine. "I sometimes
dream that this is all a dream. I think I must have fallen asleep one
day when I was a little child, at home in Otrada--perhaps in our garden
on the swing. I used often to fall asleep on that creaky old swing,
reading a book, or looking at the sky. Perhaps I shall wake up soon, and
find that none of all these dreadful things are true." She fingered the
broad brown-and-white stripes of her prison-garb and gazed round the
dreary room. Then her eyes strayed from the whitewashed walls, bare
except for a large ebony crucifix, to the narrow iron-barred window, and
back to the Sisters sitting along the wall like a triptych of
Renunciation, with folded hands and lips moving silently in their
habitual prayer. "Yes, I shall wake up soon and find myself in our old
garden again. My mother will come down the path and across the lawn,
with her little white shawl on her head; she will call me: 'Mura! Mura!
Where are you? Come, child, it is time for tea; and Vassili is asking
for you.' Then I shall jump from the swing and run to her and hide my
face on her breast. 'Mother, if you knew what a dream I have had--a
terrible dream, all about deaths and murders! I thought I had married
Vassili, and he was unkind to me--as if Vassili could be unkind!--and I
was locked in a prison in Italy--imagine, mother, to be imprisoned in
Italy, where people only go for their honeymoon!' And mother will kiss
me and laugh at the crazy dream as we go across the lawn together,
happily, arm in arm."
I found no word to say, though her eyes seemed to question me; and her
fragile voice spoke again: "Surely, this cannot all be true? It cannot
be true that they are all dead. My mother? And little Peter? And
Bozevsky? And Stahl? And Kamarowsky? Why, it is like--like 'Hamlet.'" She
broke into strident laughter. "Do you remember how they all die in
'Hamlet'? One here, one there, one in the stream, one behind the
curtain, drowned, stabbed, strangled--" Suddenly she was silent, looking
straight before her with startled eyes.
"Poor Mura!" I murmured, and lightly touched her hand.
At the sound of the tender Russian appellative she turned to me quickly.
Then she began speaking under her breath in hurried whispers.
"Who told you my name? Who are you? Are you my sister Olga? Do you
remember the merry-go-round at the school-feast in Kieff? How we cried
when it swung us round and round and round and would not stop? I seem to
be still on the merry-go-round, rushing along, hastening, hurrying with
the loud music pealing in my head."
The Mother Superior rose and approached her. "Hush," she spoke in
soothing tones. "You will soon be quiet and at rest."
But Marie Tarnowska paid no heed. Her eyes were still fixed on mine with
a despairing gaze. "Wake me, wake me!" she cried. "And let me tell you
my dream."
And during those long mild April days she told it to me as follows.
Where shall I begin? Wait, let me think--ah, yes! Where I fell asleep
that day in the garden, on the swing. I remember it was a hot day even
in Otrada; almost as hot as it is here. And it was my birthday; I was
sixteen years old. My mother herself, with great solemnity, in the
presence of my father and sisters, had twisted up my long curling hair
and pinned it in great waves and coils on the top of my head. There were
to be no more long plaits hanging down my back!
"Your childhood is over, Mura," said my mother. "At sixteen one has to
look and behave like a grown-up young lady."
"That is exactly what I am, mother dear," I replied with great
self-assurance.
My mother smiled and sighed and kissed me. "You are such a child--such a
child still, my little snowdrop," she said, and her eyes were tender and
anxious.
But I ran gaily out into the garden, feeling very proud of my red-gold
helmet of curls. I sprang fearlessly on the swing, tossing my head from
side to side, delighted to feel the back of my neck cool and uncovered
to the breeze. What would Vassili say to see me like this! But soon the
hairpins felt heavy; they pulled a hair or two here, and a hair or two
there, and hurt me. I stopped the swing, and with my head bent forward I
quickly drew all the hairpins out and threw them on the ground.
The heavy coils of hair loosened, untwisted like a glittering snake, and
fell all about me like a cloak of gold. I leaped upon the swing again
and, standing, swung myself in wide flights through the clear air. What
joy it was! As I flew forward my hair streamed out behind me like a
flag, and in the backward sweep it floated all about my head in a
whirling canopy of light.
I laughed and sang out loud to myself. How delightful was the world! How
blissful to be alive and in the sunshine!
Suddenly Vassili appeared at the end of the path with my cousin, Prince
Troubetzkoi. They were coming towards me arm in arm, smoking cigarettes
and gazing at me. I felt shy of my loosened hair; I should have liked to
jump down and run away, but the swing was flying too high and I could
not stop it.
The two men looked at me with strange intent eyes, as no one had ever
looked at me before. I felt a hot blush rise to my cheeks like a flame.
Obeying a sudden, overmastering impulse I let go the ropes and covered
my face with my hands. I heard a cry--did it come from me?--then
everything whirled round me.... For an instant I saw the gravel path
rise straight in front of me as if to strike me on the forehead. I threw
myself back, something seemed to crash into the nape of my neck--and I
remember no more.