Many are the tales that may be told about mothers.
For several weeks now the town had been surrounded by a close ring
of armed foes. Of nights bonfires were lit and a multitude of fiery
red eyes looked out from the darkness upon the walls. They glowed
ominously, these fires, as if warning the inhabitants of the town. And
the thoughts they conjured up were of a gloomy kind.
From the walls it was apparent that the noose of foes was being drawn
tighter and tighter. Black shadows could be seen moving this way and
that about the fires. The neighing of well-fed horses could be heard,
and the clatter of arms and the loud laughter and merry songs of men
confident of victory--and what is more painful to listen to than the
laughter and songs of the foe?
The enemy had filled with corpses the streams which supplied the
town with water; they had burned down the vineyards around the town,
trampled down the fields, and cut down the trees of the neighbourhood,
leaving the town exposed on all sides; and almost every day missiles of
iron and lead were poured into it by the guns and rifles of the foe.
Detachments of half-starved soldiers, tired out by skirmishes, passed
along the narrow streets of the town; from the windows of the houses
come the groans of wounded, the raving of men in delirium, the prayers
of women and the crying of children. Everybody spoke quietly, in
subdued tones, interrupting one another's speech in the middle of a
word to listen intently to detect whether the foe was not commencing to
storm the town.
Life became especially unbearable in the evening, when the groans
and cries became louder and more noticeable in the stillness, when
blue-black shadows crept from the far-off mountain gorges, hiding the
enemy's camp and moving towards the half-shattered walls, and, over the
black summits of the mountains, the moon appeared, like a lost shield
battered by the blows of heavy swords.
Expecting no assistance from without, spent with toil and hunger, and
losing hope more and more every day, the people looked fearfully at the
moon, at the sharp crests and the black gorges of the mountains, at
the noisy camp of the enemy--everything spoke to them of death and no
single star twinkled solace to them.
They were afraid to light lamps in the houses; a thick fog enveloped
the streets, and in this fog, like a fish at the bottom of a river, a
woman flitted silently to and fro, wrapped from head to foot in a black
mantle.
People, noticing her, asked one another:
"Is it she?"
"Yes!"
And they drew back into the recesses of the doorways or, lowering their
heads, ran past her silently. The men in charge of the patrols warned
her sternly:
"You are in the street again, Monna Marianna? Have a care! They may
kill you and no one will trouble to search for the culprit."
She stood erect and waited, but the patrol passed her by, either
hesitating or not wishing to harm her. Armed men walked round her as
if she had been a corpse. Yet she lingered on in the darkness, moving
slowly from street to street, solitary, silent and black, seeming the
personification of the town's misfortunes. And around her, mournfully
pursuing her, surged depressing sounds: groans, sobs, prayers, and the
grim talk of soldiers who had lost all hope of victory.
She was a citizen and a mother, and her thoughts were of her son and of
the town of her birth. And her son, a handsome but gay and heartless
youth, was at the head of the men who were destroying the town. Not
long ago she had looked at him with pride, as upon her precious gift
to the fatherland, as upon a beneficent force created by her for the
welfare of the town, her birthplace, and the place also where she had
borne and brought up her son. Hundreds of indissoluble ties bound her
heart to the ancient stones, out of which her ancestors had built the
houses and the city walls; to the soil in which lay the bones of her
kindred; to the legends, songs and hopes of her native people. And
this heart now had lost him whom it had loved most and it was rent in
twain; it was like a balance in which her love for her son was being
weighed against her love for the town. And it was not possible yet to
decide which love outweighed the other.
In this state of mind she walked the streets at night, and many, not
recognising her, were frightened, thinking that the dark figure was
the personification of Death which was so near to them all; those that
recognised her stepped hurriedly out of her way to avoid the traitor's
mother.
Once, in a deserted corner of the city wall, she came across another
woman: she was kneeling by the side of a corpse, and praying with face
uplifted to the stars; on the wall, above her head, sentinels were
talking quietly; their guns clattered as they knocked against the
projecting stones of the wall.
The traitor's mother inquired:
"Your husband?"
"No."
"Brother?"
"Son. My husband was killed thirteen days ago; this one to-day."
And, rising, the mother of the dead man said humbly:
"The Madonna sees everything, she knows everything, and I thank her!"
"What for?" asked Marianna, and the other replied:
"Now that he has fallen with honour, fighting for his fatherland, I
can say that he sometimes caused me anxiety: he was reckless, fond of
pleasure, and I feared lest for that reason he might betray the town,
as Marianna's son has done, the enemy of God and men, the leader of our
foes; accursed be he and accursed be the womb that bore him!"
Covering her face Marianna hurried away. The next day she went to the
defenders of the town and said:
"Either kill me because my son has become your enemy, or open the gate
for me, that I may go to him."
They replied:
"You are a citizen, and the town should be dear to you; your son is
just as much your enemy as he is ours."
"I am his mother: I love him and deem it to be my fault that he is
what he is."
Then they consulted together as to what should be done and came to this
decision:
"We cannot, in honour, kill you for your son's sin; we know you could
not have suggested this terrible sin to him; and we can guess how you
must be suffering. You are not wanted by the town, even as a hostage;
your son does not trouble himself about you; we think he has forgotten
you, the fiend--and therein lies your punishment, if you think you have
deserved it! To us it seems more terrible than death!"
"Yes," she said; "it is more terrible."
They opened the gate for her, and let her out of the town. For a long
time they watched her from the wall as she made her way over this
native soil, sodden now with blood shed by her son. She walked slowly,
dragging her feet painfully through the mire, bowing her head before
the corpses of the defenders of the town and repugnantly spurning the
pieces of broken weapons that lay in her path--for mothers hate the
instruments of destruction, believing only in that which preserves
life.
She walked carefully, as though she carried under her cloak a bowl full
of some liquid which she was afraid of spilling. And as she went on,
as her figure grew smaller and smaller, it seemed to those who watched
her from the wall that their former depression and hopelessness were
disappearing with her.
They saw her stop when she had covered half the distance, and, throwing
back her hood, gaze long at the town. Beyond, in the enemy's camp,
they had also noticed her advancing alone through the deserted fields;
figures, as black as herself, cautiously approached her. They went up
to her, asked her who she was and whither she was going.
"Your leader is my son," she said, and none of the soldiers doubted
her words. They walked by her side, speaking in terms of praise of the
bravery and cleverness of their leader. She listened to them, her head
raised proudly in the air and showing not the least surprise. That was
just how her son should be!
And now she stands before the man whom she knew nine months before
his birth; before him whom she had never put out of her heart. And he
stands before her, in silk and velvet, and wearing a sword ornamented
with precious stones. In everything fit and seemly, exactly as she had
seen him many a time in her dreams--rich, famous and beloved!
"Mother!" he said, kissing her hands. "You come to me; it means that
you have understood me, and to-morrow I will capture this accursed
town!"
"In which you were born," she reminded him.
Intoxicated by his exploits, maddened by the desire for still greater
glory, he spoke to her with the insolent pride of youth.
"I was born into the world and for the world, in order to strike it
with astonishment! I spared this town for your sake--it is like a
splinter in my foot and hinders me from advancing to fame as quickly as
I could wish. But either to-day or tomorrow I will destroy the nest of
these stubborn ones!"
"Where every stone knows you and remembers you as a child," she said.
"Stones are dumb; if men cannot make them speak let mountains speak of
me--that is what I want!"
"But the people?" she asked.
"O yes, I remember them, mother. I need them also, for only in the
memories of people are heroes immortal."
She replied:
"He is a hero who creates life, spiting death, who conquers death."
"No," he replied. "He who destroys becomes as famous as he who builds
cities. For instance, we do not know whether Æneas or Romulus built
Rome, but we know the name of Alaric and the other heroes who destroyed
it."
"It has outlived all names," the mother suggested.
In this strain he spoke to her till sunset. She interrupted his vain
talk less frequently and her proud head gradually drooped.
A mother creates, she preserves, and to talk about destruction in her
presence is to speak against her understanding of life. But not knowing
this the son was denying all that life meant for his mother.
A mother is always against death, and the hand that introduces death
into people's dwellings is hateful and hostile to all mothers. But the
son did not see it, blinded by the cold gleam of glory which kills the
heart.
And he did not know that a mother can be just as resourceful, just as
pitiless and fearless as an animal, when it concerns life which the
mother herself creates and preserves.
She sat limply, with head bowed down. Through the open mouth of the
rich tent of the leader could be seen the town where she had thrilled
to the conception and travailed in the birth of this her firstborn
child, whose only wish now was to destroy.
The purple rays of the sun bathed in blood the walls and towers of the
town, the window-panes glistened ominously; the whole town seemed to
be wounded, and from its hundreds of wounds streamed the red blood of
life. Time went on, and the town grew black, like a corpse, and the
stars like funeral candles were lit above it.
She saw with her mind's eye the dark houses where they were afraid
to light the lamps, for fear of attracting the attention of the
enemy; and the dark streets filled with the odour of corpses and the
subdued whispers of people awaiting death--she saw everything and all;
everything that was native and familiar to her stood out before her,
awaiting her decision in silence, and she felt that she was the mother
of all the people of her native town.
From the dark mountain-tops clouds descended into the valley, and like
winged coursers sped upon the doomed town.
"Perhaps we shall make an attack to-night," said her son, "if the night
is dark enough! It is not easy to kill when the sun looks into one's
eyes and the glitter of the weapons blinds one--many blows are wasted
then," said he, examining his sword.
"Come here," said his mother; "put your head on my breast; rest a
while, and recall to your mind how happy and kind you were as a child,
and how everybody loved you."
He obeyed, knelt against her and said, closing his eyes:
"I love only glory and you, because you bore me as I am."
"But women?" she asked, bending over him.
"There are many of them, one soon tires of them, as of everything
sweet."
And finally she asked him:
"Do you not wish to have children?"
"Why? In order that they may be killed? Somebody like me would kill
them; it would grieve me, and no doubt I should be too old then, and
too weak, to avenge them."
"You are handsome, but as sterile as the lightning," she said, sighing.
He answered, smiling:
"Yes, as the lightning."
And he fell asleep on her breast like a child.
Then she covered him with her black cloak and plunged a knife into his
heart. He shuddered, and died instantaneously, for she, his mother,
knew well where her son's heart beat. And having pushed the corpse off
her knees to the feet of the astonished guards, she said, pointing in
the direction of the town:
"As a citizen I have done all I could for my fatherland: as a mother I
remain with my son! It is too late for me to give birth to another, my
life is of no use to anyone."
And the same knife, still warm with his blood--her blood--she plunged
into her own bosom, and doubtless struck the heart. When one's heart
aches it is easy to strike it without missing.