Marie Tarnowska - free ebook by Annie Vivanti

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Marie Tarnowska

Annie Vivanti

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MARIE TARNOWSKA

MARIE TARNOWSKA

By A. VIVANTI CHARTRES WITH AN INTRODUCTORY LETTER BY PROFESSOR L. M. BOSSI OF THE UNIVERSITY OF GENOA PUBLISHED BY THE CENTURY CO. NEW YORK MCMXV Copyright, 1915, by The Century Co. Published, October, 1915 All rights reserved On the morning of September 3rd, 1907, Count Paul Kamarowsky, a wealthy Russian nobleman, was fatally shot in his apartments on the Lido in Venice by an intimate friend, Nicolas Naumoff, son of the governor of Orel. The crime was at first believed to be political. The

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PREFATORY NOTE

PREFATORY NOTE

Signora: Not only as the medical expert for the defense at the trial of the Countess Tarnowska, but as one who has made it his life-work to investigate the relation in women between criminal impulse and morbid physical condition, I cannot but feel the keenest interest in this book, in which you set forth the problem of wide human interest presented by the case of the prisoner of Trani. When first I suggested to you that you should write this book—which (apart from its interest as dealing with a

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TO THE AUTHOR

TO THE AUTHOR

Genoa, January 12th, 1915. This book is not written to plead Marie Tarnowska's cause. The strange Russian woman whose hand slew no man, but whose beauty drove those who loved her to commit murder for her sake, will soon have ended her eight years' captivity and will come forth into the world once more. I have not sought in any way to minimize her guilt, or attenuate her responsibility for the sin and death that followed in her train. Though she must be held blameless for the boy Peter Tarnowsky'

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TO THE READER

TO THE READER

“I was called as an expert for the defense at the Venice trial,” said the Professor, “and I was grieved and indignant at the heavy sentence inflicted upon this unhappy woman. Marie Tarnowska is not delinquent, but diseased; not a criminal, but an invalid; and her case, like that of many other female transgressors, is one for the surgeon's skill and the physician's compassionate care, not for the ruthless hand of the law. Indeed,” the illustrious Professor continued, “it is becoming more and more

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I

I

Since leaving the station of Genoa I had seen nothing of the fleeting springtide landscape; my gaze and thoughts were riveted on the pages of a copy-book which lay open on my knee—a simple school copy-book with innocent blue-lined sheets originally intended to contain the carefully labored scrawls of some childish hand. A blue ornamental flourish decked the front; and under the printed title, “Program of Lessons,” the words “History,” “Geography,” “Arithmetic,” were followed by a series of blank

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II

II

“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 du

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III

III

“Yes. And so has Katerinowitch,” exclaimed Olga, with a bitter smile; and I noticed that she looked pale and sad. “Both Ivan and Katerinowitch? How extraordinary!” Then glancing at my mother, whose eyes were fixed upon her plate, I added jestingly, “Is that all? No one else?” My pleasantry fell flat, for no one answered, and I saw my father knitting his brows. But my mother lifted her eyes for an instant and looked at me. In the blue light of that dear gaze I read my happiness! But Olga was spea

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IV

IV

Then he sat down and smoked his cigarette, watching me out of narrowed eyelids as I wandered about the room in great trepidation and embarrassment. I was about to kneel down by the bedside to say my prayers, when he suddenly grasped my wrist and held it tightly. “What are you doing now?” he inquired. “I am going to say my prayers,” I replied. “Don't bother about your prayers,” he said. “Try not to be such an awful little bore. Really you are quite insufferable.” But I would not have missed my pr

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V

V

She dressed me in the low-necked scarlet chiffon gown. She drew on my flame-colored stockings, and my crimson shoes. On my head she placed the diamond and ruby tiara, and about my shoulders she wound a red and gold scarf which looked like a snake of fire. “Alas, Katja!” I sighed as I looked at myself in the mirror; “what would my mother say if she were to see me like this? What do I look like?” “You look like a lighted torch,” said Katja. I made her come with me in the troika, which sped swiftly

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VI

VI

Again my thoughts go adrift and my recollections are confused. They dance in grotesque and hideous visions through my brain. I see livid hallucinated faces peering at me, towers and mountains tottering above me, undefined horrors all about me, and in the midst of them all I see Vassili—singing! He sings scales and arpeggios with his rounded open mouth. Now I can see a white spider—no, two white spiders—running about on a scarlet coverlet.... They are my hands. They frighten me. And Vassili is si

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VII

VII

“How did it answer?” “He was bored to death.” “Have you tried being cool and distant? Being, so to speak, a stranger to him?” “Yes, I have.” “And he?” “He never even noticed that I was being a stranger to him. He was as happy and good-tempered as ever.” Olga shook her head dejectedly. “Have you tried being hysterical?” she asked after a while. I hesitated. “I think so,” I said at last. “But I do not quite know what you mean.” “Well,” explained Olga sententiously, “with some men, who cannot bear

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VIII

VIII

Olga grasped my wrist. “Stay! I have an idea. We will get some one who is not on earth. Some one who is dead. It will be much simpler. I remember there was an idea of that kind in an unsuccessful play I saw a year or two ago. What we need is a dead man—recently dead, if possible, and, if possible, young. If he has committed suicide, so much the better.” “What on earth do you want with a dead man?” I asked, shuddering. “Why! can't you see? We will say that he died for your sake!” cried Olga, “tha

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IX

IX

Death, lurking at my door in terrifying silence, stretched out his hand at intervals and clutched some one belonging to me. Generally it was with a swift gesture—a fell disease or a pistol-shot—that he struck down and flung into the darkness those I loved. But towards me Death comes with a slower, more deliberate tread. For years, ever since the birth of my little daughter Tania,—my white rosebud born midst the snows of a dreary winter in Kieff—I have felt Death creeping towards me, slow, insidi

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X

X

Upon my word life is an excellent institution. And you—what are you doing? Ever yours, Bozevsky. The next day. Stepan, Stepan, Stepan! — I am in love! Madly, sublimely, tragically in love! This morning I went to the parade-ground as in a dream; I found myself speaking to the colonel in a gentle winning voice that was perfectly ludicrous. When I drilled my company I could hear myself giving the words of command in an imploring tone which I still blush to remember. I am obsessed, hallucinated; the

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XI

XI

“Ugh!” laughed Bozevsky, “how gruesome!” and he bent his sunny head over the page. “Just imagine,” I continued, “its branches are long moving tentacles, its thick leaves are quite black and hard; they glitter and move like living scorpions....” “Horrid, horrid,” said Bozevsky with his shining smile as he took the book out of my hand. “Forget the scorpions. To-night I shall read you some Italian poetry. I want you to make friends with Carducci.” He opened a plainly bound volume at random, and rea

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XII

XII

“Doctor,” I said to him, “what strange eyes you have! Just like the eyes of a cat when it looks at the sun!” “I do not look at the sun,” he answered slowly, speaking with great stress. “I look into an abyss, the abyss of annihilation and oblivion. Some day, if ever you are irremediably unhappy, come to me and I will open to you, also, the doors of my unearthly paradise—of this chasm of deadly joy which engulfs me.” “Shame on you, Stahl! How dare you suggest such a thing!” exclaimed Bozevsky, cas

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XIII

XIII

“I am homesick, too, Elise. I am homesick I hardly know for what—homesick for solitude and peace.” She made no reply. “Should I find them in your Switzerland, do you think?” Elise Perrier shakes her head and answers in a low tone: “No, my lady. Swiss homesickness and Russian homesickness are different.” “In what way?” “We Swiss are homesick for—how shall I say?—for the outside things we are far away from ... homesick for mountains and pine-trees and villages. But Russians are homesick for what t

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XIV

XIV

“Why not, dear? Don't you like it?” “No. It's nasty.” “Well, then,” I said, putting down the spoon, “we will give it to the farmer's little boy.” “No! no!” cried Tioka, and he quickly devoured the soup in large spoonfuls. Vassili laughed. “He is quite right. His soup is not for the farmer's little boy. To each one his own soup, isn't that so, Tioka!” “No,” said Tioka. “Why 'no'? You should say 'yes.'” “No,” declared Tioka doggedly. “This is my 'no' day.” “Your what ?” exclaimed his father. “My d

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XV

XV

I shrank back in terror. Then Vassili put out his hand and seized my pearl necklace; it broke in his grasp. The milky gems fell to the ground and rolled away in all directions; the guests, both men and women, stooped down to search for them and pick them up. But now Bozevsky had taken a step forward, and stood, haughty and aggressive, in front of Vassili. He uttered a brief word in a low voice. Vassili turned upon him with livid countenance. “Insolent scoundrel!” he cried, wildly searching his p

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XVI

XVI

“What are you doing, Vassili? What are you doing?” cried Grigorievsky. “Are you playing the King of Thule?” “Precisely,” laughed Vassili. “Was he not the paragon of all lovers, who chose to die of thirst in order to follow his adored one to the grave?” And somewhat uncertainly he quoted: “Then did he fling his chalice Into the surging main, He watched it sink and vanish— And never drank again.” “Here's to the King of Thule!” cried one of the guests. And they all drank Vassili's health. Bozevsky

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XVII

XVII

The Swedish doctor was washing his hands and talking in a low voice to Stahl. He turned to me and said: “You must try not to agitate him. Do not let him speak or move his head.” Then he went out into the corridor with Stahl. Mrs. Stahl and Vera sat mute and terror-stricken in a corner. I watched Bozevsky, with a deep, dull ache racking my heart. He seemed to be falling asleep. I felt his hand relax in mine and his short breathing became calmer and more regular. But Stahl came in again, and Bozev

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XVIII

XVIII

Stahl seemed not to understand, and Bozevsky repeated: “I want to turn my head from one side to another.” “Why not?” said Stahl, sitting down beside the bed and lighting a cigarette. “Turn it by all means.” It was growing late; outside it was already dark. I drew the curtains and turned on the lights. Bozevsky began very slowly to turn his head from side to side; at first very timorously with frightened eyes, then by degrees more daringly, from right to left and from left to right. “Keep still,

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XIX

XIX

Even now the recollection of the shrieks we uttered as we flung them from us makes my flesh creep; even now I seem to feel the slippery smoothness of those cold membranes gliding through my fingers and near my cheeks.... To what end does this childish recollection enter into the dark tragedy of my life? This—that when I mount into the closed turret of my mind in quest of winged thoughts and soaring fancies, alas! there glide through my brain only the monstrous spirits of madness, the black bats

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XX

XX

“Elise, Tioka wants to be amused. He would like a toy railway.” “Yes, my lady.” “Mind,” cried Tioka, “it must be like the one we saw yesterday, with all those stations and canals, and a Brooklyn bridge.” “Yes, Master Tioka.” “Well, Elise, what are you waiting for?” “Begging your ladyship's pardon, it costs eighty rubles.” “Well?” “We have not got them.” True enough; we had not got eighty rubles. “Elise, I have no more perfumes. Go and get me a bottle of Coty's Origant.” “Yes, my lady. But—” “But

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XXI

XXI

“But how shall I pay my bills?” “Leave your bills to me.” “And how shall I prevent Vassili from robbing me of Tioka!” “Don't bother about Tioka. Leave him to me.” “And, oh dear! I wish I could be divorced from Vassili.” “You shall be divorced; I shall see to it.” “But what will my mother say?” “Leave your mother to me.” There seemed to be nothing in the world that could not be left to the omniscient and all-sufficing care of Donat Prilukoff. I was deeply moved and grateful. “How shall I ever be

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XXII

XXII

“What has happened?” he cried. “What is the matter?” And he gripped my arm. I was sobbing with joy and relief. “Tioka, Tioka!” I called out. “Don't cry any more. Donat has come! We are here, we are near you!” Tioka's cries ceased at once. But Prilukoff still held me fast. “What has happened!” he asked, clenching his teeth. “I was afraid, I was afraid—” I gasped. “Of whom?” A fresh outburst of tears shook me. “Of the dead,” I sobbed. “Leave the dead to me,” said Prilukoff. He entered and shut the

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XXIII

XXIII

The mention of his sister's name was like a blow to my heart. But Tioka was already flying across the lawn. “Oh,” he cried. “There's the swing! I had forgotten there was a swing! Hurrah!” “Hush, hush, dearest,” I warned; “don't disturb grandmama who is ill.” He swung backwards and forwards, careless and handsome, shaking his blond hair in the wind. “Grandmama cannot hear me; she is fast asleep still. And besides she is not ill any more now that we are here; otherwise grandpapa would not have gon

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XXIV

XXIV

“I have not got them,” he said. “At least,” he added, “not unless I steal them.” “How dreadful,” I exclaimed in terror. “How can you say such a thing?” Then I laughed, feeling sure that he had spoken in jest. “Get them from Kamarowsky,” said Prilukoff, curtly. I started with indignation. From Kamarowsky! Never, never, as long as I lived. I had seen him frequently during the last few days; he and his charming little son, Grania, still in their deep mourning and with pale, sad faces, used to come

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XXV

XXV

Prilukoff still held me bound to him by the triple bonds of gratitude, of affection and of complicity. But Count Kamarowsky was swaying me towards a brighter and securer future. My marriage with Vassili, so long merely an empty and nominal tie, was about to be dissolved by a decree from the Holy Synod, and Kamarowsky implored me to marry him. His sadness and the loneliness of his little son moved me deeply; the thought of bringing light and joy into their lives was unspeakably sweet to me, while

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XXVI

XXVI

“If you please, madame,” she stammered, “there is a lady—a visitor”—her lips were white as she uttered the falsehood—“who wishes to see madame. She is waiting here, in the sitting-room, and she would like to—to see your ladyship alone.” “Who is it?” asked the Count. “I think it is the—that relation of madame's”—Elise was going red and white by turns—“that relation from—from Otrada.” “Ah, I know,” I stammered breathlessly. “Aunt Sonia, perhaps.” Then turning to Kamarowsky: “Will you wait for me d

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XXVII

XXVII

Then came Count Kamarowsky knocking at the door. “No! no! You cannot come in!” cried Elise Perrier, pale and trembling, leaning against the locked door. “But why? Why? What has happened?” “Nothing has happened. Madame is not feeling well,” Elise would reply, in quavering tones. “But that is all the more reason why I should see her,” protested the Count. “I must see her!” “It is impossible!” And Elise, whom fear rendered well-nigh voiceless, would roll towards me her round, despairing eyes. Then

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XXVIII

XXVIII

As for Paul Kamarowsky, his dread of suffering was so great that he preferred to know nothing that might cause him distress. In fear lest he should see aught that might displease him, he chose to shut his eyes to facts and truths, preferring voluntarily to tread the easy paths of a fool's paradise. I longed to open my heart to him, to unburden my travailed soul and clear my sullied conscience by a full confession; I was ready to abide by the result, even if it meant the loss of my last chance of

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XXIX

XXIX

The pitiless light from the window struck me full in the face, and I felt that I was turning pale. “No—no—” I stammered. “It is not mine.” “I thought not,” he said, turning it round and round. “I did not remember seeing it. We had better send it down to the bureau of the hotel.” And he stepped forward to touch the bell. “No, no!” I cried, “it belongs to Elise.” “Why does Elise leave her things in your room?” Then noticing my pallor and agitation he exclaimed: “Why, dearest? What is wrong with yo

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XXX

XXX

Kamarowsky was sitting grim and silent with bent head and lowering brow, but the young stranger raised his golden eyes under their long fair lashes, and fixed them upon me as if to give me comfort. After a few moments, in order to break the well-nigh unbearable silence, he spoke to me in his low and gentle voice. “I hear that Delphinus, the famous crystal gazer, has arrived in Orel. You ought to get him to tell you your fortune.” “Is that so?” I said, smiling; and even as I spoke the prediction

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XXXI

XXXI

Kamarowsky bent over me. “Is it not wickedness, Mura, to throw away one's life as you do? To rush from place to place, from emotion to emotion, from misery to despair? Is it not more than wickedness—is it not madness?” “Madness!” As if the word had rent a veil before my eyes, I looked my calamity full in the face. Yes, it was madness; it was the hereditary curse of my mother's people. I was like my mother's two wild-faced, frenzied sisters, whom we used to run away from and laugh at when we were

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XXXII

XXXII

I had a strange feeling that I was not alone. Some one was in the room—some one whom I could not discern was near to me. Yes, a footstep approached; a strong arm encircled me. Nicolas Naumoff's voice spoke in thrilling accents: “Marie! Marie! My heart is breaking.” With a sigh of infinite weariness merging into a sense of infinite repose I laid my head against his breast. I longed to die. I felt as if I had nothing more to ask for, nothing more to desire. But the anguish that was passing from my

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XXXIII

XXXIII

When I began to get better I noticed to my amazement that Prilukoff talked to himself all the time. Perhaps he had done so from the first, but then I was too weak to understand or even to hear him. Now that a little strength was coming back to me each day, I could hear and comprehend the words he uttered; it was a succession of imprecations, of incoherent and disconnected maledictions hurled against Naumoff and Kamarowsky, who as he thought had snatched my heart from him, and would be the ruin a

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XXXIV

XXXIV

But then I pictured to myself the scene of violence that would follow, the room echoing with revolver shots; and at the mere thought of it, in my weak and exhausted state, I fell into long fainting fits from which Elise had the greatest difficulty in reviving me. One morning Elise had an idea: “Let us confide in the doctor.” I agreed. But the thought agitated me so that when the doctor came he found me trembling, with a rapid, irregular pulse and panting breath. “Doctor—” I began. “Ah, but this

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XXXV

XXXV

The man shook his head. Then I saw Elise gather all the shawls into a heap on her left arm, as with her right hand she searched for something under her cloak. She drew out a crumpled piece of paper, and with a gesture of solemn deliberation she proffered it to the man. It was a banknote of a hundred rubles. The man took the note, stared at it, and turned it round and round in his fingers. Then he raised his eyes and gazed in stupefaction at Elise. “Open that door and call a carriage,” commanded

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XXXVI

XXXVI

From Prilukoff's hands I received a syringe, two tiny bottles, and a box filled with globules of curare, nitrate of amyl and chloroform. From his set gray lips I received instructions how to use these things. His teeth were chattering as well as my own; his hands were ice-cold and his eyes distraught. Then I fell on my knees at his feet. I implored him with all the strength of desperation to forego his abominable purpose. I reminded him of his past, of his unsullied youth, of the kind and genero

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XXXVII

XXXVII

“That was it! That was it!” But still farther away, on the line of the horizon, a mighty wave—a veritable wall of water—was approaching, formidable, gigantic, fabulous.... That was the “tidal wave.” In the course of my life, when events tragic and inexorable have raised their threatening billows above me and caught me in their crashing downfall, sweeping me like a piece of frail wreckage towards destruction, I have said to myself: “This is the tidal wave. Nothing worse can follow. Nothing more t

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XXXVIII

XXXVIII

Then began the ghastly game, the sinister comedy with the three puppets, whose strings I held in my fragile hands. I had to tranquilize and disarm Kamarowsky; to kindle and fan the murderous fury of Prilukoff; and above all to enchain and infatuate Naumoff, so as to impel him to the crime. Ah, every art that Lilith, daughter of Eve and of the Serpent, has bequeathed to woman, every insidious perversity and subtle wile did I bring into play to charm and enamor this youthful dreamer. With every in

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XXXIX

XXXIX

········ Prilukoff followed us to Verona. Then he came after us to Venice, where he took rooms in the same hotel, lurking in the corridors, shadowing us in the streets, pursuing me day and night with his misery and jealousy. Occasionally I saw him for a few moments alone, and then we would whisper together about the deed that was to be done, speaking feverishly in low quick tones like demented creatures. If I wavered, it was he who reminded me ruthlessly of my child and of my vow; if he hesitate

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XL

XL

Kamarowsky took me to the railway station, where I found the compartment he had reserved for me already filled with flowers. I thanked him with trembling lips. “In three weeks, my love,” he said, “you will be back again, and then I shall not part from you any more.” He kissed me and stepped down upon the platform, where he stood gazing up at me with smiling eyes. Many people stood near, watching us. I leaned out of the carriage window, and as I looked at him I kept repeating to myself: “This is

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XLI

XLI

“Tell me, tell me, mother! Is he to die?” My mother was silent. But the evening breeze passed over the delicate flowers, the lilies and campanulas which cover her grave; and they all nodded their heads, saying: “Yes, yes, yes.” “Did you see?” I whispered to Naumoff. But he only looked at me with bewildered eyes. And I drew him away. “We must go quickly,” I said. Now it was growing dark. I hastened along the winding narrow pathways until in a deserted corner I found what I was seeking: a neglecte

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XLII

XLII

“When he saw Naumoff come in he went forward to meet him with open arms. The young man raised his hand and fired five shots point blank into his body. The Count fell to the ground; but even then he stretched out his arms to the young man and said: 'My friend, why have you done this to me? In what way have I ever harmed you?' The young man, with a cry as if he had awakened from a dream, flung himself on the ground at his feet. Then the wounded man showed him the balcony from which he might escape

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XLIII

XLIII

As I placed my foot on the steps—how often before, in happier days, had I thus stepped from my gondola, greeted and smiled upon by the kindly Venetian idlers!—I lifted my eyes. A crowd had assembled at the top of the steps and thronged the piazza. They stood in serried ranks, menacing and silent, leaving a narrow pathway for me to pass. I faltered and would have stepped back, but the carabinieri at my side held my arms and impelled me forward. At that moment some one in the crowd—a woman—laughed

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EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

Soon, very soon, the hour of her release will strike, and the iron doors that have guarded her will open wide to let her pass. What then, what then, Marie Tarnowska? Who will await you at the prison gate? Surely Grief, Scorn, and Hatred will be there. But by your side I seem to see a guardian spirit, shielding your drooping head with outstretched wings. It is the sister of lost Innocence—Repentance; and in her wake comes the blind singer, Hope. ...

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