Chapter XXI Maria Nostra
Ah! what an ocean of time has passed since this happened. It must be twenty years, at least. It makes me giddy when I look back upon it. But how many evil years there were, how many days that I do not love to think about! How many have been torn from my side to whom life was a joy and on whom the future smiled! And I still remain! Only here and there, now and again, perhaps, do I encounter a grey-headed shape like myself, a relic from that brilliant time, and what a joy it then is to look back upon those old days and say: “It is not so good now as it was then!”
Some years ago I was on a visit of inspection among our large national State prisons. I happened to be at Szamosujvár and Illava, where the aristocracy of crime is collected together, persons condemned to a term of imprisonment exceeding ten years, all of them criminals once under sentence of death, but reprieved by an act of grace. Here were interesting studies of the night side of human nature.
I also visited the Maria Nostra. Here the female criminals resided, and nuns were the warders.
This house of correction can only be visited by special permission of the Ministry.
There the discipline is strict, but the prisoners are very well treated.
Last of all we visited the day-room, where the prisoners were at work.
They all sat in a long room, and were sewing. Those who could do the finer sort of work were at little tables of their own. I stopped before one of such tables; a woman was sewing some sort of child’s garment. It is the rule that when a visitor stops before the table of one of the felons, she shall immediately rise from her seat and, whether asked or unasked, say what her crime is and how long her term of imprisonment.
She arose when I stood before her table.
Her hair was as white as autumn gossamers, but her eyes still flashed with their old varying fires—they were still, as of old, the flaming eyes like the sea! In a dull monotone she told me her crime and her sentence: “I killed my husband. I am condemned to imprisonment for life.”
For life!—and life so long!
“Can I not use my interest in your favour?”
“I thank you, but it is well with me here. I wish for nothing more in this world.”
And with that she returned to her place and went on with her work.
Poor little Bessy!
Last year I received a letter announcing her death. It was her last wish that I, but nobody else, should be informed of it.
The End