September 2, 2025 • 47 mins
Step into the mesmerizing world crafted by world-renowned Russian author Ivan Turgenev, as he presents a captivating collection of stories that delve into dreams, lost love, fleeting specters, and ominous premonitions. This anthology also features a selection of sketches and prose poems, all penned in Turgenevs deceptively simple but profoundly articulate style. These aren‚t your typical tales of romance and nature; instead, Turgenev intertwines a thread of cynicism and melancholy that enriches his poetic language, inviting readers to explore the deeper complexities of the human experience. (Summary by Ben Tucker)
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Section four of dream Tales and Prose Poems by Ivan Turgenev.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by
Ben Tucker, The Song of Triumphant Love fifteen forty two,
dedicated to the memory of Gustave Flaubert vaugh du Zuern
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und Zutromen Schiller. This is what I read in an
old Italian manuscript one about the middle of the sixteenth century.
They were living in Ferrara. It was at that time
flourishing under the scepter of its magnificent archdukes, the patrons
of the arts and poetry. Two young men named Fabio
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and Muzio. They were of the same age and of
near kinship, and were scarcely ever a part. The warmest
affection had united them from early childhood. The similarities of
their positions strengthened the bond. Both belonged to old families,
Both were rich and dependent, and without family ties. Tastes
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and inclinations were alike in both. Musio was devoted to music,
Fabio to painting. They were looked upon with pride by
the whole of Ferrara as ornaments of the court, society
and town. In appearance, however, they were not alike, though
both were distinguished by a graceful, youthful beauty. Fabio was taller,
fair of face, and flaxen of hair, and he had
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blue eyes. Musio, on the other hand, had a swarthy
face and black hair, and in his dark brown eyes
there was not the merry light, nor on his lips
the genial smile of Fabio. His thick eyebrows overhung narrow eyelids,
while Fabio's golden eyebrows formed delicate half circles on his pure,
smooth brow. In conversation to Musio was less animated. For
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all that the two friends were both alike, looked on
with favor by ladies as well, they might be being
models of chivalrous courtliness and generosity. At the same time,
there was living in Ferrara, a girl named Valeria. She
was considered one of the greatest beauties in the town,
though it was very seldom possible to see her, as
she led a retired life. It never went out except
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to church and on great holidays for a walk. She
lived with her mother, a widow of noble family, though
of small fortune, who had no other children. In every
one whom Valeria met, she inspired a sensation of involuntary
admiration and an equally involuntary tenderness and respect. So modest
was her mien, so little, it seemed, was she aware
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of all the power of her own charms. Some, it
is true, found her a little pale, her eyes almost
always downcast, expressed a certain shyness, even timidity. Her lips
rarely smiled, and then only faintly, her voice scarcely any
one had heard, but the rumor went that it was
most beautiful, and that shut up in her own room
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in the early morning, when everything still slumbered in the town,
she loved to sing old songs to the sound of
the lute on which she used to play herself. In
spite of her pallor, Valeria was blooming with health, and
even old people, as they gazed on her, could not
but think, Oh, how happy the youth, for whom that
pure maiden bud, still infolded in petals, will one day
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open into full flower. Two Fabio and Muzio saw Valeria
for the first time at a magnificent public festival celebrated
at the command of the Archduke of Ferrara Ercol, son
of the celebrated Lucrezia Borgia in honor of some illustrious
grandees who had come from Paris on the invitation of
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the Archduchess, daughter of the French King Louis the twelfth.
Valeria was sitting beside her mother on an elegant tribune
built after a design of Palladio in the principal square
of Ferrara for the most honorable ladies in the town.
Both Fabio and Mosio fell passionately in love with her
on that day, and as they never had any secrets
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from each other, each of them soon knew what was
passing in his friend heart. They agreed together that both
should try to get to know Valeria, and if she
should deign to choose one of them, the others should
submit without a murmur to her decision. A few weeks later,
thanks to the excellent renown they deservedly enjoyed, they succeeded
in penetrating into the widow's house. Difficult though it was
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to obtain an entry to it, she permitted them to
visit her. From that time forward, they were able almost
every day to see Valeria and to converse with her,
and every day the passion kindled in the hearts of
both young men grew stronger and stronger. Valeria, however, showed
no preference for either of them, though their society was
obviously agreeable to her. With Masio, she occupied herself with music,
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but she talked more with Fabio. With him, she was
less timid. At last, they resolved to learn once for
all their fate and sent a letter to Valeria in
which they begged her to be open with them and
to say to which she would be ready to give
her hand. Valeria showed this letter to her mother and
declared that she was willing to remain unmarried, but if
her mother considered it time for her to enter upon matrimony,
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then she would marry whichever one of her mother's choice
should fix upon. The excellent widow shed a few tears
at the thought of parting from her beloved child. There was, however,
no good ground for refusing the suitors. She considered both
of them equally worthy of her daughter's hand, but as
she secretly preferred Fabio and suspected that Valeria liked him,
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the better, she fixed upon him. The next day, Fabio
heard of his happy fate, while all that was left
for Musio was to keep his word and submit and
this he did. But to be the witness of the
triumph of his friend and rival was more than he
could do. He promptly sold the greater part of his property, and,
collecting some thousands of ducats, he set off on a
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far journey to the east. As he said farewell to Fabio,
he told him that he should not return till he
felt that the last traces of passion had vanished from
his heart. It was painful to Fabio to part from
the friend of his child and youth, but the joyous
anticipation of approaching bliss soon swallowed up all other sensations,
and he gave himself up wholly to the transports of
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successful love. Shortly after, he celebrated his nuptiwels with Valeria,
and only then learnt the full worth of the treasure
it had been his fortune to obtain. He had a
charming villa shut in by a shady garden, a short
distance from Ferrara. He moved thither with his wife and
her mother. Then a time of happiness began for them.
Married life brought out in a new and enchanting light
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all the perfections of Valeria. Fabio became an artist of distinction.
No longer a mere amateur, but a real master. Valeria's
mother rejoiced and thanked God as she looked upon the
happy pair. For years flew by unperceived, like a delirious dream.
One thing only was wanting to the young couple, one
lack they mourned over as a sorrow. They had no children,
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but they had not given up all hope of them.
At the end of the fourth year, they were overtaken
by a great this time a real sorrow. Valeria's mother
died after an illness of a few days. Many tears
were shed by Valeria. For a long time she could
not accustom herself to her loss. But another year went by.
Life again asserted its rites and flowed along its old channel,
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and behold one fine summer evening. Unexpected by everyone, Musio
returned to Ferrara three During the whole space of five
years that had elapsed since his departure, no one had
heard anything of him. All talk about him had died away,
as though he had vanished from the face of the earth.
When Fabio met his friend in one of the streets
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of Ferrara, he almost cried aloud, first in alarm and
then in delight and he at once invited him to
his villa. There happened to be in his garden there
a spacious pavilion apart from the house. He proposed to
his friend that he should establish himself in this pavilion.
Muzzio readily agreed and moved thither the same day, together
with his servant, a dumb melee, dumb but not deaf,
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and indeed, to judge by the alertness of his expression,
a very intelligent man. His tongue had been cut out.
Muzzio brought with him dozens of boxes filled with treasures
of all sorts, collected by him in the course of
his prolonged travels. Valeria was delighted at Muzzio's return, and
he greeted her with cheerful friendliness but composure. It could
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be seen in every action that he had kept the
promise given to Fabio. During the day, he completely arranged
everything in order in his pavilion. Aided by his melee,
he unpacked the curiosities he had brought, rugs, silken stuffs,
velvet and brocaded garments, weapons, goblets, dishes and bowls decorated
with enamel, things made of gold and silver and inlaid
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with pearl and turquoise, carved boxes of jasper and ivory,
cut bottles, spices, incense, skins of wild beasts and feathers
of unknown birds, and a number of other things, the
very use of which seemed mysterious and incomprehensible. Among all
these precious things, there was a rich pearl necklace bestowed
upon Muzio by the King of Persia for some great
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and secret service. He asked permission of Valeria to put
this necklace with his own hand about her neck. She
was struck by its great weight and a sort of
strange heat in it. It seemed to burn to her skin.
In the evening after dinner, as they sat on the
terrace of the villa, in the shade of the oleanders
and laurels, Muzio began to relate his adventures. He told
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of the distant lands he had seen, of cloud topped
mountains and deserts rivers like seas. He told of immense
buildings and temples, of trees a thousand years old, of
birds and flowers, of the colors of the rainbow. He
named the cities and the peoples he had visited. Their
very names seemed like a fairy tale. The whole East
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was familiar to Musio. He had traversed Persia Arabia, where
the horses are nobler and more beautiful than any other
living creatures. He had penetrated into the very heart of India,
where the race of men grow like staately trees. He
had reached the boundaries of China and Tibet, where the
living god called the Grand Lama dwells on earth in
the guise of a silent man with narrow eyes. Marvelous
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were his tales. Both Fabio and Valeria listened to him
as if enchanted. Musio's features had really changed very little.
His face, swarthy from childhood, had grown darker, still burnt
under the rays of a hotter sun. His eyes seemed
more deep set than before, and that was all. But
the expression of his face had become different, concentrated and dignified.
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It never showed more life when he recalled the dangers
he had encountered by night and forests that resounded with
the roar of tigers, or by day on solitary ways
where savage fanatics lay in wait for travelers to slay
them in honor of their iron goddess, who demands human sacrifices,
and Muzio's voice had grown deeper and more even his hands,
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his whole body had lost the freedom of gesture peculiar
to the Italian race. With the aid of his servant,
the obsequiously alert Melee, he showed his hosts a few
of the feats he had learnt from the Indian Brahmins. Thus,
for instance, having first hidden himself behind a curtain, he
suddenly appeared sitting in the air, cross legged, the tips
of his fingers pressed lightly on a bamboo cane placed vertically,
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which astounded Fabio not a little and positively alarmed Valeria.
Isn't he a sorcerer? Was her thought? When he proceeded,
piping on a little flute to call some tame snakes
out of a covered basket, where their dark flat heads
with quivering tongues appeared under a parti colored cloth. Valeria
was terrified and begged Muzio to put away these loathsome
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horrors as soon as possible. At supper, Muzzio regaled his
friends with wine of charras from a round, long necked flagon.
It was of extraordinary fragrance and thickness of a golden color,
with a shade of green in it, and it shone
with a strange brightness as it was poured into the
tiny jasper goblets. In taste, it was unlike European wines.
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It was very sweet and spicy, and drunk slowly in
small drafts, produced a sensation of pleasant drowsiness and all
the limbs. Muzzio made both Fabio and Valeria drink a
goblet of it, and he drank one himself. Bending over
her goblet, he murmured something moving his fingers as he
did so. Valeria noticed this, but as in all Muzzio's doings,
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in his whole behavior, there was something strange and out
of the common. She only thought, can he have adopted
some new faith in India? Or is that the custom there? Then,
after a short silence, she asked him had he persevered
with music during his travels. Muzzio, in reply, bade the
melee bring his Indian violin. It was like those of
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to day, but instead of four strings, it had only three.
The upper part of it was covered with a bluish
snake skin, and the slender bow of reed was in
the form of a half moon, and on its extreme
end glittered a pointed diamond. Muzzio played first some mournful
airs national songs, as he told them, strange and even
barbarous to an Italian ear. The sound of the metallic
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strings was plaintive and feeble, but when Muzzio began the
last song, it suddenly gained force and rang out tunefully
and powerfully. The passionate melody flowed out under the wide
sweeps of the bow, flowed out exquisitely, twisting and coiling
like the snake that covered the violin top. And such fire,
such triumphant bliss, glowed and burned in this melody that
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Fabio and Valeria felt rung to the heart and tears
came into their eyes, while Muzzio, his head bent and
pressed close to the violin, his cheeks pale, his eyebrows
drawn together into a single straight line, seemed still more
concentrated and solemn, and the diamond at the end of
the bow flashed sparks of light, as though at too
were kindled by the fire of the divine song. When
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Muzio had finished, and still keeping fast the violin between
his chin and his shoulder, dropped the hand that held
the bow. What is that? What is that you have
been playing to us, cried Fabio. Valeria uttered not a word,
but her whole being seemed echoing her husband's question. Muzzio
laid the violin on the table, and slightly tossing back
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his hair, he said, with a polite smile, that that melody,
that song I heard once in the island of Ceylon.
That song is known there among the people as the
song of happy triumphant love. Played again, Fabio was murmuring, No,
it can't be played again, answered Muzio. Besides, it is
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now too late. Senora Valeria ought to be at rest,
and it's time for me too. I am weary. During
the whole day, Muzio had treated Valeria with respectful simplicity,
as a friend of former days. But as he went out,
he clasped her hand very tightly, squeezing his fingers on
her palm and looking so intently into her face that,
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though she did not raise her eyelids, she yet felt
to look on her suddenly flaming chin. She said nothing
to Muzzio, but jerked away her hand, and when he
was gone, she gazed at the door through which he
had passed out. She remembered how she had been a
little afraid of him even in old days, and now
she was overcome by perplexity. Muzio went off to his pavilion,
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the husband and wife went to their bedroom. Four Valeria
did not quickly fall asleep. There was a faint and
languid fever in her blood, and a slight ringing in
her ears from that strange whine, as she supposed, and
perhaps too from Muzzio's stories from his playing on the violin.
Towards morning, she did at last fall asleep, and she
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had an extraordinary dream. She dreamt that she was going
into a large room with a low ceiling, such a
room she had never seen in her life. All the
walls were covered with tiny blue tiles with gold lines
on them. Slender carved pillars of alabaster supported the marble ceiling.
The ceiling itself, and the pillars seemed half transparent. A pale,
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rosy light penetrated from all sides into the room, throwing
a mysterious and uniform light on all the objects in it.
Brocaded cushions lay on a narrow rug in the very
middle of the floor, which was smooth as a mirror.
In the corners, almost unseen, were smoking lofty censers of
the shape of monstrous beasts. There was no window anywhere.
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A door hung with a velvet curtain stood dark and
silent in a recess in the wall. And suddenly this
curtain slowly glided moved aside, and in came Musio. He bowed,
opened his arms, laughed his fierce arms, and folded Valeria's waist.
His parched lips burned her all over. She fell backwards
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on the cushions, moaning with horror. After long struggles, Valeria awakened, still,
not realizing where she was and what was happening to her.
She raised herself on her bed, looked round. A trimmer
ran over her whole body. Fabia was lying beside her.
He was asleep, but his face and the light of
the brilliant full moon looking in at the window, was
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pale as a corpse's. It was sadder than a dead face.
Valeria waked her husband, and directly he looked at her.
What is the matter? He cried, I had I had
a fearful dream. She whispered, still shuddering all over. But
at that instant from the direction of the pavilion came floating,
powerful sounds, and both Fabio and Valeria recognized the melody
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Muzio had played to them, calling it the song of
blissful triumphant love. Fabio looked in perplexity at Valeria. She
closed her eyes, turned away, and both holding their breath,
heard the song out to the end. As the last
note died away, the moon passed behind a cloud, it
was suddenly dark in the room. Both the young people
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let their heads sink on their pillows without exchanging a word,
and neither of them noticed when the other fell asleep.
Five the next morning, Muzio came in to breakfast. He
seemed happy and greeted Valeria cheerfully. She answered him in confusion,
stole a glance at him, and felt frightened at the
sight of that serene, happy face those piercing inquisitive eyes.
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Musio was beginning again to tell some story, but Fabio
interrupted him at the first word. You could not sleep.
I see in your new quarters, my wife and I
heard you playing last night's song. Yes, did you hear it,
said Musio. I played it, indeed, but I had been
asleep before that, and I had a wonderful dream too.
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Valeria was on the alert. What sort of dream asked Fabio.
I dreamed, answered Muzio, not taking his eyes off Valeria.
I was entering a spacious apartment with a ceiling decorated
in Oriental fashion. Carved columns supported the roof. The walls
were covered with tiles, and though there were neither windows
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nor lights, the whole room was filled with a rosy light,
just as though it were all built of transparent stone.
In the corps, Chinese censers were smoking on the floor
lay brocaded cushions along a narrow rug. I went in
through a door covered with a curtain, and at another door,
just opposite appeared a woman whom I once loved, and
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so beautiful. She seemed to me that I was all
aflame with my old love. Muzzio broke off significantly. Valeria
sat motionless, and only gradually she turned white, and she
drew her breath more slowly, then continued Muzio. I waked
up and played that song. But who was that woman,
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said Fabio. Who was she? The wife of an Indian.
I met her in the town of Delhi. She is
not alive now. She died, and her husband asked Fabio,
not knowing why he asked the question. Her husband too,
they say, is dead. I soon lost sight of them
both strange, observed Fabio. My wife too had an extraordinary
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dream last night. Muzzio gazed intently at Valeria, which she
did not tell me, added Fabio. But at this point
Valeria got up and went out of the room. Immediately
after breakfast, Muzzio too went away, explaining that he had
to be in Ferrara on business and that he would
not be back before the evening six A few weeks
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before Muzio's return, Fabio had begun a portrait of his wife,
depicting her with the attributes of Saint Celia. He had
made considerable advance in his art. The renowned Luini, a
pupil of Leonardo da Vinci, used to come to him
at Ferrara, and, while aiding him with his own counsels,
pass on also the precepts of his great master. The
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portrait was almost completely finished. All that was left was
to add a few strokes to the face, and Fabio
might well be proud of his creation. After seeing Muzio
off on his way to Ferrara, he turned into his studio,
where Valeria was usually waiting for him, but he did
not find her there he called her. She did not respond.
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Fabio was overcome by a secret uneasiness. He began looking
for she was nowhere in the house. Fabio ran into
the garden, and there, in one of the more secluded walks,
he caught sight of Valeria. She was sitting on a seat,
her head drooping on to her bosom as her hands
folded upon her knees, while behind her, peeping out of
the dark green of a cypress, a marble satyr with
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a distorted, malignant grin on his face, was putting his
pouting lips to a pan's pipe. Valeria was visibly relieved
at her husband's appearance, and to his agitated questions, she
replied that she had a slight headache, but that it
was of no consequence, and she was ready to come
to sit to him. Fabio led her to the studio,
posed her, and took up his brush. But to his
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great vexation, he could not finish the face as he
would have liked to, and not because it was somewhat
pale and looked exhausted, no, but the pure saintly expression
which he liked so much in it, and which had
given him the idea of painting Valeria as Saint Celia,
he could not find in it. That day, he flung
down the brush. At last, told his wife he was
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not in the mood for work, and that he would
not prevent her from lying down as she did not
look at all well, and put the canvas with its
face to the wall. Valeria agreed with him that she
ought to rest, and, repeating her complaints of a headache,
withdrew into her bedroom. Fabio remained in the studio. He
felt a strange, confused sensation, incomprehensible to himself. Muzzio stay
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under his roof, to which he Fabio had himself urgently
invited him, was irksome to him, and not that he
was jealous. Could anyone have been jealous of Valeria? But
he did not recognize his former comrade and his friend.
All that was strange, unknown, and knew that Muzio had
brought with him from those distant lands, and which seemed
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to have entered into his very flesh and blood. All
these magical feats, songs, strange drinks, this dumb melie, even
this bicy fragrance diffused by Muzio's garments, his hair, his breath.
All this inspired in Fabio, a sensation akin to distrust,
possibly even to timidity. And why did that melee waiting
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at tables stare with such disagreeable intentness at him? Fabio, really,
any one might suppose that he understood Italian Muzio had
said of him that in losing his tongue, this malee
had made a great sacrifice, and in return he was
now possessed of great power. What sort of power? And
how could he have obtained it at the price of
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his tongue? All this was very strange, very incomprehensible. Fabio
went into his wife's room. She was lying on the bed, dressed,
but was not asleep. Hearing his steps, she started then
again seemed delighted to see him, just as in the garden.
Fabio sat down beside the bed, took Valeria by the hand, and,
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after a short silence, asked her what was the extraordinary
dream that had frightened her so the previous night? And
was it the same sword at all as the dream
Muzzio had described. Valeria crimsoned and said, hurriedly, oh, no, no,
I saw a sort of monster which was trying to
tear me to pieces, A monster in the shape of
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a man asked Fabio, no a beast a beast? Valeria
turned away and hid her burning face in the pillows.
Fabio held his wife's hands some time longer. Silently, he
raised it to his lips and withdrew both. The young
people passed that day with heavy hearts. Something dark seemed
hanging over their heads, but what it was they could
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not tell. They wanted to be together, as though some
danger threatened them, but what to say to one another
they did not know. Fabio made an effort to take
up the portrait and to read Ariosto, whose poem had
appeared not long before in Ferrara and was now making
a noise all over Italy, but nothing was of any use.
Late in the evening, just at supper time, Muzio returned seven.
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He seemed composed and cheerful, but he told them little.
He devoted himself rather to questioning Fabio about their common
acquaintances about the German war and the Emperor Charles. He
spoke of his own desire to visit Rome to see
the new pope. He again offered Valeria some Shara's wine,
and on her refusal, observed as though to himself, now
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it's not needed to be sure. Going back with his
wife to their room, Fabio soon fell asleep, and, waking
up an hour later, felt a conviction that no one
was sharing his bed. Valeria was not beside him. He
got up quickly, and at the same instant saw his
wife and her night attire, coming out of the garden
into the room. The moon was shining brightly, though not
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long before a light rain had been falling. With eyes closed,
with an expression of mysterious horror on her immovable face,
Valeria approached the bed, and, feeling for it, with her
hands stretched out before her, lay down hurriedly and in silence.
Fabio turned to her with a question, but she made
no reply, seemed to be asleep. He touched her and
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felt on her dress, and on her hair drops of rain,
and on the soles of her bare feet little grains
of sand. Then he leapt up and ran into the
garden through the half open door. The crude brilliance of
the moon wrapped every object in light. Fabio looked about
him and perceived on the sand the path prints of
two pairs of feet, one pair were bare, and these
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prints led to a bower of jasmine on one side
between the pavilion and the house. He stood still in perplexity,
and suddenly, once more he heard the strains of the
song he had listened to the night before. Fabio shuddered
ran into the pavilion. Muzio was standing in the middle
of the room, playing on the violin. Fabio rushed up
to him. You have been in the garden. Your clothes
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are wet with rain. No, I don't know. I think
I've not been out, Muzio answered, slowly, seeming amazed at
Fabio's entrance. In his excitement, Fabio se by the hand,
and why are you playing that melody again? Have you
had a dream again? Muzio glanced at Fabia with the
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same look of amazement and said nothing, answer me. The
moon stood high like a round shield, like a snake.
The river shines, the friends awake, the foes asleep. The
bird is in the falcon's clutches, help muttered Muzio, humming
to himself as though in delirium. Fabio stepped back two paces,
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stared at Musio, pondered a moment, and went back to
the house to his bedroom. Valeria, her head sunk on
her shoulder and her hands hanging lifelessly was in a
heavy sleep. He could not quickly awaken her, but directly
she saw him, she flung herself on his neck and
embraced him convulsively. She was trembling all over. What is
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the matter, my precious, What is it? Fabio kept repeating,
trying to soothe her, but she still lay lifeless on
his breast. Ah, what fearful dreams I have? She whispered,
hiding her face against him. Fabio would have questioned her,
but she only shuddered. The window panes were flushed with
the early light of morning, when at last she fell
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asleep in his arms. Eight the next day, Mosio disappeared
from early morning, while Valeria informed her husband that she
intended to go away to a neighboring monastery where lived
her spiritual father, an old and austere monk in whom
she had placed unbounded confidence. To Fabio's inquiries, she replied
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that she wanted, by confession, to relieve her soul, which
was weighed down by the exceptional impressions of the last
few days. As he looked upon Valeria's sunken face and
listened to her faint voice, Fabio approved of her plan.
The worthy father Lorenzo might give her valuable advice and
might disperse her doubts. Under the escort of four attendants,
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Valeria set off to the monastery, while Fabio remained at
home and wandered about the garden till his wife's return,
trying to comprehend what had happened to her, and a
victim to constant fear and wrath and the pain of
undefined suspicions. More than once, he went up to the pavilion,
but Muzio had not returned, and the melee gazed at
Fabio like a statue, obsequiously bowing his head with a
(29:14):
well dissembled so at least it seemed to Fabio smile
on his bronzed face. Meanwhile, Valeria had in confession told
everything to her priest, not so much with shame as
with horror. The priest heard her attentively gave her his blessing,
absolved her from her involuntary sin. But to himself he thought, sorcery,
(29:34):
the arts of the devil. The matter can't be left so,
and he returned with Valeria to her villa, as though
with the aim of completely pacifying and reassuring her. At
the sight of the priest, Fabio was thrown into some agitation,
but the experienced old man had thought out beforehand how
he must treat him. When he was left alone with Fabio,
he did not, of course, betray the secrets of the confessional,
(29:57):
but he advised him, if possible, to get rid of
the guest they had envy to their house, as by
his stories, his songs, and his whole behavior he was
troubling the imagination of Valeria. Moreover, in the old man's opinion,
Muzzio had not, he remembered, been very firm in the
faith in former days, and having spent so long a
time in lands enlightened by truths of Christianity, he might
(30:19):
well have brought thence the contagion of false doctrine, might
even have become conversant with secret magic arts. And therefore,
though long friendship had indeed its claims, still a wise
prudence pointed to the necessity of separation. Fabio fully agreed
with the excellent monk. Valeria was even joyful when her
husband reported to her the priest's council and sent on
(30:41):
his way with the cordial goodwill of both the young people,
loaded with good gifts for the monastery. And the poor
father Lorenzo returned home. Fabio intended to have an explanation
with Mussio immediately after supper, but his strange guest did
not return to supper. Then Fabio decided to defer his
conversation with Musio until the following day, and both the
(31:02):
young people retired to rest. Nine. Valeria soon fell asleep,
but Fabio could not sleep. In the stillness of the night,
everything he had seen, everything he had felt, presented itself
more vividly. He put to himself, still more insistently, questions
to which, as before, he could find no answer, had
(31:23):
Mosio really become a sorcerer? And had he not already
poisoned Valeria? She was ill? But what was her disease?
While he lay his head in his hand, holding his
feverish breath, and given up to painful reflection, the moon
rose again upon a cloudless sky, and, together with its
beams through the half transparent window panes, there began from
(31:45):
the direction of the pavilion, or was it Fabio's fancy
to come a breath like a light fragrant current. Then
an urgent, passionate murmur was heard, and at that instant
he observed that Valeria was beginning faintly to stir. He started, looked.
She rose up, slid first one foot then the other,
(32:06):
out of the bed, and, like one bewitched of the moon,
her sightless eyes fixed lifelessly before her, her hands stretched out,
she began moving towards the garden. Fabio instantly ran out
of the other door of the room, and, running quickly
round the corner of the house, bolted the door that
led into the garden. He had scarcely time to grasp
(32:27):
at the bolt when he felt some one trying to
open the door from the inside, pressing against it again
and again, and then there was the sound of piteous,
passionate moans, but Muzio was not come back from the town.
Flashed through Fabio's head, and he rushed to the pavilion.
What did he see coming towards him along the path,
(32:49):
dazzlingly lighted up by the moon's rays, was Muzio, He too,
moving like one moon struck, his hands held out before
him and his eyes open but unseeing. Fabio ran up
to him, but he, not heeding him, moved on, treading
evenly step by step, and his rigid face smiled in
the moonlight. Like the Malays. Fabio would have called him
(33:12):
by his name. But at that instant he heard behind
him in the house the creaking of a window. He
looked round. Yes, the window of the bedroom was open
from top to bottom, and putting one foot over the sill,
Valerius stood in the window. Her hands seemed to be
seeking Musio. She seemed striving all over towards him. Unutterable
(33:32):
fury filled Fabio's breast with a sudden inrush. A cursed sorcerer,
he shrieked furiously, and seizing Musio by the throat with
one hand. With the other, he felt for the dagger
in his girdle and plunged the blade into his side
up to the hilt. Musio uttered a shrill scream, and,
clapping his hand to the wound, ran staggering back to
(33:53):
the pavilion. But at the very same instant, when Fabio
stabbed him, Valerius screamed just as shrilly, and fell to
the earth like grasp before the scythe Fabio flew to her,
raised her up, carried her to the bed, began to
speak to her. She lay a long time motionless, but
at last she opened her eyes. Heaved a deep broken,
(34:14):
blissful sigh, like one just rescued from imminent death. Saw
her husband, and twining her arms about his neck, crept
close to him. You you, it is you. She faltered, gradually,
her hands loosened their hold, her head sank back and
murmuring with a blissful smile, Thank God, it is all over.
(34:36):
But how weary I am. She fell into a sound,
but not heavy sleep. Ten Fabio sank down beside her bed, and,
never taking his eyes off her pale and sunken but
already calmer face, began reflecting on what had happened, and
also on how he ought to act Now, what steps
was he to take if he had killed Mosio, And
(34:58):
remembering how deeply the the dagger had gone in, he
could have no doubt of it. It could not be hidden.
He would have to bring it to the knowledge of
the Archduke of the judges. But how explain, how describe
such an incomprehensible affair. He Fabio had killed in his
own house, his own kinsman, his dearest friend. They will
(35:22):
inquire what for, on what ground? But if Mosio were
not dead, Fabio could not endure to remain longer in uncertainty,
and satisfying himself that Valeria was asleep, he cautiously got
up from his chair, went out of the house and
made his way to the pavilion. Everything was still in it.
Only in one window a light was visible with a
(35:44):
sinking heart. He opened the outer door. There were still
the print of blood stained fingers on it, and there
were black drops of gore on the sand of the path.
Passed through the first dark room and stood still on
the threshold, overwhelmed with amazement. In the middle of the room,
on a persian rug, with a brocaded cushion under his
head and all his limbs stretched out straight lay muzzio,
(36:08):
covered with a wide red shawl with a black pattern
on it. His face yellow as wax, with closed eyes
and bluish eyelids, was turned towards the ceiling. No breathing
could be discerned. He seemed a corpse. At his feet
knelt the melee, also wrapped in a red shawl. He
was holding in his left hand a branch of some
unknown plant like a fern, and bending slightly forward, was
(36:31):
gazing fixedly at his master. A small torch fixed on
the floor, burnt with a greenish flame and was the
only light in the room. The flame did not flicker
nor smoke. The Melee did not stir at Fabio's entry.
He merely turned his eyes upon him, and again bent
them upon Muzzio. From time to time he raised and
lowered the branch and waved it in the air, and
(36:53):
his dumb lips slowly parted and moved as though uttering
soundless words. On the floor between the Malele and Mosio
lay the dagger with which Fabio had stabbed his friend.
The Malee struck one blow with the branch on the
blood stained blade. A minute passed another Fabio approached the Melee, and,
stooping down to him, asked, in an undertone, is he dead?
(37:18):
The Melee bent his head from above downwards, and disentangling
his right hand from his shawl, he pointed imperiously to
the door. Fabio would have repeated his question, but the
gesture of the commanding hand was repeated, and Fabio went out,
indignant and wondering, but obedient. He found Valeria sleeping as before,
with an even more tranquil expression on her face. He
(37:41):
did not undress, but seated himself by the window, his
head in his hand, and once more sank into thought.
The rising sun found him still in the same place.
Valeria had not waked up eleven. Fabio intended to wait
till she awakened, and then to set off to Ferrara.
When suddenly some one tapped lightly at the bedroom door.
(38:04):
Fabio went out and saw his old steward, Antonio. Signor
began the old man. The malee has just informed me
that Signor Musio has been taken ill and wishes to
be moved with all his belongings to the town, and
that he begs you to let him have servants to
assist in packing his things, and that at dinner time
(38:24):
you would send pack horses and saddle horses and a
few attendants for the journey. Do you allow it? The
melee informed you of this, asked Fabio in what manner?
Why he is dumb? Here? Signor is the paper on
which he wrote all this in our language and very correctly,
(38:47):
And Mussio, you say, is ill? Yes, he is very
ill and can see no one. Have they sent for
a doctor? No? The melee forbade it, And was it?
The malay wrote you this, Yes, it was he. Fabio
did not speak for a moment. Well, then uh range
(39:07):
at all, he said. At last, Antonio withdrew. Fabio looked
after his servant in bewilderment. Then he is not dead,
he thought, and he did not know whether to rejoice
or to be sorry. Ill, but a few hours ago
it was a corpse he had looked upon. Fabio returned
to Valeria. She waked up and raised her head. The
(39:30):
husband and wife exchanged a long look full of significance.
He is gone, Valeria said. Suddenly. Fabio shuddered, How gone
do you mean? Is he gone away? She continued? A
load fell from Fabio's heart. Not yet, but he is
going to day and I shall never never see him again, never,
(39:54):
and these dreams will not come again. No, Valeria again
heaved a sigh of relief. A blissful smile once more
appeared on her lips. She held out both hands to
her husband. And we will never speak of him never,
do you, hear, my dear one. And I will not
leave my room till he is gone. And do you
now send me my maids? But stay, take away that thing.
(40:17):
She pointed to the pearl necklace lying on the little
bedside table, the necklace given her by Muzzio, and throw
it at once in our deepest well, embrace me, I
am your Valeria, and do not come in to me
till he is gone. Fabio took the necklace, the pearls
he fancied looked tarnished, and did as his wife had directed.
(40:40):
Then he fell to wandering about the garden, looking from
a distance at the pavilion, about which the bustle of
preparations for departure was beginning. Servants were bringing out boxes
loading the horses, but the Melee was not among them.
An irresistible impulse drew Fabio to look once more upon
what was taking place in the pavilion. He recollected that
there was at the back a secret door by which
(41:02):
he could reach the inner room, where Musio had been
lying in the morning. He stole round to this door,
found it unlocked, and parting the folds of a heavy curtain,
turned a faltering glance upon the room. Within twelve Muzio
was not now lying on the rug, Dressed as though
for a journey. He sat in an arm chair, but
seemed a corpse, just as on Fabio's first visit. His
(41:26):
torpid head fell back on the chair and his outstretched
hands hung lifeless. Yellow and rigid on his knees. His
breast did not heave Near the chair. On the floor,
which was strewn with dried herbs, stood some flat bowls
of dark liquid, which exhaled a powerful, almost suffocating odor,
the odor of musk. Around each bowl was coiled a
(41:47):
small snake of brazen hue with golden eyes that flashed
from time to time. While directly facing Musio. Two paces
from him rose the long figure of the Melee, wrapped
in a mantle of many colored brocade, girt round the
waist with a tiger's tail, with a high hat of
the shape of a pointed tiara on his head. But
he was not motionless. At one moment he bowed down
(42:10):
reverently and seemed to be praying. At the next he
drew himself up to his full height, even rose on tiptoe. Then,
with a rhythmic action, threw wide his arms and moved
them persistently in the direction of Musio, and seemed to
threaten or command him, frowning and stamping with his foot.
All these actions seemed to cost him great effort, even
(42:32):
to cause him pain. He breathed heavily, the sweat streamed
down his face all at once, he sank down to
the ground, and, drawing in a full breath, with knitted
brow and immense effort, drew his clenched hands towards him,
as though he were holding reins in them, and, to
the indescribable horror of Fabio, Muzio's head slowly left the
(42:53):
back of the chair and moved forward, following the malee's hands.
The melee let them fall, and Musio's head fell heavily
back again. The melee repeated his movements, and obediently, the
head repeated them after him. The dark liquid and the
bulls began boiling. The bulls themselves began to resound with
a faint bell like note, and the brazen snakes coiled
(43:15):
freely about each of them. Then the malee took a
step forward, and, raising his eyebrows and opening his eyes
immensely wide, he bowed his head to Musio, and the
eyelids of the dead man quivered parted uncertainly, and under
them could be seen the eyeballs dull as lead. The
malee's face was radiant with triumphant pride and delight, a
(43:38):
delight almost malignant. He opened his mouth wide, and from
the depths of his chest there broke out with effort
a prolonged howl. Musio's lips parted too, and a faint
moan quivered on them in response to that inhuman sound.
But at this point Fabio could endure it no longer.
He imagined he was present at some devilish incantation. He
(44:00):
two uttered a shriek and rushed out, running home home
as quick as possible, without looking round, repeating prayers and
crossing himself as he ran. Thirteen three hours later, Antonio
came to him with the announcement that everything was ready,
The things were packed, and signor Muzio was preparing to start.
Without a word, in answer to his servant, Fabio went
(44:22):
out on to the terrace, whence the pavilion could be seen.
A few pack horses were grouped before it. A powerful
raven horse, saddled for two riders, was led up to
the steps, where servants were standing bareheaded together with armed attendants.
The door of the pavilion opened, and, supported by the melee,
who wore once more his ordinary attire, appeared Muzzio. His
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face was deathlike and his hands hung like a dead man's,
but he walked yes positively walked and seated on the charger.
He sat upright and felt for and found the reins.
The malee put his feet in the stirrups, leaped up
behind him, him on the saddle, put his arm round him,
and the whole party started. The horses moved at a
(45:05):
walking pace, and when they turned round before the house,
Fabio fancied that in Musio's dark face there gleamed two
spots of white. Could it be he had turned his
eyes upon him? Only the melee bowed to him ironically,
As ever, did Valerius see all this? The blinds of
her windows were drawn, but it may be she was
(45:27):
standing behind them. Fourteen at dinner time, she came into
the dining room and was very quiet and affectionate. She
still complained, however, of weariness, but there was no agitation
about her now, none of her former constant bewilderment and
secret dread. And when the day after Mosie's departure, Fabio
set to work again on her portrait, he found in
(45:49):
her features the pure expression, the momentary eclipse of which
had so troubled him, and his brush moved lightly and
faithfully over the canvas. The husband and wife took up
their old life again. Musio vanished for them as though
he had never existed. Fabio and Valeria were agreed, as
it seemed not to utter a syllable referring to him,
(46:10):
not to learn anything of his later days. His fate remained, however,
a mystery for all. Muzzio did actually disappear, as though
he had sunk into the earth. Fabio one day thought
it his duty to tell Valeria exactly what had taken
place on that fatal night, but she probably divined his intention,
and she held her breath half shutting her eyes as
(46:30):
though she were expecting a blow, and Fabio understood her.
He did not inflict that blow upon her. One fine
autumn day, Fabio was putting the last touches to his
picture of his Cecilia. Valeria sat at the organ, her
fingers straying at random over the keys. Suddenly, without her
knowing it, from under her hands came the first notes
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of that song of Triumphant Love, which Mussio had once played,
and at the same instant, for the first time since
her marriage, she felt within her the throb of a
new palpitating life. Valerius started stopped. What did it mean?
Could it be at this word the manuscript ended, end
(47:14):
of section four, The Song of Triumphant Love
Section four of dream Tales and Prose Poems by Ivan Turgenev.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by
Ben Tucker, The Song of Triumphant Love fifteen forty two,
dedicated to the memory of Gustave Flaubert vaugh du Zuern
(00:21):
und Zutromen Schiller. This is what I read in an
old Italian manuscript one about the middle of the sixteenth century.
They were living in Ferrara. It was at that time
flourishing under the scepter of its magnificent archdukes, the patrons
of the arts and poetry. Two young men named Fabio
(00:41):
and Muzio. They were of the same age and of
near kinship, and were scarcely ever a part. The warmest
affection had united them from early childhood. The similarities of
their positions strengthened the bond. Both belonged to old families,
Both were rich and dependent, and without family ties. Tastes
(01:02):
and inclinations were alike in both. Musio was devoted to music,
Fabio to painting. They were looked upon with pride by
the whole of Ferrara as ornaments of the court, society
and town. In appearance, however, they were not alike, though
both were distinguished by a graceful, youthful beauty. Fabio was taller,
fair of face, and flaxen of hair, and he had
(01:24):
blue eyes. Musio, on the other hand, had a swarthy
face and black hair, and in his dark brown eyes
there was not the merry light, nor on his lips
the genial smile of Fabio. His thick eyebrows overhung narrow eyelids,
while Fabio's golden eyebrows formed delicate half circles on his pure,
smooth brow. In conversation to Musio was less animated. For
(01:48):
all that the two friends were both alike, looked on
with favor by ladies as well, they might be being
models of chivalrous courtliness and generosity. At the same time,
there was living in Ferrara, a girl named Valeria. She
was considered one of the greatest beauties in the town,
though it was very seldom possible to see her, as
she led a retired life. It never went out except
(02:10):
to church and on great holidays for a walk. She
lived with her mother, a widow of noble family, though
of small fortune, who had no other children. In every
one whom Valeria met, she inspired a sensation of involuntary
admiration and an equally involuntary tenderness and respect. So modest
was her mien, so little, it seemed, was she aware
(02:31):
of all the power of her own charms. Some, it
is true, found her a little pale, her eyes almost
always downcast, expressed a certain shyness, even timidity. Her lips
rarely smiled, and then only faintly, her voice scarcely any
one had heard, but the rumor went that it was
most beautiful, and that shut up in her own room
(02:53):
in the early morning, when everything still slumbered in the town,
she loved to sing old songs to the sound of
the lute on which she used to play herself. In
spite of her pallor, Valeria was blooming with health, and
even old people, as they gazed on her, could not
but think, Oh, how happy the youth, for whom that
pure maiden bud, still infolded in petals, will one day
(03:16):
open into full flower. Two Fabio and Muzio saw Valeria
for the first time at a magnificent public festival celebrated
at the command of the Archduke of Ferrara Ercol, son
of the celebrated Lucrezia Borgia in honor of some illustrious
grandees who had come from Paris on the invitation of
(03:36):
the Archduchess, daughter of the French King Louis the twelfth.
Valeria was sitting beside her mother on an elegant tribune
built after a design of Palladio in the principal square
of Ferrara for the most honorable ladies in the town.
Both Fabio and Mosio fell passionately in love with her
on that day, and as they never had any secrets
(03:56):
from each other, each of them soon knew what was
passing in his friend heart. They agreed together that both
should try to get to know Valeria, and if she
should deign to choose one of them, the others should
submit without a murmur to her decision. A few weeks later,
thanks to the excellent renown they deservedly enjoyed, they succeeded
in penetrating into the widow's house. Difficult though it was
(04:18):
to obtain an entry to it, she permitted them to
visit her. From that time forward, they were able almost
every day to see Valeria and to converse with her,
and every day the passion kindled in the hearts of
both young men grew stronger and stronger. Valeria, however, showed
no preference for either of them, though their society was
obviously agreeable to her. With Masio, she occupied herself with music,
(04:42):
but she talked more with Fabio. With him, she was
less timid. At last, they resolved to learn once for
all their fate and sent a letter to Valeria in
which they begged her to be open with them and
to say to which she would be ready to give
her hand. Valeria showed this letter to her mother and
declared that she was willing to remain unmarried, but if
her mother considered it time for her to enter upon matrimony,
(05:05):
then she would marry whichever one of her mother's choice
should fix upon. The excellent widow shed a few tears
at the thought of parting from her beloved child. There was, however,
no good ground for refusing the suitors. She considered both
of them equally worthy of her daughter's hand, but as
she secretly preferred Fabio and suspected that Valeria liked him,
(05:25):
the better, she fixed upon him. The next day, Fabio
heard of his happy fate, while all that was left
for Musio was to keep his word and submit and
this he did. But to be the witness of the
triumph of his friend and rival was more than he
could do. He promptly sold the greater part of his property, and,
collecting some thousands of ducats, he set off on a
(05:47):
far journey to the east. As he said farewell to Fabio,
he told him that he should not return till he
felt that the last traces of passion had vanished from
his heart. It was painful to Fabio to part from
the friend of his child and youth, but the joyous
anticipation of approaching bliss soon swallowed up all other sensations,
and he gave himself up wholly to the transports of
(06:08):
successful love. Shortly after, he celebrated his nuptiwels with Valeria,
and only then learnt the full worth of the treasure
it had been his fortune to obtain. He had a
charming villa shut in by a shady garden, a short
distance from Ferrara. He moved thither with his wife and
her mother. Then a time of happiness began for them.
Married life brought out in a new and enchanting light
(06:31):
all the perfections of Valeria. Fabio became an artist of distinction.
No longer a mere amateur, but a real master. Valeria's
mother rejoiced and thanked God as she looked upon the
happy pair. For years flew by unperceived, like a delirious dream.
One thing only was wanting to the young couple, one
lack they mourned over as a sorrow. They had no children,
(06:54):
but they had not given up all hope of them.
At the end of the fourth year, they were overtaken
by a great this time a real sorrow. Valeria's mother
died after an illness of a few days. Many tears
were shed by Valeria. For a long time she could
not accustom herself to her loss. But another year went by.
Life again asserted its rites and flowed along its old channel,
(07:16):
and behold one fine summer evening. Unexpected by everyone, Musio
returned to Ferrara three During the whole space of five
years that had elapsed since his departure, no one had
heard anything of him. All talk about him had died away,
as though he had vanished from the face of the earth.
When Fabio met his friend in one of the streets
(07:37):
of Ferrara, he almost cried aloud, first in alarm and
then in delight and he at once invited him to
his villa. There happened to be in his garden there
a spacious pavilion apart from the house. He proposed to
his friend that he should establish himself in this pavilion.
Muzzio readily agreed and moved thither the same day, together
with his servant, a dumb melee, dumb but not deaf,
(07:59):
and indeed, to judge by the alertness of his expression,
a very intelligent man. His tongue had been cut out.
Muzzio brought with him dozens of boxes filled with treasures
of all sorts, collected by him in the course of
his prolonged travels. Valeria was delighted at Muzzio's return, and
he greeted her with cheerful friendliness but composure. It could
(08:21):
be seen in every action that he had kept the
promise given to Fabio. During the day, he completely arranged
everything in order in his pavilion. Aided by his melee,
he unpacked the curiosities he had brought, rugs, silken stuffs,
velvet and brocaded garments, weapons, goblets, dishes and bowls decorated
with enamel, things made of gold and silver and inlaid
(08:43):
with pearl and turquoise, carved boxes of jasper and ivory,
cut bottles, spices, incense, skins of wild beasts and feathers
of unknown birds, and a number of other things, the
very use of which seemed mysterious and incomprehensible. Among all
these precious things, there was a rich pearl necklace bestowed
upon Muzio by the King of Persia for some great
(09:06):
and secret service. He asked permission of Valeria to put
this necklace with his own hand about her neck. She
was struck by its great weight and a sort of
strange heat in it. It seemed to burn to her skin.
In the evening after dinner, as they sat on the
terrace of the villa, in the shade of the oleanders
and laurels, Muzio began to relate his adventures. He told
(09:27):
of the distant lands he had seen, of cloud topped
mountains and deserts rivers like seas. He told of immense
buildings and temples, of trees a thousand years old, of
birds and flowers, of the colors of the rainbow. He
named the cities and the peoples he had visited. Their
very names seemed like a fairy tale. The whole East
(09:48):
was familiar to Musio. He had traversed Persia Arabia, where
the horses are nobler and more beautiful than any other
living creatures. He had penetrated into the very heart of India,
where the race of men grow like staately trees. He
had reached the boundaries of China and Tibet, where the
living god called the Grand Lama dwells on earth in
the guise of a silent man with narrow eyes. Marvelous
(10:11):
were his tales. Both Fabio and Valeria listened to him
as if enchanted. Musio's features had really changed very little.
His face, swarthy from childhood, had grown darker, still burnt
under the rays of a hotter sun. His eyes seemed
more deep set than before, and that was all. But
the expression of his face had become different, concentrated and dignified.
(10:34):
It never showed more life when he recalled the dangers
he had encountered by night and forests that resounded with
the roar of tigers, or by day on solitary ways
where savage fanatics lay in wait for travelers to slay
them in honor of their iron goddess, who demands human sacrifices,
and Muzio's voice had grown deeper and more even his hands,
(10:55):
his whole body had lost the freedom of gesture peculiar
to the Italian race. With the aid of his servant,
the obsequiously alert Melee, he showed his hosts a few
of the feats he had learnt from the Indian Brahmins. Thus,
for instance, having first hidden himself behind a curtain, he
suddenly appeared sitting in the air, cross legged, the tips
of his fingers pressed lightly on a bamboo cane placed vertically,
(11:19):
which astounded Fabio not a little and positively alarmed Valeria.
Isn't he a sorcerer? Was her thought? When he proceeded,
piping on a little flute to call some tame snakes
out of a covered basket, where their dark flat heads
with quivering tongues appeared under a parti colored cloth. Valeria
was terrified and begged Muzio to put away these loathsome
(11:41):
horrors as soon as possible. At supper, Muzzio regaled his
friends with wine of charras from a round, long necked flagon.
It was of extraordinary fragrance and thickness of a golden color,
with a shade of green in it, and it shone
with a strange brightness as it was poured into the
tiny jasper goblets. In taste, it was unlike European wines.
(12:01):
It was very sweet and spicy, and drunk slowly in
small drafts, produced a sensation of pleasant drowsiness and all
the limbs. Muzzio made both Fabio and Valeria drink a
goblet of it, and he drank one himself. Bending over
her goblet, he murmured something moving his fingers as he
did so. Valeria noticed this, but as in all Muzzio's doings,
(12:23):
in his whole behavior, there was something strange and out
of the common. She only thought, can he have adopted
some new faith in India? Or is that the custom there? Then,
after a short silence, she asked him had he persevered
with music during his travels. Muzzio, in reply, bade the
melee bring his Indian violin. It was like those of
(12:44):
to day, but instead of four strings, it had only three.
The upper part of it was covered with a bluish
snake skin, and the slender bow of reed was in
the form of a half moon, and on its extreme
end glittered a pointed diamond. Muzzio played first some mournful
airs national songs, as he told them, strange and even
barbarous to an Italian ear. The sound of the metallic
(13:05):
strings was plaintive and feeble, but when Muzzio began the
last song, it suddenly gained force and rang out tunefully
and powerfully. The passionate melody flowed out under the wide
sweeps of the bow, flowed out exquisitely, twisting and coiling
like the snake that covered the violin top. And such fire,
such triumphant bliss, glowed and burned in this melody that
(13:28):
Fabio and Valeria felt rung to the heart and tears
came into their eyes, while Muzzio, his head bent and
pressed close to the violin, his cheeks pale, his eyebrows
drawn together into a single straight line, seemed still more
concentrated and solemn, and the diamond at the end of
the bow flashed sparks of light, as though at too
were kindled by the fire of the divine song. When
(13:51):
Muzio had finished, and still keeping fast the violin between
his chin and his shoulder, dropped the hand that held
the bow. What is that? What is that you have
been playing to us, cried Fabio. Valeria uttered not a word,
but her whole being seemed echoing her husband's question. Muzzio
laid the violin on the table, and slightly tossing back
(14:12):
his hair, he said, with a polite smile, that that melody,
that song I heard once in the island of Ceylon.
That song is known there among the people as the
song of happy triumphant love. Played again, Fabio was murmuring, No,
it can't be played again, answered Muzio. Besides, it is
(14:34):
now too late. Senora Valeria ought to be at rest,
and it's time for me too. I am weary. During
the whole day, Muzio had treated Valeria with respectful simplicity,
as a friend of former days. But as he went out,
he clasped her hand very tightly, squeezing his fingers on
her palm and looking so intently into her face that,
(14:55):
though she did not raise her eyelids, she yet felt
to look on her suddenly flaming chin. She said nothing
to Muzzio, but jerked away her hand, and when he
was gone, she gazed at the door through which he
had passed out. She remembered how she had been a
little afraid of him even in old days, and now
she was overcome by perplexity. Muzio went off to his pavilion,
(15:17):
the husband and wife went to their bedroom. Four Valeria
did not quickly fall asleep. There was a faint and
languid fever in her blood, and a slight ringing in
her ears from that strange whine, as she supposed, and
perhaps too from Muzzio's stories from his playing on the violin.
Towards morning, she did at last fall asleep, and she
(15:38):
had an extraordinary dream. She dreamt that she was going
into a large room with a low ceiling, such a
room she had never seen in her life. All the
walls were covered with tiny blue tiles with gold lines
on them. Slender carved pillars of alabaster supported the marble ceiling.
The ceiling itself, and the pillars seemed half transparent. A pale,
(16:00):
rosy light penetrated from all sides into the room, throwing
a mysterious and uniform light on all the objects in it.
Brocaded cushions lay on a narrow rug in the very
middle of the floor, which was smooth as a mirror.
In the corners, almost unseen, were smoking lofty censers of
the shape of monstrous beasts. There was no window anywhere.
(16:21):
A door hung with a velvet curtain stood dark and
silent in a recess in the wall. And suddenly this
curtain slowly glided moved aside, and in came Musio. He bowed,
opened his arms, laughed his fierce arms, and folded Valeria's waist.
His parched lips burned her all over. She fell backwards
(16:41):
on the cushions, moaning with horror. After long struggles, Valeria awakened, still,
not realizing where she was and what was happening to her.
She raised herself on her bed, looked round. A trimmer
ran over her whole body. Fabia was lying beside her.
He was asleep, but his face and the light of
the brilliant full moon looking in at the window, was
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pale as a corpse's. It was sadder than a dead face.
Valeria waked her husband, and directly he looked at her.
What is the matter? He cried, I had I had
a fearful dream. She whispered, still shuddering all over. But
at that instant from the direction of the pavilion came floating,
powerful sounds, and both Fabio and Valeria recognized the melody
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Muzio had played to them, calling it the song of
blissful triumphant love. Fabio looked in perplexity at Valeria. She
closed her eyes, turned away, and both holding their breath,
heard the song out to the end. As the last
note died away, the moon passed behind a cloud, it
was suddenly dark in the room. Both the young people
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let their heads sink on their pillows without exchanging a word,
and neither of them noticed when the other fell asleep.
Five the next morning, Muzio came in to breakfast. He
seemed happy and greeted Valeria cheerfully. She answered him in confusion,
stole a glance at him, and felt frightened at the
sight of that serene, happy face those piercing inquisitive eyes.
(18:11):
Musio was beginning again to tell some story, but Fabio
interrupted him at the first word. You could not sleep.
I see in your new quarters, my wife and I
heard you playing last night's song. Yes, did you hear it,
said Musio. I played it, indeed, but I had been
asleep before that, and I had a wonderful dream too.
(18:32):
Valeria was on the alert. What sort of dream asked Fabio.
I dreamed, answered Muzio, not taking his eyes off Valeria.
I was entering a spacious apartment with a ceiling decorated
in Oriental fashion. Carved columns supported the roof. The walls
were covered with tiles, and though there were neither windows
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nor lights, the whole room was filled with a rosy light,
just as though it were all built of transparent stone.
In the corps, Chinese censers were smoking on the floor
lay brocaded cushions along a narrow rug. I went in
through a door covered with a curtain, and at another door,
just opposite appeared a woman whom I once loved, and
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so beautiful. She seemed to me that I was all
aflame with my old love. Muzzio broke off significantly. Valeria
sat motionless, and only gradually she turned white, and she
drew her breath more slowly, then continued Muzio. I waked
up and played that song. But who was that woman,
(19:33):
said Fabio. Who was she? The wife of an Indian.
I met her in the town of Delhi. She is
not alive now. She died, and her husband asked Fabio,
not knowing why he asked the question. Her husband too,
they say, is dead. I soon lost sight of them
both strange, observed Fabio. My wife too had an extraordinary
(19:58):
dream last night. Muzzio gazed intently at Valeria, which she
did not tell me, added Fabio. But at this point
Valeria got up and went out of the room. Immediately
after breakfast, Muzzio too went away, explaining that he had
to be in Ferrara on business and that he would
not be back before the evening six A few weeks
(20:21):
before Muzio's return, Fabio had begun a portrait of his wife,
depicting her with the attributes of Saint Celia. He had
made considerable advance in his art. The renowned Luini, a
pupil of Leonardo da Vinci, used to come to him
at Ferrara, and, while aiding him with his own counsels,
pass on also the precepts of his great master. The
(20:42):
portrait was almost completely finished. All that was left was
to add a few strokes to the face, and Fabio
might well be proud of his creation. After seeing Muzio
off on his way to Ferrara, he turned into his studio,
where Valeria was usually waiting for him, but he did
not find her there he called her. She did not respond.
(21:02):
Fabio was overcome by a secret uneasiness. He began looking
for she was nowhere in the house. Fabio ran into
the garden, and there, in one of the more secluded walks,
he caught sight of Valeria. She was sitting on a seat,
her head drooping on to her bosom as her hands
folded upon her knees, while behind her, peeping out of
the dark green of a cypress, a marble satyr with
(21:24):
a distorted, malignant grin on his face, was putting his
pouting lips to a pan's pipe. Valeria was visibly relieved
at her husband's appearance, and to his agitated questions, she
replied that she had a slight headache, but that it
was of no consequence, and she was ready to come
to sit to him. Fabio led her to the studio,
posed her, and took up his brush. But to his
(21:46):
great vexation, he could not finish the face as he
would have liked to, and not because it was somewhat
pale and looked exhausted, no, but the pure saintly expression
which he liked so much in it, and which had
given him the idea of painting Valeria as Saint Celia,
he could not find in it. That day, he flung
down the brush. At last, told his wife he was
(22:08):
not in the mood for work, and that he would
not prevent her from lying down as she did not
look at all well, and put the canvas with its
face to the wall. Valeria agreed with him that she
ought to rest, and, repeating her complaints of a headache,
withdrew into her bedroom. Fabio remained in the studio. He
felt a strange, confused sensation, incomprehensible to himself. Muzzio stay
(22:29):
under his roof, to which he Fabio had himself urgently
invited him, was irksome to him, and not that he
was jealous. Could anyone have been jealous of Valeria? But
he did not recognize his former comrade and his friend.
All that was strange, unknown, and knew that Muzio had
brought with him from those distant lands, and which seemed
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to have entered into his very flesh and blood. All
these magical feats, songs, strange drinks, this dumb melie, even
this bicy fragrance diffused by Muzio's garments, his hair, his breath.
All this inspired in Fabio, a sensation akin to distrust,
possibly even to timidity. And why did that melee waiting
(23:11):
at tables stare with such disagreeable intentness at him? Fabio, really,
any one might suppose that he understood Italian Muzio had
said of him that in losing his tongue, this malee
had made a great sacrifice, and in return he was
now possessed of great power. What sort of power? And
how could he have obtained it at the price of
(23:32):
his tongue? All this was very strange, very incomprehensible. Fabio
went into his wife's room. She was lying on the bed, dressed,
but was not asleep. Hearing his steps, she started then
again seemed delighted to see him, just as in the garden.
Fabio sat down beside the bed, took Valeria by the hand, and,
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after a short silence, asked her what was the extraordinary
dream that had frightened her so the previous night? And
was it the same sword at all as the dream
Muzzio had described. Valeria crimsoned and said, hurriedly, oh, no, no,
I saw a sort of monster which was trying to
tear me to pieces, A monster in the shape of
(24:12):
a man asked Fabio, no a beast a beast? Valeria
turned away and hid her burning face in the pillows.
Fabio held his wife's hands some time longer. Silently, he
raised it to his lips and withdrew both. The young
people passed that day with heavy hearts. Something dark seemed
hanging over their heads, but what it was they could
(24:34):
not tell. They wanted to be together, as though some
danger threatened them, but what to say to one another
they did not know. Fabio made an effort to take
up the portrait and to read Ariosto, whose poem had
appeared not long before in Ferrara and was now making
a noise all over Italy, but nothing was of any use.
Late in the evening, just at supper time, Muzio returned seven.
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He seemed composed and cheerful, but he told them little.
He devoted himself rather to questioning Fabio about their common
acquaintances about the German war and the Emperor Charles. He
spoke of his own desire to visit Rome to see
the new pope. He again offered Valeria some Shara's wine,
and on her refusal, observed as though to himself, now
(25:19):
it's not needed to be sure. Going back with his
wife to their room, Fabio soon fell asleep, and, waking
up an hour later, felt a conviction that no one
was sharing his bed. Valeria was not beside him. He
got up quickly, and at the same instant saw his
wife and her night attire, coming out of the garden
into the room. The moon was shining brightly, though not
(25:40):
long before a light rain had been falling. With eyes closed,
with an expression of mysterious horror on her immovable face,
Valeria approached the bed, and, feeling for it, with her
hands stretched out before her, lay down hurriedly and in silence.
Fabio turned to her with a question, but she made
no reply, seemed to be asleep. He touched her and
(26:02):
felt on her dress, and on her hair drops of rain,
and on the soles of her bare feet little grains
of sand. Then he leapt up and ran into the
garden through the half open door. The crude brilliance of
the moon wrapped every object in light. Fabio looked about
him and perceived on the sand the path prints of
two pairs of feet, one pair were bare, and these
(26:24):
prints led to a bower of jasmine on one side
between the pavilion and the house. He stood still in perplexity,
and suddenly, once more he heard the strains of the
song he had listened to the night before. Fabio shuddered
ran into the pavilion. Muzio was standing in the middle
of the room, playing on the violin. Fabio rushed up
to him. You have been in the garden. Your clothes
(26:47):
are wet with rain. No, I don't know. I think
I've not been out, Muzio answered, slowly, seeming amazed at
Fabio's entrance. In his excitement, Fabio se by the hand,
and why are you playing that melody again? Have you
had a dream again? Muzio glanced at Fabia with the
(27:07):
same look of amazement and said nothing, answer me. The
moon stood high like a round shield, like a snake.
The river shines, the friends awake, the foes asleep. The
bird is in the falcon's clutches, help muttered Muzio, humming
to himself as though in delirium. Fabio stepped back two paces,
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stared at Musio, pondered a moment, and went back to
the house to his bedroom. Valeria, her head sunk on
her shoulder and her hands hanging lifelessly was in a
heavy sleep. He could not quickly awaken her, but directly
she saw him, she flung herself on his neck and
embraced him convulsively. She was trembling all over. What is
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the matter, my precious, What is it? Fabio kept repeating,
trying to soothe her, but she still lay lifeless on
his breast. Ah, what fearful dreams I have? She whispered,
hiding her face against him. Fabio would have questioned her,
but she only shuddered. The window panes were flushed with
the early light of morning, when at last she fell
(28:11):
asleep in his arms. Eight the next day, Mosio disappeared
from early morning, while Valeria informed her husband that she
intended to go away to a neighboring monastery where lived
her spiritual father, an old and austere monk in whom
she had placed unbounded confidence. To Fabio's inquiries, she replied
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that she wanted, by confession, to relieve her soul, which
was weighed down by the exceptional impressions of the last
few days. As he looked upon Valeria's sunken face and
listened to her faint voice, Fabio approved of her plan.
The worthy father Lorenzo might give her valuable advice and
might disperse her doubts. Under the escort of four attendants,
(28:51):
Valeria set off to the monastery, while Fabio remained at
home and wandered about the garden till his wife's return,
trying to comprehend what had happened to her, and a
victim to constant fear and wrath and the pain of
undefined suspicions. More than once, he went up to the pavilion,
but Muzio had not returned, and the melee gazed at
Fabio like a statue, obsequiously bowing his head with a
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well dissembled so at least it seemed to Fabio smile
on his bronzed face. Meanwhile, Valeria had in confession told
everything to her priest, not so much with shame as
with horror. The priest heard her attentively gave her his blessing,
absolved her from her involuntary sin. But to himself he thought, sorcery,
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the arts of the devil. The matter can't be left so,
and he returned with Valeria to her villa, as though
with the aim of completely pacifying and reassuring her. At
the sight of the priest, Fabio was thrown into some agitation,
but the experienced old man had thought out beforehand how
he must treat him. When he was left alone with Fabio,
he did not, of course, betray the secrets of the confessional,
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but he advised him, if possible, to get rid of
the guest they had envy to their house, as by
his stories, his songs, and his whole behavior he was
troubling the imagination of Valeria. Moreover, in the old man's opinion,
Muzzio had not, he remembered, been very firm in the
faith in former days, and having spent so long a
time in lands enlightened by truths of Christianity, he might
(30:19):
well have brought thence the contagion of false doctrine, might
even have become conversant with secret magic arts. And therefore,
though long friendship had indeed its claims, still a wise
prudence pointed to the necessity of separation. Fabio fully agreed
with the excellent monk. Valeria was even joyful when her
husband reported to her the priest's council and sent on
(30:41):
his way with the cordial goodwill of both the young people,
loaded with good gifts for the monastery. And the poor
father Lorenzo returned home. Fabio intended to have an explanation
with Mussio immediately after supper, but his strange guest did
not return to supper. Then Fabio decided to defer his
conversation with Musio until the following day, and both the
(31:02):
young people retired to rest. Nine. Valeria soon fell asleep,
but Fabio could not sleep. In the stillness of the night,
everything he had seen, everything he had felt, presented itself
more vividly. He put to himself, still more insistently, questions
to which, as before, he could find no answer, had
(31:23):
Mosio really become a sorcerer? And had he not already
poisoned Valeria? She was ill? But what was her disease?
While he lay his head in his hand, holding his
feverish breath, and given up to painful reflection, the moon
rose again upon a cloudless sky, and, together with its
beams through the half transparent window panes, there began from
(31:45):
the direction of the pavilion, or was it Fabio's fancy
to come a breath like a light fragrant current. Then
an urgent, passionate murmur was heard, and at that instant
he observed that Valeria was beginning faintly to stir. He started, looked.
She rose up, slid first one foot then the other,
(32:06):
out of the bed, and, like one bewitched of the moon,
her sightless eyes fixed lifelessly before her, her hands stretched out,
she began moving towards the garden. Fabio instantly ran out
of the other door of the room, and, running quickly
round the corner of the house, bolted the door that
led into the garden. He had scarcely time to grasp
(32:27):
at the bolt when he felt some one trying to
open the door from the inside, pressing against it again
and again, and then there was the sound of piteous,
passionate moans, but Muzio was not come back from the town.
Flashed through Fabio's head, and he rushed to the pavilion.
What did he see coming towards him along the path,
(32:49):
dazzlingly lighted up by the moon's rays, was Muzio, He too,
moving like one moon struck, his hands held out before
him and his eyes open but unseeing. Fabio ran up
to him, but he, not heeding him, moved on, treading
evenly step by step, and his rigid face smiled in
the moonlight. Like the Malays. Fabio would have called him
(33:12):
by his name. But at that instant he heard behind
him in the house the creaking of a window. He
looked round. Yes, the window of the bedroom was open
from top to bottom, and putting one foot over the sill,
Valerius stood in the window. Her hands seemed to be
seeking Musio. She seemed striving all over towards him. Unutterable
(33:32):
fury filled Fabio's breast with a sudden inrush. A cursed sorcerer,
he shrieked furiously, and seizing Musio by the throat with
one hand. With the other, he felt for the dagger
in his girdle and plunged the blade into his side
up to the hilt. Musio uttered a shrill scream, and,
clapping his hand to the wound, ran staggering back to
(33:53):
the pavilion. But at the very same instant, when Fabio
stabbed him, Valerius screamed just as shrilly, and fell to
the earth like grasp before the scythe Fabio flew to her,
raised her up, carried her to the bed, began to
speak to her. She lay a long time motionless, but
at last she opened her eyes. Heaved a deep broken,
(34:14):
blissful sigh, like one just rescued from imminent death. Saw
her husband, and twining her arms about his neck, crept
close to him. You you, it is you. She faltered, gradually,
her hands loosened their hold, her head sank back and
murmuring with a blissful smile, Thank God, it is all over.
(34:36):
But how weary I am. She fell into a sound,
but not heavy sleep. Ten Fabio sank down beside her bed, and,
never taking his eyes off her pale and sunken but
already calmer face, began reflecting on what had happened, and
also on how he ought to act Now, what steps
was he to take if he had killed Mosio, And
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remembering how deeply the the dagger had gone in, he
could have no doubt of it. It could not be hidden.
He would have to bring it to the knowledge of
the Archduke of the judges. But how explain, how describe
such an incomprehensible affair. He Fabio had killed in his
own house, his own kinsman, his dearest friend. They will
(35:22):
inquire what for, on what ground? But if Mosio were
not dead, Fabio could not endure to remain longer in uncertainty,
and satisfying himself that Valeria was asleep, he cautiously got
up from his chair, went out of the house and
made his way to the pavilion. Everything was still in it.
Only in one window a light was visible with a
(35:44):
sinking heart. He opened the outer door. There were still
the print of blood stained fingers on it, and there
were black drops of gore on the sand of the path.
Passed through the first dark room and stood still on
the threshold, overwhelmed with amazement. In the middle of the room,
on a persian rug, with a brocaded cushion under his
head and all his limbs stretched out straight lay muzzio,
(36:08):
covered with a wide red shawl with a black pattern
on it. His face yellow as wax, with closed eyes
and bluish eyelids, was turned towards the ceiling. No breathing
could be discerned. He seemed a corpse. At his feet
knelt the melee, also wrapped in a red shawl. He
was holding in his left hand a branch of some
unknown plant like a fern, and bending slightly forward, was
(36:31):
gazing fixedly at his master. A small torch fixed on
the floor, burnt with a greenish flame and was the
only light in the room. The flame did not flicker
nor smoke. The Melee did not stir at Fabio's entry.
He merely turned his eyes upon him, and again bent
them upon Muzzio. From time to time he raised and
lowered the branch and waved it in the air, and
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his dumb lips slowly parted and moved as though uttering
soundless words. On the floor between the Malele and Mosio
lay the dagger with which Fabio had stabbed his friend.
The Malee struck one blow with the branch on the
blood stained blade. A minute passed another Fabio approached the Melee, and,
stooping down to him, asked, in an undertone, is he dead?
(37:18):
The Melee bent his head from above downwards, and disentangling
his right hand from his shawl, he pointed imperiously to
the door. Fabio would have repeated his question, but the
gesture of the commanding hand was repeated, and Fabio went out,
indignant and wondering, but obedient. He found Valeria sleeping as before,
with an even more tranquil expression on her face. He
(37:41):
did not undress, but seated himself by the window, his
head in his hand, and once more sank into thought.
The rising sun found him still in the same place.
Valeria had not waked up eleven. Fabio intended to wait
till she awakened, and then to set off to Ferrara.
When suddenly some one tapped lightly at the bedroom door.
(38:04):
Fabio went out and saw his old steward, Antonio. Signor
began the old man. The malee has just informed me
that Signor Musio has been taken ill and wishes to
be moved with all his belongings to the town, and
that he begs you to let him have servants to
assist in packing his things, and that at dinner time
(38:24):
you would send pack horses and saddle horses and a
few attendants for the journey. Do you allow it? The
melee informed you of this, asked Fabio in what manner?
Why he is dumb? Here? Signor is the paper on
which he wrote all this in our language and very correctly,
(38:47):
And Mussio, you say, is ill? Yes, he is very
ill and can see no one. Have they sent for
a doctor? No? The melee forbade it, And was it?
The malay wrote you this, Yes, it was he. Fabio
did not speak for a moment. Well, then uh range
(39:07):
at all, he said. At last, Antonio withdrew. Fabio looked
after his servant in bewilderment. Then he is not dead,
he thought, and he did not know whether to rejoice
or to be sorry. Ill, but a few hours ago
it was a corpse he had looked upon. Fabio returned
to Valeria. She waked up and raised her head. The
(39:30):
husband and wife exchanged a long look full of significance.
He is gone, Valeria said. Suddenly. Fabio shuddered, How gone
do you mean? Is he gone away? She continued? A
load fell from Fabio's heart. Not yet, but he is
going to day and I shall never never see him again, never,
(39:54):
and these dreams will not come again. No, Valeria again
heaved a sigh of relief. A blissful smile once more
appeared on her lips. She held out both hands to
her husband. And we will never speak of him never,
do you, hear, my dear one. And I will not
leave my room till he is gone. And do you
now send me my maids? But stay, take away that thing.
(40:17):
She pointed to the pearl necklace lying on the little
bedside table, the necklace given her by Muzzio, and throw
it at once in our deepest well, embrace me, I
am your Valeria, and do not come in to me
till he is gone. Fabio took the necklace, the pearls
he fancied looked tarnished, and did as his wife had directed.
(40:40):
Then he fell to wandering about the garden, looking from
a distance at the pavilion, about which the bustle of
preparations for departure was beginning. Servants were bringing out boxes
loading the horses, but the Melee was not among them.
An irresistible impulse drew Fabio to look once more upon
what was taking place in the pavilion. He recollected that
there was at the back a secret door by which
(41:02):
he could reach the inner room, where Musio had been
lying in the morning. He stole round to this door,
found it unlocked, and parting the folds of a heavy curtain,
turned a faltering glance upon the room. Within twelve Muzio
was not now lying on the rug, Dressed as though
for a journey. He sat in an arm chair, but
seemed a corpse, just as on Fabio's first visit. His
(41:26):
torpid head fell back on the chair and his outstretched
hands hung lifeless. Yellow and rigid on his knees. His
breast did not heave Near the chair. On the floor,
which was strewn with dried herbs, stood some flat bowls
of dark liquid, which exhaled a powerful, almost suffocating odor,
the odor of musk. Around each bowl was coiled a
(41:47):
small snake of brazen hue with golden eyes that flashed
from time to time. While directly facing Musio. Two paces
from him rose the long figure of the Melee, wrapped
in a mantle of many colored brocade, girt round the
waist with a tiger's tail, with a high hat of
the shape of a pointed tiara on his head. But
he was not motionless. At one moment he bowed down
(42:10):
reverently and seemed to be praying. At the next he
drew himself up to his full height, even rose on tiptoe. Then,
with a rhythmic action, threw wide his arms and moved
them persistently in the direction of Musio, and seemed to
threaten or command him, frowning and stamping with his foot.
All these actions seemed to cost him great effort, even
(42:32):
to cause him pain. He breathed heavily, the sweat streamed
down his face all at once, he sank down to
the ground, and, drawing in a full breath, with knitted
brow and immense effort, drew his clenched hands towards him,
as though he were holding reins in them, and, to
the indescribable horror of Fabio, Muzio's head slowly left the
(42:53):
back of the chair and moved forward, following the malee's hands.
The melee let them fall, and Musio's head fell heavily
back again. The melee repeated his movements, and obediently, the
head repeated them after him. The dark liquid and the
bulls began boiling. The bulls themselves began to resound with
a faint bell like note, and the brazen snakes coiled
(43:15):
freely about each of them. Then the malee took a
step forward, and, raising his eyebrows and opening his eyes
immensely wide, he bowed his head to Musio, and the
eyelids of the dead man quivered parted uncertainly, and under
them could be seen the eyeballs dull as lead. The
malee's face was radiant with triumphant pride and delight, a
(43:38):
delight almost malignant. He opened his mouth wide, and from
the depths of his chest there broke out with effort
a prolonged howl. Musio's lips parted too, and a faint
moan quivered on them in response to that inhuman sound.
But at this point Fabio could endure it no longer.
He imagined he was present at some devilish incantation. He
(44:00):
two uttered a shriek and rushed out, running home home
as quick as possible, without looking round, repeating prayers and
crossing himself as he ran. Thirteen three hours later, Antonio
came to him with the announcement that everything was ready,
The things were packed, and signor Muzio was preparing to start.
Without a word, in answer to his servant, Fabio went
(44:22):
out on to the terrace, whence the pavilion could be seen.
A few pack horses were grouped before it. A powerful
raven horse, saddled for two riders, was led up to
the steps, where servants were standing bareheaded together with armed attendants.
The door of the pavilion opened, and, supported by the melee,
who wore once more his ordinary attire, appeared Muzzio. His
(44:45):
face was deathlike and his hands hung like a dead man's,
but he walked yes positively walked and seated on the charger.
He sat upright and felt for and found the reins.
The malee put his feet in the stirrups, leaped up
behind him, him on the saddle, put his arm round him,
and the whole party started. The horses moved at a
(45:05):
walking pace, and when they turned round before the house,
Fabio fancied that in Musio's dark face there gleamed two
spots of white. Could it be he had turned his
eyes upon him? Only the melee bowed to him ironically,
As ever, did Valerius see all this? The blinds of
her windows were drawn, but it may be she was
(45:27):
standing behind them. Fourteen at dinner time, she came into
the dining room and was very quiet and affectionate. She
still complained, however, of weariness, but there was no agitation
about her now, none of her former constant bewilderment and
secret dread. And when the day after Mosie's departure, Fabio
set to work again on her portrait, he found in
(45:49):
her features the pure expression, the momentary eclipse of which
had so troubled him, and his brush moved lightly and
faithfully over the canvas. The husband and wife took up
their old life again. Musio vanished for them as though
he had never existed. Fabio and Valeria were agreed, as
it seemed not to utter a syllable referring to him,
(46:10):
not to learn anything of his later days. His fate remained, however,
a mystery for all. Muzzio did actually disappear, as though
he had sunk into the earth. Fabio one day thought
it his duty to tell Valeria exactly what had taken
place on that fatal night, but she probably divined his intention,
and she held her breath half shutting her eyes as
(46:30):
though she were expecting a blow, and Fabio understood her.
He did not inflict that blow upon her. One fine
autumn day, Fabio was putting the last touches to his
picture of his Cecilia. Valeria sat at the organ, her
fingers straying at random over the keys. Suddenly, without her
knowing it, from under her hands came the first notes
(46:51):
of that song of Triumphant Love, which Mussio had once played,
and at the same instant, for the first time since
her marriage, she felt within her the throb of a
new palpitating life. Valerius started stopped. What did it mean?
Could it be at this word the manuscript ended, end
(47:14):
of section four, The Song of Triumphant Love
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