September 3, 2025 • 11 mins
In the enchanting backdrop of Rome, a group of artists is immersed in their creative pursuits. But when one of them retreats to a secluded villa for solitude, his friends are drawn to visit. What they discover is unsettling‚a mere ‚òshadowy likeness‚ of Marcello, who has inexplicably taken up sleepwalking. As they delve deeper into the mystery, a strange woman emerges from the shadows of the grounds each night. Who is she, and what secrets does she hold? - Summary by Newgatenovelist
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:01):
Section seven of A Mystery of the Campagna by Anne
Crawford Les Librivoq's recording is in the public domain. Part
two Robert Sutton's account of what happened at the Vigna
Marziali segment e. When the morning came at last, he
(00:22):
went and found a comrade to take his place, and
only said to Sieur Marie, it is not necessary to
speak of this night, and at her quiet, you are right, monsieur.
We felt that we could trust her. The attire was
still sleeping. Was this the crisis the doctor had expected? Perhaps,
(00:42):
but surely not in such fearful form. I insisted upon
my companion having some breakfast before we started, and I
breakfasted myself, but I cannot say I tasted what passed
between my lips. We engaged a closed carriage, for we
did not know what we might bring home with us,
though neither of us spoke out his thoughts. It was
(01:06):
early morning still when we reached the Vigna Marziale, and
we had not exchanged a word all the way. I
rang at the bell while the coachman looked on curiously.
It was answered promptly by the guardiano, of whom Dattaire
has already told you. Where is the signora? I asked
through the gate quilosa. He answered, he is here. Of course,
(01:31):
he has not left the vigna. Shall I call him?
Call him? I knew that no mortal voice could reach
Marcello now, but I tried to fancy he was still alive. No,
I said, let us in. We want to surprise him.
He will be pleased. The man hesitated, but he finally
(01:54):
opened the gate and we entered, leaving the carriage to
wait outside. We went straight to the house. The door
at the back was wide open. There had been a
gale in the night, and it had torn some leaves
and bits of twigs from the trees and blown them
into the entrance hall. They lay scattered across the threshold,
(02:15):
and were evidence that the door had remained open ever
since they had fallen. The Guardiano left us, probably to
escape Marcello's anger at having let us in, and we
went up the stairs unhindered. Manya foremost, for he knew
the house better than I from Dettaire's description. He had
told him about the corner room with the balcony, and
(02:38):
we pretended that Marcello might be there absorbed betimes in
his work, but we did not call him. He was
not there. His papers were strewn over the table, as
though he had been writing, but the inkstand was dry
and full of dust. He could not have used it
for days. We went silently into the chambers. Perhaps he
(03:02):
was still asleep, but no. We found his bed untouched,
so he could not have lain in it. That night,
the rooms were all unlocked but one, and this closed
door made our hearts beat. Marcello could scarcely be there, however,
for there was no key in the lock. I saw
the daylight shining through the keyhole. We called his name,
(03:27):
but there came no answer. We knocked loudly. Still no
sign from within. So I put my shoulder to the door,
which was old and cracked in several places, and succeeded
in bursting it open. Nothing was there but a sculptor's
modeling stand with something upon it, covered with a white cloth,
(03:48):
and the modeling tools on the floor. At the sight
of the cloth, still damp, we drew a deep breath.
He could not have hung there for many hours, certainly
not for twenty four. We did not raise it. He
would be vexed, said Manya, and I nodded, for it
has accounted almost a crime in the artist's world to
(04:11):
unveil a sculptor's work behind his back. We expressed no
surprise at the fact of his modeling. A band seemed
to lie upon our tongues. The cloth hung tightly to
the object beneath it, and showed us the outline of
a woman's head and rounded bust, and so veiled we
left her. There was a little winding stair leading out
(04:35):
of the passage, and we climbed it to find ourselves
in a sort of belvidere commanding a superb view. It
was a small open terrace on the roof of the house,
and we saw at a glance that no one was there.
We had now been all over the casino, which was
small and simply built, being evidently intended only for short
(04:58):
summer use. As we stood leaning over the balustrade, we
could look down into the garden. No one was there
but the guardiano, lying among his cabbages with his arms
behind his head, all asleep. The Laurel Grove had been
in my mind from the beginning, only it had seemed
(05:18):
more natural to go to the house first. Now we
descended the stairs silently and directed our steps thither. As
we approached it, the guardiano came toward us lazily. Have
you seen the Signora, he asked, and his stupidly placid
face showed me that he at least had no hand
(05:41):
in his disappearance. No, not yet, I answered, But we
shall come across him somewhere, no doubt. Perhaps he has
gone to take a walk, and we will wait for him.
What is this, I went on, trying to seem careless.
We were standing now by the little arch of which
(06:01):
you know this, said he. I have never been down there,
but they say it is something old. Do the Signorini
want to see it? I will fetch a lantern. I nodded,
and he went off to his cabin. I had a
couple of candles in my pocket, for I had intended
(06:22):
to explore the place should we not find Marsilo. It
was there that he had disappeared that night, and my
faults had been busy with it. But I kept my
candles concealed, reflecting that they would give our such an
air of premeditation which would excite curiosity. When did you
see the signora, last, I asked, When he had returned
(06:46):
with the lantern. I brought him his supper yesterday evening
at what o'clock. It was the alve Maria signora. He replied,
he always SOPs. Then it would be useless to put
any further questions. He was evidently utterly unobserving and would
(07:06):
lie to please us. Let me go first, said Manya.
Taking the lantern. We set our feet upon the steps.
A cold air seemed to fill our lungs and yet
to choke us, and a thick darkness lay beneath. The steps,
as I could see by the light of my candle,
(07:27):
were modern, as well as the vaulting above them. A
tablet was let into the wall, and in spite of
my excitement, I paused to read it, perhaps because I
was glad to delay whatever awaited us below. It ran
thus questo antico sir pulcro romano scopri rou conte maziali
(07:48):
nelan yomile o tucento ching quantatre e piamente consovo in
plain English. Count Marziale discovered this ancient Roman sepulcher in
the year eighteen fifty three and piously preserved it. I
read it more quickly than it has taken time to
(08:08):
write here and hurried after Manya, whose footsteps sounded faintly
below me. As I hastened, a draft of cold air
extinguished my candle, and I was trying to make my
way down by feeling along the wall, which was horribly
dark and clammy, when my heart stood still at a
cry from far beneath me, a cry of horror. Where
(08:31):
are you? I shouted, but Manya was calling my name
and could not hear me. I am here, I am
in the dark. I was making haste as fast as
I could, but there were several turnings. I have found him.
Came up from below alive. I shouted no answer. One
(08:55):
last short flight brought me face to face with the
gleam of the lantern. It came from a low doorway,
and within stood Manya, peering into the darkness. I knew
by his face, as he held the light high above him,
that our fears were realized. Yes, Marcello was there. He
(09:18):
was lying stretched upon the floor, staring at the ceiling,
dead and already stiff, as I could see at a glance.
We stood over him, saying not a word. Then I
knelt down and felt of him for mere form's sake,
and said, as though I had not known it before.
(09:41):
He has been dead for some hours since yesterday evening,
said Manya, in a haar stricken voice, yet with a
certain satisfaction in it, as though to say, you see,
I was right. Marcello was lying with his head slightly
own back, no contortions in his handsome features, rather the
(10:04):
look of a person who has quietly died of exhaustion,
who has slipped unconsciously from life to death. His collar
was thrown open, and a part of his breast of
a ghastly white was visible. Just over the heart was
a small spot. Give me the lantern, I whispered as
(10:26):
I stooped over it. It was a very little spot
of a faint purplish brown, and must have changed color
within the night. I examined it intently, and should say
that the blood had been sucked to the surface, and
then a small prick or incision made. The slight subcutaneous
effusion led me to this conclusion. One tiny drop of
(10:50):
coagulated blood closed the almost imperceptible wound. I probed it
with the end of one of Manya's matches. It was
scarcely more than skin deep, so it could not be
the stab of a stiletto, however, slender, or the track
of a bullet. Still, it was strange, and with one
(11:11):
impulse we turned to see if no one were concealed there,
or if there were no second exit. It would be
madness to suppose that the murderer, if there was one,
would remain by his victim. Had Marcella been making love
to a pretty contadina? And was this some jealous lover's vengeance?
(11:31):
But it was not a stab? Had one drop of
poison in the little wound? Done this deadly work? End
of Section seven
Section seven of A Mystery of the Campagna by Anne
Crawford Les Librivoq's recording is in the public domain. Part
two Robert Sutton's account of what happened at the Vigna
Marziali segment e. When the morning came at last, he
(00:22):
went and found a comrade to take his place, and
only said to Sieur Marie, it is not necessary to
speak of this night, and at her quiet, you are right, monsieur.
We felt that we could trust her. The attire was
still sleeping. Was this the crisis the doctor had expected? Perhaps,
(00:42):
but surely not in such fearful form. I insisted upon
my companion having some breakfast before we started, and I
breakfasted myself, but I cannot say I tasted what passed
between my lips. We engaged a closed carriage, for we
did not know what we might bring home with us,
though neither of us spoke out his thoughts. It was
(01:06):
early morning still when we reached the Vigna Marziale, and
we had not exchanged a word all the way. I
rang at the bell while the coachman looked on curiously.
It was answered promptly by the guardiano, of whom Dattaire
has already told you. Where is the signora? I asked
through the gate quilosa. He answered, he is here. Of course,
(01:31):
he has not left the vigna. Shall I call him?
Call him? I knew that no mortal voice could reach
Marcello now, but I tried to fancy he was still alive. No,
I said, let us in. We want to surprise him.
He will be pleased. The man hesitated, but he finally
(01:54):
opened the gate and we entered, leaving the carriage to
wait outside. We went straight to the house. The door
at the back was wide open. There had been a
gale in the night, and it had torn some leaves
and bits of twigs from the trees and blown them
into the entrance hall. They lay scattered across the threshold,
(02:15):
and were evidence that the door had remained open ever
since they had fallen. The Guardiano left us, probably to
escape Marcello's anger at having let us in, and we
went up the stairs unhindered. Manya foremost, for he knew
the house better than I from Dettaire's description. He had
told him about the corner room with the balcony, and
(02:38):
we pretended that Marcello might be there absorbed betimes in
his work, but we did not call him. He was
not there. His papers were strewn over the table, as
though he had been writing, but the inkstand was dry
and full of dust. He could not have used it
for days. We went silently into the chambers. Perhaps he
(03:02):
was still asleep, but no. We found his bed untouched,
so he could not have lain in it. That night,
the rooms were all unlocked but one, and this closed
door made our hearts beat. Marcello could scarcely be there, however,
for there was no key in the lock. I saw
the daylight shining through the keyhole. We called his name,
(03:27):
but there came no answer. We knocked loudly. Still no
sign from within. So I put my shoulder to the door,
which was old and cracked in several places, and succeeded
in bursting it open. Nothing was there but a sculptor's
modeling stand with something upon it, covered with a white cloth,
(03:48):
and the modeling tools on the floor. At the sight
of the cloth, still damp, we drew a deep breath.
He could not have hung there for many hours, certainly
not for twenty four. We did not raise it. He
would be vexed, said Manya, and I nodded, for it
has accounted almost a crime in the artist's world to
(04:11):
unveil a sculptor's work behind his back. We expressed no
surprise at the fact of his modeling. A band seemed
to lie upon our tongues. The cloth hung tightly to
the object beneath it, and showed us the outline of
a woman's head and rounded bust, and so veiled we
left her. There was a little winding stair leading out
(04:35):
of the passage, and we climbed it to find ourselves
in a sort of belvidere commanding a superb view. It
was a small open terrace on the roof of the house,
and we saw at a glance that no one was there.
We had now been all over the casino, which was
small and simply built, being evidently intended only for short
(04:58):
summer use. As we stood leaning over the balustrade, we
could look down into the garden. No one was there
but the guardiano, lying among his cabbages with his arms
behind his head, all asleep. The Laurel Grove had been
in my mind from the beginning, only it had seemed
(05:18):
more natural to go to the house first. Now we
descended the stairs silently and directed our steps thither. As
we approached it, the guardiano came toward us lazily. Have
you seen the Signora, he asked, and his stupidly placid
face showed me that he at least had no hand
(05:41):
in his disappearance. No, not yet, I answered, But we
shall come across him somewhere, no doubt. Perhaps he has
gone to take a walk, and we will wait for him.
What is this, I went on, trying to seem careless.
We were standing now by the little arch of which
(06:01):
you know this, said he. I have never been down there,
but they say it is something old. Do the Signorini
want to see it? I will fetch a lantern. I nodded,
and he went off to his cabin. I had a
couple of candles in my pocket, for I had intended
(06:22):
to explore the place should we not find Marsilo. It
was there that he had disappeared that night, and my
faults had been busy with it. But I kept my
candles concealed, reflecting that they would give our such an
air of premeditation which would excite curiosity. When did you
see the signora, last, I asked, When he had returned
(06:46):
with the lantern. I brought him his supper yesterday evening
at what o'clock. It was the alve Maria signora. He replied,
he always SOPs. Then it would be useless to put
any further questions. He was evidently utterly unobserving and would
(07:06):
lie to please us. Let me go first, said Manya.
Taking the lantern. We set our feet upon the steps.
A cold air seemed to fill our lungs and yet
to choke us, and a thick darkness lay beneath. The steps,
as I could see by the light of my candle,
(07:27):
were modern, as well as the vaulting above them. A
tablet was let into the wall, and in spite of
my excitement, I paused to read it, perhaps because I
was glad to delay whatever awaited us below. It ran
thus questo antico sir pulcro romano scopri rou conte maziali
(07:48):
nelan yomile o tucento ching quantatre e piamente consovo in
plain English. Count Marziale discovered this ancient Roman sepulcher in
the year eighteen fifty three and piously preserved it. I
read it more quickly than it has taken time to
(08:08):
write here and hurried after Manya, whose footsteps sounded faintly
below me. As I hastened, a draft of cold air
extinguished my candle, and I was trying to make my
way down by feeling along the wall, which was horribly
dark and clammy, when my heart stood still at a
cry from far beneath me, a cry of horror. Where
(08:31):
are you? I shouted, but Manya was calling my name
and could not hear me. I am here, I am
in the dark. I was making haste as fast as
I could, but there were several turnings. I have found him.
Came up from below alive. I shouted no answer. One
(08:55):
last short flight brought me face to face with the
gleam of the lantern. It came from a low doorway,
and within stood Manya, peering into the darkness. I knew
by his face, as he held the light high above him,
that our fears were realized. Yes, Marcello was there. He
(09:18):
was lying stretched upon the floor, staring at the ceiling,
dead and already stiff, as I could see at a glance.
We stood over him, saying not a word. Then I
knelt down and felt of him for mere form's sake,
and said, as though I had not known it before.
(09:41):
He has been dead for some hours since yesterday evening,
said Manya, in a haar stricken voice, yet with a
certain satisfaction in it, as though to say, you see,
I was right. Marcello was lying with his head slightly
own back, no contortions in his handsome features, rather the
(10:04):
look of a person who has quietly died of exhaustion,
who has slipped unconsciously from life to death. His collar
was thrown open, and a part of his breast of
a ghastly white was visible. Just over the heart was
a small spot. Give me the lantern, I whispered as
(10:26):
I stooped over it. It was a very little spot
of a faint purplish brown, and must have changed color
within the night. I examined it intently, and should say
that the blood had been sucked to the surface, and
then a small prick or incision made. The slight subcutaneous
effusion led me to this conclusion. One tiny drop of
(10:50):
coagulated blood closed the almost imperceptible wound. I probed it
with the end of one of Manya's matches. It was
scarcely more than skin deep, so it could not be
the stab of a stiletto, however, slender, or the track
of a bullet. Still, it was strange, and with one
(11:11):
impulse we turned to see if no one were concealed there,
or if there were no second exit. It would be
madness to suppose that the murderer, if there was one,
would remain by his victim. Had Marcella been making love
to a pretty contadina? And was this some jealous lover's vengeance?
(11:31):
But it was not a stab? Had one drop of
poison in the little wound? Done this deadly work? End
of Section seven
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