Scan 17
Musical Courier 1895-02-27: Vol 30 Iss 781, 1895
130 lines. Read by computer on 20 September 2026. Printed page 18. See the scan on archive.org.
1friendship, there were reasons enough why prudence dictated the necessity of separation.
3Fabio agreed with the venerable monk. Valeria's face brightened when her husband told her the advice of the confessor. Laden with vows and thanks and rich presents for his church and poor people, Father Lorenzo went back to his monastery.
5Fabio proposed to come to an understanding with Muzio immediately after supper, but the strange guest did not return. Then Fabio determined to defer the matter until the next day. Husband and wife went to their bedroom.
7IX.
9Valeria at once fell asleep. Fabio was wide awake. Everything that he knew, everything that he saw came to him sharply in the stillness of the night. The more persistently did he ask questions which seemed, as before, without an answer.
11Was Muzio a magician? Had he poisoned Valeria? She was sick, but what was her disease? While, head on hand, he held his feverish breath and abandoned himself to his reflections and his anxieties, the moon made her way in a cloudless sky. As her rays across the window panes, so from the side of the pavilion began to penetrate—or did Fabio imagine it?—began to penetrate a breath, a light, odorous, undulating wave. And there was a passionate, persistent whispering. And at the same moment Fabio saw that Valeria began to move herself in a feeble way. He helped her to sit up; he looked at her. She slipped first one foot, then another, out of bed, and like unto a somnambulist with leaden, sightless eyes, with hands stretched before her, she moved toward the door to the garden!
13Fabio ran out by the other door of the bed-chamber, and having turned the corner of the house he shut behind him the door which led to the garden. He had hardly time to fasten the lock when he knew that someone was trying to open it from the inside; that someone was pushing violently, still pushing, still pushing. Then there were sobs and groans.
15But Muzio was not back from the town. This idea flashed like lightning through Fabio's head, and he rushed toward the pavilion.
17What did he see?
19The path was flooded with brilliant moonlight. Toward him, as another somnambulist, hands stretched out, eyes open and sightless, advanced Muzio. Fabio ran to him, and he, without noticing him, with firm step and immovable countenance, in the beams of the moon, laughed a wicked laugh, like the laugh of the Malay. Fabio was about to call him by name, but at that moment he heard the noise of window opening in the house. He turned back.
21And true enough, the French window of the bedroom is wide open, and with one foot over the threshold Valeria stands; her arms groping in the air seem to search Muzio. She is about to run toward him.
23Unspeakable fury swept, flood-like, the breast of Fabio. "Damned sorcerer!" he cried with rage.
25Seizing Muzio by the throat with one hand, with the other he clutched the dagger which Muzio wore in his belt and plunged it in his side to the hilt.
27Muzio uttered a piercing cry, and, pressing the palm of his hand to the wound, he returned, tottering, to the pavilion. At the same moment that Fabio had struck him Valeria shrieked out as wild a cry and fell to the earth as though thunderstruck.
29Fabio ran to her, put her on her bed, spoke to her.
31She was for a long time motionless; at last she opened her eyes and sighed deeply with a shudder, as one just saved from imminent death. She saw her husband; she threw her arms about his neck.
33"You, you, it is you!" she muttered.
35Her hands slowly unclasped, her head fell back; she smiled in happiness: "Thank God all is over, but I am so tired!" She slept. Her sleep was deep and peaceful.
37X.
39Fabio fell into a chair near his wife. He watched her pale and peaked face. He set himself a-thinking about what had happened and what he should do. If he had killed Muzio—and when he remembered how deeply he had struck him he had no doubt—if he had killed Muzio, the murder would out, and the Duke and the judges must know it. How could he explain such an extraordinary affair? He, Fabio, had killed in his own house a relative, his best friend! They would ask, why? What should he say? But if Muzio was alive? Fabio could not endure the suspense. Sure that Valeria slept, he arose quietly and left the room. He neared the pavilion. All was tranquil there. One window showed a light. With heart palpitating Fabio opened the outer door, on which were bloody finger marks—and on the sandy path were drops of blood—he went through a dark room, and on the threshold of the next room he stood stupefied.
41In the middle of the chamber, on a Persian rug, a velvet cushion under his head, covered with a large red shawl with black figures, Muzio lay, with stiff, stretched out limbs. His face was waxen yellow. His eyes were shut. His eyelids were blue. He did not breathe. He appeared dead. The Malay, also wrapped in a red shawl, kneeled at his feet. He held in his hand an unknown plant that looked like a fern, and leaning forward he stared at his master. A little torch burned with greenish flame and gave the only light. The Malay did not stir at the approach of Fabio. He only gave him a hurried look and then stared at Muzio. From time to time he raised and lowered the branch and he waved it in the air. His dumb lips opened and moved slowly, as though they pronounced silent words.
43Between the Malay and Muzio was the dagger with which he had struck his friend. The Malay touched once with his branch the bloody blade. A minute went by, then another, and still another. Fabio went close to the Malay and leaning toward him asked in a low voice, "Dead?"
45The Malay nodded his head, and having drawn his right hand from beneath the shawl pointed imperiously to the door. Fabio was going to repeat the question, but the imperious hand renewed the gesture and Fabio went away astonished, angry, but obedient.
47He found Valeria sleeping, and her face was calmer. He did not undress. Seated by the window, he was buried in thought. The morning sun found him there. Valeria slept.
49XI.
51Fabio did not intend to go to Ferrara until Valeria awoke, but all at once someone rapped lightly on the door.
53Fabio ran to open it. His old major domo, Antonio, stood there.
55"My lord," said the old man, "the Malay tells us that his master is a sick man and must leave with all his baggage for the city. He asks you to kindly lend him men to help in packing and toward dinner time send him pack and saddle horses and an escort. Are you willing?"
57"Did the Malay tell you all this? How could he? He is dumb."
59"Here is a note written in good Italian."
61"And you say Muzio is sick?"
63"Yes, very sick. No one is allowed to see him."
65"Why haven't you sent for a doctor?"
67"The Malay will not allow it."
69"Are you sure the Malay wrote this note?"
71"Yes, indeed."
73Fabio was silent a moment. "Well, go and do it." Antonio walked away.
75Fabio was paralyzed. "He is not dead," and he did not know whether to laugh or to cry.
77"Sick!" But a few hours before he had seen a corpse, Fabio turned toward Valeria. She opened her eyes, turned her head and looked for a long time at her husband.
79"He is no more?" she asked.
81Fabio trembled. "What do you mean?"
83"Has he gone?" she said.
85"No, not yet; but he goes to-day."
87"And I shall never, never see him again?"
89"Never."
91"And I shall never have these dreams again?"
93"No."
95Valeria sighed with satisfaction, and a happy smile played about her lips. She stretched out her hands to her husband.
97"And we shall never speak of him, my beloved. I shall not leave the room until he is away. Now, send me my maids; but—here, take this thing."
99She pointed to the pearl necklace, which was on a little table near her. It was the necklace Muzio had given her.
101"Throw it into the deepest well. Embrace; me I am your Valeria. Do not come to see me until—until the other one is no longer here."
103Fabio took the necklace, the pearls of which seemed tarnished, and he did as his wife ordered. Then he wandered about the garden, looking at the pavilion. There was already the disorder of packing. Men brought out chests and they loaded the horses. The Malay was not among these busy people. Fabio was compelled irresistibly to again watch the doings inside the pavilion. He remembered that there was a secret door behind, through which one could enter the room where Muzio was. He found it open. Drawing aside the heavy tapestry he peeped in.
105XII.
107Muzio was no longer on the rug. In traveling dress he sat in a chair; but he seemed like a corpse. His livid head was leaning on the back of the chair. His yellow hands, placed one on each knee, were still. There was no heaving of the breast. Around the chair, on the floor, all covered with dried herbs, were several shallow cups filled with a dark liquid that gave out a strong, suffocating smell, a musk-like smell. Twined round each cup was a little copper-colored snake, whose golden eyes glistened now and then. In front of Muzio, two steps from him, was the tall form of the Malay. Clothed in a robe of mottled damask, girt about the waist by a tiger's tail, he wore on his head a horned tiara. He was in constant motion. He bowed reverently, and apparently murmured prayers; he rose to his full height; he stood on tiptoe; he made great rhythmical gestures with both arms; he shook his arms obstinately at Muzio; he threatened, commanded, frowned, struck his foot against the floor. All these gestures, all these movements cost him mighty effort—aye, he suffered. He breathed hard. The sweat ran down his face.
109Suddenly, rigid, with lungs full of air, he tightened his fists as though he held reins, and biting his lips, with convulsed features, he brought his fists with a violent struggle toward his breast. Then, to the unspeakable horror of Fabio, the head of Muzio left the back of the chair and followed by little jerks the hands of the Malay. The Malay relaxed, and the head of Muzio fell back heavily. The Malay repeated his first gestures, and the obedient head repeated its movements. The dark liquor began to boil in the cups, the cups began a faint singing, and the little copper snakes twisted about the cups. Then the Malay made a step forward, and stretching his eyelids, opening his enormous eyes, he made with his head a brusque movement of command to Muzio. The eyelids of the dead man shivered, they opened unevenly and they showed apples as dull as lead. The face of the Malay shone with proud joy, with joy almost rancorous. He opened wide his mouth, and from the bottom of his throat came with a wrench a long howl.
111The lips of Muzio opened likewise, and from them escaped a feeble groan in answer to that sound that was in no way human.
113But Fabio could stand it no longer. He thought he saw some devilish incantation. He too uttered a loud cry, and he fled toward the house, never looking back, crossing himself fervently.
115XIII.
117Three hours later Antonio said that everything was ready. The chests were locked. Muzio was about to take his leave.
119Without replying to his servant, Fabio went to the terrace from which the pavilion could be seen. Laden horses were ready to move, and a strong stallion stood by the steps. His saddle was large enough for two. Servants, bareheaded, an armed escort waited. The door of the pavilion opened, and Muzio appeared, leaning on the Malay, who wore his customary clothes. The face of Muzio was death-pale and his arms were the arms of a corpse. But he walked; yes, he moved his feet one after the other, and, hoisted into the saddle, he sat upright and found, in a groping fashion, the reins.
121The Malay put his feet in the stirrups, leaped behind him into the saddle, put his arms around him. The procession moved. When they all turned to pass by the villa it seemed to Fabio that on the lifeless face of Muzio two white points glided slowly from left to right. Could Muzio have moved his eyeballs toward him? The Malay bowed, with his usual ironical smile.
123Did Valeria see the departure? The blinds of her windows were closed carefully, but perhaps she stood behind them.
125XIV.
127She was at dinner, affectionate, at peace, although she still complained of fatigue. She was no longer restless, nor did she show lethargy or secret fear. When Fabio began work again on the portrait he found in his wife's face the expression of angelic purity, the momentary eclipse of which had so disturbed him. His brush ran over the canvas lightly and accurately.
129The old life was resumed. Muzio had disappeared; it was as though there never was such a man. You would have said that Fabio and Valeria had agreed never to pronounce his name, never to ask about his fate, which, by the way, remained a mystery. One day it occurred to Fabio that it was his duty to tell Valeria the incidents of that terrible night; she seemed to suspect his purpose, for she
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