The husband and wife passed a dreary day. It
seemed as though something dark were hanging over
their heads ... but what it was, they could not tell.
They wanted to be together, as though some danger were
menacing them;—but what to say to each
other, they did not know. Fabio made an effort
to work at the portrait, to read Ariosto, whose poem,
which had recently made its appearance in Ferrara,
was already famous throughout Italy; but he could
do nothing.... Late in the evening, just in time
for supper, Muzio returned.
He appeared calm and contented—but related
few stories; he chiefly interrogated Fabio concerning
their mutual acquaintances of former days, the German
campaign, the Emperor Charles; he spoke of his desire
to go to Rome, to have a look at the new Pope.
Again he offered Valeria wine of Shiraz—and
in reply to her refusal he said, as though to himself,
“It is not necessary now.”
On returning with his wife to their bedroom Fabio
speedily fell asleep ... and waking an hour later
was able to convince himself that no one shared his
couch: Valeria was not with him. He hastily
rose, and at the selfsame moment he beheld his wife,
in her night-dress, enter the room from the garden.
The moon was shining brightly, although not long before
a light shower had passed over.—With widely-opened
eyes, and an expression of secret terror on her impassive
face, Valeria approached the bed, and fumbling for
it with her hands, which were outstretched in front
of her, she lay down hurriedly and in silence.
Fabio asked her a question, but she made no reply;
she seemed to be asleep. He touched her, and
felt rain-drops on her clothing, on her hair, and grains
of sand on the soles of her bare feet. Then he
sprang up and rushed into the garden through the half-open
door. The moonlight, brilliant to harshness,
inundated all objects. Fabio looked about him
and descried on the sand of the path traces of two
pairs of feet; one pair was bare; and those tracks
led to an arbour covered with jasmin, which stood apart,
between the pavilion and the house. He stopped
short in perplexity; and lo! suddenly the notes of
that song which he had heard on the preceding night
again rang forth! Fabio shuddered, and rushed
into the pavilion.... Muzio was standing in the
middle of the room, playing on his violin. Fabio
darted to him.
“Thou hast been in the garden, thou hast been
out, thy clothing is damp with rain.”
“No.... I do not know ... I do not
think ... that I have been out of doors ...”
replied Muzio, in broken accents, as though astonished
at Fabio’s advent, and at his agitation.
Fabio grasped him by the arm.—“And
why art thou playing that melody again? Hast
thou had another dream?”
Muzio glanced at Fabio with the same surprise as before,
and made no answer.
“Come, answer me!”
“The moon is steel,
like a circular shield....
The river gleams like a snake....
The friend is awake, the enemy
sleeps—
The hawk seizes the chicken
in his claws....
Help!”
