’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 Muzzio.
’I played it indeed; but I had been asleep before
that, and I had a wonderful dream too.’
Valeria was on the alert. ‘What sort of
dream?’ asked Fabio.
‘I dreamed,’ answered Muzzio, 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
nor lights, the whole room was filled with a rosy
light, just as though it were all built of transparent
stone. In the corners, 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 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 Muzzio, ‘I waked
up and played that song.’
‘But who was that woman?’ 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 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.
A few weeks before Muzzio’s return, Fabio had
begun a portrait of his wife, depicting her with the
attributes of Saint Cecilia. 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 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 Muzzio
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. Fabio was overcome by a secret uneasiness;
he began looking for her. 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 and her hands folded upon her knees; while
