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Updated: May 20, 2025
But there was no agitation about her now, none of her former constant bewilderment and secret dread; and when, the day after Muzzio's departure, Fabio set to work again on her portrait, he found in 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.
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 wine, 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 had an extraordinary dream.
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, Muzzio's head slowly left the back of the chair, and moved forward, following the Malay's hands.... The Malay let them fall, and Muzzio's head fell heavily back again; the Malay repeated his movements, and obediently the head repeated them after him.
Valeria noticed this; but as in all Muzzio's doings, in his whole behaviour, 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 Malay bring his Indian violin.
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.
Muzzio'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, it never showed more life when he recalled the dangers he had encountered by night in forests that resounded with the roar of tigers or by day on solitary ways where savage fanatics lay in wait for travellers, to slay them in honour of their iron goddess who demands human sacrifices.
The Malay's face was radiant with triumphant pride and delight, a delight almost malignant; he opened his mouth wide, and from the depths of his chest there broke out with effort a prolonged howl.... Muzzio'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!
And Muzzio's voice had grown deeper and more even; his hands, his whole body had lost the freedom of gesture peculiar to the Italian race. With the aid of his servant, the obsequiously alert Malay, he showed his hosts a few of the feats he had learnt from the Indian Brahmins.
He felt a strange confused sensation incomprehensible to himself. Muzzio's stay under his roof, to which he, Fabio, had himself urgently invited him, was irksome to him. And not that he was jealous could any one have been jealous of Valeria! but he did not recognise his former comrade in his friend.
All that was strange, unknown and new that Muzzio had brought with him from those distant lands and which seemed to have entered into his very flesh and blood all these magical feats, songs, strange drinks, this dumb Malay, even the spicy fragrance diffused by Muzzio's garments, his hair, his breath all this inspired in Fabio a sensation akin to distrust, possibly even to timidity.
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