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Updated: June 18, 2025
Fabio sat down beside the bed, took Valeria by the hand, and after a short silence, asked her, 'What was the extraordinary dream that had frightened her so the previous night? And was it the same sort at all as the dream Muzzio had described? Valeria crimsoned and said hurriedly: 'O! no! no!
From time to time he raised and lowered the branch, and waved it in the air, and his dumb lips slowly parted and moved as though uttering soundless words. On the floor between the Malay and Muzzio lay the dagger, with which Fabio had stabbed his friend; the Malay struck one blow with the branch on the blood-stained blade. A minute passed ... another.
Fabio and Muzzio saw Valeria for the first time at a magnificent public festival, celebrated at the command of the Archduke of Ferrara, Ercol, son of the celebrated Lucrezia Borgia, in honour of some illustrious grandees who had come from Paris on the invitation of the Archduchess, daughter of the French king, Louis XII. Valeria was sitting beside her mother on an elegant tribune, built after a design of Palladio, in the principal square of Ferrara, for the most honourable ladies in the town.
But at that instant from the direction of the pavilion came floating powerful sounds, and both Fabio and Valeria recognised the melody Muzzio had played to them, calling it the song of blissful triumphant love. Fabio looked in perplexity at Valeria ... she closed her eyes, turned away, and both holding their breath, heard the song out to the end.
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.
Fabio made an effort to take up the portrait, and to read Ariosto, whose poem had appeared not long before in Ferrara, and was now making a noise all over Italy; but nothing was of any use.... Late in the evening, just at supper-time, Muzzio returned.
Muzzio laid the violin on the table and slightly tossing back his hair, he said with a polite smile: 'That that melody ... that song I heard once in the island of Ceylon. That song is known there among the people as the song of happy, triumphant love. 'Play it again, Fabio was murmuring. 'No; it can't be played again, answered Muzzio. 'Besides, it is now too late.
In the middle of the room, on a Persian rug, with a brocaded cushion under his head, and all his limbs stretched out straight, lay Muzzio, covered with a wide, red shawl with a black pattern on it. His face, yellow as wax, with closed eyes and bluish eyelids, was turned towards the ceiling, no breathing could be discerned: he seemed a corpse. At his feet knelt the Malay, also wrapt in a red shawl.
'And why are you playing that melody again? Have you had a dream again? Muzzio glanced at Fabio with the same look of amazement, and said nothing. 'Answer me! "The moon stood high like a round shield ... Like a snake, the river shines ..., The friend's awake, the foe's asleep ... The bird is in the falcon's clutches.... Help!" muttered Muzzio, humming to himself as though in delirium.
Fabio intended to have an explanation with Muzzio immediately after supper; but his strange guest did not return to supper. Then Fabio decided to defer his conversation with Muzzio until the following day; and both the young people retired to rest. Valeria soon fell asleep; but Fabio could not sleep.
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