| Ivan Turgenev, Russian Author |
XI
Fabio intended to wait till she awakened, and then
to set off to Ferrara,
when suddenly some one tapped lightly at the
bedroom door. Fabio went
out, and saw his old steward, Antonio. ‘Signor,’
began the old man, ‘the
Malay has just informed me that Signor Muzzio has
been taken ill, and
wishes to be moved with all his belongings to the
town; and that he begs
you to let him have servants to assist in packing
his things; and that at
dinner-time you would send pack-horses, and
saddle-horses, and a few
attendants for the journey. Do you allow it?’
‘The Malay informed you of this?’ asked Fabio. ‘In
what manner? Why,
he is dumb.’
‘Here, signor, is the paper on which he wrote all
this in our language,
and very correctly.’
‘And Muzzio, you say, is ill?’ ‘Yes, he is very
ill, and can see no one.’
‘Have they sent for a doctor?’ ‘No. The Malay
forbade it.’ ‘And was it the
Malay wrote you this?’ ‘Yes, it was he.’ Fabio did
not speak for a moment.
‘Well, then, arrange it all,’ he said at last.
Antonio withdrew.
Fabio looked after his servant in bewilderment.
‘Then, he is not dead?’
he thought ... and he did not know whether to
rejoice or to be sorry. ‘Ill?’
But a few hours ago it was a corpse he had looked
upon!
Fabio returned to Valeria. She waked up and raised
her head. The hus-
band and wife exchanged a long look full of
significance. ‘He is gone?’
Valeria said suddenly. Fabio shuddered. ‘How gone?
Do you mean ...’ ‘Is
he gone away?’ she continued. A load fell from
Fabio’s heart. ‘Not yet; but
he is going to-day.’ ‘And I shall never, never see
him again?’ ‘Never.’ ‘And
these dreams will not come again?’ ‘No.’ Valeria
again heaved a sigh of
relief; a blissful smile once more appeared on her
lips. She held out both
hands to her husband. ‘And we will never speak of him,
never, do you
hear, my dear one? And I will not leave my room
till he is gone. And do
you now send me my maids ... but stay: take away
that thing!’ she pointed
to the pearl necklace, lying on a little bedside
table, the necklace given her
by Muzzio, ‘and throw it at once into our deepest
well.
Embrace me. I am
| ...throw it at once into our deepest well |
your Valeria; and do not come in to me till ... he
has gone.’ Fabio took the
necklace—the pearls he fancied looked
tarnished—and did as his wife
had directed. Then he fell to wandering about the garden,
looking from a
distance at the pavilion, about which the bustle
of preparations for depar-
ture was beginning. Servants were bringing out
boxes, loading the horses
... but the Malay was not among them. An
irresistible impulse drew Fabio
to look once more upon what was taking place in
the pavilion. He recol-
lected that there was at the back a secret door,
by which he could reach the
inner room where Muzzio had been lying in the
morning. He stole round
to this door, found it unlocked, and, parting the
folds of a heavy curtain,
turned a faltering glance upon the room within.
XII
Muzzio was not now lying on the rug. Dressed as
though for a journey,
he sat in an arm-chair, but seemed a corpse, just
as on Fabio’s first visit.
His torpid head fell back on the chair, and his
outstretched hands hung
lifeless, yellow, and rigid on his knees. His
breast did not heave. Near the
chair on the floor, which was strewn with dried
herbs, stood some flat
bowls of dark liquid, which exhaled a powerful,
almost suffocating, odour,
the odour of musk.
hue, with golden eyes that flashed from time to
time; while directly facing
Muzzio, two paces from him, rose the long figure
of the Malay, wrapt in a
mantle of many-coloured brocade, girt round the
waist with a tiger’s tail,
with a high hat of the shape of a pointed tiara on
his head. But he was not
motionless: at one moment he bowed down
reverently, and seemed to be
praying, at the next he drew himself up to his
full height, even rose on
tiptoe; then, with a rhythmic action, threw wide
his arms, and moved
them persistently in the direction of Muzzio, and
seemed to threaten or
command him, frowning and stamping with his foot.
All these actions
seemed to cost him great effort, even to cause him
pain: he breathed heavily,
the sweat streamed down his face. 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. The dark liquid in the bowls began
boiling; the bowls them-
selves began to resound with a faint bell-like
note, and the brazen snakes
coiled freely about each of them. Then the Malay
took a step forward, and
raising his eyebrows and opening his eyes
immensely wide, he bowed his
head to Muzzio ... and the eyelids of the dead man
quivered, parted un-
certainly, and under them could be seen the
eyeballs, dull as lead. The
Malay’s face was radiant with triumphant pride and
delight, a delight al-
most 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! He
too uttered a shriek and
rushed out, running home, home as quick as
possible, without looking
round, repeating prayers and crossing himself as
he ran.
XIII
Three hours later, Antonio came to him with the
announcement that
everything was ready, the things were packed, and
Signor Muzzio was
preparing to start. Without a word in answer to
his servant, Fabio went
out on to the terrace, whence the pavilion could
be seen.
 |
| A few pack horses were grouped before it... |
horses were grouped before it; a powerful raven
horse, saddled for two
riders, was led up to the steps, where servants
were standing bare-headed,
together with armed attendants. The door of the
pavilion opened, and
supported by the Malay, who wore once more his
ordinary attire, ap-
peared Muzzio. His face was death-like, and his
hands hung like a dead
man’s—but he walked ... yes, positively walked,
and, seated on the charger,
he sat upright and felt for and found the reins.
The Malay put his feet in
the stirrups, leaped up behind him on the saddle,
put his arm round him,
and the whole party started. The horses moved at a
walking pace, and
when they turned round before the house, Fabio
fancied that in Muzzio’s
dark face there gleamed two spots of white....
Could it be he had turned
his eyes upon him? Only the Malay bowed to him ...
ironically, as ever.
Did Valeria see all this? The blinds of her
windows were drawn ... but it
maybe she was standing behind them.
XIV
At dinner time she came into the dining-room, and
was very quiet and
affectionate; she still complained, however, of
weariness. 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.
Muzzio vanished for
them as though he had never existed. Fabio and
Valeria were agreed, as it
seemed, not to utter a syllable referring to him,
not to learn anything of his
later days; his fate remained, however, a mystery
for all. Muzzio did actually
disappear, as though he had sunk into the earth.
Fabio one day thought it his
duty to tell Valeria exactly what had taken place
on that fatal night ... but she eyes, as though she
were expecting a blow.... And Fabio understood her; he
did not inflict that blow upon her.
| One fine Autumn day... |
One fine autumn day, Fabio was putting the last
touches to his picture
of his Cecilia; Valeria sat at the organ, her
fingers straying at random over
the keys.... Suddenly, without her knowing it,
from under her hands came
the first notes of that song of triumphant love
which Muzzio had once
played; and at the same instant, for the first
time since her marriage, she
felt within her the throb of a new palpitating
life.... Valeria started,
stopped....What did it mean? Could it be....
* * *
At this word the manuscript ended…..
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