The Song of Love Triumphant Page #4

"The Song of Love Triumphant" is a lyrical novella by Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev that explores themes of love, longing, and the passage of time. Set against the backdrop of 19th-century Russia, the story follows the emotional journey of its protagonist as he grapples with his feelings for a beautiful and enigmatic woman. Turgenev’s rich prose captures the nuances of romantic relationships and the complexities of human emotion, while also offering reflections on the ideals of love and the inevitable losses that accompany it. Through its poignant narrative, the work examines the interplay between passion and despair, illustrating how love can both uplift and torment the human spirit.

								

standing out against the dark green of a cypress, a marble satyr, with
face distorted in a malicious smile, was applying his pointed lips to
his reed-pipes. Valeria was visibly delighted at her husband's
appearance, and in reply to his anxious queries she said that she had a
slight headache, but that it was of no consequence, and that she was
ready for the sitting. Fabio conducted her to his studio, posed her, and
took up his brush; but, to his great vexation, he could not possibly
finish the face as he would have liked. And that not because it was
somewhat pale and seemed fatigued ... no; but he did not find in it
that day the pure, holy expression which he so greatly loved in it, and
which had suggested to him the idea of representing Valeria in the form
of Saint Cecilia. At last he flung aside his brush, told his wife that
he was not in the mood, that ft would do her good to lie down for a
while, as she was not feeling quite well, to judge by her looks,--and
turned his easel so that the portrait faced the wall. Valeria agreed
with him that she ought to rest, and repeating her complaint of
headache, she retired to her chamber.

Fabio remained in the studio. He felt a strange agitation which was
incomprehensible even to himself. Muzio's sojourn under his roof, a
sojourn which he, Fabio, had himself invited, embarrassed him. And it
was not that he was jealous ... was it possible to be jealous of
Valeria?--but in his friend he did not recognise his former comrade. All
that foreign, strange, new element which Muzio had brought with him from
those distant lands--and which, apparently, had entered into his very
flesh and blood,---all those magical processes, songs, strange
beverages, that dumb Malay, even the spicy odour which emanated from
Muzio's garments, from his hair, his breath,--all this inspired in Fabio
a feeling akin to distrust, nay, even to timidity. And why did that
Malay, when serving at table, gaze upon him, Fabio, with such
disagreeable intentness? Really, one might suppose that he understood
Italian. Muzio had said concerning him, that that Malay, in paying the
penalty with his tongue, had made a great sacrifice, and in compensation
now possessed great power.--What power? And how could he have acquired
it at the cost of his tongue? All this was very strange! Very
incomprehensible!

Fabio went to his wife in her chamber; she was lying on the bed fully
dressed, but was not asleep.--On hearing his footsteps she started, then
rejoiced again to see him, as she had done in the garden. Fabio sat down
by the bed, took Valeria's hand, and after a brief pause, he asked her,
"What was that remarkable dream which had frightened her during the past
night? And had it been in the nature of that dream which Muzio had
related?"

Valeria blushed and said hastily--"Oh, no! no! I saw ... some sort of a
monster, which tried to rend me."

"A monster? In the form of a man?" inquired Fabio.

"No, a wild beast ... a wild beast!"--And Valeria turned away and hid
her flaming face in the pillows. Fabio held his wife's hand for a while
longer; silently he raised it to his lips, and withdrew.

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.

VII

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!"

mumbled Muzio, in a singsong, as though in a state of unconsciousness.

Fabio retreated a couple of paces, fixed his eyes on Muzio, meditated
for a space ... and returned to his house, to the bed-chamber.

With her head inclined upon her shoulder, and her arms helplessly
outstretched, Valeria was sleeping heavily. He did not speedily succeed
in waking her ... but as soon as she saw him she flung herself on his
neck, and embraced him convulsively; her whole body was quivering.

"What aileth thee, my dear one, what aileth thee?" said Fabio
repeatedly, striving to soothe her.

But she continued to lie as in a swoon on his breast. "Akh, what
dreadful visions I see!" she whispered, pressing her face against him.

Fabio attempted to question her ... but she merely trembled....
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