“You did right.”
“The evil spirits vanished; but the mightiest of all, Satan himself, stood before me. I made a league with him. Do not grow pale, father! Satan has promised to serve me. All will go now according to my will.”[1]
Boëmo shook his head, mournfully.
“As a test of his obedience, I gave him my violin and commanded him to play something. What was my astonishment when he executed a sonata, so exquisite, so wonderful, that I had never in my life imagined anything approaching it! I was bewildered—enchanted. I could hardly breathe from excess of rapture. Then the devil handed the violin back to me. “Take it, master,” said he, “you can do the same.” I took it, and succeeded. Never had I heard such music. You were right, father! I have done wrong to despair.”
The monk sighed, for he saw that his poor friend still labored under the excitement of a diseased imagination. He made, however, no effort to reason with him, but sought to divert his mind by speaking of other matters.
“You shall hear for yourself,” cried Tartini; and seizing his violin, he walked several times across the room, humming a tune, and at last began to play. The music was broken and irregular, though in the wild tones he drew from the instrument, the ear of an artist caught notes that were strangely beautiful. It seemed, in truth, the music of a half-remembered dream.
Again and again did Giuseppe strive to catch the melody; at length throwing down the instrument, he struck his forehead and wrung his hands in bitterness of disappointment.
“It is gone from me!” he cried, in a voice of agony. Father Boëmo sought in vain to lead his mind from this harrowing thought. Now he would snatch up the violin and play as if determined to conquer the difficulty; then fling it aside in despair, vowing that he would break it in pieces and renounce music forever.
After a consultation with the Guardian, Father Boëmo summoned medical assistance, and that night himself administered a composing draught to his young friend. He had the satisfaction of seeing him soon in a profound slumber; and having given him in charge once more to Piero, withdrew to spend an hour or two in prayer for his relief.
Just before matins the organist was aroused by a cry without. Being already dressed, he hastily descended to the court where the brother who had given the alarm stood gazing upward in speechless terror. Well might he shake with fear! Upon the edge of the roof stood a figure, clearly visible in the moonlight, and easily recognized as that of the unhappy Giuseppe.