The peace of the elements stole into my soul and I was able to reflect with some tranquillity on what had happened to me since I left Cadiz. A few passing comments of Don Enrique de Sa, the governor of that city, which then came to my mind, led me to think that he also was part of the mysterious existence of the Gomelez and that he too knew part of their secret. He it was who had recommended to me my two valets, Lopez and Mosquito. I suppose it was on his orders that they deserted me at the entrance to the disastrous valley of Los Hermanos. My cousins had often led me to believe that I would be tested. I conjectured that I had been given a sleeping draught at the venta and that I had been carried under the gallows as I slept. Pacheco could have lost an eye in a quite different way than by an amorous liaison with two hanged men, and his terrifying story might be no more than a fable. The hermit, who was continually trying to discover my secret by means of the sacrament of confession, seemed to me then to be an agent of the Gomelez seeking to test my discretion.

At last, just as I thought I was beginning to understand better what had happened to me and to be able to explain it without having recourse to supernatural beings, I heard in the distance merry music which seemed to be coming from round the mountain. The music soon became more distinct and I saw a jolly band of gypsies who were marching along in step, singing and accompanying themselves on their sonajas and cascarras.¹ They set up their little temporary camp near the terrace, giving me the opportunity of observing the clothes and accoutrements which gave them so elegant an appearance. I supposed that these were the same gypsy thieves under whose protection the innkeeper of the Venta de Cárdenas had placed himself, as the hermit had told me. But they seemed too gallant to be brigands. As I was observing them, they set up their tents, placed their ollas over their fires and hung their babies’ cradles from the branches of nearby trees. When all these preparations had been completed, they devoted themselves again to the pleasures of their nomadic existence, the greatest of which in their eyes was doing nothing.

The tent of their leader was distinguished from the others not only by the pole topped by a great silver knob which was planted at its entrance but also by its excellent condition and rich ornamental fringe, which is not usually seen on gypsies’ tents. But you can imagine my surprise on seeing the tent open and my two cousins come out, wearing the elegant costume which in Spain is known as a la gitana maja. They came up to the terrace without, however, seeming to see me. Then they hailed their companions and began to dance that well-known polo to the words:

If affectionate Emina and sweet Zubeida had turned my head when dressed in their Moorish simars, they delighted me no less in this new costume. But I thought that they had a sly, mocking air about them of the kind which suited fortune-tellers and which seemed to suggest that they were plotting some new trick on me by appearing before me in this new and unexpected guise.

The cabbalist’s castle was carefully locked up. He alone held the keys, so I was unable to join the gypsies; but by taking a tunnel which led to the river and which was shut off by an iron gate, I was able to take a close look at them, and even speak to them without being seen by those in the castle. So I went down to this secret gate and found myself separated from the dancers by no more than the bed of the river. They turned out not to be my cousins. They even appeared to me to have a somewhat common air typical of their station in life.

Ashamed of my mistake, I went slowly back up to the terrace. When I reached it, I looked down again and recognized my cousins. They seemed to recognize me too, burst out laughing and then retired to their tent.

I was indignant. Heavens above, I said to myself, can it be possible that two such adorable and adoring creatures should be two sprites who are in the habit of playing tricks on mortals by taking on many forms and shapes? Or even two witches? Or, what would be even more horrible, vampires which heaven has allowed to assume the hideous bodies of the hanged men in the valley? It seemed to me a moment ago that all my experiences could have had a natural explanation, but now I was not so sure.

As these thoughts were passing through my mind I returned to the library, where I found a thick tome on the table, written in Gothic script, entitled Curious Stories by Happelius. The book lay open and the page seemed to have been folded over deliberately to mark the beginning of a chapter in which I read the following story:³

But the provost’s only son, Thibaud de la Jacquière, ensign in the king’s men-at-arms, was not at all like his father. A stout campaigner who was always ready to draw his sword, a lusty seducer of girls, a shaker of dice, breaker of windows, smasher of lanterns, blasphemer and swearer, who often collared citizens in the street and swapped his old coat for a new one and his hat for a better one. So it was not long before Messire Thibaud was the talk of the town in Paris, in Blois, in Fontainebleau and in the other royal residences. Now our good king of saintly memory, François I, came eventually to be displeased by the behaviour of the young officer and sent him back to Lyon to do penance in the house of his father, the good Provost de la Jacquière, who lived at that time on the corner of the Place de Bellecour at the top of the Rue St Ramond.

Young Thibaud was received back into his father’s house with as much joy as if he had come bearing all the indulgences in Rome. Not only was the fatted calf killed for him, but the good provost gave a banquet for his friends that cost more gold ecus than there were guests. And that is not all. The young stalwart’s health was drunk and everyone wished him wisdom and true repentance.

But these charitable wishes displeased him. He took a golden cup from the table, filled it with wine and said, ‘By the bloody death of the great devil himself, I pledge my body and my soul in this wine if ever I become a better man than I am now.’

These terrible words made the guests’ hair stand on end. They crossed themselves and some of them rose from the table.

Thibaud also rose and went to take the air on the Place de Bellecour, where he ran into two of his former companions, who were rakes like himself. He embraced them, took them home with him and had them served many flasks of wine, without sparing a thought for his father and the other guests.

What Thibaud had done on the day he arrived he did the next day too, and all the days after that. The goodly provost’s heart was broken and he resolved to commend himself to his patron saint, St James, and to place before the saint’s image a candle weighing ten pounds which was decorated with two gold rings, each worth five marks. But as the provost tried to put the candle on the altar, he dropped it and upset a silver lamp which was burning in front of the saint. The provost had had this candle made for another purpose, but nothing was closer to his heart than his son’s conversion and he joyfully made the offering. However, when he saw the candle on the ground and the upset lamp he interpreted this as a bad omen and sadly made his way home.

On that same day Messire Thibaud again entertained his friends. They tossed back many a flask of wine, and when the night was already far advanced and it was pitch-black they went out to take the air on the Place de Bellecour. Once there, they linked arms and swaggered up and down like young men who think they will attract the attention of the girls in this way. But on this occasion it was to no avail, for neither girl nor woman passed by and they could not be seen from the windows because it was a dark night, as I have already said. So young Thibaud, in a louder voice than before and swearing his customary oath, said, ‘By the bloody death of the great devil himself I promise to give him my soul and body if the great she-devil, his daughter, were to pass by and I had my way with her. For this wine has made my blood hot.’

These words displeased Thibaud’s two companions, who were not as great sinners as he. One of them said, ‘Messire, my good friend, remember that the devil is the eternal enemy of mankind and he does enough mischief without being invited and his name being invoked.’

But to this Thibaud only replied, ‘I shall do what I have said.’

As he spoke the three rakes saw a lady wearing a veil, with the charming figure of one still very young, come out of a nearby street. She was pursued by a little black servant, who tripped, fell on his face and broke his lantern. The young lady seemed very frightened and did not know what to do. Then Messire Thibaud went up to her and as politely as he could he offered her his arm to accompany her home. After protesting a little, our poor damsel in distress accepted, and Thibaud turned to his companions and whispered to them, ‘There, you see that the one I invoked hasn’t kept me waiting. I bid you good-night.’

The two friends realized what he wanted and took their leave of him, laughing and wishing him joy and happiness.

Thibaud gave his arm to the fair young maiden, and the little negro whose lantern had gone out walked in front of them. The young lady seemed so distressed at first that she could hardly stand, but her courage returned little by little and she leaned more boldly on her escort’s arm. From time to time she stumbled and even held tight to his arm to save herself from falling over. Then her escort would support her and press her arm against his breast, which he did, however, with great discretion so as not to startle his quarry.

So they walked and walked for such a long time that in the end it seemed to Thibaud that they had lost their way in the streets of Lyon. But he was not in the least displeased about this for it seemed to him that he would have his will all the more easily with his pretty lady, who had lost her way. But desiring to know whom he was dealing with, he asked her to sit down on a stone seat which he caught sight of near a doorway. She agreed and he sat down next to her. He then took one of her hands in a gallant manner and wittily said to her, ‘Oh lovely wandering star, since my star brought it about that we have met tonight, be so kind as to tell me who you are and where you live.’

The young lady seemed at first very shy, but gradually grew in confidence and spoke as follows:

The gatekeeper did not have much to do, since he only had to open the castle gates once a year to admit a gentleman who only visited us to take me by the chin and speak to my duenna in Basque, which I do not understand. Fortunately, I could speak when I was locked away in the castle of Sombre, for I certainly would not have learnt to speak from my two companions in that prison. As for the blind gatekeeper, I only ever saw him when he came to pass our meals through the bars of our only window. To be fair, my deaf governess shouted moral advice in my ears, but I made so little of it that I might have been as deaf as she, for she spoke of the duties of marriage without telling me what marriage was. She spoke in the same way about many other things which she refused to explain. Often my stammering maidservant tried to tell me some story that she assured me was very funny, but since she would never get beyond the first sentence she was forced to give up, stammering out excuses, which she managed to do no better than she could tell stories.

As I have told you, we had only one window, by which I mean only one looked out on to the courtyard of the castle. The others looked on to another courtyard which, as there were trees planted there, could pass for a garden, and to which there was only one way out, which led through my bedroom. I grew a few flowers there. It was my one pastime.

I am not telling you the whole truth, for I had another pastime as innocent as the first. There was a tall mirror in which I went to look at myself as soon as I had got up. Indeed on getting out of bed, my governess, as little dressed as I was, went to look at herself in it also and it amused me to compare my figure with hers. I would also indulge myself in this distraction before going to bed and after my governess was already asleep. Sometimes I imagined that I saw in the mirror a companion of my own age, who responded to my gestures and shared my feelings. The more I indulged in this make-believe, the more I found pleasure in it.

I have told you that a gentleman came once a year to take me by the chin and to speak Basque to my governess. One day, instead of taking me by the chin, this gentleman took me by the hand, led me to a closed carriage and shut me up inside it with my governess. Shut me up is the right expression, because the only light to enter the coach came from above. We were not let out until the third day, or rather the third night, for it was very late on in the evening.

A man opened the door and said, ‘You are now in the Place de Bellecour at the end of the Rue St Ramond. Here is the house of Provost de la Jacquière. Where do you want to be taken?’

‘Enter the first gateway after the provost’s,’ replied the governess.

Meanwhile Orlandine continued as follows:

When I found myself alone I threw down the beads, took hold of the scissors I had on my belt and cut a hole in the green cloth covering the window. Through it I saw another window very close to mine, and through that window I saw a brightly lit room in which three young gentlemen and three young girls were eating supper. They were more handsome and merrier than anything imaginable. They sang, they drank, they laughed, they hugged each other. They even took each other by the chin sometimes, but in a very different way from the gentleman at the castle of Sombre, who none the less came to do just that. What is more the gentlemen and the ladies took off more and more clothes, as I used to do in front of my tall mirror in the evening. And truthfully speaking this suited them just as well, not like my governess.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘that is exactly what the young gentlemen were doing. Truthfully it seemed to me that they all loved each other very much. But one of the young gentlemen claimed that he was a better lover than the others. “No, I am. No, I am,” cried the other two. So the one who had boasted of being the best lover thought of a very curious way of proving that he was right.’

At this point Thibaud remembered what had happened at supper and nearly choked with laughter.

‘Well, pretty Orlandine,’ he said. ‘What was it that the young gentleman thought of?’

‘Oh, do not laugh, sir,’ replied Orlandine. ‘I assure you it was a very good idea and I watched it closely until I heard someone opening the door. Immediately I returned to my rosary and my governess came in.

‘Silently she took me by the hand and led me down to a carriage which was not closed as was the first, so that from it I could have seen the town, but it was after dark and all I saw was that we went very far and came eventually to a stretch of countryside on the very edge of town. We stopped at the last house in the suburbs. It looked like a simple hut and it was even thatched, but inside was very pretty, as you will see if the little negro knows the way, for I see he has found a light and is lighting his lantern again.’

‘All alone,’ said the fair maiden, ‘with the little negro and my governess. But I don’t think that she will come back to this house this evening. The gentleman who used to take me by the chin sent word to me to join him with my governess at the house of one of his sisters, but added that he could not send his carriage as it had gone to fetch a priest. So we set out on foot. Someone stopped us to tell me how pretty I looked. My governess, who is deaf, thought that he was insulting me and so she insulted him in turn. Others arrived on the scene and joined in the squabble. I took fright and began to run, and the little negro ran after me. He fell over, his lantern broke and it was then, kind sir, that I had the good fortune to meet you.’

Messire Thibaud was charmed by the naivety of this account and was about to make a gallant reply when the little black servant came back with his lighted lantern. As its light fell on Thibaud’s face, Orlandine exclaimed, ‘What do I see? It’s the same gentleman who thought up the clever idea!’

‘It is, indeed,’ said Thibaud, ‘and I assure you that what I did was nothing to what a charming and respectable young lady might expect. For my female companions were anything but that.’

‘But you certainly looked as though you loved all three of them,’ said Orlandine.

‘That’s because I didn’t love any of them,’ replied Thibaud.

And so he talked and she talked and, walking and chatting all the while, they reached the outskirts of the town and came to an isolated hut whose door the little black servant opened with a key he carried on his belt.

The interior of the house was not cottage-like at all, for there were Flemish tapestries with figures so well worked and exquisitely drawn that they seemed alive, chandeliers whose arms were made in fine, solid silver, rich furniture in ivory and ebony, armchairs covered in Genoese velvet and trimmed with gold tassels, and a bed in Venetian moiré. But all this did not catch the attention of Messire Thibaud. He had eyes only for Orlandine and would have liked there and then to have reached the climax of his own plot.

Then the little negro arrived to lay the table, and Thibaud saw that he was not a child, as he had first thought, but rather an old, coal-black dwarf with a hideous face. But the midget brought something that was in no way ugly. It was a silver-gilt dish on which there were four appetizing and well-prepared partridges still steaming from the oven. Under his arm he had a flask of hippocras. No sooner had Thibaud eaten and drunk than he felt as though liquid fire was coursing through his veins. Orlandine ate little and gazed at her guest, sometimes with a tender, naïve expression and sometimes with eyes so full of mischief that the young man was almost unnerved by them.

Eventually the little negro came to clear the table. Then Orlandine took Thibaud’s hand and said, ‘Handsome sir, how would you like us to spend the rest of the evening?’

Thibaud did not know what to reply.

‘I’ve an idea,’ said Orlandine. ‘Here is a tall mirror. Let us play the game I played at the castle of Sombre. There I amused myself by seeing whether my governess was built differently from me. I’d like now to see whether I am differently built from you.’

Orlandine placed two chairs in front of the mirror. Then she unlaced Thibaud’s ruff and said, ‘Your neck is more or less the same as mine. So are your shoulders, but what a difference in our chests! Mine was like yours last year, but I have become so plump there that I hardly recognize myself any more. Take off your belt, undo your doublet. What are all these laces for?’

Thibaud could not control himself any longer and carried Orlandine over to the bed of Venetian moiré, where he thought himself the happiest of men…

But he soon changed his mind when he felt something like claws digging into his back.

‘Orlandine, Orlandine, what is the meaning of this?’

Orlandine was no more. In her place Thibaud saw only a revolting mass of strange and hideous forms.

‘I am not Orlandine,’ said the monster in a terrible voice. ‘I am Beelzebub. Tomorrow you will see what body I assumed to seduce you.’

Thibaud tried to invoke the name of Jesus but Satan guessed his intention and seized his throat with his teeth, preventing him from uttering that holy name.

Next day, peasants who were on the way to market to sell their vegetables heard groans coming from an abandoned shack which was close by the road and was used as a rubbish dump. They went inside and found Thibaud lying on a half-decomposed corpse. They lifted him up, laid him across their baskets and in this way carried him home to the Provost of Lyon. The unhappy la Jacquière identified his son.

The young man was put to bed. Soon after he seemed to regain his senses to some extent, for he said in a weak, almost unintelligible voice, ‘Open the door to the holy hermit. Open the door to the holy hermit.’

At first he was not understood. Finally the door was opened and a venerable monk came in, asking to be left alone with Thibaud. His request was granted and the door was shut behind them. For a long while the hermit’s exhortations could be heard, to which Thibaud replied in a strong voice, ‘Yes, Father, I repent and I trust in God’s mercy.’

Eventually nothing more was heard and it seemed right to go in. The hermit had disappeared and Thibaud was found dead with a crucifix in his hands.

After dinner I went back to the terrace. The gypsies had pitched their camp some distance from the castle. The enigmatic gypsy girls did not appear. Night fell and I retired to my bedroom. For a long time I waited for Rebecca. She did not come and I fell asleep.