by Jan Potocki
The young Thibaud was welcomed back to the paternal home with as much joy as if he had come bearing all of Rome’s indulgences. Not only was the fatted calf slain for him but the Provost held a banquet for his friends that cost more gold écus than there were guests. More than that: a toast was drunk to the young fellow’s health and everyone wished him wisdom and repentance.
But these charitable wishes displeased him. He took a gold cup, filled it with wine and said: “As Satan is my witness, with this wine I pledge my body and soul to the devil if ever I become a better man than I am now.”
These appalling words made the hairs on the guests’ heads stand on end. They crossed themselves, and a few rose from the table.
Messire Thibaud also rose, and went out to take the air on the Place de Bellecour, where he came across two of his former companions, both of them soldiers of the same stamp as himself. He embraced them, took them home with him and had flagons aplenty brought to them, without sparing another thought for his father and all the guests.
What Thibaud had done the day of his arrival, he did the next day, and every day thereafter, with the result that the good Provost was broken-hearted. He decided to commend himself to his patron, St Jacques, and brought before the saint’s image a candle that weighed ten pounds, decorated with two gold rings worth five marks apiece. But as the Provost was placing the candle on the altar, he dropped it and knocked over a silver lamp that was burning in front of the saint. The Provost had had this candle made for another occasion, but having nothing closer to his heart than the spiritual conversion of his son, he joyfully made an offering of it. However, when he saw the fallen candle and the upset lamp, he took these as a bad omen and returned sadly to his house.
That same day Messire Thibaud again entertained his friends. They swigged back many a flagon, and then when it was already very late and quite dark, they went out to take the air on the Place de Bellecour. And once outside, all three linked arms and swaggered about, in the manner of soldiers who think by so doing to attract the attention of young girls. But on this occasion they achieved nothing, for no girl or woman passed by, and none could be seen either at the windows, because it was a very dark night, as I have already mentioned. So it was that young Thibaud, raising his voice and swearing his customary oath, said: “As Satan is my witness, I pledge my body and soul to the devil that if the great she-devil his daughter were to pass by, I would woo her, so hot has the wine made my blood.”
These words offended Thibaud’s two friends, who were not such great sinners as he was. And one of them said to him: “My friend Thibaud, remember that the devil is the eternal enemy of mankind and does us harm enough without any invitation, and without his name being invoked.”
To which Thibaud replied: “I shall do what I have said.”
At this point the three debauchees saw emerging from a nearby street a veiled young woman with a pleasing figure, in the first flush of youth. A little black servant ran after her. He tripped, fell flat 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 as politely as he could, and offered his arm to her, to accompany her home. The damsel in distress accepted, after some demurring, and Messire Thibaud, turning to his friends, said to them in a lowered voice: “There, you see the one whom I invoked did not keep me waiting. So I wish you good evening.”
The two friends realized what he meant, and took leave of him, laughing and wishing him happiness and joy.
Then Thibaud gave his arm to the lovely lady, and the little black fellow, whose lantern had gone out, walked on ahead of them. The young woman seemed at first so distressed she could hardly stand, but she gradually overcame her apprehensions and leaned more freely on her escort’s arm. Sometimes she missed her footing and even gripped his arm to save herself from falling. Then Thibaud, wanting to keep her close, would press his arm against his breast, though he did it with considerable 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 they had lost their way in the streets of Lyons. But he was very glad of it, for he thought he would all the more easily have his way with the lovely lost lady. However, wanting to know first with whom he was dealing, he asked her to sit on a stone bench he had caught sight of near a doorway. She agreed, and he sat down next to her. Then he took one of her hands in a gentlemanly manner, and said to her with much feeling: “Lovely wandering star, since my star led me to meet you in the night, be kind enough to tell me who you are and where you live.”
The young woman seemed at first very shy, gradually gained confidence, and replied in these terms:
The story of the fair maiden of Châtel de Sombre
My name is Orlandine, at least that is what the few people who live with me at Châtel de Sombre, in the Pyrenees, call me. There I saw no human being, apart from my governess, who was deaf; a serving-woman who stammered so badly she could be termed mute; and an old gate-keeper who was blind.
This gate-keeper did not have much to do, since he opened the gate but once a year, and then to a gentleman who came only to take me by the chin and to speak to my duenna in Biscayan dialect, which I do not understand. Happily, I had already learned to speak when I was shut away in Châtel de Sombre, for I would certainly never have learned from my two prison companions. As far as the gate-keeper was concerned, I saw him only when he came to pass our meals through the bars on our only window. Truth to tell, my deaf governess often bellowed in my ears some moral precept or other, but I could make as little sense of them as if I had been as deaf as she was, for she spoke to me of the duties of marriage and did not tell me what a marriage was. She spoke to me similarly of many things she would not explain. Often too my stuttering maidservant would strive to tell me some story, which she assured me was extremely funny. But since she could never get beyond the second sentence, she was forced to give up, and would walk off stammering apologies, acquitting herself no better with these than in telling her story.
I told you we had but a single window. That is to say, there was only one that looked out on the castle courtyard. The others overlooked another courtyard, planted with a few trees and so able to pass for a garden, and to which there was no access except through my bedroom. I grew flowers in it, and it was my sole diversion.
I tell a lie, I had another, just as innocent. It was a large mirror in which I would go and look at myself as soon as I got up, not to say the instant I jumped out of bed. My governess – like me, still in her nightclothes – would come and gaze at herself too, and I would amuse myself by comparing my figure with hers. I would also indulge in this entertainment before going to bed, and when my governess was already asleep. Sometimes I fancied that I saw in my mirror a companion of my own age, who responded to my gestures and shared my feelings. The more I surrendered myself to this illusion, the more pleasure I took in the game.
I told you there was a gentleman who came once a year to take me by the chin and to speak Basque with my governess. One day, instead of taking me by the chin, this gentleman took me by the hand and led me to a closed carriage, and shut me up inside it with my governess. It is no exaggeration to say I was shut up, for the only daylight in the carriage came from above. We were not let out until the third day, or rather the third night – it was at least very late in the evening.
A man opened the door and said to us: “Here you are, on the Place de Bellecour, at the top of rue St-Ramond, and here is the house of Provost de la Jacquière. Where would you like to be taken?”
“Turn into the first carriage gateway after the Provost’s,” replied my governess.
At this point young Thibaud grew very attentive, for he was indeed the neighbour of a gentleman called Sire de Sombre, reputed to be of a jealous disposition, who had often boasted in Thibaud’s presence that one day he would show that a man could have a faithful wife; he boasted too of having a young maiden reared in his castle, who was to becom
e his wife and prove the truth of what he said. Young Thibaud had not realized she was in Lyons, and was delighted to have her in his clutches.
Meanwhile, Orlandine continued with these words:
So we entered a carriage gateway, and I was taken up to some large and splendid rooms, and then from there, up a spiral staircase to a tower from which it seemed to me one would have had a view over the whole city of Lyons, had it been light. But even during the day one would not have seen anything, for the windows were shrouded with a very heavy green cloth. However, the tower was lit by a beautiful crystal chandelier mounted in enamel. My duenna sat me on a chair, gave me her rosary to keep me amused, and departed, double- and triple-locking the door behind her.
Once I was alone, I threw down my rosary, took the scissors I had on my belt, and cut a vent in the green cloth covering the windows. Then I saw another window very close by me, and through this window I saw a very brightly lit room, in which three young gentlemen and three young girls – more handsome, more gay than anything imaginable – were having supper. They were singing, drinking, laughing, embracing each other. Sometimes they even took each other by the chin, but quite differently from the gentleman at Châtel de Sombre, albeit he came for that sole purpose. Moreover, these gentlemen and young ladies were gradually shedding their clothes, as I used to in the evenings in front of my large mirror, and in truth it suited them just as well as me, and not as it did my old duenna.
At this point Messire Thibaud realized that she was describing a supper he had had the day before with his two friends. He slipped his arm round Orlandine’s plump and supple waist and clasped her to his chest.
“Yes,” she said, “that is exactly what those young gentlemen were doing. Really, it seemed to me they all loved each other very much. Yet I heard one of these young fellows say he was a better lover than the others. ‘No, I am, I am!’ said the other two. ’He is.’ ‘No, he is,’ said the young girls. Then the one who had boasted of being the best lover thought of a remarkable way to prove his claim.”
Thibaud, who recalled what had happened at the supper, now almost choked with laughter.
“Well then,” he said, “lovely Orlandine, what was it the young man thought of?”
“Ah,” said Orlandine, “do not laugh, sir, I assure you it was very clever, and I was paying close attention, when I heard the door open. I immediately returned to my rosary and my duenna came in.
“She took me by the hand again, without saying a word, and ushered me into a carriage, which was not closed as the first had been, and I would certainly have been able to see the town from this one, but it was after dark and I saw only that we travelled some distance, some considerable distance – so far in fact that we eventually came to the countryside on the very edge of town. We stopped at the last house on the outskirts. It was just a hut from the outside, and it even had a thatched roof, but it was pretty inside, as you will see, if the little black fellow knows his way, for I see he has found some light and is relighting his lantern.”
Here, Orlandine came to the end of her story.
Messire Thibaud kissed her hand and said: “Lovely lost lady, do you live all alone in this pretty house, may I ask?”
“All alone,” said the beautiful young woman, “together with this little black fellow and my governess. But I do not think she will come back to the house this evening. The gentleman who used to take me by the chin sent word I was to join him, with my governess, at the house of one of his sisters, but that he could not send his carriage which had gone to fetch a priest. So we were making our way there on foot. Someone stopped us to tell me he thought me pretty. My duenna, who is deaf, took it that he was insulting me and answered him in kind. Other people came up and joined in the rumpus. I was frightened and started to run. The little black fellow ran after me. He fell, his lantern broke, and it was then, good sir, that happily for me I met you.”
Charmed by the innocence of this account, Messire Thibaud was about to reply with some pretty speech when the little black fellow came up with his lighted lantern, illuminating Thibaud’s face. Orlandine cried: “What’s this I see? You are the young gentleman who thought up the clever idea!”
“The very same,” said Thibaud, “and I assure you that what I did then is as nothing compared with what a charming honest young lady could expect of me. For those girls I was with were anything but that.”
“You seemed to love all three well enough,” said Orlandine.
“The fact is, I loved none of them,” said Thibaud.
And so he talked, and so she talked, and walking and chatting, they came to the edge of town, to an isolated cottage on the outskirts. The little black fellow opened the door with a key he carried on his belt.
There was certainly nothing cottage-like about the inside of the house. One’s eyes were met with beautiful Flemish tapestries depicting characters so finely worked and well portrayed they seemed alive; candelabras of pure solid silver; costly cabinets of ivory and ebony; armchairs in Genoese velvet trimmed with gold tassels; and a bed covered with Venetian moiré. But Messire Thibaud dwelt on none of this. He had eyes only for Orlandine, and would have dearly liked to have his affair concluded.
At this point the little black fellow came to lay the table, and Thibaud noticed that it was not a child as he had first thought, but rather an old dwarf, black as black, with a hideous face. However, the little man brought something that was not at all unattractive: a vermeil bowl containing four steaming partridges that looked appetizing and well cooked, and under his arm he had a carafe of hippocras. Thibaud had no sooner eaten and drunk than it seemed to him that a liquid fire was running through his veins. As for Orlandine, she ate little and stared often at her guest, now with a tender and naive gaze, now with eyes so full of roguishness that the young man was almost unnerved by it.
Eventually the little black fellow came to clear the table. Then Orlandine took Thibaud by the hand and said to him: “Handsome sir, how would you like us to spend the evening?”
Thibaud did not know what to say.
“I have an idea,” said Orlandine. “Here is a big mirror. Let’s play in front of it, as I used to at Châtel de Sombre. It amused me to see how different in shape my governess was from me. Now I want to know if I am not different in shape from you.
“Orlandine placed their chairs in front of the mirror and afterwards unlaced Thibaud’s ruff, saying to him: “You neck is more or less like mine. Your shoulders too, but what a difference in our breasts! Mine was like that last year, but I have filled out so much I don’t recognize myself any more. Well, take off your belt! Undo your doublet! Why so much lacing?”
Unable to restrain himself a minute longer, Thibaud carried Orlandine to the Venetian moiré bed and thought himself the happiest of men…
But he soon changed his mind, for he felt what seemed like claws digging into his back.
“Orlandine, Orlandine,” he cried, “what is the meaning of this?”
Orlandine was no more. Thibaud saw in her stead only a horrible assemblage of strange and hideous forms.
“I am not Orlandine,” said the monster in a dreadful voice. “I am Beelzebub, and you will see tomorrow what body I have animated in order to seduce you.”
Thibaud tried to invoke the name of Jesus, but Satan, who guessed his intention, caught him by the throat with his teeth and prevented him from uttering that holy name.
The next morning some peasants on their way to sell their vegetables at Lyons market heard moans coming from a derelict cottage that stood by the roadside and was used as a rubbish dump. They went inside and found Thibaud lying on top of a semi-putrefied corpse. They lifted him up and laid him across their baskets, and so they carried him to the Provost of Lyons… La Jacquière, poor man, recognized his son.
Young Thibaud was put to bed. Soon after, he seemed to regain his senses somewhat, and in a weak and almost unintelligible voice, he said : “Open the door to the holy hermit! Open the door to the holy hermit!”
At first no one understood what he was saying. Finally someone opened the door and ushered in a venerable monk, who asked to be left alone with Thibaud. He commanded obedience, and the door was closed on them. For a long time the sound of the monk’s exhortations was audible, to which Thibaud replied in a firm voice: “Yes, father, I repent, and I trust in the mercy of God.”
Eventually nothing more was heard and it was thought someone should go in. The hermit had disappeared, and Thibaud was found dead with a crucifix in his hands.
I had no sooner reached the end of this story than the cabbalist came in, and seemed to want to read in my eyes what impression my reading had made upon me. The truth is that it had greatly impressed me, but I did not want to let him see this, and I retired to my room. There I reflected upon everything that had happened to me, and I almost came to believe that in order to deceive me demons had instilled life into the bodies of hanged men, and that I was another La Jacquière. The gong sounded for dinner. The cabbalist did not join us. To me, everyone seemed preoccupied, because I was myself preoccupied.
After dinner Rebecca took me aside and said: “Alphonse, this morning you watched very attentively as the gypsies danced at the foot of this terrace. Did you see in them some striking resemblance to anyone else?”