The Manuscript Found in Saragossa (78 page)

You will know that on Malta we have noble families of the island who do not enter the order or have any contact with the knights of whatever rank, recognizing only the grand master, who is their sovereign, and the chapter, which is their council.

Below this class, there is an intermediate one whose members take offices and seek the protection of the knights. The ladies of this class are independent and are designated by the title of
onorate
, which means ‘honoured' in Italian. And they certainly deserve this title through the propriety of their behaviour and, to be perfectly frank with you, through the secretiveness in which they shroud their love affairs.

Long experience has taught the lady
onorata
that discretion is incompatible with the character of French knights, or at least that it is extremely rare to find discretion combined with all the other fine qualities which distinguish them. The result of this is that young gentlemen of that nation who are used to enjoying brilliant success with the fair sex, have to make do with prostitutes in Malta.

The not very numerous German knights are those who please the
onorate
most. I believe this to be because of their pink and white complexions. After them come the Spanish knights, and I believe we owe this to our character, which is justly reputed to be honest and dependable.

The French knights, and especially the caravanists,
²
take revenge on the
onorate
by making fun of them in all sorts of ways, most especially by revealing their secret liaisons. But as they stick together and do not bother to learn Italian, which is the language of the country, whatever they say makes little impression.

So it was that we were living together peacefully, as were our
onorate
, when a French vessel brought us the Commander de Foule-quère, of die ancient house of the Seneschals of Poitou, themselves descended from the Counts of Angoulême. He had previously spent time in Malta and had often been involved in affairs of honour. He
had now come to solicit the post of grand admiral. He was over thirty-five years old. He was therefore expected to be of steadier character, and indeed the commander did not seek quarrels and make trouble as he had done before, but he was haughty, imperious, even factious, aspiring to more consideration than the grand master himself.

The commander kept open house. The French knights flocked there. We seldom would go there, and ended up by not going at all because we found the conversation would turn on subjects which we found distasteful, including the subject of the
onorate
whom we loved and respected.

When the commander appeared in public he was accompanied by a crowd of young caravanists. He would often lead them to the
via stretta
,
³
show them the places where he had fought and retail to them all the details of his duels.

I must tell you that according to our customs duelling is forbidden in Malta except in the
via stretta
, which is an alley not overlooked by any windows. It is only wide enough to allow two men to take guard and cross swords. They cannot step back. The adversaries face each other across the street. Their friends stop passers-by and prevent the duellists from being disturbed. This custom was introduced in former times to prevent murders, for a man who believes himself to have an enemy does not go down the
via stretta
, and if a murder was committed elsewhere it couldn't be passed off as a duel. Besides, the death penalty is passed on anyone who comes to the
via stretta
with a dagger. So duelling is not only tolerated in Malta but even permitted. However, this permission is, so to speak, a tacit one. And far from being abused, it is spoken of with a sort of shame, as though it were offensive to Christian charity and improper in the headquarters of a monastic order.

The commander's strolls down the
via stretta
were altogether out of place. They had the bad effect of making the French caravanists very quarrelsome, which they were anyway very inclined to be.

The bad atmosphere grew worse. The Spanish knights became
more reserved than before. In the end, they came together to my house and asked me what was to be done to put a stop to this wild behaviour, which was becoming altogether intolerable. I thanked my compatriots for the honour they had done me by placing their trust in me, and I promised to speak to the commander about it and point out to him that the behaviour of the young Frenchmen was a sort of abuse to which he alone could put a stop because of the great consideration and respect in which he was held in the three ‘langues' of his nation. I promised myself to be as circumspect as was possible in the way I expressed this, but I had no hope of ending the affair without a duel. However, as the issue of this single combat did me honour I was not too upset about it.

In a word, I believe that I was motivated by an antipathy which I felt for the commander.

We were then in Holy Week, and it was agreed that my conversation with the commander would not take place for a fortnight. I think that he knew what had taken place in my house, and he wanted to forestall me by picking a quarrel with me.

We reached Good Friday. According to Spanish custom, as you know, if one has an attachment to a lady, one follows her on that day from church to church to offer her holy water. This is partly done out of jealousy in case someone else might offer it to her and take the opportunity to make her acquaintance. This Spanish custom had been introduced into Malta. So it was that I was following a young
onorata
to whom I had been attached for some years. But at the very first church which she entered the commander accosted her before me, placing himself between us, turning his back on me and stepping backwards from time to time, treading on my toes, all of which was noticed.

On the way out of church I accosted my man in a casual way as if to exchange views with him. I then asked him which church he intended to go to. He named it. I offered to show him the shortest way and I led him without his noticing into the
via stretta
. Once there I drew my sword, quite certain, as it happened, that no one would disturb us on such a day when everyone is in church.

The commander also drew his sword but he lowered his guard. ‘What?' he said. ‘On Good Friday?'

I resolutely paid no attention.

‘Look here,' he said, ‘it is more than six years since I fulfilled my religious duties. I am horrified by the state of my conscience. In three days…'

I am of a pacific temperament and, as you know, once people of such a nature lose their temper they will not hear reason. I forced the commander to take guard, but terror was written on his features. He retreated to the wall as if foreseeing that he would be struck down. He was already looking for support; and indeed with my first pass I ran him through with my sword.

He lowered his guard, leant against the wall and said in a dying voice, ‘I forgive you. May heaven forgive you! Take my sword to Tête-Foulque and have a hundred masses said for me in the castle chapel.'

He died. I did not at that moment pay great attention to his last words. If I have retained them it was because I have since heard them repeated. I made my declaration in the usual form. I am able to say that in the eyes of men the duel did me no harm. Foulequère was detested and was thought to have deserved his fate, but it seemed to me that in the eyes of God my action was very reprehensible because the sacraments had not been taken. My conscience reproached me cruelly. This lasted a week.

In the night between Friday and Saturday I was woken with a start and, looking round me, seemed no longer to be in my room, but lying on the stones in the middle of the
via stretta
. I was still feeling surprised at finding myself there when I distinctly saw the commander leaning against the wall. The spectre seemed to make an effort to speak. He said to me, ‘Take my sword to Tête-Foulque and have a hundred masses said for me in the castle chapel.'

No sooner had I heard these words than I fell into a lethargic sleep. Next day I awoke in my own room and bed but I had a perfect recollection of my vision.

The next night I had a valet sleep with me in my room and I saw nothing, either then or the following nights. But on the night between Friday and Saturday I had the same vision again, the only difference being that I saw my valet lying on the stones a few yards from me. The spectre of the commander appeared to me and said the
same things. The same vision repeated itself every Friday. On such occasions my valet dreamed that he was lying in the
via stretta
but, that apart, he neither saw nor heard the commander.

At first I did not know what this Tête-Foulque was to which the commander wanted me to take his sword. Some knights from Poitou told me that it was a castle three leagues from Poitiers in the middle of a forest; many extraordinary things were told about it in that part of the country; it contained many curious objects such as the armour of Foulque-Taillefer and the arms of the knights he had killed; and it was a custom of the house of Foulequère to deposit there the arms they had used either in war or in single combat. I found all this interesting but I had to look to my conscience.

I went to Rome and confessed to the grand penitentiary. I revealed to him my vision, which still haunted me. He did not refuse me absolution but he made it conditional on the performance of my penance. The hundred masses in the castle of Tête-Foulque formed part of it, but heaven accepted this offering and from the moment of my confession I stopped being haunted by the spectre of the commander. I had brought his sword from Malta with me and as soon as I could I set out for France.

When I reached Poitiers I discovered that the commander's death was already known and that his passing was no more regretted there than in Malta. I left my coach and horses in the town, dressed as a pilgrim and took a guide. It was appropriate to go to Tête-Foulque on foot and in any case the road was not practicable for carriages.

We found the door of the keep locked. For a long time we rang at the belfry. Eventually the castellan appeared. He was the only inhabitant of Tête-Foulque other than a hermit who ministered in the chapel, whom we found at prayer. When he had finished I told him that I had come to ask him to say a hundred masses. At the same time I put my offering on the altar and wanted also to leave the commander's sword there, but the castellan told me that it had to be put in the armoury with all the other swords, both of members of the Foulequère family killed in duels and of those killed by them. That was the sacred custom.

I followed the castellan into the armoury and indeed found there swords of every shape and size, together with family portraits beginning
with the portrait of Foulque-Taillefer, Count of Angoulême, who built Tête-Foulque for a
manzier
of his, that is to say, a bastard, and who became Seneschal of Poitou and progenitor of the Foulequère de Tête-Foulque.

The portraits of the seneschal and his wife were on either side of a great fireplace in the corner of the armoury. They were very lifelike. The other portraits were equally well painted, although in the style of their age. But none was as striking as that of Foulque-Taillefer. He was dressed in a buff coat with his sword in his hand, grasping his rondache, which a squire was presenting to him. Most of the swords were attached to the bottom of this portrait, where they formed a sort of bundle.

I asked the castellan to light a fire in the room and to bring me my supper there.

‘As for supper,' he replied, ‘I am quite happy to do that, but, dear pilgrim, I entreat you to sleep in my room.'

I asked him the reason for this precaution.

‘I know what I am doing,' said the castellan. ‘I shall in any case make up a bed for you next to mine.'

I was all the more pleased to accept his proposal as it was Friday and I feared a recurrence of my vision.

The castellan went away to attend to my supper and I started to look at the arms and the portraits. These were, as I have said, very lifelike. As the daylight faded, the dark hangings became indistinguishable in the shadows from the dark background of the pictures, and the firelight picked out only the faces, which was somewhat frightening; or perhaps it seemed frightening to me because my conscience left me in a perpetual state of fear.

The castellan brought me my supper, which consisted of a dish of trout which had been caught in a nearby stream. I had a very reasonable bottle of wine as well. I asked the hermit to join me at table but he lived solely off boiled herbs.

I have always read my breviary punctiliously, which is obligatory for professed knights, at least in Spain, so I took it out of my pocket together with my rosary and said to the castellan that, as I did not feel drowsy, I would stay where I was to pray until later in the night. All he need do was to show me my bedroom.

‘Very well,' he said. ‘The hermit will come to pray in the adjoining chapel at midnight. Then you will go down the small staircase and you cannot miss my bedroom; I shall leave the door open. Do not stay here after midnight.'

The castellan went away. I started praying and from time to time put a log on the fire, though I did not dare to look too closely around the room because the portraits seemed to me to be coming to life. If I stared at them for a few seconds they looked as though they blinked and twisted their mouths, especially the seneschal and his wife, who were on either side of the fireplace. I fancied that they were casting angry glances at me and then looking at each other. A sudden gust of wind added to my terror. Not only did it rattle the windows, it also shook the bundle of swords, whose clinking made me tremble. Meanwhile I was praying fervently.

At last I heard the hermit intoning a psalm. When he had finished I went down the stairs towards the castellan's bedroom. I had the stub of a candle in my hand. The wind blew it out, and I went upstairs to light it again. You can imagine my astonishment on seeing that the seneschal and his wife had come down from their picture frames and were sitting by the fire. They were talking in familiar tones to each other, and one could hear what they were saying.