The Mysterious Guest

Long ago, parties were held on Mardi Gras, also known as “Fat Tuesday” (the day before Ash Wednesday begins the season of Lent, when Christians pray and fast for the sake of their souls). In towns and villages, young people often gathered for dances. But the merriment always ended at midnight. It was believed that anyone who danced after this time would have bad luck.

In a little village, there lived a habitant, a farmer named Joseph, who had a lovely daughter, Angélique. She was engaged to marry Pierre. On the evening of Mardi Gras, neighbors gathered at Joseph’s house to celebrate and to watch the young people dance. This was the last time Angélique would join the dancing. Next year she would be wed, and married couples did not dance with the young folk.

Near midnight, a sleigh drawn by a team of black horses stopped in front of Joseph’s house. A tall, handsome man stepped down. He had on a black wool cape and fine clothes with lace at the cuffs and collar, black silk gloves, and a hat of sleek dark fur. His hair and beard were the glossy black of raven feathers. He entered the house without knocking. Still, old Joseph greeted him politely and offered him food and drink, as was the custom.

There was a moment of silence, while the other guests stared at the elegant newcomer. They found it odd that he didn’t remove his hat or gloves. But the air was icy and snow was falling, so they thought he had taken a chill.

The fiddler struck up a tune, talk resumed, and the young people once again paired up to dance. The stranger approached Angélique and said, “Mademoiselle, I hope you will dance with me many times.”

“Yes, Monsieur,” the young woman said. She was flattered that he had chosen her; no dancer in the room could match him. As he led her through dance after dance, Angélique seemed to forget Pierre, who stood watching in misery. But he would say nothing to distress old Joseph.

During a pause in the music, Angélique’s aunt, a pious woman, took her niece aside. “You are wrong to ignore your future husband, while you dance with this stranger,” the old woman said. “There is something odd about the man. While I sat in the corner, praying with my rosary, he glared at me each time you danced by.”

Angélique, still under the stranger’s spell, ignored the warning. She and the newcomer danced again.

As the stroke of midnight announced the arrival of the holy season of Lent, Joseph held up his hand to stop the music.

“I beg you, sir, allow us just one more dance,” the stranger asked.

“Please, Papa,” Angélique begged, “grant me this last dance before my marriage.”

Though it troubled him, her loving father agreed. But no one else would join the dancing couple, fearing bad luck.

“You have been mine all evening,” the stranger whispered. “If you want, you can be mine forever.”

“But I am to marry another,” Angélique said. She seemed to remember Pierre for the first time since the stranger had appeared. But when she looked for Pierre, she could not find him.

“Do you love the man you will wed?” asked the stranger.

“I did until tonight,” said Angélique, uncertainly.

“Give me your hand, instead,” said the stranger, “and we will be together for all time. I will take you away and you can live like a grand lady.”

Angélique stretched out a trembling hand. Several things happened almost at once.

Pierre, who had stepped outside, called to Joseph in alarm. He pointed to where the stranger’s dark horses and sleigh stood on a patch of bare ground. Unearthly heat had melted a circle in the snow. “Run and bring the curé!” urged Joseph. Pierre hurried to fetch the village priest.

Then Angélique cried out. When the stranger took hold of her hand, a sharp claw tore through his glove and cut her, so that her palm began to bleed. As she drew back in alarm, her aunt slipped her rosary beads over Angélique’s head. At the sight of the cross, the stranger drew back with a hiss. The fearsome looks he cast froze people where they stood.

He pulled a diamond necklace from his coat pocket. “Throw away those wretched glass beads,” he said to Angélique. “Anyone as lovely as you deserves to wear gems.”

Angélique refused, though his anger frightened her.

“Remove those beads!” the stranger insisted.

Angélique tried to resist, but her hands moved toward her throat as if he—not she—controlled them.

At that moment the curé appeared at the door, followed by Pierre. The priest sprinkled holy water on Angélique, and the dark spell on her was broken. The priest faced the stranger and cried, “Leave this house, evil spirit! You do not belong among good Christians!” Then he loudly spoke some words of Latin.

The priest tossed holy water at the stranger. Howling, the man flew up and burst through the roof like a cannonball. The house shook, and a smell of sulfur lingered. Outside, his sleigh and horses also vanished, leaving a puddle of melted snow.

Angélique and Pierre were married soon after this. Angélique filled her days praying with her rosary and doing good works. From that time, Mardi Gras dances always ended exactly on the stroke of midnight. People remembered how Angélique, who had danced one dance too many, was nearly carried off by the stranger, who they felt certain was the Devil.