MISTI
MADAME HERMET
THE MAGIC COUCH



OLD JUDAS

This entire stretch of country was amazing; it was characterized by a
grandeur that was almost religious, and yet it had an air of sinister
desolation.

A great, wild lake, filled with stagnant, black water, in which thousands
of reeds were waving to and fro, lay in the midst of a vast circle of
naked hills, where nothing grew but broom, or here and there an oak
curiously twisted by the wind.

Just one house stood on the banks of that dark lake, a small, low house
inhabited by Uncle Joseph, an old boatman, who lived on what he could
make by his fishing. Once a week he carried the fish he caught into the
surrounding villages, returning with the few provisions that he needed
for his sustenance.

I went to see this old hermit, who offered to take me with him to his
nets, and I accepted.

His boat was old, worm-eaten and clumsy, and the skinny old man rowed
with a gentle and monotonous stroke that was soothing to the soul,
already oppressed by the sadness of the land round about.