by Jan Potocki
The goat fell silent. I went back to my bed and slept until the next day.
The Ninth Day
The hermit came to wake me up, sat down on my bed and said, ‘My child, my unfortunate hermitage was assailed last night by more devilment. The solitaries of the Thebaid1 themselves were not more exposed to Satan’s malice than we are. I also do not know what to make of the man who accompanied you here. You said he is a cabbalist. He has undertaken to cure Pacheco and has indeed done him some good. But he did not use the rites of exorcism prescribed by the holy Church. Come with me to my hut. We shall breakfast and then we shall ask him to tell us his story, which he promised us yesterday evening.’
I got up and followed the hermit. I indeed found Pacheco to be in a more tolerable state, and his face was less hideous. He was still blind in one eye but his tongue was no longer hanging out. He was not foaming at the mouth, and his one eye looked less wild. I complimented the cabbalist, who replied that it was only a very small demonstration of his power. Then the hermit brought us breakfast, consisting of hot milk and chestnuts.
As we were eating, we saw a gaunt, lean man come in. There was something frightening about his face, but it was impossible to say precisely what it was about him which inspired such horror. The stranger knelt before me and took off his hat. I saw then that he wore a headband. He presented his hat to me as if asking for alms. So I tossed a gold piece into it.
The extraordinary beggar thanked me and added, ‘Señor Alphonse, your good deed will not go unrewarded. I am able to tell you that an important letter is waiting for you at Puerto Lapiche. Do not enter Castile until you have read it.’
Having told me this, the stranger knelt before the hermit, who filled his hat with chestnuts.
Then he knelt before the cabbalist, who stood up at once and said to him, ‘I want nothing of you, and if you say who I am, you will regret it.’
The beggar then left the hut.
When he had gone out the cabbalist began to laugh and said to us, ‘In order to show you what little importance I attach to that man’s threats, I shall first tell you who he is. He is the Wandering Jew of whom you may have heard. For about seventeen hundred years he has neither sat down, nor lain down, nor rested, nor slept. As he walks along he will eat your chestnuts and he will have covered sixty leagues between now and tomorrow morning. Normally he wanders all across the vast deserts of Africa. He lives off wild fruit. Wild animals cannot harm him because on his forehead is branded the sacred sign of Tau, which he hides under a headband as you have seen. He rarely appears in these lands unless forced to do so by the conjuration of some cabbalist. For the rest I assure you that I did not summon him here, for I detest him, but I admit that he is well informed about many things and I advise you not to ignore the information he has given you, Señor Alphonse.’
‘Señor Cabbalist,’ I replied, ‘the Jew told me that there was a letter for me at Puerto Lapiche. I hope to reach there the day after tomorrow and I’ll be sure to ask for it.’
‘You will not have to wait so long,’ said the cabbalist. ‘I would have very little power over the world of genii if I could not arrange for you to have your letter earlier.’
He then turned his head towards his right shoulder and uttered a few words in a commanding tone. Five minutes later a thick letter addressed to me fell on the table in front of our very eyes. I opened it and read as follows:
Don Alphonse,
On behalf of King Ferdinand IV, I am instructed to command you not to enter Castile at present. You may attribute this severe ruling to the misfortune you have suffered of having displeased the holy tribunal whose duty it is to preserve the purity of the faith in Spanish lands. Do not let your zeal to serve the king slacken. You will find herewith a permit of leave for three months. Spend the time on the frontiers of Castile and Andalusia without making your presence conspicuous in either province. We have seen to it that your honourable father’s mind has been set at rest and that he will look on this affair in a way which will not cause him too much distress.
Yours affectionately,
Don Sancho de Tor de Peñas, Minister of War.
The letter was accompanied by a three months’ leave in due form and provided with the customary signatures and seals.
We complimented the cabbalist on the speed of his couriers. Then we entreated him to keep his promise and tell us what had happened the night before at the Venta Quemada. He replied as before that there would be things in his account which we would not be able to understand. Then, after having pondered for a moment, he began to tell his story.
THE CABBALIST’S STORY
In Spain I am known as Don Pedro de Uzeda and it is under this name that I own a fine castle a league away from here. But my real name is Rabbi Zadok ben Mamoun, and I am a Jew. This is a somewhat dangerous admission to make in Spain, but apart from the fact that I trust your integrity, I warn you that it would not be very easy to do me harm.
The influence of the stars on my destiny began to show itself as soon as I was born. My father, who cast my horoscope, was filled with joy when he saw that I had come into the world at the very moment that the sun entered the sign of Virgo. He had indeed employed all his skill to bring about this result but he had not expected to have achieved his goal with such precision. I do not have to tell you that my father, Mamoun, was the leading astrologer of his age. But knowledge of the constellations was one of the least difficult arts that he possessed, for he had gone further into the cabbala than any rabbi before him.
Four years after I was born, my father had a daughter, who was born under the sign of Gemini. Despite this difference between us, we received the same education. Before I was twelve and my sister eight years of age, we already knew Hebrew, Chaldean, Syro-Chaldean, Samaritan, Coptic, Abyssinian and several other dead or dying languages. As well as this, we could without the aid of a pencil combine all the letters of a word in all the ways prescribed by the rules of the cabbala.
It was also at the end of my twelfth year that we were both placed under strict discipline, and so that the modesty of the sign under which I was born should not be offended, we were only given meat from virgin animals, with the added nicety that I was to eat only the flesh of male animals and my sister only that of female.
When I reached the age of sixteen, my father began to initiate us into the mysteries of the cabbala of Sephiroth. First, he gave us to read the Sepher ha-Zohar, or book of splendour, which is so called because nothing can be understood of it at all, for it sheds so bright a light that it dazzles the eyes of the mind. Next, we studied the Siphra di-Zaniutha, or book of concealment, which at its most explicit might well be thought to be written in riddles. Finally, we were shown the Idra Rabba and the Idra Sutha, also known as the greater and lesser Sanhedrin.2 These are dialogues in which Rabbi Simon bar Jochaï, who wrote the two preceding books, simplifies his style to the conversational, pretends to instruct his friends in the most basic knowledge but actually reveals to them the most astonishing mysteries; or rather, all the revelations that come to us directly from the prophet Elijah, who secretly left heaven to join Simon and his friends under the pseudonym of Rabbi Abba.
You non-initiates may think that you have got some idea of all this Holy Writ from the Latin translation which was printed together with the original Chaldean in 1684 in a small German town called Frankfurt.3 But we cabbalists laugh at the presumption of those who believe that all that is needed in order to read are the physical organs of sight. That may suffice for some modern languages, but in Hebrew every letter is a number, every word a learned combination of signs, every phrase a terrible formula, which, when correctly pronounced with all the appropriate aspirates and stresses, could cause mountains to crumble and rivers to dry up. I do not need to tell you that Adonai created the world by the Word and then made himself into a Word.
Words strike the air and the mind, they act on the senses and on the soul. Although you are not initiates, you can easily grasp that they are the t
rue intermediaries between matter and every order of intelligence. All that I may tell you is that every day we were growing not only in knowledge but also in power. If we did not dare to make use of this, we at least had the satisfaction of being aware of our new faculties and being inwardly convinced of their potency.
But our cabbalistic pleasures were soon interrupted by the most fateful of all events. As the days went by, we noticed, my sister and I, that our father Mamoun was losing his strength. He looked like a pure spirit who had only taken on human form so as to be perceptible to the vulgar senses of terrestrial beings.
Finally he called us one day into his study. His appearance was so venerable and divine that we both instinctively felt unease. He did not ask us to rise but, showing us an hour-glass, said, ‘Before the sand in the glass shall have run out, I shall be no more. Listen carefully to every one of my words.
‘I shall first address myself to you, my son. I have chosen celestial brides for you, daughters of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. Their fate was to be born no more than mere mortals, but Solomon revealed to the Queen of Sheba the great name of He-who-is and the queen uttered it at the moment of giving birth. The spirits of the Grand Orient4 hastened to the scene and caught the twins before they had come into contact with that impure place known as earth. They bore them off to the sphere of the daughters of Elohim, where they received the gift of immortality and the power to pass it on to the person they chose as their common husband. It was these two ineffable brides which their father had in mind when he wrote his Shir ha-Shirim, or Song of Songs. You must study this divine epithalamium in groups of nine verses.
‘As for you, my daughter, you are destined for an even more splendid match. The two Thamim5 which the Greeks knew by the name of Dioscuri and the Phoenicians Cabiri, in other words, the celestial Gemini, will be your husbands. What can I say? With your tender heart I fear that a mortal… the sand has run out… I die.’
After these words my father faded away, and all we found on the spot where he was standing was a small pile of light and shining ashes. I gathered up these precious remains, put them in an urn and placed the urn in a tabernacle within our house under the wings of the cherubim.
As you may well imagine, the hope of enjoying immortality and possessing two celestial brides increased my enthusiasm for the cabbalistic sciences. But it was years before I could contemplate such lofty heights. At first I was content to summon up spirits of the eighteenth order. But by slow degrees I grew bolder, and last year attempted an exercise on the first verses of the Song of Songs. I had scarcely completed one line when there was a terrible noise and my castle seemed to shake apart on its foundations. This did not alarm me. On the contrary, I concluded that I had performed the correct operation. I passed on to the second line. When it was finished, a lamp I had on my table jumped up and dropped to the floor, bounced across it and placed itself in front of a tall mirror at the back of the room. I gazed into it and saw the tips of a girl’s dainty feet and then two more little feet. I flattered myself that these charming feet belonged to the celestial daughters of Solomon but thought that I had proceeded far enough with my exercises.
I started anew the next night and saw the four little feet up to the ankle. The next night I saw the legs up to the knee. But then the sun left the house of Virgo and I was obliged to stop.
When the sun entered the sign of Gemini my sister carried out similar exercises to mine and saw a no less astonishing vision, which I will not tell you about, as it has nothing to do with my story.
This year I was getting ready to begin again when I learnt that a famous adept was due to pass through Córdoba. A discussion I had about this with my sister made me decide to go and see him on his way through. I was a little late in leaving and that day only got as far as the Venta Quemada. I found the inn abandoned because of the fear of ghosts. But as I do not fear them I settled down in the dining room and ordered little Nemrael to bring me supper. Nemrael is an abject, insignificant genie whom I use for such errands. It was he who fetched your letter from Puerto Lapiche. He went to Andújar, where a Benedictine prior was staying the night, unceremoniously removed his supper and brought it to me. It consisted of that partridge pâté which you found there the next day. I was so tired that I hardly touched it. I sent Nemrael back to my sister and went to bed.
In the middle of the night I was woken by a bell which tolled twelve times. After this prelude I expected to see some ghost or other. I got ready to send it away, because in general they are a tiresome nuisance. That was my frame of mind when I saw a bright light appear on the table in the middle of the room, in which a little sky-blue rabbi manifested himself, bobbing up and down in front of a desk in the way rabbis do when they pray. He was no more than one foot tall, and not only his clothing but also his face, his beard, his desk and his book were all blue. I soon realized that he was not a ghost but a genie of the twenty-seventh order. I did not know his name and had never come across him before. But I was able to use a formula which has some power over all spirits in general.
Then the little sky-blue rabbi turned to me and said, ‘You have begun your operations backwards. That is why the daughters of Solomon have appeared to you feet first. Begin with the last verses and start by looking for the names of those two celestial beauties.’
Having uttered these words the rabbi vanished. What he told me contradicted all the laws of the cabbala. But I weakly followed his advice. I started at the last verse of the Shir ha-Shirim and by dint of looking there found the names of the two immortal sisters, which were Emina and Zubeida. This surprised me greatly but I began my invocation none the less. Then the earth shook terrifyingly beneath my feet. I thought I saw the skies falling down upon my head and I lost consciousness.
When I came round I found myself in a place radiant with light, in the arms of two young men more beautiful than angels.
One of them said to me, ‘Son of Adam, come back to your senses. You are in the home of those who have not died. Our governor is the patriarch Enoch,6 who walks before Elohim and was raised up from the earth. The prophet Elijah is our high priest. And his chariot will always be at your service whenever you want to visit one of the planets. As for us, we are Grigori born of the conjunction of Elohim’s sons with mortal women. Among us there are some Nephilim but they are few in number.7 Come, and we will introduce you to our sovereign.’
I followed them to the foot of the throne on which Enoch sat. I could not bear the sight of the fire which radiated from his eyes. I dared not raise mine higher than his beard, which was quite like the pale light which can be seen around the moon on rainy nights.
I was afraid that my ears would not be able to bear the noise of his voice. But his voice was more gentle than that of celestial organs. He softened it yet more to say to me, ‘Son of Adam, your spouses will be brought to you.’
Then I saw the prophet Elijah come in, leading two beautiful women by the hand. Their charms were beyond mortal imagination. They were so delicate that they were transparent: one could see their souls and the fire of their passions as they flowed into their veins and mingled with their blood. Behind came two Nephilim, carrying a tripod made of a metal as superior to gold as gold is more precious than lead. My hands were placed in those of the daughters of Solomon, and around my neck was placed a plait woven from their hair. A pure bright flame issuing from the tripod consumed in an instant my mortal being.
We were led to a couch resplendent with glory and burning with love. A large window was opened onto the skies of the third heaven8 and angelic music carried me to the pinnacles of ecstasy…
Do I need to tell you that I woke next day under the gallows of Los Hermanos, lying next to their two foul corpses, as was this gentleman here? From this I conclude that I had encountered two very wicked spirits whose true nature is not well known to me. Indeed I am very much afraid that this adventure will prejudice my chances with the real daughters of Solomon, whose feet alone I have seen.
‘You blind
wretch!’ cried the hermit. ‘Do you have no remorse? All is but illusion in your baleful art. The cursed succubi have tricked you and inflicted the most terrible torments on poor Pacheco, and a similar fate may well await this young gentleman who, through a fatal hardness of heart, refuses to confess his faults. Alphonse, my son, oh Alphonse, repent! There is still time.’
I disliked intensely the hermit’s persistence in asking of me a confession which I did not want to make. I replied to him coldly that although I respected his saintly exhortations, the code of honour was my guide. Then we spoke of other matters.
The cabbalist said to me, ‘Don Alphonse, since you are being pursued by the Inquisition and the king has ordered you to spend three months in this remote part of the country, let me offer you refuge in my castle. There you will meet my sister, Rebecca, who is almost as beautiful as she is learned. Do come. You are a descendant of the Gomelez and all that family has a claim to our attentions.’
I looked at the hermit to read in his eyes what he thought of this proposal.
The cabbalist seemed to guess my thoughts because he turned to the hermit and said, ‘Father, I know you better than you think. Your faith has given you great powers. My methods are not as holy but they are not diabolical. Why don’t you come too, with Pacheco, whose cure I will complete?’
The hermit did not reply at once but began to pray. Then, having reflected a moment, he came across to us and with a cheerful look on his face told us that he was prepared to follow us.
The cabbalist turned his head towards his right shoulder; then he gave the order for the horses to be brought. A moment later two appeared at the door of the hermitage, together with two mules, which the hermit and Pacheco mounted. Although the castle was a day’s ride away, according to ben Mamoun, we reached it within the hour.
