by Jan Potocki
As you know, in the provinces our reading matter consists only of novels, novellas and romances, which are recited to the accompaniment of a guitar. We had a score of such fine literary works at Villaca and those who were keen on them lent them to each other. I forbade Elvira to read a single page, but by the time I thought of imposing this prohibition she had long since got to know them all by heart.
What is unusual is that my little Lonzeto had the same romantic turn of mind. They had a perfect understanding between them, especially when it came to hiding things from me, which wasn’t very difficult. For, as you know, mothers and aunts are about as observant in these matters as husbands are. But I had some inkling of their complicity and wanted to send Elvira to a convent. I didn’t have enough, however, to pay for her board. It seems now that I did nothing I ought to have done. It came about that instead of being delighted with the title of virreina (viceroy’s wife), the girl had taken to the notion of playing the star-crossed lover and illustrious victim of fate. This fancy she conveyed to her cousin, and the pair of them decided to uphold the sacred rights of love against the tyrannical decrees of fortune. This went on for three months without my having the slightest suspicion of it.
One fine day I came upon them in my chicken-house in the most tragic attitude. Elvira was lying on a cage of chickens, holding a handkerchief and weeping copiously. Lonzeto was on his knees a dozen yards away and was also weeping his heart out. I asked them what they were doing there and they replied that they were rehearsing a scene from the novel Fuen de Rozas y Linda Mora.
On this occasion I was not taken in by them and saw that in their play-acting there was real love. I did not let them see that I understood, but went to our priest to ask him what I should do. The priest, having thought a little, said that he would write to a friend of his, also a priest, who might be able to take Lonzeto in, and that in the meanwhile I should say novenas to the Blessed Virgin and carefully lock the door of the bedroom where Elvira slept.
I thanked the priest, said the novenas and locked Elvira’s door. But unfortunately I didn’t lock the window. One night I heard a noise in Elvira’s room. I opened the door and found her in bed with Lonzeto. They leapt out in their night-clothes, threw themselves at my feet and said that they were married.
‘Who married you?’ I exclaimed. ‘Which priest can have committed so unworthy an act?’
‘No, Señora,’ replied Lonzeto gravely, ‘no priest has been involved. We married each other under the great chestnut tree. The god of nature received our sacred vows in the presence of the first rays of dawn and the birds all around us were witnesses to our joy. That, Señora, is how the beautiful Linda Mora became the wife of the happy Fuen de Rozas. It is set down in print on the pages of their story.’
‘Oh, wretched children!’ I said. ‘You are not married, nor could you ever be. You are cousins german.’ I was so cast down with grief that I did not even have the strength to scold them. I told Lonzeto to leave and I threw myself on Elvira’s bed, which I bathed with my tears.
When the gypsy chief reached this point in his story, he remembered some business that required his presence and asked permission to leave.
Once he had gone, Rebecca said to me, ‘These children interest me. Love looked charming in the mulatto features of Tanzai, and Zulica. It must have been even more beguiling when it enlivened the faces of handsome Lonzeto and tender Elvira. It’s like the statue of Cupid and Psyche.’
‘What a well-chosen comparison!’ I replied. ‘It shows that you are making as much progress in the art of Ovid as you have made in the writings of Enoch and Atlas.’
‘I believe,’ Rebecca said, ‘that the art of which you speak is as dangerous as that with which I was involved up to now. Love has its own magic as well as the cabbala.’
‘On the subject of the cabbala,’ said ben Mamoun, ‘I am able to tell you that the Wandering Jew has tonight crossed the mountains of Armenia and is hurrying towards us.’
I was so tired of the subject that I scarcely listened any more when the conversation turned to that subject. So I left the company and went hunting. I returned towards evening. The gypsy chief had gone off somewhere. I supped with his daughters for neither the cabbalist nor his sister appeared. I felt some embarrassment at being alone with these two young persons. But it seemed to me that they were not the girls who had been in my tent at night. They seemed to me to be my cousins. But what I could not work out for myself was who precisely these cousins or demons were.
The Seventeenth Day
When I saw the company assembling in the cave I made my way there too. We had a hurried meal. Rebecca was the first to ask for news of Maria de Torres. The gypsy chief needed no persuasion to go on, and began as follows:
MARIA DE TORRES’S STORY CONTINUED
Having wept for a long time on Elvira’s bed, I returned to my own to weep yet more. My distress would perhaps have been less acute if I could have asked someone for advice. But I did not dare to reveal my children’s shame, and I was dying of shame myself since I considered myself alone to be guilty. So I spent two whole days weeping continuously. On the third, I saw a long train of horses and mules draw up in front of my house. The corregidor of Segovia was announced. After the usual greetings, the magistrate told me that the Conde de Peña Vélez, grandee of Spain and Viceroy of Mexico, had sent a letter which he had commanded to be delivered to me, and that the high esteem in which he held the noble gentleman had led him to deliver it himself into my hands. I duly thanked him and took the letter, which was expressed in the following terms:
Señora,
Thirteen years and two months ago, I had the honour of writing to you that I would have no other wife than Elvira de Noruña, who on the day that the letter was written from America was seven and a half months old. The respect which I then felt for this charming person has grown with her beauty. I intended to hurry to Villaca to prostrate myself at her feet, but the supreme orders of His Majesty obliged me not to come within fifty leagues of Madrid. For that reason, I expect to see
Your Graces on the road which goes from Segovia to Biscay.
I am respectfully Your Grace’s faithful servant,
Don Sancho Peña Vélez.
Such was the letter of the respectful viceroy. Distressed as I was, I could not help but smile a little at it. The corregidor placed into my hands a wallet containing the sum I had deposited at the Asiento Bank. He then took leave of me and, after dining with the alcalde, left for Segovia.
As for me, I remained frozen like a statue, holding the letter in one hand and the wallet in the other. I had still not recovered from my surprise when the alcalde came to tell me that he had escorted the corregidor to the frontier of the territory of Villaca and that he was at my service to obtain mules, muleteers, guides, saddles and provisions; in other words, everything needed for me to undertake the journey.
I let the good alcalde make the arrangements. Thanks to his assiduous help we were ready to leave the following day. We passed last night at Villa Verde and here we now are. Tomorrow we will reach Villa Real, where the respectful viceroy will be waiting for us. But what shall I say to him? What will he himself say when he sees the tears of Elvira? I did not dare leave my son at home for fear of raising suspicions, and if the truth be told I was unable to resist his pleading to be allowed to come. So I have disguised him as a muleteer. Heaven alone knows what will happen. I fear and wish at the same time that all will be revealed. I shall of course have to meet the viceroy. I must find out from him what he has done to recover Elvira’s property. If she is no longer worthy to become his wife I want him to take sufficient interest in her to take her under his protection. But how shall I at my age dare to confess my negligence to him? In truth, if I were not a Christian, I would prefer death to such a moment.
The good lady finished her story at this point and gave in to her distress. Tears streamed down her face. My good aunt drew out her handkerchief too and started to cry. I wept also. Elvira sobbed t
o the point where she had to be unlaced and put to bed. And that caused everyone to retire.
THE GYPSY CHIEF’S STORY CONTINUED
I lay down and fell asleep. The sun had not yet risen when I felt someone grasp my arm. I woke up and tried to cry out.
‘Speak quietly!’ said a voice. ‘It’s Lonzeto. Elvira and I have thought of a way out of our predicament, at least for a few days. Here are my cousin’s clothes. Put them on and Elvira will take yours. My mother is so kind-hearted that she will forgive us. And as for the muleteers and servants who accompanied us from Villaca, they will not be able to betray us because they have just been replaced by others sent by the viceroy. The maid is in league with us. Get dressed quickly and you can go to sleep in Elvira’s bed. And she will sleep in yours.’
I saw no reason to object to Lonzeto’s plan so I dressed as quickly as I could. I was twelve and tall for my age, so that the clothes of a fourteen-year-old Castilian girl fitted me perfectly, for, as you know, Castilian women are generally shorter than those from Andalusia.
When I had dressed I lay down in Elvira’s bed. Soon after, I heard her aunt being told that the major-domo of the viceroy was waiting for her in the kitchen of the inn, which served as the common-room.
A moment later Elvira was summoned, and I went down in her place. Her aunt raised her hands to heaven and fell back on a chair behind her, but the major-domo did not notice her. He knelt, assured me of his master’s respect for me and presented me with a casket. I accepted it graciously and commanded him to stand up. At that moment many of the viceroy’s retinue came in to greet me and shouted three times, ‘Viva la nuestra virreina!’
My own aunt then came in, followed by Elvira, dressed as a boy. She made signs to Maria de Torres to show that she knew what was going on and felt sympathy with her, meaning that there was nothing else to do than to let us go on with our plan.
The major-domo asked me who the lady was. I told him that she was from Madrid and was on her way to Burgos to enter her nephew in the Theatine College. The major-domo invited her to travel in the viceroy’s litters. My aunt asked for one for her nephew, who was very delicate and worn out by travelling. The major-domo arranged for this to be done. He then offered me his gloved hand and handed me up into the litter. I was in front. The whole procession then set off.
So now I was a future virreina with a diamond-studded casket in my hand, being transported in a gilded litter drawn by two white mules, with an escort of two equerries parading on either side of my carriage. In this situation, very singular for a boy of my age, I started to think about marriage, a bond whose nature was not altogether known to me. Yet I knew enough to be sure that the viceroy could not marry me and that the best thing I could do would be to keep him in ignorance of the truth for as long as possible, giving my friend Lonzeto time to think up some way of extricating himself from his predicament. To be of service to a friend seemed to me to be a very fine thing. In short, I decided to act the part of a young girl, and I practised by lying back in my litter, simpering and giving myself airs. I remembered also that I had to avoid taking long strides when I walked and generally stop myself from making any expansive movements.
I had reached that point in my thoughts when a great whirlwind of dust heralded the arrival of the viceroy. The major-domo had me step down from the litter and told me to take his arm. The viceroy dismounted, knelt down and said, ‘Señora, be so gracious as to accept these tokens of a love which began when you were born and will not end until I die.’ He then kissed my hand and, without waiting for a reply, installed me again in my litter, remounted and ordered us on our way.
As he was prancing alongside my litter, scarcely looking at me, I had the leisure to examine him closely. He was no longer the young man who had looked so handsome to Maria de Torres when he killed the bull or when he returned with his cart to the village of Villaca. The viceroy could still pass for handsome, but his complexion had been burnt by the equatorial sun and it was closer to black than white in colour. His eyebrows, which hung low over his eyes, gave his face so fearsome an expression that all the efforts he took to soften it merely produced a grimace which had nothing friendly about it. When he addressed men, his voice was like thunder, when he spoke to women, it was a falsetto you couldn’t hear without laughing. When he addressed his servants, he seemed to be commanding an army, when he spoke to me, he seemed to be taking orders from me for a military expedition.
The more I observed the viceroy, the less comfortable I felt. The thought came to me that the moment he discovered that I was a boy would herald a beating the very idea of which made me quake. I did not therefore need to pretend to be shy. I was trembling in all my limbs and did not dare to raise my eyes to anyone.
We reached Valladolid. The major-domo gave me his hand and led me to the apartment which had been prepared for me. I was followed by my two aunts. Elvira wanted to come in but she was sent off as if she was an over-inquisitive boy. As for Lonzeto, he was with the ostlers.
As soon as I saw that I was alone with my aunts I threw myself at their feet, begging them not to betray me. I described to them the punishments to which the slightest indiscretion would expose me. The idea of my being whipped drove my aunt to despair. She also pleaded on my behalf, but her entreaties were unnecessary. Maria de Torres was as frightened as we were and sought only to delay the climax of the story for as long as possible.
At last dinner was announced. The viceroy received me at the door of the dining room, led me to my place and sat me on his left. ‘Señora,’ he said, ‘the anonymity which I am presently keeping merely suspends the dignity of viceroy: it does not annul it. For this reason I venture to place myself on your right, just as the august master whom I represent sits on the right of the queen.’
Then the major-domo disposed the other guests according to rank, giving the highest place to Maria de Torres.
We ate for a long time in silence. Then the viceroy spoke to Maria de Torres. ‘Señora,’ he said, ‘it gave me great distress to note that in the letter which you wrote to me in America you seemed to doubt that I would fulfil the promise that I made to you thirteen years and a few months ago.’
‘Your Highness,’ said Maria, ‘my niece would seem, and would indeed be, more worthy of your high office if I had thought that you were more serious about it.’
‘It is obvious that you are from Europe,’ said the viceroy. ‘In the New World everyone knows that I do not speak in jest.’
Then the conversation died and did not revive. When we rose from table the viceroy escorted me to the door of my apartment. The two aunts went to fetch the real Elvira, who had eaten at the major-domo’s table, and I stayed with the maid, who was now mine. She knew I was a boy but was no less assiduous in my service, yet she too was petrified by the viceroy. We bolstered each other’s courage and ended up by laughing heartily.
My aunts came back. As the viceroy had let it be known that he would not see us again that day, they secretly brought Elvira and Lonzeto to join us. My joy was then complete. We laughed like madmen and our aunts, delighted to have some respite from their sorrows, almost shared our merriment.
Quite late in that evening we heard a guitar and saw the amorous viceroy wrapped in a dark cloak, half-hidden behind a neighbouring house. His was no longer a young man’s voice but it was still quite beautiful. He sang in tune and it was obvious that he had devoted a lot of time to music.
Little Elvira, who knew how to behave gallantly, took off one of my gloves and threw it into the street. The viceroy picked it up, kissed it and placed it in his bosom. But no sooner had I accorded him this favour than the thought struck me that I would receive an extra hundred strokes of the cane for it once the viceroy found out what sort of Elvira I was. This made me so sad that all I wanted to do was to go to bed. Elvira and Lonzeto wept a little as they took leave of me.
‘Till tomorrow,’ I said.
‘Perhaps,’ said Lonzeto.
Then I slept in the same room as my
new aunt. I undressed as modestly as I could, and she did the same.
Next day, we were woken by my Aunt Dalanosa who informed us that Elvira and Lonzeto had run away during the night and that no one knew what had become of them. This news struck Maria de Torres like a thunderbolt. As for me, I realized at once that the only course of action I could follow was to become virreina in Elvira’s place.
As the gypsy chief reached this point in his story, a gypsy came to speak to him about business. He rose and asked our permission to postpone the next part of his story until the next day.
Rebecca observed with some impatience that the story was always broken off just as it was reaching the most interesting point. Then we spoke of other matters. The cabbalist said that he had had news of the Wandering Jew, who had crossed the Balkans and would soon be in Spain. I can’t remember what we did for the rest of that day, which is why I shall now pass to the next, which was more eventful.
The Eighteenth Day
I rose before dawn, and on a whim decided to walk to the disastrous gallows of Los Hermanos to see whether I might not find a new victim there. My journey was not fruitless. There was indeed a man lying between the two hanged men. He seemed as lifeless as they. I touched his hands, which were stiff but still retained a little warmth. I fetched some water from the river and threw it in his face. Seeing that he then gave some signs of life, I picked him up in my arms and carried him outside the gallows enclosure. He came to his senses, and stared at me with wild eyes. Then, breaking free from my grasp, he ran off into the countryside. I watched him for some time but, seeing that he would be lost to sight among the bushes and might stray into the wilderness, I felt bound to run after him and fetch him back. He turned round and, seeing me pursuing him, ran even faster – eventually falling over, giving himself an injury above the temple. I used my handkerchief to dress the wound and then tore off a bit of my shirt to bind his hand. Silently, he let me do this. Seeing that he was so docile, I felt that it was my duty to take him back to the gypsy camp. I offered him my arm, which he accepted, and he walked at my side without my being able to coax a single word out of him.
