The Manuscript Found in Saragossa

by Jan Potocki

  ‘Very well,’ said Rebecca. ‘Call me Laura de Uzeda.’

  ‘With the greatest pleasure,’ said Velásquez. ‘Or fair Laura, clever Laura, charming Laura, for there are many mathematical exponents of your base value.’

  As they were chatting I remembered the promise I had made to the brigand to meet him four hundred yards west of the camp. I took a sword with me and when I had gone a certain distance, I heard a pistol shot. I went towards the forest from which the shot had come and met the men with whom I had already had dealings. Their chief said to me, ‘Welcome, Señor caballero. I see that you keep your word, and do not doubt that you are brave as well. Do you see that tunnel in the rock? It leads to an underground cave where you are very impatiently awaited. I hope that you will not disappoint the trust that has been placed in you.’

  I went into the tunnel while the stranger stayed outside. After a few paces I heard a loud noise behind me and saw an enormous stone, which was moved by a secret mechanism, shutting off the entry. The dim light which came through the chink in the rock soon disappeared in that dark tunnel. But in spite of the darkness I went forward at a good pace, for the path was smooth and the slope gentle. I wasn’t required to expend much effort, but I imagined that many another person would have felt terror as they went down without a visible goal into the bowels of the earth. I walked for two whole hours, one hand holding my sword, the other extended to protect me from bumping into things.

  Suddenly I felt a breath close to mine, and a sweet, melodious voice said, ‘By what right does a mortal dare to come down into the kingdom of the gnomes?’

  An equally seductive voice replied, ‘Perhaps he has come to rob us of our treasure.’

  The first one then said, ‘If he would consent to throw down his sword, we could come near him.’

  After that I said, ‘Charming gnomesses! I recognize you by your voices, if I am not mistaken. I may not throw down my sword but I have stuck its point into the earth so you can come near without fear.’

  These chthonic divinities then threw their arms round me, though a secret instinct told me that they were my cousins. Suddenly there was bright light on every side and I saw that I was not mistaken. They led me towards a cave decorated with carpets and minerals shot through with countless opalescent colours.

  ‘Well,’ said Emina. ‘Are you pleased to meet us again? You are now living in the company of a young Israelite who is as intelligent as she is charming.’

  ‘I can assure you,’ I replied, ‘that Rebecca has made no impression on me. On the other hand, every time I meet you, I am anxious in case it may be the last. People have tried to convince me that you are evil spirits but I did not believe them. An inner voice tells me that you are creatures of my kind meant for love. It is always claimed that one can only truly love one woman. This is indisputably false because I love the two of you equally. My heart does not distinguish in any way between you. You both reign there in common.’

  ‘Oh,’ cried Emina, ‘it is the blood of the Abencerrages that speaks in you because you can love two women at the same time; so adopt the sacred faith which permits polygamy.’

  ‘You might then accede to the throne of Tunis,’ added Zubeida. ‘If only you could see that enchanting country, the harems of Bardo and Manouba, the gardens, fountains, marvellous baths and thousands of young slave girls even prettier than us!’

  ‘Enough of kingdoms on which the sun shines,’ I replied. ‘We are in an abyss, and however close we might be to hell we can here know the sensual pleasures which the prophet, it is said, promises to his elect.’

  Emina smiled nostalgically, and looked at me tenderly; and Zubeida put her arms round my neck.

  The Thirtieth Day

  When I awoke, my cousins were no longer at my side. I looked around uneasily and saw in front of me a long, dimly-lit corridor. I was able to guess that this was the way to go. I dressed as quickly as possible, strode briskly ahead and, after walking for half an hour, reached a spiral staircase that I could take either to return to the daylight or go deeper into the mountain. I followed the second route and came to a vault where I caught sight of an old dervish who was muttering prayers beside a tomb lit by four lamps.

  The old man turned towards me and said in a soft voice, ‘Welcome, Señor Alphonse, we have been waiting for you for some time.’

  I asked him whether we were in the underground domain of Cassar Gomelez.

  ‘You are not mistaken, noble Nazarene,’ said the dervish. ‘This tomb hides the famous secret of the Gomelez. But before I tell you anything about this important subject, let me offer you a light tonic. Today you will need all your spiritual and physical powers. And perhaps,’ he added in a mocking tone, ‘your body will be craving for rest.’

  Then the old man led me into a neighbouring cave, where I found breakfast properly set out on a table. When I had taken refreshment my host asked me to pay close attention and said:

  ‘Señor Alphonse, I know that your fair cousins have spoken to you of your ancestors and have explained the importance they attached to Cassar Gomelez’s secret. Nothing in the world could be more important. He who possesses our secret could easily bring whole peoples under his sway, and perhaps even found a universal monarchy. On the other hand, these powerful means could become extremely dangerous in incautious hands, and destroy any order founded for a long time on obedience. The laws which have governed us for centuries require that the secret should only be revealed to men of the blood of the Gomelez, and then only after they have provided convincing proof of their courage and integrity. Equally, it is required that a solemn oath reinforced by the full authority of religious ceremony be sworn. But knowing your character we will be satisfied with your word alone. May I therefore ask you to swear on your honour never to reveal to a living soul what you will hear and see in this place?’

  As I was in the service of the King of Spain, I felt at first unable to give my word of honour, before being assured that I would not have to hear or see things in that cave which were incompatible with that dignity. I expressed my reservations to the dervish.

  ‘Your caution, Señor, is quite understandable,’ replied the dervish. ‘Your arm belongs to the king whom you serve, but you are here in underground domains into which his power has never extended. The line of which you were born also imposes duties on you. And the promise which I ask of you is only the extension of that which you made to your cousins.’

  I concurred with this reasoning, even though it seemed somewhat odd, and gave the word of honour which was expected of me.

  Then the dervish opened up one face of the tomb and showed me a staircase which led to even greater depths.

  ‘Go down there,’ he said. ‘It isn’t necessary for me to accompany you. I’ll come to fetch you this evening.’

  So I went down and saw things which I would most happily tell you about if the word I gave did not constitute an insurmountable obstacle to my doing so.

  Just as he promised, the dervish came to fetch me that evening. We made our way together to another cave in which a dinner had been prepared for us. The table was placed under a golden tree representing the genealogy of the Gomelez. The trunk split into two major branches, one of which, the Muslim Gomelez, seemed to unfold and flourish with all the force of a vigorous plant, while the other, representing the Christian Gomelez, was visibly withering and bristled with long and menacing pointed thorns. After dinner the dervish said:

  ‘Don’t be surprised at the difference you can see between the two principal branches. The Gomelez who remained faithful to the law of the prophet were rewarded with crowns, while the others lived in obscurity and only fulfilled some minor public offices. None of those were admitted to our secret, and if an exception has been made in your case you owe it to the respect due to you for having been able to win the favours of the two Princesses of Tunis. For all that, you have only a dim notion of our policies. If you are willing to cross over to the other branch, which is blossoming and which will bloss
om more and more as time goes by, you would possess all that you need to satisfy your personal ambitions and accomplish vast projects.’

  I tried to reply to this but the dervish did not allow me the room to utter a single word and went on:

  ‘Be that as it may, a share of the possessions of your family falls to you, as does a reward for the trouble you have taken in coming to this underground place. Here is a bill of exchange drawn up in the name of Esteban Moro, the richest banker in Madrid. The sum which figures there is apparently only one thousand reals but a single secret stroke of the pen will turn it into an unlimited amount. On signing it you will be given as much as you ask for. Now take the spiral staircase, and when you have counted to 1,500 steps you will reach a very low chamber in which you will crawl for fifty paces. Then you will be in the very heart of the castle of Alcassar or Cassar Gomelez. It will be best for you to spend the night there. The next day you will easily find the gypsy camp at the bottom of the mountain. Goodbye, dear Alphonse. May the prophet enlighten you and show you the path of truth.’

  The dervish kissed me, took his leave and closed the door behind me. I followed his instructions to the letter. As I went up, I stopped often to catch my breath. Eventually I saw the starry sky above me. I lay down beneath a ruined vault and fell asleep.

  The Thirty-first Day

  On waking, I caught sight of the gypsy camp in the valley and discerned some movement which told me that they were going to leave that place and begin their wanderings again. So I hurried to join them. I expected some questions about my two nights’ absence but no one asked any and everyone seemed only to be concerned about the preparations for departure.

  Once we were on horseback the cabbalist said, ‘On this occasion, I can promise you that we shall have the pleasure today of the Wandering Jew’s conversation. My power has not yet been destroyed, as the rascal thinks it has been. He had almost reached Taroudant when I forced him to come back. He is showing his unwillingness by travelling as slowly as he can. But I have the means of making him go faster.’ Then he drew a book from his pocket from which he read out some barbaric formulae. Soon after, we saw a man appear on a mountain top.

  ‘Look at him,’ said Uzeda. ‘The sloth! The scoundrel! Just see how I’ll deal with him!’

  Rebecca begged pardon for the guilty party and her brother seemed to be mollified. When the Wandering Jew reached us he was let off with a few sharp reproaches uttered by the cabbalist in a language I did not understand. Then he told him to stay by my horse and take up the story again at the point where he had left off. The unhappy wanderer made no reply and began as follows:

  THE WANDERING JEW’S STORY CONTINUED

  I have told you that a sect of Herodians claiming Herod to be the Messiah had been formed in Jerusalem, and I promised to explain what meaning the Jews attach to this name, so I’ll start by telling you that Messiah in Hebrew means ‘anointed’ or ‘rubbed with oil’ and Christos is the translation of this term into Greek. When Jacob awoke after his famous vision, he poured oil on the stone on which his head had rested and he called the place ‘Bethel’ or ‘House of God’. You may read in Sanchoniathon1 that Sham invented betyles, or living stones. It was then thought that everything that was consecrated by anointing was filled at once with the divine spirit. Kings were anointed, and ‘Messiah’ became the synonym of ‘king’. When David spoke of the Messiah he was thinking of himself, as can convincingly be seen from the second psalm onwards.

  But after the kingdom of the Jews had been divided up and invaded, becoming the plaything of neighbouring powers, and above all when the people were led into captivity, the prophets consoled them by telling them that one day a king would be born of the race of David who would humble the pride of Babylon and make the Jews triumphant.

  It didn’t cost the prophets anything to have visions of splendid buildings, so they duly built a future Jerusalem worthy of being the place where so great a king would dwell, with a temple that had all that was needed to give the cult of religion dignity in the eyes of the people. The Jews listened to the prophecies with pleasure but without attaching much importance to them. After all, why should they show an interest in events which were not destined to happen until the time of the grandchildren of their great-nephews?

  It seems that the prophets were more or less forgotten under the Macedonian empire, so that none of the Maccabees were considered as the Messiah although they had freed their country from foreign oppression. Their descendants, who bore the title of king, were also not taken to have been foretold by the prophets.

  But under the elder Herod, things were different. Having in forty years run through all the flattering remarks that might please him, this prince’s courtiers ended up by convincing him that he was the Messiah foretold by the prophets. Herod, who was tired of everything except the supreme power to which he grew daily more attached, thought that he had found in this claim a way of identifying those who were loyal to him. So his friends formed a sect of Herodians whose head was the swindler Sedekias, the younger brother of my grandmother. You can well imagine that my grandfather and Dellius gave no more thought to settling down in Jerusalem. They had a small bronze chest made, and in it they locked the contract of sale of Hillel’s house, his receipt for thirty thousand darics and an assignment made by Dellius in favour of my father. Then they sealed the coffer and promised each other to think no more about it until circumstances were more favourable.

  Herod died and Judaea was prey to the most awful internal strife. Thirty heads of factions had themselves anointed and became as many messiahs. Some years later, Mardochee married the daughter of one of his neighbours and I, the sole fruit of this union, came into the world in the last year of Augustus’s reign. My grandfather wanted to have the satisfaction of circumcising me himself, and he ordered a quite sumptuous feast to be prepared, but he was in the habit of living a retired life. The energy he had to expend on this occasion and perhaps also his great age were the early causes of an illness which carried him off within a few weeks. He breathed his last in the arms of Dellius, recommending that he should preserve the bronze coffer for us and not allow the evil–doer to benefit from his wickedness. My mother, whose labour had been difficult, only survived her father-in-law by a few months.

  At that time it was the fashion among the Jews to take Greek or Persian names. I was called Ahasuerus. It was by this name that I made myself known to Antònius Colterus in Lübeck in 1603, as can be seen in the writings of Duduleus, and I also took this name in Cambridge in the year 1710, as you can read in the works of the discerning Tenzelius.

  ‘Señor Ahasuerus, you are also mentioned in the Theatrum Europaeum,2 said Velásquez.

  ‘That may well be,’ said the Jew. ‘I am only too well known since cabbalists have got it into their heads to fetch me from the depths of Africa.’

  I then spoke and asked the Jew what was the charm he found in such wildernesses.

  ‘Not seeing any humans,’ he replied. ‘And if I do meet some lost traveller or a family of Arabs, I know the lair of a lioness who is rearing her young. I lead her towards her prey and have the pleasure of seeing her devour them under my very eyes.’

  ‘You seem to have a somewhat bad character, Señor Ahasuerus,’ said Velásquez.

  ‘I warned you,’ said the cabbalist. ‘He’s the greatest scoundrel on earth.’

  ‘If you had lived eighteen hundred years,’ said the wanderer, ‘you wouldn’t be any better than I am.’

  ‘I hope to live longer and be better than you,’ said the cabbalist. ‘But enough of these disagreeable thoughts. Continue with your story.’

  The Jew made no further reply but continued his story as follows:

  The aged Dellius stayed with my father, who had been overwhelmed by so much loss. They continued to live in retirement from the world but Sedekias was uneasy. The death of Herod had deprived him of a sure protector. The fear that we might turn up in Jerusalem constantly tormented him. He decided to sacrifice us to
his peace of mind. What is more, everything seemed to favour his plans, for Dellius became blind and my father, who was very fond of him, with-drew more than ever into retirement. Six years went by in this way.

  One day someone came to tell us that the house adjoining ours had just been bought by Jews from Jerusalem and that it was full of unprepossessing characters who looked like assassins. My father, who had a natural love of retirement, found in this news fresh reasons for not going out.

  At that point there was then a commotion in the caravan which interrupted the Wandering Jew’s story. He took advantage of it to stride off, and we soon arrived at our resting-place. Our meal was prepared and then served. We ate with the customary appetite of travellers, and, when the cloth had been taken away, Rebecca turned to the gypsy and said, ‘At the point where someone interrupted you, you were telling us, I believe, that the two ladies, having made sure that they were not being watched, crossed the road to go into the house of the Knight of Toledo.’

  The gypsy chief, seeing that we wanted to hear the sequel to his story, took up its thread as follows:

  THE GYPSY CHIEF’S STORY CONTINUED

  I reached the two ladies while they were still on the steps and, having shown them the samples of cloth, I told them about the mission I had been given by the jealous husband. Then I said to them, ‘Now, ladies, really go into the church. I will go and fetch the supposed lover, whom I believe to be the husband of one of you. When he has seen you, he will probably go away since he doesn’t know that you know that he had you followed. Then you will be able to go wherever you wish.’

  The two ladies were grateful for this advice. I went down to the tavern and said to the man that the two women had indeed gone into the church. We went there together and I pointed out to him the two velvet dresses which corresponded to the samples, as did the lace. He still seemed in doubt but one of the two ladies turned round and casually lifted her veil. At once an expression of conjugal complacency spread across the jealous husband’s features. Soon after, he mingled with the crowd and left the church. I joined him in the street. He thanked me and gave me another gold piece. In accepting it I felt a pang of conscience but I was afraid to give myself away. I watched him as he went off, then fetched the two ladies, whom I accompanied to the knight’s house. The prettier one wanted to give me a gold piece. ‘No, Señora,’ I said. ‘I betrayed your supposed lover because I recognized him to be a husband and my conscience made me do this. But I am too honourable to be paid by both sides.’