The Manuscript Found in Saragossa

by Jan Potocki

  ‘Laura, Laura!’ cried Ricardi. ‘What’s this new manner of speech?’

  ‘It’s the voice of nature,’ replied Laura. ‘She makes women to be wives and mothers in an estate in which heaven has caused them to be born, not to be the nieces of libertine priests!’

  Then Laura went into her study and closed the door behind her.

  Ricardi was in an awkward position. He had introduced Signora Paduli as his niece. If she rashly disclosed the truth, he was lost and his career was finished. What is more, he loved the hussy and he was jealous of her. Everything contributed to his unhappiness.

  But the next day a trembling Ricardi presented himself at Laura’s door and was agreeably surprised to receive the tenderest of welcomes.

  ‘Forgive me!’ she said to him, ‘dear uncle, dear benefactor. I am an ingrate who is unworthy to see the light of day. I am the work of your hands, you have cultivated my mind, I owe you everything. Forgive a whim in which my heart had no part.’

  Peace was soon made.

  Some days later Laura said to Ricardi, ‘I cannot be happy with you. You are too much my master. Here everything belongs to you and I am in a state of complete dependency. The lord who has just left us has given his mistress the most beautiful estate in the duchy of Urbino. That’s what I call a lover. And if I ask you for that baronial estate in which I spent three months you would refuse, and yet it’s a legacy from your uncle Cambiosi and you are free to dispose of it.’

  ‘You want to have your independence,’ said Ricardi, ‘so that you can leave me.’

  ‘It’s to love you all the more,’ replied Laura.

  Ricardi didn’t know whether to make the gift or to refuse to. He was in love; he was jealous; he feared that his dignity would be compromised; he feared himself becoming dependent on his mistress.

  Laura read his mind and would have driven him to a decision but Ricardi had immense power in Rome. One word from him and four sbiri would have seized his niece and taken her to a convent where she would have done long penance. This thought held Laura back. She eventually decided to pretend to be ill, to get Ricardi where she wanted him. This plan was occupying her mind when you entered the grotto.

  ‘What? It wasn’t me she was thinking about?’ I asked, astonished.

  ‘No, my child,’ said Sylvia, ‘she was thinking of a good baronial estate with an income of four thousand scudi. But suddenly she hit on the idea of feigning illness or even death. She had already practised this by copying actresses she had seen in London. She wanted to know whether she could persuade you of the illusion. So you see, my little Spaniard, that up to now you have been completely fooled. But you haven’t the right to complain about what happened subsequently, and my mistress has no complaints about you. As for me, I found you charming when you sought my arm to support you in your weakness. Then I swore that I would have my turn.’ That is how the soubrette expressed herself.

  What can I say? I was astounded by what I had just heard. I had been stripped of my illusions. I didn’t know where I was. Sylvia profited from my confusion to bring turmoil to my senses. She had no difficulty in succeeding. She even abused the advantages she had. At last, when she put me back in my carriage, I didn’t know whether to feel fresh remorse or not to think any more about it.

  As the Marqués de Torres Rovellas reached this point in his story the gypsy was forced to leave us and asked him to be so kind as to stop at that point and continue the next day.

  The Forty-third Day

  We assembled as on the previous day and duly asked the Marqués de Torres Rovellas to continue his story. He took it up again as follows:

  THE MARQUÉS DE TORRES ROVELLAS’S STORY

  CONTINUED

  I have told you how I was twice unfaithful to the fair Elvira; how I felt terrible remorse after the first time; and how after the second I didn’t know whether I should feel remorse or whether it was better not to think any more about it. I can assure you that otherwise my love for my cousin was still the same and my letters still as passionate. My mentor, who wanted at all costs to cure me of my romantic ideas, permitted himself sometimes to take measures which went somewhat beyond what was expected of his office. Without seeming to be any part of it, he would expose me to temptation, to which I always succumbed, but my passion for Elvira was still the same and I was very impatient for the dispensation to emerge from the apostolic registry.

  Eventually Ricardi summoned Sántez and me one day. His expression was somewhat solemn, heralding the great news which he had to impart to us. He tempered his gravity, however, with an affable smile and said to us, ‘Your affair is concluded, although not without difficulty. We give dispensation quite freely to certain Catholic countries but much less freely to Spain, because the faith is purer there and observance stricter. However, His Holiness, considering the pious foundations established in America by the house of Rovellas, and considering also that the venial fault of the two children was a consequence of the misfortunes of that house, His Holiness, as I say, has loosed on earth the blood ties that existed between you. They will equally be loosed in heaven. However, so that other young persons do not use this example as an excuse to commit similar faults, it is enjoined on you as penitence to carry a rosary of a hundred beads round your neck and to recite it every day for three years, also to build a church for the Theatines in Vera Cruz. And thereupon I have the honour to congratulate you and your future wife.’

  I can leave you to imagine my joy. I hurried to secure His Holiness’s brief and we left Rome two days later.

  Travelling fast by day and night I reached Burgos and saw Elvira again. She was yet more beautiful. All that remained for us to do was to have the marriage approved by the court but Elvira had taken possession of her fortune and we were not short of friends. Those looking after our interests obtained the permission we desired and to it the court added for me the title of the Marqués de Torres Rovellas.

  Then all that was thought about was dresses, jewellery, caskets, the delightful paraphernalia of a girl who is about to become a bride. But the tender Elvira was not touched by it all. She was only moved by her lover’s attentions.

  At last the day came on which we were to be united. It seemed desperately long to me, for the ceremony was not to take place until the evening, in the chapel of a country house we possessed close to Burgos.

  I wandered through the garden to while away the impatience with which I was devoured. Then I sat on the seat, where I began to think about my behaviour, which was so unworthy of the angel to whom I was going to be united. For, counting all the times I had been unfaithful to her, I reached the number of twelve. At that, remorse once more entered my soul and, reproaching myself bitterly, I said to myself, ‘Ingrate! Wretch! Have you thought of the treasure which is destined to be yours, of that divine being who sighs and even breathes for no one else but you and who never addressed a single word to another?’

  While I was engaged in this act of contrition, I heard two of Elvira’s maids of honour sit down on a bench behind the bower against which mine was set and begin a conversation which captured all of my attention.

  ‘Well, Manuela,’ said one of them. ‘Our mistress will be very happy today, for she will love in reality and give real tokens of her love, instead of the minor favours she would grant so generously to her suitors at the grille.’

  ‘Oh!’ said the other maid of honour. ‘You are referring to her guitar master, who furtively kissed her hand while seeming to place it on the strings.’

  ‘Not at all,’ replied the first maid of honour. ‘I am talking about the dozen or so beautiful passions – wholly innocent, it is true – which she enjoyed as a game and which in her own way she encouraged. First, the little bachelor of arts who taught her geography. He was head-over-heels in love with her so she gave him a sizeable lock of her hair, which I found missing when I combed her the next day. After him came the sweet talker who informed her of the state of her fortune and apprised her of her income. He knew what he
wanted. He overwhelmed her with the most flattering praise and even intoxicated her with his eulogies. She gave him her portrait in silhouette, let him kiss her hand a hundred times through the bars and gave him gifts of flowers and exchanged bouquets with him.’

  The rest of the conversation has gone from my memory but I can assure you that the dozen were all there. I was devastated. Certainly Elvira had only accorded innocent favours, or rather they were really childish acts. But the Elvira of my imagination could never have permitted even these shadows of infidelity. No doubt this was not very rational. Since her childhood Elvira had stammered words of love, even before she pronounced them correctly. I ought to have realized that, being so fond of the subject itself, she would practise it with persons other than myself, but I would never have believed this even if I had been told it. Now I was convinced of it, disillusioned, overcome by my sorrow. At that point I was summoned to the ceremony. I entered the chapel with a face so distraught that it surprised my mother and filled my bride with anxiety and sadness. Even the priest was disconcerted and did not know whether he should marry us. But marry us he did, and I can assure you that never did a day awaited with such impatience fulfil less well what it seemed to promise.

  That was not true of the night. Hymen extinguished his torches and hid us in the protective veil of his first pleasures. Then all the flirtation at the grille disappeared from Elvira’s memory. Unknown ecstasies filled her heart with love and gratitude. She gave herself altogether to her husband.

  The next day we looked very happy. How could I have still nurtured any sorrow? Men who have lived their life know that among the good things that it can offer, none is comparable with the happiness that a young bride gives, bringing, as she does, to the nuptial bed so many secrets to be revealed, so many dreams to be realized, so many loving thoughts. What is the rest of existence beside days like these, spent between the recent memory of such sweet emotions and the deceptive illusions of a future which hope paints in the most flattering hues?

  Our family friends left us several months to drink deep of our happiness. Then, when they thought that we were in a fit state to listen to them, they sought to awaken in us the passion of ambition.

  The Conde de Rovellas had had some expectation of becoming a grandee and they said that we should continue with his plans. This we owed as much to ourselves as to the children which heaven might give us. In short, it was pointed out to us that whatever the effects of our representations, we would repent one day of not having made them, and that it is always a good thing to spare oneself feelings of regret.

  We were of an age at which one’s will is scarcely one’s own, being dictated by those around one; and we let ourselves be taken off to Madrid. When the viceroy was told of our intentions he wrote on our behalf in the most pressing terms. Soon appearances were in our favour; but they were only appearances. And although these appearances took on all the protean shapes of the court, they never became realities.

  These frustrated hopes upset my friends and also unfortunately my mother, who would have given anything in the world to see her little Lonzeto become a Spanish grandee. Soon the poor woman went into a decline and realized that she did not have long to live. She looked to the salvation of her soul and wanted first of all to show her gratitude to the decent folk of the village of Villaca, who had helped us in such a friendly way when we were in need. Above all else, she would have wanted to do something for the alcalde and the priest. My mother had no personal fortune but Elvira was glad to be in a position to help her in her noble plan and made them gifts which even exceeded my mother’s wishes.

  As soon as our old friends learned of the good fortune which had befallen them, they came to Madrid and crowded round the bedside of their benefactress. When my mother left us we still loved each other and we were still rich and happy. She passed away into eternal life in a peaceful sleep, having already received on earth a part of the rewards which her virtues and especially her infinite goodness deserved.

  Soon after, misfortune struck us down. The two sons which Elvira had given me died after a short illness. Then also the grandeeship lost all its attraction for us. We decided to put an end to our solicitations and to go to Mexico, where the state of our fortunes required our presence. The health of the marquesa had suffered a great deal, and her doctors assured us that a sea voyage might make her better.

  So we departed and arrived at Vera Cruz after a sea voyage lasting six weeks, which had the full, promised, favourable effect on Elvira’s health. She arrived in the New World not only well but more beautiful than she had ever been.

  At Vera Cruz we met one of the senior officers of the viceroy, whom he had sent to pay his compliments to us and to take us to the city of Mexico. This man spoke a great deal about the magnificence of the Conde de Peña Vélez and the gallant style he had introduced into his household. We knew something of this from the connections we had in America. We were aware that once his ambitions had been completely satisfied, his predilection for the fair sex had been rekindled and, not being able to find happiness in marriage, he had sought pleasure in that discreet and refined amorous intercourse which used once to be the distinctive mark of Spanish society.

  We did not stay long at Vera Cruz and had the most comfortable of journeys to Mexico. As you know, the capital city is situated in the middle of a lake. We reached its outskirts at nightfall and soon caught sight of a hundred gondolas bearing lanterns. The most sumptuously bedecked gondola forged ahead and reached us first. From it the viceroy appeared and addressed my wife.

  ‘Incomparable daughter of the woman whom my heart has never stopped loving!’ he said. ‘I thought that heaven had taken you from my honourable aspirations. But it did not want to deprive the world of its most beautiful jewel and for that I give it thanks. Come and be the ornament of our hemisphere. In possessing you it can envy the Old World nothing.’

  Then the viceroy did me the honour of embracing me and we took our places in his gondola. I soon noticed that the count was staring at the marquesa and looking surprised.

  At last he said to her, ‘I thought, Señora, that I had kept the image of your features in my memory, but I must confess that I would not have recognized you. However, if you have changed, it is very much to your advantage.’

  We then remembered that the viceroy had never met my wife and that it was your features which had remained in his memory.

  I said to him that the change was indeed so great that those who had seen Elvira at that time would have had the greatest difficulty in recognizing her now.

  After about half an hour on the water, we reached a floating island, which, by cunning artifice, had been given the appearance of a real island covered with orange trees and other trees and bushes, but which still floated on the surface of the water. It could be moved to all parts of the lake and benefit successively from its different aspects. Such constructions are not rare in Mexico. They are called chinampas.

  A well-lit rotunda was in the middle of the island. The sound of loud music could be heard from afar. Soon through the lanterns we could pick out the letters of ‘Elvira’. As we reached the shore we saw two troupes of men and women in the most magnificent but strangely decorated costumes, on which the bright colours of different plumages vied in brilliance with sumptuous jewellery.

  ‘Señor,’ said the viceroy, ‘one of these troupes is composed of Mexicans. The fine lady you see at their head is the Marquesa de Montezuma, the last of that great name which the sovereigns of this country once bore. It is the policy of the Council of Madrid not to allow her to perpetuate rights which many Mexicans still consider wholly legitimate. We console her for this disgrace by proclaiming her the queen of our festivities. Those in the other troupe are taking the parts of Peruvian Incas. They have learnt that a daughter of the Sun has landed in Mexico and have come to pay homage to her.’

  As the viceroy was addressing this compliment to my wife, I was looking closely at her. I saw in her eyes a fire which was born of a
spark of vanity which in the seven years of our marriage had not had time to develop. Indeed, in spite of all our wealth we had been far from playing a leading role in Madrid society. Elvira had been preoccupied by my mother, her children, her own health and had had few chances to shine. But the journey had given her back all of her beauty at the same time as restoring her health, and placed now in the forefront of a new theatre she seemed inclined to take an exalted view of herself and attract to herself the attention of the world.

  The viceroy installed Elvira as Queen of the Peruvians, then said to me:

  ‘You are certainly the first subject of this daughter of the Sun. But as we are all in costume I would ask you to acknowledge the rule of another sovereign until the end of the ball.’

  As he said this he presented me to the Marquesa de Montezuma and put her hand in mine.

  We then reached the main part of the ball. The two troupes danced sometimes apart, sometimes together. The desire of each to outdo the other brought the festivity alive and it was decided to prolong the masquerade until the end of the season.

  So I remained the subject of the pretender to the throne of Mexico and my wife treated her own subjects with a familiarity which did not escape my notice. I must at this point paint you a portrait of the daughter of the caciques, or rather give you some idea of her looks, for it will be impossible for me to describe to you her savage grace and the fleeting impressions which the emotions of her passionate soul imprinted on her features.

  Tlascala de Montezuma was born in the mountainous region of Mexico and did not have the dark complexion of those living in the plain. Hers was not fair, but it had its delicacy, and her jet-black eyes increased its lustre. Her features were less sharp than those of Europeans, but were not flattened in the way one sees in some American races. Tlascala resembled these only in her somewhat full lips, which looked enchanting when a smile lent them its fleeting grace. As for her figure, I have nothing to say on that score. I leave it to your imagination, or rather to that of an artist wanting to paint Atalanta or Diana.