The Manuscript Found in Saragossa

by Jan Potocki

  I thought of a last resort which might just lift the unhappy man out of his hypochondria. And indeed it had a short-lived success. One day, through a half-open door, my father caught sight of a jar very similar to the one which had once been used to manufacture his ink. Next to it was a table on which there were various ingredients and scales to weigh them. A sort of hilarity crossed my father’s features. He got out of bed, went up to the table and asked for a chair. As he was very weak, others performed the operations in front of him and he followed the various procedures. The next day he was able to take part in the work and the day after there were even more hopeful signs.

  But a few days later a fever manifested itself which had absolutely nothing to do with his illness. The symptoms were not distressing, but the patient’s weakness was such that he could not resist the slightest affliction. He passed away without having been able to recognize me, however hard people had tried to make him remember his son. And that was the end of a man who wasn’t born with even the degree of physical and mental strength sufficient to give him an average amount of energy. A sort of instinct had led him to choose a way of life which was proportionate to his powers. He was killed by people wishing to propel him into active life.

  It is time to return to my affairs. My two years of penance were nearly over. In deference to Fray Gerónimo, the Inquisition allowed me to take my name back on the condition that I would do a spell as a caravanist on the galleys of Malta, which I accepted joyfully, hoping that I would encounter the Knight of Toledo, not as a servant but more or less as his equal. And to tell you the truth I was tired of wearing rags. I kitted myself out with luxury, trying on all my clothes at my Aunt Dalanosa’s house, who died of joy at the sight of them. I left very early one morning to keep my transformation from the eyes of the curious. I embarked at Barcelona and reached Malta after a short voyage. My meeting with the knight gave me even more pleasure than I expected.

  The knight assured me that he had never been fooled by my disguise and that he had always counted on making me his friend once I had reverted to my original rank. He was captain of a galley. He took me on board and we sailed the seas for four months without inflicting much harm on the Barbary pirates, whose light vessels could easily outrun us.

  That is the end of the story of my childhood. I have related it to you in all its details for they have remained engraved on my memory. It still seems to me that I can see the cell of the Theatine teacher at Burgos, and the stern profile of Father Sanudo. I can still feel what it was like to eat chestnuts in front of the portal of St Roch and to hold out my hand to the noble Knight of Toledo. I won’t tell you the story of my early manhood in the same detail. Whenever my imagination transports me back to the most brilliant part of my life, all I can perceive is a hotchpotch of all kinds of passions, their tumult and their turmoil. The feelings which then filled my soul and raised it up towards a secret happiness have sunk into the deepest oblivion. It is true that I can still see, shining through the mist, the rays of requited love, but those to whom this love was directed have merged into a single blurred image, in which I see only tender, beautiful women and merry girls with their snow-white arms around my neck. I can even see gloomy duennas unable to resist this moving sight, bringing together lovers they should have kept for ever apart. I can see the light I so fervently watched for signalling to me from a window, and the secret staircases leading me to hidden doors. How supremely blissful those moments were! Four o’clock strikes, the day dawns and lovers must part. Alas! Even partings had their sweetness. The story of youthful love is, I believe, the same all over the world. My amorous adventures could not really interest you, but I think you will be willing to listen to the story of my first real passion. The circumstances are astonishing. They might even be thought to be miraculous. But the day is growing late and I have still to think about the business of my band. Please allow me to begin again tomorrow.

  The Fifty-fifth Day

  We reassembled at the usual hour and the gypsy, having nothing else to do, continued his story as follows:

  THE GYPSY CHIEF’S STORY CONTINUED

  The following year the Knight of Toledo was made the supreme commander of the galleys, and his brother sent him six hundred piastres for his expenses. The order then possessed six galleys: Toledo himself paid for two others to be equipped. Six hundred knights, the flower of European youth, assembled. The practice of giving uniforms to soldiers, which hadn’t been the case before, began at that time in France. Toledo gave us half-Spanish, half-French costumes. We wore scarlet habits, black breastplates with the Maltese cross at the middle, ruffs and Spanish hats. This costume suited us very well. Wherever we appeared, women never left their windows and duennas came running to us with love-letters, often delivered to the wrong person. Such confusion led to the most amusing incidents. We visited all the ports in the Mediterranean and were fêted everywhere.

  Amid these revels I attained my twentieth year. Toledo was ten years older.

  The Knight of Toledo had become grand bailli and sub-prior of Castile. Arrayed in his new honours, he left Malta and invited me to travel with him round Italy. I happily consented. We embarked for Naples, which we reached without incident. We would have found it more difficult to leave if pretty women had found it as easy to keep, as it was to catch, charming Toledo in their snares. But Toledo’s greatest art was to abandon the ladies without their ever having the heart to be angry with him for it. So he left his Neapolitan loves and accepted new chains in Florence, Milan, Venice and Genoa in turn. It was the following year before we reached Madrid.

  As soon as we had arrived, Toledo went to pay court to the king. Then he took the finest horse from the stable of his brother, the Duke of Lerma. I was given one which was scarcely less fine, and we went to join the company parading alongside the carriage-doors of the ladies in the Prado.

  A superb coach and horses met our eyes. It was an open carriage occupied by two ladies in half-mourning. Toledo recognized the proud Duchess of Avila and at once paid court to her. The other lady turned towards him. He did not know her and seemed struck by her beauty.

  This stranger was none other than the beautiful Duchess of Sidonia, who had just abandoned her retirement and rejoined society. She recognized her former prisoner and put a finger to her mouth to recommend that I should remain silent. Then she turned her beautiful eyes to Toledo, whose own took on a certain grave and shy expression which I had never seen before when he looked at women. The Duchess of Sidonia had declared that she would never marry again, the Duchess of Avila that she would never marry at all. Knights of Malta were exactly what they required as company. They made advances to Toledo, who accepted them with the best grace in the world. The Duchess of Sidonia, without letting it be seen that she knew me, managed to have me accepted by her friend. We formed a sort of foursome, who were always to be found in the hurly-burly of any festivity. Toledo was loved for the hundredth time in his life; he loved for the first. I set out to pay respectful homage to the Duchess of Avila. But before speaking to you about my relations with this lady, I should say a few words about the situation she found herself in at that time.

  Her father, the Duke of Avila, had died during our time on Malta. The end of an ambitious man always causes a great stir. His fall is great; people are moved and surprised by it. In Madrid people recalled the Infanta Beatriz and her secret union with the duke. There was talk of a son on whom rested the future of the house of Avila. The will of the late duke was expected to shed some light on matters, but this expectation was frustrated. The will made nothing any clearer. The court spoke no more about the affair, but the proud Duchess of Avila returned to society more haughty, more disdainful and less inclined to marry than before.

  I was born of good gentlemanly stock, but in Spanish eyes there could be no sort of equality between the duchess and me and if she deigned to have me near her it could only be as a protégé whose fortunes she wished to advance. Toledo was the knight of the sweet Duchess of Sidonia.
I was, as it were, the squire of her friend.

  This degree of servitude did not displease me. Without betraying my love, I was able swiftly to anticipate Manuela’s desires, to carry out her orders – in short, to devote myself to her every wish. In serving my sovereign lady, I took good care that no word, look or sigh betrayed the feelings of my heart. The fear of offending her, and still more of being banished from her presence, gave me the strength to master my passion. Throughout the period of this sweet bondage the Duchess of Sidonia missed no opportunity of raising me in her friend’s esteem. But the favours she obtained for me extended at most to an affable smile which expressed no more than protection.

  This lasted more than a year. I would see the duchess in church, and in the Prado; I would take her orders for the day; I never went to her palace.

  One day she summoned me. She was surrounded by her ladies and was engaged in needlework. She made me sit down and, adopting a haughty tone, said to me, ‘Señor Avadoro, I would do little honour to the blood of which I was born if I did not use my family’s influence to reward the respects which daily you pay me. My Uncle Sorriente has himself made this remark to me and has offered you the brevet of colonel in the regiment of his name. Will you do him the honour of accepting? Think about it.’

  ‘Señora,’ I replied, ‘my fortunes are bound up with those of my friend, Toledo, and I seek only the employment which he will obtain for me. As for the respects which I am happy enough to pay you each day, their sweetest reward would be the permission to continue to pay them.’

  The duchess did not reply but indicated by a slight bow that I should withdraw.

  A week later I was summoned again to the house of the haughty duchess. She received me as before and said to me, ‘Señor Avadoro, I cannot allow you to be more noble and generous than the Avilas, the Sorrientes, and all the grandees whose blood flows in my veins. I have new proposals to put to you, to the advantage of your fortune. A gentleman whose family is connected with ours has made a great fortune in Mexico. He has an only daughter whose dowry is a million…’

  I did not allow the duchess to finish her sentence, rose somewhat indignantly and said to her, ‘Señora, although the blood of the Avilas and the Sorrientes does not run in my veins, the heart which they nourish is set too high for a million to touch it.’

  I was about to retire, but the duchess asked me to sit down again. She first commanded her ladies to withdraw to the next room and to leave the door open. Then she said to me, ‘Señor Avadoro, there is only one reward left for me to offer you, and your zeal for my interests leads me to hope that you will not refuse me. You will be doing me an essential service.’

  ‘Indeed,’ I replied, ‘the happiness of serving you is the only reward that I shall ask you for my services.’

  ‘Come closer,’ said the duchess. ‘We might be heard in the other room. Avadoro, you know, no doubt, that my father was secretly the husband of the Infanta Beatriz and perhaps you will have been told in great confidence that he had a son by her. My father actually spread that rumour, but it was to throw the courtiers off the scent. The truth is that he had a daughter, who is still alive. She was brought up in a convent near Madrid. On his deathbed my father revealed to me the secret of her birth, which she still does not know. He also explained what he had planned for her, but his death has brought all that to nothing.

  ‘It would be impossible today to weave again the ambitious web of intrigue he had spun around her. The complete legitimation of my sister would, I think, be impossible to obtain and the first step we would take might lead to the perpetual reclusion of the poor girl. I have been to see her. Leonor is a nice girl, simple and gay, and I felt real fondness for her, but the abbess said so often that she looked like me that I have not dared to go back. However, I have declared myself to be her protector and let it be thought that she is one of the fruits of the many love affairs my father had while a young man. Recently the court has been having inquiries made in the convent, which make me uneasy and I have decided to have her brought to Madrid.

  ‘I possess a modest house in the Calle Retrada. I have rented a house opposite. What I ask of you is to live there and to watch over the treasure which I am entrusting to you. Here is the address of your new lodgings and here is a letter which you will give to the abbess of the Ursulines del Peñón. You will take four horsemen and a chaise drawn by two mules. A duenna will accompany my sister and will stay with her. The duenna is the only person with whom you may have dealings. You will not have the right to enter the house; the daughter of my father and of an infanta should have at least a spotless reputation.’

  After these words the duchess gave a slight nod, which for her was the signal to withdraw. So I left her and went to see my new lodgings. It was comfortable and well-appointed. I left two trusted servants there and kept the rooms I had in Toledo’s house. As for the house I had inherited from my father, I let it go for four hundred piastres.

  I also looked at Leonor’s house. I found two maids, who were there to serve her, and an old retainer of the Avila family, who was not wearing livery. The house was generously and elegantly appointed with all that is necessary for living in town.

  The next day I took four horsemen and went to the convento del Peñón. I was taken to the abbess’s parlour.

  She read my letter, smiled and sighed. ‘Dear Jesus!’ she said. ‘Many sins are committed in the world. I am glad to have left it. For example, Señor caballero, the young lady you have come to fetch looks just like the Duchess of Avila. She’s the very image of her! Two images of our sweet saviour do not look more alike. And who are the young lady’s parents? It’s not known. The late Duke of Avila, God rest his soul…’

  It is probable that the abbess’s chattering would have gone on much longer but I pointed out to her that I was in a hurry to fulfil my mission. The abbess shook her head, uttered many an ‘Alas!’ and a ‘Dear Jesus!’ and told me to speak to the sister gatekeeper. This I did. The gates of the convent were opened, two heavily veiled ladies came out and stepped into the chaise without uttering a word. I mounted my horse and followed them in silence. When we were near Madrid I took the lead and received the ladies at the door of their house. I did not go up but went to my lodgings across the street, from where I saw them take possession of theirs.

  Leonor did indeed seem to me to bear a strong resemblance to the duchess, but her complexion was fairer. She had very blonde hair and looked plumper. So much I could tell from my window but Leonor was too restive to allow me to examine her features closely. She was so delighted to have escaped from the convent that she abandoned herself to unfettered joy. She ran all over the house from the attic to the cellar, uttering joyful cries at the sight of simple domestic objects, entranced by a fine poker or a cooking pot. She put a thousand questions to the duenna, who could not keep up with her. Soon after, the duenna had the blinds put up, locked them in place and I could see no more.

  After dinner, I went to see the duchess and told her what I had done. She received me in her usual cold manner.

  ‘Señor Avadoro,’ she said, ‘the plan is that Leonor should marry. According to our customs you could not be admitted into her house even if you were going to be her husband. However, I shall tell the duenna to leave a blind open on the side facing your windows. But I insist that your blinds must remain closed. You must report to me all that Leonor does. It will be dangerous for her to know you, especially if you have the distaste for marriage that you showed me the other day.’

  ‘Señora,’ I replied, ‘I only said to you that self-interest would not make me marry. However, you are right. I do not expect to marry.’

  I left the duchess and went to see Toledo, whom I did not make privy to our secrets, and from there I went to my lodgings in the Calle Retrada. The blinds of the house opposite and even the windows were open. Androdo, the old retainer, was playing the guitar. Leonor was dancing the bolero with a vivacity and grace which I would not have expected of a person who had been cloi
stered with the Carmelites, for she had been brought up by them, and had not entered the Ursuline house until after the death of the duke. Leonor was very wanton and playful. She tried to make her duenna dance with Androdo. I could not get over my astonishment at discovering that the grave Duchess of Avila had a sister of such a lively temperament. Otherwise the resemblance was remarkable. I was very much in love with the duchess and her living image could not fail to interest me deeply. I was indulging in the pleasure of watching her when the duenna closed the blind.

  The next day I went to see the duchess. I told her what I had seen. I did not hide from her the great pleasure that the artless amusements of her sister had given me. I even dared to attribute my excessive joy to the strong family resemblance she bore.

  As this seemed to be something a little like a declaration of love, the duchess looked angry. She grew yet more grave.

  ‘Señor Avadoro,’ she said, ‘whatever the similarity between the two sisters I must ask you not to confuse them in the praises you may wish to make of them. However, you may come back tomorrow. I must make a journey and wish to see you before I leave.’

  ‘Señora,’ I said, ‘even if your anger were to destroy me, your features are imprinted on my soul as might be the image of a goddess. You are too far above me for me to raise a single amorous thought towards you. But today I can find your divine features in a young lady who is gay, straightforward, simple, natural and who will prevent me from loving you in her.’

  As I spoke the duchess’s face grew more severe. I expected to be banished from her presence but I was not. She simply told me to come back the next day.