The Manuscript Found in Saragossa

by Jan Potocki

  We met again at dinner. Mamoun said to the duchess, ‘Señora, I believe that Don Juan should be informed of certain things he needs to know. If you agree, I shall do this.’

  The duchess gave her consent. Mamoun turned to me and said, ‘Señor Don Juan, you find yourself here on lands whose deep places are hidden from profane eyes; lands in which everyone has a secret to keep. There are vast caves and extensive underground workings in this chain of mountains. They are inhabited by Moors who have never left them since they were driven out of Spain. In the valley which stretches out before your eyes you will meet bogus gypsies, some of whom are Muslim, others Christian, yet others who confess no religion. On the pinnacle of that rock over there you can see a tower to the top of which a cross is fixed. It is a Dominican monastery. The holy Inquisition has its reasons for shutting its eyes to everything that goes on there, and the Dominicans make it their duty to see nothing. The house in which you find yourself is lived in only by Jews. Every seven years Portuguese and Spanish Jews gather to celebrate the sabbatical year.2 This will be the four hundred and thirty-eighth time since Joshua celebrated it. I have already said, Señor Avadoro, that among the gypsies some are Muslims, some Christians and some confess no religion. These last are pagans who are the descendants of Carthaginians. In the reign of Philip II,3 some hundreds of these families were burnt at the stake. A few only found refuge near a small lake of volcanic origin. The Dominicans have a small chapel there.

  ‘Now, Señor Avadoro, listen to what we have arranged for little Ondina, who will never know what her origins are. The duenna, who is completely devoted to the duchess, is taken to be her mother. A pretty little house is being built for your daughter beside the lake. Dominicans from the monastery will teach her the first principles of religion. For the rest, we shall trust to providence. No ferreting spy will be able to find his way to the shores of the lake of la Frita.’

  As he spoke, the duchess shed some tears, and I too could not stop myself from crying. The following day we went to the shores of the same lake where we find ourselves today, and took little Ondina there.

  Next day the duchess had recovered her pride and her haughtiness, and I confess that our farewell was not very affectionate.

  I did not stay long at the castle. I took a ship, landed in Sicily and arranged with Captain Speronara to be taken to Malta.

  I went to see Prior Toledo. My noble friend embraced me warmly, took me to a room well apart from the others and closed the door behind me. Half an hour later the prior’s marshal brought me a copious meal and towards evening Toledo came with a great wad of letters, or as they say in political circles, of dispatches. The next day I was already on my way to the Archduke Don Carlos with a message.

  I met his Imperial Majesty in Vienna.4 Immediately I had handed over my dispatches, I was shut up in a room well apart from the others, as I had been in Malta. An hour later the archduke came to see me in person, took me to the emperor and said:

  ‘I have the honour to present to your Imperial and Apostolic Majesty Marchese Castelli, a Sardinian gentleman, and to ask that he be given the key of chamberlain.’

  The Emperor Leopold twisted his lower lip into as pleasant an expression as he could manage, and asked me in Italian when I had left Sardinia.

  I was not in the habit of speaking to monarchs, and still less of lying to them, so by way of reply I restricted myself to a deep bow.

  ‘Good!’ said the emperor. ‘I hereby attach you to the household of my son.’

  And so I became, without wishing to, Marchese Castelli, a Sardinian gentleman.

  That evening I had a terrible headache, the next day a fever, and two days later smallpox. I must have caught it in some inn in Carinthia. My illness was violent and extremely grave. Yet I recovered from it, and even benefited by it. Castelli no longer looked in the least like Don Juan. In changing my name I had also changed my outward appearance. No one would ever have recognized in me the Elvira who once was going to become the wife of the Viceroy of Mexico. As soon as I was better, I was entrusted with communications with Spain. Meanwhile, Philippe d’Anjou was reigning in Spain, in the Indies and even in the hearts of his subjects. But heaven alone knows what demon intervenes at such moments in the affairs of princes. King Philippe and the queen, his wife, became, as it were, the first subjects of the Princesse des Ursins.5 Moreover, the Cardinal des Estrées, the French ambassador, was admitted to the council of state, which enraged the Spaniards. Finally King Louis XIV, thinking that he could do as he liked, made Mantua a French garrison. The Archduke Don Carlos’s hopes of acceding to the throne were rekindled.

  One evening, right at the beginning of the year 1703, the archduke summoned me. He walked a few steps towards me and deigned even to embrace me affectionately. This greeting heralded something extraordinary.

  ‘Castelli,’ said the archduke, ‘haven’t you had news from Prior Toledo?’

  I replied in the negative.

  ‘He was a remarkable man,’ added the archduke after a moment.

  ‘What do you mean, “was”?’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Yes,’ said the archduke, ‘he was. Prior Toledo died of typhus on his island of Malta. But you will find in me a second Toledo. Mourn for your friend, and remain loyal to me.’

  I wept bitter tears at the loss of my friend and realized that I had for ever to remain Castelli. By the force of destiny I became the docile instrument and the slave of the archduke.

  Next year we went to London. From there the archduke went to Lisbon, while I joined the troops of Lord Peterborough,6 whom I had had the honour of meeting in Naples. I was at his side when he secured the surrender of Barcelona and on this occasion he revealed his character by a noble and famous action. While the terms of surrender were being negotiated, some allied troops had entered the city and started looting it. The Duke Popoli, who commanded the army in the name of King Philippe, complained of this to the English lord.

  ‘Allow me to enter the city for a moment with my English troops,’ said Peterborough, ‘and I give you my word that order will be restored.’

  He did as he promised. He left the city and offered it honourable terms of surrender.

  Soon after, the archduke, who had conquered nearly all of Spain, arrived in Barcelona. I regained my place in his household, still under the name of the Marchese Castelli. While walking one evening with members of the archduke’s household in the main square, I saw a man whose gait – now crawling, now scuttling – reminded me of Don Busqueros. I had him watched, and was told that he wore a false nose and was known as Dr Robusti. I didn’t doubt an instant that it was Busqueros, and that the wretch had slipped into the town with the intention of spying on us.

  I informed the archduke of this, who gave me full powers to do as I saw fit with the villain. First, I ordered him to be locked up in our central guardhouse. Then, as the guard was being relieved, I lined up two ranks of grenadiers, each armed with a switch of birch, from there to the port. The men were spaced apart so that they could move their right arm. When Busqueros came out of the guardhouse he at once realized that these preparations had been made for him, and that he was to be the king of the festivities, as we say. He ran as fast as he could and avoided half the blows but none the less received at least two hundred. At the port he threw himself into a longboat, which took him on board a frigate, where he had the leisure to tend to his back.

  The moment for the gypsy to attend to the affairs of his band had come, so he left us and put off the sequel to his story until the next day.

  The Sixtieth Day

  The next evening the gypsy carried on his story as follows:

  THE GYPSY CHIEF’S STORY CONTINUED

  I stayed at the archduke’s side for ten years. The best years of my life were spent in sadness but they were in fact no more joyful for other Spaniards. Every day disorder seemed to be ending, and every day it broke out again. King Philippe’s supporters despaired of his weakness for the Princesse des Ursins. Don Carlos’s party
also had no reasons for rejoicing. Both sides had committed numerous errors. There was a general feeling of exhaustion and disillusionment.

  The Duchess of Avila, who had long been thought to be the soul of the Austrian party, would perhaps have won over that of King Philippe if she had not been thwarted by the insurmountable pride of the Princesse des Ursins. The latter had eventually to leave the theatre of her exploits and return to Rome, but she soon came back, more triumphant than ever. At that the Duchess of Avila left for the Algarve and set about founding a convent. The Duchess of Sidonia lost her daughter and her son-in-law one after the other; the Sidonia line died out altogether and its possessions passed to the Medina Celi family. The duchess herself retired to Andalusia.

  In 1711 the archduke succeeded his brother Joseph1 on the throne and as emperor took the name of Charles VI. Europe’s covetousness was no longer directed at France but at the new emperor. People no longer wanted Spain to remain under the same sceptre as Hungary. The Austrians withdrew from Barcelona, leaving behind the Marchese Castelli, whom the inhabitants honoured with their complete trust. I did not spare any effort to make them see reason, but my efforts were in vain. A madness had taken hold of the Catalans. They thought that they could defy the whole of Europe.

  Amid all these events I received a letter from the Duchess of Avila. She already signed it as the Prioress of Val Santo. The letter consisted of these few words:

  Go as soon as you can to Uzeda and try to see Ondina. Be sure to speak first to the prior of the Dominican monastery.

  Duke Popoli, King Philippe’s commander-in-chief, was besieging Barcelona. The first thing he did was to raise a fifty-feet-high gallows which was intended for the Marchese Castelli. I gathered the leading citizens of Barcelona together and said to them:

  ‘Señores, I appreciate the honour that you do me in placing your trust in me, but I am not a soldier and am therefore not capable of being your commander. Besides, if you were ever forced to surrender, the first condition which would be imposed on you would be to hand me over, which would no doubt be very distressing for you. For these reasons it is best for me to bid you farewell and leave you for good.’

  But when people are committed to the ways of folly, they carry with them the greatest number and even think that there is an advantage to be had in refusing to grant safe passes out of the city. So I was not given permission to go, but I had long since made my own plans. A boat awaited me on the beach; I boarded it at midnight and the next evening landed at Floriana, an Andalusian fishing village.

  I rewarded the sailors generously, sent them back and went up into the mountains. After a long time trying to find my way, I finally reached Uzeda’s castle and its owner hardly recognized me in spite of his astrological powers.

  ‘Señor Don Juan, or rather Señor Castelli,’ he said, ‘your daughter is healthy and indescribably beautiful. As for the rest, you must speak to the Dominican prior.’

  Two days later an aged monk approached me and said, ‘Señor Castelli, the holy Inquisition, to which I belong, thinks it its duty to shut its eyes to much that occurs in these mountains. It does so in the hope of converting lost sheep, who are very numerous in these parts.

  The example of these lost sheep has had a bad influence on young Ondina. She is in any case a girl with strange ideas. When we instructed her in the principles of our holy religion she listened attentively and did not show any signs of doubting the truth of what we said, but a moment later she was saying Muslim prayers with the others and participating in pagan festivals. Go to the lake of la Frita, Señor, and try to fathom her heart, over which you have some authority.’

  I thanked the venerable Dominican and set off for the shores of the lake. My path took me to a promontory situated to the north. From there I saw a sailing boat gliding over the water at lightning speed. I was amazed at the way the boat was constructed: tapered like a skate, it was equipped with two beams whose counterweights stopped it capsizing. The sail was attached to a solid mast; beside it, a girl seemed to glide over the surface of the water, scarcely touching it. The curious craft came to land where I was standing. The girl got out. Her shoulders and legs were bare and a green silk dress clung to her body. Her hair fell down in great curls on to a snow-white neck. Sometimes she shook them like a mane; her appearance reminded me of the natives of America.

  ‘Manuela, oh Manuela!’ I exclaimed. ‘Is this our daughter?’

  It was indeed she. I went to her apartment. The duenna of Ondina had died some years previously. The duchess herself had then come and had entrusted her daughter to a Walloon family, but Ondina refused to recognize any authority. She spoke little, climbed trees, scaled rocks and swam in the lake. She was not unintelligent. She it was, for example, who had designed the gracious boat I have just described to you. Only one word would induce her to be obedient. It was the name of her father, and if something was required of her she was told to do it in her father’s name. When I reached her lodgings it was decided to summon her at once. As she arrived, her whole body was trembling. She knelt before me. I pressed her to my heart, covered her with caresses, but did not succeed in extracting a single word from her.

  After breakfast Ondina went back to her boat. I climbed in with her; she took the oars and rowed to the middle of the lake. I tried to engage her in conversation. She let the oars go and seemed to listen attentively to me. We were on the east side of the lake, very close to the precipitous cliffs which surround it.

  ‘Dear Ondina,’ I cried. ‘Have you, I wonder, zealously followed the pious precepts of the monastery fathers? You are after all a rational being, Ondina. You possess a soul and religion should be your guide in the paths of life.’

  As I was in the process of remonstrating with her as a father, Ondina suddenly jumped into the water and disappeared from sight. Full of fear, I immediately returned to her lodging and called for help. I was told that there was no reason to be alarmed, as there were hollows in the rock and caves that were linked one with the other; Ondina knew all these passages; she would disappear in one place only to reappear in another and often would not return for several hours. On this occasion she returned quite quickly, but I decided from then on not to remonstrate with her further. As I have said, Ondina was not lacking in intelligence, but having been brought up in solitude and left to her own devices, she had no idea of normal behaviour.

  Some days later a monk came to see me in the name of the duchess, or rather Prioress Manuela. He gave me a habit similar to his to conduct me to her. We followed the coast to the mouth of the Guadiana, where we reached the Algarve and eventually Val Santo. The convent was almost built. The prioress received me in her usual dignified way, but when the witnesses to our meeting had withdrawn she was overcome by emotion. Her haughty dreams had flown away. All that remained was a nostalgic regret for love that was lost for ever. I wanted to speak to her about Ondina but the prioress, sighing, asked me to defer the matter till the next day.

  ‘Let us rather speak about you,’ she said. ‘Your friends have not forgotten you. Your fortune has doubled in their hands. It’s a matter now of what the name will be under which you will have the enjoyment of it. It’s impossible for you still to pass as the Marchese Castelli. The king will not pardon those who took part in the uprising in Catalonia.’

  We talked about it for a long time without reaching a decision. Some days later Manuela secretly gave me a letter which she had received from the Austrian ambassador. It was flatteringly suggested that I should return to Vienna. I confess that few things in life have given me as much pleasure. I had served the emperor devotedly and his gratitude seemed to me to be the sweetest of rewards.

  But I did not succumb to false hopes. I knew the customs of the court too well. People had tolerated my receiving favours from the archduke while he vainly struggled to accede to the throne, but I could not expect them to tolerate me at the side of the greatest monarch of all Christendom. Above all else I feared an Austrian gentleman who never stopped trying
to harm me. He was Graf Altheim, who came later to possess considerable influence. In spite of that I went to Vienna and embraced the knees of His Apostolic Majesty. The emperor was gracious enough to consider with me whether it wasn’t better to keep the name of Castelli rather than assume my own again, and offered me an important post in his empire. His kindness touched me, but a secret foreboding prevented me from taking advantage of his offer.

  At that time some Spanish noblemen left their country and established themselves in Austria, among whom were the Counts Larios, Oyas, Basquez and Taruca. They knew me well and urged me to follow their example. I intended to do so, but the secret enemy of whom I spoke was watching carefully. He had learnt all that had been said at my audience and had immediately told the Spanish ambassador. The latter thought that he was fulfilling a diplomatic duty by persecuting me. Important discussions were still going on at that time. The ambassador invented obstacles and linked the difficulties that arose to questions about my person and the role I had played in affairs. He succeeded in his aim. I soon noticed that my situation had changed completely. Courtiers seemed embarrassed by my presence. As I had foreseen this change before my arrival in Vienna, I was not too upset by it. I solicited a valedictory audience. I was granted it without anything being referred to.

  I left for London, and it was some years before I returned to Spain.

  I found the prioress listless and pale. ‘Don Juan,’ she said, ‘you can see how the years have changed me. To tell the truth, I can feel that a life which holds no more charms for me is nearing its end. Merciful heavens, how many reproaches you will be justified in making to me! Listen to me. My daughter died a pagan, my granddaughter is a Muslim. Take this and read it.’ As she said this she held out a letter from Uzeda, which read as follows: