by Jan Potocki
“Landulphe, when I have supper here, I stay the night. Now, get into bed!”
At this point my father interrupted the chaplain, and turning to me, said: “My son Alphonse, in Landulphe’s position, would you have been afraid?”
I replied: “My dear father, I assure you that I would not have felt the slightest fear.”
My father seemed satisfied with this reply and was very jolly for the rest of the evening.
So our days went by and nothing affected their uniformity, except that in summer, instead of sitting round the fireplace, we sat on benches that stood by the door. Three whole years passed in such sweet tranquillity, and now they seem to me like so many weeks.
When I reached my seventeenth birthday, my father thought to have me join the Walloon Guards, and he wrote on the matter to those of his former comrades on whom he most relied. These worthy and respectable soldiers pooled together on my behalf all the influence they had, and obtained a captain’s commission. When my father received news of it, he felt such a violent rush of emotion that we feared for his life. But he quickly recovered, with no other thought but for the preparations for my departure. He wanted me to go by sea, so as to enter Spain via Cadiz, and to present myself first of all to Don Henri de Sa, commander of the province, who had contributed the most to my advancement.
When the post chaise stood already fully harnessed in the castle courtyard, my father led me into his room, and having closed the door, said to me:
“My dear Alphonse, I am going to tell you a secret that was told to me by my father, and which you will tell to no one but your son, when you consider him worthy of it.”
Since I had no doubt it was a matter of some hidden treasure, I replied that I had never regarded gold as anything but a means of coming to the aid of the needy.
But my father replied: “No, my dear Alphonse, this is not a matter of gold or of money. I want to teach you a secret lunge with which, by parrying with the counter and marking the flanconade, you are sure of disarming your enemy.”
Then he took some foils, showed me the lunge in question, gave me his blessing and led me to my carriage. I kissed my mother’s hand again, and set off.
I travelled by post as far as Flushing, where I found a vessel that brought me to Cadiz. Don Henri de Sa welcomed me as though I were his own son. He provided me with a horse and recommended two servants to me, one of whom was called Lopez and the other Mosquito. From Cadiz, I went to Seville, and from Seville to Cordoba, then I came to Andujar, where I took the road to the Sierra Morena. I had the misfortune to be separated from my servants near the Los Alcornoques drinking-trough. However, I arrived the same day at Venta Quemada and yesterday reached your hermitage.
“My dear child,” said the hermit, “your story has greatly interested me, and I am very obliged to you for having been good enough to tell it to me. I now see clearly, from the manner in which you have been brought up, that fear is a sentiment that must be completely unknown to you. But since you have spent the night at Venta Quemada, I am much afraid that you may be exposed to the molestations of the two hanged men, and that you may suffer the sad fate of the demonaic.”
“Father,” I answered the anchorite, “I have given a great deal of thought during the night to Signor Pacheco’s story. Although he is possessed by the devil, he is none the less a gentleman and, as such, I believe him to be incapable of failing in his duty to the truth. But Inigo Velez, our castle chaplain, told me that although there were demoniacs in the early centuries of the Church’s history, now there were no longer any, and his word seems to me all the more worthy of respect since my father instructed me to believe Inigo in all matters relating to our religion.”
“But,” said the hermit, “have you not seen the dreadful appearance of the man, and how the demons have made him blind in one eye?”
I replied: “Father, Signor Pacheco may have lost his eye in some other way. Besides, on all these matters I put my faith in the judgement of those who know more about them than I. It is enough for me that I am not afraid of ghosts or vampires. However, if you want to give me some holy relic to protect me from their importunings, I promise to wear it with faith and reverence.”
The hermit appeared to smile a little at this naivety, then he said to me: “I see, my dear child, that you still have faith, but I fear that you will not persist in it. These Gomelez, from whom you are descended through the female line, are all latter-day Christians. Some are even Muslim at heart, so it is said. If they offered you a huge fortune to change your religion, would you accept?”
“Certainly not,” I replied. “I think that to renounce one’s religion or to desert one’s flag are two equally dishonourable things.”
At this, the hermit again seemed to smile, then he said: “I am sorry to see that your virtues rest on a far too extravagant code of honour, and I warn you that you will no longer find Madrid as swashbuckling as it was in your father’s day. Moreover, virtues have other foundations that are more sound. But I do not want to delay you any longer, for you have a day’s hard riding ahead of you before you reach Venta del Peñon, or the Rock Tavern. The innkeeper has stayed on there, despite the robbers, because he relies on the protection of a band of gypsies who are camped nearby. The day after tomorrow, you will reach Venta de Cardeñas – by then you will already be out of the Sierra Morena. I have put some provisions in the pockets of your saddle.”
Having said these things, the hermit embraced me warmly, but he did not give me any relic to protect me from the fiends. I did not want to mention it to him again, and I mounted my horse.
As I journeyed, I began thinking about the maxims I had just heard, unable to imagine how there could be any more solid foundation for virtue than the code of honour, which seemed to me in itself alone to embrace all virtues.
I was still preoccupied with these thoughts when a horseman, suddenly riding out from behind a rock, cut across my path and said: “Is your name Alphonse van Worden?”
I replied that it was.
“If that is so,” said the horseman, “I arrest you in the name of the King and the Most Holy Inquisition. Surrender your sword.”
I obeyed without argument. Then the horseman whistled and I saw armed men bear down upon me from all sides. They tied my hands behind my back, and we took a byroad into the mountains that led us an hour later to a heavily fortified castle. The drawbridge was lowered and we went in. While we were still under the keep, a side-door was opened and I was thrown into a cell, without anyone even taking the trouble to untie the ropes that bound me.
The cell was totally dark, and not having a free hand to stretch out in front of me, I would have had difficulty in advancing without banging my nose against the walls. That is why I sat down right where I was, and as anyone might readily imagine, I began to reflect on what could have given rise to my imprisonment. My first and only thought was that the Inquisition had seized my lovely cousins, and the negresses had reported everything that had happened at Venta Quemada. Assuming that I was to be interrogated about the Africans beauties, the only choice I had was either to betray them and break my word of honour, or deny that I knew them, which would have involved me in a series of shameful lies. After having deliberated on what course to adopt, I decided upon the most absolute silence, and I firmly resolved not to respond at all to any questioning.
Once this doubt was removed from my mind, I began to muse upon the events of the two preceding days. I did not doubt that my cousins were women of flesh and blood. I was convinced of it by some inexplicable feeling stronger than everything that had been said to me about the power of demons. As for the trick that had been played upon me, of placing me under the gibbet, I was extremely indignant about it.
Meanwhile, the hours went by. I was beginning to feel hungry, and since I had heard that cells were sometimes provided with bread and a jug of water, I began to explore with my legs and feet in the hope of finding something of the kind. Indeed I soon felt a foreign body that turned out to be
half a loaf of bread. The difficulty was bringing it to my mouth. I lay down beside the bread and tried to catch hold of it with my teeth, but it eluded me and slipped away for want of some resistance. I pushed it so far, I forced it up against the wall. Then I was able to eat, because the loaf was cut down the middle. Had it been whole, I should not have been able to bite into it. I also found a jug, but it was impossible to drink from it. Hardly had I wet my throat when all the water poured away. I carried my explorations further: I found some straw in a corner and lay down on it. My hands were skilfully tied – in other words, very tightly – but without hurting me. So it was that I had no difficulty in falling asleep.
THE FOURTH DAY
It seemed to me that I had slept for several hours when they came to wake me. I saw a monk of St Dominic enter my cell, followed by several men of very ugly demeanour. A few held torches; others, instruments that were altogether unknown to me and which I decided must be used for torture. I remembered what I had determined to do and my resolution grew stronger. I thought of my father. He had never undergone torture, but had he not suffered a thousand painful operations at the hands of surgeons? I knew that he had endured these without a single complaint. I resolved to follow his example, not to utter a word and, if possible, not to let a sigh escape me.
The inquisitor had a chair brought for him, sat next to me, assumed a mild and ingratiating air, and spoke to me more or less in these words: “My dear child, give thanks to heaven that led you to this cell. But tell me, why are you here? What sin have you committed? Make your confession, shed your tears on my breast… You do not answer me? Alas, my child, in this you are at fault… We do not interrogate, that is not our method. We leave it to he who is guilty to accuse himself. This confession, although somewhat forced, is not without merit, especially when the guilty man denounces his accomplices. You do not answer? So much the worse for you… Well, we shall have to set you on the right path. Are you acquainted with two princesses from Tunis? Or rather, two infamous witches, execrable vampires and devils incarnate? You say nothing. Have the two infantas of Lucifer’s court sent in!”
At this point my two cousins, who, like me, had their hands tied behind their backs, were brought in.
Then the inquisitor continued in these terms: “Now then, my dear son, do you recognize them? Still you say nothing! My dear son, do not be alarmed at what I about to tell you: we are going to hurt you a little. You see these two planks: your legs will be placed between them, they will be secured tightly with a rope. Then these wedges that you see here will be driven between your legs, they will be hammered in. First your feet will swell up. Then blood will spurt from your big toes, and the nails on your other toes will all drop off. Then the soles of your feet will split open and a fatty substance mixed with crushed flesh will ooze out. This will be extremely painful. You have nothing to say: well, all that is just the usual torture. However, you will lose consciousness. These are phials filled with various spirits with which you will be revived… When you have regained your senses, those wedges will be removed and replaced with these, which are much bigger. At the first blow, your knees and heels will shatter. At the second, your legs will split length-ways. The marrow will spill out and run on to this straw, mixed with your blood… You will not speak? Very well, apply the thumb-screws!”
The torturers took my legs and tied them between the planks.
“You will not speak? Position the wedges! You will not speak? Raise the hammers!”
At that moment there was a sound of gunfire. Emina cried out: “O Muhammad! We are saved. Zoto has come to our rescue.”
Zoto came in with his gang of men, threw out the torturers, and tied the inquisitor to a ring in the wall of the cell. Then he unbound us, the two Moorish women and myself. The first thing they did when their arms were freed was to throw themselves in mine. Someone had to disengage us. Zoto told me to mount a horse and to ride on ahead, assuring me that he would soon follow with the two ladies.
The advance party with which I set off consisted of four horsemen. At daybreak we reached a very lonely spot, where we found a post house. Then we kept to the high peaks and the crests of snow-capped mountains.
At about four o’clock we reached some rock cavities, where we were to spend the night. But I heartily congratulated myself on having come there while it was still light, for the view was splendid and must have seemed especially so to me, who had seen nothing but the Ardennes and Zealand. At my feet lay the lovely Vega de Granada, which the people of Granada, in the face of truth, call la Nuestra Vegilla. I could see it all, with its six towns, its forty villages – the most magnificent view lying before me. Enchanted to find that my eyes could behold so many lovely things at once, I surrendered myself to gazing upon them. I felt I was becoming a lover of nature. I forgot my cousins; yet soon they arrived in litters borne by horses.
They sat down on flagstones in the cavern and when they were a little rested, I said to them: “Ladies, I have no complaint about the night I spent at Venta Quemada, but I confess it ended in a way I found immensely disagreeable.”
Emina replied: “Alphonse, hold us responsible only for the good part of your dreams. But what have you to complain about? Did you not have the opportunity to show superhuman courage?”
“What!” I said. “Are you suggesting that someone has questioned my courage? If I knew where to find that person, I would fight a duel with him on whatever conditions he might choose.”
Emina replied: “I don’t know what you are talking about! There are some things I cannot tell you. There are others I do not know myself. I act only on the orders of the head of our family, Sheikh Massoud’s successor, who knows the secret of Cassar Gomelez in its entirety. All I can say is that you are our very close relative. The oidor of Granada, your mother’s father, had a son who was found worthy of being initiated. He embraced the Muslim religion and married the four daughters of the then reigning Dey of Tunis. Only the youngest of the daughters had any children, and she is our mother. Shortly after the birth of Zibedde, my father and his three other wives died in an outbreak of disease that at that time ravaged the whole Barbary coast… But let us leave aside all these things that perhaps one day you will come to know. Let us talk of you, of the gratitude we owe you, or rather our admiration for your virtues. With what indifference you viewed the preparations for torture! What religious respect for your word of honour! Yes, Alphonse, you outshine all the heroes of our race and we now belong to you.”
Zibedde, who willingly let her sister talk when the conversation was serious, reclaimed that privilege when it took a sentimental turn. In short, I was flattered, gratified, pleased with myself and with others. Then the negresses arrived; we were given supper and Zoto himself served us, with the most profound marks of respect. Then the negresses made up a reasonably comfortable bed for my cousins in a kind of cave. I went to sleep in another, and we all enjoyed the rest we needed.
THE FIFTH DAY
The next day our party made an early start. We came down from the mountains and wound our way through sunken valleys, or rather through chasms that seemed to reach down to the entrails of the earth. These cut through the chain of mountains in so many different directions it was impossible to get one’s bearings, or to know which way one was heading.
We continued like this for six hours, and came to the ruins of a deserted and desolate town. There, Zoto told us to dismount, and leading me to a well, he said:
“Signor Alphonse, will you be so kind as to look into this well and tell me what you think of it.”
I told him that I could see water in it and that this well seemed to me in no way different from any other.
“Well,” said Zoto, “you are mistaken, for it is the entrance to my palace.”
Having said this, he stuck his head in the well and gave a shout. A moment later, a heavy stone, supported on chains, was lowered to a few feet above the water, forming a kind of drawbridge. Then two armed man appeared, who were soon at the top of the
well. When they were out, Zoto said to me:
“Signor Alphonse, I have the honour of presenting to you my two brothers, Cicio and Momo. Perhaps you saw their bodies strung up on a certain gibbet, but they are none the less in good health, and will always be your devoted servants, being, as I am, in the service and in the pay of the Grand Sheikh of the Gomelez.”
I replied that I was delighted to meet the brothers of a man who appeared to have rendered me such a great service.
We had to reconcile ourselves to a descent into the well. A rope ladder was brought, which the two sisters used with greater ease than I had expected. I went down after them. When we reached the stone drawbridge, we found a small side-door, through which one could pass only by stooping very low. But immediately afterwards we found ourselves on a splendid staircase carved out of the rock, lit by lamps. We went down more than two hundred steps. Finally we entered a subterranean residence, consisting of numerous rooms and chambers. The walls of the living quarters were lined with cork, which protected them against dampness. I have since seen at Cintra, near Lisbon, a convent carved out of the rock, whose cell-walls were also lined in this way, and which is known, because of this, as the Cork Convent.
In addition, some well-placed warm fires gave Zoto’s underground dwelling a very pleasant temperature. The horses that served his troops were scattered in the vicinity. Yet, in case of need, they could also be brought into the earth’s bosom, through a passage that opened onto a neighbouring valley, and there was a specially made contraption to hoist them up, but this was rarely used.
“All these wonders”, Emina told me, “are the work of the Gomelez. They dug out this rock during the time when they were masters of the area – that is to say, they finished digging it out, for the idolaters who were living in the Alpujarras when they arrived had already done much of the work. Scholars claim that in this very place were the mines that produced the gold native to Baetica, and ancient prophesies predict that one day the whole country is to return to the power of the Gomelez. What do you say to that, Alphonse? Would it not be a fine inheritance!”
