Tales from the Saragossa Manuscript

by Jan Potocki

  I determined to go to a high-ceilinged room in the castle where there was a twelve-foot high Venetian mirror. But to disguise my discomposure, I took with me the volume of Edris, which included his poem on the creation of the world. I sat a very long way from the mirror, and began to read aloud.

  Then breaking off and raising my voice, I dared to ask the Thamim if they had witnessed these marvels. Thereupon the Venetian mirror left the wall on which it was hanging and came to rest before me. In it I saw the Twins smiling at me with an air of satisfaction, and both bowed their heads to convey to me that they had indeed been present at the creation of the world, and that everything had happened just as Edris described it.

  Then I grew bolder. I shut my book and met the gaze of my divine lovers. This momentary abandonment nearly cost me dear. There was still too much humanity in me to be able to withstand such intimate communication. The celestial flame that burned in their eyes almost consumed me. I lowered my gaze, and having recovered myself somewhat, I continued with my reading. But it so happened that the poem I turned to was the second canticle, in which this first among poets describes the amours between the sons of Elohim and the daughters of men. It is impossible today to imagine the way they loved in the world’s first age. Such extremes of loving, which I did not properly understand, often made me hesitate. At those moments my eyes turned despite themselves to the mirror, and I thought I saw the Thamim take increasing pleasure in this reading. They held out their arms to me; they came close to my chair. I saw them unfold the lustrous wings on their shoulders. I even discerned a slight quiver in the wings that served to gird them. I thought they were going to unfold these as well, and I covered my eyes with my hand. In the same instant I felt a kiss upon it, as well as on the hand that held my book. And also in the same instant, I heard the mirror shatter into a thousand pieces. I realized that the sun had left the sign of Gemini and that they had taken leave of me.

  The next day I noticed in another mirror what looked like two shadows, or rather the merest outline of my divine lovers’ traits. The following day I saw nothing at all. So, to charm away the grief of absence, I spent the nights in the observatory, and with my eye to the telescope, I tracked my lovers until their setting. Even after they had dropped below the horizon, I fancied I could see them still. At last, when the tail of Cancer disappeared from sight, I too would go to rest, and my bed was often bathed with tears that came of their own accord, for no reason.

  Meanwhile, filled with love and hope, my brother devoted himself more than ever to the study of the occult sciences. One day he came to me and said that certain signs he had noticed in the sky had told him that a famous practitioner of the art, who for two hundred years had been living in the pyramid of Saophis, had set out for America and would be passing through Cordoba on the 23rd of our month of Thybi at forty-five minutes past midnight.

  I went that evening to the observatory and discovered that he was right. But my calculation gave me a slightly different result. My brother maintained that his was correct, and since he is firmly wedded to his opinions, he wanted to go himself to Cordoba to prove his case. My brother could have made this journey in as little time as it takes me to tell you about it, but he wanted to enjoy the pleasures of the excursion, and followed the contours of the hills, choosing the route whose picturesqueness would afford him most delight. So it was that he came to Venta Quemada. He had taken with him Nemrael, the devil that appeared to me in the cave. My brother ordered him to bring some supper. Nemrael stole the supper from a Benedictine prior and brought it to the Venta. Then, having no further need of him, my brother sent Nemrael back to me. I was at the time in the observatory, and I saw in the sky things that made me fear for my brother. I ordered Nemrael to return to the Venta and on no account to leave his master. Off he went, and came back a moment later to tell me that a power greater than his own had prevented him from gaining access to the inn. My anxiety knew no bounds. At last I saw you arrive with my brother.

  I read in your features a self-confidence and serenity that showed me you were no cabbalist. My father had told me that a mortal would cause me great suffering. I feared you might be this mortal. Soon other cares filled my mind. My brother told me Pacheco’s story, and of his own experiences. But to my great surprise, he added that he had no idea what kind of demons he had been dealing with. We awaited nightfall with extreme impatience. At last it came, and we carried out the most dreadful conjurations. To no avail: we were unable to discover either the nature of those two beings, or whether through them my brother had in fact lost his claim to immortality. I thought we might extract from you some light on this. But faithful to some oath or other, you refused to say anything.

  Then, in order to help my brother and set his mind at rest, I determined to spend a night at Venta Quemada, and I set off yesterday. It was already late into the night when I reached the entrance to the valley. I gathered some trails of mist, of which I fashioned a will-o’-the-wisp, and I instructed it to lead the way. This is a secret that has remained in our family, and it was by similar means that Moses, blood brother to my sixty-third ancestor, made the pillar of fire that led the Israelites through the desert.

  My will-o’-the-wisp burned brightly and began to walk ahead of me, but it did not take the shortest route. I noticed this lapse, but did not pay enough attention to it.

  It was midnight by the time I got there. As I came into the Venta’s courtyard, I saw a light in the middle room, and heard some harmonious music. I sat down on a stone bench and performed several cabbalistic operations that achieved absolutely nothing. It is true that this music so captivated and distracted me that I cannot now tell you whether my operations were well done, and I think I must have overlooked some essential step. However, I thought I had done them properly, and believing there to be neither demons nor spirits in the inn, I concluded there were only men, and I surrendered to the pleasure of listening to them sing. There were two voices, accompanied by a stringed instrument, but they were so perfectly attuned and so harmonious, no music on earth can compare.

  The songs these voices sang inspired a tenderness so alluring it defies all description. For a long time I listened to them from my bench, but at last I decided I must go in, having come for that sole purpose. So I went upstairs and in the middle room I found two young men, both tall and handsome, seated at a table, eating, drinking and singing their hearts out. Their dress was oriental; they wore turbans on their heads, their chests and arms were bare, and they had costly weapons in their belts.

  These two strangers, whom I took for Turks, rose, drew up a chair for me, filled my plate and my glass, and resumed their singing to the accompaniment of a lute, which they took turns to play.

  There was something infectious about the casualness of their manner. They did not stand on ceremony, and nor did I. I was hungry, and I ate. There was no water, so I drank wine. Then I was seized with the desire to sing with the young Turks, who seemed enchanted to hear me do so. I sang a Spanish seguidilla. They responded, rhyme for rhyme and thought for thought.

  I asked them where they had learned Spanish.

  One of them replied: “We were born in the Morea, and are sailors by profession. It was easy for us to learn the language of the ports we frequented. But enough of seguidillas. Listen to the songs of our country.”

  Their songs had a melodiousness that led the soul through every shade of feeling, and when one had reached the extremity of tenderness, unexpected strains in the music brought the listener back to the craziest merriment.

  I was not taken in by this ploy. I carefully studied the supposed sailors, and thought I saw a close resemblance between them, and a strong likeness to my divine Gemini.

  “You are Turks,” I said, “and were born in the Morea?”

  “Not at all,” replied the one who had not yet spoken. “We are Greeks, born in Sparta.”

  “Ah! divine Rebecca,” continued the other, “can you fail to recognize us! I am Pollux and this is my brother!”


  Terror robbed me of the use of my voice. The supposed Twins spread their wings. I felt myself raised through the air, but by a happy inspiration, I pronounced a sacred name of which only my brother and I are in possession. In that very instant I was dashed to the ground. My fall made me lose consciousness, and it was through your ministrations that I regained it. I have a firm conviction that I lost nothing of what it was important for me to preserve. But I am weary of so many wonders. Divine Twins, I have the feeling I am unworthy of you. I was born to remain an ordinary mortal.

  Here Rebecca ended her story, but it did not have the effect on me she expected. Despite all the extraordinary things I had seen and heard in the last ten days, I could not help thinking she had tried to make a fool of me. I left her rather discourteously, and as I began to reflect on what had happened to me since leaving Cadiz, I then recalled a few words that Don Emanuel de Sa, Governor of that city, had let slip, which made me think he was not totally unacquainted with the mysterious existence of the Gomelez. It was he who had given me my two manservants Lopez and Mosquito. I took it into my head that it was on his order that they had left me at the ill-omened entrance to Los Hermanos. My cousins, and Rebecca herself, had often given me to understand that I was being tested. Perhaps at the Venta I had been given a drink to make me sleep, and then nothing could have easier than to transport me in my sleep and leave me lying beneath the fateful gibbet. Pacheco might have lost an eye through some accident quite other than his amorous liaison with the two hanged men, and his dreadful story could be a fabrication. The hermit, who had always tried to ferret out my secret, was doubtless an agent of the Gomelez, who wanted to try my discretion. Finally, Rebecca, her brother, Zoto and the gypsy chieftain – all these people were perhaps conspiring to shake my courage.

  These reflections, as anyone will appreciate, persuaded me to await resolutely the sequel to the adventures for which I was destined. The reader will learn what happened next if the first part of my story is well received.

  COPYRIGHT

  Published in the UK by Dedalus Limited,

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  Publishing History

  First published in France in 1814

  First published by Dedalus in 1990

  First ebook edition in 2012

  Translation copyright © Christine Donougher 1990

  Introduction copyright © Dedalus 1990

  The right of christine Donougher to be identified as the translator of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  Printed in Finland by Bookwell

  Typeset by RefineCatch Ltd, Bungay, Suffolk

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A C.I.P. Listing for this book is available on request.