The Manuscript Found in Saragossa

by Jan Potocki

  What, I wondered, is this powerful conspiracy which seems to have no other purpose than to hide some secret or other from me or to dazzle my eyes with magic, parts of which I think I can guess, only to be thrown shortly after into confusion by new happenings? It is obvious that I myself form part of this invisible plot and it is clear that others are trying to keep me here with ever closer bonds.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the chief’s two daughters, who came to suggest that we went for a walk together. I accepted and followed them. The conversation was in correct Spanish, unadulterated by jerigonza or gypsy language. Their minds were cultivated and they were of a cheerful and open temperament. After the stroll we took supper and then went to bed.

  But that night, no cousins.

  The Thirteenth Day

  The gypsy chief had me brought an ample breakfast and then said, ‘Señor caballero, the enemy – that is to say, the customs officers – are closing in. It is only right to abandon the battlefield to them. There, they will find the bales intended for them; the rest is already safely hidden away. Take your time over breakfast, then we shall leave.’

  As the customs men could already be seen on the other side of the valley, I ate hastily while the majority of the band went on ahead. We made our way from one mountain to the next, going deeper and deeper into the wilderness of the Sierra Morena. At last we stopped in a deep valley where some of the band were already waiting for us and had prepared our meal. After we had eaten I asked the chief to continue the story of his life, which he did as follows:

  THE GYPSY CHIEF’S STORY CONTINUED

  You left me listening attentively to the remarkable tale of Giulio Romati. This, more or less, is how he went on:

  GIULIO ROMATI’S STORY CONTINUED

  Zoto’s character was well known and I had complete confidence in the assurances he had given me. I happily returned to my inn and sent for muleteers. Several came forward. The bandits do not harm them or their beasts. I chose the man amongst them with the best reputation. I took a mule for myself, one for my valet and two for my baggage. The head muleteer also had his mule and two servants, who followed on foot.

  Next day I left at daybreak, and as I was on my way I noticed members of Zoto’s band who seemed to be following us at a distance and passed us on to fresh relays as we proceeded. As you can well imagine, no harm could possibly come to me in this way.

  I had a very pleasant journey, during which my health improved from day to day. I was only two days from Naples when the idea of making a detour through Salerno occurred to me. My curiosity to see this place was quite natural, as I was very interested in the history of Renaissance art, the cradle of which, in Italy, had been the school of Salerno. I don’t know what evil fate led me to make this ill-starred journey.

  I left the high road at Monte Brugio and a guide from the village led me into an unimaginable wilderness. At about midday we reached a tumbledown hovel which the guide assured me was an inn, though it was not noticeable from the way in which the innkeeper greeted me. Far from offering me food, he begged me to share any provisions I had with him. I did in fact have some cold meat, which I shared with him, my guide and my valet, as the muleteers had stayed behind in Monte Brugio.

  I left this poor hostelry about two hours after midday and soon caught sight of an immense castle perched on a mountain top. I asked my guide what it was called and whether it was inhabited. He replied that in those parts it was known simply as lo Monte or lo Castello. The castle was completely deserted and in ruins. Inside its walls, however, a chapel and several cells had been built, in which the Franciscans of Salerno usually maintained a community of five or six monks. He added naïvely:

  ‘There are many strange stories about the castle, but I cannot tell you any of them because as soon as anyone speaks of it, I run out of the kitchen and go to my sister-in-law Pepa’s house, where I am sure to find a Franciscan Father who will let me kiss his scapular.’

  I asked the guide whether we were going to pass close by the castle, and he replied that our path would pass halfway up the mountain on which it was built.

  Meanwhile the sky had clouded over and towards evening a terrible storm burst over our heads. At that point we were on the back of a mountain which offered no shelter. My guide said that he knew of a cave where we could take cover but that it was difficult to reach. I accepted the risk, but no sooner had we begun to make our way through the rocks than lightning struck close by us. My mule collapsed under me and I fell some distance down the mountainside. I grabbed hold of a tree, and when I felt that I was safe I shouted to my travelling companions, but none of them answered.

  The flashes of lightning were so frequent that I could distinguish the objects around me and could move with some degree of safety. By holding on to trees I was able to go forward and to reach a little cave, which, since no beaten path led up to it, could not have been the one to which my guide had tried to take me.

  The rain, the wind and thunder continued unabated. I was shivering in my wet clothes and was forced to spend several hours in this uncomfortable situation. Then suddenly I thought I caught sight of torches moving about in the valley bottom, and heard voices. Thinking that these were my companions, I shouted out and there was a reply.

  Soon a good-looking young man appeared, followed by several valets, some with torches, some with bundles of clothing.

  He greeted me ceremoniously and said, ‘Signor Romati, we are members of the household of la Principessa di Monte Salerno. The guide whom you engaged in Monte Brugio said that you were lost in the mountains, and we have been searching for you on the princess’s orders. Take these clothes and follow us to the castle.’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘Do you propose to take me to that uninhabited castle on top of the mountain?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said the young man in turn. ‘You will see a superb palace which is only two hundred paces away.’

  I supposed that some local princess kept a house close by. I changed my clothes and followed the young man. We soon arrived at a black marble portal, but as the torches cast no light on the façade I was unable to form any judgement about it. We went in. The young man left me at the bottom of the staircase. After climbing one flight I met a remarkably beautiful lady, who said, ‘Signor Romati, la Principessa di Monte Salerno has charged me to show you the beauties of this house.’

  I replied that if the princess was anything like her ladies-in-waiting I had already formed a very high opinion of her.

  Indeed, the lady whose task it was to accompany me was, as I have said, flawlessly beautiful, and had so noble an air about her that I at first took her to be the princess herself. I also noticed that she was dressed in more or less the same way as were the family portraits of the last century, but I merely assumed that this was how Neapolitan ladies dressed and that they had gone back to fashions of former times.

  We went first into a room in which everything was made of solid silver. There were silver floor tiles, some with matt, some with polished surfaces. Solid silver wall-hangings were made to look like damask, having a polished silver background and the patterns of leaves and branches in matt. The ceiling was carved like the woodwork of ancient castles. Finally, the panelling, the edges of the wall-hangings, the chandeliers, the picture-frames and the tables were all masterpieces of the silversmith’s art.

  ‘Signor Romati,’ said the supposed lady-in-waiting, ‘this silverwork seems to delay you for an unduly long time. We are only in the antechamber of the footmen of la Signora Principessa.’

  I made no reply, and we passed on to a room similar to the first except that all was silver gilt, with ornaments in that shade of gold that was fashionable some fifty years ago.

  ‘This room is the antechamber of the gentlemen-in-waiting, the major-domo and the other officers of the household. We will see neither gold nor silver in the princess’s apartment. Her own taste is solely for simplicity, as you can see from this dining room.’ Where-upon she opened the side-door and we
went into a room with walls covered with coloured marble, surmounted by a magnificent white marble bas-relief frieze. There were also handsome sideboards covered with rock-crystal vases and Indian porcelain bowls of the highest quality.

  We then went back through the officers’ antechamber to reach the grand salon.

  ‘You may care to admire this room,’ said the lady-in-waiting.

  And indeed I did admire it. My first astonished glance was for the floor, which was made of lapis lazuli encrusted with hard stones in a style of a Florentine mosaic, in which it takes several years even to make a table. There was an overall pattern in the way the stones were arranged which created an effect of harmonious unity. But a close inspection of the different sections revealed a great variety in the detail, which none the less did nothing to detract from the effect of symmetry. Indeed, although the same pattern repeated itself, in some places it took the form of delicately drawn flowers, elsewhere of exquisite enamel shells, in yet other places of butterflies and humming-birds. In it the most precious stones in the world had been used to imitate nature’s most beautiful creatures. In the centre of this magnificent floor there was a picture of a casket which had been made from stones of every colour and surrounded by festoons of large pearls. Everything seemed to have depth and substance, as on Florentine tables.

  ‘Signor Romati,’ said the lady, ‘if you linger everywhere we will never get to the end.’

  I raised my eyes, and the first thing I saw was a picture by Raphael which may well have been his first sketch for the School of Athens, but in more striking colour since it was painted in oils.

  Then I noted the Hercules at the feet of Omphale. The Hercules was by Michelangelo and the brush of Guido1 had evidently executed the female figure. In short, every picture in the salon was of better quality than any I had seen before. The wall-hangings were made of plain green velvet, the colour of which enhanced the beauty of the pictures. On either side of the doors there were statues a little less than life-size. There were four in all. One was the famous depiction of Venus by Phidias, whose sacrifice Phryne demanded. Another was the Faun by the same artist. The third was the original Venus by Praxiteles, of which the Medicis possess only a copy. The last was an Antinoüs of extraordinary beauty. There were other groups in every window.

  All around the salon there were commodes with drawers, which instead of the usual bronze furniture were covered with the most beautifully fashioned jewels, which had been used to frame cameos of the kind found only in the private apartments of kings. The commodes contained a series of gold medallions of the highest denominations.

  ‘This is where the princess spends the time after dinner,’ said the lady. ‘Examining this collection gives rise to conversations as instructive as they are pleasurable. But there are still many things to see. Follow me.’

  We then entered the bedchamber, which was octagonal. It contained four alcoves, each with a bed of impressive dimensions. There was no panelling, no wall-hangings, no decorated ceiling, but everything was covered in Indian muslin draped with remarkable taste, embroidered with extraordinary skill and so fine that it could have been taken to be a mist which Arachne herself2 had managed to trap in this delicate needlework.

  ‘Why four beds?’ I asked the lady.

  ‘So that one can move from one to the next during nights when one is hot and cannot sleep,’ she replied.

  ‘And why are the beds so large?’ I continued.

  ‘That is because the princess is joined in them by her ladies-in-waiting whenever she feels like chatting before she goes to sleep. But let us pass on to the bathroom.’

  It was a rotunda lined and edged with mother-of-pearl of different kinds. The upper parts of the wall were decorated with a wide net of pearls instead of draperies, and had a fringe of pearls all of the same size and colour. The ceiling consisted in a single mirror in which Chinese goldfish could be seen swimming. Instead of a bath there was a circular pool surrounded by artificial foam, in which had been set the most beautiful shells from the Indian Ocean.

  Here I could no longer contain my feelings of wonderment and said, ‘Oh Signora, paradise itself cannot be more beautiful.’

  ‘Paradise?’ cried the lady with an expression of madness and despair. ‘Paradise, did he not mention paradise? Signor Romati, I beg of you, do not use that word again. I am in deadly earnest. Follow me.’

  We then came to an aviary full of tropical birds and songbirds from our own clime. There we found a table laid for me alone.

  ‘Oh Signora,’ I said to my beautiful guide, ‘how can you think of eating in such a heavenly dwelling? I see that you do not intend to take your place at table. I could never bring myself to sit down alone except on condition that you would be so kind as to tell me about the princess who owns such marvels.’

  The lady graciously smiled, served me, sat down and began as follows.

  ‘I am the daughter of the last Prince of Monte Salerno.’

  ‘Who? You, Signora?’

  ‘I meant to say the princess was his daughter. Do not interrupt me again.’

  THE PRINCIPESSA DI MONTE SALERNO’S

  STORY

  The Principe de Monte Salerno, who was descended from the ancient Dukes of Salerno, was a grandee of Spain, High Constable, Grand Admiral, Master of the King’s Horse, Royal Chamberlain and Master of the Royal Hunt. In short, he united in his person all the grand offices of state in the kingdom of Naples. Although he was himself in the service of his king he maintained a household of gentlemen which included several titled persons. Among these was the Marchese di Spinaverde, the first gentleman-in-waiting of the prince, a man who enjoyed the prince’s complete confidence, which he shared with his wife, the Marchesa di Spinaverde, the first lady-in-waiting of the princess.

  I was ten years old… or rather, I meant to say, the prince’s only daughter was ten years old when her mother died. At that time, too, the Spinaverdes left the prince’s household. The marchese took charge of the administration of his fiefs and the marchesa took charge of my education. They left behind them in Naples their elder daughter, Laura, who occupied a somewhat irregular place in the prince’s household. Her mother and the young princess came to live at Monte Salerno.

  Little attention was paid to Elfrida’s upbringing, but a great deal was lavished on training those around her. They were taught to anticipate my every whim.

  ‘Your every whim?’ I said to the lady.

  ‘I asked you not to interrupt me,’ she replied angrily. Then she continued:

  *

  I enjoyed putting the obedience of my ladies-in-waiting to all sorts of tests. I would give them contradictory orders, only half of which they could ever carry out, and then I punished them either by pinching them or sticking pins into their arms or thighs. They did not stay long. The Marchesa di Spinaverde appointed others, who also soon left me.

  While all this was going on, my father fell ill and we travelled to Naples. I did not see much of him but the Marchese di Spinaverde and his wife never left his side. Eventually he died, having drawn up a will in which Spinaverde was made the sole guardian of his daughter and the administrator of his estates and other possessions.

  The arrangements for the funeral took up several weeks, after which we returned to Monte Salerno, where I resumed pinching my ladies-in-waiting. Four years went by in these innocent pastimes, which were all the sweeter to me because the Marchesa di Spinaverde assured me that I was right; it was the duty of everyone to obey me, and those who were slow to do so or did not carry out my orders well enough deserved to be punished in every way.

  Eventually, however, all my ladies left me one after the other, and one night I found that I had almost reached the point of having to undress myself. I wept with rage and ran to the Marchesa di Spinaverde, who said, ‘Dear, sweet princess, dry your pretty eyes. Tonight I will undress you and tomorrow I will bring you six more ladies-in-waiting, whom you will, I am sure, find satisfactory.’

  When I awoke the nex
t morning, the marchesa presented six beautiful young girls to me. The sight of them moved me in a strange way, and they also seemed to be affected. I was the first to recover, and leapt from my bed, dressed only in my nightgown. I embraced them one after the other and assured them that they would never be scolded or pinched. And, indeed, even if they were clumsy in dressing me or dared to contradict me, I never lost my temper with them.

  ‘But, Signora,’ I said to the princess, ‘they might have been young boys dressed up as young girls.’

  The princess said with a majestic air, ‘Signor Romati, I have asked you not to interrupt me.’

  Then she resumed her story.

  *

  On my sixteenth birthday I was told that I had distinguished visitors. They were a secretary of state, the Spanish ambassador, and the Duke of Guadarrama. The duke had come to ask my hand in marriage. The other two were only there to offer their support. The young duke was as handsome as it is possible to be, and I cannot deny that he made an impression on me.

  That evening it was suggested that we might like to stroll in the grounds of the castle. We had scarcely set out when a mad bull rushed out of a clump of trees and charged directly at us. The duke ran towards it, his cloak in one hand and a sword in the other. The bull hesitated a second, then charged the duke, impaled itself on his sword and fell dead at his feet. I believed that I owed my life to the duke’s courage and skill. But the next day I learned that the bull had been deliberately planted there by the duke’s equerry, and that his master had arranged the whole episode to pay me a gallant compliment in the manner of his country. Far from being grateful for this, I found it impossible to forgive him for having caused me such a fright and I refused to marry him.

  The Marchesa di Spinaverde was grateful that I had refused. She took the opportunity to make me aware of the advantages I possessed and to stress how much I would lose if I changed my state and gave myself to a lord and master. Some time after that, the same secretary of state came to see me again in the company of another ambassador and the reigning prince of Noudel-Hansberg. This ruler was a fat, podgy, pale, fair-skinned, pasty-faced grandee, who wanted to tell me about his entailed estates in the lands of the Holy Roman Empire, but when he spoke Italian, he did so with the accent of the Tyrol. I began to mimic his accent and as I did so I assured him that his presence was indispensable in his entailed estates. He went away somewhat miffed. The Marchesa di Spinaverde covered me with kisses, and to make sure of keeping me at Monte Salerno she made all of the improvements which you have seen.