Tales from the Saragossa Manuscript

by Jan Potocki

  The trial of our ship’s company did not last long. The men were sentenced to be strappadoed and then to spend the rest of their days in the galleys. As for the cabin-boy who had survived and myself, we were released, since we were not of age. As soon as we were freed, I went to the Augustinian monastery. But my father was no longer there. The brother porter told me he had died, and that my brothers were cabin-boys on a Spanish vessel. I asked to speak to the Prior. I was taken to see him, and told my story, not forgetting the head-butting and the tripping-up of the Principino.

  His Reverence listened to me with great kindness, then said to me: “My child, your father left a considerable sum of money to the monastery when he died. It was wealth dishonestly come by, to which you had no right. It is now in God’s hands and must be used to provide for those who serve him. However, we have presumed to draw on these funds to give some écus to the Spanish captain who has taken charge of your brothers. As for you, we can no longer give you asylum in this monastery, out of respect for the Princess de Rocca Fiorita, our illustrious benefactress. But, my child, you will go to the farm we have at the foot of Mount Etna and there you will quietly spend your childhood years.”

  Having told me this, the prior called a lay brother and gave him instructions concerning my future.

  The next day I departed with the lay brother. We reached the farm, which became my home. From time to time I would be sent into town on errands, for things that could be got more cheaply there. On these little trips I did my best to avoid the Principino. Yet once when I was buying chestnuts in the street, he happened to pass by, recognized me, and had me soundly thrashed by his lackeys. Some time afterwards I gained access to his house, by virtue of a disguise, and no doubt it would have been easy to kill him – every day since, I regret not having done so. But at that time I was not yet familiar with such procedures, and I contented myself with roughing him up. Throughout the early years of my adolescence, not six months, or even four, went by without my having some encounter with that wretched Principino, who often had the advantage of numbers over me. At last I reached the age of fifteen, and though still a child in terms of age and reason, in strength and courage I was nearly a man, which should come as no surprise, considering how the sea air, and then that of the mountains, had fortified my constitution.

  So I was fifteen when I first set eyes on the brave and worthy Testalunga, the most honest and virtuous bandit there has ever been in Sicily. Tomorrow, with your permission, I will tell you all about this man, whose memory will live for ever in my heart. For the moment, I must leave you. The administration of my cavern is a painstaking and demanding job to which I must attend.

  Zoto left us, and we all made comments on his story that reflected each individual’s character. I confessed to being unable to deny to men as courageous as those he described a kind of regard. Emina said that courage deserves our regard only when used to win respect for virtue. Zibedde said that a young bandit of sixteen was certainly capable of inspiring love.

  The two sisters then retired with their negresses to that part of the underground residence that had been set aside for them. They reappeared for supper, then everyone went to bed.

  But when everything was quiet in the cavern, I saw Emina come in, bearing a lamp in one hand, like Psyche, and leading her younger sister, who was prettier than Cupid, by the other.

  “Alphonse,” said Emina, “receive your reward for your heroism. You braved torture rather than betray us. We belong to you, we are your wives. May the holy Prophet perpetuate through us the bloodline of the Abencerrages.”

  I was not sufficiently casuistic to know to what extent it was permissible for me to listen to such proposals of marriage. I searched for arguments against them. I found none. I stammered out a few words about proprieties, honour, the difference between our creeds. I was silenced. The weakness of my objections ended the discussion in my cousins’ favour.

  THE SIXTH DAY

  The next morning I woke earlier than the day before. I went to see my cousins. Emina was reading the Koran, Zibedde was trying on pearls and shawls. I interrupted these serious occupations with sweet caresses, prompted as much by friendship as by love. Then we dined. After dinner Zoto came to resume his story, which he did in these terms:

  The continuation of Zoto’s story

  I promised to tell you about Testalunga – I am going to be as good as my word. My friend was a peaceful inhabitant of Val Castera, a little town at the foot of Etna. He had a charming wife. The young Prince de Val Castera, while visiting his estates one day, saw this woman, who had come to pay her respects along with the other wives of leading citizens. Far from being duly appreciative of his vassals’ tribute offered to him at Beauty’s hands, the presumptuous young man had no thought but for the charms of Signora Testalunga. He told her bluntly the effect she had on his senses, and put his hand inside her corset. Her husband was at that moment standing behind his wife. He drew a knife from his pocket and plunged it into the young Prince’s heart. I think any man of honour in his place would have done the same.

  Having committed this deed, Testalunga retired to a church, where he stayed until nightfall. But believing he would have to take other steps for the future, he decided to join some bandits who had recently taken refuge on the heights of Etna. He went up there and the bandits acknowledged him as their leader.

  Etna had at that time spewed out a prodigious quantity of lava; and it was in the midst of these fiery torrents that Testalunga ensconced his band, in haunts whose paths were known only to him. When he had thus made provision for his safety, this brave leader sent word to the Viceroy and asked pardon for himself and his companions. The Government refused, in the fear, I imagine, of compromising its authority.

  Then Testalunga began negotiating with the principal farmers of the neighbouring land. He said to them: “Let us steal together: I shall come and ask, you will give me whatever you like and remain none the less blameless before your masters.”

  It was still stealing, but Testalunga shared everything with his companions and kept nothing for himself beyond what was absolutely essential. On the contrary, if he went through a village, he paid double for everything, so much so that in a short time he became the idol of the people of the Two Sicilies.

  I have already told you that several bandits in my father’s gang had gone to join Testalunga, who for some years was based to the south of Etna so as to make raids in the Val di Noto and the Val di Mazara. But at the period of which I am speaking – that is to say when I was fifteen years old – the troop returned to the Val Demoni, and one fine day we saw them arrive at the monks’ farm.

  Whatever you can imagine of sprightliness and sparkle would still not approach that of Testalunga’s men. Dressed in brigands’ clothes, their hair in silk nets, with pistols and daggers tucked into their belts, a long-bladed sword and a long-barrelled shotgun – such, roughly speaking, was their war apparel. They spent three days eating our chickens and drinking our wine. On the fourth day someone came to inform them that a detachment of Syracuse dragoons was approaching with the intention of surrounding them. This news made them laugh heartily. They laid an ambush on a sunken road, attacked the detachment and routed them. They were outnumbered ten to one, but each of them carried more than ten fire-arms, and all of the best quality.

  After their victory the bandits returned to the farm, and I, who had seen them fighting from afar, was so fired with enthusiasm that I fell at the leader’s feet, begging him to let me join his band. Testalunga asked who I was. I replied that I was the son of the bandit Zoto.

  At this cherished name, all those who had served under my father gave a cry of joy. Then one of them, taking me in his arms, lifted me on to the table and said: “Friends, Testalunga’s lieutenant has been killed in action, and we are at a loss to replace him. Let young Zoto be our lieutenant! Do you not see regiments given to the sons of dukes and princes? Let us do for the son of brave Zoto what is done for them. I guarantee he will prove hi
mself worthy of this honour.”

  This speech met with loud applause, and I was unanimously proclaimed Testalunga’s second-in-command.

  My rank, at first, was just a joke, and each bandit would burst out laughing whenever he called me “signor tenente”. But they had to change their tune. Not only was I always the first to attack and the last to cover the retreat, but none of them knew as much as me when it came to spying on enemy movements or ensuring the band’s rest. Sometimes I would climb to the top of rocks to get a better view of the countryside and make the agreed signals, and sometimes I would spend whole days in the enemy’s midst, only coming down from one tree to climb another. Indeed, it was often the case that I spent the night up the tallest chestnut trees on Etna. And when I could no longer fight off sleep, I would tie myself to the branches with a belt. All of this presented little difficulty for me, since I had been a cabin-boy and chimney-sweep.

  I so distinguished myself in the end that I was given total responsibility for the common safety. Testalunga loved me as his own son, but if I may make so bold, I acquired a reputation that almost exceeded his own, and in Sicily the exploits of young Zoto became the subject of every conversation. So much glory did not leave me unsusceptible to the sweet distractions my age suggested to me. I have already told you that in our part of the world bandits were the heroes of the people, and you can well imagine that the shepherdesses of Etna would not have withheld their love from me. But my heart was destined to succumb to more refined charms, and love was reserving for it a more flattering conquest.

  I had been lieutenant for two years and just turned eighteen, when our band was forced to return to the south, because a fresh eruption of the volcano had destroyed our usual retreats. After four days we reached a castle named Rocca Fiorita, the fief and principal abode of my enemy, the Principino.

  I scarcely spared a thought any more for the insults I had received from him, but the name of the place revived all my feelings of rancour. This should not surprise you; in our climes, hearts are implacable. If the Principino had been in his castle, I think I would have put the place to fire and sword. I contented myself with doing as much damage as I could, and my companions, who were acquainted with my grounds for doing so, did all they could to help me. The servants in the castle, who had at first tried to offer resistance, could not resist their master’s good wine, with which we were most liberal. They fell in with us. In the end we turned Rocca Fiorita into a veritable Land of Plenty.

  This life went on for five days. On the sixth our spies warned us that we were about to be attacked by the whole Syracuse regiment, and that the Principino would then arrive with his mother and several ladies from Messina. I ordered my men to withdraw, but I was curious to stay, and took up position at the top of a leafy oak tree that stood at the far end of the garden. However, I had taken the precaution of making a hole in the garden wall to facilitate my escape.

  At last I saw the regiment arrive and make camp in front of the castle entrance, having placed guards all around. Then a succession of litters arrived, inside which were the ladies, and in the last was the Principino himself, lying on a pile of cushions. He climbed out with difficulty, assisted by two equerries, and sent a company of soldiers on ahead. When he was sure that none of us had remained in the castle, he went in with the ladies and a few gentlemen of his retinue.

  There was at the foot of my tree a fresh-water spring, a marble table and some benches; it was the most ornamental part of the garden. I assumed it would not be long before the assembled company came down here, and I determined to await them in order to get a closer look. Half an hour later I duly saw a young person of about my own age approaching. Angels are not more beautiful, and the impression she made upon me was so powerful and so immediate that I might have fallen out of my tree had I not been tied to it by my belt – something I sometimes did in order to be able to rest in greater safety.

  The young person had downcast eyes and looked extremely melancholy. She sat on a bench, leant over the marble table and shed many tears. Without really knowing what I was doing, I lowered myself out of my tree and stood where I could see her without myself being seen. Then I saw the Principino approach with a bouquet in his hand. It was nearly three years since I had last seen him. He had matured. His face was handsome, although fairly insipid.

  When the young person saw him, her physiognomy expressed contempt in a manner much to my liking.

  However, the Principino came up to her with a self-satisfied air and said: “My dear betrothed, here is a bouquet I will give you if you promise me never again to mention that villainous wretch Zoto.”

  The young lady replied: “My lord, I think you are wrong to place these conditions on your favours, and in any case, even if I were not to mention the charming Zoto, the whole household would speak of him. Did not your nurse herself say she had never seen such a pretty-looking boy, and yet you were there.”

  Greatly vexed, the Principino replied: “Despicable creature, since you are in love with a bandit, take what you deserve.” With that, he slapped her face.

  Then the young lady cried out: “Zoto, why are you not here to punish this coward!”

  Before she had even finished speaking, I appeared. And I said to the prince: “You ought to recognize me. I am a bandit, and I could kill you. But I repect the young lady who has deigned to call me to her aid, and I am willing to fight as you nobles do.”

  I was carrying two daggers and four pistols. I divided them equally, set them down ten paces apart, and left the choice to the Principino. But the poor wretch had fallen on to a bench in a faint.

  Sylvia then spoke and said to me: “Brave Zoto, I am of noble birth and poor. I was supposed to marry the prince tomorrow, or else be put in a convent. I shall do neither. I want to be yours for life.” And she threw herself into my arms.

  As you can well imagine, I needed no persuading. However, it was necessary to prevent the prince from impeding our retreat. I took a dagger, and using a stone for a hammer, I nailed his hand to the bench on which he was sitting. He gave a cry and fell back in a faint.

  We went out by the hole I had made in the garden wall and regained the mountain heights.

  My companions all had mistresses. They were delighted that I should have acquired one, and their ladies swore to obey mine in everything.

  I had spent four months with Sylvia when I was forced to leave her in order to take stock of the changes that the recent eruption had brought about in the north. On this trip I discovered in Nature attractions of which I had not previously been aware. I noticed grassy expanses, caves, leafy shade in places where before I would have seen only ambushes and defence positions. Sylvia had at last softened my brigand heart. But it was not long before it recovered all its ferocity.

  To come back to my trip north of the Mountain (I use this expression because the Sicilians, when they refer to Etna, always say il Monte, in other words, the mountain par excellence): I first made for what we call the Philosopher’s Tower, but I was unable to reach it. A chasm that had opened on the side of the volcano had spewed forth a flow of lava that forked a little above the tower and joined up again a mile below, forming a completely inaccessible island.

  I realized at once the importance of this position, and besides we had inside the tower itself a store of chestnuts that I did not want to lose. By dint of searching, I found an underground tunnel I had used in the past, which led me to the foot of the tower – or rather, right inside it. I decided there and then to install our whole female population on this island. I had some huts built out of foliage. I made one of these as attractive as I could. Then I returned to the South, and brought back the whole colony, which was enchanted with its new refuge.

  Now, when I call to mind the time I spent in that happy abode, I see it as though isolated in the midst of the cruel turmoil that has assailed my life. We were separated from the rest of mankind by rivers of fire. There, all obeyed my orders, and all were subject to my beloved Sylvia. Finally, to
complete my happiness, my two brothers came to join me. Both had had interesting adventures, and I venture to assure you that if some day you want to hear an account of them it will give you more satisfaction than the story I am telling you.

  There are few men who cannot look back on some happy days, but I do not know if there are any who can look back on years of happiness. My own happiness did not last a single year. The fellows in the gang were very honest in their dealings with each other. None of them would have dared to look with desire upon his companion’s mistress, still less upon mine. Jealousy was therefore banished from our island, or rather it was only exiled for a while, for this fury finds its way only too easily into those places where love dwells.

  A young bandit named Antonino fell in love with Sylvia, and since his passion was very strong, he could not hide it. I noticed it myself, but on seeing how dejected he was, I came to the conclusion that my mistress did not return his love, and I felt easy about it. But I would have liked to cure Antonino, whom I loved for his valour. There was in the gang another bandit called Moro, whom, on the contrary, I hated for his cowardice, and if Testalunga had taken my advice, he would have thrown him out a long time before then.

  Moro contrived to win the trust of the young Antonino, and promised to serve his love. He also contrived to get Sylvia to listen to him, and deluded her into thinking that I had a mistress in a neighbouring village. Sylvia was afraid to confront me with the accusation, and her air of constraint I attributed to a change in her feelings towards me. At the same time, on Moro’s advice, Antonino redoubled his attentions towards Sylvia, and he took on a look of satisfaction that led me to suppose she was making him happy.

  I was not experienced in unravelling plots of this kind. I stabbed Sylvia and Antonino through the heart. Antonino, who did not die at once, revealed to me Moro’s treachery. I went after the villain, my bloody dagger in my hand. Terrified at the sight of it, he fell to his knees and confessed that the Prince de Rocca Fiorita had paid him to kill me, as well as Sylvia, and that in fact he had only joined our band to this end. I stabbed him. Then I went to Messina, and having gained access to the Prince by virtue of a disguise, I dispatched him to the next world to join his henchman and my two other victims. Such was the end of my happiness, and indeed of my glory. My courage turned to total indifference towards life, and as I felt the same indifference for the safety of my companions, I soon lost their trust. In fact, I can assure you that since then I have become the most undistinguished of brigands.