Tales from the Saragossa Manuscript

by Jan Potocki

  “My son, I address you first: for you I intend heavenly brides, daughters of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. They were destined to be born but mere mortals. But Solomon having revealed to the Queen the great name of He who is, the Queen uttered it at the very moment of giving birth. The spirits of the Grand Orient hastened to her and caught the twin girls before they had touched the impure sojourn called Earth. They bore them to the sphere of the daughters of Elohim, where they received the gift of immortality, with the power to bestow it upon him they would choose as their shared husband. It was these two ineffable brides that their father had in mind in his Shir ha-Shirim, or Song of Songs. Study this divine epithalamium of nine verses in nine.

  “For you, my daughter, I intend an even more splendid marriage. The two Thamim, whom the Greeks knew by the name of the Dioscuri, the Phoenicians by that of the Kabires – in a word, the heavenly Gemini. They will be your grooms… what am I saying… your tender heart, I fear that a mortal… The sands run out… I die.”

  With these words my father faded away, and we found in the place where he had been a few light and shining ashes. I gathered up these precious remains. I put them in an urn, and placed them in the inner tabernacle of our house, under the wings of the cherubim.

  You can well imagine that the hope of enjoying immortality and of possessing two heavenly brides renewed my enthusiasm for the cabbalistic sciences, but it was years before I would dare to raise myself to such heights, and I contented myself with subjecting to my conjurations some few spirits of the eighteenth order. However, gradually growing bolder, last year I attempted an exercise on the first verses of Shir ha-Shirim. Hardly had I completed a single line when a dreadful noise was heard, and my castle seemed to crumble to its foundations. This did not frighten me at all. On the contrary, I concluded that my calculation was correct. I moved on to the second line. When that was complete, a lamp I had on my table jumped down on to the floor, and with a few leaps and bounds came to rest in front of a large mirror tucked away in my bedroom. I looked in the mirror and saw the tips of two very pretty lady’s feet, then two other little feet. I had the audacity to imagine that these charming feet belonged to the celestial daughters of Solomon, but I did not think I ought to pursue my exercises any further.

  I returned to them the following night and saw the four little feet up to the ankles. Then the next night, I saw the legs up to the knees, but the sun left the sign of Virgo and I was obliged to stop.

  When the sun had entered the sign of Gemini, my sister carried out exercises similar to mine, and had a no less extraordinary vision, which I will not describe to you, since it has no bearing on my story.

  This year I was preparing to start again, when I learned that a famous practitioner of the art was to pass by Cordoba. A discussion I had with my sister about him persuaded me to go and see him on his way through. I left a little late and that day got no further than Venta Quemada. I found this inn deserted for fear of ghosts, but since I do not fear them, I made myself comfortable in the dining room, and ordered little Nemrael to bring me some supper. This Nemrael is a genie of very contemptible character, whom I employ to carry out such tasks. He went to Andujar, where a Benedictine prior was staying the night, snatched away his supper without so much as a by-your-leave, and brought it to me. It consisted of that pheasant pâté you were so pleased to find the following morning. As for myself, I was tired and hardly touched it. I sent Nemrael home to my sister, and went to bed.

  In the middle of the night I was awakened by a bell that rang twelve times. After this prelude I expected to see some ghost and was even preparing to dismiss it, because in general they are bothersome and annoying. This was my frame of mind when I saw a strong light on a table in the middle of the room, and then a little sky-blue rabbi appeared on it, swaying in front of a lectern, as rabbis do when they pray. He stood no more than a foot high, and not only were his clothes blue but even his face, his beard, his lectern and his book. I soon realized that this was no ghost but a genie of the twenty-seventh order. I did not know his name and I was not at all familiar with him. However, I used a formula that has some power over all spirits in general.

  Then the little sky-blue rabbi turned to me and said: “You began your calculations backwards, and that is why the daughters of Solomon appeared to you feet first. Begin with the last verses, and first find the names of the two celestial beauties.”

  Having spoken thus, the little rabbi vanished.

  What he had told me contradicted all the rules of the cabbala. Yet I was weak and followed his advice. I set to work on the last verses of Shir ha-Shirim, and seeking the names of the two immortals, I found Emina and Zibedde. I was very surprised. However, I began the evocations. Then the earth shook terrifyingly beneath my feet. I thought I saw the skies collapse on my head, and I lost consciousness.

  When I came to, I found myself in a place brilliant with light, in the arms of some young men more handsome than angels.

  One of them said to me: “Son of Adam, recover your senses, you are here in the home of those who are not dead. We are governed by the patriarch Enoch, who walked before Elohim, and who was borne up from Earth. The Prophet Elijah is our high-priest, and his chariot will always be at your service whenever you want to visit some planet. As for us, we are grigori, born of the congress between the sons of Elohim and the daughters of men. You will also see among us some nefilim, but in small number. Come, we are going to present you to our sovereign.”

  I followed them and came to the foot of the throne on which Enoch was seated. Never would I be able to withstand the fire that came from his eyes, and I dared not raise mine higher than his beard, which was rather like that pale light we see around the moon on damp nights.

  I feared that my ears would not be able to endure the sound of his voice, but his voice was softer than that of heavenly organs. Yet he made it softer still to say to me: “Son of Adam, your brides are about to be brought to you.”

  Thereupon I saw the Prophet Elijah, leading by the hand two beauties whose charms defy human conception. They were charms so delicate that their souls were visible through them, and the fire of their passions was clearly discernible as it flowed in their veins and mingled with their blood. Behind them, two nefilim carried a tripod made of a metal as superior to gold as the latter is more precious than lead. My hands were placed in the hands of Solomon’s daughters, and round my neck was hung a braid woven of their hair. A bright pure flame, which then issued from the tripod, consumed in an instant all that was mortal in me.

  We were led to a couch, resplendent with glory and ablaze with love. A large window that communicated with the third heaven was thrown open, and the angels’ choruses brought my rapture to a climax…

  But let me tell you, the next day I woke up under the Los Hernanos gallows, lying by those two vile corpses. I concluded that I had been dealing with some very wicked spirits with whose character I am not very well acquainted. Indeed, I greatly fear this whole episode might prejudice my relations with the true daughters of Solomon, of whom I saw only the tips of their feet.

  “Poor blind fool,” said the hermit, “and what do you regret? All is but illusion in your baneful art. The cursed succubi that duped you have inflicted the most dreadful torments on wretched Pacheco, and doubtless a similar fate awaits this young gentleman who, with a grievous hardening of his heart, refuses to confess his sins. Alphonse, Alphonse my son, repent, there is still time!”

  This persistence of the hermit in demanding of me confessions I did not want to make greatly displeased me. I replied rather coldly, saying that I respected his holy exhortations but that I conducted myself in accordance only with the laws of honour. Then the conversation turned to other matters.

  The cabbalist said to me: “Signor Alphonse, since you are being pursued by the Inquisition, it is very important that you find a safe refuge. I offer you my castle. There you will see my sister Rebecca, who is almost as beautiful as she is learned. Yes, come, you are a descen
dant of the Gomelez, and this bloodline has a claim on our interest.”

  I looked at the hermit to read in his eyes what he thought of this proposition.

  The cabbalist seemed to divine my thoughts, and addressing the hermit, said to him: “Father, I know you better than you think. You can do much through faith. My ways are not so holy, but they are not diabolical. Come to my house too, with Pacheco, whose cure I will complete.”

  Before replying, the hermit began to pray, then after a moment’s meditation, he came to us with a cheerful look on his face and said that he was ready to go with us.

  The cabbalist turned to his right shoulder and gave an order for the horses to be brought. A moment later we saw two at the hermitage door, together with two mules, which the hermit and the demoniac mounted. Although from what Ben Mamoun had told us the castle was a day’s journey distant, we were there in less than an hour.

  On the way Ben Mamoun talked to me a great deal about his learned sister, and I was expecting to see some black-haired Medea, with a wand in her hand, muttering spells, but this conception of her was completely false. The amiable Rebecca who welcomed us at the castle entrance was the kindest and most appealing blonde anyone could possibly imagine. Her lovely golden hair fell naturally to her shoulders and she was nonchalantly dressed in a white robe – although the clasps that fastened it were priceless. Her outward appearance proclaimed a person who never gave any thought to what she wore, but it would have been difficult to improve upon the result by giving it more.

  Rebecca threw her arms round her brother’s neck and said to him: “How you worried me! I always had news of you, except for the first night. So what happened to you?”

  “I shall tell the whole story,” replied Ben Mamoun. “For now, think only of welcoming the guests I have brought you: this is the hermit from the valley, and this young man is a Gomelez.”

  Rebecca looked at the hermit with a fair degree of indifference, but when she glanced at me, she seemed to blush and said rather sadly: “I hope for the sake of your happiness that you are not one of us.”

  We went inside, and the drawbridge was immediately raised behind us. The castle was quite enormous, and everything seemed to be in the utmost good order. Yet we saw only two servants: a young mulatto, and a mulatto woman of the same age. Ben Mamoun led us first to his library. It was a little rotunda that served also as a dining room. The mulatto came to lay the cloth, brought an olla podrida and four place settings, for the lovely Rebecca did not sit down at table with us. The hermit ate more than usual and also seemed to become more human, while Pacheco, still blind in one eye, seemed no longer to suffer the effects of his possession. However, he was grave and silent. Ben Mamoun ate with considerable appetite, but he seemed preoccupied and confessed to us that his adventure of the day before had given him much to think about.

  As soon as we had risen from table, he said to us: “My dear guests, here are books to keep you amused, and my black servant will be only too willing to be of service to you in any way. But allow me to retire with my sister to attend to an important task. You will not see us again until dinner-time tomorrow.”

  Ben Mamoun duly retired and left us masters of the house, as it were.

  The hermit took from the library a Lives of the Desert Fathers, and instructed Pacheco to read him some chapters from it. As for myself, I went out on to the terrace that overlooked a precipice, at the bottom of which flowed a river that was out of sight but the roar of which could be heard. Dreary as this landscape might have seemed, it was with extreme pleasure that I began to contemplate it, or rather to surrender myself to the feelings the sight of it inspired in me. It was not melancholy, it was almost an exhaustion of all my faculties, brought about by the cruel excitements to which I had been victim in the last few days. Pondering on what had happened to me and not being able to make any sense of it, I ended up not daring to give the matter any more thought, for fear of losing my wits. The hope of spending a few quiet days in the Uzeda castle was for the present a most attractive prospect. I left the terrace and came back into the library.

  Then the young mulatto served us a light meal of dried fruits and cold meats, which included no unclean meat. Afterwards we parted company. The hermit and Pacheco were shown to one room, I to another.

  I went to bed and fell asleep.

  But soon after, I was awakened by the lovely Rebecca, who said to me: “Signor Alphonse, forgive me for making so bold as to interrupt your sleep. I have just come from my brother. We have performed the most dreadful conjurations in order to acquaint ourselves with the two spirits with which he had dealings at the Venta, but we have had no success. We believe he was tricked by baalim, over whom we have no power. Yet the realm of Enoch really is just as he saw it. This is all of great importance to us, and I beg you to tell us what you know.”

  Having said this, Rebecca sat down on my bed, but she did so without ulterior motive, and seemed solely concerned with the information she was asking of me. However, she did not obtain it, and I contented myself with telling her that I had given my word of honour never to speak of the matter.

  “But Signor Alphonse,” said Rebecca, “how can you imagine that a pledge of honour given to two demons could be binding upon you? Now, we know these are two female demons, and their names are Emina and Zibedde. But we are not very well acquainted with the nature of these demons, because in our science, as in every other, one cannot know everything.”

  I stood by my refusal, and begged this beautiful woman not to say any more about it.

  Then she looked at me with a kind of benevolence and said: “How fortunate you are to have principles of virtue according to which you guide all your actions and preserve a clear conscience! How different is our own fate! We wanted to see what it is not granted to men to see, and to know what their reason cannot comprehend. I was not meant for such sublime knowledge. What do I care for a futile authority over demons! I would have been well content to rule the heart of a husband. It is my father’s wish, I must submit to my destiny.”

  As she spoke these words, Rebecca drew out her handkerchief and seemed to hide a few tears, then she added: “Signor Alphonse, allow me to return tomorrow at the same time, and to make further efforts to overcome your obstinacy, or as you put it, this great attachment to your word. Soon the sun will enter the sign of Virgo, then the moment will have passed and events will take their course.”

  As she took her leave of me, Rebecca gave my hand a friendly squeeze and seemed to return reluctantly to her cabbalistic exercises.

  THE NINTH DAY

  I woke earlier than usual and went out on the terrace for a breath of fresh air before the sun had made the atmosphere too hot. The air was still. Even the river seemed to roar with less fury, so that the concert of birdsong was audible.

  I heard in the distance the strains of some very lively music that seemed to set the mountain spinning. They soon became more distinct, and I caught sight of a cheerful band of gypsies advancing in time with the music, singing and accompanying themselves on their sonajas and cascarras. They pitched their temporary camp near the terrace and gave me the opportunity to note the elegance of their clothes and bearing. I assumed these were the very gypsy robbers under whose protection the keeper of the Venta de Cardeñas had placed himself, according to what the hermit had told me. But they seemed too gracious for brigands. While I observed them, they set up their tents, put their olles on the fire, hung up their children’s cradles in the branches of nearby trees. And when all these preparations were completed, they gave themselves up once more to the pleasures attendant on their vagabond life, of which the greatest in their eyes is idleness.

  The chieftain’s tent was distinguished from the others not only by the pole with a large silver knob on it that was planted outside but also because it was in good condition, and even decorated with a costly fringe, which is not commonly seen on gypsy tents. But imagine my surprise on seeing the tent open and my two cousins emerge, in that elegant costume
called in Spain a la gitana maja. They came up to the foot of the terrace, but without appearing to notice me. Then they called their companions and began to dance the famous polo, to the following words:

  Cuando me Paco me alce

  Las palmas para bailar

  Se me pone el cuerpecito

  Como hecho de mazapan. Etc.

  If loving Emina and gentle Zibedde had turned my head when dressed in their Moorish simars, they delighted me no less in this new costume. Only I thought they had an artful mocking look about them – one not, in truth, unbecoming to these fortune-tellers – but which seemed to be a sign they were thinking of playing some new trick on me by showing themselves in this new guise. However, they appeared to take no interest in me, and moved away when their dance was over.

  I returned to the library, where I found on the table a large volume written in Gothic characters, the title of which was Strange Tales by Happelius. The book was open, and the page seemed to have been deliberately turned down at the beginning of a chapter, where I read the following story:

  The story of Thibaud de la Jacquière

  Once upon a time, in the French town of Lyons, situated on the Rhône, there lived a very rich merchant, called Jacques de la Jacquière. To be more accurate, he did not take the name of La Jacquière until he had quit trade and become Provost of the city, an office the people of Lyons grant only to men with a large fortune and an unblemished reputation. Such a man was the good Provost de la Jacquière: charitable to the poor and a benefactor to monks and other religious men, who are the true poor, according to the Lord.

  But the Provost’s only son, Messire Thibaud de la Jacquière, ensign of the King’s men-at-arms, was not such a man. A real ruffian rather, with a fondness for duelling, a great seducer of young girls, player of dice, breaker of windows, lantern-shatterer, swearer and blasphemer, who time after time stopped wealthy citizens in the street in order to swap his old coat for a brand-new one, and his worn felt hat for a better one. So much so that Messire Thibaud was the sole topic of conversation, whether in Paris, or at Blois, Fontainebleau, or any of the King’s other residences. Now, it happened that our good lord of blessed memory François I finally lost patience with the young junior officer’s excesses, and sent him home to Lyons, to do penance in the house of his father, the good Provost de la Jacquière, who was then living on the corner of the Place de Bellecour, at the top of the rue St-Ramond.