The Manuscript Found in Saragossa (11 page)

We proceeded in this way for six hours till we reached the ruins of a desolate and abandoned town. There Zoto had us dismount. He led me up to a well and said:

‘Señor Alphonse, look down into this well and tell me what you think of it.'

I replied that I could see water in it and judged it to be a well.

‘Well,' said Zoto, ‘you are wrong, for it is the entrance to my palace.'

Having said this, he thrust his head down the well and shouted in a certain way. First I saw planks come out from one side of the well, a few feet above the water-line. Then an armed man emerged from the opening, followed by another. They climbed out of the well. When they got to the top Zoto said to me:

‘Señor Alphonse, I have the honour of presenting to you my two brothers, Cicio and Momo. You may have seen their bodies hanging from a certain gallows, but they are in good health for all that and will always loyally serve you since they, like me, are in the service and in the pay of the Great Sheikh of the Gomelez.'

I replied that I was delighted to meet the brothers of a man who appeared to have done me such great service.

We, all had to steel ourselves to climb down into the well. A ropeladder was brought, and the two sisters used it with greater agility than I expected. I went down after them. When we reached the planks we found a little door on one side through which we could
only proceed by bending low. Thereafter we found ourselves at the head of a very grand staircase, cut into the rock, which was lit by lamps. We went down more than two hundred steps and came at last to an underground residence made up of many rooms and chambers. The walls of the living-rooms were all covered with cork to protect them from the damp. I have since visited the monastery at Cintra, near Lisbon, which has similar wall coverings.
¹
It is known for this reason as the cork monastery.

In addition, strategically placed and well-stoked fires made the temperature of Zoto's underground dwelling very pleasant. The horses which he used for his men were dispersed here and there in the surrounding countryside. But even these could if necessary be brought down into the underground chambers through an opening which came out in a neighbouring valley. There was equipment for hoisting them up but it was very rarely used.

‘All these marvels are the work of the Gomelez,' Emina told me. ‘They excavated the rock when they were the masters of this region, or rather they finished off the excavation, much of which had been undertaken by the heathens who were living in the Alpujarras when the Gomelez invaded. Learned historians claim that this is the site of the mines of virgin gold of classical Baetica, and ancient prophecies predict that the whole region will one day return to the control of the Gomelez. What do you say to that, Alphonse? What a fine inheritance that would be!'

Emina's words seemed to me in very poor taste, and I let her know as much. Changing the subject, I asked what her future plans might be.

Emina replied that after what had happened she and her sister could not remain in Spain, but they had resolved to have a little rest until arrangements could be made for their sailing.

We were given a lavish dinner with a great deal of venison and preserves. The three brothers served us most attentively. I commented to my cousins that it would be impossible to find more obliging hanged men anywhere. Emina agreed and, turning to Zoto, said to
him, ‘You and your brothers must have had some very strange adventures. We should be delighted to hear about them.'

After some coaxing, Zoto sat down beside us and began as follows:

Three years after my father's wedding a younger sister of my mother married an oil merchant called Lunardo, who gave her as a wedding present gold earrings and a gold chain to wear round her neck. On her return from the wedding, my mother seemed sunk in deep gloom. Her husband tried to find out why but she refused for a long time to tell him. Eventually she admitted that she was dying of envy, wishing to possess earrings and a necklace like her sister's. My father said nothing, but he had a finely chased hunting-piece with two pistols, and a hunting-knife of similar workmanship. The gun could be fired four times without reloading. It had taken my father four years to make it. He valued it at three hundred ounces of Naples gold. He went to see a collector, to whom he sold the whole set for eighty ounces. Then he bought the jewels that my mother coveted and took them to her. That very day my mother went to show them off to the wife of Lunardo. Her earrings were considered to be a little more valuable than those of her sister, which gave her great pleasure.

But a week later Lunardo's wife paid a visit to my mother. She had had her hair braided and coiled, and it was held in place by a golden pin, the head of which was a filigree rose with a little ruby inset. This golden rose drove a cruel thorn in my mother's heart. She relapsed into melancholy until my father promised her a pin like that of her sister. However, as my father had no money and no means of procuring any, and as such a pin cost forty-five gold ounces, he became as gloomy as my mother had been a few days before.

While this was going on, my father was visited by a local stalwart called Grillo Monaldi, who came to him to have his pistols cleaned.
Seeing my father so depressed, Monaldi asked him why and my father told him. Monaldi, having thought for a moment, spoke to him as follows:

‘Signor Zoto, I am indebted to you more than you know. A few days ago my dagger was by chance found in the body of a man who had been murdered on the road to Naples. The police took this dagger to all the armourers, and you nobly testified that it was unknown to you. And yet it was a weapon which you had made and sold to me. If you had told the truth, it could have caused me some embarrassment. So here are the forty-five gold ounces you need, and if you need more my purse will always be open to you.'

My father accepted gratefully and went to buy a gold pin studded with a ruby. He took it to my mother, who duly showed it off that very day to her haughty sister.

When she came home, my mother had no doubt that she would soon see Signora Lunardo wearing some new jewel. But her sister had other plans. She resolved to go to church followed by a hired lackey in livery, and she suggested this to her husband. Lunardo, who was very miserly, had not jibbed at buying an object in gold, which seemed to him to be as safe an investment on the head of his wife as in his coffers. But it was quite another matter to be asked to give some wretch an ounce of gold to do no more than stand behind his wife's pew for an hour. But Signora Lunardo nagged him about it so often and so violently that he finally decided to walk behind her himself, wearing livery. Signora Lunardo thought her husband would do as well as anyone else in such a role, and she decided the very next Sunday to make an appearance in the parish with this new style of lackey in her train. Her neighbours sniggered a little at such a masquerade but my aunt attributed their teasing to the envy that was consuming them.

As she approached the church, the beggars hooted and jeered and shouted out in their dialect, ‘Mira Lunardu che fa lu criadu de sua mugiera!'
²

But beggars do not push their boldness beyond a certain limit, and
Signora Lunardo entered into the church unmolested, where she was accorded all sorts of honours. She was offered holy water and led to a pew, whereas my mother was left to stand lost in a crowd of women of the lowest class.

When she got back home my mother took out my father's blue coat and began to decorate the sleeves with pieces of a yellow bandolier which had once belonged to a bandit's cartridge belt. My father was taken aback by this and asked what she was doing. My mother told him what her sister had done and how her husband had obliged her by following her in the livery of a lackey.

My father informed her that he would never oblige her in this way. But the following Sunday he paid one ounce of gold to a hired lackey to walk behind my mother to church, where she cut an even finer figure than had Signora Lunardo the previous Sunday.

Immediately after Mass on the same day, Monaldi came up to my father and spoke as follows:

‘My dear Zoto, I have been told about the extreme lengths to which the rivalry between your wife and her sister has been taken. If you don't do anything about it you will be unhappy as long as you live. There are only two courses of action open to you: either to beat your wife or to adopt a manner of life which will allow you to satisfy her expensive tastes. If you decide to adopt the first course I will give you a hazelwood stick which I used on my late wife when she was alive. There are other hazelwood sticks which, when you grasp them by both ends, turn in your hand to indicate where water or even treasure is to be found underground. This stick does not possess these properties. But if you take it by one end and apply the other to your wife's shoulders, I can assure you that it will cure her of her various whims. But if on the other hand you choose the second course and indulge all your wife's fancies, then I will give you the friendship of the bravest men in all Italy. They often gather in Benevento because it is on the frontier. I think you understand me. So think it over.'

After these words Monaldi left the hazelwood stick on my father's work-bench and went away.

Meanwhile my mother had gone after Mass to show off her lackey on the Corso and at various of her friends' houses. Eventually she returned, glowing with triumph, and my father received her in a way
she did not expect at all. With his left hand he grasped her left arm and proceeded to put into effect Monaldi's advice. His wife fainted. My father cursed the hazelwood stick and asked for forgiveness; he obtained it and peace was restored.

A few days later my father sought Monaldi out and told him that the hazelwood stick had not had the desired effect and that he placed himself at the disposal of the brave men of whom Monaldi had spoken.

‘Signor Zoto,' Monaldi replied, ‘it is somewhat surprising that you have not got the heart to administer any punishment at all to your wife but you are prepared to waylay men at the edge of a wood. But everything is possible and this is far from the only such contradiction hidden in the human heart. I am ready to introduce you to my friends but you must first commit at least one murder. So every evening when you have finished your work, take a long sword and put a dagger in your belt and swagger up and down near the Madonna gate. You may find employment that way. Farewell, and may heaven bless your ventures.'

Father followed Monaldi's advice and soon observed that various gentlemen equipped like himself and the local
sbiri
³
were greeting him with knowing looks.

After doing this for a fortnight my father was accosted by a well-dressed man who said to him, ‘Signor Zoto, here are eleven ounces of gold. In half an hour you will see two young gentlemen go by with white feathers in their hats. Go after them as though you had a confidential message to pass on and then whisper, “Which of you is the Marchese Feltri?” One of them will reply, “It's me.” Stab him in the heart. The other young gentleman, who is a coward, will take to his heels. Finish Feltri off. When it's all over, do not take sanctuary in a church but calmly return home. I shall be just behind you.'

My father followed the instructions to the letter, and he had just got home when he saw the stranger arrive whose grievance he had satisfied.

‘Signor Zoto,' he said to my father, ‘I appreciate very much what
you have done for me. Here is a purse containing a hundred gold ounces which I would like you to accept, and another containing the same sum which you must give to the first officer of the law who comes to your house.'

Having uttered these words, the stranger left.

Soon after, the chief of the
sbiri
came to see my father, who immediately gave him the hundred gold ounces destined for the law. Thereupon the chief invited my father to take supper at his house in the company of his friends. They went to a lodging which backed on to the public prison and there they found their fellow-guests to be the
barigel
⁴
and the prison chaplain. My father was somewhat upset, as is commonly the case after one has committed one's first murder.

The priest noticed his distress and said to him, ‘Come now, Signor Zoto, no sadness. It costs twelve tari to have a Mass said at the cathedral. I hear that the Marchese Feltri has been murdered. If you have twenty or so Masses said for the repose of his soul you will be given a general absolution into the bargain.'

No further reference was made after that to what had happened and supper was merry enough.

The next day Monaldi came to see my father and complimented him on the way he had conducted himself. My father tried to give back the forty-five ounces of gold that he had received but Monaldi said to him:

‘Zoto, you are offending my finer feelings. If you speak to me again about the money, I shall think that you are chiding me for not having given you enough. My purse is yours to dispose of. You have won my friendship. I will no longer conceal from you the fact that I am myself the head of the band which I told you about. It is made up of men of honour and the strictest integrity. If you want to join us, say that you are going to Breschia to buy rifle barrels and come and join us in Capua. Take a room at the Golden Cross and leave the rest to us.'

My father left three days later and conducted a campaign as honourable as it was lucrative.

Although the climate of Benevento is very mild, my father, who was not yet hardened to the rigours of his new employment, decided not to work during the cold weather. His winter quarters were at home with his family, and his wife had a lackey every Sunday, gold clasps on her black bodice and a gold fastening from which her keys hung.

As spring approached, it happened that my father was accosted in the street by a servant he did not know, who asked him to follow him to the gates of the town. There, an elderly gentleman was waiting with four men on horseback.

The gentleman said, ‘Signor Zoto, here is a purse containing fifty sequins. I would be obliged if you would follow me to a nearby castle and allow your eyes to be blindfolded.'

My father agreed to this, and after a long ride and several detours they all arrived at the old gentleman's castle. He was led up the steps and his blindfold was removed. He then saw a masked and gagged woman tied to a chair.

The old gentleman said to him, ‘Signor Zoto, here are a hundred more sequins. Be so good as to stab my wife to death.'

My father, however, replied, ‘Signor, you are mistaken about me. I lie in wait for people at street corners or I attack them in a wood as befits a man of honour, but I do not undertake the office of public executioner.'

With these words my father threw down the two purses at the feet of the vindictive husband, who did not persist in his request but had my father's eyes blindfolded again and ordered his servant to take him back to the town gates. This noble and generous action brought great honour on my father, and later he did another which was even more widely acclaimed.

In Benevento there were two gentlemen, one called Count Montalto, and the other the Marchese Serra. Count Montalto summoned my father and promised to give him five hundred sequins if he would assassinate Serra. My father took the commission but asked for time to carry it out because he knew the marchese was very much on his guard.

Two days later the Marchese Serra summoned my father to a lonely spot and said to him, ‘Zoto, here is a purse containing five
hundred sequins. It is yours. Give me your word of honour that you will murder Montalto.'

My father took the purse and replied, ‘My lord, I give you my word of honour that I will kill Montalto, but I must tell you that I have given my word to him that I will kill you.'

The marchese laughed and said, ‘I sincerely hope that you won't do so.'

My father gravely replied, ‘I am very sorry, my lord, I have given my word and I will keep it.'

The marchese leapt back and drew his sword, but my father drew a pistol from his belt and blew the marchese's brains out. He then went to Montalto and told him that his enemy was no more. The count embraced him and gave him the five hundred sequins. My father then admitted to him with some embarrassment that before dying, the marchese had given him five hundred sequins to murder the count.

Montalto said that he was delighted to have forestalled his enemy.

‘My lord,' replied my father, ‘that is neither here nor there. I have given my word.'

And with these words, he struck him down with his dagger. As he fell, the count gave a cry which brought his servants to the scene. My father disposed of them with his dagger and fled to the mountains where he rejoined Monaldi's band, whose worthy members vied with each other in praising such strict adherence to one's word of honour. I can assure you that this act is still, as one might say, on everyone's lips, and that it will be a talking point for a long time to come in Benevento.