The Manuscript Found in Saragossa (48 page)

My father's house was by the sea. We reached it by longboat. My father received me surrounded by a group of young mulatto girls, whom he made me embrace one after the other. They danced for me and acted provocatively in many other ways. The evening was spent in great frivolity.

The next day the
corregidor
of Vera Cruz had my father told that if one lived in the style he did, one did not keep one's son at home, and that he had to send me to the Theatine college. My father obeyed, albeit reluctantly.

I found a teacher at the college who, in order to encourage us to study, told us often that the Marqués de Campo Salez, then second secretary of state, had like us begun life as a poor student, and that he owed his good fortune to his hard work. On learning that one could become a marqués by this means, I studied with great fervour for two years.

The
corregidor
of Vera Cruz was replaced. His successor had less rigid principles. My father thought that he could risk taking me back again.

Once again I found myself prey to the exuberance of the young mulatto girls, which my father encouraged in every conceivable way. I was far from pleased at this frivolity, but they instructed me in many things of which I had been ignorant up to then, and I realized at last why I had been banished from Asturias.

At the same time a most ominous change occurred in me. New emotions grew in my heart and revived in me the memory of the games I played when little. The thought of the happiness I had lost at the gardens of Astorgas in which I had run about with you, the hazy recollection of a thousand proofs of your kindness: too many enemies
assaulted my frail sanity all at once and neither it nor my health were able to resist them. The doctors said that I had a wasting fever. As for me, I did not believe myself to be ill but the turmoil of my senses was such that I often believed that I could see things that were not in front of my eyes and that had no reality. It was you, Señora, who appeared most often to my deluded imagination; not as you are today but more or less as you were when I left you. At night I would wake up with a start and you would seem to pierce the darkness, and appear shining and radiant before me. If I went out the sounds of the countryside seemed to repeat your name again and again.

Sometimes you seemed to cross the plain before my eyes. If I looked at the heavens to beg that my torment cease, I saw there your image imprinted on the sky.

I discovered that I suffered less in churches and that prayer brought me relief above all else. I ended by spending whole days in these devout refuges. A monk whose hair had turned white in the practice of penance accosted me one day and said, ‘Oh my son, your heart is full of an immense love which is not meant for this world. Come to my cell. I will show you the way to paradise.'

I followed him to his cell and saw hair shirts and other instruments of martyrdom, which did not frighten me much. I was suffering from a quite different pain. The monk read to me several passages from the lives of the saints. I asked him to let me take the book away and I read it all night. My head filled with new thoughts. In a dream I saw the heavens open and I saw angels who all looked rather like you, as a matter of fact.

News of your marriage to the Duke of Sidonia then reached Vera Cruz. For some time I had been thinking of devoting myself to the religious life. I found happiness in praying night and day for your felicity in this world and your salvation in the next. My devout teacher told me that in the monasteries of America there had been much relaxation of the rule and he advised me to undertake my noviciate in a monastery in Madrid.

I let my father know of my resolve. He had always frowned on my devotions, but not wanting to dissuade me from them openly he asked me to await the arrival of my mother, which was shortly due. I told him that I no longer had parents in this world and that heaven
was now my family. To this he had no reply. Then I went to see the
corregidor
, who approved of my plans and embarked me on the next ship. On arriving in Bilbao I learnt that my mother had set sail for America. My letters of obedience were for Madrid. I set out on that road. In passing through Burgos, I learnt that you were residing not far from the city. I decided to see you for one last time before leaving the world. It seemed to me that, having seen you, I would be able to pray for your salvation with even greater fervour.

So I took the road to your country house. I entered the outer courtyard and decided to look for an old retainer, one of those whom you had in Astorgas for I knew that they had not left you. I wanted to make myself known to the first one who came by, and ask him to find me a place from which I could see you as you stepped into your carriage. For I wanted to see you, not to introduce myself to you.

The only people who came by were unknown to me and I began to feel ashamed at being there. I went into a quite empty room, then I thought I saw someone I knew go by. I went out and was knocked down by a blow from a stone… But Señora, I see that my story has made a deep impression on you…

Hermosito got up and I thought that he wanted to kiss the hem of my dress. His knees buckled under him. His head fell on my knees and his arms held me in a strong embrace. At that moment I looked into a mirror in which I saw la Menzia and the duke; his features wore an expression of rage which was so frightening that it was hard to recognize him.

My senses froze in horror. I looked again into the same mirror and saw nothing. I freed myself from Hermosito's arms and cried out. La
Menzia came. I ordered her to look after the young man and withdrew into a study. The vision I had seen caused me deep worry but I was assured that the duke was absent.

The next day I asked for news of Hermosito. I was told that he was no longer in the house.

Three days later, as I was ready to retire to bed, la Menzia handed me a letter from the duke. It consisted only of the following words:

I heard the rattle of chains. My blindfold was removed; I saw Hermosito attached by the neck to the pillar against which you are leaning. There was no life in his eyes. He was extremely pale.

‘Is that you?' he said in a dying voice. ‘I find it difficult to speak to you. I am not given any water. My tongue is stuck to my palate. My agony will not be long. If I go to heaven I shall speak there about you.'

As Hermosito uttered these words a gunshot, which came from the slit you see in this wall, shattered his arm. He cried out, ‘Oh God, forgive my executioners.'

A second shot rang out from the same direction. I don't know what effect it had for I lost consciousness.

When I recovered the use of my senses I was surrounded by my ladies-in-waiting, who seemed to me to know nothing. All that they told me was that la Menzia had left the house. In the course of the morning an equerry came from my husband. He told me that the duke had gone to France on a secret mission and would not be back for some months. Left to myself I pulled myself together. I laid my case before the supreme judge of all and gave all my attention to my daughter.

Three months later la Girona appeared. She had come back from America and had already looked for her son in Madrid, in the monastery where he was to undertake his noviciate. Not having found him there, she had gone to Bilbao and had followed Hermosito's tracks to Burgos. Fearing her distress and her anger, I told her part of the truth. She was able to drag the rest out of me.

As you know, the woman has a hard and violent character. Fury, rage and every terrible, destructive feeling took hold of her heart. I was too distressed myself to be able to bring her relief from her sorrows.

One day la Girona, while rearranging her room, discovered a door hidden behind a wall-hanging, and through it went down to the vault. She recognized the pillar which I had described to her. It was still stained with blood. She came to see me in a state bordering on frenzy. Thereafter she shut herself away in her room, or rather she went down into that awful vault to think of ways of exacting vengeance.

A month later, I was told that the duke had returned. He came in in a calm and composed manner, greeted my daughter affectionately and then, asking me to sit down, seated himself beside me.

‘Señora,' he said. ‘I have thought long and hard about how I should behave towards you. I will not alter my behaviour. In the house you will be served with the same degree of respect and you will receive from me in appearance, at least, the same signs of esteem. This will last until your daughter reaches the age of sixteen years…'

‘And when my daughter is sixteen, what will happen?' I asked the duke.

At this moment la Girona came in, bringing chocolate. The idea crossed my mind that it was poisoned.

But the duke spoke again and said, ‘When your daughter is sixteen, I shall say to her, “Daughter, your features remind me of those of a woman whose story I shall tell you. She was beautiful and her soul seemed even more so. But her virtue was feigned. By putting on appearances, she managed to make the greatest match in Spain. One day her husband had to leave her for a few weeks. At once she summoned from her province a little wretch. They remembered their previous loves and fell into each other's arms. Daughter, there is that execrable hypocrite. She is your mother.” Then I will banish you from my presence, and you will go away to shed tears on the tomb of a mother who was as unworthy as you are.'

The injustice of the situation so hardened my soul that this awful speech had little effect on me. I took my daughter up in my arms and withdrew to another room.

Unfortunately I forgot about the chocolate. As I learnt later the duke had eaten nothing for two days. The cup had been placed in front of him. He drained it to the last drop.

Then he went into his own apartment. Half an hour later he ordered Dr Sangre Moreno to be brought to the house and that no one else but him should be admitted.

Someone went to the doctor's house. He had left it for a house in the country where he practised dissection. This was quickly visited but he was no longer there. He was looked for on his usual round of visits, but arrived only three hours later and found the duke dead.

Sangre Moreno examined the body very carefully. He looked at the nails, eyes and tongue. He had a number of flasks brought for some purpose or other. Then he came to see me and said, ‘Señora, you may be certain that the duke died from the effect of a detestable but skilful mixture of narcotic resin and a corrosive metal. It is not my profession to call for blood, and I leave the task of uncovering crimes to the supreme judge above. I shall announce that the duke died of apoplexy.'

Other doctors then came and confirmed Sangre Moreno's opinion.

I summoned la Girona and relayed to her what the doctor had said. Her distress betrayed her.

‘You have poisoned my husband!' I said to her. ‘How could a Christian commit such a crime?'

‘I am a Christian,' she said. ‘But I was a mother. If someone slit the throat of your child you would perhaps become more cruel than a raging lioness.'

I pointed out to her that she could have poisoned me instead of the duke.

‘No,' she said. ‘I was looking through the keyhole. If you had but touched the cup, I would have come in at once.'

Then the Capuchins arrived to ask for the duke's body. And as they brandished an order from the archbishop it could not be refused them.

La Girona, who up till then had shown great intrepidity, seemed all at once to be anxious and nervous. She was afraid that during the embalming of the body traces of poison would be found. She was haunted by this idea to the point where her very sanity was
threatened. Her pleas forced me into the abduction which has procured for us the honour of having you with us. The exaggerated speech I made in the cemetery was designed to fool my servants. When we saw that it was you who had been carried off it was necessary to fool them again. Another body has been buried in the garden chapel.

But in spite of all these precautions, la Girona is not easy in her mind. She speaks of returning to America and wants you to be locked away until she has decided what to do. As for me, I have no fears. If ever I am questioned I shall tell the truth. I have let la Girona know that. The duke's injustice and cruelty rid me of all affection for him and I would never have been able to bring myself to live with him. All my hopes of happiness lie with my daughter and I am not worried about her future. Twenty grandeeships have accumulated in her person. That is enough to ensure that she will be well received into some family.

And that, young friend, is what you wanted to know. La Girona knows that I have told you the whole of our story. She thinks you should not be left knowing just half of it.

But the atmosphere of this vault is stifling. I am going upstairs to breathe more freely.