The Manuscript Found in Saragossa (69 page)

‘Señor,' said Xoaz, ‘it cannot be doubted that spirits of the kings return to the cemetery in the mountains and that they have the power to torment the dead and living, especially when they are solicited to do so by the curses which you saw on the stone. But many circumstances have weakened their dreadful effects. In the first place, you have destroyed the evil shrub which had been deliberately planted on that fateful tomb. And then, what do you have in common with the wild companions of Cortez? Continue to be the protector of the Mexicans
and trust that we are not altogether ignorant of the art of appeasing the spirits of the kings, and even of the terrible gods once worshipped in Mexico which your priests call demons.'

I advised Xoaz to be discreet about his religious opinions and decided to seize any opportunities to be of service to the natives of Mexico. These were not slow to arise. A revolt broke out in the provinces conquered by the viceroy. It wasn't in fact any more than justified resistance to oppressive measures which were not at all what the court intended. But the severe Conde de Peña Vélez, prejudiced by false reports, made no such distinction. He placed himself at the head of an army, entered New Mexico, dispersed the mobs and brought back two caciques, whom he intended to put to death on the scaffold in the capital of the New World. Their sentence was about to be read when I stepped forward in the judgement hall and put my hands on the two accused men, saying the words, ‘Los toco por parte del rey.'
¹
This ancient formula of Spanish law even today has such force that no tribunal would dare oppose it, and it suspends the execution of any decree, but at the same time the person using it offers his own person as surety. The viceroy was furious and, rigorously exercising his rights, had me thrown into a dungeon intended for criminals. There I passed the happiest moments of my life.

One night – and all was night in that dark place – I noticed a pale, dim glow at the end of a long corridor. It came towards me and by it I recognized Tlascala's features. This sight alone would have been enough to make my prison a place of delight. But not content with beautifying it by her presence she had the sweetest of surprises for me: the confession of a passion equal to mine.

‘Alonso,' she said, ‘virtuous Alonso, you have won. The spirits of my forefathers are appeased. This heart, which no mortal was to possess, has become yours and is the reward of the sacrifices which you ceaselessly make for the happiness of my unfortunate compatriots.'

Scarcely had Tlascala uttered these words when she fell unconscious, almost lifeless, into my arms. I attributed her state to the shock she
had suffered. But, alas, the cause was more remote and more dangerous. The horror that had gripped her in the cemetery and the delirious fever which had followed it had weakened her constitution.

Meanwhile Tlascala's eyes opened again to the light. Celestial brilliance seemed to change my dark prison into a place of radiance. Oh god of love, whom men in ancient time adored because they were the children of nature, divine love, your power never appeared in Cnida or in Paphos as it did in our New World dungeons! My prison had become your temple, the executioner's block your altar, my irons your garlands. This magic has still not faded. It lives on complete in my heart, now cold with age. And when I want my thoughts as they are stimulated by memories to revert to images of the past, they do not seek out Elvira's nuptial bed or the couch of the libertine Laura but the walls of a prison.

I have told you that the viceroy was very angry with me. His impetuous character had swept away his principles of justice and his friendship for me. He sent a light vessel to Europe and his report described me as a trouble-maker.

But scarcely had the ship set sail when the goodness and sense of justice of the viceroy regained the upper hand. He saw the affair in a very different light. If he had not been afraid of compromising himself, he would have sent a second report contradicting the first. He did, however, send a second vessel carrying dispatches designed to mitigate the effect of the earlier ones.

The Council of Madrid, which is slow in its deliberations, received this second report in plenty of time. Its reply was long coming. It was, as one could have predicted, characterized by the most consummate prudence. The decree of the council seemed to be motivated by the most extreme severity and sentenced to capital punishment the authors and instigators of the revolt, but by following strictly the terms of the decree it was difficult to find out which persons were guilty and the viceroy received secret instructions which forbade him to look for them.

But the ostensible part of the decree was known first and delivered a fatal blow to Tlascala's frail life. First she vomited blood, after which, a fever, at first weak and slow, then high and persistent…

But, righteous heaven, what a festivity! Tlascala was no more. Even those most indifferent to her thought of her and honoured her memory with their regrets. By their affliction you can gauge the extent of my distress. I was absorbed in my sorrow and saw nothing of what was going on around me.

I was drawn out of this state by a new and flattering feeling. A young man with a good nature wants to distinguish himself. At thirty years of age he feels the need for the esteem of others. Later, he wants their respect. I was still at the stage of esteem and I would perhaps not have been given it if it had been known what role love played in all my actions. They were instead attributed to rare virtue sustained by a strong character. To this was added a little of that zealousness of which people are willing to approve in those who have attracted the
attention of the public. The Mexican public made known to me the high opinion it had formed of me and its flattering homage drew me out of my deep sorrow. I felt that I had not yet earned this measure of esteem but I hoped to make myself worthy of it. So it is that when we are struck down by suffering and can only see a dark future ahead of us, providence, solicitous of our fate, rekindles an unexpected glow which sets us back on the path of light.

So I decided to earn the esteem of others. I had offices which I exercised with an integrity which was as scrupulous as it was active. But I was born to love. The image of Tlascala still filled my heart, yet left there a great emptiness which I sought opportunities to fill.

When one is past the age of thirty one can still feel deep love and even inspire it, but woe to the man of that age who decides to involve himself in the sport of youthful passion. Gaiety is no longer on his lips, tender joy no longer in his eyes, the folly of love no longer in his speech. He seeks the means to please and no longer has the easy instinct by which they are to be found. The shrewd and the frivolous recognize him for what he is, and flee swiftly to join the company of the young.

In short, to speak prosaically, I had mistresses who returned my love, but their affection was usually motivated by a sense of what was fitting, which did not prevent them from giving me up for younger lovers. I was sometimes annoyed but never upset by this. I exchanged light chains for ones which were no heavier, and these affairs, all in all, gave me more pleasure than sorrow.

My wife reached the age of forty and remained beautiful. She was besieged by homages but they were homages of respect: people were eager to speak to her but they did not speak about her. Polite society had not yet abandoned her but to her eyes it was not as delightful as before.

The viceroy died. The marquesa had formed a regular circle of acquaintances. She liked to see guests in her house. I still enjoyed the company of women. It delighted me to meet the marquesa, even coming down a staircase. She became almost a new acquaintance for me. She looked charming, and I made a point of being so.

My daughter, who is here with me, is the fruit of this reunion. The late confinement of the marquesa had a disastrous effect on her health.
Different afflictions followed one upon the other. Eventually she fell into a decline which bore her to the tomb. I wept heartfelt tears for her. She had been my first mistress and my last friend. Blood united us. I owed her my fortune and my rank. How many reasons I had to regret her passing! When I lost Tlascala I was still compassed about by all of life's illusions. The marquesa left me without consolation, alone, in a state of dejection from which nothing could raise me.

Yet I did emerge from it. I went to my estates and lodged with one of my vassals. His daughter, who was too young to appreciate the difference in our ages, conceived a feeling for me which resembled love a little and which allowed me to gather some roses in the last days of my late autumn.

Age has in the end cooled my senses but my heart still feels affection and I have a fondness for my daughter more intense than were my passions. To see her happy and to die in her arms is my daily wish. I have no reason to complain. My dear child rewards me with her heartfelt love. What lies ahead of her does not cause me anxiety; circumstances are favourable to her. I believe that I have ensured her future in so far as one can ensure anything on this earth. I leave this world in peace but not without regrets – a world in which I, like any man, have known much adversity but also much happiness.

You wanted to know my story: there it is. But I fear that it has bored our friend the geometer. He has just pulled out his tablets and written numbers all over them.