The Manuscript Found in Saragossa (79 page)

‘My Lady,' the seneschal said, ‘what think you of the Castilian who hath slain the commander but granted him not leave to seek shrift?'

‘Methinks,' said the female ghost, ‘methinks, my love, that he hath thereby committed felony and wickedness. Thus think I that Messire Taillefer will not let the Castilian hie away from the castle but that he throw down the gauntlet.'

I was terrified and rushed headlong down the stairs. I searched for the castellan's door but could not find it by feeling my way to it. In my hand I still held the candle which had gone out. I thought of lighting it again and took heart somewhat. I tried to convince myself that the two figures I had seen by the fire had only existed in my imagination. I went back up the stairs and, pausing outside the door of the armoury, saw that the two figures were indeed not by the fireside where I had imagined seeing them. So I boldly went in, but had not taken more than a few paces when I saw before me in the
middle of the room Messire Taillefer, who had taken guard and was presenting the point of his sword to me.

I wanted to retreat to the staircase but the door was blocked by a squire, who threw down a gauntlet. Not knowing what to do next, I seized a sword from the bundle of arms and fell upon my fantastical enemy. I thought I had split him in two, but at once I was pierced by a blow below the heart which burned me like a red-hot iron. My blood spilled all over the room and I fainted.

I woke up in the morning in the castellan's bedroom. Seeing that I had not come down, he had armed himself with holy water and gone to fetch me. He found me lying on the floor, unconscious but without any wound. The wound I thought I had suffered was only sorcery. The castellan asked me no questions but merely advised me to leave the castle.

I left and set off for Spain. It took me a week to get to Bayonne, which I reached on a Friday. I lodged in an inn. In the middle of the night I awoke with a start and saw Messire Taillefer at the bottom of my bed, threatening me with his sword. I made the sign of the cross and the spectre seemed to dissolve into smoke. But I felt a blow the same as the one I imagined having received in the castle of Tête-Foulque. I seemed to be bathed in my own blood. I tried to cry out and leave my bed, but I could do neither. This indescribable anguish lasted until cockcrow, when I fell asleep again. But the next day I was ill and in a pitiable state. I have had the same vision every Friday since. No acts of devotion have been able to rid me of them. Melancholy will drive me to my grave, and I will be laid there before I am able to free myself from Satan's power. A vestige of hope in divine mercy still sustains me and helps me endure my ills.

From the first time I set eyes on you, I saw on your forehead the mark of reprobation and your whole story has been disclosed to me. The Conde de Peña Flor had indeed had the intention of seducing and possessing all women but he had neither seduced nor possessed any of them, so having committed only sins of intention his soul was not in danger. But for two years he had neglected his religious duties and was on the way to fulfil them when you had him murdered, or at least were an accessory to his murder. This is the reason for the haunting which torments you. There is only one way to be rid of it, which is to follow the commander's example. I will serve as your guide. As you know, my own salvation depends on it.

Cornádez came back to Salamanca. He found his house in excellent order and his wife agreeable, sweet-natured and yet more beautiful. Two months later she went again to Madrid to see her mother and sister, and then came back to Salamanca, where she ended by staying permanently when the Duke of Arcos was appointed to the embassy in London.

‘She became a widow,' said Busqueros. ‘Then she remarried, and her conduct is exemplary. But look, here she comes. I think she is on her way to your house.'

‘What!' exclaimed Toledo. ‘The person you are pointing out is
Señora Uscariz. What a woman! She had convinced me that I was her first love. She'll pay for that!' The knight, wishing to be alone with his mistress, hurriedly dismissed us.

As his family enjoyed the favour of the court, the office of Prior of Castile was destined for Toledo. It became vacant, so the knight hurried off to Malta. For a time I lost a protector who could oppose Busqueros's plans for my father's great inkpot. I was a spectator of the whole intrigue without being able to put obstacles in its way. This is how it came about.

At the beginning of my story I told you that every morning my father would go out on to a balcony overlooking the Calle de Toledo to take the air. He then would go to another balcony which looked out over a narrow street, and when he saw his neighbours opposite he would greet them by saying ‘Agour'. He did not like to go back into his house without having given this greeting. His neighbours would hurry out to receive his compliment in order not to hold him up too long. Otherwise he had no contact with them.

These good neighbours moved away and were replaced by the Señoras Cimiento, who were distant relatives of Don Roque Busqueros. The aunt, Señora Cimiento, was a person of forty years of age with a fresh complexion and a calm, gentle manner. Her niece,
Señorita Cimiento, was tall and well-built, with quite nice eyes and very beautiful arms.

The two ladies took possession of their apartment as soon as it was empty and, when the next day my father came to the balcony overlooking the narrow street, he was charmed to see them on the balcony opposite. They received his greeting and returned it most graciously. This surprise was a pleasant one for him. None the less, he withdrew again into his apartment and the ladies withdrew on their side.

This polite exchange remained on the same footing for a week. At the end of this period my father caught sight of an object in Señorita Cimiento's room which excited his curiosity. It was a small, glazed cupboard containing jars and crystal bottles. Some looked as though they were filled with the brightest colours for use in dyeing, others with gold dust, silver dust or powdered lapis lazuli, others with a golden varnish. The cupboard was placed near the window. Señorita Cimiento, dressed in a plain bodice, would come to fetch first one bottle then another. But what did she do with them? My father was unable to guess, and he wasn't in the habit of seeking information. He preferred not to know about things.

One day Señorita Cimiento was writing near the window. Her ink was thick; she poured water into it and made it so thin that it was impossible to use. Moved by feelings of courtesy, my father filled a bottle with ink and sent it to her. His maid came back with thanks and a cardboard box containing twelve sticks of sealing-wax, all of different colours. On them had been impressed ornaments and devices in a most accomplished way. So my father found out how Señorita Cimiento spent her time; and her work, analogous to his, was, as it were, its complement. The quality of the manufacture of the waxes was even higher than that of his ink. Full of approbation, he folded down an envelope, wrote an address on it with his fine ink and sealed it with his new wax, which took the impression perfectly. He put the envelope on the table and did not tire of contemplating it.

That evening he went to Moreno's shop. A man he did not know brought a box similar to his, with the same number of sticks. They were tried out and aroused universal admiration. My father thought about them the whole evening and that night he dreamed about sealing-wax.

The next morning he uttered his customary greeting. He even opened his mouth to say more, but in the end he said nothing and went back into his apartment, where he took up a position from which he could observe what was going on in that of Señorita Cimiento. The young lady was examining with a magnifying glass all the furniture being cleaned by the servant and whenever she discovered a speck of dust she made her begin again. The cleanliness of his room mattered a great deal to my father. The trouble he saw his nice neighbour taking gave him a great deal of respect for her.

I have said that my father's main pastime was to smoke cigars and to count either the passers-by or the tiles on the palacio de Alba. But already, instead of spending hours doing this, he spent hardly a few minutes. A powerful force of attraction constantly drew him to the balcony overlooking the narrow street.

Busqueros was the first to notice this change and in my presence said confidently several times that Don Felipe Avadoro would soon recover his real name and lose the nickname del Tintero Largo. Although little versed in legal matters, I supposed that a second marriage by my father would scarcely be to my advantage, so I rushed to see Aunt Dalanosa and begged her to do something to avert this calamity. Genuinely saddened by the news I brought her, my aunt went back to see Uncle Sántez. The Theatine replied, however, that marriage was a divine sacrament with which he could not interfere, although he promised to see that my interests would not be harmed by it.

The Knight of Toledo had been living for some time on Malta, so I was forced to be an impotent spectator of the progress of this affair, and had sometimes to hasten its progress when Busqueros entrusted me with letters to his relatives, whom he never visited himself.

Señora Cimiento neither made nor received visits. For his part, my father went out less frequently. He would not readily have changed the pattern of his days and given up attending the theatre, but the least cold gave him the excuse of staying at home. On those days he would rarely leave the side of his apartment looking out on to the narrow street and he would look at Señorita Cimiento lining up the bottles and even the sticks of sealing-wax. Her beautiful arms, which
were continually on view, captivated his imagination. He could think of nothing else.

A new object appeared to excite his curiosity. It was a jar quite like that in which he put his ink, but it was much smaller and was placed on an iron trivet. Lamps burning underneath kept it at a moderate heat. Soon two other similar jars were set up alongside the first. The next day, when my father appeared on the balcony and said ‘Agour', he opened his mouth in order to ask what the jars were for. But as he was not in the habit of speaking he said nothing and went back inside.

Tormented by curiosity, he decided to send Señorita Cimiento another bottle of ink. Three crystal bottles filled with red, green and blue ink were sent back to him.

The next day my father went to Moreno's the bookseller's. A man appeared, a clerk in the ministry of finance, who carried under his arm a statement of balances in tabular form; some columns were in red ink, the headings were in blue ink and the lines in green ink. The clerk of finances said that he alone knew the composition of his inks and he challenged anyone to show him similar ones.

Someone whom my father did not know turned to him and said, ‘Señor Avadoro, you who can make black ink so well, could you make inks of such colours?'

My father did not like to be challenged and was easily embarrassed. He opened his mouth to reply but said nothing. He preferred to go home to fetch the three bottles. Their contents were much admired and the clerk of finances asked permission to take samples of them. Overwhelmed with praises, my father privately accorded the glory to fair Señorita Cimiento, whose name he did not yet know. Once home, he fetched his recipe book and found three recipes for green ink, seven for red and two for blue. They all became confused in his head, but the beautiful arms of Señorita Cimiento were clearly etched in his imagination. His dormant senses were aroused and made him aware of their power.

The next day, as he greeted the ladies, my father finally felt a resolute wish to know their names and he opened his mouth to ask them; however, he said nothing and went back inside. Then he went to the balcony overlooking the Calle de Toledo and saw quite a well-dressed man holding a black bottle in his hand. He realized that he
had come to ask him for ink and stirred the contents of the jar well to give him some of good quality. The tap on the jar was a third of the way up so that there was no risk of drawing off the lees. The stranger entered and my father filled his bottle, but instead of going away the man put the bottle on a table, sat down and asked for permission to smoke a cigar. My father wanted to reply but said nothing. The stranger took a cigar from his box and lit it from a lamp which was on the table.

The stranger was none other than the implacable Busqueros. ‘Señor Avadoro,' he said to my father, ‘you make up a liquid here which has done much evil in the world. So many plots, so much treachery, so much trickery, so many wicked books – all have flowed from ink, not to speak of love-letters and all those little conspiracies against the happiness of husbands and against their honour. What do you say to that, Señor Avadoro? You say nothing, but it's your habit to say nothing. Never mind, I'll speak for both of us. That's my habit more or less. Now, Señor Avadoro, sit down on that chair and let me explain my idea to you. I claim that from this bottle of ink there will come out…'

As he said this, Busqueros pushed the bottle and ink spilled all over my father's knees; he went off to dry himself and change his clothes. On returning, he found Busqueros waiting to say goodbye, hat in hand. My father, delighted to see him go, went to open the door for him, and indeed Busqueros went out, but immediately returned.

‘Well, Señor Avadoro,' he said, ‘we are forgetting that my bottle is empty. But don't put yourself out, I'll fill it myself.'

Busqueros took a funnel, put it in the neck of the bottle and opened the tap. When the bottle was full my father went again to open the door, and Busqueros was quick to leave, but suddenly my father noticed that the tap was open and that ink was running into the room. My father rushed to turn off the tap. Then Busqueros came back in and, apparently without noticing the mess he had caused, put the bottle of ink on the table, sat down on the chair where he had sat before, took a cigar from his box and lit it.

‘Now, Señor Avadoro,' he said to my father, ‘I have heard it said that you had a son who drowned in this jar. Bless me, if he had known how to swim he would have survived. But where did you get
this jar from? I think it's from Toboso. There is excellent soil there which is used in the manufacture of saltpetre. It's as hard as rock. Allow me to put it to the test with this pestle.'

My father tried to prevent the test but Busqueros hit the jar, which broke. The ink flooded out and covered my father and everything else in the room, Busqueros not excepted, who was bespattered from head to foot.

My father, who rarely made a sound, on this occasion made a very great sound indeed. His two lady neighbours appeared on their balcony.

‘Oh, ladies!' cried Busqueros. ‘A terrible accident has occurred. The great jar has broken. The room is awash with ink and Señor Tintero is at his wits' end. It will be an act of Christian charity if you would let us come over to your room.'

The ladies seemed very willing to consent to this and, in spite of his distress, my father felt some pleasure when he realized that he was going to be united with the pretty lady who from afar seemed to hold her beautiful arms outstretched to him and smile at him so graciously.

Busqueros threw a cloak over the shoulders of my father and led him across to the house of the Señoras Cimiento. He had hardly got there when he received a very unpleasant message. A cloth merchant whose shop was under his apartment came to tell him that the ink had gone through to his shop and that he had summoned a lawyer to certify the damage. The landlord had him informed at the same time that he would no longer put up with him in his house.

Banished from his house and bathed in ink, my father looked as woebegone as it is possible to look.

‘Don't be upset, Señor Avadoro,' said Busqueros. ‘These ladies have a complete apartment facing the courtyard which they do not use. I'll have your effects brought over. You will be very comfortable here and you'll find red, green and blue inks which are equal to your black. But I advise you not to go out in the near future, for if you go to Moreno's bookshop everyone will make you tell the story of the broken jar and you don't care much for talking. And see there, all the idlers of the district are now in your apartment to see the flood of ink. Tomorrow nothing else will be talked about all over Madrid.'

My father was dismayed but a gracious glance from Señorita Cimiento gave him new heart, and he went off to take possession of his apartment. He did not stay there long. Señora Cimiento went to see him and say that, having consulted with her niece, she would let him have the apartment that overlooked the street. My father, who took pleasure in counting the tiles on the roof of the palacio de Alba, was happy to agree to this change. He was asked whether he would allow the coloured inks to be left where they were. He expressed his consent by a nod. The jars were in the middle of the room. Señora Cimiento would come and go without making a sound, fetching the colours. The deepest silence would reign in the house. Never had my father been so happy.

Eight days went by in this way. On the ninth Don Busqueros called on him and said, ‘Señor, I can tell you of a piece of good fortune which you hoped for without daring to declare yourself. You have touched the heart of Señorita Cimiento. She agrees to give you her hand. I have brought you a document to sign if you want the banns to be published on Sunday.'

Astonished, my father tried to reply but Busqueros did not leave him time.

‘Señor Avadoro,' he said, ‘your coming marriage is no longer a secret. All Madrid is informed of it, so if you intend to put it off the relatives of Señorita Cimiento will assemble in my house and you will come there and divulge to them the reasons for the delay. That is a courtesy you cannot dispense with.'

My father was thrown into consternation by the idea of addressing a whole family assembly. He was about to say something but Busqueros forestalled him.

‘I know what it is, and I can understand you. You want to learn of your happiness from the very lips of Señorita Cimiento. I can see her coming. I'll leave you alone together.'