The Manuscript Found in Saragossa (52 page)

Dellius was right. The affair cost us half our fortune.

The following year, on his way out of the house, my father discovered on the doorstep a man who seemed barely alive. My father had him taken into the house and tried to revive him but immediately officers of the law appeared in the house, together with those who were living next door, eight in all, who all swore that they had witnessed my father murdering the man. My father spent six months in prison, and only came out after having sacrificed the other half of his fortune, that is to say all that he had left.

His house still belonged to him, but he was scarcely home again when the house of our wicked neighbours caught fire. This was at night. My father's neighbours gained entry to his house, stole everything they could and spread the fire to those parts it had not yet reached.

By dawn our house was no more than a heap of ashes, in which the
blind Dellius could be seen shuffling about, with my father, who was holding me in his arms, bemoaning his misfortune.

When the shops opened, my father took me by the hand to the baker who had up to then been our supplier. This man seemed moved to compassion and gave us three loaves. We rejoined Dellius, who told us that while we had been away a man whom he had not been able to see had said to him, ‘Oh Dellius, may your misfortunes fall on the head of Sedekias! Forgive those in his employ. We were paid to kill you and we have spared your days. Here is something to sustain you for a little while.'

The man had then given him a purse containing fifty gold pieces.

This unexpected help cheered my father up. He merrily spread out a half-burnt mat over the ashes, put the three loaves on it and went to fetch water in a half-broken earthenware ewer. I was seven years old. I remember sharing with my father this moment of good cheer and having gone with him to the water trough. I also had my share of breakfast.

We had scarcely begun our meal when a child of my age appeared, weeping and begging for bread.

‘I am the son of a Roman soldier and a Syrian woman,' he said. ‘She died giving birth to me. The wives of the soldiers of the same cohort, who were sutlers, suckled me in turn. Obviously I was given some other sustenance for here I am now. But my father, who had been sent out against a group of shepherds, never came back, nor did any of his comrades. The bread which had been left for me ran out yesterday. I tried to beg some in the city but all the doors were shut to me. As you have neither a door nor a house I hope that you will not refuse me some.'

Old Dellius, who never missed an opportunity to be sententious, said, ‘This shows that there is no human being so wretched that he cannot still do some good to someone, just as there is no person so powerful that he does not still have some need of others. Welcome, my child, share in our bread of misery. What is your name?'

‘I am called Germanus,' said the child.

‘Long may you live,' said Dellius, And this blessing of sorts became
a prophecy, for the child lived long and is still alive now in Venice, where he is known as the Chevalier de Saint-Germain.
¹

Then the Wandering Jew continued as follows:

My father replied that the door was closed, as it had been before the fire, and that the flames had not been able to destroy the ceiling of the cellar. ‘Well,' said Dellius, ‘take two gold pieces from the purse which I was given, hire workmen and construct a cabin round the ceiling. It will certainly be possible to use some of the debris from the old house.'

And indeed a few beams and planks were found intact. They were attached to each other by some means or other, everything was covered with palm fronds and matting and we thus had a comfortable shelter. Nature does not require more than this in our happy climate. Under so clear a sky the vestige of a roof is sufficient and the simplest food is also the most healthy. So one can rightly say that poverty is not as much to be feared in our part of the world as in your latitudes, which you call temperate.

As our dwelling was being constructed, Dellius set down matting on the street, sat down on it and played a tune on the Phoenician cithara. Next he sang a grand aria he had composed for Cleopatra. The voice of this more than sixty-year-old man still had the power to attract to us a crowd of people, who took pleasure in hearing him. When he had finished his aria he said, ‘Citizens of Alexandria! Give alms to poor Dellius, whom your fathers knew as Cleopatra's first musician and Antony's favourite!'

Then little Germanus took round a small earthenware bowl, in which everyone put his offering.

Dellius made it a rule only to sing and beg once a week. On those days the whole neighbourhood assembled and did not return home before leaving us with plentiful alms. We did not owe them all to
Dellius's voice. We owed them also to his conversation, which was cheerful, instructive and full of anecdotes. So our lot was quite tolerable. Meanwhile my father, who had been too deeply hurt by the succession of misfortunes, fell into a decline which carried him to his grave in less than a year. We remained then in the sole care of Dellius, reduced to living on what his old and broken voice could bring in. The following winter a severe cough, which was followed by permanent hoarseness, took away even this resource. Then I inherited a small sum from a relative from Pelusium who had died. It amounted to five hundred gold pieces, not even the third of that which was due to me, but Dellius declared that justice was not meant for the poor, who should be content with what they were given as a favour. So he was content in my name with this sum, but he was able to deploy it so well that it met all my needs throughout my childhood.

Dellius did not neglect either my education or that of young Germanus besides. One or the other of us remained always in his company. The days I was not required, I went to a little Jewish school in the neighbourhood, and the days Germanus was free, he sat at the feet of a priest of Isis called Chaeremon. Subsequently he was made torchbearer during that goddess's mysteries and he would charm me with his description of the ceremonies.

It was still very early in the morning and the streets were deserted. The knight engaged the first mules for hire we came across and we
rode out of the city. I remarked to him that his household would be worried by such a long absence. But he replied, ‘No, they have been forewarned and will not be expecting me back.'

‘Señor caballero,' I said to him, ‘may I be allowed to make an observation? The voice you heard yesterday told you something which you could just as well have found in your catechism. You have gone to confession and doubtless were not refused absolution. By all means amend your ways a bit but don't upset yourself to this extent.'

‘Oh my friend,' said the knight, ‘once one has heard the voice of the dead, one is not long for this world.'

I then realized that my young protector thought that he was going to die soon, and this idea had affected him. So I made the decision not to leave him.

We took a lonely road which crossed a wild stretch of countryside and led us to the doors of a Camaldolese monastery. The knight paid off the muleteers and rang at the door. A monk appeared. The knight made himself known and asked to be allowed to undertake a retreat lasting several weeks. We were led to a hermitage at the bottom of the garden and informed by sign language that a bell would announce the time to go to the refectory. Our cell was furnished with devout literature, which the knight read to the exclusion of all else. As for me, I found a Camaldolese who was sitting fishing with a rod; I joined him and that was the only way I had to amuse myself.

The silence which is part of the Camaldolese rule did not upset me too much the first day, but it had become unbearable by the third. As for the knight, his melancholy grew daily. Soon he stopped talking altogether.

We had been at the monastery for a week when I saw one of my comrades from the portal of St Roch arrive. He told us that he had seen us ride away on our hired mules and, having subsequently met the same muleteer, he had learnt from him where our retreat was. He told me at the same time that the sadness of having lost me had caused our little troop to begin to split up; for his part he had placed himself in the service of a Cadiz merchant who needed people to look after him, having suffered multiple fractures to his legs and arms in an unfortunate accident.

I told him that I couldn't bear it any longer in the Camaldolese
monastery and asked him to take my place with the knight just for a few days.

He replied that he would willingly do so but that he was afraid of letting down the Cadiz merchant who had taken him into his service; he had been given the job under the portal of St Roch, and to let him down would do no good to those who foregathered there.

I told him in turn that I could take his place with the merchant. I had, as it happened, managed to impose my authority on my comrades and this one did not think he should refuse to obey me. I led him to the knight, whom I told that important affairs obliged me to return to Madrid for a few days and that during this time I would leave him a comrade whom I would answer for as for myself. The knight, who did not speak, let me know by signs that he agreed to the substitution.

So I went to Madrid and went at once to the inn which my comrade had indicated to me, but I found that the patient had been transferred to the house of the famous doctor who lived in the Calle St Roch. I had no trouble finding him. I said that I had come in the place of my comrade Chiquito, that I was called Avarito and that I would undertake the same services just as faithfully.

I was told that my services would be accepted but that I had to go at once to rest, as I would have to sit up with the patient for several consecutive nights. So I slept, and that evening presented myself to take up my duties. I was led to the patient, whom I found stretched out on a bed in a very awkward position, not having the use of any of his limbs except his left hand.

As it happens, he was a young man with an interesting face. He wasn't actually ill but, having had his limbs shattered, suffered terrible pain. I tried to make him forget his suffering by amusing and distracting him as best I could. Eventually I managed to get him to agree to tell me his story, which he did as follows: