The Manuscript Found in Saragossa (54 page)

This frequently repeated reply made me curious. I asked Germanus to get Chæremon
¹
the priest to instruct me himself in his religion, which could only be done in secret, for if it had been known in the synagogue I would have suffered the indignity of being excommunicated. Germanus was much liked by Chæremon, who was happy to agree to my request. And the very next night I made my way to a grove next to the temple of Isis. Germanus introduced me to Chæremon, who, having made me sit down beside him, joined his hands in devout meditation and then uttered the following prayer in the vernacular of Lower Egypt, which I understood perfectly:

‘I cannot therefore assure you that I will teach you the old religion whose ceremonies you can still see depicted on the bas-relief of Ozymandias
³
at Thebes. But I will transmit to you the lessons of those who taught me in the way I give them to my pupils.

‘The first thing I will recommend to you is not to become attached to any image or emblem, but to strive to grasp the spirit of all such things. Thus, earth represents all that is material, and a god sitting on a lotus leaf floating on mud represents thought, which rests on matter without touching it. This is the emblem your lawgiver used when he said that the spirit of God was borne on the waters. It is claimed that Moses was brought up by priests in the town of On or Heliopolis; and your rites are in fact very similar to ours. Like you, we have priestly families and prophets, circumcision is practised, pork is not eaten and there are many other similarities.'

When Chæremon had reached this point in his lesson, an acolyte of the cult of Isis struck the hour which marked the middle of the night. Our master told us that religious duties called him to the temple and that we could come back at nightfall the next day.

After the wanderer had gone away, I reflected on what he had said to us, and I thought I detected in it the more or less blatant desire to weaken our religious principles and thereby to abet the plans of those who wanted me to change mine. But I knew very well what course honour prescribed for me in this respect and that however one went about it, it would be impossible to succeed.

Meanwhile, we reached the resting-place. The meal took place in
the usual way and then the gypsy chief, having nothing else to do, took up again the thread of his story:

At last I embarked on a pink, and it was with no little satisfaction that I left our little, arid, dusty, scorched island. On the other hand, I was entranced by the flowery banks of the river Andalusia. I sailed into the Guadalquivir and landed at Seville. I only stayed in that city as long as it was necessary to find muleteers. One presented himself with a reasonably comfortable coach instead of the usual chaise. I chose him and, having filled my carriage with the novels I had bought in Cadiz, I left for Madrid.

The pretty countryside through which one passes as far as Córdoba, the picturesque sights of the Sierra Morena, the pastoral ways of the inhabitants of La Mancha, all that met my eyes added to the effect of my favourite reading. My soul became more sensitive and I nourished it with exalted and elegant sentiments. In short, I can tell you that as I arrived in Madrid I was already madly in love without having a particular object yet to be in love with. On reaching the capital I stayed at the Cross of Malta. It was midday and the table was soon
laid for me. Then I put away my belongings as is usual for travellers to do when they take possession of a room at an inn. I heard and saw the handle of my door move. I went across and opened the door suddenly. I felt some resistance, which led me to believe that I had hit someone. And indeed I saw a quite well-dressed man behind my door, rubbing his nose, which had been grazed.

‘Señor Don Lope,' the stranger said to me, ‘I heard in the inn that the honoured son of the famous Gaspar Soarez had arrived and I came to pay you my respects.'

‘Señor,' I said, ‘if you had simply intended to come in, I would have given you a bump on the forehead with the door. But as you have got a grazed nose I think that you perhaps had your eye to the keyhole.'

‘Bravo!' said the stranger. ‘Your intelligence is remarkably sharp. It is true that, wishing to make your acquaintance, I wanted in advance to get some idea of the sort of person you were. And I have been charmed by your noble way of walking round your room and putting away your belongings.'

Having said this, the stranger entered my room without being invited and, continuing his discourse, said to me, ‘Señor Don Lope. You see in me the famous scion of the family of Busqueros of Old Castile, not to be confused with the other Busqueros who come from León. As for me, I am known by the name of Don Roque Busqueros. But from now on I want only to be known for the devotion with which I shall serve your lordship.'

I then recalled the order of my father and said to him, ‘Señor Don Roque, I must tell you that when I took leave of Gaspar Soarez, whose son I am, he forbade me ever to allow myself to be given the title of “don”. He added to this prohibition that of never frequenting the nobility, by which your lordship will understand that it will no longer be possible for me to benefit from his obliging disposition.'

At this, Busqueros looked very grave and said, ‘Señor Don Lope, your lordship has deeply embarrassed me by what he has said, for my own father on his deathbed commanded me always to call famous merchants by the title of “don” and to seek their company. Your lordship can thus see that he cannot obey his father without my having to contravene the last wishes of my own, and that however
much you try to avoid my company I must try to my utmost to seek yours.'

Busqueros's arguments confounded me. Besides, he looked very grave and, as my father had forbidden me to draw my sword, I had to do all I could to avoid quarrels.

Meanwhile Don Roque had found some pieces of eight on my table which were worth eight Dutch ducats. ‘Señor Don Lope,' he said. ‘I collect these pieces of eight and it so happens that I am missing those struck in the years I see you have here. You know what the craze for collecting is and I'm sure I shall delight you by offering you the opportunity of obliging me; or rather it is chance which offers you this opportunity, for I have all these pieces since the year 1707, when they were first struck, and it so happens that only these two are missing.'

I made Don Roque a present of the two pieces of eight with an eagerness made greater by the thought that he would then go away; but that was not his intention.

Busqueros looked grave and said to me, ‘Señor Don Lope, I think it would not be fitting for us to eat out of the same plate or be reduced to passing the spoon or fork one to the other. I shall therefore have a second place-setting brought.'

Busqueros gave the necessary orders. Then we were served, and I had to admit that the conversation of my importunate guest was quite amusing, and that, but for the distress of having disobeyed my father I would have taken pleasure in having him at my table.

Busqueros went away immediately he had finished his meal. I let the heat of the day go by and then had myself taken to the Prado. I marvelled at the beauty of the place but was impatient to see the Buen Retiro. This lonely walk is well known in our novels and some premonition told me that I too would find there the opportunity of forming a tender relationship.

The sight of that beautiful garden delighted me more than I can say and I would have been for a long time lost in admiration of it if I had not been roused from my ecstasy by the sight of something which flashed in the grass a few yards from where I stood. I picked it up and saw it to be a portrait attached to a gold chain. The portrait was of a very handsome man and on the back of the medallion was a lock of
hair held in a gold band on which these words had been engraved: ‘I am altogether yours, dear Inés.' I put the piece of jewellery in my pocket and continued on my walk.

Having returned to the same spot, I came across two women, of whom one – a very young and beautiful person – was searching the ground with the distressed look which one has when one has lost something. I had little difficulty guessing that she was looking for the portrait. I went up to her respectfully and said to her, ‘Señora, I think I may have found the object which you are looking for but prudence makes me hold on to it until you have been so kind as to give me some sort of description of it which will prove your ownership of it.'

‘Señor,' said the pretty stranger, ‘I am looking for a portrait attached to a gold chain of which this is the remaining piece.'

‘But was there not some inscription with the portrait?' I asked her.

‘There is one,' said the stranger, blushing somewhat. ‘It would have told you that my name is Inés and that the subject of the portrait is altogether mine. Well, what is stopping you giving it back to me?'

Señora,' I said, ‘you have not told me in what way that happy mortal belongs to you.'

‘Señor,' said the stranger, ‘I thought it was necessary to answer your scruples but not to satisfy your curiosity. And I don't know what right you have to ask me such questions.'

‘My curiosity,' I replied, ‘would more accurately have been called interest. As for my right to ask you such questions, I must point out to you that those who give back something which was lost usually receive an honourable reward. The reward I ask of you is to tell me what will perhaps make me the unhappiest of men.'

The pretty stranger looked somewhat grave and said to me, ‘You are very bold for someone at their first meeting. It is not always the surest way to have a second. But I am willing to satisfy you on this point. The subject of the portrait is…'

At that moment Busqueros emerged unexpectedly from a neighbouring walk and accosted us in a gallant way. ‘I compliment you, Señora,' he said, ‘on getting to know the famous son of the richest merchant of Cadiz.'

The girl's features expressed very great indignation. ‘I did not think that I was the kind of person to be addressed without it being known
who I am.' Then, turning to me, she said, ‘Señor, please hand me back the portrait you found.'

At that, she climbed into her coach and passed from our sight.