The Manuscript Found in Saragossa (82 page)

At that, a nod indicated that I should withdraw. It cost me dear to leave the duchess. I was really in love with her. Her extreme pride did not put me off: on the contrary, I thought that if she did decide to take a lover she would choose him from amongst those below her station, which in Spain is not uncommon. In short, something told me that the duchess might love me one day. But I really don't know where this feeling came from. Her behaviour towards me could not have given rise to it. I thought all that day about the duchess. Towards evening I began to think of her sister. I went to the Calle Retrada. In the bright moonlight I recognized Leonor and her duenna sitting on a seat near the door of their house. The duenna recognized me too, came towards me and invited me to sit down next to her charge. She then withdrew a little distance.

After a moment Leonor said, ‘So you are the young man I am allowed to see. Will you like me?'

I replied that I already liked her a great deal.

‘Well then, do me the pleasure of telling me my name.'

‘Your name is Leonor.'

‘That's not what I asked you. I must have another name. I am not as naïve as I was when I was with the Carmelites. I then thought that the whole world was inhabited only by nuns and confessors. But now I know that there are husbands and wives who do not leave each other night and day and that children bear the name of their father. That is why I want to know my name.'

As the Carmelites, especially in some of their houses, have a very strict rule, I was not surprised to see that Leonor had been kept in such ignorance up to the age of twenty. I replied to her that I knew her only by the name of Leonor. I then said that I had seen her dancing in her room and that she had certainly not learnt to dance with the Carmelites.

‘No,' she replied. ‘It's the Duke of Avila who put me in the Carmelite house. After his death I entered an Ursuline house, where one of the girls who resided there taught me how to dance and another to sing. As for the manner in which husbands live with their wives, all the girls in the Ursuline house spoke to me about it. It's no secret to them. As far as I'm concerned, I would like to have a name, and for that I shall have to marry.'

Then Leonor spoke to me about the theatre, about promenades, about bullfighting and evinced a great desire to see all these things. I had a few more conversations with her, always in the evening. After a week I received the following letter from the duchess:

The windows were open and I could see right to the back of the room. Leonor was surrounded by four women, who were busy dressing her. She had a robe of white satin embroidered with silver, a crown of flowers and a necklace of diamonds. Over all that was placed a white veil, which covered her from head to toe.

All this surprised me somewhat. Soon my surprise increased. A table was carried from the back to the room and dressed like an altar. Candles were placed on it. A priest appeared, accompanied by two gentlemen who seemed to be there only as witnesses. The groom was still missing.

I heard a knock at my door: the duenna appeared. ‘You are awaited,' she said. ‘Did you think that you could resist the duchess's wishes?'

I followed the duenna. The bride did not lift her veil. Her hand was placed in mine. In a word, we were married.

The witnesses congratulated me and also my wife, whose face they had not seen, and withdrew. The duenna led us to a bedroom dimly lit by moonlight and shut the door behind her.

A week later the duchess came back to Madrid. I went to see her again with some embarrassment. I had profaned her cult and reproached myself for it. She on the other hand treated me with extreme friendliness. Her pride disappeared when we were alone together. I was her brother and her friend.

One evening, as I reached home and was closing the door behind me, I felt a tug at my coat-tails. I turned round and saw Busqueros.

‘Ah, I've caught you!' he said. ‘Monsignor of Toledo told me that he wasn't seeing anything of you any more and that he wasn't informed of your comings and goings. I asked him to give me twenty-four hours to discover them and I have succeeded. Now, my boy, you owe me respect, for I have married your stepmother.'

These few words reminded me of how much Busqueros had contributed to the death of my father. I was unable to prevent myself showing him ill will. I got rid of him.

The next day I went to the duchess and told her of this tiresome encounter. She seemed very upset about it.

‘Busqueros is a ferret; nothing escapes him,' she said. ‘Leonor must be shielded from his curiosity. I shall have her leave for Avila this
very day. Don't be angry with me, Avadoro. It's to ensure your happiness.'

‘Señora,' I said to her, ‘the idea of happiness seems to imply the fulfilment of one's desires and I never desired to be Leonor's husband. But it is true that I am now devoted to her and love her more each day – if I can use that word, for I never see her by day.'

The same evening I went to the Calle Retrada but found no one there. The door and shutters were closed.

Some days later Toledo summoned me to his study and said, ‘Avadoro, I have spoken about you to the king. His Majesty is giving you a mission in Naples. That nice Englishman, Temple, has had me make overtures to him. He wants to see me in Naples and if I can't go, then he wants it to be you. The king does not think it appropriate that I should make the journey and wants to send you. But,' Toledo added, ‘you don't seem very flattered at the prospect.'

‘I am deeply flattered by the kindness of His Majesty. But I have a noble lady who protects me and I would not wish to do anything without her approval.'

Toledo smiled and said to me, ‘I have spoken to the duchess. Go and see her this morning.'

I went. The duchess said to me, ‘My dear Avadoro. You are aware of the present position of the Spanish monarchy. The king is close to death, and with him the line of Austria comes to an end. In such critical circumstances every good Spaniard should forget his own interests, and if he can serve his country he should not fail to grasp any opportunities of doing so. Your wife is in safety. She won't write to you for the Carmelites did not teach her to write. I shall act as her secretary. If I am to believe her duenna, I shall soon be in a position to give you news of something which will attach you even more closely to Leonor.'

As she uttered these words the duchess lowered her eyes, blushed and then indicated that I should withdraw. I took my instructions from the minister. They concerned foreign affairs and covered also the administration of the Kingdom of Naples, which it was hoped more than ever to tie to Spain. I left the next day and undertook the journey with all possible speed.

I devoted all the zeal to the performance of my mission that one
devotes to one's first employment, but in the intervals between my work memories of Madrid would dominate my thoughts. The duchess loved me in spite of what it cost her. She had admitted as much to me. Having become my sister-in-law, she had cured herself of the passionate side of her feelings, but she had preserved an attachment for me which she proved in countless ways. Leonor, the mysterious goddess of my nights, had presented me through marriage with the cup of sensual bliss. The memory of her ruled my senses as much as my heart. My regret at her absence turned almost to despair but except for these two ladies I felt only indifference for the fair sex.

The duchess's letters reached me in the official mail. They were not signed and the handwriting was disguised. From them I learnt that Leonor's pregnancy was progressing but that she was ill and above all else listless. Then I learnt that I was a father and that Leonor had suffered a great deal. What I was told about her health seemed couched in such a way as to prepare me for even sadder news.

Eventually Toledo appeared at the moment when I least expected him. He threw himself in my arms. ‘I have come on royal business,' he said, ‘but it's the duchesses who have sent me.'

As he said this he gave me a letter. I trembled as I opened it. I foresaw its contents. The duchess gave me the news of Leonor's death and offered me all the consolations of her most affectionate friendship.

Toledo, who for long had had a great influence over me, used it to restore calm to my mind. In a way I had not known Leonor at all, but she had been my wife and the idea of her was inseparable from the memory of the pleasures of our short union. My sorrow left me very melancholy and dejected.

Toledo took upon himself the running of affairs and as soon as they were concluded we returned to Madrid. When we were near the gates of the capital he had me get out and, taking a roundabout route, led me to the Carmelites' cemetery. There he showed me a black urn. On its base was written ‘Leonor Avadoro'. I bathed this monument with my tears. I went back to it several times before going to see the duchess. She was not angry with me for this. On the contrary, on the first occasion I saw her she showed me an affection which resembled love. In due course she took me to her inner apartments and showed
me a child in a cradle. I felt the most intense emotion. I knelt. The duchess held out her hand to help me up; I kissed it. She indicated that I should withdraw.

The next day I went to see the minister and with him the king. In sending me to Naples, Toledo had been seeking an excuse to have me granted honours. I was made Knight of Calatrava. This decoration, without promoting me to the first ranks of society, brought me none the less nearer to them. With Toledo and the two duchesses I was on a footing which no longer smacked of inferiority. Besides, I was their handiwork and they seemed to rejoice in my elevation.

Soon after, the Duchess of Avila gave me the task of following through an affair of hers in the Council of Castile. You can imagine with what zeal and care I did this. It increased the esteem I had already inspired in my patroness. I saw her every day, and daily she became more affectionate. And here the miraculous part of my story begins.

On my return from Italy I had taken up lodgings again with Toledo but the house that I had in the Calle Retrada had remained in my care. I had a servant called Ambrosio sleep there. The house opposite, the one in which I had been married, belonged to the duchess. It was closed and no one lived there. One morning Ambrosio came to ask me to put someone else in his place, someone who had to be courageous, since after midnight it was not good to be there, any more than in the house across the street.

I tried to find out from him what sort of apparitions there were but Ambrosio confessed to me that fear had prevented him from seeing anything clearly. Moreover he was determined never to sleep again in the Calle Retrada, either alone or in company. What he said excited my curiosity. I decided to venture there myself that same night. The house was still partially furnished. I went across to it after supper. I had a valet sleep on the staircase and myself occupied the room which looked on the street and was opposite Leonor's former house. I drank a few cups of coffee to keep myself from falling asleep and heard midnight strike. Ambrosio had told me that this was the hour at which the ghost appeared. In order not to frighten anything away I extinguished my candle. Soon I saw a light in the house opposite. It wandered from room to room and floor to floor. The blinds prevented
me from seeing where the light was coming from. The next day I asked in the duchess's household for the keys to the house and went there. I found it completely empty and confirmed that it was not occupied. I unfastened the blind on every floor and then went about my normal business.

The next night I returned to my post and when midnight struck the same light appeared; this time I saw where it was coming from. A woman dressed in white, with a lamp in her hand, walked slowly through all the rooms on the first floor, went up to the second floor and then disappeared. The lamp threw too feeble a light on to her features for me to be able to see them clearly but I recognized Leonor by her blonde hair.

I went to see the duchess as soon as it was daylight. She was not there. I went to see my child. I discovered the women attending her to be agitated and uneasy. At first they were unwilling to say why. Finally the nurse told me that a woman dressed all in white had come in that night, holding a lamp in her hand. She had looked at the child for a long time, had blessed her and then had gone away.

The duchess came home. She summoned me and said:

‘I have reasons to wish your child to be here no longer. I have given orders that the house in the Calle Retrada be made ready to receive her. She will stay there with her nurse and the woman who passes for her mother. I would happily suggest also that you might live there too, but there might be drawbacks.'

I replied that I would keep the house opposite and sleep there from time to time.

The duchess's wishes were carried out. I was careful to see that my child slept in the bedroom which looked out over the street, and that the blind was not shut again.

Midnight struck. I went to the window and saw in the room opposite the child asleep with her nurse. The woman dressed in white appeared, a lamp in her hand. She went up to the cradle, gazed at the child for a long time, then blessed her. Then she came to the window and looked for a long time in my direction. After that she went out of the bedroom and I saw light on the next floor. Finally, the woman appeared on the roof, ran lightly along the ridge and on to a neighbouring roof and then disappeared from sight.

I confess that I was bewildered. I slept little and next day waited impatiently for midnight. When it struck I was at my window. Soon I saw not a woman in white but a sort of dwarf come in, with a bluish face, a wooden leg and a lantern in his hand. He went up to the child whom he looked at intently, then he went to the window, sat down, crossed his legs and started to stare at me. After that, he jumped down from the window into the street, or rather seemed to slide down, came to my door and knocked.

I asked him from my window who he was.

Instead of replying he said to me, ‘Juan Avadoro, get your cloak and sword and follow me.'

I did as he said. I went down into the street and saw the dwarf about twenty paces ahead of me, hobbling along on his wooden leg and showing me the way with his lantern. After about a hundred paces he turned left and led me into a lonely district which extends from the Calle Retrada to the River Manzanares. We went under an arch and came out on to a patio in which several trees were planted. In Spain what are called patios are inner courtyards into which carriages cannot enter. At the end of the patio was a little Gothic façade which looked like the portal of a chapel. The woman in white came out; the dwarf lit her face with his lantern.

‘It's he!' she cried. ‘It's he – my husband, my dear husband!'

‘Señora,' I said, ‘I thought you were dead!'

‘I am alive!' And it really was Leonor. I recognized her by the sound of her voice and more still by her ardent embraces, which were those of a wife. So passionate was she that I had no time to ask questions about our miraculous meeting. Leonor tore herself from my arms and escaped into the darkness. The limping dwarf offered me the aid of his small lantern. I followed him across some ruins and through completely deserted parts of the town. Suddenly the lantern went out. The dwarf, whom I tried to call back, did not answer my shouts. The night was pitch-black. I decided to lie down on the ground and wait for the day. I fell asleep.

When I awoke it was broad daylight. I found myself lying by a black marble urn. On it I read in gold letters the name ‘Leonor Avadoro'. In a word, I was lying beside my wife's tomb. I then
recalled the events of the night and was troubled by their memory. For a long time I had not approached the tribunal of penitence. I went to the Theatine house and asked for my great-uncle, Father Gerónimo. He was ill. Another confessor appeared. I asked him whether it was possible for demons to assume human form.

‘Without doubt,' he replied. ‘Succubi are mentioned by name in St Thomas's
Summa
. It's a special case. When a man has not partaken of the sacraments for a long time demons gain a certain control over him. They appear in the shape of women and lead him into temptation. My son, if you think you have met succubi, go and see the grand penitentiary. Go at once. Waste no time.'

I replied that a strange adventure had befallen me in which I had been misled by visions. I asked for permission to break off my confession.

I went to Toledo's house. He told me that he would take me to dine with the Duchess of Avila and that the Duchess of Sidonia would be there too. He found me preoccupied and asked me the reason. I was indeed abstracted and could not marshal my ideas in any reasonable order. I was melancholy at dinner with the duchesses. But they were so lively and gay and Toledo responded so well to their mood that I ended up by sharing it myself.

During dinner I noticed conspiratorial signs and some laughter which seemed to have something to do with me. We left the table and instead of going to the salon the four of us went to the inner apartments. When we reached them Toledo locked the door and said:

‘Illustrious Knight of Calatrava. Kneel down before the duchess. She has been your wife for more than a year! Don't say that you suspected it. The people to whom you will tell your story will guess perhaps, but the great art is to prevent suspicions from forming and that is what we have done. Actually the secretiveness of the ambitious Duke of Avila has helped us. He really did have a son, whom he hoped to have recognized. This son died and so he ordered his daughter not to marry in order that his estates would revert to the Sorriente, who are a branch of the Avila family. The haughty character of our duchess made her not want to have a master but since our return from Malta this same pride didn't quite know what
was happening to it and ran the risk of suffering a notable shipwreck. Happily for the Duchess of Avila, she has a friend who is also yours, my dear Avadoro. She took her into her complete confidence and we have worked together in the interests of those who are so close to our hearts.