Read Online The Manuscript Found in Saragossa by Jan Potocki - Free Book Online

are not, and cannot be, ghosts or spectres or dead men singing litanies. He then wouldn’t be afraid of them.’
    â€˜Señor Hierro,’ said my father somewhat sharply, ‘you have clearly forgotten that yesterday I had the honour of showing you a story about ghosts written in my great-grandfather’s own hand.’
    â€˜My lord,’ replied Garcías, ‘it is not my place to challenge Your Excellency’s great-grandfather’s word.’
    â€˜What do you mean by “It is not my place to challenge your great-grandfather’s word?”’ replied my father. ‘Do you realize that such an expression presupposes that you could call my great-grandfather’s word into question?’
    â€˜My lord,’ replied Garcías, ‘I am well aware that I am of too little consequence for your noble great-grandfather to wish to demand satisfaction of me.’
    Then my father looked even more terrible and said, ‘Hierro, heaven preserve you from excusing yourself, for to excuse yourself is to imply that you have given offence.’
    â€˜It only remains for me then to submit myself to whatever punishment it pleases Your Excellency to inflict upon me in the name of your great-grandfather. But for the honour of my profession I would wish that this penalty might be administered by our chaplain so that it could be seen by me to be religious penance.’
    â€˜That is not a bad idea,’ said my father in calmer tones. ‘I rememberhaving written some time ago a little treatise on acceptable ways of giving satisfaction when a duel is out of the question. I’ll think about it.’
    At first my father appeared to be considering the matter, but one thought led to another and he eventually dropped off to sleep in his chair. My mother was already asleep, as was the theologian, and Garcías was not long in following their example. At that point I thought it incumbent on me to retire. And that is how the first day after I returned to my paternal home was spent.
    The next day I fenced with Garcías and went hunting. We had supper together, and after we had risen from table my father again asked the theologian to fetch his great book. The reverend gentleman obliged, opened it at random and read aloud the story which I am about to relate:
   THE STORY OF LANDULPHO OF FERRARA   
    There was once a young man whose name was Landulpho, who lived in a town in Italy called Ferrara. He was a free-thinker and a rake and was looked upon with horror by all the good souls in the town. This abominable man was addicted to the company of prostitutes and he had gone the rounds of all those living in Ferrara. The one who pleased him most was Bianca de Rossi because she was the most depraved of all of them.
    Bianca was not only debauched, grasping and depraved, but she also required that her lovers should commit dishonourable acts to please her. And in Landulpho’s case she demanded that he take her home with him every evening to eat supper with his mother and sister. Landulpho at once went to his mother and told her what was proposed as though it was the most respectable thing in the world. This good soul burst into tears and implored her son to think of the effect of this on his sister’s reputation. Landulpho was deaf to her entreaties and only undertook to keep the affair as secret as possible. Then he went to fetch Bianca and brought her home with him.
    His mother and sister received the prostitute much better than she deserved. Seeing their kindness, she became all the more insolent. During supper she made outrageously suggestive remarks and offeredadvice to her lover’s sister which she could have well done without. Eventually she made it clear to both daughter and mother that they would do well to withdraw because she wanted to be alone with her lover.
    Next day the prostitute Bianca spread her story all over town and for a few days people spoke of