The Manuscript Found in Saragossa by Jan Potocki

return. And we went on being happy ragamuffins until an event occurred which changed my life and which even now I cannot recall without feelings of rage.
    One Sunday, shortly before vespers, I came back to the church gates laden with chestnuts, which I had bought for my brothers and myself. I was sharing them out when a splendid carriage drove up. It was drawn by six white horses and preceded by two other horses of the same colour which were not hitched to the carriage, a display of wealth I have only ever seen in Italy. The door of the carriage opened. First a
bracciere
2 emerged, who gave his arm to a beautiful lady. Next came a cleric and finally a boy of my age with a charming face, magnificently dressed in the Hungarian style, which then was not uncommon among children. His little winter coat was made of blue velvet embroidered with gold and trimmed with sable. It came down below his knees and even covered the top of his light brown morocco-leather boots. His cap, which was also trimmed with sable, was of the same blue velvet. At its peak there was a tassel of pearls which fell on to one shoulder. His belt was hung with gold tassels and cords and his miniature sabre was studded with jewels. Finally he had in his hand a prayer-book with gold mounts.
    I was so amazed to see a boy of my age with such fine clothes that without thinking very much about what I was doing, I went up to him and presented two chestnuts to him which I had in my hand. But instead of responding to my gesture of kindness, the unworthy little wretch hit me in the face with his prayer-book with the full force of his arm. My left eye was badly bruised, and the clasp on the book caught my nostril and ripped it so that I was instantly covered in blood. It seems to me now that I then heard the lordling wailinghorribly, but I had more or less fainted. And when I came to my senses I found myself near the fountain in the garden, surrounded by my father and brothers, who were washing my face and trying to staunch the flow of blood.
    In the meantime, while I was still bleeding profusely, the lordling came back, followed by the cleric, the gentleman from the coach and two footmen carrying a bundle of sticks. The gentleman tersely stated that Her Excellency the Princess de Rocca Fiorita demanded that I be beaten till I bled as a punishment for having frightened her darling son, the principino. The footmen at once began carrying out the sentence.
    My father, who was afraid that he would lose his sanctuary, did not dare say anything at first, but seeing that I was being mercilessly flayed he could not contain himself any longer and, turning to the gentleman, said in a voice which betrayed his stifled rage, ‘Stop this at once, or remember that I have murdered men worth ten the likes of you!’
    The gentleman saw the sense of these words and gave the order to stop beating me further. But while I was still face down on the ground the principino came up to me, kicked me in the face and said, ‘Managia la tua facia de banditu.’ 3
    This last insult drove me wild with rage. I can even say that at that moment my childhood came to an end, or at least that I ceased from then on to enjoy childhood’s pleasures. And it was a long time before I could look at a richly dressed man and not lose my composure.
    Vengeance must be the original sin of our country, for even though I was only eight years old at the time, night and day I thought of nothing else than of ways to punish the principino. I would wake up with a start from a dream in which I held him by the hair and rained down blows on him. By day I thought of how I could hurt him from a distance, for I suspected that I would not be allowed to get near to him and I intended to make good my escape, having done the deed. Eventually I decided to throw a stone in his face, this being an exercise in which I was adept. To perfectmy technique I chose a target on which I practised all day long.
    My father once asked