The Manuscript Found in Saragossa by Jan Potocki Page A

me what I was doing. I told him that it was my intention to smash the face of the principino, to make good my escape and then to turn bandit. My father gave the impression of not believing me but he smiled at me in a way which strengthened my resolve.
    At last came the Sunday which was to be my day of vengeance. The carriage appeared, its occupants got out. I was very nervous but I brought myself under control. My little enemy caught sight of me in the crowd. He poked his tongue out at me. I threw the stone I was holding and he fell backwards. I ran off at once and did not stop until I reached the other end of town. There I met a young chimney sweep I knew, who asked me where I was going. I told him what I had done and he at once took me to his master, who was short of boys and did not know how to procure them for such an arduous job. He greeted my arrival with pleasure. He told me that no one would recognize me when my face was smeared with soot and that knowing how to climb chimneys was a useful talent. He was quite right about that. I have often owed my life to the skill I acquired then.
    At first I found chimney dust and the smell of soot very unpleasant, but I got used to them for I was of an age when one can accustom oneself to anything. I had been working as a chimney sweep for six months when the adventure I am about to relate befell me.
    I was on a roof listening to hear from which flue my master’s voice would come out. I thought I heard him shouting out of the nearest chimney to me. I went down it but found that the flue separated into two just below the roof. I should have called out myself then but did not do so. Instead I decided rashly to take one of the flues at random. I slipped down it and found myself in a handsome drawing-room. The first thing I saw was the principino, wearing only a shirt, playing with a shuttlecock.
    Although the little fool had probably seen chimney sweeps before, he took it into his head to take me for the devil. He fell to his knees, begging me not to carry him off and promising to be good. I might have been moved by his entreaties but I had my sweep’s brush in my hand and the temptation to make use of it had grown too strong. Although I had avenged myself for the blow the principino had givenme with his prayer-book, and in part for the beating I had received, I still resented the kick in the face and the words ‘Managia la tua facia de banditu,’ and when all is said and done, Neapolitans prefer to take a little more than a little less revenge.
    I pulled a fistful of switches from my broom, ripped apart the principino’s shirt and, when his back was exposed, I ripped that apart too, or at least gave it severe treatment. But the strangest part of it was that fear prevented him crying out.
    When I thought I had done enough I wiped my face clean and said to him, ‘Ciucio maledetto, io no zuno lu diavolu, io zuno lu piciolu banditu delli Augustini.’ 4 At that the principino recovered the use of his voice and started to yell for help. But I did not wait to see whether anyone came. I climbed back up the way I had come down.
    When I reached the roof I could hear my master’s voice calling me but thought it inadvisable to reply. I started to run from roof to roof until I came above the stables, in front of which stood a haywain. I jumped down from the roof on to the hay and from the hay to the ground. Then I ran all the way to the portal of the Augustinian monastery, where I told my father what had happened.
    My father listened with great interest and then said to me, ‘Zoto, Zoto, già vegio che tu sarai banditu.’ 5
    Then, turning to a man who was standing beside him, he said, ‘Padron Lettereo, prendete lo chiutosto vui.’ 6
    Lettereo is a baptismal name peculiar to Messina. It comes from the letter which the Virgin is said to have written to the townspeople and which she is said to have dated in ‘the one thousand four hundred and