The Manuscript Found in Saragossa by Jan Potocki Page A

that the most noble manner of combat was to fight with a sword in the right hand and a dagger in the left, this way of fencing being wholly unknown in France. But as my father had become accustomed to fencing on the battlements every morning with Hierro and this exercise had become necessary for his health, he thought that he could not do without him.
    There was talk also of the theologian Iñigo Vélez going with me. But as my mother still only spoke Spanish, naturally she could not do without a confessor who understood that language. So it turned outthat neither of the men who had been chosen to provide me with an education came with me. But I was given a Spanish manservant whose duty it was to instruct me in the Spanish language.
    I set out for Spa with my godfather and spent two months there. We travelled on to Holland and arrived back in Tournai towards the end of autumn. The Chevalier de Belièvre lived up to the trust placed in him by my father in every way, and for six years neglected nothing that might contribute to making me one day an excellent officer. Then Madame de Belièvre died and her husband left Flanders and took up residence in Paris, while I was recalled to my father’s house.
    After a journey which was made wearisome by the lateness of the season, I reached the castle about two hours after sunset and found its inhabitants gathered around the great fireplace. My father was overjoyed to see me but did not give himself over to those demonstrations of affection which might have compromised what you Spaniards would call his
gravedad
. My mother wept copiously over me. The theologian Iñigo Vélez gave me his blessing and the fencing master Hierro presented me with a foil. We then fought and I acquitted myself in a manner beyond my years. My father was too well versed in such things not to notice, and his gravity gave way to great warmth and affection. Supper was served and everyone was jolly.
    After supper everyone reassembled around the fireplace and my father said to the theologian: ‘Reverend Don Iñigo, be so kind as to fetch your great book, in which there are many fantastic tales, and read us one.’
    The theologian went up to his bedroom and returned carrying a folio volume bound in white parchment which was yellowed with age. He opened it at random and read aloud the following tale:
  THE STORY OF TRIVULZIO OF RAVENNA   
    Once upon a time, in an Italian town called Ravenna, there lived a young man whose name was Trivulzio. He was handsome, rich and had a very high opinion of himself. The girls of Ravenna would come to their windows to see him go by, but none of them took his fancy. Or rather, if one or other of them
did
attract him, he did notlet it show for fear of showing her too much honour. But in the end all his conceit was not a match for the charms of the young and beautiful Nina die Gieraci. Trivulzio deigned to declare his love for her. Nina replied that she was touched; Signor Trivulzio did her much honour, but since her childhood she had been in love with her cousin, Tebaldo dei Gieraci, and would, she was sure, never love anyone but him.
    At this unexpected reply, Trivulzio departed, showing signs of extreme rage.
    A week later, on a Sunday, as all the citizens of Ravenna were on their way to the metropolitan church of S. Pietro, Trivulzio caught sight of Tebaldo in the crowd with his cousin on his arm. He covered his face with his cloak and followed them. They went into the church, where it is not permitted to cover your face with a cloak, and the two lovers might easily have noticed Trivulzio following them had it not been for the fact that they could only think of their love for each other to the exclusion even of the Mass, which is a great sin.
    Meanwhile, Trivulzio had sat behind them in a pew. He could hear what they were saying to each other and this made him more and more furious. Then a priest went up into the pulpit and said, ‘Brethren,