“At the end of nine or ten months, I had reached the Carpathians, still accompanied by my ass, whom I found of the greatest service, and who was so docile and well trained to follow me everywhere, that he was never in my way. Just at this time, in a remote and lonely place, I met a beggar with a long beard, who was no other than Guido Massarelli. Divided between disgust and pity, I was hesitating whether to speak to him, when he recognized me, and approached with an aspect so humble and dejected, that pity carried the day. I was happy myself at that time, and therefore kindly disposed. Seated on the grass in a grove of tall trees, I was eating with a good appetite, while my ass was grazing a few steps off. To enable him to rest better, I had taken off his load, and had placed the pannier containing my provisions for the day between my knees. There was not much in it, but enough for two. Massarelli looked pale and feeble, as if dying of hunger.
“‘Sit down,’ I said, ‘and eat. I am quite certain it is through your own fault that you have been brought into this miserable condition, but it shall never be said that I did not help you once more.’
“He proceeded to tell his adventures, whether true or false, acknowledging his faults in words of a base humility, and yet, in fact, always excusing himself, by attributing them to the ingratitude or harshness of others. I could only pity him for being what he was; and after half an hour’s conversation, I gave him a few ducats and resumed my journey. We were going in opposite directions, to my great satisfaction; but I had not advanced a quarter of an hour when I was seized with a vertigo that obliged me to stop, overcome with weariness and a desire to sleep. I could not comprehend what had brought on this sudden indisposition, for I had never had such an attack in my whole life; and, having shared my bottle with Guido, I had scarcely drunk a glass of wine. I supposed that it might be a sort of sun-stroke, or was perhaps the effect of a poor night’s sleep at the inn where I had stopped. At any rate, I laid down in the shade to take a nap. This may have been imprudent in a place so extremely solitary, but it was absolutely impossible for me to do otherwise; I was overcome by a heavy and irresistible drowsiness, like that of intoxication.
“When I awoke, my head was still heavy and vacant, and in fact I was feeling extremely ill; I was in the same place, but had been robbed of everything. I thought at first that it was the evening twilight, and that I had been asleep six hours; but when I saw the sun rising through the fog, and the dew glittering on the grass, the certainty was forced upon me that I had slept straight through a day and night. My ass had disappeared as well as my baggage, my pockets were empty; nothing had been left but the clothes on my back. While looking about, I observed one valueless object which the thieves had overlooked, or thought not worth taking. This was a little cocoa-nut cup which I always used in travelling, to avoid the vulgar habit of drinking from a bottle. It was this squeamishness that had cost me so dear; at a moment when my back was turned, Guido had thrown a narcotic into my cup. Even now, the bottom was lined with some kind of salt, crystallized. Guido was evidently no beggar, but the captain of a band of robbers. The footmarks all around me showed that a number of persons had been on the spot.
“I examined the immediate vicinity closely, and at last espied something written with chalk upon a rock near by. It was in Latin, and to the following effect:
“‘My friend, I could have killed you, and it was my duty to do so; but I pardon you. Sleep well.’
“It was the handwriting of Guido Massarelli. Why was it his duty to have killed me? In return for the blows I had given him with my cane at Paris? That is possible, for it is certainly true that the Italian retains his revengeful disposition, and never forgets an injury, even when his mind and character have been utterly corrupted. But what could I do to revenge myself in my turn? There was nothing that would not require time, money, and investigation, and I was without a sou, and was beginning to feel hungry.
“‘Well,’ I thought, as I set out once more on my journey, ‘it was written that one day or other I should beg. But in spite of bad luck, I swear that I will not be a beggar long. I must find some new business, and get on my feet again.’
“I made my way out of the mountains, and found a hospitable reception with a family of kind peasants, who even obliged me to accept some provisions for the road. They told me that a band of robbers infested the country, and that their chief was called the ‘The Italian.’
“Still pushing on, I reached the province of Silesia. It was my intention to enter a complaint in the first town I came to, and put the authorities on the track of the robbers. As I walked along, thoughtful, and absorbed in a thousand plans, all equally impracticable, for once more filling my purse without appealing to public charity, I heard a short, uneven gallop behind me, and, turning round, was astonished to recognize my ass, my poor Jean, coming after me as well as he could, for he was wounded. People usually despise the ass! They are welcome to do so; but this animal, in my opinion, is almost as intelligent as the dog. I had already had many convincing proofs that it is so, while travelling with this faithful servant; and, on this occasion, he showed that he was capable of feeling a reasonable attachment, and was endowed with a mysterious and truly extraordinary instinct. Stolen and carried off, he had undoubtedly run away, as soon as he had been relieved of his load. The robbers had fired on him, but he had kept on, disregarding their shots; he had found and followed my track, and now rejoined me with a bullet in his thigh.