AUCTOR. These two conditions permit me. First, that I am writing some
time after, and that I have recovered; secondly, that the story is not
mine, but taken straight out of that nationalist newspaper which had
served me so long to wrap up my bread and bacon in my haversack. This
is the story, and I will tell it you.
Now, I think of it, it would be a great waste of time. Here am I no
farther than perhaps a third of my journey, and I have already
admitted so much digression that my pilgrimage is like the story of a
man asleep and dreaming, instead of the plain, honest, and
straightforward narrative of fact. I will therefore postpone the Story
of the Hungry Student till I get into the plains of Italy, or into the
barren hills of that peninsula, or among the over-well-known towns of
Tuscany, or in some other place where a little padding will do neither
you nor me any great harm.
On the other hand, do not imagine that I am going to give you any kind
of description of this intolerable day's march. If you want some kind
of visual Concept (pretty word), take all these little chalets which
were beginning and make what you can of them.
