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ADVENTURES
i) ;
THE ADVENTURES » | OF OS Oe ae OF
SANTILLANE
BY
TOBIAS SMOLLETT
TRANSLATED FROM THE ae LESAGE | mo
With an Introduction by
WILLIAM MORTON FULLERTON
LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, LIMITED ‘NEW YORK: E. P, DUTTON & CO.
. . ‘
AEs /9/F
LIBRARY OF EARLY NOVELISTS. Edited by E. A. BAKER, M.A,, Litt.D. Each with an Introduction by the Editor, or other Specialist.
Large cr. 8vo.
Amory: Life and Opinions of John Buncle, Esquire. Intro- duction by E, A. Baker, M.A.
Behn, Mrs. Aphra: Novels and Novelettes. Introduction by
E. A. Baker, M.A. . Boccaccio : "he Decameron, Translated | M. Rigg.
With J. A. Symonds’ Essay on Boccaccio. —
Brooke: The Fool of Quality. With a new life of the author by E. A. Baker, M.A,
Chrysal; or, The Adventures of a Guinea. Introduction by E. A. Baker, M.A.
Defoe: Moll Flanders, and Roxana, Edited by E. A, Baker, M.A,
Gesta Romanorum ; Entertaining Moral Stories Invented by the
Buckram.
Gilt top.
Monks. Translated, with In- troduction and Notes, by Rev, Charles Swan. Introduction by E, A. Baker.
Lewis: The Monk, E, A, er.
Queen of Navarre: The Hepta- ~ meron, ‘Translated by Arthur Machen,
Sidney (Sir Philip): Arcadia. Introduction by E, A. Baker,
A
Edited by
Swift: Gulliver's Travels, and other Writings. From the First Editions, With a note on the name ‘Gulliver’ by J. P. Gilson.
Thoms, W. J.: Early English Prose Romances. Introduction by E. A. Baker, M.A,
Wieland: Don Silvio de Rosalva. Introduction by E. A, Baker,
Picaresque Section. Edited by H. WARNER ALLEN, M.A. (Oxon.), Celestina, also Callisto and Melibcea, with Introduction on the Pica-
resque Novel, by the Editor.
Adventures of Gil Blas, with an Introduction by William M. Fullerton, Others in preparation.
Misr w Geurt Barware
een
THE AUTHOR’S DECLARATION.
THERE.are_some people in the world so mischievous as not to read a work without applying the vicious or ridiculous characters it may happen to contain to eminent or popular individuals, I protest publicly against the pretended discovery of any such likenesses. My purpose was to represent human life
historically as_it exists: God forbid I should hold myself out as a portrait- painter. Let not the reader then take to himself public property ; for if he » does, he may chance to throw an unlucky light on his own character: as Pheedrus expresses it, Stu/t2 nudabit animi conscientiam.
Certain physicians of Castille, as well as of France, are sometimes a little too fond of trying the bleeding and lowering system on their patients. Vices, their patrons, and their dupes, are of every day’s occurrence. To be sure, I have not alwaysadopted Spanish manners with scrupulous exactness ; and in the instance of the players at Madrid, those who know their disorderly modes of living may reproach me with softening down their coarser traits : but this I have been induced to do from a sense of delicacy, and in conformity with the manners of my own country.
614946
GIL BLAS TO THE READER.
[ zesom hark you, my friend! Do not begin the story of my life till I have old you a short tale.
Two students travelled together from Penafiel to Salamanca. Finding themselves tired and thirsty, they stopped by the side of a spring on the road. While they were resting there, after having quenched their thirst, by chance they espied on a stone near them, even with the ground, part of an inscription, in some degree effaced by time, and by the tread of flocks in the habit of water- ing at that spring. Having washed the stone, they were able to trace these words in the dialect of Castille; Agui esta encerrada el alma del licenciado Pedro Garcias, ‘*‘ Here lies interred the soul of the licentiate Peter Garcias.”
Hey-day ! roars out the younger, a lively, heedless fellow, who could not get on with his deciphering for laughter : This is a good joke indeed ;: ‘‘ Here lies interred the soul.” .... Asoul interred! ... . I should like to know the whimsical author of this ludicrous epitaph. With this sneer he got up to go away. His companion, who had more sense, said within himself; Underneath this stone lies some mystery ; I will stay, and see the end of it. Accordingly, he let his comrade depart, and without loss of time began digging round about the stone with his knife till he got it up. Under it he found a purse of leather, containing an hundred ducats with a card on which was written these words in Latin : ‘* Whoever thou art who hast wit enough to discover the meaning of the inscription, I appoint thee my heir, in the hope thou wilt make a better use of my fortune than I have done!” The student, out of his wits at the discovery, replaced the stone in its former position, andset out again on the Salamanca road
_with the soul of the licentiate in his pocket.
| Now, my good friend and reader, no matter who you are, you must be like one or the other of these two students. If you cast your eye over my adventures without fixing it on the moral concealed under them, you will derive very little benefit from the perusal: but if you read with attention you will find that
, Neen of the useful with the agreeable, so successfully prescribed by Horace.
INTRODUCTION.
WALTER SCOTT, who craved the beatitude—the word is his own—that would attend the perusal of another book as entrancing as Gi/ Blas, was on the side of the un- tutored public which knows nothing of technical classifi- cations or of M. Brunetiére’s theory of the “ évolution des genres.” lLesage’s great book, though scarcely
answering to the exact technical definition of a picaresque ; novel—the biography of a ficaro_ or rogue—belongs,
nevertheless, by its external form, to the picaresque type of fiction ; and Scott would certainly have admitted that its picaresqueness was very good of its kind; that it was in fact as picaresque as could be expected of a French- man who was conspicuously an “honnéte homme” and who signed himself “bourgeois de Paris.” But in all likelihood he would have instantly added that it was not the “picaresqueness” of Gz/ Blas which has given that production its fame; and that, if Lesage’s masterpiece has lived so long, and if it lives to-day with such a fresh and abundant life, this constant appeal has been made in spite of its resemblance to the Spanish picaresque prototype.
The application of the scientific method to literary criticism during the last generation has steadily tended to define works of art as “documents” of their epoch, and at the same time to classify them according to their structural variations rather than to accept them wholly
viii INTRODUCTION.
as sources of human pleasure. The novel of Lesage. for the purposes of classification, may be viewed as a picaresque novel, and it is interesting and legitimate to note that it is no doubt the best of its kind; yet there is equally little doubt that thousands of readers who do not know what the word “picaresque” means have for several generations regarded Gz/ Blas as simply the best of all novels, and that their reasons have been based on prarlities quite independent of the mould into which it happened to be run, This is, in fact, the truth which Heinege brief remarks are meant to set forth. In order to become a classic, and in order to hold its own among the books of the world, Gi/ Blas has had to live down its | picaresqueness. The book has survived, and become one of the great books, notwithstanding the characteristics which seemed destined to confine it to the museum of antique literary forms.
I
Walter Scott’s recognition of the supreme delightful- ness of Gi/ Bias has not been general among the critics ; indeed, the sense of its intrinsic value as a definition of life must rather be placed to the credit of the uncritical public. Voltaire, referring to Lesage in his “ Siécle de Louis XIV,” limits his praise to the remark: “ His novel Gil Blas has survived because of the naturalness of the style.” The curtness and inadequacy of this remark are probably due rather to the fact that Voltaire did not see beyond the superficial traits of this novel, its general picaresque atmosphere, than, as has so often been asserted, to any malicious intent to decry a book in which he supposed himself to have been held up to ridicule.* Joubert, whose delicacy was a hothouse fruit
* The traditional view is, however, plausible enough, as Mr. James Fitzmaurice-Kelly has shown in his introduction to the
INTRODUCTION. vs)
grown in the thin subsoil and the devitalised air in which he was compelled to live, corroborates Voltaire, while revealing his own prejudices—after all, is not the main interest of criticism the light it throws upon the critic ?— in a characteristic utterance: “ Lesage’s novels would appear to have been written in a café by a domino- player, after spending the evening at the play.” Evidently this is a long way from the “ beatitude ” of Walter Scott, but it is nearer the point of view of Mr. Warner Allen, who,* while he notes that GzZ Blas “has a conscience,” is ingeniously effective in arguing that the spirit of Gz/ Bilas is essentially picaresque—by which he means that realism and materialism are so predominantly its note
that it must be classed well below “ Don Quixote,” where
the heterogeneous picaresque material is beautifully
fused by the imagination of an idealist. “It is just because Lesage ignores the idealistic side of man,” Mr. Allen says, “that Gz? Blas misses being a great creation.” On the other hand, La Harpe, who had read many books, but was no doubt the very opposite of a scientific critic of literature, praises Gz/ Blas not merely, as did Scott, for its entertainment, its agrément, but also for its moral inspiration ; z¢z/e dulcz, he insists, ought to be the device of this excellent book, forgetting that Lesage has himself written the precept of Horace on its title-page. “C’est l’école du monde que Gi/ Blas,” La Harpe continues ; and he remarks with singular felicity
edition of Gz/ Blas published in the “ World’s Classics.” ‘There can be no doubt as to Lesage having ridiculed Voltaire in two of his plays.
* In his remarkable General Introduction to his edition of Celestina in the Picaresque Section of the “Library of Early Novelists,” to which this volume belongs.
x INTRODUCTION.
that Lesage in Gil Blas “has not fallen into that gratuitous profusion of minute detail which is now-a- days taken to be truth.” This comment suggests the probability that the reproach addressed to Lesage as to his lack of idealism is one that La Harpe would be dis- inclined to accept; and that they who make it have other standards for judging a work of art than those of the public to whom it is addressed, or indeed than those of the artist himself, especially such an artist as Lesage, who in his “ Déclaration” to the reader says expressly : ‘My sole aim has been to represent life asit is”: “ Je ne me suis propose que de représenter la vie des hommes telle qu’elle est.”
Certain of Lesage’s predecessors had already declared it to be their aim to write books which should be a wholesome reaction against the romanticism of the tales of chivalry that had so long delighted the taste of Europe. The sub-title of Alemdn’s famous novel, Guzmdn de Alfarache, was Atalaya de la Vida, which Chapelain translated by “ Image” or “ Miroir de la Vie Humaine.” And long before Lesage, the author of l’ Histoire Comique de Francion used almost the identical terms of Aleman and Lesage in announcing his tale: “Nous avons dessein de voir une image de la vie humaine, de sorte qu’il nous en faut montrer ici diverses pitces.” Francion, less picaresque than the hero of Aleman, was undoubtedly what he has: been called by one of Lesage’s biographers, M. Lintilhac, a direct pre- cursor of Gil Blas ; and there can be no question as to the importance of the influence exercised upon Lesage by Charles Sorel’s admirable performance. But, how- ever easily even a little erudition can discover possible prototypes of Gz/ Blas in the late sixteenth and early
INTRODUCTION. eat
seventeenth century literature of both France and Spain —however picaresque, in a word, Gi/ Blas may be, and whatever else it may be—its picaresqueness was obviously, for Lesage, not an end in itself, but_merely a device for carrying out his main project, which was “the repre- » sentation of life”; and the meaning he put into those words was incomparably richer than was their connota- tion on the lips of an Aleman or even a Sorel. Lesage found ready to his hand one of the most convenient literary forms that the novel ever assumed for the achievement of the end he had inview. That end was to hold a mirror up to Nature, and to the whole of Nature.
This ambitious project has haunted most observers who have essayed the novel form. It was obviously the end and aim of the author of Ana Karenina. . But such is the complexity of human relations, such the variety of the kinds of human plights, such the swift passage of events, such are the endless differences and the fleeting character of the situations presented to the artistic consciousness at any moment of time, that only the most self-confident craftsman would be tempted, in his sane mind, to undertake their complete representation. The mirror in which a writer would seek to converge and to foreshorten the vast spectacle of things must needs be an all-but unmanageable revolving mirror of gigantic dimensions, unless some way be found of dispensing with such machinery altogether. Tolstoi made no attempt to achieve an artistic synthesis of life as a whole. He was content to map life out on a sort of Mercator’s projection. Balzac despaired altogether of success, and confined himself to “ doing “ the multitudinous phases of human activity piecemeal. Lesage, on the other hand, hit on the happy idea of using the fzcavo type, the picaresque
xii INTRODUCTION.
tradition in the novel, to facilitate his project. And what device, in fact, could be neater and more rapid? Certainly not the invention of Zola. The author of the series of the Rougon-Macquart set himself the task of describing the whole of French society at the end of the last century. He believed himself to have improved on Balzac’s method by conceiving of a family-tree, with branches sufficiently wide-spreading to illustrate every kind of activity of which French men or French women were capable in his time. The unity of his result was to be secured by postulating a family, the sum of the several lives of whose members should be coterminous with the conscious existence of all their essential French fellow-types at a certain historical period. The plan was ingenious but artificially ingenuous.
Lesage, writing at the opening of the eighteenth century, had, it is true, the luck to be free to employ— or, in fact, to have thrust upon him by the literary taste of his time—a simpler trick for the representation of life, The literary air was full of picaresque odours. But, while Lesage came after Sorel and Aleman, and a score of other sane story-tellers eager to temper the bombast of the hour by the saving salt of realism, the living models that surrounded him were quite as suggestive as any he might have been led to imitate in the books of his predecessors. Lintilhac, Cherbuliez, Brunetiére, have dwelt in detail on this fact. What need had Lesage of a Guzman or a Francion, when before his very eyes were such conspicuous models for the study of the valet parvenu as the Cardinals Dubois and Alberoni? And why go farther afield than the memoirs of the famous Gourville, which appeared in 1673, if one really feels impelled at all costs to account for the origin
INTRODUCTION. xiii
of Gil Blas, and to answer the futile question, “ Where did Lesage get his idea?” That kind of inquiry ex- plains everything except the essential. Homer and Shakespeare, Walter Scott and Corneille, have been put to the same torture as Lesage; and in the folds of their royal robes whole colonies of industrious parasitic moths are still furiously and often enviously at work. There isa “ Lesage question” as there is an “ Homeric question.” But of this the public recks little. It sanely holds the view of M. de Maurepas, who wittily defined an author as “un homme qui prend aux livres tout ce qui lui passe par la téte.” The public rightly judges the work of art by the criterion of pleasure which it is capable of giving. By that standard Gz/ Blas was long ago classed among the delightful books of the world. How many of its beauties are plagiarisms, or whether any of them are, are inquiries which the wise are content to leave to the mandarins of literature.*
II
The representation of life, then, is the avowed object of Lesage. Gz/ Blas is a microcosm. One might apply to Lesage the words of Balzac in allusion to the Comédie Flumaine: “ Jaurai porté une société toute enti¢re dans ma téte.” Gil Blas is a picture, singularly vivid and comprehensive, of the society of France at the close of the reign of Louis XIV and at the beginning of the
* While the oft-reported story of the pillage by Lesage of a lost Spanish manuscript is a myth, it is incontestable that in the last books of Gz/ Blas he embodied long passages from a French translation of two Italian pamphlets on The Disgrace of Count Olivares, and from a book published in 1683 at Cologne entitled,
Le Ministre Parfait ou le Comte-Duc. It is easy to prove also that Lesage had read Lazarill&de Tormes and a great many
_ Spanish tales and plays; but, as M. Lintilhac says, so had
Corneille, yet the Czd@ remains the C7d.
xiv . INTRODUCTION.
Regency. Lesage, like St. Simon, sought to reflect the
life of his time ; but he is greater than St. Simon because of the larger general interest and_ significance of his literary form. Lesage was a gentleman, serenely, gaily taking notes on the world that surrounded him; but, as it pleased him to publish all his notes in his own lifetime, he adopted the novel form and the device of a Spanish atmosphere. Happily the society that surrounded Lesage in the Paris of the end of the seventeenth and the beginning of the eighteenth centuries was sufficiently complex and representative for an exhaustive picture of that world to assume a typical value.
Gu_ Blas _is_an_encyclopzdia of human types. No_ other single book contains so rich a collection of specimens of the genus homo. The success with which Lesage has introduced into Gi/ Blas virtually every form of human character, all sorts and conditions of men, is one of the miracles of literary art. . The purely traditional picaro types, the vagabond and_ the _beggar,.the un- scrupulous highwayman and the cut-throat, have, after all, comparatively small importance in the great comedy of ‘life which Lesage depicts. These picaro types move in and out of the vast throng peopling his pages much as their counterparts in the flesh, the Apaches of the Marais quarter, jostled on the Pont Neuf the honest workman, the country bumpkin, the banker Turcaret, the bourgeois merchant, the strutting soldier, the bare- foot monk, the daintily stepping petits maittres, the authors and the actors, the ministers and the high Officials, the servants and the adventurers, the priests, and the précieuses peering from their vinaigrettes. From the brigand cave that sheltered the jail-bird to the drawing-room of the Marquise de Chaves, from the
INTRODUCTION. ‘ XV
boudoir of the enticing Laure to the cabinet. of the Duke of Olivares, we visit every haunt of human activity and every social condition, conversing on the way with comedians, doctors, poets, lawyers, statesmen, valets, judges of the Inquisition, shopkeepers, courtesans, archbishops, and countless other actors of the Human Comedy. The final impression is that we have been in contact with the whole of life and with life as a whole, In this connexion it is pertinent to quote the verdict of Nodier in the “ Notice” prefixed to the famous and now rare edition of Gz/ Blas containing the wood- cuts of Jean Gigoux (Paris 1835): “Comme il avait embrassé tout ce qui appartient a l‘homme dans sa composition, il osa se prescrire d’embrasser toute la langue dans son travail.” In other words, the gram- marian and the lexicographer have in Gz/ Blas what Nodier is justified in calling “un monument de la langue.”
We have witnessed the amusing spectacle arm-in-arm with Gil Blas de Santillane, a puppet of circumstance, but the most good-natured of companions. No youth of sprightlier wit, of keener observation, or of more unfailing good humour was ever born of mortal man or immortal writer. Gil Blas is too agreeable a fellow for
us to dream of parting company with him merely because of his escapades. Moreover, no one was ever long in his company without discovering that the first- fruit of his innate gift of observation is a habit of reflection gradually conducting him to the point of view of the great American pragmatist. For Gil Blas, as for Franklin, whatever else honesty may be, it is at all events the best policy. His ambition “to get on,” to succeed, is not the ambition of a Julien Sorel. He is not
xvi INTRODUCTION.
ready and willing to succeed at any price. He would not say cynically with Marie-Caroline of Naples: “je vois trop que la force seule compte et que la bonne foi ne sert qu’a étre dupe.” (Letter to the Marquis de Gallo, July 2, 1800.) In the case of Gil Blas, the habit...
of reflection has engendered a conscience, As he grows older_in_ experience, the practical _promptings of that copscience tend to arrest many an impulse to indulge his petty vices and to reinforce the virtues which he is prudent enough to regard as useful. His efforts to
better his lot, while they bring to the fore his harmless vanity, and often indeed a certain less agreeable snob- bishness, are after all to his credit. He is the first to laugh at his own mistakes, as he is the first to learn the lesson of his blunders. - Here is a characteristic utterance of his:
“T let myself go with the current for three weeks. I gave myself up to every form of voluptuous pleasure. But I will say at the same time that in the midst of it all a sense of remorse often mingled bitterness with my delight. Debauch did not stifle this remorse ; my remorse increased, on the contrary, in proportion as I became more and more of a debauchee ; and, as a result of my fortunately honest nature, the disorder of the theatrical life began to strike me with horror. Ah, wretch that you are, I said to myself, is it thus that you are fulfilling the expectations of your family? Is it impossible, merely because you are a servant, to be an honest man? Do you really find it worth while to live with such a vicious crew? Envy, anger and avarice dominate some of ” them ; modesty is unknown to others. Some have given themselves up to intemperance and idleness, while in others pride has become insolence. Enough of this! I will dwell no longer with the seven deadly sins.”
u -) a MPa =e fF Orr Fo NE ? Pe eee ile 2 CPt & Gitte be * 4 +
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Pica D PF Torr
ie bude Bog
™
INTRODUCTION. xvii
From all that we know of Lesage himself, as well as from. a comparison of Gil Blas with the author’s other works, it seems legitimate to conclude that the good humour of his most famous hero is merely the expression of his own philosophic gaiety, at all events of his own disabused placidity, his dourgeois moderation and prac- tical sense, his bias toward taking things easily. . Life, when viewed at the angle adopted by Lesage,_is_ an, . endless series of comic situations of a highly diverting and edifying character, Many of its conventions, which are nurtured on hypocrisy and snobbery, form a constant object of his good-humoured raillery, just as they form the subject-matter of the comic verve of his great master, Moliére. Both have the most refreshing sense of values and an unimpeachable intellectual honesty.
The most comic incidents of the tale are the series of rebuffs experienced by Lesage’s naive hero before he finally reaches the point where discretion becomes a second nature. With what touching and respectful candour does Gil Blas fall a prey to the pretentions and foibles of the great! Note the art with which Lesage, by juxtaposing his hero with, for instance, an Archbishop of Granada, shows the vain prelate so enamoured of his own productions as to suffer no honest criticism from even the most disinterested of his acolytes. First cajoled by flattery, then infuriated by the naive frankness of Gil Blas, whose opinion he had solicited, he shows the rash youth the door; and Gil Blas returns once again to his life of adventure. It is his rich fund of good sense that saves him here as throughout his career, and that keeps his judgment sane and his heart true amid all the eccentricities and affectations and passing passions, and even the temptations, which surround and beset him
er
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) Au fail al ns
i z v x“ fb g af if Be Lene ern 4 tes , Hye L£%
xviii INTRODUCTION.
during his checkered years. This jolly easy-going boon companion is a long time learning to be canny, but he is never really a fool. He comes out ultimately the poorer for the loss of a good many illusions, but profoundly convinced that straightforwardness in human relations is as desirable a good as simplicity in art.
im with his friend Fabrice, turned writer @ da mode, after having been the astute lackey who early in life defined with such cold-blooded cynicism the ideals of
a servant:
“le métier de laquais est impossible, je l’avoue, pour un im- bécile ; mais il a des charmes pour un garcon d’esprit. Un génie supérieur qui se met en condition ne fait pas son service matériellement comme un nigaud. Il entre dans une maison pour commander plutét que pour servir, Il commence par étudier son maitre, il se préte 4 ses défauts, gagne sa confiance et le méne ensuite par le nez.”
Fabrice, seized by “la rage d’écrire,” as Gil Blas calls it, and convinced that he has in him the stuff of a great writer, ignores the sage advice of his employer who has warned him that poetry is not all beer and skittles, and comes up to Madrid, the centre of “les beaux esprits,” “in order to form his taste.” He falls under the influence of one of the leaders in a log-rolling literary set, and so adroitly imitates the fashion of the hour that he is regarded as one of the cleverest writers of the younger generation. He and Gil Blas meet, after many years, over a bottle of wine; and Fabrice reads to his friend a sonnet which Gil Blas finds absurdly obscure. “A poet capable of producing such rubbish as that,” he says, “can deceive only his time” ; and he adds, “ your sonnet is merely pompous nonsense.” - The tortured, involved,
INTRODUCTION. xix
affected style disgusts Gil Blas as such a style always disgusted Lesage, whose one ambition was to be an “é€crivain naturel qui parle comme le commun des hommes,” and who detested “le langage précieux” which the great ladies and certain wits of his time took to be the mark of genius and a password for immortality. Fabrice becomes angry. “Tu n’es qu’une béte avec ton style naturel,’ he exclaims; and he maliciously reminds Gil Blas of what befell him with the Archbishop. of Granada, The allusion makes the two old friends laugh, and they finish the evening over a third bottle.
Yes, Gil Blas, who is a kind of joyous jack-of-all- trades, capable, as Fabrice on another occasion puts it, of fulfilling all kinds of employment, since he possesses “Voutil universel,” is interesting and sympathetic quite as much because of his sound sense and ready wit as because of his amusing adventures. But this good sense and this wit, it should be remembered, are the fruits of his ex- perience. ( Gil Blas’s character is slowly formed by he. under the reader’s eye. Successively the dupe of the habits and the manners, the prejudices and the ideals of each social condition which he traverses in his advance | towards the stable equilibrium of middle age, he is too intelligent ever to remain dazzled by his surroundings for more than a brief period. You constantly hear him, after each fresh round with Fate, saying in his natural | French way: “Ca n’est pas ca; there must be some- | thing better than that in store for me!” —Even the seduc- | tion of life at Court ceases eventually to charm him; and | one of his most poignant regrets is the fact that he had forgotten under that corrupting influence his father and mother and the old canon, his uncle. He does his best later on to make amends for this neglect. On his way
xx INTRODUCTION.
to his country place at Lirias he is suddenly filled with remorse, and he turns aside towards Oviedo, where his parents live. His own dream now is to watch over their last years; and he looks forward, on arriving home, to inscribing in gold letters on the door of his father’s house the Latin verses:
*Inveni portum. Spes et Fortuna, valete! Sat me lusistis ; ludite nunc alios!”
Alas! it is almost too late, for he arrives just in time to bury his father. He had previously entered the country inn, where he had been recognised by the inn- keeper with lively joy. “By Saint Anthony of Padua,” his host had exclaimed, “here is the son of the good Blas de Santillane” ; and his wife had chimed in with, “Why, yes, soitis. Oh,I recognisehim, Heis hardly changed. It’s that wide-awake little Gil Blas who had more intelli- gence than inches. I can still see him dropping in here for a bottle of wine for his uncle’s supper.” Gil Blas has changed, nevertheless. Fabrice is too keen not to per- ceive it some time afterwards when Gil Blas visits him at the hospital, Fabrice remarks upon his modest bearing and observes: “You haven’t the vain and insolent air
/that prosperity is wont to give.” Gil Blas explains the reason why: “ Les disgraces ont purifi¢ ma virtu; et j’ai
}appris a l’école de l’adversité a jouir des richesses sans m’en laisser posséder.’/ He is now and then to be a
\ backslider still, but ve know that he has learned the essential lesson of life. Really, as the Italians say, “ Il tempo é galantuomo.”
III
The rapidity of the narrative enhances the effect of optimism which is so inspiriting throughout the whole
INTRODUCTION. xxi
book. ‘The transitions from the episodes of bad luck to those of good fortune take place, as Smollett has already pointed out, so suddenly that the reader i time to pity Gil Blas, He is speedily inspired with a firm confidence in Lesage’s ingenuity, which somehow manages to extricate his hero from every possible embarrassment. .” Lesage’s point of view, as an observer of life, is thus ' quickly revealed to be a lively sense of life’s chronic succession of ups and downs, and of the merely relative importance of its plights. When Gil Blas loses his place with Count Galiano, he remarks:
_ “T began to lose courage when I found myself back again in so miserable a case. I had grown accustomed to the con- | veniences of existence, and I could no longer, as before, — regard indigence with cynicism. Yet I will confess I was/ wrong to indulge in sadness after having so many times. discovered that no sooner had Fortune upset me than it put me on my feet again.”
Lesage accepts the stoical ideal of pati in adversity, : but he does not accept it in the stoical way. His : philosophy is the Christian belief in a Providence upon whom sane mortals may serenely rely. Providence, he knows, can be counted upon to hold the balance true on that Day of Judgment, when all human things will be set right, and when there will be a startling reversal of human verdicts. Convinced, like Bishop Butler, that things will be as they will be, his experience of life has taught him that the best philosophy is to bide one’s time, all one’s antenne out. For Lesage the logical result of having been frequently a fool is to cease being
a dupe. It would be possible and amusing to draw a parallel
xxii INTRODUCTION.
in this connexion between the philosophy of Lesage and that of an even more successful French playwright of the present day, M. Alfred Capus—who has not yet, however, written a Gi/ B/as—and to contrast the manner of the two with that of Beyle in his charac- terisation of Julien Sorel. Gil Blas is too often, if you like, a genial rascal, as are so many of M. Capus’s heroes, but he is never an odiously cynical one like his servant Sc¢ipion, and like Julien. While Lesage could say with Philinte, discreetly blaming the vices of mankind:
“Je prends tout doucement les hommes comme ils sont, J’accoutume mon Ame a souffrir ce qu’ils font . . . Oui, je vois ces défauts dont votre dme murmure Comme vices unis & ’humaine nature,
Et mon esprit enfin n’est pas plus offensé
De voir un homme fourbe, injuste, intéressé,
Que de voir des vautours affamés de carnage,
Des singes malfaisants et des loups pleins de rage,”
Beyle did not confine himself to “accustoming his soul to suffer” the enormities that men commit, but positively created in Julien Sorel an unscrupulous professor of energy whom he would appear to have regarded as an excellent model. Lesage, on the other hand, must be looked upon as a moralist; a moralist indulgent, no doubt—such indulgence was the finest flower of his inexhaustible knowledge of life—yet a moralist in the same sense in which Shakespeare and Moliére are moralists. Moreover, Lesage has no cynical bias forcing him to confine the subject-matter of his novel to such naturalistic notations as were the stock-in-trade of the Goncourts and, to a large extent, of Zola.
He had notably no such bias, either “cynical” or
INTRODUCTION. xxiii
“ moral,” as has wittingly altered the reports of so many British observers of life, who have regarded the pursuit of literature as a mission, to be accepted with a high and strenuous purpose, for the improvement of their fellows. Thus, even a Thackeray wrote first and foremost for edification. Ina recently published letter to his friend Robert Hall, Thackeray refers as follows to Vanity Fair:
“T want to leave everybody dissatisfied and unhappy at the end of the story—we ought all to be with our own and all other stories. Good God! don’t I see (in that maybe cracked and warped looking-glass in which I am always looking) my own weaknesses, wickednesses, lusts, follies, shortcomings? in company, let us hope, with better qualities about which we will pretermit discourse. We must lift up our voices about these and howl to a congregation of fools: so much, at least, has been my endeavour.” (Zhe Times, July 17, 1911.)
The idea of “howling to a congregation of fools” would have struck Lesage as a counsel of impertinent ill- breeding, or, at all events, as a grotesque attitude for a self-respecting novelist. Of course, Thackeray was in the tradition of a literature which counts among its chief masterpieces the Pilgrim’s Progress ; but if the Puritan point of view is good sociology and good Tolstoism, it is not necessarily for that reason good art; and it would even seem to make “good art” a more difficult achieve- ment. Inthe great book just mentioned there is no laugh of Tom Jones to clear the air. Thackeray would have seemed, indeed, in Vanity Fair to have been more of an artist than his pamphleteering preoccupations appeared likely to allow him to become. He himself states his object in that book to have been to indicate in cheerful terms that we are for the most part an abominably foolish and selfish people. Incorrigible misanthropist, he
aaaek
xxiv INTRODUCTION.
sets Out to draw up a savage indictment of the society of his time. He is cheerful, as cheerful as he knows how to be; but, as he has resolved to give no one in his book a chance, his cheerfulness fails to produce all its intended effect. Finally, one and all, even Amelia, are branded because foredoomed. But what is the result? _Gibbeted for an example, they inspire more pity than horror; and not only does all our sympathy go out to them against the despotic heartlessness of the author, who so unfairly nailed them to the cross, but we fail even to draw the whole of the useful general moral which Thackeray holds to be essential. Thus Thackeray upsets even his own ends; anxious, by the confessed clarion-toned morality of his appeal, to produce the effect aimed at by a prophet in Israel, he nevertheless inspires in his reader a quick and sane recoil before the arbitrary in- justice, or, at all events, the incredibility of the author's misanthropy. In literary art, in fact, the only way to convey the illusion of reality is to tell the average truth about the average man.
Lesage, like the Tolstoi of the good period, had the tact and good sense to perceive this. He does not make the unscientific and inartistic blunder of humiliating his heroes. Like a Balzac or a Tolstoi or a Henry James, he gives them their full value, takes them for all they are worth. The pretension that naturalism, because super- ficially true to a certain aspect of life, is realism in the complete sense of the word, is a view which Lesage in Gil Blas triumphantly repudiates; and he differs from many playwrights of contemporary France, who appear to be so enamoured of caddishness as to regard its mani- festations as pre-eminently worthy of presentation in the novel or on the stage. One of the ablest of Lesage’s
INTRODUCTION. XXV
commentators has called him the Homer of naturalism ; no neater phrase could be found to define his importance and his manner.
Nor is it the fault of Lesage if his immediate influence upon the literature of his time was perhaps not wholly what he would himself have wished it to be. It is a commonplace to note that Lesage helped to prepare in France that eighteenth century with which he was in so many respects out of sympathy. There was a whole side of Lesage that was out of touch with the modern world surrounding him. M. Faguet seems to me absolutely
right as to this point. The spirit, the attitude of Lesage Pose
are_seventeenth-century—for, after all, the seventeenth
century was ile so eminently moralist ; sill
believes in the superiority. of the clear old form Pi ex- /
natural utterance. that _everybody~carr™ ‘understand “to.
individual experiments in ingenious phraseology. More- | over, while not at all the corséiéts moralist, he is a / moralist all the same; he has a certain generalising | habit, the liking for large vistas, harmonious inclusive | ranges of thought; his thought-scapes have the per-/
fection and the proportions of a garden by Le Notre, But it is nevertheless certain that the immense success of Lesage as a realist, the fact that he made realism look so easy, constituted a terrible incentive to imitation ; and that, as a matter of fact, his example was just one of those which no writer could afford to follow who had not his marvellous good sense and his mental and moral poise. Without such moral balance and such good sense the would-be realist is almost certain to become addicted to the grosser forms of naturalism, to exercise, that is, his faculty of clear vision on special salient and picturesque,
& pression ; he _abominates » an affected” style ; he prefers ail
ys
XXV1 INTRODUCTION.
even salacious and perverse cases, rather than upon the types of the average world with which average men are familiar. Thus there can be no doubt that Lesage’s unconcern for positive edification, his indifference to matters of conscience, was a trait of the eighteenth century, and a trait for which he may to a certain extent be held responsible. It was inevitable that he should find imitators, and that, in this sense, he may be said to open the way to a Crébillon ji/s and a Laclos, even to a Louvet, for whom he would have refused to be responsible, and to prepare an eighteenth century with which there is every reason to suppose he would have become utterly out of sympathy, not merely as a man, but as an artist in letters,
IV
It remains to consider Gi/ Blas as a work of literary art. In style it is one of the most perfect examples of “narrative prose in the world, comparable for limpidity, ease, and precision, with that of Cervantes in Don Quixote. With regard to its composition, it is noticeable that the novel begins at the same pitch of calm lucidity which is to characterise it to the end. The reader feels that the promise of the author in his “ Declaration,” “ I have merely undertaken to represent life as it is,” is likely to be kept. Lesage speaks with authority. The artists who inspire confidence with their very first stroke are not numerous. ‘They belong to the aristocracy of the masters, What do such certainty and distinction imply? They mean that the product is the fruit of a mature intelli- gence; that the artist, be he sculptor, writer, or painter, has not undertaken to express until his mind is, as we say, thoroughly made up as to the nature of its content,
INTRODUCTION. xxvii
nor until he is serenely master of the means at his dis- posal; that, in a word, he knows his business. In the case of Lesage it is peculiarly significant that, when he published the first part of Gz/ Blas in 1715, he was already forty-seven years of age ; that the second part did not appear until 1724, nine years later ; and that he was already an old gentleman with a family of boys, one of whom had entered the Church, when he ended his life- work, by the publication of the third part, in 1735. Gzl Bilas, in short, is the product of the maturity of one of the keenest observers that ever looked out upon the spectacle of things. The broad good-humoured gaiety of the earlier book, which vibrates with a picaresque lilt, is shaded gradually down, in the second volume, into a finer, serener, more intellectual irony. This change betrays the natural evolution in the author’s interests and curiosities during the period reaching from his forty- seventh to his sixty-seventh year. The gaiety of the six books of the first part is to be contrasted with the soberer, more reflective spirit of the tale as it proceeds. We seem to be suiting our pace tothe increasingly graver temper of a man whose knowledge of life has become richer, his insight keener, his heart more tolerant and generous. With the steady elimination of the picaresque element the novel becomes more and more an inclusive criticism of life. The author seems to. be brooding over his pages with a tenderer care, as if he were more and more conscious of the significance, the magnificence even, of his task. :
It is one of the results of this long gestation that GzZ Blas has become a book of world-wide popularity. In the history of letters it has been an inexhaustible source ofenergy. Itinspired the realistic novel. From Smollett
xxviii INTRODUCTION.
and Marivaux to Dickens and Zola, and even to an Anatole France and to a Pio Baroja, Lesage has been the avowed or unavowed model of those writers who have been passionately enamoured of life, and irrepressibly compelled to express it, The influence of Lesage on the author, for instance, of Le Rouge et le Noir and of La Chartreuse de Parme—perhaps particularly on the Stendhal of the Chartreuse de Parme—seems incontest- able. In August 1804, Beyle, writing to his sister Pauline, recommends her to read Gz/ Alas in order to learn to know the world, and cites the famous anecdote of the Archbishop of Granada’s sermons. In April 1805, he promises to bring her the book. In another undated letter to his sister, Beyle writes: “the most accurate picture of human nature as it is, in the France of the eighteenth century, is still the book of Lesage, Gz/ Blas. Meditate well this excellent work.” And finally, in his Journal, under the date of “1o Floréal, an XII, 1805,” Beyle notes his intention to cure himself of romanticism, and to learn to judge men as they are, by re-reading a certain number of books, among which he mentions Beaumarchais, the tales and La Pucelle of Voltaire, Chamfort, and Gz/ Blas. That is to say, at the most impressionable period of his intellectual life Beyle read and re-read Gz/ Blas; a fact which a discerning critic might easily guess, as to the truth of which, indeed, such a critic would feel an absolute conviction, and which the documents cited appear to leave beyond a doubt. It would perhaps be an exaggeration to pretend that but for Gz/ Blas, Beyle would not have been Stendhal; but I may be permitted to quote the following passage from a private letter of M, Paul Arbelet, the editor of Stendhal’s Fournal a’Itahie.
INTRODUCTION. xxix_
“Votre hypothtse me parait trés séduisante. Il y a sans aucun doute quelque parenté¢ intellectuelle entre Lesage et Stendhal, tous deux curieux d’observation morale, tous deux juges sans illusions des faiblesses humaines, mais point misan- thropes, car ils s’indignent peu des vices ou des ridicules, qui les amusent plutét ou les intéressent. Di’ailleurs l'un et Yautre manquent d’imagination et de poésie. Je comprends donc trés bien que vous ayez eu l’idée d’une influence de Lesage sur Stendhal.”
Furthermore, while Lesage is all this, the fountain-head of a great literary current, he is at the same time, as a moralist, in the sanest Latin and French tradition, that which is marked, in successive epochs, by the serene temper of a Horace, by the gay science, the pantagruelism of a Rabelais, by the irony of a Beaumarchais, who “se hata de rire de tout, de peur d’étre obligé d’en pleurer,” and finally by the tranquil mansuetude of a Renan: observers, one and all, who, after having told the towers of all the citadels of science, became amusedly aware that the only really absolute truth in the world is that all things are rclative.
WM. MORTON FULLERTON,
rs Pact nite ants 2woe, pares raat iss ming they oluoible. evi sae ‘hs rut aaah) ae Hye mo 7 a spoons 1 Sit, |
ua-n land sul ait Gh UNE ei otras gst ont mae AfP2VIND, NTA ite seins ary | Diva, ruiteet: Aertik, a try aed rel. ashon 9 avixensya, te shoal fu ih wr} sbnng al ooankon cag dt ans me” ae aincranneteatl ote qntonty aid - raul fart D ygldto mi. bh poe af) f iMesh 6. kp aiathgupsne) Taye | wpurot 5 tt blot grivined xaihe worker an. Waeun sei ant smagat: Panraiae, be is ’ tha Sault wx per. nicht ‘at tush piatar a
\ jie ie dey oF » Morbi. anal ade Lacs Louden LU Tot el ay Pee pg oe ae ee co i: ny tea jedi gibi rake Rant ote a elt
:
CONTENTS.
BOOK THE FIRST.
w@uAP. I.—The birth and education of Gil Blas Page 1 HAP. I.—Gil Blas’ alarm on his road to Pegnaflor; his adventures on his ar- rival in that town; and the character of the men with whom he supped 2 HAP, III.—The muleteer’s temptation on the road ; its consequences, and the
situation of Gil Blas between Scylla and Charybdis 6 _ HAP. IV.—Description of the subterraneous dwelling and its contents 8 guar. V.—The arrival of the banditti in the subterraneous retreat, with an ac- count of their pleasant conversation 9 _AHaP. VI.—The attempt of Gil Blas to escape, and its success 13
Cuap. VII.—Gil Blas, not being able to do what he likes,doeswhat hecan 15 _eHAP. VIII.—Gil Blas goes out with the gang, and performs an exploit on the
highway 16 _#@HAP. IX.—A more serious incident 17 ©HAP. X.—The lady’s treatment from the robbers. The event of the great design conceived by Gil Blas 19 Cuap. XI.—The history of Donna Mencia de Mosquera 23. Cuap. XII.—A disagreeable interruption 25 CHAP. XIII.—The lucky means by which Gil Blas escaped from prison, and ' is travels afterwards 27 ~~) Cuap, XIV.—Donna Mencia’s reception of him at Burgos 29 AP. XV.—Gil Blas dresses himself to more advantage, and receives a second - present from the lady. His equipage on setting out from Burgos 31
Cuap. XVI.—Shewing that prosperity will slip through a man’s fingers 33 HAP. XVII.—The measures Gil Blas took after the adventure of the ready- - furnished lodging 36
xxxii CONTENTS.
BOOK THE SECOND.
\
I.—Fabricio introduces Gil Blas to the licentiate Sédillo, and procures him a reception. The domestic economy of that clergyman. Picture of his housekeeper Page 40
wap. II.—The canon’s illness; his treatment; the consequence; the legacy to Gil Blas 43
,weCHAP, III.—Gil Blas enters into Doctor Sangrado’s service, and becomes a
. famous practitioner 46
Cuap. IV.—Gil Blas goes on practising physic with equal success and ability.
- Adventure of the recovered ring 49
Cuar. V.—Sequel of the foregoing adventure, Gil Blas retires from practice,
and from the neighbourhood of Valladolid 54
Cuap. VI.—Hisroute from Valladolid, with a description of his fellow-traveller 57
Cuap. VII.—The journeyman barber’s story 58
Cuap. VIII.—The meeting of Gil Blas and his companion with a man soaking
crusts of bread at a spring, and the particulars of their conversation 71
Cuap. IX.—The meeting of Diego with his family ; their circumstances in life ;
great rejoicings on the occasion ; the parting scene between himand Gil Blas 73
BOOK THE THIRD.
“ Cuap. I.—The arrival of Gil Blas at Madrid, His first place there 76 Cuap. II.—The astonishment of Gil Blas at meeting Captain Rolando in Ma- drid; and that robber’s curious narrative 79 __{guar. III.—Gil Blas is dismissed by Don Bernard de Castil Blazo, and enters
into the service of a beau 82
ye Cuapr. IV,—Gil Blas gets into company with his fellows ; they shew hima ready road to the reputation of wit, and impose on him a singular oath 87 Cuap. V.—Gil Blas becomes the darling of the fair sex, and makes an interest- ing acquaintance go #@@uap. VI.—The prince’s company of comedians 94 Cuap. VII.—History of Don Pompeyo de Castro 97 Cuap. VIII.—An accident, in consequence of which Gil Blas was obliged to look out for another place 100
Cuap. IX.—A new service, after the death of Don Matthias de Silva 103 Cuap. X.—Much such another as the foregoing 105
CONTENTS. xxxiii
weeuap, XI.—A theatrical life and an author’s life Page 107 Cuap. XII.—Gil Blas acquires a relish for the theatre, and takes a full swing ~ of its pleasures, but soon becomes disgusted 109
BOOK THE FOURTH.
HAP. I,—Gil Blas not being able to reconcile himself to the morals of the
actresses, quits Arsenia, and gets into a more reputable service III
pf SPAAP. II.—Aurora’s reception of Gil Blas. Their conversation IIl4 - Cuap, III.—A great change at Don Vincent’s. Aurora's strange resolu- tion 116 Cuap. IV.—The Fatal Marriage ; a Novel 119
Cuap. V.—The behaviour of Aurora de Guzman on her arrival at Sala-
manca 135 Cuap. VI.—Aurora’s devices to secure Don Lewis Pacheco’s affections I4I
Cuap. VII.—Gil Blas leaves his place, and goes into the service of Don Gon-
zales Pacheco 145 Guar, VIII.—The Marchioness of Chaves : her character, and that of her company 152
p. IX.—An incident that parted Gil Blas and the Marchioness of Chaves.
‘ The subsequent destination of the former 155 Cuap, X.—The history of Don Alphonso and the fair Seraphina 157 Cuap. XI.—The old hermit turns out an extraordinary genius, and Gil Blas finds himself among his former acquaintance 165
BOOK THE FIFTH,
Cuap. I.—History of Don Raphael 168 Cuap. II.—Don Raphael’s consultation with his company, and their adventures
as they were preparing to leave the wood “ 208
BOOK THE SIXTH.
Cuap. I.—The fate of Gil Blas and his companions after they took leave of the Count de Polan. One of Ambrose’s notable contrivances set off by the man-
ner of its execution 211 Cuap, II.—The determination of Don Alphonso and Gil Blas, after this adven-
ture 217
XXXiVv CONTENTS.
Cuap. III.—An unfortunate occurrence, which terminated to the high delight of Don Alphonso. Gil Blas meets with an adventure which places him all at once in a very superior situation Page 219
BOOK THE SEVENTH.
Cuap, I.—The tender attachment between Gil Blas and Dame Lorenza Se- phora 220
geCuap. II,—What happened to Gil Blas after his retreat from the Castle of
Leyva, shewing that those who are crossed in love are not always the most
miserable of mankind. 226 Cuap. II.—Gil Blas becomes the archbishop’s favourite, and the channel of all his favours 229
_eeh HAP. IV, —The archbishop is afflicted with a stroke of apoplexy. How Gil
\
5
\
Blas gets into a dilemma, and how he géts out 233 Cuap. V.—The course which Gil Blas took after the archbishop had given him his dismissal. His accidental meeting with the licentiate who was so deeply
in his debt ; and a picture of gratitude in the person of a parson 235 Cuap. VI.—Gil Blas goes to the play at Grenada. His surprise at seeing one of the actresses, and what happened thereupon 237 Cuap. VII,—Laura’s story 241 Cuap. VIII.—The reception of Gil Blas among the players at Grenada ; and another old acquaintance picked up in the green-room 249 Cuap. 1X.—An extraordinary companion at supper, and an account of their conversation , 251 Cuap. X.—The Marquis de Marialva gives a commission to Gil Blas. That faithful secretary acquits himself of it as shall be related 252 Cuap. XI.—A thunderbolt to Gil Blas 254
CuHap. XII.—Gil Blas takes lodgings in a ready-furnished house. He gets ac- quainted with Captain Chinchilla. That officer’s character and business at Madrid 256
ee HAP. XIII. —Gil Blas comes across his dear friend Fabricio at court. Great
ecstasy on both sides. They adjourn together, and compare notes ; but their
conversation is too curious to be anticipated 260 Cuap. XIV.—Fabricio finds a situation for Gil Blas in the establishment of Count Galiano, a Sicilian nobleman 266
Cuap. XV.—The employment of Gil Blas in Don Galiano’s household. 268 CuHapr. XVI.—An accident happens to the Count de Galiano’s monkey ; his lordship’s affliction on that occasion. The illness of Gil Blas, and its conse- quences 271
CONTENTS. XXXV
BOOK THE EIGHTH.
Cuap. I.—Gil Blas scrapes an acquaintance of some value, and finds where- withal to make him amends for the Count de Galiano’s ingratitude. Don Valerio de Luna’s story Page 276
Cuap. II.—Gil Blas is introduced to the Duke of Lerma, who admits him among the number of his secretaries, and requires a specimen of his talents, with which he is well satisfied 279
Cuap. III.—All is not gold that glitters. Some uneasiness resulting from the discovery of that principle in philosophy, and its practical application to
existing circumstances 281 Cuap. IV.—Gil Blas becomes a favourite with the Duke of Lerma, and the confidant of an important secret 284 Cuap, V.—The joys, the honours, and the miseries of a court life, in the per- son of Gil Blas 285 » Cuap. VI.—Gil Blas gives the Duke of Lerma a hint of his wretched condi- tion. That minister deals with him accordingly 287
Cuap. VII.—A good use made of the fifteen hundred ducats. A first intro- duction to the trade of office, and an account of the profit accruing there-
from 290 Cuap. VIII.—History of Don Roger de Rada 291
PF tiens IX.—Gil Blas makes a large fortune in a short time, and behaves like other wealthy upstarts 295
HAP, X.—The morals of Gil Blas become at court much as if they had never been at all. A commission from the Count de Lemos, which, like most court commissions, implies an intrigue 299 Cuap. XI.—The Prince of Spain’s secret visit, and presents to Catalina 303 Cuap. XII.—Catalina’s real condition a worry and alarm to Gil Blas. His precautions for his own ease and quiet 305 HAP. XIII.—Gil Blas goes on personating the great man. He hears news of his family: a touch of nature on the occasion. A grand quarrel with Fabricio 307
BOOK THE NINTH.
Cuap. I.—Scipio’s scheme of marriage for Gil Blas. The match, a rich gold- smith’s daughter. Circumstances connected with this speculation 309 Cuap. II.—In the progress of political vacancies, Gil Blas recollects that there is such a man in the world as Don Alphonso de‘ Leyva, and renders him a service from motives of vanity 31r
XXx Vi CONTENTS. HAP, III.—Preparations for the marriage of Gil Blas. A spoke in the wheel et pa
of Hymen Page 313 Cuap. IV.—The treatment of Gil Blas in the tower of Segovia. The cause of his imprisonment 314 Cuap. V.—His reflections before he went to sleep that night, and the noise that waked him 316 Cuap. VI,—History of Don Gaston de Cogollos and Donna Helena de Galisteo 318 Cuap. VII.—Scipio finds Gil Blas out in the tower of Segovia, and brings him a budget of news 325 oeCHAP. VIII.—Scipio’s first journey to Madrid: its objectand success. Gil Blas falls sick. The consequence of his illness 327
Cuap. IX.—Scipio’s second journey to Madrid. Gil Blas is set at liberty on certain conditions, Their departure from the tower of sine and convers-
ation on their journey 329 ge CHAP, X.—Their doings at Madrid. The rencounter of Gil Blas in the street, and its consequences 331
BOOK THE TENTH.
Cuap. I.—Gil Blas sets out for the Asturias, and passes through Valladolid, where he goes to see his old master, Doctor Sangrado. By accident he comes
across Signor Manuel Ordonnez, governor of the hospital 333 peng II.—Gil Blas continues his journey, and arrives in safety at Oviedo, The condition of his family. His father’s death, and its consequences 338
e7Cuap. III.—Gil Blas sets out for Valencia, and arrives at Lirias; description of his seat; the particulars of his reception, and the characters of the inha-
bitants he found there 343 Cuap. IV.—A journey to Valencia, and a visit to the lords of Leyva. The conversation of the gentlemen, and Seraphina’s demeanour 346 Cuap. V.—Gil Blas goes to the play, and sees a new tragedy. The success of the piece. The public taste at Valencia 348
Cuap. VI.—Gil Blas, walking about the streets of Valencia, meets with a man of sanctity, whose pious face he has seen somewhere else. What sort of man
this man of sanctity turns out to be 351 Cuap. VII.—Gil Blas returns to his seat at Lirias. Scipio’s.agreeable intelli- gence, and a reform in the domestic arrangements 354 Cuap. VIII.—The loves of Gil Blas and the fair Antonia — 356
Cuap. IX.—Nuptials of Gil Blas with the fair Antonia ; the style and manner _ of the ceremony ; the persons assisting thereat ; and the festivities ensuing thereupon 359
CONTENTS. XXXVii
'Cuap. X.—The honeymoon (a very dull time for the reader as a third person)
enlivened by the commencement of Scipio’s story Page 363 .Cuap, XI.—Continuation of Scipio’s story 375 Cuap. XII.—Conclusion of Scipio’s story 382
'BOOK THE ELEVENTH.
Cuap. I.—Containing the subject of the greatest joy that Gil Blas ever felt, followed up, as our greatest pleasures too generally are, by the most melan- choly event of his life. Great changes at court, producing, among other im- portant revolutions, the return of Santillane 392
Cuap. II.—Gil Blas arrives in Madrid, and makes his appearance at court; the king is blessed with a better memory than most of his courtiers, and recom-_ mends him to the notice of his prime minister. Consequences of that re-
commendation 395. Cuap, III.—The project of retirement is prevented, and Joseph Navarro brought
upon the stage again, by an act of signal service 398 Cuap. IV.—Gil Blas ingratiates himself with the Count of Olivarez 399 Cuap. V.—The private conversation of Gil Blas with Navarro, and his first em-
ployment in the service of the Count d’Olivarez 401
Cuap. VI.—The application of the three hundred pistoles, and Scipio’s com- mission connected with them. Success of the state paper mentioned in the
last chapter 404 _gRHAP, VII.—Gil Blas meets with his friend Fabricio once more ; the accident, place, and circumstances described, with the particulars of their conversation together 406 Cuap, VIII.—Gil Blas gets forward progressively in his master’s affections. Scipio’s return to Madrid, and account of his journey 408 Cuap. [X.—How my lord duke married his only daughter, and to whom, with the bitter consequences of that marriage 410
ye CuaP. X.—Gil Blas meets with the poet Nunez by accident, and learns that he has written a tragedy, which is on the point of being brought out at the theatre royal. The ill fortune of the piece, and the good fortune of its
author 4Il Cuap. XI.—Santillane gives Scipio a situation ; the latter sets out for New Spain 413
Cuap. XII.—Don Alphonso de Leyva comes to Madrid ; the motive of his journey a severe affliction to Gil Blas, and a cause of rejoicing subsequent thereon 415
Cuap, XIII.—Gil Blas meets Don Gaston de Cogollos and Don Andrew de
XXXViil CONTENTS.
Tordesillas at the drawing-room, and adjourns with them to a more convenient place. The story of Don Gaston and Donna Helena de Galisteo concluded. Santillane renders some service to Tordesillas Page 417 Cuap. XIV.—Santillane’s visit to poet Nunez, the company and conversation 420
BOOK THE TWELFTH.
Cuap. I.—Gil Blas sent to Toledo by the minister. The purpose of his journey and its success 421 Cuap, II.—Santillane makes his report to the minister, who commissions him to send for Lucretia, The first appearance of that actress before the
court 425 Cuap. III.—Lucretia’s popularity, her appearance before the king, his passion, and its consequences 426 Cuap. IV.—Santillane in a new office 428
Cuap, V.—The son of the Genoese is acknowledged by a legal instrument, and named Don Henry Philip de Guzman. Santillane establishes his household, and arranges the course of his studies 429
Cuap. VI.—Scipio’s return from New Spain. Gil Blas places him about Don
, Henry’s person. That young nobleman’s course of study. His career of honour, and his father’s matrimonial speculation on his behalf. A patent of
nobility conferred on Gil Blas against his will 430 CuHap. VII.—An accidental meeting between Gil Blas and Fabricio, Their last conversation together, and a word to the wise from Nunez 432 Cuap, VIIL—Gil Blas finds that Fabricio’s hint was not without foundation. The king’s journey to Saragossa 433 Cuap. IX.—The revolution of Portugal, and disgrace of the prime min- ister 434 Cuap. X.—A difficult, but successful, weaning from the world. The minister’s employment in his retreat 435 Cuap. XI.—A change in his lordship for the worse. The marvellous cause, and melancholy consequences, of his dejection 436 Cuap. XII.—The proceedings at the castle of Loeches after his lordship’s death, and the course which Santillane adopted 438
CHAP. XIII.—The return of Gil Blas to his seat. His joy at finding his god-
daughter Seraphina marriageable ; and his own second venture in the lottery of love 439
Cuap, XIV.—A double marriage, and the conclusion of the history 440
HISTORY OF GIL BLAS
OF SANTILLANE.
BOOK THE FIRST.
CHAPTER. I.—TZhe birth and education of Gil Blas.
My father, Blas of Santillane, after having borne arms for a long time in the
Spanish service, retiredto his native place. There he married a chamber-maid
who was not exactly in her teens, and I made my début on this stage ten
months after marriage. They afterwards went to live at Oviedo, where my
mother got into service, and my father obtained a situation equally adapted to
his capacities as a squire. As their wages were their fortune, I might have got
my education as I could, had it not been for an uncle of mine in the town,
a canon, by name Gil Per He was my mother’s eldest brother, and my god-
father. Figure to yours a little fellow, three feet and a half high, as fat as you
can conceive, with a head sunk deep between his shoulders, and you have my uncle to the life. For the rest of his qualities, he was an ecclesiastic, and of course thought of nothing but good living, I mean in the flesh as well as in the
spirit, with the means of which good living his stall, no lean one, provided him.
He took me home to his own house from my infancy, and ran the risk of my bringing up. I struck him as so brisk a lad, that he resolved to cultivate my talents. He bought mea primer, and undertook my tuition as far as reading went : which was not amiss for himself as well as for me; since by teaching ' me my letters he brushed up his own learning, which had not been pursued in a very scholastic manner ; and, by dint of application, he got at last to read his breviary out of hand, which he had never been able to do before. He would . have been very glad to have taught me Latin, to save expense, but, alas! poor ~ Gil Perez! had never skimmed the first principles of it in the whole course of his life. | I should not wonder if he was the most ignorant member of the chapter, though on a subject involving as many possibilities as there were canons, I presume not to pledge myself for anything like certainty, To be sure, I have heard it suggested, that he did not gain his preferment altogether by his learning: but that he owed it exclusively to the gratitude of some good nuns whose discreet factor he had been, and who had credit enough to procure him the order of priesthood without the troublesome ceremony of an examin- atio
obliged therefore to place me under the correction of a master, so that I was sent to Doctor Godinez, who had the reputation of being the most On
- * ei & c te i. #ér t . 7 ‘ PE UNS Macias GIL BLAS. t r - 4 < « " PAL ean ee . -< all ante ."
accomplished pedant of Oviedo. I profited so well under his instructions, that by the end of five or six years I could read a Greek author or two, and had no very inadequate conception of the Latin poets. Besides my classical studies, I applied to logic, which enabled me to become an pee arguer. I now fell in love with discussions of all kinds to such an excess, that I stopped his Majesty’s subjects on the high road, acquaintance or strangers, no matter! and proposed some knotty point of controversy. | Sometimes I fell in with a clan of Irish, and an altercation never comes amiss to them! That was your time, if you are fond of a battle. Such gestures! such grimaces! such contortions! Our eyes sparkling, and our mouths foaming! Those who did not take us for what we affected to be, philosophers, must have set us down for madme
‘But let that be as it will, I gained the reputation of no small learning in the town. My uncle was delighted, because he prudently considered that I should so much the sooner cease to be chargeable to him. Come here, Gil Blas, quoth he one day, you are got to be a fine fellow. You are past seventeen, and a clever lad ; you must bestir yourself, and get forward in the world. “T think of sending you to the university of Salamanca : with your wit you will easily get a good post. I will give you a few ducats for your journey, and my mule, which will fetch ten or twelve pistoles at Salamanca, and with such a sum at setting out, you will be enabled to hold up your head till you get a situation.
He could not have proposed to me anything more agreeable : for I was dying to see a little of life. At the same time, I was not such.a fool as to betray my satisfaction ; and when it came to the hour of parting, by the sensibility I dis- covered at taking leave of my dear uncle, to whom I was so much obliged, and by calling in the stage effect of grief, I so softened the good soul, that he put his hand deeper into his pocket than he would have done, could he have pried into all that was passing in the interior of my hypocritical little heart. Before my departure I took a last leave of my papa and mamma, who loaded me with an ample inheritance of good advice. They enjoined me to pray to God for =f uncle, to go honestly through the world, not to engage in any ill, and above all, not to lay my hands on other people’s property. After they had lectured me for a good while, they made me a present of their blessing, which was all my patrimony and all my expectation. As soon as I had received it, I mounted my mule, and saw the outside of the town.
Cu. Il.—Gil Blas alarm on his road to Pegnaflor ; his adventures on his arrival in that town ; and the character of the men with whom he supped.
HERE I am, then, on the other side of Oviedo, on the road to Pegnaflor, with the world before me, as yet my own master, as well as master of:a bad mule and forty good ducats, without reckoning on a little suwpplemen cash pur- loined from my much-honoured uncle. The first thing I did was to let my mule go as the beast liked, that is to say, very lazily. 1 dropped the rein, and taking out my ducats, began to count them backwards and forwards in my hat. I was out of my wits for joy, never having seen such a sum of money before, and could not help looking at it and sifting it through my fingers. I had counted it over about the twentieth time, when all at once my mule, with head raised, and ears pricked up, stood stock still in the middle of the high road. I thought, to be sure, something was the matter ; looked about for a cause, and perceiving a hat upon the ground, with a rosary of large beads, at the same time heard a lugubrious voice pronounce these words : , honoured master, have pity on a poor maimed soldier! Please to throw a few small pieces into this hat ; you shall be rewarded for it in the other world. I looked immediately on the side whence the voice proceeded, and saw, just by a thicket, twenty or thirty paces
ADVENTURES AT PEGNAFLOR. 3
from me, a sort of a soldier; who had mounted the barrel of a confounded long carbihe on two cross sticks, and seemed to be taking aim at me. Ata sight which made me tremble for the patrimony of the Church committed to ‘my care, I stopped short, made sure of my ducats, and taking out a little small change, as I rode by the hat, placed to receive the charity of those quiet sub- jects who had not the courage to refuse it, dropped in my contribution in detail, to convince the soldier how nobly I dealt by him. He was satisfied with my
liberality, and gave me a blessing for every kick I gave my mule in my impa- tience to get out of his way ; but the infernal beast, without partaking in the slightest degree of my impatience, went at the old steady pace. A long custom of jogging on fair and softly under my uncle’s weight had obliterated every idea of that motion called a gallop.
The prospect of my journey was not much improved by this adventure as a specimen. I considered within myself that I had yet some distance to Sala- manca, and might, not improbably, meet with something worse. My uncle seemed to have been very imprudent not to have consigned me to the care of a muleteer. ‘That, to be sure, was what he ought to have done; but his notion was, that by giving me his mule, my journey would be cheaper ; and that entered more into his calculation than the dangers in which I might be involved on the road. To retrieve his error, therefore, I resolved, if I had the good luck to arrive safe at Pegnaflor, to offer my mule for sale, and take the opportunity of a muleteer going to Astorga, whence I might get to Salamanca by a similar conveyance. ‘Though I had never been out of Oviedo I was acquainted with the names of the towns through which I was to pass ; a species of information I took care to procure before my setting ont
got safe and sound to Pegnaflor, and stopped at the door of a very decent- ooking inn. \My foot was*Scartely out of the stirrup before the landlord was at my side, overwhelming me with public-house civility. He untied my cloak- bag with his own hands, swung it across his shoulders, and ushered my Honour into a room, while one of his men led my mule to the stable. This landlord, the most busy prattler of the Asturias, ready to bother you impertinently about his own concerns, and, at the same time, with a sufficient portion of curiosity to worm himself into the knowledge of yours, was not long in telling me that his name was Andrew Corcuelo ; that he had seen some service as a sergeant in the army, which he had quitted fifteen months ago, and married a girl of Castropol, who, though a little tawny or so, knew how to make both ends meet as well as the best of them. He told mea thousand things besides which he might just as well have kept private. Thinking himself entitled, after this voluntary con- fidence, to an equal share of mine, he asked me in a breath, and without further preface, whence-I came, whither I was going, and who I was. To all this I felt myself bound to answer, article by article, because, though rather abrupt in asking them, he accompanied each question with so apologetic a bow, beseeching me with so submissive a grimace not to be offended at his curiosity, that I was drawn in to gratify it whether I would or no. Thus by degrees did we get into a long conversation, in the course of which I took occasion to hint that I had some reasons for wishing to get rid of my mule, and travel under convoy of a muleteer. He seemed on the whole to approve of my plan, though he could not prevail with himself to tell me so briefly ; for he introduced his remarks by descanting on all the possible and probable mischances to which travellers are liable on the road, not omitting an awkward story now and then. I thought the fellow would never have done. But the conclusion of the argu- ment was, that if I wanted to sell my mule, he knew an honest jockey who would take it off myhands. I begged he would do me the favour to fetch him,
which was no sooner said than done, 1*
4
4 GIL BLAS.
On hisreturn he introduced the purchaser, with a high encomium on his integrity. We all three went into the and the mule was brought out to show paces before the jockey, who set himself to examine the beast from head to foot. Tis report was bad enough. To be sure, it would not have been easy to make a good one ; but if it had been the pope’s mule, and this fellow was to cheapen the bargain, it would have been just the same: nay, to speak with all due reverence, if he had been asked to give an opinion of the pope’s great toe, from that disparaging habit of his, he would have pores it no better than the toe of any ordinary man. He laid it down, therefore, as a principle, that the mule had all the defects a mule could have: appealing to the landlord for a confirmation of his judgment, who, doubtless, had reasons of his own for not controverting his friend’s assertion. Well! says the jockey, with an air of in- difference, What price have you the conscience to ask for this devil of an ani- mal? After such a panegyric, and master Corcuelo’s certificate, whom I was fool enough to take for a fair-dealing man and a good judge of horse-flesh, they. might have had the mule for nothing. I therefore told the dealer that I threw myself on his mercy: he must fix his own sum, and I should expect no more. On this he began to affect the gentleman, and answered that I had found out his weak side when I left it to his honour. He was right enough in that ! ‘his honour was his weak side! for instead of bidding up to my uncle’s estimate of ten or twelve pistoles, the rascal had the impudence to offer three ducats, which I accepted with as light a heart as if I had got the best of the bargain. . -
Having disencumbered myself ‘of my mule in so tradesmanlike @ manner, I went with my landlord to a carrier who was to set out early the next motning for Astorga, and engaged to call me up in time. When we had settled the hire of the mule, as well as the expenses on the road, I turned back towards the inn with Corcuelo, who, as we went along, iP into the private history of this mule- teer. When I had been pestered with all the tittle-tattle of the town about this fellow, the changes were just beginning to ring on some new subject ; but, by good luck, a pretty-looking sort of a man very civilly interrupted my loquacious friend. I left them together, and sauntered on without the slightest suspicion of being at all concerned in their disco
I ordered supper as soon as I gottothginn. Itwasafishday: but I thought eggs were better suited to my finances. hile they were getting ready I joined. in conversation with the landlady, whom I had not seen before. She seemed a pretty piece of goods enough, and such a stirring body, that I should have con-
tom) her husband had not told me so, her tavern must have plenty of cus-
tom. } The moment the omelet was served up I sat down to table by myself, and had scarcely got the relish of it, when my landlord walked in, followed by the man who had stopped him in the street. This pleasant gentleman wore a long rapier, and might, perhaps, be about thirty years of age. _He came up to me in the most friendly manner possible. Mr Professor, says he, I have just now heard that you are the renowned Gil Blas of Santillane, that ornament of Oviedo and luminary of philosophy. And do my eyes behold that very greatest of all great scholars and wits, whose reputation has run hither so fast before him? Little do you think, continues he, directing his discourse to the landlord and landlady, little do you imagine, I say, what good luck has befallen you. Why, you have got hold of a treasure. In this young gentleman you behold the eighth wonder of the world. Then running up and throwing his arms about my neck, Excuse me, added he; but worlds would not bribe me to suppress the rapturous emotions your honoured presence has excited.
I could not answer him so glibly as I wished, not so much for want of words as of breath ; for he hugged me so tight that I began to be alarmed for my wind- pipe. As soon, however, as I had got my head out of durance, I replied, Sig-
ar)
——
DUPED BY A PARASITE. 5
nor cavalier, I had not the least conception that my name was known at Penag- flor. Known? resumed he in the same pompous style ; we keep a register of all great persons within a circuit of twenty leagues round us. You have the character of a prodigy here ; and I have not a shadow of doubt, but one day or other Spain will be as proud of numbering you among her rare productions, as Greece of having given birth to her seven wise men, is fine speech was fol- lowed as before ; and I really began to think that with all my classical honours I should at last be doomed to share the fate of Antzeus.f If I had been master of ever so little experience, I should not have been thie*dupe of his rhodomon- tade. I must have discovered him by his outrageous compliments, to be one of those parasites who swarm in every town, and get into a stranger’s company on his arrival, to appease the wolf in their stomachs at his expense ; but my youth and vanity tempted me to draw a quite opposite conclusion. \ My admirer was very clever in my eyes, and I asked him to supper on the strength of it. Oh! most willingly, cried he: with all my heart and soul. My fortunate star pre- dominates, now that I have the honour of being in company with the illustrious Gil Blas of Santillane, and I shall certainly make the most of my good fortune as long as it lasts. My appetite is rather delicate, but I will just sit down with you by way of being sociable, and if I can swallow a bit! only just not to look sulky ; for we philosophers are careless of the body.
These words were no sooner out of his mouth, than my panegyrist took his seat opposite tome. A cover was laid for him in due form and order. First he fell on the omelet with as much perseverance as if he had not tasted food for three whole days. By the complacency with which he eyed it I was morally certain the poor pancake was at death’s door. I therefore ordered its heir- apparent to succeed ; and the business was despatched with such speed, that the second made its appearance on the table, just as we ;—no :—I beg pardon ;
“just as he had taken the last lick of its predecessor. He pressed forward the
main business, however, with a diligence and activity proportioned to the im- portance of the object he had in view: so that he contrived to load me with panegyric on panegyric, without losing a single stroke in the progress of masti- cation. Now all this gave me no slender conceit of my pretty little self When a man eats, he must drink. The first toast of course was my health. The second, in common civility, was my father and mother, whose happiness in having such an angel of a son, he could not sufficiently envy or admire. All this while he kept filling my glass, and challenging me to keep pace with him. It was impossible to be backward in doing justice to such excellent toasts and sentiments : the compliments with which they were seasoned did not come amiss ; so that I got into such a convivial mood, at observing our second ome- let to disappear not insensibly, as just to ask the landlordif he could not find us a little bit of fish. Master Corcuelo, who to all appearance played booty with the parasite, told me he had an excellent trout ; but those who eat him must pay for him. I am afraid he is meat for your masters. Meat for our masters! exclaims my very humble servant in an angry tone of voice: that is more than you know, my friend. Are you yet to learn that the best of your larder is not too good for the renowned Gil Blas of Santillane? Go where he will, he is fit
able with princes. ‘Eves very glad that he took up the landlord’s last expression ; because if he had not, I should. I {elt myself a little hurt at it, and said to Corcuelo with some degree of hauteur § Produce this trout of yours, and I will take the con- sequences, The lan , who had got just what he wanted, set himself to work, and served it up in high order. At the first glance of this third course I saw such pleasure sparkling in the parasite’s eyes, as proved him to be of a very complying temper ; just as ready to do a kindness by the fish, as by those said
at
6 : GIL BLAS.
eggs of which he had given so good an account. But at last he was obliged to Jay down his arms for fear of accidents ; as his magazine was crammed tothe | very throat. Having eat and drank his fill, he bethought him of putting a finishing hand to the farce. Master Gil Blas, said he, as he rese from the table,
I am too well pleased with my princely entertainment to leave you without a word of advice, of which you seem to stand in much need. From this time - forward be on your guard against extravagant praise. Do not trust men till you know them. You may meet with many another man, who, like me, may amuse himself at your expense, and perhaps carry the joke a little further. But donot you be taken in a second time, to believe yourself, on the word of such fellows, oe, the eighth wonder of the world. With this sting in the tail of his farewell “\” speech he very coolly took his leave. > (eg was as much alive to so ridiculous a circumstance, as I have ever been in ~ alter-life to the most severe mortifications. I did not know how to reconcile myself to the idea of having been so egregiously taken in, or, in fact, to lowering of my pride. So, so! quoth I, this rascal has been putting his tricks upon travellers, has he? Then he only wanted to pump my landlord! or more likely they were both in a story. Ah! my poor Gil Blas, thou hadst better hide thy silly head! To have suffered such knaves as these to turn thee into ridicule! A pretty story they will make of this! It is sure to travel back to Oviedo ; and will give our friends a hopeful prospect of thy success in life. The family will be quite delighted to think what a blessed harvest all their pious advice has pro- duced, There was no occasion to preach up morals to thee; for verily thou hast more of the dupe than the sharper in thy composition. Ready to tear my eyes out or bite my fingers off from spite and vexation, I locked myself up in my chamber and went to bed, but not to sleep; of which I had not got a wink when the muleteer came to tell me, that he only waited for me to set out on his journey. I got up as expeditiously as I could ; and while I was dressing Cor- cuelo put in his appearance, with a little bill in his hand ;—a slight memorandum of the trout !—But paying through the nose was not the worst of it; for I had the vexation to perceive, that while I was counting over the cost, this hang-dog was chuckling at the recollection of the night before. ve been fleeced most shamefully for a supper, which stuck in my stomach though I had scarcely come in for a morsel of it, I joined the muleteer with my baggage, giving to as many devils as there are saints in the calendar, the parasite, the landlord, and the inn.
Cu. Il].—Z%e muleteers temptation on the road ; its consequences, and thé situation of Gil Blas between Scylla and Charybdis.
I was not the only passenger. There were two young gentlemen of Pegnaflor ; a little chorister of Mondognedo, who was travelling about the country, and a young tradesman of Astorga, returning home from Verco with his new-married wife. We soon got acquainted, and exchanged the usual confidence of travel-
lers, telling one another whence we came and whither we were going. The bride was young enough ; but so dark-complexioned, with so little of what a man likes to look at in a woman, that I did not think her worth the trouble.
But she had youth and a good crummy person on her side, and the muleteer, , being rather less nice in his taste, was resolved to try if he could not get into her good graces. ‘This pretty project occupied his ingenuity during the whole day ; but he deferred the execution till we should get to Cacabelos, the last place where we were to stop on the road. We alighted at an inn in the out- skirts of the town, a quiet convenient place, with a landlord who never trou-
bled himself about other people’s concerns. We were ushered into a private room, and got our supper snugly : but just as the cloth was taken away in comes
THE MULETEERS TRICK AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 7
our carrier in a furious passion :—Death and the devil! I have been robbed. Here had I a hundred pistoles in my purse! But I will have them back again. I am going for a magistrate ;—and those gentry will not take a joke upon such serious subjects. You will all be put to the rack, unless you confess, and give back the money. The fellow played his part very naturally, and burst out of the room, leaving us in a terrible fright.
We had none of us the least suspicion of the trick, and being all strangers, were afraid of one another. I looked askance at the little chorister, and he, perhaps, had no better opinion of me. Besides, we were all a pack of green- horns, and were quite unacquainted with the routine of business on these occa- sions. We were fools enough to believe that the torture would be the very first stage of our examination. With this dread upon our spirits, we all made for the door. Some effected their escape into the street, others into the garden: but the whole party preferred the discretion of running away to the valour of standing their ground. The young tradesman of Astorga had as great an objection to bone-twisting as the rest of us: so he did as Eneas, and many another good husband has done before him ;—ran away and left his wife behind. At that critical moment the muleteer, as I was told afterwards, who had not half so much sense of decency as his own mules, delighted at the suc- cess of his stratagem, began moving his motives to the citizen’s wife: but this . Lucrece of the Asturias, borrowing the chastity of a saint from the ugliness of the devil who tempted her, defended her sweet person tooth and nail; and showed she was in earnest about it by the noise she made. The patrol, who hap- pened to be passing by the inn at the time, and knew that the neighbourhood required a little looking after, took the liberty of just asking the cause of the disturbance. The landlord, who was trying if he could not sing in the kitchen . louder than she could scream in the parlour, and swore he heard no music but his own, was at last obliged to introduce the myrmidons of the police to the distressed lady, just in time to rescue her from the necessity of a surrender at discretion. The head officer, a coarse fellow, without an atom of feeling for the tender passion, no sooner saw the game that was playing, than he gave the amorous muleteer five or six blows with the butt end of his halberd, representing to him the indecency of his conduct in terms quite as offensive to modesty as the naughty propensity which had called forth his virtuous indignation. Neither did he stop here ; but laid hold of the culprit, and carried plaintiff and defend- ant before the magistrate. The former, with her charms all heightened by the discomposure of her dress, went eagerly to try their effect in obtaining justice for the outrage they had sustained. His Worship heard at least one party ; and after solemn deliberation pronounced the offence to be of a most heinous nature. He ordered him to be stripped, and to receive a competent number of lashes in his presence. The conclusion of the sentence was, that if the Endymion of our Asturian Diana was not forthcoming the next day, a couple of guards should escort the disconsolate goddess to the town of Astorga, at the expense of this mule-driving Acteon.
or my part, being probably more terrified than the rest of the party, I got into the fields, scampering over hedge and ditch, through enclosures and across commons, till I found myself hard by a forest. I was just going for conceal- ment to ensconce myself in the very heart of the thicket, when two men on horseback rode across me, crying, Who goes there? As my alarm prevented me from giving them an immediate answer, they came to close quarters, and hold- ing each of them a pistol to my throat, required me to give an account of myself; who I was, whence I came, what business I had in that forest, and above all, not to tell a lie about it. Their rough interrogatives were, according to my notion, little better than the rack with which our friend the muleteer had
8 GIL BLAS.
offered to treat us. I represented myself however as a young man on my way from Oviedo to Salamanca; told the story of our late fright, and faithfully attributed my running away in such a hurry to the dread of a worse exercise under the torture. They burst into an immoderate fit of laughter at my sim- plicity ; and one of them said: Take heart, my little friend ; come along with us, and do not be afraid ; we will put you in a place where the devil shall not find you. At these words, he took me up behind him, and we darted into the forest.
I did not know what to think of this odd meeting ; yet on the whole I could not well be worse off than before. If these gentry, thought I to myself, had been thieves, they would have robbed, and p90 murdered me. Depend on it, they are a couple of good honest country gentlemen in this neighbourhood, who, seeing me frightened, have taken compassion on me, and mean to me home with them and make me comfortable. But these visions did not last long. After turning and winding backward and forward in deep silence, we found ourselves at the foot of a hill, where we dismounted. This is our abode, said one of these sequestered gentlemen. I looked about in all directions, bit the deuce a bit of either house or cottage: not a vestige of human habitation ! The two men in the mean time raised a Es wooden trap, covered with earth and briars, to conceal the entrance of a long shelving passage under-ground, to which from habits the poor beasts took very kindly of their own accord. Their masters kept tight hold of me, and let the trap down after them. Thus was the worthy nephew of my uncle Perez caught, just for all the world as you would catch a rat.
Cu. IV.—Description of the subterraneous dwelling and its contents.
I Now knew into what company I had fallen; and I leave it to any one to judge whether the discovery must not have rid me of my former fear. A dread more mighty and more just now seized my iaculties. Money and life, all given up for lost! With the air of a victim on his passage to the altar did I walk, more dead than alive, between my two conductors, who finding that I trembled, frightened me so much the more by telling me not to be afraid. When we had gone two hundred paces, winding down a declivity all the way, we got into a stable lighted by two large iron lamps suspended from the vault above. There was a good store of straw, and several casks of hay and corn with room enough jor twenty horses: but at that time there were only the two which came with us. An old negro, who seemed for his years in pretty good case, was tying them to the rack where they were to feed.
We went out ofthe stable. By the melancholy light of some other lamps, which only served to dress up horror in its native colours, we arrived at a kitchen where an old harridan was broiling some steaks on the coals, and getting supper ready. The kitchen furniture was better than might be ed, an the pantry provided in a very plentiful manner. The lady of the larder’s picture is worth drawing. Considerably on the wrong side of sixty!—JIn her youth her hair had been of a fiery red; though she would have called it poston * Time had indeed given it the fairer tint of grey ; but a lock of more you hue, interspersed at intervals, produced all the variegated effect of the admired autumnal shades. To say nothing of an olive complexion, she had an enor- mous chin turning up, an immense nose turning down, with a mouth in the middle, modestly retiring inwards, to make room for its encroaching neigh- bours. Red eyes are no beauty in any animal but a ferret ;—hers were purple. >—
Here, dame Leonarda, said one of the horsemen as he presented me to this ~ angelic imp of darkness, we have brought you a young lad. Then looking
his le
THE SUBTERRANEOUS DWELLING. ie
round, and observing me to be miserably pale, Pluck up your spirits, my friend ; you shall come to noharm. We want a scullion, and have met with you. You are a lucky dog! We had a boy who died about a fortnight ago: you shall succeed to the preferment. He was rather too delicate for his place.
"You seem a good stout fgllow, and may live a week or two longer. We find you in bed and board, coal and candle; but as for day-light, you will never see that again. Your leisure hours will pass off very agreeably with Leonarda, who is really a very good creature, and tolerably tender-hearted ; you will have all your little comforts about you. I flatter myself you have not got among beggars. At this moment the thief seized a flambeau ; and as I feared, ‘‘ with zeal to destroy ;” for he ordered me to follow him.
He took me into a cellar, where I saw a great number of bottles and earthen pots full of excellent wine. He then made me cross several rooms. In some were pieces of cloth piled up ; in others, stuffs and silks. As we passed through I could not help casting a sheep’s eye at the gold and silver plate peeping out of the different cupboards. After that, I followed him into a great hall illumin- ated by three copper lustres, and serving as a gallery between the other rooms. Here he put fresh questions tome ; asking my name :—why I left Oviedo ;—and when I had satisfied his curiosity: Well, Gil Blas, said he, since your only motive for quitting your native place was to get into something snug and eligible, to be sure you must have been born to good luck, or you would not have fallen into our hands. I tell you once for all, you will live here on the fat of the land, and may souse over head and ears in ready money. Besides, you are ina place of perfect safety. The officers of the holy brotherhood might pass through the forest a hundred times without discovering our subterraneous abode. The entrance is only known to myself and my comrades. You may perhaps ask how it came to be contrived, without being perceived by the inhabitants in the neigh- bourhood. But you are to understand, my friend, that it was made long ago, and
is no work of ours. After the Moors had made themselves masters of Granada, of Ayfagon, and nearly the whole of Spain, the Christians, rather than submit to the tyranny of infidels, betook themselves to flight, and lay concealed in this country, in Biscay, and in the Asturias, whither the brave Don Pelagio had withdrawn himself. They lived in a state of exile, on the mountains, or in the woods, dispersedin little knots. Some took up their residences in natural caves, others in artificial dwellings under-ground, like this we arein. In pro- cess of time, when by the blessing of Providence they had driven their enemies out of Spain, they returned to the towns. From that time forth their retreats have served as a rendezvous for the gentlemen of our profession. It is true that several of them have been discovered and destroyed by the holy brother- hood: but there are some yet remaining; and, by great good luck, I have tenanted this without paying any rent for it almost these fifteen years : Captain Rolando, at your service! I am the leader of the band; and the man you saw with me is one of my troopers. s Cu. V.—TZhe arrival of the banditti in the subterraneous retreat, with an account of their pleasant conversation.
Just as Captain Rolando had finished his speech six new faces made their appearance in the hall; the lieutenant and five privates returning home with . their booty. They were hauling in two great baskets full of sugar, cinnamon, ‘ - pepper, figs, almonds, and raisins. The lieutenant gave an account of their proceedings to the captain, and told him they had taken these articles, as well as the sumpter-mule, from a grocer of Benavento. An official report having thus been made to the prime-minister, the grocer’s contribution was carried to
10 GIL BLAS.
account ; and the next step was to regale after their labours. A large table was set out in the hall. ; They sent me back to the kitchen, where dame Leonarda told me whateI had to do. I made the best of a bad in, finding the luck ran against me ; and, swallowing my grievances, set myself to wait on my noble masters.
I cleaned my plate, set out my sideboard, and — up my wine. As soon as I announced dinner.to be on table, consisting of two good black pep- pery ragouts for the first course, this high and mighty company took their seats. They fell too most voraciously. My place was to wait ; and I handed about the glasses with so butler-like an air, as to be not a little complimented on my dexterity. The chief entertained them with a short sketch of my story, and praised my parts. But I had recovered from my mania by this time, and could — listen to my own panegyric with the humility of an anchorite or the contempt of a philosopher. They all seemed to take a liking to me, and to think I had dropped from the clouds on purpose to be their cup-bearer. My predecessor was a fool tome. Since his death, the illustrious Leonarda had the honour of —— presenting nectar to these gods of the lower regions, But she was now degraded, and I had the felicity of being installed in her office. Thus, old Hebe being a little the worse for wear, young Ganymede tripped up her heels.
A substantial joint of meat after the ragouts at length blunted the edge of their appetites. Eating and drinking went together : so that they soon got inte a merry pin, and made a roaring noise. Well done, my lads! All talkersand no listeners. One begins along story, another cuts a joke ; herea fellow bawls, there a fellow sings ; and they all seem to be at cross purposes. At last Ro- lando, tired of a concert in which he could hardly hear the sound of his own voice, let them know that he was maestro di capella, and brought them into better tune. Gentlemen, said he, I have a question to put. Instead of stun-~— ning one another with this infernal din, had we not better enjoy a little rational conversation? A thought is just come into myhead. Since the happy day that united us we have never had the curiosity to inquire into each other's pedigrees, or by what chain of circumstances we were each of us led to embrace our pre- sent way of life. ‘There would be no harm in knowing who and who are to- gether. Let us exchange confidence: we may findsomeamusement in it. The lieutenant and the rest, like true heroes of romance, accepted the challenge with os utmost courtesy, and the captain told the first story to the following elfect :-—
Gentlemen, you are to know that I am the only son of a rich citizen in Ma- drid. The day of my birth was celebrated in the family by rejoicings without end. My father, no chicken, thought it a considerable feat to have got an heir, and my mother was kind enough to suckle me herself. My maternal grand- father was still living: a good old man, who did not trouble himself about. other people’s concerns, but said his prayers, and fought his campaigns over and } over again ; for he had been in the army. Of course I was idolized by th three persons ; never out of their arms, My early years were passed in the most childish amusements, for fear of hurting my health by application, It will not do, said my father, to hammer much learning into children till time has ripened their understanding. While he waited for this ripening, the season went by. I could neither read nor write: but I made up for that in. other ways. My father taught mea thousand different games. I became perfectly acquainted with cards, was no stranger to dice, and my grandfather set me the example of drawing the long bow, while he entertained me with his military exploits. He sung the same songs repeatedly one after another every day; so that when, after saying ten or twelve lines after him for three months together, I got to boggle through them without missing, the whole family were in raptures at my
.
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THE CAPTAIN RELATES HIS HISTORY. It
memory. Neither was my wit thought to be at all less extraordinary ; for I was suffered to talk at random, and took care to put in my oar in the most imper- tinent manner possible. the pretty little dear! exclaimed my father, as if he had been fascinated. My mother made it up with kisses, and my grandfather’s old eyes overflowed. I played all sorts of dirty and indecent tricks before them with impunity; everything was excusable in so fine a boy: an angel could not do wrong. Going on in this manner, I was already in my twelfth year without ever having a master. It was high time ; but then he was to teach me by fair means: he might threaten, but must not flog me. This arrangement did me but little good ; for sometimes I laughed when my tutor scolded: at others, I ran with tears in my eyes to my mother or my grandfather, and complain- ed that he had used me ill. The poor devil got nothing by denying it. My word *—~ was always taken before his, and he came off with the character of a cruel ras- cal, One day I scratched myself with my own nails, and set up a howl as if I had been flogged. My mother ran, and turned the master out of doors, though
he vowed and protested he had never lifted a finger against me.
Thus did I get rid of all my tutors, till at last I met with one to my mind. He was a bachelor of Alcala, This was the master for a youngman of fashion. \ Women, wine, and gaming, were his principalamusements. It was impossible \ to be in better hands. He hit the right nail on the head : for he let me do what I pleased, and thus got into the good graces of the family, who abandoned me to his conduct. They had no reason to repent. He perfected me betimes | in the knowledge of the world. By dint of taking me about to all his haunts, aay he gave such a finish to my education, that barring literature and science, I be- > came an universal scholar. As soon as he saw that I could goalone in the high road to ruin he went to qualify others for the same journey. ©
During my childhood I had lived at home just as I liked, and did not suffi-
, j i i)
» ciently consider, that now I was beginning to be et cya for my own actions.
My father and mother were a standing jest. Yet they were themselves thrown into convulsions at my sallies ; and the more ridiculous they were made by them, the more waggish they thought me. In the mean time I got intoall manner of scrapes with some young fellows of my own kidney ; and, as our relations kept us rather too short of cash for the exigencies of so loose a life, we each of us made free with whatever we could lay our hands on in our own families. Find- » ing this would not raise the supplies, we began to pick pockets in the streets at night. As ill luck would have it, our exploits came to the knowledge of the
olice, A warrant was out against us ; but some good-natured friend, thinking it a pity we should be nipped in the bud, gave us a caution. We took to our heels, and rose in our vocation to the rank of highwaymen. From that time forth, gentlemen, with a blessing on my endeavours, I have gone on till I am = the father of the profession, in spite of the dangers to which it is exposed.
Here the captain ended, and it came to the turn of the lieutenant. Gentle- men, extremes are said to meet ;—and so it will appear from a comparison of our commander’s education and mine. My father was a butcher at Toledo. He passed, with reason, for the greatest brute in the town, and my mother’s sweet disposition was not mended by the example. In my childhood, they whipped me in emulation of one another ; I came in for a thousand lashes of a day! The slightest fault was followed up by the severest punishment. In vain did I beg for mercy with tears in my eyes, and protest that I was sorry for what Thad done. They never excused me, and nine times out of ten flogged me “™ for nothing. When I was under my father’s lash, my mother, not thinking his arm stout enough, lent her assistance, instead of begging me off. The favours I received at their hands gave me such a disgust, that I quitted their house be-
12 GIL BLAS.
fore I had completed my fourteenth year, took the Arragon road, and begged my way to Saragossa. ‘There I associated with vagrants, who led a merry life J enough. They taught me to counterfeit blindness and lameness, to dress up an artificial wound in each of my legs, and to adopt many other methods of im- posing on the credulity of the charitable and humane. In the morning, like actors at rehearsal, we cast our characters, and settled the business of the comedy. We had each our exits and our entrances ; till in the evening the curtain dropped, and we regaled at the expense of the dupes we had deluded in the day. Wearied, however, with the company of these wretches, and wishing to live in more worshipful society, I entered into partnership with a gang of sharpers. ‘These fellows taught me some good tricks : but Saragossa soon be- came too hot to hold us, after we had fallen out with a limb of the law, who had hitherto taken us under his protection. We each of us provided for our- selves, and left the devil to take the hindmost. For my part, I enlisted in a brave and veteran regiment, which had seen abundance of service on the king’s highway : and I found myself so comfortable in their quarters, that I had no desire to change my birth. So that you see, gentlemen, I was very much ob- liged to my relations for their bad hehaviour ; for if they had treated me a little more kindly, I might have been a blackguard butcher at this moment, instead _ of having the honour to be your lieutenant.
~* Gentlemen,—interrupted a hopeful young freebooter who sat between the ' captain and the lieutenant,—the stories we have just heard are neither so com- plicated nor so curious asmine. I peeped into existence by means of a country- woman in the neighbourhood of Seville. Three weeks after she had set me down in this system, a nurse child was offered her. Youare to understand she was yet in her prime, comely in her person, and had a good breast of milk. The young suckling had noble blood in him, and was an onlyson. My mother accepted the proposal with all her heart, and went to fetch the child. It was entrusted to her care. She had no sooner brought it home, than, fancying a resemblance, she conceived the idea of substituting me for the brat of high birth, in the hope of drawing a handsome commission at some future time for this motherly office in behalf of her infant. My father, whose morals were on a level with those of clodhoppers in general, lent himself very willingly to the cheat : so that with only a change of clouts the son of Don Rodrigo de Herrera was packed off in my name to another nurse, and my mother suckled her own and
~—~her master’s child at once in my little person.
They may say what they will of instinct and the force of blood! The little gentleman’s parents were very easily taken in. They had not the slightest suspicion of the trick ; and were eternally dandling me till I was seven years old. As it was their intention to make me a finished gentleman, they gave me masters of all kinds ; but I had very little taste for their lessons, and above all, I detested the sciences. I had at any time rather play with the servants or the stable boys, and was.a complete kitchen genius. But tossing up for heads or tails was not my ruling passion. Before seventeen I had an itch for getting drank. I played the devil among the chamber-maids ; but my prime favourite was a kitchen girl, who had infinite merit'in my eyes;- She was a great bloated horse- god-mother, whose good case and easy morals suited me exactly. I boarded her with so little circumspection that Don Rodrigo took notice of it. He took me to task pretty sharply ; twitted me with my low taste; and, for fear the presence of my charmer should counteract his sage counsels, showed the goddess of my devotions the outside of the door.
This proceeding was rather offensive ; and I determined to be even with him. I stole his wife’s jewels ; and ravishing my Helen from a laundress of her ac- quaintance, went off with her in open day, that the transaction might lose no-
THE CAPTAIN ADDRESSES GIL BLAS. 13
thing in point of notoriety. But this was not all. I carried her among her relations, where I maried her according to the rites of the church, as much from the personal motive of mortifying Herrera, as from the patriotic enthu- siasm of encouraging our young nobility to mend the breed. Three months after marriage, I heard that Don Rodrigo had gone the way of all flesh. The intelligence was not lost upon me. I was at Seville in a twinkling, to adminis- ter in due form and order to his effects ; but the tables were turned. My mother had paid the debt of nature, and in her last agonies had been so much off her guard as to confess the whole affair to the curate of the village and other com- petent witnesses. Don Rodrigo’s son had already taken my place, or rather his own, and his popularity was increased by the deficiency of mine ; so that as the trumps were all out in that hand, and I had no particular wish for the present my wife was likely to make me, I joined issue with some desperate blades, with whom I began my trading ventures.
The young cut-purse having finished his story, another told us that he was the son of a merchant at Burgos; that, in his youth, prompted more by piety than wit, he had taken the religious habit and professed in a very strict order, and that a few years afterwards he had apostatized. In short, the eight robbers told their tale one after another, and when I had heard them all, I did not wonder that the destinies had brought them together. The conversation now took a different turn. They brought several schemes upon the carpet for the next campaign ; and after having laid down their plan of operations, rose from table and went to bed. They lighted their night candles, and withdrew to their apartments. I attended Captain Rolando to his. ) While I was fiddling about him as he undressed: Well! Gil Blas, said he, you see how we live! We are always merry ; hatred and envy have no footing here ; we have not the least difference, but hang together just like monks, You are sure, my good lad, to lead a pleasant life here ; for I do not think you are fool enough to make any bones about consorting with gentlemen of the road. In what does ours differ from many a more reputable trade? Depend on it, my friend, all men love two hands in their neighbour’s purse, though only one in their own. Men’s principles are all alike ; the only difference lies in the mode of carrying them into effect. Conquerors, for instance, make free with the territories of their neighbours. People of fashion borrow and do not pay. Bankers, treasurers, brokers, clerks, and traders of all kinds, wholesale and retail, give ample liberty to their wants to overdraw on their consciences. I shall not mention the hangers- on of the law ; we all know how it goes with them. At the same time it must be allowed that they have more humanity than we have ; for as it is often our vocation to take away the life of the innocent for plunder, it is sometimes theirs for fee and reward to save the guilty.
Cu. VI.—The attempt of Gil Blas to escape, and its success.
AFTER the captain of the banditti had thus apologized for adopting such a line of life, he went to bed. For my part, I returned to the hall, where I cleared the table, and set everything to rights. Then I went to the kitchen, where Domingo, the old negro, and dame Leonarda had been expecting me at supper.
ough entirely without appetite, I had the good manners to sit down with them. Nota morsel could I eat ; and, as I scarcely felt more miserable than I looked, this pair so justly formed to meet by nature, undertook to give me a little comfort. Why do you take on so, my good lad? said the old dowager : you ought rather to bless your stars for your good luck. You are young, and seem a little soft ; you would have a fine kettle of fish of it in the busy world. You might have fallen into bad hands, and then your morals would have been
14 GIL BLAS.
corrupted ; whereas here your innocence is insured to its full value. Dame Leonarda is in the right, put in the old negro gravely, the world is but a trouble- some place. Be thankful, my friend, for being so early relieved from the dan- gers, the difficulties, and the afflictions of this miserable life.
I bore this prosing very quietly, because I should have got no good by put- ting myself in a passion about it. At length Domingo, after playing a good knife and fork, and getting gloriously muddled, took himself off to the stable. Leonarda, by the glimmering of a lamp, showed me the way to a vault which served as a last home to those of the corps who died a natural death. Here I stumbled upon something more like a grave than a bed. This is your room, said she. Your predecessor lay here as long as he was among us, and here he lies to this day. He suffered himself to be Tucsied out of life in his prime: do not you be so foolish as to follow his example. With this kind advice, she left me with the lamp for my companion and returned to the kitchen. I threw myself on the little bed, not so much for rest as meditation. O heaven! exclaimed I, was there ever a fate so dreadful as mine? It is determined then I am to take my leave of daylight! Beside this, as if it were not enough to be buried alive at eighteen, my misery is to be aggravated by being in the service of a banditti ; by passing the day with highwaymen, and the night in a charnel- house. These reflections, which seemed to me very dismal, and were indeed no better than they seemed, set me crying most bitterly. I could not conceive what cursed maggot my uncle had got in his head to send me to Salamarica ; repented running away from Cacabelos, and would have compounded for the torture. But, considering how vain it was to shut the door when the steed was stolen, I determined, instead of lamenting the past, to hit upon some expedient for making my escape. What! thought I, is it impossible to get off? The cut-throats are asleep ; cooky and the black will be snoring ere long. Why cannot I, by the help of this lamp, find the passage by which I descended into these infernal regions? I am afraid, indeed, my strength is not equal to lifting the trap at the entrance. However, let us see. Faint heart never won fair lady. Despair will lend me new force, and who knows but I may succeed ?
Thus was the train laid for a grand attempt. I got up as soon as Leonarda and Domingo were likely to be asleep. With the lamp in my hand, I stole out of the vault, putting up my prayers to all the spirits in paradise, and ten miles round, It was with no small difficulty that I threaded all the windings of this new labyrinth. At length I found myself at the stable door, and perceived the passage which was the object of my search. Pushing on I made my way towards the trap with a light pair of heels and a beating heart: but, alas! in the middle of my career I ran against a cursed iron grate locked fast, with bars so close as not to admit a hand between them. I looked rather foolish at the occurrence of this new difficulty, which I had not been aware of at my entrance, because the grate was then open. However, I tried what I could do by fumbling at the bars. Then for a peep at the lock jor whether it could not be forced! When all at once my poor shoulders were salited with five or six good strokes of a bull’s pizzle. I set up sucha shrill alarum, that the den of Cacus rang with it ; when looking round, who should it ‘be but the old negro in his shirt, hold- ing a dark lanthorn in one hand, and the instrument of my punishment in the other. Oh, ho! quoth he, my merry little fellow, you will run away, will you? No, no! you must not think to s@t your wits against mine. I heard you all the while. You thought you should find the grate open, did not you? You may take it for granted, my friend, that henceforth it will always be shut. When we keep any one here against his will, he must be a cleverer fellow than you to " make his escape.
In the mean time, at the howl I had set up two or three of the robbers
GIL BLAS PLAYS THE HYPOCRITE. 15
waked suddenly ; and not knowing but the holy brotherhood might be falling upon them, they got up and called their comrades. Without the loss of a mo- ment all were on the alert. Swords and carabines were put in requisition, and the whole posse advanced forward almost in a state of nature to the place where I was parleying with Domingo. But as soon as they learned the cause of the uproar, their alarm resolved itself into a peal of laughter. How now, Gil Blas, said the apostate son of the church, you have not been a good six hours with us, and are you tired of our company already? You must have a great objection to retirement. Why, what would you do if you were a Carthu- sian friar? Get along with you, and go to bed. This time you shall get off with Domingo’s discipline ; but if you are ever caught in a second attempt of the same kind, by Saint Bartholomew! we will flay you alive. With this hint he retired, and the rest of the party went back to their rooms. The old negro, taking credit to himself for his vigilance, returned to his stable; and I found my way back to my charnel-house, where I passed the remainder of the night in weeping and wailing.
Cu. VIL.—Gil Blas, not being able to do what he likes, does what he can.
For the first few days I thought I should have given up the ghost for very spite and vexation. The lingering life I led was nearly akin to death itself ; but in the end my good genius whispered me to play the hypocrite. I aimed at looking a little more cheerful ; began to laugh and sing, though it was some- times on the wrong side of my mouth ; in a word, I put so good a face on the matter, that Leonarda and Domingo were completely taken in. They thought the bird was reconciled to his cage. The robbers entertained the same notion. I looked as brisk as the beverage I poured out, and put in my oar whenever I thought I could say a good thing. My freedom, far from offending, was taken in good part. Gil Blas, quoth the captain one evening, while I was playing the buffoon, you have done well, my friend, to banish melancholy. I am de- lighted with your wit and humour. Some people wear a mask at first acquaint- ance ; I had no notion what a jovial fellow you were.
My praises now seemed to run from mouth to mouth. They were all so partial to me, that, not to miss my opportunity ;—Gentlemen, quoth I, allow me to tell you a piece of my mind. Since I have been your guest, a new light breaks in upon me. I have bid adieu to vulgar prejudices, and caught a ray at the fountain of your illumination. I feel that I was born to be your knight companion. I languish to make one among you, and will stand my chance of a halter with the best. All the company cried Hear !—I was considered as a promising member of the senate. It was then determined unanimously to give me a trial in some inferior department ; afterwards to bespeak me a good des- perate encounter in which I might show my prowess ; and if I answered ex- pectation to give me a high and responsible employment in the commonwealth.
It was necessary therefore to go on exhibiting a copy of my countenance, and doing my best in my office of cup-bearer. I was impatient beyond measure ; for I only aspired after the honours of the sitting, to obtain the liberty of going abroad with the rest ; and I was in hopes that by running the risk of getting my neck into one noose I might get it out of another. This was my only chance. The time nevertheless seemed long to wait, and I kept my eye on Domingo, with*the hope of outwitting him : but the thing was not feasible ; he
was always on the watch. Orpheus as leader of the band, with a complete or- chestra of performers as good as himself, could not have soothed the savage breast of this Cerberus. The truth is, by the by, that for fear of exciting his suspicion, I did not set my wits against him so much as I might have done.
16 GIL BLAS.
He was on the look-out, and I was obliged to play the prude, or my virtue might have come into disgrace, I therefore ok Se proceedings till the time of my probation should expire, to which I looked forward with impatience, just as if I was waiting for a place under government.
Heaven be praised, in about six months I gained my end. The commandant Rolando addressing his regiment, said : Comrades, we must stand upon honour with Gil Blas. I haveno bad opininion of our young candidate ; we shall make something of him. If you will take my advice, let him go and reap his first harvest with us to-morrow on the king’s highway. We will lead him on in the path of honour. The robbers applauded the sentiments of the captain with a thunder of acclamation ; and to show me how much I was considered as one of the gang, from that moment they dispensed with my attendance at the side- board. Dame Leonarda was reinstated in the office from which she had been discharged to make room for me. They made me change my dress, which consisted in a plain short cossack a good deal the worse for wear, and tricked me out in the spoils of a gentleman lately robbed. After this inauguration, I made my arrangements for my first campaign.
Cu. VIII.—Gi Blas goes out with the gang, and performs an exploit on the highway.
Ir was past midnight in the month of September, when I issued from the sub- terraneous abode as one of the fraternity. I was armed, like them, witha . carabine, two pistols, a sword, and a bayonet, and was mounted on a very good horse, the Bropesty of the gentleman in whose costume I appeared. I had lived so long like a mole under-ground, that the daybreak could not fail of dazzling me: but my eyes got reconciled to it by degrees,
We passed close by Pontferrada, and were determined to lie in ambush be- hind a small wood skirting the road to Leon. There we were waiting for whatever fortune might please to throw in our way, when we espied a Domini- can friar, mounted, contrary to the rubric of those pious fathers, on a shabby mule. God be praised, exclaimed the captain with a sneer, this is a noble be- ginning for Gil Blas. Let him go and trounce that monk: we will bear witness to his qualifications. The connoisseurs were all of opinion that this commission suited my talents to a hair, and exhorted me to do my best. Gentlemen, quoth I, you shall have no reason to complain. I will strip this holy father to his birth-day suit, and give you complete right and title to his mule. No, no, said Rolando, the beast would not be worth its fodder: only bring us our reverend pastor’s purse ; that is all we require. Hereupon I issued from the wood and pushed up to the man of God, doing penance all the time in my own breast for the sin I was committing. I could have liked to have turned my back upon my fellows at that moment; but most of them had the advantage of better horses than mine: had they seen me making off, they would have been at my heels, and would soon have caught me, or perhaps would have fired a volley, for which I was not sufficiently case-hardened. I could not therefore venture on so perilous an alternative ; so that claiming acquaintance with the reverend father, I asked to look at his purse, and just put out the end of a pistol. He stopped short to gaze upon me; and, without seeming much frightened, said, My child, you are very young; this is an early apprenticeship to a bad trade. Father, replied I, bad as it is, I wish I had begun it sooner. What! my son, rejoined the good friar, who did not understand the real meaning of what I said, how say you? What blindness! give me leave to place before your eyes the unhappy condition. Come, come, father! interrupted I, with impatience, a truce to your morality, if you please. My business on the high road is not to
AN EXPLOIT ON THE HIGHWAY. t7
hear sermons. Money makes my mare to go. Money! said he, with a look of surprise ; you have a poor opinion of Spanish charity, if you think that people of my stamp have any occasion for such trash upon their travels. Let me un- deceive you. Weare made welcome wherever we go, and pay for our board and lodgings by our prayers. In short, we carry no cash with us on the road ; but draw drafts upon Providence. That is all very well, replied I; yet for fear your drafts should be dishonoured, you take care to keep about you a little supply for present need. But come, father, let us make an end: my comrades in the wood are in a hurry ; so your money or your life. At these words, which I pronounced with a determined air, the friar began to think the business grew serious. Since needs must, said he, there is wherewithal to satisfy your craving. A word and a blow is the only rhetoric with you gentlemen. As he said this, he drew a large leathern purse from under his gown, and threw it on the ground, I then told him he might make the best of his way: and he did not wait for a second bidding, but stuck his heels into the mule, which, giving the lie to my opinion, for I thought it on a par with my uncle’s, set off at a good round pace. While he was riding for his life, I dismounted. The purse was none of the lightest. I mounted again, and got back to the wood, where those nice. observers were waiting with impatience to congratulate me on my success. I could hardly get my foot out of the stirrup, so eager were they to shake hands with me. Courage, Gil Blas, said Rolando ; you have done wonders. I have had my eyes on you during your whole performance, and have watched your countenance. I have no hesitation in predicting that you will become in time a very accomplished highwayman. ‘The lieutenant and the rest chimed in with the prophecy, and assured me that I could not fail of fulfilling it hereafter. I thanked them for the elevated idea they had formed of my talents, and pro- mised to do all in my power not to discredit their penetration.
After they had lavished praises, the effect rather of their candour than of my merit, they took it into their heads to examine the booty I had brought under my convoy. Let us see, said they, let us see how a friar’s purse is lined. It should be fat and flourishing, continued one of them, for these good fathers do not mortify the flesh when they travel. The captain untied the purse, opened it, and took out two or three handfuls of little copper coins, an Agnus-Dei here and there, and some scapularies. At sight of so novel a prize, all the privates burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. God be praised! cried the lieutenant, we are very much obliged to Gil Blas: his first attack has produced a supply, very seasonable to our fraternity. One joke brought on another. These rascals, especially the fellow who had retired from the church to our subterraneous her- mitage, began to make themselves merry on the subject. They said a thousand good things, such as showed at once the sharpness of their wits and the profli- gacy of their morals, They were all on the broad grin except myself. It was impossible to be butt and marksman too. They each of them shot their bolt at me, and the captain said: Faith, Gil Blas, I would advise you as a friend not to set your wit a second time against the church : the biter may be bit ; for you must live some time longer among us, before you are a match for them.
Cu. IX.—A more serious incident.
WE lounged about the wood for the greater part of the day, without lighting on any traveller to pay toll for the friar. At length we were beginning to wear our homeward way, as if confining the feats of the day to this laughable ad- venture, which furnished a plentiful fund of conversation, when we got intelli- ry of a gay % on the road drawn by four mules. They were coming at a
d gallop, with three outriders, who seemed to be well armed. Rolando
eo
18 GIL BLAS.
ie
Se
ordered the troop to halt, and hold a council, the result of whose deliberations was to attack the enemy. We were regularly drawn up in battle-array, and marched to meet the caravan. In spite of the applause I had gained in the wood, I felt an oozing sort of tremour come over me, with a chill in my veins and a chattering in my teeth that seemed to bode me no good. As it never rains but it pours, I was in the front of the battle, hemmed in between the cap- tain and the lieutenant, who had given me that post of honour, that I might lose no time in learning to stand fire. Rolando, observing the low ebb of my animal spirits, looked askew at me, and muttered in a tone more resolute than courtly: Hark ye! Gil Blas, look sharp about you! I give you fair notice, that if you play the recreant, I shall bodes a couple of bullets in your brain. I believed him as firmly as my catechism, and thought it high time not to neglect the hint ; so that I was obliged to lay an embargo on the expression of my fears, and to think only of recommending my soul to God in silence.
While all this was going on, the carriage and horsemen drew near. They suspected what sort of gentry we were ; and guessing our trade by our badge, stopped within gun-shot. They had carabines and pistols as well as ourselves. While they were preparing to give us a brisk Hani ee there jumped out of the coach a well-looking gentleman richly dressed. e mounted a led horse, and put himself at the head of his party. Though they were but four against nine, for the coachman kept his seat on the box, they advanced towards us with a confidence calculated to redouble my terror. Yet I did not forget, though trembling in every joint, to hold myself in readiness for a shot : but, to give a candid relation of the affair, I blinked and looked the other way in letting off my piece ; so that from the harmlessness of my fire, I was sure not ‘to have murder to answer for in another world.
I shall not give the particulars of the engagement ; though present, I was no eye-witness ; and my fear, while it laid hold of my imagination, drew a veil over the anticipated horror of the sight. All I know about the matter is, that after a grand discharge of musquetry, I heard my companions hallooing Victory! Victory ! as if their lungs were made of leather. At this shout the terror which had made a forcible entry on my senses was ejected, and I beheld the four horse- men stretched lifeless on the field of battle. On our side, we had only one man
killed. This was the renegade parson, who had now filled the measure of his apostasy, and paid for jesting with scapularies and such sacred things. The lieutenant received a slight wound in the arm ; but the bullet did little more than graze the skin, ies
Master Rolando was the first at the coach-door, Within was a lady of from four to five-and-twenty, beautiful as an angel in his eyes, in spite of her sad con- dition. She had fainted during the conflict, and her swoon still continued. While he was fixed like a statue on her charms, the rest of us were in profound meditation on the plunder. We began by securing the horses of the defunct ; for these animals, frightened at the report of our pieces, had got to a little dis- tance, after the loss of their riders. For the mules, they had not wagged a hair, though the coachman had jumped from his box during the engagement to make his escape. We dismounted for the purpose of unharnessing and loading them with some trunks tied before and behind the carriage, This settled, the captain ordered the lady, who had not yet recovered her faculties, to be set on horseback before the best mounted of the robbers ; then, leaving the carriage and the uncased carcases by the road-side, we carried off with us the lady, the mules, and the horses.
al?
¢
THE ROBBERS) TREATMENT OF THE LADY. 19
Cu. X.—TZhe ladys treatment from the robbers. The event of the great design, conceived by Gil Blas.
THE night had another hour to run when we arrived at our subterraneous man- sion. ‘The first thing we did was to lead our cavalry to the stable, where we were obliged to groom them ourselves, as the old negro had been confined to his bed for three days, with a violent fit of the gout, and an universal rheumatism. He had no member supple but his tongue ; and that he employed in testifying his indignation by the most horrible impieties. Leaving this wretch to curse and swear by himself, we went to the kitchen to look after the lady. So suc- cessful were our attentions, that we succeeded in recovering her from her fit. But when she had once more the use of her senses, and saw herself encompassed by strangers, she knew the extent of her misfortune, and shuddered at the thought. All that grief and despair together could present, of images the most distressing, appeared depicted in her eyes, which she lifted up to heaven, as if in reproach for the indignities she was threatened with. Then, giving way at once to these dreadful apprehensions, she fell again into a swoon, her eyelids closed once more, and the robbers thought that death was going to snatch from them their prey. The captain, therefore, judging it more to the purpose to leave her to herself than to torment her with any more of their assistance, ordered her to be laid on Leonarda’s bed, and at all events to let nature take its course,
We went into the hall, where one of the robbers, who had been bred a sur- geon, looked at the lieutenant’s arm and put a plaistertoit. After this scientific operation, it was thought expedient to examine the baggage. Some of the trunks were filled with laces and linen, others with various articles of wearing apparel ; but the last contained some bags of coin ; a circumstance highly ap- proved by the receivers-general of the estate. After this investigation, the cook set out the side-board, laid the cloth, and served up supper. Our conversation ran first on the great victory we had achieved. On this subject said Rolando, directing himself to me, Confess the truth, Gil Blas : you cannot deny that you were devilishly frightened. I candidly admitted the fact ; but promised to fight like a crusader after my second or third campaign. Hereupon all the company took my part, alleging the sharpness of the action in my excuse, and that it was very well for a novice, not yet accustomed to the smell of powder.
We next talked of the mules and horses just added to our subterraneous stud, It was determined to set off the next morning before day-break, and sell them at Mansilla, before there was any chance of our expedition having got wind. This resolution taken, we finished our supper, and returned to the kitchen to pay our respects to the lady. We found her in the same condition. Neverthe- less, though the dregs of life seemed almost exhausted, some of these poachers could not help casting a wicked leer at her, and giving visible signs of a motion within them, which would have broken out into overt act, had not Rolando put a spoke in their wheel by representing that they ought at least to wait till the lady had got rid of her terrors and squeamishness, and could come in for her share of the amusement. Their respect for the captain operated as a check to the incontinence of their passions. Nothing else could have saved the lady ; nor would death itself probably have secured her from violation.
Again therefore did we leave this unhappy female to her melancholy fate. Rolando contented himself with charging Leonarda to take care of her, and we all separated for the night. For my part, when I went to bed, instead ot courting sleep, my thoughts were wholly taken up with the lady’s misfortunes. I had no doubt of her being a woman of quality, and thought her lot on that
account so much the more piteous. I could not paint to myself, without shud-
20 GIL BLAS.
dering, the horrors which awaited her ; and felt myself as sensibly affected by them, as if united to her by the ties of blood or friendship. At length, after having sufficiently bewailed her destiny, I mused on the means of preserving her honour from its present danger, and myself from a longer abode in this dungeon. I considered that the old negro could not stir, and recollected that since his illness the cook had the key of the grate. That thought warmed my fancy, and gave birth to a project not to be hazarded lightly: the stages of its execution were the following.
I pretended to have the colic. A lad in the colic cannot help whining and groaning ; but I went further, and cried out lustily, as loud as my lungs would let me. This roused my gentle friends, and brought them about me to know what the deuce was the matter. I informed them that I had a swinging fit of the gripes, and to humour the idea, gnashed my teeth, made all manner of wry faces till I looked like a bedlamite, and twisted my limbs as if I had been going to be delivered of a heathen oracle. Then I became calm all at once, as if my pains had abated. The next minute I flounced up and down upon my bed, and threw my arms about at random, In a word, I played my part so well that these more experienced performers, knowing as they were, suffered themselves to be thrown off their guard, and to believe that my malady was real. All at once did they busy themselves for my relief. One brought me a bottle of brandy, and forced me to gulp down half of it ; another, in spite of my remon- strances, applied oil of sweet almonds in a very offensive manner : a third went and madea napkin burning hot, to be clapped upon my stomach. In vain did I cry mercy ; they attributed my noise to the violence of my disorder, and went on inflicting positive evil by way of remedy for that which was artificial. At last, able to bear it no longer, I was obliged to swear that I was better, and entreat them to give me quarter. They left off killing me with kindness, and I took care not to complain any more, for fear of experiencing their tender attentions a second time.
This scene lasted nearly three hours. After which the robbers, calculating it to be near day-break, prepared for their journey to Mansilla. I was for get- ting up, as if I had set my heart on being of the party} but that they would not allow. No, no, Gil Blas, said Signor Rolando, stay here, my lad ; your colic may return. You shall go with us another time ; to-day you are not in travel- ling condition, I did not think it prudent to urge my attendance too much, for fear of being taken at my word ; but only affected great disappointment with so natural an air, that they all went off without the slightest misgiving of my design. After their departure, for which I had prayed most fervently, I said to myself : Nowis your time, Gil Blas, to be firm and resolved. Arm yourself with courage to go through with an enterprise so propitiously begun. Domingo istied ps a leg, and Leonarda may show her teeth, but she cannot bite. Pounce down upon opportunity while it offers ; you may wait long enough for another. Thus did I spirit myself up in soliloquy. Having got out of bed, I laid hold of my sword and pistols; and away I went to the kitchen. But before I made my appearance I stopped to hear what Leonarda was talking about to the fair incognita, who was come to her senses, and, on a view of her misfortune in its extremity, took on most desperately. That is right, my girl, said the old hag, cry your eyes out, sob away plentifully, you know the good effect of woman’s tears. The sudden shock was too much for you; but the danger is over now the engines can play. Your grief will abate by little and little, and you will — get reconciled to living with our gentlemen, who are very good sort of pecple. You will be better off than a princess, You do not know how fond they will be of you. Not a day will pass without your being obliged to some of them, Many a woman would give one of her eyes to be in your place,
GIL BLAS ESCAPES WITH THE LADY. 2t
I did not allow Leonarda time to go on any longer with this babbling. InI went, and putting a pistol to her breast, insisted with a menacing air on her delivering up the key of the grate. She did not know what to make of my behaviour ; and, though almost in the last stage of life, had such a propensity to linger on the road as not to venture on a refusal. With the key in my hand I directed the following speech to the distressed object of my compassion : Madam, Heaven sends you a deliverer in me ; follow, and I will see you safe whithersoever you wish to be conducted. ‘The lady was not deaf to my pro- posal, which made such an impression on her grateful heart that she jumped up with all the strength she had left, threw herself at my feet, and conjured me to save her honour. I raised her from the ground, and assured her she might rely on me. I then took some ropes which were opportunely in the kitchen, and with her assistance tied Leonarda to the legs of a large table, protesting that I would kill her if she only breathed a murmur. After that, lighting a candle, I went with the incognita to the treasury, where I filled my pockets with pistoles, single and double, as full as they could hold. To encourage the lady not to be scrupulous, I begged she would think herself at home, and make free with her own. With our finances thus recruited, we went towards the stable, where I marched in with my pistols cocked. I was of opinion that the old blackamoor, for all his gout and rheumatism, would not let me saddle and bri- dle my horse peaceably, and my resolution was to put a finishing hand to all his ailments if he took it into his head to play the churl: but, by good luck, he was at that moment in such pain that I stole the steed without his perceiving that the door was open. The lady in the mean time was waiting forme. Wewere not long in threading the passage leading to the outlet ; but reached the grate, opened it, and at last got tothe trap. Much ado there was to lift it, which we could not have done, but for the new strength we borrowed from the hopes of our escape.
Day was beginning to dawn when we emerged from that abyss. Our first object was to get as far from it as possible. I jumped into the saddle: the lady got up behind me, and taking the first path that offered, we soon gal- loped out of the forest. Coming to some cross-roads we took our chance. I trembled for fear of its leading to Mansilla, and our encountering Rolando and his comrades. Luckily my apprehensions were unfounded. We got to Astorga by two o’clock in the afternoon. The people looked at us as if they had never seen such a sight before as a woman riding behind aman. We alighted at the first inn. I immediately ordered a partridge and a young rabbit to the spit. While my orders were in a train of execution, the lady was shown to a room, where we began to scrape acquaintance with one another ; which we had not done on the road, on account of the speed we made. She expressed a high sense of my services, and told me that after so gentlemanly a conduct, she could not allow herself to think me one of the gang from whom I had rescued her. I told her my story to confirm her good opinion. By these means I entitled myself to her confidence, and to the knowledge of her misfortunes, which she recounted to the following effect.
Cu. X1.—The history of Donna Mencia de Mosquera.
I was born at Valladolid, and am called Donna Mencia de Mosquera... My father, Don Martin, after spending most of his family estate in the service, was killed in Portugal at the head of his regiment. He left me so little property, that I was a bad match, though an only daughter. I was not, however, without my admirers, notwithstanding the mediocrity of my fortune. Several of the most considerable cavaliers in Spain sought me in marriage. My favourite was Don Alvar de Mello. Itis true he hada prettier person than his rivals ; but
22 GIL BLAS.
more solid qualities determined mein his favour. He had wit, discretion, valour, _ probity ; and in addition to all these, an air of fashion. Was an entertainment to be given? His taste was sure to be displayed. If he appeared in the lists, he always fixed the eyes of the beholders on his strength and dexterity. I singled him out from among all the rest, and married him.
A few days after our nuptials, he met Don Andrew de Baésa, who had been his rival, ina private place, ‘They attacked one another sword in hand, and Don Andrew fell. As he was nephew to the corregidor of Valladolid, a tur- bulent man, violently incensed against the house of Mello, Don Alvar thought he could not soon enough make his escape. He returned home speedily, and told me what had happened while his horse was getting ready. My dear Mencia, said he at length, we must part. You know the corregidor : let us not flatter ourselves ; he will hunt me even to death. You are unacquainted with his influence ; this empire will be too hot to hold me. He was so pene- trated by his own grief and mine as not to be able to articulate further. I made him take some cash and jewels: then he folded me in his arms, and we did nothing but mingle our sighs and tears for a quarter of an hour. Ina short time the horse was at the door. _ He tore himself from me, and left me in a con- dition not easily to be expressed. It had been well if the excess of my affliction had destroyed me! How much pain and trouble might I have escaped by death ! Some hours after Don Alvar was gone, the corregidor became acquainted with his flight. He set up a hue and cry after him, sparing no pains to get him into his power. My husband, however, eluded his pursuit, and got into safe quarters ; so that the judge, finding himself reduced to confine his vengeance to the poor satisfaction of confiscating, where he meant to execute, laboured to good pur- pose in his vocation. Don Alvar’s little property all went to the hammer.
I remained in a very comfortless situation, with scarcely the means of sub- sistence. A retired life was best suited to my circumstances, with a single female servant. I passed my hours in lamenting, not an indigence, which I bore pa- tiently, but the absence of a beloved husband, of whom I received no accounts. He had indeed pledged himself, in the melancholy moments of our parting, to be punctual in acquainting me with his destiny, to whatever part of the world his evil star might conduct him. And yet seven years rolled on without my hearing of him. My suspense respecting his fate afflicted me most deeply* At last I heard of his falling in battle, under the Portuguese banner, in the king- dom of Fez. A man newly returned from Africa brought me the account, wi the assurance that he had been well acquainted with Don Alvar de Mello; had . served with him in the army, and had seen him drop in the action. To this narrative of facts he added several collateral circumstances, which left me no room to doubt of my husband’s premature death.
About this time Don Ambrosio Mesia Carillo, Marquis de la Guardia, ar- rived at Valladolid. He was one of those elderly noblemen who, with that good breeding acquired by long experience in courts, throw their years into the background, and retain the faculty of making themselves agreeable to our sex. One day he happened by accident to hear the story of Don Alvar; and, from the part I bore in it and the description of my person, there arose a desire of being better acquainted. To satisfy his curiosity, he made interest with one of my relations to invite me to her house. The gentleman was one of the party. This first interview made not the less impression on his heart for the traces of sorrow which were too obvious on my countenance. He was touched by its melancholy and languishing expression, which gave him a favourable forecast of my constancy. Respect, rather than any warmer sentiment, might perhaps be the inspirer of his wishes. For he told me more than once what a miracle of good faith he considered me, and my husband’s fate as enviable in this respect,
THE LADY'S HISTORY. 23
however lamentable in others. In a word, he was struck with me at first sight, and did not wait for a review of my pretensions, but at once took the resolution of making me his wife.
The intervention of my kinswoman was adopted as the means of inducing me to accept his proposal. She paid mea visit ; and in the course of conversation,
leaded, that as my husband had submitted to the decree of Providence in the inecican of Fez, according to very credible accounts, it was no longer rational to coop up my charms. I had shed tears enough over a man to whom I had been united but for a few moments as it were, and I ought to avail myself of the present offer, and had nothing to do but to step into happiness at once. In furtherance of these arguments, she set forth the old marquis’s pedigree, his wealth, and high character: but in vain did her eloquence expatiate on his en- dowments, for I was not to be moved. Not that my mind misgave me respect- ing Don Alvar’s death ; nor that the apprehension of his sudden and unwelcome appearance hereafter, checked my inclinations. My little liking, or rather my extreme repugnance, to a second marriage, after the sad issue of the first, was the sole obstacle opposed to my relation’s urgency. Neither was she disheartened : on the contrary, her zeal for Don Ambrosio resorted to endless stratagems. All my family were pressed into the old lord’s service. So beneficial a match was not to be trifled with! They were eternally besetting, dunning, and torment- ingme. In fact, my despondency, which increased from day to day, contributed not a little to my yielding.
As there was no getting rid of him, I gave way to their eager suit, and was wedded to the Marquis de la Guardia. The day after the nuptials, we went to a very fine castle of his near Burgos, between Grajal and Rodillas. He con- ceived a violent love for me: the desire of pleasing was visible in all his actions : the anticipation of my slenderest wishes was his earliest and his latest study. No husband ever regarded his wife more tenderly, no lover could pour forth more devotion to his mistress. Nor would it have been possible for me to steel my heart against a return of passion, though our ages were so disproportioned, had not every soft sentiment been buried in Don Alvar’s grave. But the avenues of a constant heart are barred against asecond inmate. The memory of my first husband threw a damp on all the kind efforts of the second. Mere gratitude was‘a cold retribution for such tenderness ; but it was all I had to give.
Such was my temper of mind, when, taking the air one day at a window in my apartment, I perceived a peasant-looking man in the garden, viewing me with fixed attention. Heappeared to bea common labourer. The circumstance soon passed out of my thoughts ; but the next day, having again taken my sta- tion at the window, I saw him on the self-same spot, and again found myself the object of his eager gaze. This seemed strange! I looked at him in my turn ; and, after an attentive scrutiny, thought I could trace the features of the unhappy Don Alvar. This seeming visit from the tombs roused all the dormant agony of my soul, and extorted from mea piercing scream. Happily, I was then alone with Inés, who of all my women engaged the largest share of my confidence. J told her what surmise had so agitated my spirits. She only laughed at the idea, and took it for granted that a slight resemblance had imposed on my fancy. Take courage, madam, said she, and do not be afraid of seeing your first husband. What likelihood is there of his being here in the disguise of a peasant? Is it even within the reach of credibility that he is yet alive? However, I will go down into the garden, and talk with this rustic. I will answer for finding out who he is, and will return in all possible haste with my intelligence. Inés ran on her errand like a lapwing ; but soon returned to my ae ge with a face of mingled astonishment and emotion, Madam, ex-
imed she, your conjecture is but too well grounded ; it is indeed Don Alvar
24 GIL BLAS.
whom you have seen ; he made himself known at once, and pleads for a private interview.
As I had the means of admitting Don Alvar instantaneously, by the absence of the Marquis at Burgos, I commissioned my waiting-maid to introduce him into my closet by a private staircase. Well may you imagine the hurry and agitation of my spirits. How could I support the presence of a man, who was entitled to overwhelm me with reproaches? I fainted at his very foot-fall as he entered. They were about me in a moment—he as well as Inés ; and when they had recovered me from my swoon, Don Alvar said—-Madam, for heaven’s sake, compose yourself. My presence shall never be the cause of pain to you ; nor would I for the world expose you to the slightest anxiety. I am no savage husband, come to ‘account with you fora sacred pledge ; nor do I impute to criminal motives the second contract you have formed. I am well aware that it was owing to the importunity of your friends ; your persecutions from that quarter are not unknown to me. Besides, the report of my death was current in Valladolid ; and you had so much the more reason to give it credit, as no letter from me gave you any assurance to the contrary. In short, Iam no stranger to your habits of life since our cruel separation ; and know that ne- cessity, not lightness of heart, has thrown you into the arms...... Ah! sir, inter- rupted I with sobs, why will you make excuses for your unworthy wife? She is guilty, since you survive. Why am I not still in the forlorn state in which I languished before my marriage with Don Ambrosio? Fatal nuptials !—alas ! but for these, I should at least have had the consolation in my wretchedness of seeing the object of my first vows again without a blush.
My dear Mencia, replied Don Alvar, with a look which marked how deeply he was penetrated by my contrition, I make no complaint of you ; and far from upbraiding you with your present prosperity, as heaven is my witness, I return it thanks for the favours it has showered on you. Since the sad day of my departure from Valladolid, my own fate has ever been adverse. My life has been but a tissue of misfortune ; and, as a surcharge of evil destiny, I had no means of letting you hear from me. ‘Too secure in your affection, I could neither think nor dream but of the condition to which my fatal love might have reduced you. Donna Mencia in tears was the lovely, but killing spectre that haunted me; of all my miseries, your dear idea was the most acute. Some- times, I own, I felt remorse for the transporting crime of having pleased you. I wished you had lent an ear to the suit of some happier rival, since the prefer- ence with which you had honoured me was to fall so cruelly on your own head. To cut short my melancholy tale—after seven years of suffering, more enamoured than ever, I determined to see you once again. The bial e was not to be resisted ; and the expiration of a long slavery having furnished me with the power of giving way to it, I have been at Valladolid under this disguise at the hazard of a discovery. ‘There, I learned the whole story. I then came to this castle, and found the means of admission into the gardener’s service, who has engaged me as a labourer. Such was my stratagem to obtain this private inter- view. But do not suppose me capable of blasting, by my continuance here, the happiness of your future days. I love you better than my own life ; I have no consideration but for your repose ; and it is my purpose, after thus unbur- dening my heart, to finish in exile the sacrifice of an existence which has lost its value since no longer to be devoted to your service.
No, Don Alvar, no, exclaimed I at these words ; you shall never quit me a second time. I will be the companion of your wanderings; and death only shall divide us from this hour. Take my advice, replied he, live with Don Ambrosio ; unite mot yourself with my miseries, but leave me to stand under their undivided weight. These and other such entreaties he used; but the
#
A DISAGREEABLE INTERRUPTION. 25
more willing he seemed to sacrifice himself to my welfare, the less did I feel disposed to take advantage of his generosity. When he saw me resolute in my determination to follow him, he all at once changed his tone ; and assuming an aspect of more satisfaction, Madam, said he, since you still love Don Alvar well enough to prefer adversity with him before your present ease and afflu- ence, let us then take up our abode at Bétancos, in the interior of Galicia. There I have a safe retreat. Though my misfortunes may have stripped me of all my effects, they have not alienated all my friends ; some are yet faithful, and have furnished me with the means of carrying you off. With their help I have hired a carriage at Zamora; have bought mules and horses, and am accompanied by perhaps the three boldest of the Galicians. They are armed with carabines and pistols, waiting my orders at the village of Rodillas. Let us avail ourselves of Don Ambrosio’s absence. I will send the carriage to the castle gate, and we will set out without loss of time. I consented. Don Alvar flew towards Rodillas, and shortly returned with his escort. My women, from the midst of whom I was carried off, not knowing what to think of this violent
roceeding, made their escape in great terror. Inés only was in the secret ; but she would not link her fate with mine, on account of a love affair with Don Ambrosio’s favourite man.
I got into the carriage, therefore, with Don Alvar, taking nothing with me but my clothes and some jewels of my own before my second marriage ; for I could not think of appropriating any presents of the Marquis. We travelled in the direction of Galicia, without knowing if we should be lucky enough to reach it. "We had reason to fear Don Ambrosio’s pursuit on his return, and that we should be overtaken by superior numbers. We went forward for two days without any alarm, and in the hope of being equally fortunate the third, had got into a very quiet conversation. Don Alvar was relating the melan- choly adventure which had occasioned the rumour of his death, and how he recovered his freedom, after five years of slavery, when yesterday we met upon. the Leon road the banditti you were with. He it was whom they killed with all his attendants, and it is for him the tears flow, which you see me shedding at this moment.
Cu. XIL—A disagreeable interruption.
DONNA MENCIA melted into tears as she finished this recital, I allowed her to give a free passage to her sighs ; I even wept myself for company, so natural is it to © interested for the afflicted, and especially for a lovely female in distress.§ I was just going to ask her what she meant to do in the present con- juncture, and possibly she was going to consult me on the same subject if our conversation had not been interrupted ; but we heard a great noise in the inn, which drew our attention whether we would or no. It was no less than the arrival of the corregidor, attended by two alguazils and their marshalmen. They came into the room where we were. A young gentleman in their train came first up to me, and began taking to pieces the different articles of my dress. He had no occasion to examine them long. By Saint James, exclaimed. he, this is my identical doublet! It is the very. thing, and as safely to be chal- lenged as my horse. You may commit this spark on my recognizance ; he is one of the gang who have an undiscovered retreat in this country.
At this discourse, which gave me to understand my accuser to be the gentle- man robbed, whose spoils to my confusion were exclusively my own, I was without a word to say for myself, looking one way and the other, and not knowing where to fix my eyes. The corregidor, whose office was suspicion, set me down for the culprit; and, presuming on the lady for an accomplice,
26 3 GIL BLAS.
ordered us into separate custody. This magistrate was none of your stern gal- lows-preaching fellows, he had a jocular epigrammatic sort of countenance. G nows if his heart lay in the right place for all that! As soon as I was committed, in came he with his pack. They knew their trade, and began by searching me. What a forfeit to these lords of the manor! At every handful of pistoles, what little eyes did I see them make! The corregidor was absolutely out of his wits! It was the best stroke within the memory of justice! My pretty lad, said his Worship with a softened tone, we only do our duty, but do not you tremble for your bones before the time: you will not be broken on the wheel if you do not deserve it. These blood-suckers were emptying my pockets all the time with their cursed palaver, and took from me what their betters of the shades below had the decency to leave—my uncle’s forty ducats. They stuck at nothing! Their staunch fingers, with slow but certain scent, routed me out from top to toe; they whisked me round and round, and stripped me even to the shame of modesty, for fear some sneaking portrait of the king should slink between my shirt and skin. When they could sift me no further, the corregidor thought it time to begin his examination. I told a plain tale. My deposition was taken down; and the sequel was, that he carried in his train his bloodhounds, and my little property, leaving me to toss without a rag upon a beggarly wisp of straw.
Oh the miseries of human life! groaned I, when I found myself in this mer- ciless and solitary condition. Our adventures here are whimsical, and out of all time and tune. From my first outset from Oviedo, I had got into a pleas- ant round of difficulties; hardly had I worked myself out of one danger, before I soused into another. Coming into town here, how could I expect the honour of the corregidor’s acquaintance? While thus communing with my own thoughts, I got once more into the cursed doublet and the rest of the paraphernalia which had got me into such a scrape; then plucking up a little courage, never mind, Gil Blas, thought I, do not be chicken-hearted. What is a prison above-ground, after so brimstone a snuffle as thou hast had of the regions below? But, alas! I hallo before I am out of the wood! I am in more experienced hands than those of Leonarda and Domingo. My key will not open this grate! I might well say so, for a prisoner without money is like a bird with its wings clipt ; one must be in full feather to flutter out of distance from these gaol-birds.
But we left a partridge and a young rabbit on the spit! How they got off I know not; but my supper was a bit of sallow-complexioned bread, with a pitcher of water to render it amenable to mastication! and thus wasI destined to bite the bridle in my dungeon. A fortnight was pretty well without seeing a soul but my keeper, who had orders that I should want for nothing in the bread and water way! Whenever he made his appearance I was inclined to be sociable, and to parley a little to get rid of the blue devils ; but this majestic minister was above reply, he was mum ! he scarcely trusted his eyes but to see that I did not slip by him. On the sixteenth day, the corregidor strutted in to this tune—You are a lucky fellow! Ihave news for you. ‘The ladyis packed off for Burgos. She came under my examination before her departure, and her answers went to your exculpation. You will be at large this very day if your . Carrier from Pegnaflor to Cacabelos agrees in the same tale. He is now in Astorga. I have sent for him, and expect him here; if he confirms the story, of the torture, you are your own master.
At these words I was ready to jump out of my skin for joy. The business was settled! I thanked the magistrate for the abridgment of justice with which he had deigned to favour me, and was getting to the fag end of my compliment, when the muleteer arrived, with an attendant before and behind, I knew
GIL BLAS RELEASED FROM PRISON. 27
the fellow’s face; but he, having as a matter of course sold my cloak-bag with the contents, from a deep-rooted affection to the money which the sale had brought, swore lustily that he had no acquaintance with me, and had never seen me in the whole course of his life. Oh! you villain, exclaimed I, go down on your knees and own that you have sold my clothes. Prythee, have some regard to truth! Look in my face ; am not I one of those shallow young fellows whom you had the wit to threaten with the rack in the corporate town of Cacabelos ? The muleteer turned upon his toe, and protested he had not the honour of my acquaintance. As he persisted in his disavowal, I was recommitted for further examination. Patience once more! It was only reducing feasts and fasts to the level of bread and water, and regaling the only sense I had the means of using with the sight of my tongue-tied warden. But when I reflected how little innocence would avail to extricate me from the clutches of the law, the thought was death ; I panted for my subterraneous paradise. Take it for all in all, said I, there were fewer grievances than in this dungeon. I was hail fellow well met with the banditti! I bandied about my jokes with the best of them, and lived on the sweet hope of an escape; whereas my innocence here will only be a passport to the galleys.
Cu. XIIL—T%e lucky means by which Gil Blas escaped from prison, and his travels afterwards.
WHILE I passed the hours in tickling my fancy with my own gay thoughts, my adventures, word for word, as I had set my hand to them, were current about the town. The people wanted to make a show of me! One after another, there they came, peeping in at a little window of my prison, not too capacious of daylight ; and when they had looked about them, off they went ! This raree- show was a novelty. Since my commitment, there had not been a living creature at that window, which looked into a court where silence and horror kept guard. This gave me to understand that I was become the town-talk, and I knew not whether to divine good or evil from the omen.
One of my first visitors was the little chorister of Mondognedo, who had a fellow-feeling with me for the rack, and an equally light pair of heels. I knew him at once, and he had no qualms about acknowledging me as an acquaint- ance. We exchanged a kind greeting, then compared notes since our separa- tion. I was obliged to relate my adventures in due form and order. The chorister, on his part, told me what had happened in the inn at Cacabelos, between the muleteer and the bride, after we had taken to our heels in a panic. Then with a friendly assurance at parting, he promised to leave no stone un- turned for my release. His companions of mere curiosity testified their pity for my misfortune; assuring me that they would lend a helping hand to the little chorister, and do their utmost to procure my freedom.
They were no worse than their word. The corregidor was applied to in my favour, who, no longer doubtful of my innocence, above all when he had heard the chorister’s story, came three weeks afterwards into my cell. Gil Blas, said he, I never stand shilly-shally : begone, you are free ; you may take yourself off whenever you please. But, tell me, if you were carried to the forest, could you not discover the subterraneous retreat? No, sir, replied I: as I only entered in the night, and made my escape before day-break, it would be impossible to fix upon the spot. Thereupon the magistrate withdrew, assuring me that the oe should be ordered to give me free egress. In fact, the very next moment
e turnkey came into my dungeon, followed by one of his outriding establish- ment, with a bundle of clothes under his arm. They both of them stripped me with the utmost solemnity, and without uttering a single syllable, of my doublet ©
28 GIL BLAS.
and breeches, which had the honour to be made of a bettermost cloth almost new ; then, having rigged me in an old frock, they shoved me out of their hospitable mansion by the shoulders.
The taking I was in to see myself so ill equipped, acted as a cooler to the usual transport of prisoners at recovering their liberty. I was tempted to escape from the town without delay, that I might withdraw from the gaze of the peo- ple, whose prying eyes I could not encounter but with pain. My gratitude, however, got the better of my diffidence. I went to thank the little chorister, to whom I was so much obliged. He could not help chuckling when he saw me. ‘That is your trim, is it? said he. As far as I see, you cannot complain that your case has not been sifted to the bottom. I have nothing to say against the laws of my country, replied I; they are as just as need be. I only wish their officers would take after them! They might have spared me my suit of clothes: I have paid for them over and over again. I am quite of your mind, rejoined he ; but they would tell you that these are little formalities of old standing, which cannot be dispensed with. What! you are foolish enough to suppose, for instance, that your horse has been restored to its right owner? Not a word of it, if you please: the beast is at this present in the stables of the register, where it has been impounded as a witness to be brought into court : if the poor gentleman comes off with the crupper, he will be so much in pocket. But let us change the subject. What is your plan? What do you mean to do with yourself? I have an inclination, said I, to take the road for Burgos. I may light on my rescued lady; she will give me a little ready cash: I shall then buy a new short cassock, and betake myself to Salamanca, where I shall see what I can make of my Latin. All my trouble is, how to get to Burgos: one must live on the road. I understand you, replied he. Take my purse: it is rather thinly lined, to be sure ; but you know a chorister’s dividends are not like a bishop’s. At the same time he drew it from his pouch, and inserted it between my hands with so good a grace, that I could not do otherwise than accept it, for want of a better. I thanked him as though he had made me a present of a gold mine, and tendered him a thousand promises of recom- pense, to be duly honoured and punctually paid at doom’s-day. With this I left him, and skulked ont of the town, not paying my respects to my other benefactors ; but giving them a thousand blessings from my heart.
The little chorister had reason for speaking modestly of his purse, it was not orthodox. By good luck, I had been used for these two months to a very slender diet, and had still a little small change left when I reached Ponte de Mula, not far from Burgos. I halted there to inquire after Donna Mencia. The hostess of the inn I put up at was a little withered, spiteful, emaciated bit of mortality. I saw at a glance, by the mouths she made at me aside, that my frock did not hit her fancy ; and I thought it a proof of hertaste. SoTI sat zoel down at a table ; ate bread and cheese, and drank a few glasses of exe- crable “wine, such as innkeepers technically call cassecoquin. ing this meal, which was of a piece with the outward appearance of the guest, I did my utmost to come to closer quarters with my landlady. Did she know the Mar- quis de la Guardia? Was his castle far out of town? Above all, what was become of my lady marchioness? You ask many questions in a breath, re- plied she, bridling with disdain. But I got out of her, though by hard pump- ing, that Don.Ambrosio’s castle was but a short league from Ponte de Mula,
After I had done eating and drinking, as it was night, I thought it natural to go to bed, and asked for my room. A room for you! shrieked my landlady, darting at me a glance of contempt and pride ; I have no rooms for fellows who make their supper on a bit of cheese. All my beds are bespoke. There are people of fashion expected, and our accommodations are all kept for them.
DONNA MENCIA’S RECEPTION OF HIM. 29
But I will not be unchristian: you may lie in my barn: I suppose your soft skin will not be incommoded by the feel of straw. She spoke truth without knowing it. I took it all in silence, and slunk to my roosting-place, where I fell asleep like a man, the excess of whose labours are his ready passport to the blessings of repose.
"Cu, XIV.—Donna Mencia’s reception of him at Burgos.
I was no sluggard, but got up the next morning betimes. I paid my bill to the landlady, who was already stirring, and seemed a little less lofty and in better humour than the evening before ; a circumstance I attributed to the en- deavours of three kind guardsmen belonging to the holy brotherhood. These gentlemen had slept in the inn: they were evidently on a very intimate footing with the hostess : and doubtless it was for guests of such note that all the beds were bespoke.
I inquired in the town my way to the castle where I wanted to present my- self. By accident I made up to a man not unlike my landlord at Pegnafior. He was not satisfied with answering my question to the point ; but informed me that Don Ambrosio had been dead three weeks, and the marchioness his lady had taken the resolution of retiring to a convent at Burgos, which he named, I proceeded immediately towards that town, instead of taking the road to the castle, as I had first meant to do, and flew at once to the place of Donna Mencia’s retreat. I besought the attendant at the turning-box to tell that lady that a young man just discharged from prison at Astorga wanted to speak with her. The nun went on the message immediately. On her return, she showed me into a parlour, where I did not wait long before Don Ambro- sio’s widow appeared at the grate in deep mourning.
You are welcome, said the lady. Four days ago I wrote to a person at Astorga, to pay you a visit as from me, and to tell you to come and see me the moment you were released from prison. I had no doubt of your being dis- charged shortly : what I told the corregidor in your exculpation was enough for that. An answer was brought that you had been set at liberty, but that no one knew what was become of you. I was afraid of not seeing you any more, and losing the pleasure of expressing my gratitude. Never mind, added she, observing my confusion at shake my appearance in so wretched a garb; your dress is of very little consequence. After the important services you have ren- dered me, I should be the most ungrateful of my sex, if I were to do nothing for you in return, I undertake, therefore, to better your condition : it is my duty, and the means are in my power. My fortune is large enough to pay my debt of obligation to you, without putting myself to inconvenience.
You know, continued she, my story up to the time when we both were com- mitted to prison. I will now tell you what has happened to me since. When the corregidor at Astorga had sent me to Burgos, after having heard from my own lips a faithful recital of my adventures, I presented myself at the castle of Ambrosio. My return thither excited extreme surprise : but they told me that it was too late ; the marquis, as if he had been thunderstruck at my flight, fell sick ; and the physicians despaired of his recovery. Here was a new incident in the melancholy tragedy of my fate. Yet I ordered my arrival to be announced. The next moment I ran into his chamber, and threw myself on my knees by his bedside, with a face running down with tears and a heart oppressed with the most lively sorrow. Who sent for you hither? said he as soon as he saw me ; are you come to contemplate your own contrivance? Was it not enough to have deprived me of life? But was it necessary to satisfy your heart’s desire, to be an eye-witness of my death? My lord, replied I, Inés must have told
’
30 GIL BLAS.
you that I fled with my first husband ; and, had it not been for the sad accident which has taken him from me for ever, you never would have seen me more, At the same time, I acquainted him that Don Alvar had been killed by a ban- ditti, whose captive I had consequently been in a subterraneous dungeon. After relating the particulars of my story to the end, Don Ambrosio held out to me his hand. It is enough, said he affectionately, I will make no more complaints. Alas! Have I in fact any right to reproach you? You were thrown once more in the way of a beloved husband ; and gave me up to follow his fortunes: can I blame such an instance of your affection? No, madam, it would have been vain to resist the will of fate. For that reason I gave orders not to pursue you. In my rival himself I could not but respect the sacred rights with which he was invested, and even the impulse of your flight seemed to have been communicated by some superior power. To close all with an act of justice, and in the spirit of reconciliation, your return hither has re-established you completely in my affection. Yes, my dear Mencia, your presence fills me with joy: but, alas! I shall not long be sensible to it. I feel my last hour to be at hand. No sooner are you restored to me, than I must bid you an eternal farewell. At these touching expressions, my tears flowed in torrents. I felt and expressed as much affliction as the human heart is capable of con- taining. I question whether Don Alvar’s death, doting on him as I did, had cost me more bitter lamentations. Don Ambrosio had given way to no mis- taken presage of his death, which happened on the following day ; and I re- mained mistress of a considerable jointure, settled on me at our marriage. But I shall take care to make no unworthy use of it. The world shall not see me, young as I still am, wantoning in the arms of a third husband. Besides that such ‘levity seems irreconcileable with the feelings of any but the profligate of our sex, I will frankly own the relish of life to be extinct in me ; so that 1 mean to end my days in this convent, and to become a benefactress to it.
Such was Donna Mencia’s discourse about her future plans. She then drew a purse from beneath her robe, and put it into my hands, with this address : Here are a hundred ducats simply to furnish out your wardrobe. That done, come and see me again. I mean not to confine my gratitude within such nar- row bounds. I returned her a thousand thanks, and promised solemnly not to quit Burgos, without taking leave of her. Having given this pledge, which I had every inclination to redeem, I went tolook out for some house of entertain- ment. Entering the first I met with, I asked foraroom. To parry theill opinion my frock might convey of my finances, I told the landlord that, however appear- ances might be against me, I could pay for my night’s lodging as well as a better dressed gentleman. At this speech, the landlord, whose name was Ma- juelo, a great banterer in a coarse way, running over me with his eyes from 4 to toe, answered with a cool, sarcastic grin, that there was no need of any suc assurance ; it was evident I should pay my way liberally, for he discovered something of nobility through my disguise, and had no doubt but I was a gentle- man in very easy circumstances. I saw plainly that the rascal was laughing at me ; and, to stop his humour before it became too convulsive, gave him a little insight into the state of my purse. I went so far as to count over my ducats ona table before him, and perceived my coin to have inclined him to a more respectful judgment. I begged the favour of him to send for a tailor. A broker would be better, said he ; he will bring all sorts of apparel, and you will be dressed up out of hand. I approved of this advice, and determined to follow it ; but, as the day was on the point of closing, I put off my purchase till the morrow, and thought only of getting a good supper, to make amends for the miserable fare I had taken up with since my escape from the forest.
DRESSES HIMSELF TO MORE ADVANTAGE. 31
Cu. XV.—Gil Blas dresses himself to more advantage, and receives a second pre- sent from the lady. His equipage on setting out from Burgos.
THEY served me up a plentiful fricassee of sheep's trotters, almost the whole of which I demolished. My drinking kept pace with my eating: and when [ could stuff no longer, I went to bed. I lay comfortably enough, and was in hopes that a sound sleep would have the kindness without delay to commit a - friendly invasion on my senses. But I could not close an eye for ruminating on the dress I should choose. What shall I do, thought I? Shall I follow my first plan? Shall I buy a short cassock, and go to Salamanca to set up for a tutor? Why should I adopt the costume of a licentiate? For the purpose of going into orders? Do I feel an inward call? No? If I have any call, it is quite the contrary way. I had rather wear a sword than an apron: and push my fortune in this world, before I think of the next.
I made up my mind to take on myself the appearance ofa gentleman. Wait- ing for the day with the greatest impatience, its first dawn no sooner greeted my eyes, than I got up. I made such an uproar in the inn, as to wake the most inveterate sleeper, and called the servants out of bed, who returned my salute witha volley of curses. But they found themselves under a necessity of stirring, and I let them have no rest till they had sent fora broker. The gentleman soon made his appearance, followed by two lads, each lugging in a great bundle of green cloth. He accosted me very civilly, to the following effect : Honoured sir, you are a happy man to have been recommended to me rather than any one else. I do not mean to give my brethren an ill word : God forbid I should offer the slightest injury to their reputation! They have nonetospare. But, between ourselves, there is not one of them that has any bowels ; they are more extor- tionate than the Israelites. ‘There is not a broker but myself that has any moral sense. I keep within the bounds of a reasonable profit. Iam satisfied with a pound in the penny ;—no, no !—that is wrong :—with a penny in the pound. Thanks to heaven, I get forward fair and softly in the world.
The broker, after this preface, which I, likea fool, took for chapter and verse, told his journeymen to undo their bundles. They showed me suits of every colour in the rainbow, and exposed to salea great choice of plaincloths. These I threw aside with contempt, as thinking them too undrest ; but they made me try on one which fitted me as well as if I had been measured for it, and just hit my fancy, though it was a little the worse for wear. It was a doublet with slashed sleeves, with breeches and a cloak, the whole of blue velvet with a gold embroidery. I felt a little hankering after this particular article, and attempted to beat down the price. The broker, who saw my inclination, told me I had a very correct taste. By all that is sacred! exclaimed he, it is plain you are no younker. Take this with you! That dress was made for one of the first nobility in the kingdom, and has not been on his back three times. Look at the velvet ; feel it: nothing can be richer or of a better colour ; and for the embroidery, come now! tell truth: did you ever see better workmanship? What is the price of it? said I. Only sixty ducats, replied he. I have refused the money, or else lama liar. The alternative could not fail in one proposi- tion or the other. I bid five and forty: two or three and twenty would have been nearer the mark. My worthy master, said the broker coolly, I never ask too much. I have but one price. But here, added he, holding up the suits I had thrown aside ; take these: I can afford to sell them a better bargain. All this only inflamed my eagerness to buy what I was cheapening ; and as I had no idea that he would have made any abatement, I paid him down sixty ducats. When he saw how easily a fool and his money were parted, I verily believe that in spite of the moral sense, he heartily repented not having taken a hint from
32 \ GH BLAS.
the extortionate Israelite. But reconciling himself as well as he could to the small profit, to which he professed to confine himself, of a pound upona penny, he retreated with his journeymen. I was not suffered to forget that they must have something for their trouble.
I had now a cloak, a doublet, and a very decent pair of breeches. The rest of my wardrobe was to be thought of: and this took up the whole moming. I bought some linen, a hat, silk stockings, shoes, and a sword ; and concluded by putting on my purchases. What pleasure wasit to see myself so well accou- tered! My eyes were never cloyed, as it were, with the richness of my attire. Never did peacock look at his own plumage with less philosophy. On that very day, I paid a second visit to Donna Mencia, who received me with her usual affability. She thanked me over again for the service I had rendered her. On that subject, rapid was the interchange of compliments. Then, wishing every kind of success, she bade me farewell, and withdvers without giving me anything but a ring worth thirty pistoles, which she begged me to keep as a remembrance,
I looked very foolish with my ring ! I had reckoned on a much more consi- derable present. Thus, little satisfied with the lady’s bounty, I measured back my steps in a very musing attitude: but as I entered the inn door, a man over- took me, and throwing off his wrapping cloak, discovered a large bag under his arm. At the vision of the bag, apparently full of current coin, I stood gapin as did most of the company present. The voice of angel or archangel conl not have been sweeter, than when this messenger of earthly dross, laying the bag upon the table, said : Signor Gil Blas, the lady marchioness desires her compliments. I bowed the bearer out, with an accumulation of fine speeches ; and, as soon as his back was turned, pounced upon the bag, like a hawk upon its quarry, and bore it between my talons to my chamber. I untied it without loss of time, and the contents were ;—a thousand ducats! The landlord who had overheard the bearer, came in just as I had done counting them, to know what was in the bag. The sight of my riches displayed upon a table, struck him in a very forcible manner. What the devil! here is asum of money! So, so! you are the man! pursued he with a waggish sort of leer, you know how to—tickle the—fancies of the ladies! Four and twenty hours only have you been in Burgos, and marchionesses, I warrant you, have surrendered at the first summons !
This discourse was not so much amiss. I was half inclined to leave Majuelo in his error ; for it flattered my vanity. Ido not wonder young fellows are fond of passing for men of gallantry. But as yet the purity of my morals was proof against the suggestions of my pride. I undeceived my landlord, by telling him Donna Mencia’s story, to which he listened very attentively. Afterwards I let him into the state of my affairs ; and, as he seemed to take an interest in them, besought him to assist me with his advice. He ruminated for some time ; then said with a serious air: Master Gil Blas, I have taken a liking to you; and since you are candid enough to open your heart to me, I will tell you sincerely what I think would suit you best. You were evidently born for a court life : I recommend you to go thither, and to get about the person of some considerable nobleman. But make a point either of getting at his secrets, or nara amg. to his pleasures ; unless you do that, it will be all lost time in his family. know the great : they reckon nothing upon the zeal and attachment of a real friend ; but only care for pimping sycophants. You have, besides, another string to your bow. You are young, with an attractive person: parts out of the question, for they are not at all times necessary, it is hard if you cannot turn the head of some rich widow, or handsome wife with a broomstick for her husband. Love may ruin men of fortune ; but it makes amends by feathering the nests of
DONNA MENCIA’S COUSIN INTRODUCED 70 HIM. — 33
those who have none. My vote, therefore, is for Madrid : but you must not make your appearance there without an establishment. There, as elsewhere, people judge by the outside ; and you will only be respected according to the figure you make, I will find you a servant, a tried domestic, a prudent lad ; in a word, a fellow of my own creation. Buy acouple of mules ; one for your- self, the other for him : and set off as fast as you can.
This counsel was too palatable to be refused. On the day following I pur- chased two fine mules, and bargained with my new servant. He was a young man of thirty, of a very simple and godly appearance. He told me he was a native of Galicia, by name Ambrose de Lamela. Other servants are selfish, and think they never can have wages enough. This fellow assured me he was a man of few wants, and should be contented with whatever I had the goodness to give him. I bought a pair of boots, witha portmanteau to lock up my linen and my money. Having settled with my landlord, I set out from Burgos the next morning before sun-rise, on my way to Madrid.
Cu. XVI.—Showing that prosperity will slip through a man’s fingers.
WE slept at Duengnas the first night, and reached Valladolid on the following day, about four o’clock in the afternoon. We alighted at the inn of the most respectable appearance in the town. I left the care of the mules to my fellow, and went up to a room whither I ordered my portmanteau to be carried by a waiter. As I felt a little weary, I threw myself on a couch in my boots, and fell asleep involuntarily. It was almost night when I awoke. I called for Am- brose. He was not to be found in the house ; but made his appearance in a short time. I asked him where he had been: he answered in his godly way, that he was just come from church, whither he went for the purpose of thanks- giving, by reason that we had been graciously preserved from all perils and dangers between Burgos and Valladolid. I commended his piety ; and ordered a chicken to be roasted for supper.
At the moment when I was giving this order, my landlord came into my room with a light in his hand. ‘That cursed candle served to introduce a lady, handsome, but not young, and very richly attired. She leant upon an usher, none of the youngest, and a little blackamoor was her train-bearer. I was un- der no small surprise when this fair incognita, with a profound obeisance, beg- ged to know if my name might happen to be Signor Gil Blas of Santillane ? JE had no sooner blundered out yes, than she released her sweet hand from the custody of the usher, and embraced me with a transport of joy, of which I knew less and less what to make. Heaven be praised, cried she, for all its mercies ! You are he, noble sir, the very man of whom I was in quest. By this introduc- tion I was reminded of my friend the parasite at Pegnaflor, and was on the point of suspecting the lady to be no better than an honest woman should be : but her finale gave me a much higher opinion of her. I am, continued she, first cousin to Donna Mencia de Mosquera, whom you have so greatly befriended. It was but this morning I received a letter from her. She writes me word that having learnt your intention of going to Madrid, she wished me to receive you hospitably on your journey, if you went this way. For these two hours have I been parading the town. From inn to inn have I gone to inform myself what strangers were in the house; and I gathered from the landlord’s description that you were most likely to have been my cousin’s deliverer, Since then I have found you out, you shall know by experience my gratitude to the friends of my family, and especially to my dear cousin’s hero. You will take up your abode, if you please, at my house. Your accommodations will be better. I wished to excuse myself; and told the lady that I could not be so troublesome : but
34 GIL BLAS.
her importunities were more than a match for my modesty. A carriage was waiting at the door of the inn to convey us. She saw my portmanteau taken care of with her own eyes, because, as she justly observed, there were a great many light-fingered gentry about Valladolid—to be sure there were a great many light-fingered gentry about Valladolid, as she justly observed! In short, I got into the carriage with her and the old usher, and suffered myself to be carried off bodily from the inn, to the great annoyance of the landlord, who saw himself thus weaned from all the little perquisites he had reckoned on from my abode under his roof.
Our carriage, having rolled on some distance, stopped. We alighted at the door of a handsome house, and went up-stairs into a well-furnished apartment, illuminated by twenty or thirty wax candles. Several servants were in waiting, of whom the lady inquired whether Don Raphael was come. They answered, No. She then addressed herself to me: Signor Gil Blas, I am waiting for my -brother’s return from a country seat of ours, about two leagues distant. What an agreeable surprise will it be to him to find a man under his roof to whom our family is so inuch indebted ! At the very moment she had finished this pretty speech we heard a noise, and were informed at the same time that it was occasion- ed by the arrival of Don Raphael. This spark soon made his appearance. He was a young man of portly figure and genteel manners. I am in ecstacy to see you back again, brother, said the lady ; you will assist me in doing ry Mecho to Signor Gil Blas of Santillane. We can never do enough to show our sense of his kindness to our kinswoman, Donna Mencia. Here, read this letter I have just received. Don Raphael opened the envelope, and read aloud as follows : ** My dear Camilla, Signor Gil Blas of Santillane, the saviour of my honour and my life, has just set out for court. He will of course pass through Valladolid. I conjure you by our family connection, and still more by our indissoluble friend- ship, to give him an hospitable reception, and to detain him for some time as your guest. I flatter myself that you will so far oblige me, and that my deliverer will receive every kind of polite attention from yourself, and my cousin, Don Raphael. Your affectionate cousin,
‘* Burgos. DONNA MENCIA.”
What ! cried Don Raphael, casting his eyes again over the letter, is it to this gentleman my kinswoman owes her honour and her life? Then heaven be praised for this happy meeting. With this sort of language, he advanced to- wards me ; and squeezing me tightly in his arms : What joy to me is it, added he, to have the honour of seeing Signor Gil Blas of Santillane! My cousin the marchioness had no need to press the hospitality. Had she only told us simply that you were passing through Valladolid, that would have been enough. y sister Camilla and I shall be at no loss how to conduct ourselves towards a young gentleman who has conferred an obligation, not to be repaid, on her of all our family most tenderly beloved by us. I made the best answer I could to these speeches, which were followed by many others of the same kind, and interlarded with a thousand bows and scrapes. But Lord bless me, he has his boots on ! The servants were ordered in, to take them off.
We next went into another room, where the cloth was lain. Down we sat at table, the brother, sister, and myself. They paid me a hundred compli- ments during supper. Nota word escaped me, but they magnified it into an admirable hit! It was impossible not to observe the assiduity with which they both helped me out of every dish. Don Raphael often pledged me to Donna Mencia’s health. I could not refuse the challenge ; and it looked a little as if Camilla, who was a very good companion, ogled at me with no questionable meaning. I even thought I could perceive that she watched her opportunity, as if she was afraid of being detected by her brother. Anoracle could not have
GIL BLAS TRICKED OUT OF HIS RING. 35
convinced me more firmly that the lady was caught ; and I looked forward to a little delicate amusement from the discovery, during the short time I was to stay at Valladolid. That hope was my tempter to comply with the request they made me, of condescending to pass a few days with them. They thanked me kindly for indulging them with my company ; and Camilla’s restrained, but visible transport, confirmed me in the opinion that I was not altogether disagree- able in her eyes.
Don Raphael, finding I had made up my mind to be his guest for a few days, proposed to take me to his country house. The description of it was magnifi- cent, and the round of amusements he meditated for me was not to be described. At one time, said he, we will take the diversion of the chase, at another that of fishing ; and whenever you have a mind for a saunter, we have charming woods and gardens. In addition, we shall have agreeable society. I flatter myself you will not find the time hang heavy on your hands. I accepted the invitation, and it was agreed that we should go to this fine country house the following day. We rose from the table with this pleasant scheme in our mouths. Don Raphael seemed in ecstacy. Signor Gil Blas, said he, embracing me, I leave you with my sister. I am going presently to give the necessary orders, and send invitations round to the families I wish to be of the party. With these words he sallied forth from the room where we were sitting. 1 went on chat- ting with the lady, whose topics of discourse did not bely the glances of her expressive eyes. She took me by the hand, and playing with my ring, You have a mighty pretty brilliant there, said she, but it is small. Are you a judge of jewellery? I answered, no! I am sorry for that, resumed she, because I was in hopes you could have told me what this is worth. As she uttered these words, she showed me a large ruby on her finger ; and, while I was looking at it, said—An uncle of mine, who was governor of the Spanish settlements in the Philippine isles, gave methisruby. The jewellers at Valladolid value it at three hundred pistoles. It cannot be worth less, said I, for it is evidently a very fine stone. Why, then, since you have taken a fancy to it, replied she, an exchange is no robbery. In a twinkling she whisked off my ring, and placed her own on my little finger. After this exchange, a genteel way enough of making a pre- sent, Camilla pressed my hand and gazed at me with expressive tenderness ; then, all at once breaking off the conversation, wished me good night, and re- tired to hide her blushes, as if she had been ready to sink at the indiscreet avowal of her sentiments.
No one hitherto had trod less in the paths of gallantry than myself! Yet I could not shut my eyes to the vista vision opened to me by this precipitate re- treat. Under these circumstances, a country excursion might have its charms. Full of this flattering idea, and intoxicated with the prosperous condition of my affairs, I locked myself into my bed-room, after having told my servant to call me betimes in the morning. Instead of going to sleep, I gave myself up to the agreeable reflections which my portmanteau,