The Adventures of Gil Blas of Santillane - Alain René le Sage (best fiction books of all time .txt) 📗

for play-time, as the

moment and scene of my commencing operations. On the opening of

the doors I repaired to the theatre, and took my seat next to a

knight of Alcantara. We soon got into chat. Sir, said I, the

players here have been represented to me in very favourable

terms: may I give credit to general report? The company is not

contemptible, replied the knight: they have some first-rate

performers; among the rest, the peerless Lucretia, an actress of

fourteen, who will astonish you: and she plays one of her best

parts to-night.

 

On the drawing up of the curtain, two actresses came on, with

every advantage of dress and stage effect: but neither of them

could possibly be the object of my search. At length Lucretia

made her appearance at the back scene, and walked forwards amidst

a thunder of applause. Ah! this is she, indeed! thought I! and a

delicate specimen of loveliness, as I am a sinner! In her very

first speech she proved herself a child of nature, with energy

and conception far above her years; and the approbation of a

provincial audience was confirmed by my metropolitan judgment.

The knight was happy to find I liked her, and assured me that if

I had heard her sing, my ears might have rejoiced to the sorrow

of my heart. Her dancing, too, he represented as not less

formidable to the free will of lordly man. I inquired what youth,

blessed as the immortal gods, had the exquisite happiness of

bringing himself to beggary for so sweet a girl. She is under no

avowed protection, said he; and scandal has not coupled her name

with private licence; but Lucretia must take care of herself, for

she is under the wing of her aunt Estella; and there is not an

actress in the company so warmly fledged for hatching the tender

passions into life.

 

At the name of Estella, I inquired with some eagerness who she

was. One of our best performers, said my informant. She does not

play to-night, to our great loss, for her cast is that of

abigails, and she humours them to perfection. A little too broad,

perhaps, but that is a fault on the right side. From the features

of the description, there could be no doubt but this must be

Laura; that lady so notorious in these memoirs, whom I left at

Grenada.

 

To make assurance doubly sure, I went behind the scenes after the

play. There she was, in the green-room, flirting with some men of

fashion, who probably endured the aunt for the sake of the niece.

I came up to pay my devotions; but whim, or perhaps revenge for

my cutting and running from Grenada, determined her to put on the

stranger, and receive my compliments with so discouraging a

coldness, as to throw me into some little confusion. Instead of

laughing it off, I was fool enough to be angry, and withdrew in a

choleric determination to return next day. Laura shall smart for

this! said I; her niece shall not appear at court; I will tell

the minister that she dances like a she bear, has formed her

bravura between the scream of a pea-hen and the cackle of a

goose, acts like a puppet, and comprehends like an idiot.

 

Such was my scheme of revenge, but it proved abortive. Just as I

was going out of town, a footboy brought me the following note:

“Forget and forgive, and follow the bearer.” I obeyed, and found

Laura at her dressing-table in very elegant apartments near the

theatre.

 

She rose to welcome me, saying: Signor Gil Blas, you have every

reason to be offended at your reception behind the scenes, which

was out of character between such old friends, but I really was

most abominably disconcerted. Just as you came up, one of our

gentlemen had brought me some scandalous stories about my niece,

whose honour has always been dearer to me than my own. On coming

to myself, I immediately sent my servant to find you out, with

the intention of making you amends to-day. You have done so

already, my dear Laura, said I, let us therefore talk over old

times. You may remember that I left you in a very ticklish

predicament, when conscience and the fear of punishment drove me

so precipitately from Grenada. How did you get off with your

Portuguese lover? Easily enough, answered Laura: do not you know

that in those cases men are mere fools, and acquit us women

without even calling for our defence?

 

I faced the Marquis of Marialva out, that you were my very

brother, and drew upon my impudence for the support of my credit.

Do you not see, said I to my Portuguese dupe, that this is all

the contrivance of jealousy and rage? My rival, Narcissa,

infuriated at my possession of a heart which she had vainly

attempted to gain, has bribed the candle-snuffer to assert that

he has seen me as Arsenia’s waiting-woman at Madrid. It is an

abominable falsehood; the widow of Don Antonio Coello has always

been too high in her notions, to be the hanger-on of a theatrical

mistress. Besides, what completely disproves the whole

allegation, is my brother’s precipitate retreat: if he were here,

it would be a subject of evidence; but Narcissa must have devised

some stratagem to get him out of the way.

 

These reasons, continued Laura, were not the most convincing in

the world, but they did very well for the marquis; and that good,

easy nobleman continued his confidence till his return to

Portugal. This happened soon after your departure; and Zapata’s

wife had the pleasure of seeing me lose what she could not win.

After this, I stayed some years longer at Grenada, till the

company was broken up in consequence of some squabbles, which

will take place in mimic as well as in real life: some went to

Seville, others to Cordova; and I came to Toledo, where I have

been for these ten years with my niece Lucretia, whose

performance you must have seen last night

 

This was too much to be taken gravely. Laura inquired why I

laughed. Can that be a question? said I. You have neither brother

nor sister, one or other of which is a necessary ingredient in an

aunt. Besides, when I calculate in my mind the lapse of time

since our last separation, and compare that period with the age

of your niece, it is more than possible that your relationship

may be in a nearer degree of kin.

 

I understand you, replied Don Antonio’s widow, with something

like a moral tinge of red in her cheek; you are an accurate

chronologist! There is no garbling facts in defiance of your

memory. Well, then! Lucretia is my daughter by the Marquis of

Marialva: it was extremely wrong, but I cannot conceal it from

you. The confession must indeed be a shock to your modesty, said

I, after telling me yourself what pranks you played with the

hospital steward at Zamora. I must tell you moreover that

Lucretia is an article of so superior a quality as to render you

a public benefactor by having thrown her into the market. It were

to be wished that the stolen embraces of all your fraternity

might be blessed with fruitfulness, if they could secure to

themselves a patent for breeding after your sample.

 

Should any sarcastic reader, comparing this passage with some

circumstances related while I was the marquis’s secretary,

suspect me of being entitled to dispute the honours of paternity

with that nobleman, I blush to say, that my claims are entirely

out of the question.

 

I laid open my principal adventures to Laura in my turn, as well

as the present state of my affairs. She listened with interest,

and said: Friend Santillane, you seem to play a principal part on

the stage of the world, and I congratulate you most heartily.

Should Lucretia be engaged at Madrid, I flatter myself she will

find a powerful protector in Signor de Santillane. Doubt it not,

answered I: your daughter may have her engagement whenever you

please; I can promise you that, without presuming too much on my

interest. I take you at your word, replied Laura, and would set

out to-morrow, were I not under articles to this company. An

order from court will cut the knot of any articles, rejoined I;

and that I take upon myself: you shall have it within a week. It

is an act of chivalry to rescue Lucretia from Toledo: such a

pretty little actress belongs to the royal court, as parcel of

the manor.

 

Lucretia came into the room just as I was talking of her. The

goddess Hebe herself never looked better in her best days: it was

nature in the bud, exhaling the sweets of her earliest bloom, but

promising a more luxuriant waste of treasure. She was just up;

and her natural beauty, without the aid of art, communicated the

most rapturous sensations. Come, niece; said her mother, thank

the gentleman for all his kindness to us: he is an old friend of

mine, who ranks high at court, and undertakes to get us both an

engagement at the theatre royal. The little girl seemed to be

much pleased, and made me a low curtsey, saying with an

enchanting smile: I most humbly thank you for your obliging

intention; but, by taking me from a partial audience, are you

certain that I shall not be looked down upon by that of Madrid? I

may but lose by the exchange. I remember hearing my aunt say,

that she has seen players most favourably received in one town,

and hissed off the stage in another; this absolutely frightens

me; beware therefore of exposing me to the derision of the court,

and yourself to its reproaches. Lovely Lucretia, answered I, we

have neither of us anything to fear; I am rather apprehensive

lest, by the havoc you will make among hearts, you should excite

rivalships and kindle discord among the courtiers. My niece’s

fears, said Laura, are better founded than yours; but I hope they

will both prove vain: however feeble may be Lucretia’s charms of

person, her talents as an actress are at least above mediocrity.

 

We continued the conversation for some time: and I could gather,

from Lucretia’s share in it, that she was a girl of superior

talents. On taking leave, I assured them that they should

immediately receive a summons to Madrid.

 

CH. II. — Santillane makes his report to the minister, who

commissions him to send for Lucretia. The first appearance of

that actress before the court.

 

ON my return, I found my lord duke impatient to be informed of my

success. Have you seen her? said he: is she worth transplanting?

My lord, answered I, fame, which generally runs beyond all

discretion in its report of beauty, has erred on the side of

parsimony in its estimate of the matchless young Lucretia; she is

all that youthful poets fancy when they feign, for personal

attractions, and all that veteran managers seek when they sign

articles, in scenic qualifications.

 

Is it possible? exclaimed the minister with a satisfaction which

involuntarily peeped out at his eyes, and made me think he had

some selfish hankerings after the article of my marketing at

Toledo; is it possible? and is she really so charming a creature?

When you see her, replied I, you will own that any verbal picture

of her perfections must be altogether inadequate to their due

description. His excellency then requiring a minute account of my

journey, I gave him all the particulars, not excepting Laura’s

story, and Lucretia’s parentage. His lordship was delighted at

the latter circumstance, and enjoined me, with a cordial

compliment on my skill