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

terrific form

of preternatural horror. In vain have I argued with myself that

it is a vision of the brain, an unreal mockery: its continual

presentments blast my sight, and unseat my reason. Though my

understanding teaches me, that in looking on this spectre I stare

at vacancy, my spirits are too weak to derive comfort from the

conviction. Thus much have you extorted from me: now judge

whether the cause of my melancholy is fit to be divulged.

 

With equal grief and astonishment did I listen to the strange

confession, which implied a total derangement of the nervous

system. This, my lord, said I, must proceed from injudicious

abstinence. So I thought at first, answered he; and to try the

experiment, I have been eating more than usual for some days

past; but it is all to no purpose, the phantom takes his stand as

usual. It will vanish, said I, if your excellency will only

divert your mind by your accustomed relaxations with your

household. Company and gentle occupation are the best remedies

for these affections of the spirits.

 

In a short time after this conversation, his lordship became

seriously indisposed, and sent for two notaries from Madrid, to

make his will. Three capital physicians followed in their track,

who had the reputation of curing their patients now and then. As

soon as it was noised about the castle that these last

undertakers were arrived, the case was given up for lost; weeping

and gnashing of teeth took place universally, and the family

mourning was ordered. They brought with them their usual

understrappers, an apothecary and a surgeon*. The notaries were

suffered to earn their fee first, after which death’s notaries

prepared to take a bond of the patient. They practised in the

school of Sangrado, and from their very first consultation,

ordered bleeding so frequently and freely, that in six days they

brought his lordship to the point of death, and on the seventh

delivered him from the terror of his sprite.

 

After the minister’s decease, a lively and sincere sorrow reigned

in the castle of Loeches. The whole household wept bitterly. Far

from deriving consolation from the certainty of being remembered

in his will, there was not a dependent who would not willingly

have saved his life by the sacrifice of the legacy. As for me,

whom he most delighted in, attached to him as I was from

disinterested friendship, my grief was more acute than that of

the rest. I question whether Antonia cost me more tears.

 

*Translator’s Note:

… . Behind him sneaks

Another mortal, not unlike himself,

Of jargon full, with terms obscure o’ercharged,

Apothecary call’d, whose foetid hands

With power mechanic, and with charms arcane,

Apollo, god of medicine, has endued. — BRAMSTON.

 

CH. XII. — The proceedings at the Castle of Loeches after his

lordship’s death, and the course which Santillane adopted.

 

THE minister, according to his last injunctions, was buried

without pomp and without procession in the convent, with a dirge

of our lamentations. After the funeral, Madame d’ Olivarez called

us together to hear the will read, with which the household had

good reason to be satisfied. Every one had a legacy proportioned

to his claim, and none less than two thousand crowns: mine was

the largest, amounting to ten thousand pistoles, as a mark of his

singular regard. The hospitals were not forgotten, and provision

was made for an annual commemoration in several convents.

 

Madame d’Olivarez sent all the household to Madrid to receive

their legacies from Don Raymond Caporis, who had orders to pay

them; but I could not be of the party, in consequence of a

violent fever from distress of mind, which confined me to the

castle for more than a week. During that time, the reverend

Dominican paid me all possible attention. He had conceived a

friendship for me, which was not confined to my worldly

interests, and was anxious to know how I meant to dispose of

myself on my recovery. I answered that I had not yet made up my

mind upon the subject: there were moments when my feelings

strongly prompted towards a religious vow. Precious moments!

exclaimed the Dominican, you will do well to profit by them. I

advise you as a friend to retire to our convent at Madrid, for

example; there to become a pious benefactor by the free gift of

your whole fortune, and to die in the livery of Saint Dominic.

Many very questionable Christians have made amends for a life of

sin by so holy an end.

 

In the actual disposition of my mind, this advice was not

unpalatable; and I promised to reflect upon it. But on consulting

Scipio, who came to see me immediately after the monk, he treated

the very notion as the phantom of a distempered brain. For shame!

said he; does not your estate at Lirias offer a more eligible

seclusion? If you were delighted with it formerly, the charm will

be increased tenfold, now that the lapse of years has moderated

your sense of pleasure, and softened down your taste to the

simple beauties of nature.

 

It was no difficult matter to operate a change in my

inclinations. My friend, said I, you carry it decidedly against

the advocate of Saint Dominic. We will go back to Lirias as soon

as I am well enough to travel. This happened shortly; for as the

fever subsided, I soon felt myself sufficiently strong to put my

design in execution. We went first to Madrid. The sight of that

city gave me far other sensations than heretofore. As I knew that

almost its whole population held in horror the memory of a

minister, of whom I cherished the most affectionate remembrance,

I could not feel at my ease within its precincts. My stay was

therefore limited to five or six days, while Scipio was making

the necessary arrangements for our rustication. In the meantime I

waited on Caporis, and received my legacy in ready money. I

likewise made my arrangements with the receivers for the regular

remittance of my pensions, and settled all my affairs in due

order.

 

The evening before our departure, I asked the son of Coselina

whether he had received his farewell from Don Henry. Yes,

answered he, we took leave of each other this morning with mutual

civility; he went so far as to express his regret that I should

quit him; but however well satisfied he might be with me, I am by

no means so with him. Mutual content is like a river, which must

have its banks on either side. Besides, Don Henry makes but a

pitiful figure at court now; he has fallen into utter contempt;

people point at him with their finger in the streets, and call

him a Genoese bastard. Judge, then, for yourself, whether it is

consistent with my character to keep up the connection.

 

We left Madrid one morning at sunrise, and went for Cuen�a. The

following was the order of our equipment; we two in a chaise and

pair, three mules, laden with baggage and money, led by two

grooms and two stout footmen, well armed, in the rear; the grooms

wore sabres, and the postilion had a pair of pistols in his

holsters. As we were seven men in all, and six of us determined

fellows, I took the road gaily, without trembling for my legacy.

In the villages through which we passed our mules chimed their

bells merrily, and the peasants ran to their doors to see us

pass, supposing it to be at least the parade of some nobleman

going to take possession of some viceroyalty.

 

CH. 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.

 

WE were a fortnight on our journey to Lirias, having no occasion

to make rapid stages. The sight of my own domain brought

melancholy thoughts into my mind, with the image of my lost

Antonia; but better topics of reflection came to my aid, with a

full purpose to look at things on the brighter side, and the

lapse of two-and-twenty years, which had gradually impaired the

force of tender regret.

 

As soon as I entered the castle, Beatrice and her daughter

greeted me most cordially, while the family scene was interesting

in the extreme. When their mutual transports were over, I looked

earnestly at my god-daughter, saying: Can this be the Seraphina

whom I left in her cradle? how tall and pretty! we must make a

good match for her. What! my dear godfather, cried my little

girl with an enchanting blush, you have but just seen me, and do

you want to get rid of me at once! No, my lovely child, replied

I, we hope not to lose you by marriage, but to find a husband for

you in the neighbourhood.

 

There is one ready to your hands, said Beatrice. Seraphina made a

conquest one day at mass. Her suitor has declared his passion,

and asked my consent. I told him that his acceptance depended on

her father and her godfather; and here you are to determine for

yourselves.

 

What is the character of this village lordling? said Scipio. Is

he not, like his fellows, the little tyrant of the soil, and

insolent to those who have no pedigree to boast? The furthest

from it in the world, answered Beatrice; the young man is gentle

in his temper and polished in his manners; handsome withal, and

somewhat under thirty. You paint him in flattering colours, said

I to Beatrice; what is his name? Don Juan de Jutella, replied

Scipio’s wife: it is not long since be came to his inheritance:

he lives on his own estate, about a mile off, with a younger

sister, of whom he takes care. I once knew something of his

family, observed I; it is one of the best in Valencia. I care

less for lineage, cried Scipio, than for the qualities of the

heart and mind; this Don Juan will exactly suit us, if he is a

good sort of man. He is belied else, said Seraphina, with a

blushing interest in our conversation; the inhabitants of Lirias,

who know him well, say all the good of him you can conceive. I

smiled at this; and her father, not less quick-sighted, saw

plainly that her heart had a share in the testimony of her

tongue.

 

The gentleman soon heard of our arrival, and paid his respects to

us within two days. His address was pleasing and manly, so as to

prepossess us in his favour. He affected merely to welcome us

home as a neighbour. Our reception was such as not to discourage

the repetition of his visit; but not a word of Seraphina! When he

was gone, Beatrice asked us how we liked him. We could have no

objection to make, and gave it as our opinion that Seraphina

could not dispose of herself better.

 

The next day, Scipio and I returned the visit. We took a guide,

and luckily; for otherwise it might have puzzled us to find the

place. It was not till our actual arrival that it was visible;

for the mansion was situated at the foot of a mountain, in the

middle of a wood, whose lofty trees hid it from our view. There

was an antique and ruinous appearance about it, which spoke more

for the descent than the wealth of its proprietor. On our

entrance, however, the elegance of the interior arrangement made

amends for the dilapidated grandeur of the outer walls.

 

Don Juan received us in a handsome room, where he introduced his

sister Dorothea, a lady between nineteen and twenty years of age.

She was a good deal tricked out, as if she had