The Adventures of Gil Blas of Santillane by Alain René le Sage (good books to read in english .TXT) 📕

Vega, Cervantes, and all the host of wits who cavil at our new

modes of speech. Our party is strongly supported in the

fashionable world, and we have laid violent hands upon the

pulpit.

After all, continued he, our project is commendable; for, to

speak without prejudice, we have ten times the merit of those

natural writers, who express themselves just like the mob. I

cannot conceive why so many sensible men are taken with them. It

is all very well at Athens and at Rome, in a wild and

undistinguishing democracy; and on that principle only could

Socrates tell Alcibiades, that the last appeal was to the people

in all disputes about language. But at Madrid there is a polite

and a vulgar usage; so that our courtiers talk in a different

tongue from their tradesmen. You may assure yourself that it is

so; in fine, this newly invented style is carrying everything

before it, and turning old nature out of doors. Now I will

explain to you by a single instance the difference between the

elegance of our diction and the flatness of theirs. They would

say, for example, in plain terms, “Ballets incidental to the

piece are an ornament to a play;” but in our mode of expression,

we say more exquisitely, “Ballets incidental to the piece are the

very life and soul of the play.” Now observe the phrase; life and

soul. Are you sensible how glowing it is, at the same time how

descriptive, setting before you all the motions of the dancers,

as on an intellectual stage?

I broke in upon my reformer of language with a burst of laughter.

Get along with you, Fabricio, said I, you are a coxcomb of your

own manufacture, with your affected finery of phrase. And you,

answered he, are a blockhead of nature’s clumsy moulding, with

your starch simplicity. He then went on taunting me with the

archbishop of Grenada’s angry banter on my dismission. “Get about

your business! Go and tell my treasurer to pay you a hundred

ducats, and take my blessing in addition to that sum. God speed

you, good master Gil Blas! I heartily pray that you may do well

in the world! There is no thing to stand in your way, but a

little better taste.” I roared out in a still louder explosion of

laughter at this lucky hit; and Fabricio, easily appeased on the

score of impiety, as manifested in the opinion expressed

concerning his writings, lost nothing of his pleasant and

propitious temper. We got to the bottom of our second bottle; and

then rose from the table in fine order for an adventure. Our

first intention was to see what was to be seen upon the Prado;

but passing in front of a liquor-shop, it came into our heads

that we might as well go in.

The company was in general tolerably select at this house of

call. There were two distinct apartments; and the pastime in each

was of a very opposite nature. One was devoted to games of chance

or skill; the other to literary and scientific discussion: and

there were at that moment two clever men by profession handling

an argument most pertinaciously, before ten or twelve auditors

deeply interested in the discussion. There was no occasion to

join the circle, because the metaphysical thunder of their logic

made itself heard at a more respectful distance: the heat and

passion with which this abstract controversy was managed made the

two philosophers look little better than madmen. A certain

Eleazar used to cast out devils, by tying a ring to the nose of

the possessed; had these learned swine been ringed in the same

manner, how many little imps would have taken wing out of their

nostrils? Angels and ministers of grace defend us, said I to my

companion: what contortions of gesture, what extravagance of

elocution! One might as well argue with the town crier. How

little do we know our natural calling in society! Very true

indeed, answered he: you have read of Novius, the Roman

pawnbroker, whose lungs went as far beyond the rattle of chariot-wheels, as his conscience beyond the rate of legal interest; the

Novii must certainly have been transplanted into Spain, and these

fellows are lineal descendants. But the hopeless part of the case

is, that though our organs of sense are deafened, our

understandings are not invigorated at their expense. We thought

it best to make our escape from these braying metaphysicians, and

by that prudent motion to avoid a headache which was just

beginning to annoy us. We went and seated ourselves in a corner

of the other room, whence, as we sipped our refreshing beverage,

all comers and goers were obnoxious to our criticism. Nunez was

acquainted with almost the whole set. Heaven and earth! exclaimed

he, the clash of philosophy is as yet but in its beginning; fresh

reinforcements are coming in on both sides. Those three men just

on the threshold, mean to let slip the dogs of war. But do you

see those two queer fellows going out? That little swarthy,

leather-complexioned Adonis, with long lank hair parted in the

middle with mathematical exactness, is Don Juliano de Villanuno.

He is a young barrister, with more of the prig than the lawyer

about him. A party of us went to dine with him the other day. The

occupation we caught him in was singular enough. He was amusing

himself in his office with making a tall grey-hound fetch and

carry the briefs in the causes which were so unfortunate as to

have him retained; and of course the canine amicus curiae set his

fangs indifferently into the flesh of plaintiff or defendant,

tearing law, equity, precedent, and principle into shreds. That

licentiate at his elbow, with jolly, pimple-spangled nose and

cheeks, goes by the name of Don Cherubino Tonto. He is a canon of

Toledo, and the greatest fool that was ever suffered to walk the

earth without a keeper. And yet, he arrays his features in that

sort of not quite unmeaning smile, that you would give him credit

for good sense as well as good humour. His eye has the look of

cunning if not of wisdom, and his laugh too much of sarcasm for

an absolute idiot. One would conclude that he had a turn for

mischief, but kept it down from principle and feeling. If you

wish to take his opinion upon a work of genius, he will hear it

read with so grave and wrapt a silence, as nothing but deep

thought and acute mental criticism could justify; but the truth

is, that he comprehends not one word, and therefore can have

nothing to say. He was of the barrister party. There were a

thousand good things said, as there always must be in a

professional company. Don Cherubino added nothing to the mass of

merriment; but looked such perfect approbation at those who did,

was so tractable and complimentary a listener, that every man at

table placed him second in the comparative estimate of merit.

Do you know, said I to Nunez, who those two fellows are with

dirty clothes and matted hair, their elbows on that table in the

corner, and their cheeks upon their hands, whiffing foul breath

into each other’s nostrils as they lay their heads together? He

told me that by their faces they were strangers to him; but that

by physical and moral tokens they could only be coffee-house

politicians, venting their spleen against the measures of

government. But do look at that spruce spark, whistling as he

paces up and down the other room, and balancing himself

alternately on one toe and on the other. That is Don Augustino

Moreto, a young poet sufficiently of nature’s mint and coinage to

pass current, if flatterers and sciolists had not debased him

into a mere coxcomb by their misplaced admiration. The man to

whom he is going up with that familiar shake by the hand, is one

of the set who write verses and then call themselves poets; who

claim a speaking acquaintance with the muses, but never were of

their private parties.

Authors upon authors, nothing but authors! exclaimed he, pointing

out two dashing blades. One would think they had made an

appointment on purpose to pass in review before you. Don Bernardo

Deslenguado and Don Sebastian of Villa Viciosa! The first is a

vinegar-flavoured vintage of Parnassus, a satirist by trade and

company; he hates all the world, and is not liked the better for

his taste. As for Don Sebastian, he is the milk and honey of

criticism; he would not have the guilt of ill-nature on his

conscience for the universe. He has just brought out a comedy

without a single idea, which has succeeded with an audience of

tantamount ideas; and he has just now published it to vindicate

his innocence.

Gongora’s candid pupil was running on in his career of benevolent

explanation, when one of the Duke de Medina Sidonia’s household

came up and said: Signor Don Fabricio, my lord duke wishes to

speak with you. You will find him at home. Nunez, who knew that

the wishes of a great lord could not be too soon gratified, left

me without ceremony; but he left me in the utmost consternation,

to hear him called Don, and thus ennobled, in spite of master

Chrysostom the barber’s escutcheon, who had the honour to call

him father.

CH. XIV. — Fabricio finds a situation for Gil Blas in the

establishment of Count Galiano, a Sicilian nobleman.

I WAS too happy in Fabricio’s society, not to bunt him out again

early the next morning. Good day to you, Signor Don Fabricio,

said I on my first approach; it seems you are the picked and

chosen flower, or rather, saving your presence, the nondescript

excrescence of the Asturian nobility. This sarcasm had no other

effect than to set him laughing heartily. Then the title of Don

was not lost upon you! exclaimed he. No, indeed, my noble lord,

answered I; and you will give me leave to tell you that when you

were recounting your transformations to me yesterday, you forgot

the most extraordinary. Exactly so, replied he; but to speak

sincerely, if I have taken up that prefix of dignity, it is less

to tickle my own vanity, than in tenderness to that of others.

You know what stuff the Spaniards are made of; an honest man is

no honest man to them, if his honour is not bolstered up with

escutcheons, pedigree, and patrimony. I may tell you, moreover,

that there are so many gentry, and very queer soft of gentry too,

dubbed Don Francisco, Don Pedro, Don What-do-you-call-him, or Don

Devil, that if they owe their coats of arms to any herald but

their own impudence, modern nobility is a mere drug in the

market, so that a plebeian of nature’s ennobling confers infinite

honour on the upstarts of nn artificial creation, by herding with

their order.

But let us change the subject, added he. Last night, supping at

the Duke de Medina Sidonia’s, with among other company we had

Count Galiano, a great Sicilian nobleman, the conversation turned

upon the ridiculous effects of self-love. Delighted at having a

case in point by way of illustration, I treated them with the

story of the homilies. You may well suppose that there was a

hearty laugh, and that the archbishop’s dignity was not saved in

the concussion; but the effect was not amiss for you, since the

company felt for your situation; and Count Galiano, after a long

string of questions, which of course I answered to your

advantage, commissioned me to introduce you. I was just now going

to look after you for that purpose. In all probability he means

to offer you a situation as one