Gil Blas by Alain-René Lesage (best romance books of all time TXT) 📕

distributed: tomorrow we will play the piece, and I will pledge myself for its success, bating one of those unlucky chance medleys which turn awry the currents of the most pithy and momentous enterprises.”

As yet Don Raphael’s masterpiece of roguery had made but a clumsy impression on my plodding brain; but the argument of the fable was developed at suppertime, and the hinge upon which it was turned was, to my mind, of an ingenious contrivance. After having despatched part of our game, and bled our bottle to the last stage of evacuation, we stretched our length upon the grass, and soon fell fast asleep. “Up with you! up with you!” was the alarm of Señor Ambrose, as the day began to dawn. “People who have a great enterprise on hand ought not to indulge themselves in indolence.”

“A plague upon you, master inquisitor,” said Don Raphael, rubbing his eyes; “you are confounded early on the move! It is as good as an order for execution to Master Samuel Simon.”

“Many a true word is spoken in jest,” replied Lamela. “Nay, you shall know more,” added he with a sarcastic grin. “I dreamt last night that I was plucking the hairs out of his beard. Was not that a left-handed dream for him, master secretary?” These pleasant hits were followed by a thousand others, which called forth new bursts of merriment. Our breakfast passed off with the utmost gayety; and when it was over, we made our arrangements for the pageant we had got up. Ambrose arrayed himself in sables, as befitted so ghostly an instrument for the suppression of vice. We also took to our official habits; nor has the dignity of magistracy been often more gravely represented than by Don Raphael and myself. The making up of our persons was rather a tedious operation; for it was later than two o’clock in the afternoon when we sallied from the wood to attend our call at Xelva. It is true, there was no hurry, since the play was not to begin till the setting in of the evening. That being the case, we jogged on leisurely, and stopped at the gates of the town till the day was closed.

At that eventful hour, we left our horses where they were, to the care of Don Alphonso, who was very well satisfied to have so humble a cast in the distribution. As for Don Raphael, Ambrose, and myself, our first visit was not to Samuel Simon in person, but to a tavern-keeper who lived very near him. His reverence the inquisitor walked foremost. In went he to the bar, and said gravely to the landlord, “Master, I want to speak a word with you in private.”

The obsequious publican showed us into a room, where Lamela, now that we had got him to ourselves, said, “I have the honor to be an unworthy member of the holy office, and am come here on a business of very great importance.” At this intimation, the man of liquor turned pale, and answered in a tremulous tone that he was not conscious of having given any umbrage to the holy inquisition.

“True,” replied Ambrose, with encouraging affability; “neither do we meditate any harm against you. Heaven forbid that august tribunal, too hasty in its punishments, should make no distinction between guilt and innocence. It is unrelenting, but always just: to become obnoxious to its vengeance, you must have earned its displeasure by wickedness or contumacy. Be satisfied therefore that it is not you who bring me to Xelva, but a certain dealer and chapman, by name Samuel Simon. A very ugly story about him has come round to us. He is still a Jew in his heart, they say, and has only embraced Christianity from sordid and secular motives. I command you, in the name of the tremendous court I represent, to tell me all you know about that man. Beware how you are induced by good neighborhood, or possibly by close friendship, to gloss over and palliate his errors; for I warn you authoritatively, if I detect the slightest prevarication in your evidence, you are yourself even as one of the abandoned and accursed. Where is my secretary?” pursued he, turning down towards Don Raphael. “Sit down and do your duty.”

Mr. Secretary, with his paper already in his hand and his pen behind his ear, took his seat most pompously, and made ready to take down the landlord’s deposition; who promised solemnly on his part not to suppress one tittle of the real fact. “So far, so good!” said the worshipful commissioner; “we have only to proceed in our examination. You will only just answer my questions; but do not interlard your replies with any comments of your own. Do you often see Samuel Simon at church?”

“I never thought of looking for him,” said the drawer of corks; “but I do not know that I ever saw him there in my life.”

“Very good!” cried the inquisitor. “Write down that the defendant never goes to church.”

“I do not say so, your worship,” answered the landlord, “I only say that I never happened to see him there. We may have been at church together, and yet not have come across each other.”

“My good friend,” replied Lamela, “you forget that you are deposing to facts, and not arguing. Remember what I told you; contempt of court is a heinous offence. You are to give a sound and discreet evidence; every iota of what makes against him, and not a word in his favor, if you knew volumes.”

“If that is your practice, O upright and impartial judge,” resumed our host, “my testimony will scarcely be worth the trouble of taking. I know nothing about the tradesman you are inquiring after, and therefore can tell neither good nor harm of him; but if you wish to examine into the history of his private life, I will run and call Gaspard, his apprentice, whom you may question as much as you please. The lad