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

“A rival!” exclaimed I, with a faltering voice and a cheek blanched with fear. “Do not let that give you the least uneasiness,” said he; “your competitor cannot bid very high, for he is no other than Master Joachim, your cook.”

“Ah! the hangdog!” said I, with an involuntary shout of laughter: “this is the reason, then, why he had so great an objection to being turned out of my service.”

“Exactly so,” answered Scipio; “within these few days he made proposals of marriage to Antonia, who politely declined them.”

“With submission to your better judgment,” replied I, “it would be expedient⁠—at least, so it strikes me⁠—to get rid of that strange fellow before he is informed of my intended match with Basil’s daughter: a cook, as you are aware, is a dangerous rival.”

“You are perfectly in the right,” rejoined my trusty counsellor; “we must clear the premises of him⁠—he shall receive his discharge from me tomorrow morning, before he puts a finger in the fricandeaus; thus you will have nothing more to fear either from his poisonous sauces or bewitching tongue. Yet it goes rather against the grain with me to part with so good a cook; but I sacrifice the interests of my own belly to the preservation of your precious person.”

“You need not,” said I, “take on so for his loss; he had no exclusive patent; and I will send to Valencia for a cook, who shall outcook all his fine cookery.”

According to my promise, I wrote immediately to Don Alphonso, to let him know that our kitchen wanted a prime minister; and on the following day he filled up the vacancy in so worthy a manner as reconciled Scipio at once to the change in culinary politics.

Though my adroit and active secretary had assured me of Antonia’s secret self-congratulation on the conquest of her landlord’s heart, I could not venture to rely solely on his report. I was fearful lest he should have been entrapped by false appearances. To be more certain of my bliss, I determined on speaking in person to the fair Antonia. I therefore went to Basil’s house, and confirmed to him what my ambassador had announced. This honest peasant, of patriarchal simplicity and golden-aged frankness, after having heard me through, did not hesitate to own that it would be the greatest happiness of his life to give me his daughter; “but,” added he, “you are by no means to suppose that it is because you are lord of the manor. Were you still steward to Don Caesar and Don Alphonso, I should prefer you to all other suitors who might apply: I have always felt a sort of kindness towards you; and nothing vexes me but that Antonia has not a thumping fortune to bring with her.”

“I want not the vile dross,” said I; “her person is the only dowry that I covet.”

“Your humble servant for that,” cried he; “but you will not settle accounts with me after that fashion; I am not a beggar, to marry my daughter upon charity. Basil de Buenotrigo is in circumstances, by the blessing of Providence, to portion her off decently; and I mean that she should set out a little supper, if you are to be at the expense of dinners. In a word, the rental of this estate is only five hundred ducats: I shall raise it to a thousand on the strength of this marriage.”

“Just as you please, my dear Basil,” replied I; “we are not likely to have any dispute about money matters. We are both of a mind; all that remains is to get your daughter’s consent.”

“You have mine,” said he, “and that is enough.”

“Not altogether so,” answered I; “though yours may be absolutely necessary, no business can be done without hers.”

“Hers follows mine of course,” replied he; “I should like to catch her murmuring against my sovereign commands!”

“Antonia,” rejoined I, “with dutiful submission to paternal authority, is ready, without question, to obey your will implicitly in all things; but I know not whether in the present instance she would do so without violence to her own feelings; and, should that be the case, I could never forgive myself for being the occasion of unhappiness to her; in short, it is not enough that I obtain her hand from you, if her heart is to heave a sigh at the decision of her destiny.”

“O, blessed virgin!” said Basil; “all these fine doctrines of philosophy are far above my reach; speak to Antonia your own self, and you will find, or I am very much mistaken, that she wishes for nothing better than to be your wife.” These words were no sooner out of his mouth, than he called his daughter, and left me with her for a few short minutes.

Not to trifle with so precious an opportunity, I broke my mind to her at once. “Lovely Antonia,” said I, “it remains with you to fix the color of my future days. Though I have your father’s consent, do not think so meanly of me as to suppose that I would avail myself of it to violate the sacred freedom of your choice. Rapturous as must be the possession of your charms, I waive my pretensions if you but tell me that your duty, and not your will, complies.”

“It would be affectation to put on such a repugnance,” answered she; “the honor of your addresses is too flattering to excite any other than agreeable sensations, and I am thankful for my father’s tender care of me, instead of demurring to his will. I am not sure whether such an acknowledgment may not be contrary to the rules of female reserve in the polite world; but if you were disagreeable to me, I should be plainspoken enough to tell you so; why, then, should I not be equally free in owning the kind feelings of my heart?”

At sounds like these, which I