The Adventures of Gil Blas of Santillane, Alain René le Sage [most read books .txt] 📗
- Author: Alain René le Sage
- Performer: -
Book online «The Adventures of Gil Blas of Santillane, Alain René le Sage [most read books .txt] 📗». Author Alain René le Sage
was not one of those impenetrable gamesters who make or mar a
fortune without moving a muscle. In prosperity he was flippant
and overbearing, but quite peevish on the losing side. He left
the tennis-court in high spirits, and went for the Prince’s
Theatre. I followed him to the boxdoor, then putting a ducat into
my hand— Here, Gil Blas, said he, as I have been a winner to-day, you shall not be the worse for it; go, divert yourself with
your friends, and come to me about midnight at Arsenia’s, where I
am to sup with Don Alexo Segiar. He then went in, and I stood
debating with whom I should disburse my ducat, according to the
pious will of the founder. I did not muse long. Clarin, Don
Alexo’s servant, just then came in my way. I took him to the next
tavern, and we amused ourselves there till midnight. Thence we
repaired to Arsenia’s house, where Clarin had orders to attend. A
little footboy opened the door, and showed us into a room down-stairs, where Arsenia’s waiting-woman, and the lady who held the
same office about Florimonde, were laughing ready to split their
sides, while their mistresses were above-stairs with our masters.
The addition of two jolly fellows just come from a good supper,
could not be unwelcome to abigails, and to the abigails of
actresses too; but what was my astonishment when in one of these
lowly ladies I discovered my widow, my adorable widow, whom I
took for a countess or a marchioness! She appeared equally amazed
to see her dear Don Caesar de Ribera metamorphosed into the valet
of a beau. However, we looked at one another without being out of
countenance; indeed, such a tingling sensation of laughter came
over us both, as we could not help indulging in. After which
Laura, for that was her name, drawing me aside while Clarin was
speaking to her fellow-servant, held out her hand to me very
kindly, and said in a low voice — Accept this pledge, Signor Don
Caesar; mutual congratulations are more to the purpose than
mutual reproaches, my friend. You topped your part to perfection,
and I was not quite contemptible in mine. What say you? confess
now, did not you take me for one of those precious peeresses who
are fond of a little smuggled amusement? It is even so, answered
I, but whoever you are, my empress, I have not changed my
sentiments with my paraphernalia. Accept my services in good
part, and let the valet-de-chambre of Don Matthias consummate
what Don Caesar has so happily begun. Get you gone, replied she,
I like you ten times better in your natural than in your
artificial character. You are as a man what I am as a woman, and
that is the greatest compliment I can pay you. You are admitted
into the number of my adorers. We have no longer any need of the
old woman as a blind, you may come and see me whenever you like.
We theatrical ladies are no slaves to form, but live higgledy-piggledy with the men. I allow that the effects are sometimes
visible, but the public wink hard at our irregularities; the
drama’s patrons, as you well know, give the drama’s laws, and
absolve us from all others.
We went no further, because there were bystanders. The
conversation be came general, lively, jovial, inclining to loose
jokes, not very carefully wrapped up. We all of us bore a bob.
Arsenia’s attendant above all, my amiable Laura, was very
conspicuous; but her wit was so extremely nimble, that her virtue
could never overtake it. Our masters and the actresses on the
floor above, raised incessant peals of laughter, which reached us
in the regions below; and probably the entertainment was much
alike with the celestials and the infernals. If all the knowing
remarks had been written down, which escaped from the
philosophers that night assembled at Arsenia’s, I really think it
would have been a manual for the rising generation. Yet we could
not arrest the chaste moon in her progress; the rising of that
blab, the sun, parted us. Clarin followed the heels of Don Alexo,
and I went home with Don Matthias.
CH. VI. — The Prince’s company of comedians.
My master getting up the next day, received a note from Don Alexo
Segiar, desiring his company immediately. We went, and found
there the Marquis de Zenette, and another young nobleman of
prepossessing manners, whom I had never seen. Don Matthias, said
Segiar to my protector, introducing the stranger, give me leave
to present Don Pompeyo de Castro, a relation of mine. He has been
at the court of Portugal almost from his childhood. He reached
Madrid last night, and returns to Lisbon to-morrow. He can allow
me only one day. I wish to make the most of the precious moments,
and thought of asking you and the Marquis de Zenette to make out
the time agreeably. Thereupon my master and Don Alexo’s relation
embraced heartily, and complimented one an other in the most
extravagant manner. I was much pleased with Don Pompeyo’s
conversation, it showed both acuteness and solidity.
They dined with Segiar; and the gentlemen, after the dessert,
amused themselves at play till the theatre opened. Then they went
all together to the Prince’s House, to see a new tragedy, called
The Queen of Carthage. At the end of the piece they returned to
supper, and their conversation ran first on the composition, then
upon the actors. As for the work, cried Don Matthias, I think
very lightly of it. Eneas is a more pious blockhead there than in
the Eneid. But it must be owned that the piece was played
divinely. What does Signor Don Pompeyo think of it? He does not
seem to agree with me. Gentlemen, said the illustrious stranger
with a smile, you are so enraptured with your actors, and still
more with your actresses, that I scarcely dare avow my dissent.
That is very prudent, interrupted Don Alexo with a sneer, your
criticisms would be ill received. You should be tender of our
actresses before the trumpeters of their fame. We carouse with
them every day, we warrant them sound in their conceptions: we
would give vouchers for the justness of their expression if it
were necessary. No doubt of it, answered his kinsman, you would
do the same kind office by their lives and their manners, from
the same motives of companionable feeling.
Your ladies of the sock and buskin at Lisbon, said the Marquis de
Zenette, laughing, are doubtless far superior? They certainly
are, replied Don Pompeyo. They are some of them at least perfect
in their cast. And these, resumed the Marquis, would be warranted
by you in their conceptions and expressions? I have no personal
acquaintance with them, rejoined Don Pompeyo. I am not of their
revels, and can judge of their merit without partiality. Do you,
in good earnest, think your company first-rate? No, really, said
the Marquis, I think no such thing, and only plead the cause of a
few individuals. I give up all the rest. Will you not allow
extraordinary powers to the actress who played Dido? Did she not
personate that queen with the dignity, and at the same time with
all the bewitching charms, calculated to realize our idea of the
character? Could you help admiring the skill with which she
seizes on the passions of the spectator, and harmonizes their
tone to the vibrations she purposes to produce? She may be called
perfect in the exquisite art of declaiming. I agree with you,
said Don Pompeyo, that she can touch the string either of terror
or of pity: never did any actress come closer to the heart, and
the performance is altogether fine; but still she is not without
her defects. Two or three things disgusted me in her playing.
Would she denote surprise? she glances her eyes to and fro in a
most extravagant manner, altogether unbecoming her supposed
majesty as a princess. Add to this, that in swelling her voice,
which is of itself sound and mellifluous, she goes out of her
natural key, and assumes a harsh ranting tone. Besides, it would
seem as if she might be suspected in more than one passage, of
not very clearly comprehending her author. Yet I would in candour
rather suppose her wanting in diligence than capacity.
As far as I see, said Don Matthias to the critic, you will never
write complimentary odes to our actresses! Pardon me, answered
Don Pompeyo. I can discover high talent through all their
imperfections. I must say that I was enchanted with the
chambermaid in the interlude. What fine natural parts! With what
grace she treads the stage! Has she anything pointed to deliver?
she heightens it by an arch smile, with a keen glance and
sarcastic emphasis, which convey more to the understanding than
the words to the ear. It might be objected that she sometimes
gives too much scope to her animal spirits, and exceeds the
limits of allowable freedom, but that would be hypercritical.
There is one bad habit I should strongly advise her to correct.
Sometimes in the very crisis of the action, and in an affecting
passage, she bursts in all at once upon the interest with some
misplaced jest, to curry favour with the mob of barren
spectators. The pit, you will say, is caught by her artifice;
that may be well for her popularity, but not for their taste.
And what do you think of the men? interrupted the Marquis; you
must give them no quarter, since you have handled the women so
roughly. Not so, said Don Pompeyo. There are some promising young
actors, and I am particularly well pleased with that corpulent
performer who played the part of Dido’s prime minister. His
recitation is unaffected, and he declaims just as they do in
Portugal. If you can bear such a fellow as that, said Segiar, you
must be charmed with the representative of Eneas. Did not you
think him a great, an original performer? Very original, indeed,
answered the critic; his inflections are quite his own, they are
as shrill as an hautboy. Almost always out of nature, he rattles
the impressive words of the sentence off his tongue, while he
labours and lingers on the expletives; the poor conjunctions are
frightened at their own report as they go off. He entertained me
excessively, and especially when he was expressing in confidence
his distress at abandoning the princess; never was grief more
ludicrously depicted. Fair and softly, cousin, replied Don Alexo;
you will make us believe at last that good taste is not greatly
cultivated at the court of Portugal. Do you know that the actor
of whom we are speaking is esteemed a phenomenon? Did you not
observe what thunders of applause he called down? He cannot
therefore be contemptible. That therefore does not prove the
proposition, replied Don Pompeyo. But, gentlemen, let us lay
aside, I beseech you, the injudicious suffrages of the pit; they
are often given to performers very unseasonably. Indeed, their
boisterous tokens of approbation are more frequently bestowed on
paltry copies than on original merit, as Phedrus teaches us by an
ingenious fable. Allow me to repeat it as follows: — The whole
population of a city was assembled in a large square to see a
pantomime played. Among the performers there was one whose feats
were applauded every instant. This buffoon, at the end of the
entertainment, wished to close the scene with a new device. He
came alone upon the stage, stooping clown, covering his head with
his mantle, and began counterfeiting the squeak of a pig. He
acquitted himself so naturally as to be suspected of having the
Comments (0)