The Adventures of Gil Blas of Santillane, Alain René le Sage [most read books .txt] 📗
- Author: Alain René le Sage
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witness to some attempt at giving me pleasure, such as the most
impassioned and most tender lover puts in practice to win the
smile of her he loves; though he had a thousand estimable
qualities, my heart was untouched by all his merit. Love is not
always the offspring either of assiduity or desert. Alas! we are
often captivated at first sight by we know not whom, nor why, nor
how. To love, then, was not in my power. More disconcerted than
gratified by his repeated offices of tenderness, which I received
with a forced courtesy, but without real plea ure, if I accused
myself in secret of ingratitude, I still thought myself an object
as much of pity as of censure. To his unhappiness and my own, his
delicacy more than kept pace with his affection. Not an action or
a speech of mine, but he unravelled all its hidden motives, and
fathomed all my thoughts, almost before they arose. The inmost
recesses of my heart were laid open to his penetration. He
complained without ceasing of my indifference; and esteemed
himself only so much the more unfortunate, in not being able to
please me, as he was well assured that no rival stood in his way;
for I was scarcely sixteen years old; and, before he paid his
addresses to me, he had tampered with my women, who had assured
him that no one had hitherto attracted my attention. Yes,
Seraphina, he would often say, I could have been contented that
you had preferred some other to myself; and that there were no
more fatal cause of your insensibility. My attentions and your
own principles would get the better of such a juvenile
prepossession; but I despair of triumphing over your coldness,
since your heart is impenetrable to all the love I have lavished
on you. Wearied with the repetition of the same strain, I told
him that instead of disturbing his repose and mine by this excess
of delicacy, he would do better in trusting to the effects of
time. In fact, at my age, I could not be expected to enter into
the refinements of so sentimental a passion; and Don Diego should
have waited, as I warned him, for a riper period and more staid
reflection. But, finding that a whole year had elapsed, and that
he was no forwarder in my favour than on the first day, he lost
all patience, or rather, his brain became distracted. Affecting
to have important business at court, he took his leave, and went
to serve as a volunteer in the Low Countries; where he soon found
in the chances of war what he went to seek, the terminations of
his sufferings and of his life.
After the lady had finished her recital, her husband’s uncommon
character became the topic of our discourse. We were interrupted
by the arrival of a courier, charged with a letter for Seraphina
from the Count De Polan. She begged my permission to read it; and
as she went on, I observed her to grow pale, and to become
dreadfully agitated. When she had finished, she raised her eyes
upward, heaved a long sigh, and her face was in a moment bathed
with her tears. Her sorrow sat heavily on my feelings. My spirits
were greatly disturbed; and, as if it were a forewarning of the
blow impending over my head, a death-like shudder crept through
my frame, and my faculties were all benumbed. Madam, said I, in
accents half choked with apprehension, may I ask of what dire
events that letter brings the tidings? Take it, sir, answered
Seraphina most dolefully, while she held out the letter to me.
Read for yourself what my father has written. Alas! you are but
too deeply concerned in the contents.
At these words, which made my blood run cold, I took the letter
with a trembling hand, and found in it the following
intelligence: “Your brother, Don Gaspard, fought yesterday at the
Prado. He received a small sword wound, of which he died this
day: and declared, before he breathed his last, that his
antagonist was the son of Baron Steinbach, an officer of the
German guard. As misfortunes never come alone, the murderer has
eluded my vengeance by flight, but wherever he may have concealed
himself, no pains shall be spared to hunt him out. I am going to
write to the magistrates all round the country, who will not fail
to take him into custody, if he passes through any one of the
towns in their jurisdiction, and by the notices I am going to
circulate, I hope to cut off his retreat in the country or at the
sea-ports. — THE COUNT DE POLAN.”
Conceive into what a ferment this letter threw all my thoughts. I
remained for some moments motionless and without the power of
speech. In the midst of my confusion, I too plainly saw the
destructive bearing of Don Gaspard’s death on the passion I had
imbibed. My despair was unbounded at the thought. I threw myself
at Seraphina’s feet, and offering her my naked sword, Madam, said
I, spare the Count de Polan the necessity of seeking further for
a man who might possibly withdraw himself from his resentment. Be
yourself the avenger of your brother: offer up his murderer as
the victim of your own hand: now, strike the blow. Let this very
weapon which terminated his life, cut short the sad remnant of
his adversary’s days. Sir, answered Seraphina, a little softened
by my behaviour, I loved Don Gaspard, so that though you killed
him in fair and manly hostility, and though he brought his death
upon himself; you may rest assured that I take up my father’s
quarrel. Yes, Don Alphonso, I am your decided enemy, and will do
against you all that the ties of blood and friendship require at
my hands. But I will not take advantage of your evil star: in
vain has it delivered you into my grasp: if honour arms me
against you, the same sentiment forbids to pursue a cowardly
revenge. The rights of hospitality must be inviolable, and I will
not repay such service as you have rendered me with the treachery
of an assassin. Fly! make your escape, if you can, from our
pursuit and from the rigour of the laws, and save your forfeit
life from the dangers that beset it.
What, then! madam, returned I, when vengeance is in your own
hands, do you turn it over to the laws, which may, perhaps, be
too slow for your impatience? Nay! rather stab a wretch who is
not worthy of your forbearance. No, madam, maintain not so noble
and so generous a proceeding with one like me. Do you know who I
am? All Madrid takes me for Baron Steinbach’s son — yet am I
nothing better than a foundling, whom he brought up from charity.
I know not even who were guilty of my existence. No matter,
interrupted Seraphina, with precipitation, as if my last words
had given her new uneasiness, though you were the lowest of
mankind I would do what honour bids. Well, madam, said I, since a
brother’s death is insufficient to excite your thirst after my
blood, I will exasperate your hatred still further by a new
offence, of which I trust you will never pardon the boldness. I
dote on you: I could not behold your charms without being dazzled
by them: and, in spite of the cloud in which my destiny was
enveloped, I had cherished the hope of being united to you. I was
so infatuated by my passion, or rather by my pride, as to flatter
myself that heaven, which perhaps conceals from me my birth in
mercy, might discover it one day, and enable me without a blush
to acquaint you with my real name. After this injurious avowal,
can you hesitate a moment about punishing me?
This rash declaration, replied the lady, would doubtless prove
offensive at any other season; but I forgive it in consideration
of the trouble which bewilders you. Besides, my own condition so
engrosses me, as to render me deaf to any strange ideas that may
escape you. Once more, Don Alphonso, added she, shedding tears,
begone far from a house which you have cast into mourning: every
moment of your longer stay adds pungency to my distress. I no
longer oppose your will, madam, returned I, preparing to take my
leave: absence from you must then be my portion: but do not
suppose that, anxious for the preservation of a life which is
become hateful to you, I go to seek an asylum where I may be
sheltered from your search. No, no, I bare my breast to your
resentment. I shall wait with impatience at Toledo for the fate
which you design me; and by surrendering at once to my pursuers,
shall myself forward the completion of my miseries.
At the conclusion of this speech I withdrew. My horse was
returned to me, and I went to Toledo, where I abode eight days,
and really with so little care to conceal myself that I know not
how or why I have escaped an arrest; for I cannot suppose that
the Count de Polan, whose whole soul is set on cutting off my
retreat, should not have been aware that I was likely to pass
through Toledo. Yesterday I left that town, where it should seem
as if I was tired of my liberty, and without betaking myself to
any fixed course of travelling, I came to this hermitage, like a
man who had no reason to be ashamed of shewing himself. Such,
father, was the cause of my absence and distraction. I beseech
you to assist me with your counsels.
CH. XI. — The old hermit turns out an extraordinary genius, and
Gil Blas finds himself among his former acquaintance.
WHEN Don Alphonso had concluded the melancholy recital of his
misfortunes, the old hermit said to him — My son, you have been
excessively rash in tarrying so long at Toledo. I consider in a
very different light from that you affect to place it in, what
you have told me of your story; and your love for Seraphina seems
to me to be sheer madness. Take my word for it, you will do well
to cancel that young lady from your remembrance; she never can be
of your communion. Retreat like a skilful general, when you
cannot act with effect on the offensive; and pursue your fortune
on another field, where success may smile on your endeavours. You
will be terribly out of luck to kill the brother of the next
young lady who may chance to succeed this only possible object of
your affection.
He was going to add many other inducements to resignation, in
such a case as Don Alphonso’s, when we saw another hermit enter
our retreat, with a well-stuffed wallet slung across his
shoulders. He was on his return, with the charitable
contributions of all the good folks in the town of Cuen�a; and
the gathering did credit to the religion of the age. He looked
younger than his companion, in spite of his thick, foxy beard.
Welcome home, brother Anthony, said the elder of the two
recluses; what news do you bring us from town? Bad enough,
answered the carroty friar, putting into his hands a paper,
folded in the form of a letter; this little instrument will
inform you. The hoary sage opened it, and after reading on with
an increased attention, as the contents seemed to grow more
interesting, exclaimed: Heaven’s will be done! Since the
combustion is anticipated, we have only to fall in with the
humour of our fate. Let us change our dialect, Signor Don
Alphonso! pursued he, addressing
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