The Adventures of Gil Blas of Santillane, Volume 1 (of 3)Le Sage, Alain René
General
The Adventures of Gil Blas of Santillane, Volume 1 (of 3)
Le Sage, Alain René
Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction; Blas, Gil (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
A substantial joint of meat after the ragouts at length blunted the
edge of their appetites. Eating and drinking went together: so that
they soon got into a merry pin, and made a roaring noise. Well done,
my lads! All talkers and no listeners. One begins a long story,
another cuts a joke; here a fellow bawls, there a fellow sings; and
they all seem to be at cross-purposes. At last Rolando, tired of a
concert in which he could hardly hear the sound of his own voice, let
them know that he was maestro di capella, and brought them into
better tune. Gentlemen, said he, I have a question to put. Instead
of stunning one another with this infernal din, had we not better
enjoy a little rational conversation? A thought is just come into my
head. Since the happy day that united us we have never had the
curiosity to inquire into each other's pedigrees, or by what chain of
circumstances we were each of us led to embrace our present way of
life. There would be no harm in knowing who and who are together.
Let us exchange confidence: we may find some amusement in it. The
lieutenant and the rest, like true heroes of romance, accepted the
challenge with the utmost courtesy, and the captain told the first
story to the following effect:--
Gentlemen, you are to know that I am the only son of a rich citizen
in Madrid. The day of my birth was celebrated in the family by
rejoicings without end. My father, no chicken, thought it a
considerable feat to have got an heir, and my mother was kind enough
to suckle me herself. My maternal grandfather was still living: a
good old man, who did not trouble himself about other people's
concerns, but said his prayers, and fought his campaigns over and
over again; for he had been in the army. Of course I was idolized by
these three persons; never out of their arms. My early years were
passed in the most childish amusements, for fear of hurting my health
by application. It will not do, said my father, to hammer much
learning into children till time has ripened their understanding.
While he waited for this ripening, the season went by. I could
neither read nor write: but I made up for that in other ways. My
father taught me a thousand different games. I became perfectly
acquainted with cards, was no stranger to dice, and my grandfather
set me the example of drawing the long bow, while he entertained me
with his military exploits. He sung the same songs repeatedly one
after another every day; so that when, after saying ten or twelve
lines after him for three months together, I got to boggle through
them without missing, the whole family were in raptures at my memory.
Neither was my wit thought to be at all less extraordinary; for I was
suffered to talk at random, and took care to put in my oar in the
most impertinent manner possible. O, the pretty little dear!
exclaimed my father, as if he had been fascinated. My mother made it
up with kisses, and my grandfather's old eyes overflowed. I played
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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