The Adventures of Gil Blas of Santillane, Volume 1 (of 3)Le Sage, Alain René
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The Adventures of Gil Blas of Santillane, Volume 1 (of 3)
Le Sage, Alain René
Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction; Blas, Gil (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
Donna Mencia melted into tears as she finished this recital. I
allowed her to give a free passage to her sighs; I even wept myself
for company, so natural is it to be interested for the afflicted, and
especially for a lovely female in distress. I was just going to ask
her what she meant to do in the present conjuncture, and possibly she
was going to consult me on the same subject if our conversation had
not been interrupted; but we heard a great noise in the inn, which
drew our attention whether we would or no. It was no less than the
arrival of the corregidor, attended by two alguazils and their
marshalmen. They came into the room where we were. A young
gentleman in their train came first up to me, and began taking to
pieces the different articles of my dress. He had no occasion to
examine them long. By saint James, exclaimed he, this is my
identical doublet! It is the very thing, and as safely to be
challenged as my horse. You may commit this spark on my
recognizance; he is one of the gang who have an undiscovered retreat
in this country.
At this discourse, which gave me to understand my accuser to be the
gentleman robbed, whose spoils to my confusion were exclusively my
own, I was without a word to say for myself, looking one way and the
other, and not knowing where to fix my eyes. The corregidor, whose
office was suspicion, set me down for the culprit; and, presuming on
the lady for an accomplice, ordered us into separate custody. This
magistrate was none of your stern gallows-preaching fellows, he had a
jocular epigrammatic sort of countenance. God knows if his heart lay
in the right place for all that! As soon as I was committed, in came
he with his pack. They knew their trade, and began by searching me.
What a forfeit to these lords of the manor! At every handful of
pistoles, what little eyes did I see them make! The corregidor was
absolutely out of his wits! It was the best stroke within the memory
of justice! My pretty lad, said his worship with a softened tone, we
only do our duty, but do not you tremble for your bones before the
time: you will not be broken on the wheel if you do not deserve it.
These blood-suckers were emptying my pockets all the time with their
cursed palaver, and took from me what their betters of the shades
below had the decency to leave--my uncle's forty ducats. They stuck
at nothing! Their stanch fingers, with slow but certain scent,
routed me out from top to toe; they whisked me round and round, and
stripped me even to the shame of modesty, for fear some sneaking
portrait of the king should slink between my shirt and skin. When
they could sift me no further, the corregidor thought it time to
begin his examination. I told a plain tale. My deposition was taken
down; and the sequel was, that he carried in his train his
bloodhounds, and my little property, leaving me to toss without a rag
upon a beggarly whisp of straw.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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