The Adventures of Gil Blas of Santillane, Volume 2 (of 3)Le Sage, Alain René
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The Adventures of Gil Blas of Santillane, Volume 2 (of 3)
Le Sage, Alain René
Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction; Blas, Gil (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
Faint heart never won fair lady, said I most wisely to the captain;
you are perhaps on the eve of finding all your marches and
countermarches repaid with usury. I must not flatter myself with
that pleasing expectation, answered Don Annibal. It is but three
days since I spoke to one of the minister's secretaries; and if I am
to trust his representations, I have only to hold up my head and look
big. What, then, did he say to you? replied I. Had those poor dumb
mouths, your wounds, no eloquence to wring a hireling pittance for
their profuse expense of blood? You shall judge for yourself,
resumed Chinchilla. This secretary told me in good plain terms, My
honest friend, you need not boast so much of your zeal and your
fidelity; you have only done your duty in exposing yourself to danger
for your country. Naked glory is the true and honorable recompense
of gallant actions, and as such is the prize at which a Spaniard
aims. You therefore argue on false principles, if you consider the
bounty you solicit as a debt. In case it should be granted, you will
owe that favor exclusively to the royal goodness, which, in its
extreme condescension, requites those of its subjects who have served
the state valiantly. Thus you see, pursued the captain, that if I
had a hundred lives, they are all pledged, and that I am likely to go
back as hungry as I came.
A brave man in distress is the most touching object in this world. I
exhorted him to stick close, and offered to write his memorials out
fair for nothing. I even went so far as to open my purse to him, and
to beg it as a favor that he would draw upon me for whatever he
wanted. But he was not one of those folks who never wait to be asked
twice on such occasions. So much the reverse, that with a
commendable delicacy on the subject, he thanked me for my kindness,
but refused it peremptorily. He afterwards told me that, for fear of
sponging upon any one, he had accustomed himself, by little and
little, to live with such sobriety, that the smallest quantity of
food was sufficient for his subsistence; which was but too true. His
daily fare was confined to vegetables, by dint whereof his component
parts were confined to skin and bone. That he might have no
witnesses how ill he dined, he usually shut himself up in his chamber
at that meal. I prevailed so far with him, however, by repeated
entreaties, as to obtain that we should dine and sup together; then,
undermining his pride by little indirect artifices of compassion, I
ordered more provision and wine than I could consume to my own share.
I pressed him to eat and drink. At first he made difficulties about
it; but in the end there was no resisting my hospitality. After a
time, his modesty becoming fainter as his diet was more flush, he
helped me off with my dinner and lightened my bottle almost without
asking.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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