The Adventures of Gil Blas of Santillane, Volume 2 (of 3)Le Sage, Alain René
General
The Adventures of Gil Blas of Santillane, Volume 2 (of 3)
Le Sage, Alain René
Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction; Blas, Gil (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
From Leghorn, after having staid there some time, I departed for
Florence, a town I had a strong desire to see. I did not go thither
without letters of recommendation. Azarini, the father, had
connections at the grand duke's court, and introduced me to them as a
Spanish gentleman related to his family. I tacked don to my name, in
honest rivalry of impudence with other low Spaniards, who take up
that travelling title of honor without compunction, when far enough
from home to set detection at defiance. Boldly then did I dub myself
Don Raphael, and appeared at court with suitable splendor, on the
strength of what I had brought from Algiers, to keep my nobility from
starving. The high personages to whom old Azarini had written in my
favor, gave out in their circle that I was a person of quality; so
that with this testimony, and a natural knack I had of giving myself
airs, the deuce must have been in it if I could not have passed
muster for a man of some consequence. I soon got to be hand in glove
with the principal nobility, and they presented me to the grand duke.
I had the good fortune to make myself agreeable. It then became an
object with me to pay court to that prince, and to study his humor.
I sucked in with greedy ear all that his most experienced courtiers
said about him, and by their conversation fathomed all his
peculiarities. Among other things, he encouraged a play of wit; was
fond of good stories and lively repartees. On this hint I formed
myself. Every morning I wrote down in my pocket-book such anecdotes
as I meant to rack off in the course of the day. My stock was
considerably extensive, so that I was a walking budget of balderdash.
Yet even my estate in nonsense required economy, and I began to get
out at elbows, so as to be reduced to borrow from myself, and
mortgage my resources twenty times over; but when the shallow current
of my wit and wisdom was nearly at its summer drought, a torrent of
matter-of-fact lies gave new force to the exhausted stream of
quibble. Intrigues which never had been intrigued, and practical
jokes which had never been played off, were the tools I worked with,
and exactly to the level of the grand duke; nay, what often happens
to dull dealers in inextinguishable vivacity, the mornings were spent
in financiering those funds of conversation, which were to be drawn
upon after dinner, as if from a perennial spring of preternatural
wealth.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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