The Long Road to Salamanca

By Rod Fisher

Rod Fisher is not the author of this book. He is the “abridgerr” of Gil Blas. What is a Gil Blas? Killer shark? Fast car? Big storm? He hopes he will be considered the resuscitator of a young man on the road to Salamanca and not the murderer. The novel, “Gil Blas”, which took Alain-René Lesage twenty years to write, has been relegated to the highest shelf in the dustiest far corner of most libraries. Shameful, but understandable.
Fisher felt it needed a more descriptive title to trigger the interest of contemporary readers. It was also much too long at over 300,000 words. In the early 18th Century it would have provided candlelight amusement for many evenings, like a TV series that runs for four seasons.
For the modern reader the rambling sentences and passive verbiage of the original novel can be daunting, especially in a book of 320,000 words. This adaptation is not a new translation. It is an abridged version of the original that has been ruthlessly slashed and edited. It is a sugar-coated introduction to the classic which may inspire the reader to tackle the original.
His many adventures with swindlers and bandits, and the many romantic entanglements should not be forgotten and shelf-bound by the archaic idiom of the Enlightenment Period. His story shocked that era's sensibilities--but in a genteel way. It might have been the "Lady Chatterly's Lover", the "Peyton Place" or "The Fifty Shades of Grey" of its time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rod Fisher
• Release date: Jun 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311393494

Book preview

FOREWORD

IF I COULD cavort across the frets of imagination and, in tempo, strum the chords of wit and wisdom, I might be able to write a novel akin to Gil Blas by Alain-René Lesage, written over a 20-year period from 1715 to 1735. Not happening. Not likely to happen.

What I can do is abridge that tale for the modern young adult who, otherwise, might find the rambling passive sentences and the detailed verbiage intimidating. Monsieur Lesage, if aware of this project, would probably say: Sic vos non vobis. (Oh… go ahead. Google it!)

My slashed and edited version should not be mistaken for a fresh translation of the original. In the original volume, our young adventurer hears many tales from those he encounters. These back stories are reduced from chapters to paragraphs to limit the size of that 320,000-word epic.

Chapter One

MY FATHER, Blas of Santillaine, came limping home in the late summer of 1659, a wounded soldier of the Guerra dels Segadors, and on arriving, he married his chambermaid sweetheart who had faithfully awaited his return. I was born ten months later. My father found a job as a squire while my mother remained in household service. I was named after my Uncle Gil, my mother's eldest brother and my godfather.

Picture Uncle Gil, a runty little man five feet high, fat and paunchy, with a head sunk deep between his shoulders. He was a cleric, and he always sat down to a hearty repast with a bottle of fair wine. The generosity of his parishioners kept the groceries coming and the wine flowing. He took me home to his own house when I was only three and proceeded to raise me. He saw that I was exceptionally smart, so he resolved to cultivate my talents. He bought me a primer and undertook my tuition. He would have been very glad to have taught me Latin but poor Uncle Gil, robed as he was, had only made it through the memorized rote of the mass in the course of his ecclesiastical career. I should not wonder but what he was the most ignorant member of the region's clergy. To be sure, it is rumored that he did not gain his position as a priest altogether by his learning. Rumor had it that he owed his position to discreet favors given to some good nuns. In return, it was hinted, they procured him the order of priesthood without the troublesome ceremony of an examination.

His inadequacy as a teacher obliged him to place me under the tutelage of Doctor Gardinez, who had the reputation of being the most learned pedant of Santillaine. I did well under his instructions, and by the end of five or six years, I could read a Greek author or two and had some inkling of the Latin poets. In addition to my classical studies, I studied logic which enabled me to become an expert arguer, and I fell in love with philosophical discussions of all kinds to such an excess that I would buttonhole visiting strangers in our village while I proposed some debatable point of discourse. Once I ran into a group of Irishmen, and a heated exchange of viewpoints was but a feast to them! Oh, that was a time! Such gestures! Such grimaces! Such contortions! Our eyes sparkled; spittle flew! Onlookers, not realizing we were philosophers, must have considered us madmen.

So it went, and I gained my reputation as a hometown genius. My uncle was delighted because he recognized I would soon cease to be dependent on him. Come here, Gil Blas, my precious godson, he invited one day. You have become a fine fellow. You are past seventeen and a clever lad; it is time for you to go forward in the world. I am thinking of sending you to the university at Salamanca. With your wit, you will easily get a good job as a tutor there. I will give you a few ducats for your journey and my mule, which you can sell for ten or twelve pistoles at Salamanca. With that to get you started, you will be able to hold your head up high until you get a job.

He couldn't have suggested anything more agreeable. I was dying to see a little of life, but I was not such a fool as to show it, and when it came to the hour of parting, I called on the stage effect of grief. Dear Uncle, I emoted, daubing an invisible tear, How I will miss you. You are the best of godfathers! My acting was so good that he put his hand deeper into his purse than he would have if he had suspected my true excitement and enthusiasm for the journey.

Before my departure, I said farewell to my papa and mamma. Those dear souls loaded me with a heartfelt inheritance of good advice. You must daily pray to God to help you make your way honestly through the world, they urged, and to not engage in any evil, and above all, to not steal other people's property. After the lecture, they made their blessings my parting present, and there were hugs all around. In light of their impoverished state, that was all I actually expected. With the fond farewells taken care of, I mounted my mule and set forth on my life's great adventure.

Chapter Two

HERE I am, then, on the other side of Santillaine, on the road to Pegnaflor, with the world before me, the proud possessor of a bad mule and forty ducats. The first thing I did was to let my mule go along at its own lazy pace. I dropped the reins and, taking out my ducats, began to count them backwards and forwards in my hat. I had never seen such a sum of money before and could not help looking at it and sifting it through my fingers. I had counted it over twenty times when all at once my mule, with head raised and ears pricked up, stood stock still in the middle of the road. I thought for sure something was the matter. I looked about for a cause and saw a hat and a rosary on the ground.

Then I heard a pleading voice, Pray, good master, have pity on a poor maimed soldier! Please to throw a few small coins into this hat; you shall be rewarded for it in the great afterlife.

The voice came from a scarecrow figure who stood by a thicket a short ways ahead. He had a long musket mounted on two crossed sticks for support; it was aimed right at me. I selected some small change from my purse and dropped the coins into the hat one by one, making sure they clinked, hoping to convince the soldier of my charity. To my relief, he was satisfied with my offering and gave me his blessing. I kicked my mule and got on down the road before he might decide to be a robber rather than a beggar.

The road ahead was fraught with negative possibilities by this event. I considered that I had a good many miles to Salamanca and might meet with something worse. My uncle seemed to have been remiss not to have consigned me to the care of a muleteer. That was what he ought to have done, but he thought, by giving me his mule, my journey would be cheaper. That entered more into his calculation than the hazards of the road. I decided that if I had the good luck to arrive safe at Pegnaflor, I would sell the mule and engage a muleteer going to Astorga, and from there I might get to Salamanca the same way. Though I had never been out of Santillaine, I had familiarized myself with the names of the towns along the way.

I arrived safe and sound in Pegnaflor, and I stopped at the door of a very decent looking inn. My foot was scarcely out of the stirrup before the landlord was at my side, overwhelming me with flattering civility. He untied my cloak bag with his own hands, swung it across his shoulders, and ushered me to a room after ordering a servant to take my mule to the stable. He prattled on and fussed around me and, in short order, I knew his name was Andrew. He had been a sergeant in the army, had been discharged a year ago, and had married a girl from Castropol who, though no beauty, knew how to make both ends meet and was a superior cook. He was anxious to air his personal concerns and seemed to be seeking to worm himself into learning of mine. He told me things he should have kept private thinking, that in doing so, it entitled him to an equal share of mine. He wanted to know from where I came, where I was going, and who I was. Out of courtesy, I felt bound to answer because he accompanied each question with an apologetic bow and a submissive demeanor to deflect any offense by his curiosity. So, by degrees, our conversation led me to inquire about selling my mule and engaging travel with a muleteer. He offered a voluble stream of information that included enumerating the possible dangers ahead on the road and offering examples of some misfortunes occurring to others. He did, however, finally get to the point saying he knew an honest person who would give me a fair price for the beast. I asked him to introduce me, and he hurried off, half backwards, still bowing and prattling.

On his return he introduced the purchaser, vouching for his integrity. We all three went into the yard, and the mule was brought out to let him examine the beast from head to foot. His report was bad enough, but if it had been the pope's mule, he would have had an unfavorable opinion. He proclaimed that the mule had all the defects a mule could have, appealing to the landlord for a confirmation of his judgment. Of course, the landlord, for reasons of his own, agreed with his friend's assessment.

Well! says the buyer with an air of indifference, What price have you the conscience to ask for this devil of an animal?

There was a mutual wagging of heads and clucking meant to indicate that the mule wasn’t worth much. The dealer was nodding sagely, and I was fool enough to take him for an honest fellow and a good judge of horse flesh.

I throw myself on your mercy, I told the dealer. You must fix your own sum, and I shall expect no more.

On this, he began to soften. Sir, you have left it to my honor, and you have found my weak side. I shouldn’t do this, but I’m willing to go as high as three ducats.

He was right enough in that! His honor was his weak side! For instead of bidding up to my uncle's estimate of ten or twelve pistoles, the rascal had the impudence to offer three ducats, which I accepted foolishly as if I had got the better of the bargain.

After pocketing the ducats and having some seller's remorse watching the buyer lead my mule away, I went with my landlord to a carrier who was to leave early the next morning for Astorga. When we had settled on the hire of the mule, as well as the expenses on the road, I turned back towards the inn with the innkeeper, who, as we went along, got into the private history of this muleteer. When I had been pestered with all the gossip of the town about this fellow, by good luck, a distinguished sort of a man very civilly interrupted my loquacious friend. I left them together, and sauntered on into the inn.

I ordered supper as soon as I got there. It was a fish day, but I thought eggs were better suited to my finances. While they were getting ready, I joined in conversation with the landlady. She seemed a pretty piece of goods with such a stirring body that I concluded her tavern must have plenty of customers. The moment the omelet was served, I sat down by myself, and I had scarcely taken a bite when my innkeeper walked in. He was followed by the same man who had stopped him in the street. This pleasant gentleman wore a long rapier and appeared to be about thirty years of age. He came up to me in the most friendly manner possible.

Mr. Professor, says he, I have just now heard that you are the renowned Gil Blas of Santillaine, that licentiate of Santillaine and luminary of philosophy. And do my eyes indeed behold that very greatest of all great scholars and wits, whose reputation has preceded him?

Turning to the innkeeper, he continued, Little do you think, my dear host, little do you imagine, I say, what good luck has befallen you. Why, you have here a treasure. In this young gentleman, you behold the eighth wonder of the world.

Then running up and throwing his arms about my neck, he added, Excuse me, but I cannot possibly suppress the rapturous emotions your honored presence has excited.

I could not answer him so glibly as I wished, not so much for want of words as of breath, for he hugged me so tight that I began to be alarmed for my wind pipe.

When I escaped his embrace, I replied, Señor cavalier, I had not the least conception that my name was known at Pegnaflor.

Known? resumed he in the same pompous style, We keep a register of all great persons within a circuit of twenty leagues round us. You have the character of a prodigy here, and I have not a shadow of doubt, but, one day or other, Spain will be as proud of numbering you among her rare productions as Greece of having given birth to her seven wise men.

This fine flattery flowed over my ego like a soothing freshet. If I had a little more experience, I should not have been the dupe of his grandiloquence. I should have known by his outrageous compliments that he was one of those parasites who swarm in every town, who cultivate the confidence of a stranger for some dishonest agenda. But my youth and vanity tempted me to draw the opposite conclusion. My admirer was very clever in my eyes, and I asked him to share my supper on the strength of it.

Oh! Most willingly, cried he, with all my heart and soul. My fortunate star predominates now that I have the honor of being in company with the illustrious Gil Blas of Santillaine. I shall certainly make the most of my good fortune as long as it lasts. My appetite is rather delicate, but I will just sit down with you to be sociable.

These words were no sooner out of his mouth than my flatterer took his seat at my table. A separate plate was brought for him, and he pounced on the omelet as if he had not tasted food for three whole days. By the intensity with which he eyed it, I was morally certain the half-portion was at death's door. I, therefore, ordered its heir apparent to succeed it, and a second omelet speedily appeared on the table just as he had taken the last lick of its predecessor.

He pressed forward the main business, however, with a diligence and activity proportioned to the importance of the object he had in view, so that he loaded me with more flattery, without losing a single stroke in the progress of chewing.

Now, all this praise inflated my ego with a pompous conceit. When a man eats, he must drink. The first toast, of course, was to my health. The second was to my father and mother, whose happiness in having such an angel of a son, he could not praise too much. All this while he kept filling my glass and challenging me to keep up with him. It was impossible to hold back in doing justice to such excellent toasts and sentiments. I got into such a convivial mood, seeing our second omelet disappear, that I asked the innkeeper if he could not find us a little bit of fish.

You are in luck, he answered. Just this day I received a nice fresh trout. But, I must caution you, it is an expensive tidbit that I was reserving for a nobleman.

Reserved for our lords! exclaimed my new admirer in an angry tone, None of that, my friend. You should know that the best of your larder is not too good for the renowned Gil Blas of Santillaine! Go where he will, he is fit to eat the food of princes!

I was very glad that he chided the innkeeper because if he had not, I should have. I felt myself a little put out.

Produce this trout of yours, and I will take the consequences, I ordered with a degree of hauteur.

The innkeeper, with a satisfied smirk, set himself to work and served it up in high order. At the first glance of this third course, I saw gourmet pleasure sparkling in the parasite's eyes. He was just as ready to dispose of the fish as he had the eggs, but at last he was obliged to lay down his cutlery.

Having sated his hunger and slaked his thirst, he proceeded to put a finishing hand to the farce.

Master Gil Blas, said he, as he rose from the table, I am too well pleased with my princely entertainment to leave you without a word of advice, of which you seem to stand in much need. From this time forward, be on your guard against extravagant praise. Do not trust men until you know them. You may meet with many another man who, like me, may amuse himself at your expense and perhaps carry the joke a little further. But do not be taken in a second time to believe that you are the eighth wonder of the world. With this sting in the tail of his farewell speech, he very coolly left, all wined and dined at my expense.

I was as mortified as I have ever been in life. I did not know how to reconcile myself to the idea of having been so gullible.

So, so! I fussed. This rascal has been putting his tricks upon travelers, has he? Then he only wanted to pump my innkeeper or, more likely, they were both in on it. Ah! my poor Gil Blas, you had better hide your silly head! To have suffered such ridicule! A pretty story they will make of this! It is sure to travel back to Santillaine, and the family will be quite delighted to think what a blessed harvest all their pious advice has produced.

I was ready to tear my eyes out or bite my fingers off from spite and vexation. I locked myself up in my chamber and went to bed but not to sleep. I had not got a wink when the muleteer came to tell me that he was ready to set out on his journey. I got up quickly, and while I was dressing, the innkeeper came with a little bill in his hand—a slight memorandum of the trout! But paying through the nose was not the worst of it for I had the vexation to notice that while I was counting out the ducats, this crook was chuckling at the recollection of the night before. Having been fleeced most shamefully for a supper, which stuck in my craw, though I had scarcely had a bite of it, I joined the muleteer with my baggage. As we left town, I loaded as many curses as there are devils in Hades on the innkeeper.

Chapter Three

I WAS not the only passenger. There were two young gentlemen of Pegnaflor, a little minstrel of Mondognedo who was traveling about the country, and a young tradesman of Astorga, returning home from Verco with his new bride. We soon got acquainted and exchanged the usual confidence of travelers, telling one another where we came from and where we were going. The bride was young enough but so dark-complected, with so little of what a man admires in a woman, that I did not think her worth the trouble. But she had youth on her side and the muleteer, being rather less picky in his taste, was trying get into her good graces. This pretty project occupied his ingenuity during the whole day, but he deferred his devious plan until we reached Cacabelos. We stopped at an inn on the outskirts of the town, a quiet convenient place with a landlord who never troubled himself about other peoples’ concerns. We were ushered into a private room and got our supper forthwith, but just as the table was cleared, in comes our muleteer in a furious passion.

Death and the devil! I have been robbed. Here I had a hundred pistoles in my purse! But I will have them back again. I am going for a magistrate, and that officer will not take this as a joke. You will all be put to the rack, unless you confess and give back the money.

The fellow played his part very naturally and burst out of the room, leaving us in a terrible fright. None of us suspected a trick and, being all strangers, were afraid of one another. I looked with suspicion at the little minstrel, and he, perhaps, had no better opinion of me. Besides, we were all a pack of greenhorns and were quite unacquainted with the routine of business on these occasions. We were fools enough to believe that the torture of the rack would be the very first stage of our arrest.

With this dread fear spurring us on, we all made for the door. Some made their escape into the street, others into the garden, but the whole party preferred the discretion of running away to the valor of standing their ground. The young tradesman of Astorga abhorred torture like the rest of us, so he did as many another good husband has done before him—ran away and left his wife behind.

At that critical moment, the muleteer, as I was told afterwards, who had not half so much sense of decency as his own mules, delighted at the success of his plan, and he began making his move on the tradesman's wife. But this new bride, borrowing the chastity of a saint from the ugliness of the devil who accosted her, defended her sweet person tooth and nail and made a boisterous hullabaloo as well. The patrol, who happened to be passing by the inn at the time and knew that the neighborhood required a little looking after, took the liberty of asking the cause of the disturbance. The landlord was obliged to introduce the police to the distressed lady, just in time to rescue her from the muleteer's passionate pawing. The head officer, a coarse fellow, no sooner saw the game that was playing than he gave the amorous muleteer five or six blows with the butt end of his halberd, belaboring him on the indecency of his conduct in terms quite as offensive to the lady as the act he was there to prevent.

He laid hold of the culprit and carried both plaintiff and defendant before the magistrate. The new bride, with her charms revealed by the disarray of her dress, went eagerly about obtaining justice for the outrage she had sustained.

His Worship heard at least one party and, after solemn deliberation and a bang of his gavel, pronounced his verdict:

I find this offense to be of a most heinous nature. The muleteer is to be stripped and to receive a competent number of lashes in my presence. If the woman's husband does not return by tomorrow, a couple of guards should escort this poor woman to the town of Astorga at the expense of this mule-driving scoundrel.

For my part, being probably more terrified than the rest of the party, I got into the fields, scampering over hedge and ditch, through enclosures and across pastures, until I found myself in a forest. I was trying to conceal myself in a thicket when two men on horseback came up to me crying, Who goes there? In my alarm, I stuttered incoherently. They dismounted and grabbed on to me, each of them holding a pistol to my throat.

Who are you? Where are you from? What's your business in this forest? Don't even think about avoiding the truth! Their menacing tone and intimidating questions were little better than the rack with which the muleteer had threatened us.

With a shaky voice, I professed that I was only a young man on my way from Santillaine to Salamanca. I told the story of our late fright and faithfully attributed my running away in such a hurry to the dread of a torture on the rack.

They burst into laughter at my simplicity, and one of them said, Take heart, my little friend. Come along with us and do not be afraid; we will put you in a place where the devil shall not find you. Then he mounted his horse, lifted me up behind him, and we cantered off into the forest.

I did not know what to think of this odd meeting, yet on the whole, I could not be worse off than before. If these gentry, I surmised, were thieves, they would have robbed and, perhaps, murdered me. But most likely, I thought, they are a couple of good honest country gentlemen in this neighborhood who, seeing me frightened, have taken compassion on me and mean to carry me home with them and make me comfortable.

But these visions did not last long. After turning and winding backward and forward in the deep silence of the woods, we found ourselves at the foot of a hill where we dismounted. This is our abode, I was told. I looked about in all directions but saw neither house nor cottage, not a vestige of human habitation! The two men, in the mean, time opened a great wooden door covered with earth and briars. It concealed the entrance to a long passage leading underground. The horses, seemingly from habit, trotted in of their own accord. Their masters kept tight hold of me and closed the camouflaged door behind us. Thus was I, the eighth wonder of the world, caught just like a rat in a trap.

Chapter Four

I NOW knew that my companions were brigands and a new fear seized me. Money and life, all given up for lost! I walked, more dead than alive, between my two conductors, who finding that I trembled, frightened me more by telling me not to be afraid. When we had gone two hundred paces on a downward slant, we got into a stable lit by two large iron lamps suspended from the vault above. There was a good store of straw and several casks of hay and corn with room enough for twenty horses. An old Negro, who seemed in pretty good shape for his years, tied our horses to a feeding rack.

We went out of the stable and, by the melancholy light of some other lamps, we arrived at a kitchen. An old crone was broiling some steaks on the coals and getting supper ready. The kitchen furniture was better than might be expected, and the pantry was well-stocked.

The lady of the larder's picture is worth drawing. She was considerably on the wrong side of sixty! In her youth, her hair had been a fiery red though she would have called it auburn. Time had given it a tint of grey, but a lock of the original hue, interspersed at intervals, produced a variegated effect of autumn shades. She had an enormous chin turning up, an immense nose turning down, with a receding toothless mouth in the middle.

She looked me up and down with ferret-like eyes.

Here, Dame Leonarda, said one of the horsemen as he presented me to this angel of darkness. We have brought you a young lad.

Then seeing me to be fearful, he said, Pluck up your spirits, my friend; you shall come to no harm. We want a scullion and have met with you. You are a lucky dog! We had a boy who died about a fortnight ago. You shall inherit his position. He was rather too delicate for this place. You seem to be a good stout fellow and may live a week or two longer. You will have bed and board, coal and candle, but as for daylight, you will never see that again. Your leisure hours will pass, often very agreeably, with Dame Leonarda, who is really a very good creature and tolerably tender-hearted. You will have all the comforts to pleasure you and, I assure you, you are not among beggars. Then the thief seized a torch and ordered me to follow him.

He took me into a cellar where I saw a great number of bottles and earthen pots full of excellent wine. He then made me cross several rooms. In some were bolts of cloth piled up; in others, tapestries and silks. As we passed through, I could not help noticing the gold and silver plate peeping out of the different cupboards. After that, I followed him into a great hall illuminated by three copper chandeliers and serving as a gallery between the other rooms. Here he put fresh questions to me, asking my name and why I had left Santillaine.

Well, Gil Blas, said he, "since your only motive for quitting your native place was to get into something snug and eligible, you must have been born to good luck or you would not have fallen into our hands. You will live here on the fat of the land and in a place of perfect safety. The officers of the holy brotherhood might pass through the forest a hundred times without discovering our subterraneous abode. The entrance is only known to myself and my comrades.

You may ask, perhaps, he continued, how it came to be contrived, without being perceived by the inhabitants of the neighborhood. But you are to understand, my friend, that it was made long ago and is no work of ours. After the Moors had made themselves masters of Granada, of Arragon, and nearly the whole of Spain, the Christians, rather than submit to the tyranny of infidels, took flight and lay concealed in this country. They lived in a state of exile on the mountains or in the woods, dispersed in little knots. Some took up their residences in natural caves, others in artificial dwellings underground like this one. Eventually, when they had driven their enemies out of Spain, they returned to the towns. From that time forth, their retreats have served as a rendezvous for the gentlemen of our profession. It is true that several of them have been discovered and destroyed by the holy brotherhood, but there are some remaining. By great good luck, I have tenanted this, rent free, for almost fifteen years.

Then he shook my hand and, with a click of his boot heels, announced, Captain Rolando, at your service! I am the leader of the band, and the man you saw with me is one of my troopers.

Chapter Five

JUST AS Captain Rolando had finished his speech, six new faces made their appearance in the hall: the lieutenant and five privates returning home with their booty. They came hauling in two great baskets full of sugar, cinnamon, pepper, figs, almonds, and raisins. The lieutenant gave an account of their proceedings to the captain and told him they had taken these articles from a grocer in Benavento. The grocer's contributions were carried to the larder, and the next step was to celebrate their successful foray. A large table was set out in the hall. They sent me back to the kitchen, where Dame Leonarda told me what I had to do. I made the best of a bad bargain and, swallowing my grievances, set myself to wait on my ignoble masters.

I set out plates and cutlery and brought up the wine. As soon as I announced dinner, which consisted of a black peppery stew for the first course, this high and mighty company took their seats. They fell too voraciously. I served the wine with a manner so butler-like that I was complimented on my dexterity. The captain entertained them with a short sketch of my story and praised my recent history. I had recovered from my egomania by this time and could listen with the humility of a monk or the contempt of a philosopher. They all seemed to take a liking to me and apparently thought I had dropped from the clouds on purpose to be their servant. Since the death of my predecessor, the illustrious Leonarda had the honor of presenting nectar to these gods of the lower regions, but she was now demoted, and I had the honor of replacing her.

Following the stew, they consumed a substantial joint of meat. Eating and drinking went together, so they soon became happily intoxicated and became rowdy. They were 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 conductor of the chorus and brought them into better harmony.

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 (has?) 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 led each of us to embrace our present way of life. 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, with the help of free-flowing wine, they bared the brazen details of their colorful backgrounds until their comrades started dozing off.

Chapter Six

AFTER THE banditti had exhausted the evening's diversion as well as themselves, they went off to bed. For my part, I returned to the hall, where I cleared the table and cleaned up. Then I went to the kitchen where Domingo, the old negro, and Dame Leonarda had been expecting me at supper. Though I had no appetite, I had the good manners to sit down with them, but I couldn’t eat a morsel as I was mentally bewailing my degrading circumstances.

Why do you take on so, my good lad? said the old dowager. You ought rather to bless your stars for your good luck. You are young and seem a little soft; you would have been in a fine kettle of fish out in the busy world. You might have fallen into bad hands, and then your morals would have been corrupted; whereas here your innocence is insured to its full value.

Dame Leonarda is right, put in the old negro gravely, the world is but a troublesome place. Be thankful, my friend, for being so early relieved from the dangers, the difficulties, and the afflictions of that miserable life.

I bore this advice very quietly because I should prove nothing by getting myself in a passion about it. At length Domingo, after gorging himself and getting gloriously muddled with wine, went off to the stable. Leonarda, by the glimmering of a lamp, showed me the way to a vault which was the bedroom of the dead former servant. Here I was led to something more like a grave than a bed.

This is your room, said she. Your predecessor lay here as long as he was among us. He hurried out of life in his prime; do not be so foolish as to follow his example.

With this kind advice, she left me with the lamp for my companion and returned to the kitchen. I threw myself on the little bed, not so much for rest as meditation.

O heaven! exclaimed I, was there ever a fate so dreadful as mine? Am I to live forever in the dark? Beside this, as if it were not enough to be buried alive at eighteen, is my misery to be aggravated by being in the service of a band of brigands?

These reflections, which seemed to me very dismal and were indeed no better than they seemed, set me crying most bitterly. I could not conceive what cursed maggot my uncle had got into his head to send me to Salamanca. I repented running away from Cacabelos and the possible rack torture. But, considering how vain it was to lock the stable after the horse was stolen, I determined, instead of lamenting the past, to hit upon some expedient for making my escape. And so I schemed. The cutthroats are asleep; cooky and the black will be snoring before long. Why cannot I, by the help of this lamp, find the passage by which I descended into these infernal regions? I may not be strong enough to open the door at the entrance. However, let us see. Faint heart never won fair lady. Despair will lend me new power, and who knows—I may succeed!

Thus was the plan laid for a grand attempt. I got up as soon as Leonarda and Domingo were likely to be asleep. With the lamp in my hand, I stole out of the vault praying fervently to all the spirits to bolster my endeavor. With no small difficulty, I threaded all the tunnels of this new labyrinth. At last, I found myself at the stable door and saw my way to freedom. Pushing on, I made my way towards the outer door with a beating heart. But, alas! Barring my progress was a cursed iron grate locked fast with bars too close together to squeeze through. I felt foolish that I had not been aware of this barrier when we came in because the grate was then open. However, I tried what I could do by fumbling at the bars. Then I studied the lock to see if it could not be forced.

All at once my poor shoulders received five or six good strokes of a bull's pizzle whip. I set up such a shriek that the passages rang with it. Looking around, who should it be but the old negro in his night shirt holding a dark lantern in one hand and the whip in the other.

Oh, ho! he sneered, "My merry little fellow, you will run away, will you? No, no! You must not think to set your wits against mine. I heard you all the while. You thought you should find the grate open, did you not? You may