Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine. Volume 55, No. 343, May 1844

Llorente enumerates thirty-six eminent writers who flourished in 1655, the period when, as we shall presently see, the romance in question was written. Of these Don Louis de   Guevarra, author of the Diablo Cojuelo, Francisco de Santos, José Pellicer, and Solis, are among the most distinguished. Llorente, however, puts all aside—and all, except Pellicer perhaps, for very sufficient reasons—determining that Solis alone united all the attributes and circumstances belonging to the writer of Gil Blas. The writer of Gil Blas was a Castilian—this may be inferred from his panegyric on Castilian wit, which he declares equal to that of Athens; he must have been a dramatic writer, from his repeated criticisms on the drama, and the keenness with which he sifts the merit of contemporary dramatic authors; he must have been a great master of narrative, and thoroughly acquainted with the habits and institutions of his age and country; he must have possessed the art of enlivening his story with caustic allusions, and with repartees; he must have been perfectly conversant with the intrigues of courtiers, and have acquired from his own experience, or the relation of others, an intimate knowledge of the private life of Olivarez, and the details of Philip IV.’s court. All these requisites are united in Solis:—he was born at Alcalá de Henares, a city of Castile; he was one of the best dramatic writers of his day, the day of Calderon de la Barca. That he was a great historical writer, is proved by his Conquista de Méjico; his comedies prove his thorough knowledge of Spanish habits; and the retorts and quiddities of his Graciosos flash with as much wit as any that were ever uttered by those brilliant and fantastic denizens of the Spanish stage. He was a courtier; he was secretary to Oropezo, viceroy successively of Navarre and of Valencia, and was afterwards promoted by Philip IV. to be “Oficial de la Secretaria” of the first minister Don Louis de Haro, and was allowed, as an especial mark of royal favour, to dispose of his place in favour of his relation. This happened about the year 1654—corresponding, as we shall see, exactly with the mission of the Marquis de Lionne. Afterwards he was appointed Cronista Mayor de las Indias, and wrote his famous history. These are the arguments in favour of Solis, which cannot be offered in behalf of any of his thirty-six competitors. It is therefore the opinion of Llorente that the honour of being the author of Gil Blas is due to him; and in this opinion, supposing the fact which we now proceed to investigate, that a Spaniard, and not Le Sage, was the author of the work, is made out to their satisfaction, our readers will probably acquiesce.

The steps by which the argument that Gil Blas is taken from a Spanish manuscript proceeds, are few and direct. It abounds in facts and allusions which none but a Spaniard could know: this is the first step. It abounds in errors that no Spaniard could make—(by the way, this is much insisted upon by M. de Neufchateau, who does not seem to perceive that, taken together with the preceding proposition, it is fatal to his argument:) this is the second step, and leads us to the conclusion that the true theory of its origin must reconcile these apparent contradictions.

A Spanish manuscript does account for this inconsistency, as it would furnish the transcriber with the most intimate knowledge of local habits, names, and usages; while at the same time it would not guard him against mistakes which negligence or haste, or the difficulty of deciphering a manuscript in a language with which the transcriber was by no means critically acquainted, must occasion. Still less would it guard him against errors which would almost inevitably arise from the insertion of other Spanish novels, or the endeavour to give the work a false claim to originality, by alluding to topics fashionable in the city and age when the work was copied.

The method we propose to follow, is to place before the reader each division of the argument. We shall show a most intimate knowledge with Spanish life, clearly proving that the writer, whoever he is, is unconscious of any merit in painting scenes with which he was habitually familiar. Let any reader compare the facility of these unstudied allusions with the descriptions of a different age or time, even by the best writers of a different epoch and country, however accurate and dramatic they may be—with Quentin Durward or Ivanhoe, for instance; or with Barante’s Histoire des Ducs de Bourgogne, and they will see   the force of this remark. In spite of art, and ability, and antiquarian knowledge, it is evident that a resemblance is industriously sought in one case, and is spontaneous in the other; that it is looked upon as a matter of course, and not as a title to praise, by the first class of writers, while it is elaborately wrought out, as an artist’s pretension to eminence, in the second. If Le Sage had been the original author of Gil Blas, he would have avoided the multiplication of circumstances, names, and dates; or if he had thought it necessary to intersperse his composition with them, he would have contented himself with such as were most general and notorious; the minute, circuitous, and oblique allusions, which it required patient examination to detect, and vast local knowledge to appreciate, could not have fallen within his plan.

Secondly—We shall point out the mistakes, some of them really surprising even in a foreign writer, with regard to names, dates, and circumstances, oversetting every congruity which it was manifestly Le Sage’s object to establish. We shall show that the Spanish novels inserted by him do not mix with the body of the work; and moreover we shall show that in one instance, where Le Sage hazarded an allusion to Parisian gossip, he betrayed the most profound ignorance of those very customs which, in other parts of the work passing under his name, are delineated with such truth of colouring, and Dutch minuteness of observation.

If these two propositions be clearly established, we have a right to infer from them the existence of a Spanish manuscript, as on any other hypothesis the claims of an original writer would be clashing and contradictory.

M. Neufchateau, as we have observed, reiterates the assertion that the errors of Gil Blas are such as no Spaniard could commit, leaving altogether unguarded against the goring horn of the dilemma which can only be parried by an answer to the question—how came it to pass that Le Sage could enumerate the names of upwards of twenty inconsiderable towns and villages, upwards of twenty families not of the first class; and in every page of his work represent, with the most punctilious fidelity, the manners of a country he never saw? Nay, how came it to pass that, instead of avoiding minute details, local circumstances, and the mention of particular facts, as he might easily have done, he accumulates all these opportunities of mistake and contradiction, descends to the most trifling facts, and interweaves them with the web of his narrative (conscious of ignorance, as, according to M. Neufchateau, he must have been) without effort and without design.

Let us begin by laying before the readers the pièces du procès. First, we insert the description of Le Sage given by two French writers.

“Voici ce que disoit Voltaire à l’article de Le Sage, dans la première édition du Siècle de Louis XIV.:—

“‘Son roman de Gil Blas est demeuré, parcequ’il y a du naturel.’

“Dans les editions suivantes du Siècle de Louis XIV., Voltaire ajoute un fait qu’il se contente d’énoncer simplement, comme une chose hors de doute; c’est que Gil Blas est pris entièrement d’un livre écrit en Espagnol, et dont il cite ainsi le tître—La vidad de lo Escudero Dom Marco d’Obrego—sans indiquer aucunement la date, l’auteur, ni l’objet de cette vie de l’écuyer Dom Marco d’Obrego.”

“Extrait du Nouveau Porte-feuille historique, poetique, et litteraire de Bruzen de La Martinière.

“‘Baillet n’entendoit pas l’Espagnol. Au sujet de Louis Velés de Guevarra, auteur Espagnol, dans ses jugements des savants sur les poètes modernes, § 1461, il dit: On a de lui plusieurs comedies qui ont été imprimées en diverses villes d’Espagne, et une pièce facétieuse, sous le tître El Diabolo Cojuelo, novella de la otra vida: sur quoi M. de La Monnoye fait cette note. Comment un homme qui fait tant le modeste et le reservé a-t-il pu écrire un mot tel que celui-la? Cette note n’est pas juste. Il semble que M. de La Monnoye veuille taxer Baillet de n’avoir pas sontenu le caractère de modestie, qu’il affectoit. Baillet ne faisoit pas le modeste, il l’étoit véritablement par état et par principe; et s’il eût entendu le mot immodeste, ce mot lui auroit été suspect; il eut eu recours à l’original, où il auroit trouvé Diablo, et non Diabolo, Cojuelo et non Cojudo, et auroit bien vîte corrigé la faute. Mais comme il n’entendoit ni l’un ni l’autre de ces derniers mots, il lui fut aisé, en copiant ses extraits, de   prendre un el pour un d, et de changer par cette légère différence Cojuelo, qui veut dire boiteux, en Cojudo, qui signifie quelqu’un qui a de gros testicules, et sobrino l’exprime encore plus grossièrement en François. M. de La Monnoye devoit moins s’arrêter à l’immodestie de l’épithète, qu’à la corruption du vrai tître le Guevarra.”

“Au reste, c’est le même ouvrage que M. La Sage nous a fait connoître sous le tître du Diable Boiteux; il l’a tourné, à sa manière, mais avec des différences si grandes que Guevarra ne se reconnoîtroit qu’à peine dans cette pretendue traduction. Par exemple, le chapitre xix de la seconde partie contient une aventure de D. Pablas, qui se trouve en original dans un livre imprimé à Madrid en 1729, (sic.) L’auteur des lectures amusantes, qui ne s’est pas souvenu que M. Le Sage, en avoit inséré une partie dans son Diable Boiteux, l’a traduite de nouveau avec assez de liberté, mais pourtant en s’écartant moins de l’original, et l’a insérée dans sa première partie à peu près telle qu’elle se lit dans l’original Espagnol. Mais M. Le Sage l’a traitée avec de grands changements, c’est sa manière d’embellir extrêmement tout ce qu’il emprunte des Espagnols. C’est ainsi qu’il en a usé envers Gil Blas, dont il a fait un chef-d’œuvre inimitable.”—(Pages 336-339, édition de 1757, dans les Passetemps Politiques, Historiques, et Critiques, tome 11, in 12.)

As an example of the accuracy with which Le Sage has imitated his originals, we quote the annexed passages from Marcos de Obregon—Page 3.

“En leyendo el villete, dixo al que le traia: Dezilde a vuestro amo, que di goyo, que para cosas, que me inportan mucho gusto no me suelo leuantar hasta las doze del dia: que porque quiere, que pare matarme me leuante tan demañana? y boluiendose del otro lado, se tornô a dormir.”

“Don Mathias prit le billet, l’ouvrit, et, après l’avoir lu, dit an valet de Don Lope. ‘Mon enfant, je ne me leverois jamais avant midi, quelque partie de plaisir qu’on me pût proposer; juge si je me leverai à six heures du matin pour me battre. Tu peux dire à ton maître que, s’il est encore à midi et demi dans l’endroit où il m’attend, nous nous y verons: va, lui porter cette réponse.’ A ces mots il s’enfonça dans son lit, et ne tarda guère à se rendormir.”

“No quereys que siéta ofensa hecha a un corderillo, como este? a una paloma sin hiel, a un mocito tan humilde, y apazible que, aun quexarse no sabe de una cosa tan mal hecha? cierto y quisiera ser hombre en este punto para végarle.”

“‘Pourquoi,’ s’écria-t-elle avec emportement—pourquoi ne voulez-vous pas que je ressente vivement l’offense qu’on a fait à ce petit agneau, à cette colombe sans fiel, qui ne se plaint seulement pas de l’outrage qu’il a reçu? Ah! que ne suis-je homme en ce moment pour le venger!”

After this we think we are fairly entitled to affirm, that Le Sage was not considered by his contemporaries as a man of original and creative genius; although he possessed, in an eminent degree, the power of appropriating and embellishing the works of others, that his style was graceful, his allusions happy, and his wit keen and spontaneous. If any one assert that this is to underrate Le Sage, and that he is entitled to the credit of an inventor, let him cite any single work written by Le Sage, except Gil Blas, in proof of his assertion. Of course Gil Blas is out of the question. Nothing could be more circular than an argument that Le Sage, because he possessed an inventive genius, might have written Gil Blas; and that because he might have written Gil Blas, he possessed an inventive genius. This being the case, let us examine his biography. Le Sage was born in 1668 at Sargan, a small town near Vannes in Bretagne; at twenty-seven he published a translation of Aristœnætus; and declining, from his love of literature, the hopes of advancement, which, had he taken orders, were within his reach, he came to Paris, where he contracted an intimate friendship with the Abbé de Lyonne, who settled a pension on him, taught him Spanish, and bequeathed to him his library—consisting,   among other works, of several Spanish manuscripts—at his death. His generous benefactor was the third son of Hugo, Marquis de Lyonne, one of the most accomplished and intelligent men in France. In 1656 he was set on a secret mission to Madrid; the object of this mission was soon discovered in the peace of the Pyrenees 1650, and the marriage of Maria Theresa of Austria, eldest daughter of Philip IV., with Louis XIV. During his residence in Spain the Marquis de Lyonne lived in great intimacy with Louis de Haro, Duke of Montoro. The Marquis de Lyonne was passionately fond of Spanish literature; he not only purchased all the printed Spanish works he could procure, but a vast quantity of unprinted manuscripts in the same language, all which, together with the rest of his library, became at his death the property of his son, the Abbé de Lyonne—the friend, patron, and testator of Le Sage. To these facts must be added another very important circumstance, that Le Sage never entered Spain. Of this fact, fatal as it is to Le Sage’s claims, Padre Isla was ignorant; but it is stated with an air of triumph by M. Neufchateau, is proved by Llorente, and must be considered incontestable. The case, then, as far as external evidence is concerned, stands thus. Le Sage, a master of his own language, but not an inventive writer, and who had never visited Spain, contracts a friendship which gives him at first the opportunity of perusing, and afterwards the absolute possession of, a number of Spanish manuscripts. Having published several elegant paraphrases and translations of printed Spanish works, he published Gil Blas in several volumes, at long intervals, as an original work; after this, he published the Bachelier de Salamanque, which he calls himself a translation from a Spanish manuscript, of which he never produces the original. Did the matter rest here, much suspicion would be thrown upon Le Sage’s claims to the authorship of Gil Blas; but we come now to the evidence arising, “ex visceribus causæ,” from the work itself, and the manner of its publication.

The chief points of resemblance between Gil Blas and the Bachelier de Salamanque, are the following:—

1. The Bachelier de Salamanque is remarkable for his logical subtilty—so is Gil Blas.

2. The doctor of Salamanque, by whom the bachelor is supported after his father’s death, is avaricious—so is Gil Blas’s uncle, the canon of Oviedo, Gil Perez.

3. The doctor recommends the bachelor of Salamanca to obtain a situation as tutor—the canon gives similar advice to Gil Blas.

4. The bachelor is dissuaded from becoming a tutor—Fabricio dissuades Gil Blas from taking the same situation.

5. A friar of Madrid makes it his business to find vacant places for tutors—a friar of Cordova, in Gil Blas, does the same.

6. The bachelor is obliged to leave Madrid because he is the favoured lover of Donna Lucia de Padilla—Gil Blas is obliged to leave the Marquise de Chaves for the same reason.

7. Bartolome, the comedian, encourages his wife’s intrigues—Melchier Zapata does the same.

8. The lover of Donna Francisca, in Granada, is a foreign nobleman kept there by important business—the situation of the Marquis de Marialva is the same.

9. The comedian abandons an old and liberal lover, for Fonseca, who is young and poor—Laura prefers Louis de Alaga to his rival, for the same reason.

10. Bartolome, to deceive Francisca, assumes the name of Don Pompeio de la Cueva—to deceive Laura, Gil Blas pretends to be Don Fernando de Ribera.

11. Le Bachelier contains repeated allusions to Dominican friars, and particularly to Cirilo Carambola—similar allusions abound in Gil Blas, where Louis de Aliaga, confessor of Philip III., is particularly mentioned.

12. The character of Diego Cintillo, in the Bachelier de Salamanque, is identical with that of Manuel Ordoñez in Gil Blas.

13. An aunt of the Duke of Uzeda obtains for the bachelor the place of secretary in the minister’s office—Gil Blas obtains the same post by means of an uncle of the Count of Olivarez.

14. The bachelor, whilst secretary at Uzeda, assists in bringing about   his patron’s daughter’s marriage—Gil Blas does the same whilst secretary of the Duke of Olivarez.

15. Francisca, the actress, is shut up in a convent at Carthagena, because the corregidor’s son falls in love with her—Laura, in Gil Blas, is shut up in a convent, because the corregidor’s only son falls in love with her.

16. The adventures of Francisca and Laura resemble each other.

17. So do those of Toston and Scipio.

18. Toston and Scipio both lose their wives; and both disbelieve in reality, though they think proper to accept, the excuses they make on their return.

19. Finally, in Gil Blas we find a vivid description of the habits and manners prevalent in the European dominions of Spain during the reigns of Philip III. and Philip IV. But in no part of Gil Blas do we find any allusion to the habits and manners of the viceroy’s canons, nuns, and monks of America; and yet Scipio is dispatched with a lucrative commission to New Spain. It may fairly be inferred, therefore, that so vast a portion of the Spanish monarchy did not escape the notice of the attentive critic who wrote Gil Blas; and the silence can only be accounted for by the fact, that the principal anecdotes relating to America, were reserved to make out the Bachelier de Salamanque, from the remainder of which Gil Blas was taken.

Now, the dates of Gil Blas and the Bachelier de Salamanque were these:—the two first volumes of Gil Blas were published in 1715, the third volume in 1724, which, it is clear, he intended to be the last. First, from the Latin verses with which it closes; and secondly, from the remark of the anachronism of Don Pompeyo de Castro, which he promises to correct if his work gets to a new edition. In 1735 he published a fourth volume of Gil Blas, and, in 1738, the two volumes of the Bachelier de Salamanque as a translation. Will it be said that Le Sage’s other works prove him to have been capable of inventing Gil Blas? It will be still without foundation. All his critics agree, that, though well qualified to embellish the ideas of others, and master of a flowing and agreeable style, he was not an inventive or original writer. Such is the language of Voltaire, M. de la Martinière, and of Chardin, and even of M. Neufchateau himself; and yet, it is to a person of this description that the authorship of Gil Blas, second only to Don Quixote in prose works of fiction, has been attributed.

Among the topics insisted upon by the Comte de Neufchateau as most clearly establishing the French origin of Gil Blas, an intimate acquaintance with the court of Louis XIV., and frequent allusions to the most remarkable characters in it, are very conspicuous. But to him who really endeavours to discover the country of an anonymous writer, such an argument, unless reduced to very minute details, and contracted into a very narrow compass, will not appear satisfactory. He will recollect that the extremes of society are very uniform, that courts resemble each other as well as prisons; and that, as was once observed, if King Christophe’s courtiers were examined, the great features of their character would be found to correspond with those of their whiter brethren in Europe. The abuses of government, the wrong distribution of patronage, the effects of clandestine influence, the solicitations and intrigues of male and female favourites, the treachery of confidants, the petty jealousies and insignificant struggles of place-hunters, are the same, or nearly so, in every country; and it requires no great acuteness to detect, or courage to expose, their consequences—the name of Choiseul, or Uzeda, or Buckingham, or Bruhl, or Kaunitz, may be applied to such descriptions with equal probability and equal justice. But when the Tiers Etat are portrayed, when the satirist enters into detail, when he enumerates circumstances, when local manners, national habits, and individual peculiarities fall under his notice; when he describes the specific disease engendered in the atmosphere by which his characters are surrounded; when, to borrow a lawyer’s phrase, he condescends to particulars, then it is that close and intimate acquaintance with the scenes and persons he describes is requisite; and that a superficial critic falls, at every step into errors the most glaring   and ridiculous. There are many passages of this description in Gil Blas to which we shall presently allude; in the mean time let us follow the advice of Count Hamilton, and begin with the beginning—

“Me voila donc hors d’Oviédo, sur le chemin de Peñaflor, au milieu de la campagne, maître de mes actions, d’une mauvaise mule, et de quarante bons ducats, sans compter quelques réaux que j’avois volés à mon très-honoré oncle.

“La première chose que je fis, fut de laisser ma mule aller à discrétion, c’est-à-dire au petit pas. Je lui mis la bride sur le cou, et, tirant mes ducats de ma poche, je commençai à les compter et recompter dans mon chapeau. Je n’étois pas maître de ma joie; je n’avois jamais vu tant d’argent; je ne pouvois me lasser de le regarder et de le manier. Je la comptois peut-être pour la vingtième fois, quand tout-à-coup ma mule, levant la tête et les oreilles, s’arrêta au milieu du grand chemin. Je jugeai que quelque chose l’effrayoit; je regardai ce que ce pouvoit être. J’aperçus sur la terre un chapeau renversé sur lequel il y avoit un rosaire à gros grains, et en meme temps j’entendis une voix lamentable qui prononça ces paroles: Seigneur passant, ayez pitié, de grace, d’un pauvre soldat estropié: jetez, s’il vous plait, quelques pièces d’argent dans ce chapeau; vous en serez recompensé dans l’autre monde. Je tournai aussitôt les yeux du côté d’où partoit la voix. Je vis au pied d’un buisson, à vingt ou trente pas de moi, une espèce de soldat qui, sur deux batons croisés, appuyoit le bout d’une escopette, qui me parut plus longue qu’une pique, et avec laquelle il me couchoit en joue. A cette vue, qui me fit trembler pour le bien de l’église, je m’arretai tout court; je serrai promptement mes ducats; je tirai quelques reaux, et, m’approchant du chapeau, disposé à recevoir la charité des fidèles effrayés, je les jetai dedans l’un après l’autre, pour montrer au soldat que j’en usois noblement. Il fut satisfait de ma generosité, et me donna autant de bénédictions que je donnia de coups de pieds dans les flancs de ma mule, pour m’eloigner promptement de lui; mais la maudite bête, trompant mon impatience, n’en alla pas plus vite; la longue habitude qu’elle avoit de marcher pas à pas sous mon oncle lui avoit fait perdre l’usage du galop.”

In France, the custom of travelling on mules was unknown, so was the coin ducats, so was that of begging with a rosary, and of extorting money in the manner in which Gil Blas describes. In fact, the “useful magnificence,” as Mr Burke terms it, of the spacious roads in France, and the traffic carried on upon them, would render such a manner of robbing impossible. How then could Le Sage, who had never set his foot in Spain, hit upon so accurate a description? Again, Rolando explains to Gil Blas the origin of the subterraneous passages, to which an allusion is also made by Raphael; now such are in France utterly unknown.

Rolando, giving an account of his proceedings, says, that his grandfather, who could only “dire son rosaire,” “rezar su rosario.” This is as foreign to the habits of a “vieux militaire François,” as any thing that can be imagined; and, on the other hand, exactly conformable to those of a Spanish veteran:—

“Nous demeurâmes dans le bois la plus grande partie de la journée, sans apercevoir aucun voyageur qui pût payer pour le religieux. Enfin nous en sortîmes pour retourner an souterrain, bornant nos exploits à ce risible événement, qui faisoit encore le sujet de notre entretien, lorsque nous decouvrîmes de loin un carrosse à quatre mules. Il venoit à nous au grand trot, et il étoit accompagné de trois hommes à cheval qui nous parurent bien armés.”

In this statement are many circumstances irreconcilable with French habits. 1st, A whole day passing without meeting a traveller on the high-road of Leon, an event common enough in Spain, but in France almost impossible; 2d, the escort of the coach, a common precaution of the Spanish ladies against violence—the fact that the coach is drawn by mules, not horses, of which national trait six other instances may be found in the same story:—

“Plusieurs personnes me voulurent voir par curiosité. Ils venoient l’un après l’autre se présenter à une petite fenêtre par où le jour entroit dans ma prison; et lorsqu’ils m’avoient considéré quelque temps, ils s’en alloient. Je fus surpris de cette nouveauté: depuis que j’étois prisonnier, je n’avois   pas vu un seul homme se montrer à cette fenêtre, qui donnoit sur une cour où regnoient le silence et l’horreur. Je compris par là que je faisois du bruit dans la ville, mais je ne savois si j’en devois concevoir un bon ou mauvais presage.” … “Là dessus le juge se retira, en disant qu’il alloit ordonner au concierge de m’ouvrir les portes. En effet, un moment après, le geolier vint dans mon cachot avec un de ses guichetiers qui portoit un paquet de toile. Ils m’otèrent tous deux, d’un air grave et sans me dire un seul mot, mon pourpoint et mon haut-de-chausses, qui étoit d’un drap fin et presque neuf; puis, m’ayant revêtu d’une vieille souquenille, ils me mirent dehors par les épaules.”

This is an exact description of the manner in which prisoners were treated in Spain, but bears not the slightest resemblance to any abuse that prevailed at that time in France:—