Wit and Wisdom of Don Quixote Part 11

Unheard-of prowess! and unheard-of verse!

But art new strains invents, new glories to rehea.r.s.e.

If Amadis to Grecia gives renown, Much more her chief does fierce Bellona crown.

Prizing La Mancha more than Gaul or Greece, As Quixote triumphs over Amadis.

Oblivion ne'er shall shroud his glorious name, Whose very horse stands up to challenge fame!

Ill.u.s.trious Rozinante, wondrous steed!

Not with more generous pride or mettled speed, His rider erst Rinaldo's Bayard bore, Or his mad lord, Orlando's Brilladore.

_Burlador, the little Academician of Argamasilla, on Sancho Panza._

SONNET.

See Sancho Panza, view him well, And let this verse his praises tell.

His body was but small, 'tis true, Yet had a soul as large as two.

No guile he knew, like some before him But simple as his mother bore him.

This gentle squire on gentle a.s.s Went gentle Rozinante's pace, Following his lord from place to place.

To be an earl he did aspire, And reason good for such desire; But worth in these ungrateful times, To envied honor seldom climbs.

Vain mortals! give your wishes o'er, And trust the flatterer Hope no more, Whose promises, whate'er they seem, End in a shadow or a dream.

_Cachidiablo, Academician of Argamasilla, on the Sepulture of Don Quixote._

EPITAPH.

Here lies an evil-errant knight, Well bruised in many a fray, Whose courser, Rozinante hight, Long bore him many a way.

Close by his loving master's side Lies b.o.o.by Sancho Panza, A trusty squire of courage tried, And true as ever man saw.

_Tiquitoc, Academician of Argamasilla, on the sepulture of Dulcinea del Toboso._

Dulcinea, fat and fleshy, lies Beneath this frozen stone; But, since to frightful death a prize, Reduced to skin and bone.

Of goodly parentage she came, And had the lady in her; She was the great Don Quixote's flame, But only death could win her.

These were all the verses that could be read: the rest, the characters being worm-eaten, were consigned to one of the Academicians, to find out their meaning by conjectures. We are informed he has done it, after many lucubrations and much pains, and that he designs to publish them, giving us hopes of Don Quixote's third sally.

"Forsi altro cantara con miglior plectro."

The n.o.ble mind may be clouded by adversity, but cannot be wholly concealed; for true merit s.h.i.+nes by a light of its own, and, glimmering through the rents and crannies of indigence, is perceived, respected, and honored by the generous and the great.

A SHORT STORY OF WHAT HAPPENED ONCE IN SEVILLE.

A certain man, being deranged in his intellects, was placed by his relations in the mad-house of Seville. He had taken his degrees in the canon law at Ossuna; but had it been at Salamanca, many are of opinion he would, nevertheless, have been mad. This graduate, after some years'

confinement, took into his head that he was quite in his right senses, and therefore wrote to the archbishop, beseeching him, with great earnestness and apparently with much reason, that he would be pleased to deliver him from that miserable state of confinement in which he lived; since, through the mercy of G.o.d, he had regained his senses; adding that his relations, in order to enjoy part of his estate, kept him still there, and, in spite of the clearest evidence, would insist upon his being mad as long as he lived.

The archbishop, prevailed upon by the many sensible epistles he received from him, sent one of his chaplains to the keeper of the mad-house to inquire into the truth of what the licentiate had alleged, and also to talk with him, and if it appeared that he was in his senses, to set him at liberty. The chaplain accordingly went to the rector, who a.s.sured him that the man was still insane, for though he sometimes talked very sensibly, it was seldom for any length of time without betraying his derangement; as he would certainly find on conversing with him. The chaplain determined to make the trial, and during the conversation of more than an hour, could perceive no symptom of incoherence in his discourse; on the contrary, he spoke with so much sedateness and judgment that the chaplain could not entertain a doubt of the sanity of his intellects. Among other things he a.s.sured him that the keeper was bribed by his relations to persist in reporting him to be deranged; so that his large estate was his great misfortune, to enjoy which his enemies had recourse to fraud, and pretended to doubt of the mercy of Heaven in restoring him from the condition of a brute to that of a man.

In short, he talked so plausibly that he made the rector appear venal and corrupt, his relations unnatural, and himself so discreet that the chaplain determined to take him immediately to the archbishop, that he might be satisfied he had done right.

With this resolution the good chaplain desired the keeper of the house to restore to him the clothes which he wore when he was first put under his care. The keeper again desired him to beware what he did, since he might be a.s.sured that the licentiate was still insane; but the chaplain was not to be moved either by his cautions or entreaties; and as he acted by order of the archbishop, the keeper was compelled to obey him.

The licentiate put on his new clothes, and now, finding himself rid of his lunatic attire, and habited like a rational creature, he entreated the chaplain, for charity's sake, to permit him to take leave of his late companions in affliction. Being desirous of seeing the lunatics who were confined in that house, the chaplain, with several other persons, followed him upstairs, and heard him accost a man who lay stretched in his cell outrageously mad; though just then composed and quiet. "Brother," said he to him, "have you any commands for me? for I am going to return to my own house, G.o.d having been pleased, of His infinite goodness and mercy, without any desert of mine, to restore me to my senses. I am now sound and well, for with G.o.d nothing is impossible; put your whole trust and confidence in Him, and he will doubtless restore you also. I will take care to send you some choice food; and fail not to eat it: for I have reason to believe, from my own experience, that all our distraction proceeds from empty stomachs, and brains filled with wind. Take heart, then, my friend, take heart; for despondence under misfortune impairs our health, and hastens our death."

This discourse was overheard by another madman, who was in an opposite cell; and raising himself up from an old mat, whereon he had thrown himself stark naked, he demanded aloud, who it was that was going away recovered and in his senses.

"It is I, brother," answered the licentiate, "that am going; for I need stay no longer here, and am infinitely thankful to heaven for having bestowed so great a blessing upon me."

"Take heed, licentiate, what you say, let not the devil delude you,"

replied the madman; "stir not a foot, but keep where you are, and you will spare yourself the trouble of being brought back."

"I know," replied the licentiate, "that I am perfectly well, and shall have no more occasion to visit the station churches."[6]

"You well?" said the madman; "we shall soon see that; farewell! but I swear by Jupiter, whose majesty I represent on earth, that for this offence alone, which Seville is now committing, in carrying you out of this house, and judging you to be in your senses, I am determined to inflict such a signal punishment on this city, that the memory thereof shall endure for ever and ever, Amen. Know you not, little crazed licentiate, that I can do it, since, as I say, I am thundering Jupiter, who hold in my hands the flaming bolts, with which I can, and use, to threaten and destroy the world? But in one thing only will I chastise this ignorant people; and that is, there shall no rain fall on this town, or in all its district, for three whole years, reckoning from the day and hour in which this threatening is denounced. You at liberty, you recovered, and in your right senses! and I a madman, I distempered and in bonds! I will no more rain than I will hang myself."

All the bystanders were very attentive to the madman's discourse: but our licentiate, turning himself to our chaplain, and holding him by both hands, said to him: "Be in no pain, good sir, nor make any account of what this madman has said; for, if he is Jupiter and will not rain, I, who am Neptune, the father and the G.o.d of the waters, will rain as often as I please, and whenever there shall be occasion." To which the chaplain answered: "However, signor Neptune, it will not be convenient at present to provoke signor Jupiter; therefore, pray stay where you are; for, some other time, when we have a better opportunity and more leisure, we will come for you." The rector and the bystanders laughed; which put the chaplain half out of countenance. They disrobed the licentiate, who remained where he was; and there is an end of the story.

True valor lies in the middle, between the extremes of cowardice and rashness.

No padlocks, bolts, or bars can secure a maiden so well as her own reserve.

Honey is not for the mouth of an a.s.s.

He must be blind, indeed, who cannot see through a sieve.

Comparisons, whether as to sense, courage, beauty, or rank, are always offensive.

Scruples of conscience afford no peace.

You have reckoned without your host.

When the head aches, all the members ache also.

_Me pondra en la espina de Santa Lucia_;--_i. e._, Will put me on St. Lucia's thorn; applicable to any uneasy situation.

Let every man lay his hand upon his heart, and not take white for black, nor black for white; for we are all as G.o.d made us, and oftentimes a great deal worse.

"First and foremost, then," said Sancho, "the common people take your wors.h.i.+p for a downright madman, and me for no less a fool. The gentry say that, not content to keep to your own proper rank of a gentleman, you call yourself Don, and set up for a knight, with no more than a paltry vineyard and a couple of acres of land. The cavaliers say they do not choose to be vied with by those country squires who clout their shoes, and take up the fallen st.i.tches of their black stockings with green silk."

"That," said Don Quixote, "is no reflection upon me; for I always go well clad, and my apparel is never patched; a little torn it may be, but more by the fretting of my armor than by time."

"As to your valor, courtesy, achievements, and undertakings," continued Sancho, "there are many different opinions. Some say you are mad, but humorous; others, valiant, but unfortunate; others, courteous, but absurd; and thus they pull us to pieces, till they leave neither your wors.h.i.+p nor me a single feather upon our backs."

"Take notice, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that, when virtue exists in an eminent degree, it is always persecuted."