Wit and Wisdom of Don Quixote
"These are no bad philosophies, as you say, Sancho," quoth the canon;
"nevertheless, there is a great deal more to be said upon the subject of
earldoms."
"That may be," observed Don Quixote; "but I am guided by the numerous
examples offered on this subject by knights of my own profession; who,
in compensation for the loyal and signal services they had received from
their squires, conferred upon them extraordinary favors, making them
absolute lords of cities and islands: indeed, there was one whose
services were so great that he had the presumption to accept of a
kingdom. But why should I say more, when before me is the bright example
of the great Amadis de Gaul, who made his squire knight of the Firm
Island? Surely I may, therefore, without scruple of conscience, make an
earl of Sancho Panza, who is one of the best squires that ever served
knight-errant."
The mountains breed learned men, and the cottages of shepherds contain
philosophers.
Upon the news of Don Quixote's arrival, Sancho Panza's wife repaired
thither, and on meeting him, her first inquiry was whether the ass had
come home well.
Sancho told her that he was in a better condition than his master.
"The Lord be praised," replied she, "for so great a mercy to me! But
tell me, husband, what good have you got by your squireship? Have you
brought a petticoat home for me, and shoes for your children?"
"I have brought you nothing of that sort, dear wife," quoth Sancho; "but
I have got other things of greater consequence."
"I am very glad of that," answered the wife, "pray show me your things
of greater consequence, friend; for I would fain see them, to gladden my
heart, which has been so sad, all the long time you have been away."
"You shall see them at home, wife," quoth Sancho, "and be satisfied at
present; for if it please God that we make another sally in quest of
adventures, you will soon see me an earl or governor of an island, and
no common one either, but one of the best that is to be had."
"Grant Heaven it may be so, husband," quoth the wife, "for we have need
enough of it. But pray tell me what you mean by islands; for I do not
understand you."
"Honey is not for the mouth of an ass," answered Sancho: "in good time,
wife, you shall see, yea, and admire to hear yourself styled ladyship by
all your vassals."
"What do you mean, Sancho, by ladyship, islands, and vassals?" answered
Teresa Panza; for that was Sancho's wife's name, though they were not of
kin, but because it is the custom in La Mancha for the wife to take the
husband's name.
"Be not in so much haste, Teresa, to know all this," said Sancho; "let
it suffice that I tell you the truth, and sew up your mouth. But for the
present know that there is nothing in the world so pleasant to an honest
man, as to be squire to a knight-errant, and seeker of adventures. It is
true indeed, most of them are not so much to a man's mind as he could
wish; for ninety-nine of a hundred one meets with fall out cross and
unlucky. This I know by experience; for I have sometimes come off tossed
in a blanket, and sometimes well cudgelled. Yet, for all that, it is a
fine thing to be in expectation of accidents, traversing mountains,
searching woods, marching over rocks, visiting castles, lodging in inns,
all at discretion, and the devil a farthing to pay."
Fame has preserved in the memoirs of La Mancha, that Don Quixote, the
third time he sallied from home, went to Saragossa, where he was present
at a famous tournament in that city, and that there befell him things
worthy of his valor and good understanding. Nor would the chronicler
have learned any thing concerning his death had he not fortunately
become acquainted with an aged physician, who had in his custody a
leaden box, found, as he said, under the ruins of an ancient hermitage
then rebuilding: in which box was found a manuscript of parchment
written in Gothic characters, but in Castilian verse, containing many of
his exploits, and giving an account of the beauty of Dulcinea del
Toboso, the figure of Rozinante, the fidelity of Sancho Panza, and the
burial of Don Quixote himself, with several epitaphs and eulogies on his
life and manners. All that could be read, and perfectly made out, were
those inserted here by the faithful author of this strange and
never-before-seen history; which author desires no other reward from
those who shall read it, in recompense of the vast pains it has cost him
to inquire into and search all the archives of La Mancha to bring it to
light, but that they would afford him the same credit that ingenious
people give to books of knight-errantry, which are so well received in
the world; and herewith he will reckon himself well paid, and will rest
satisfied; and will moreover be encouraged to seek and find out others,
if not as true, at least of as much invention and entertainment. The
first words, written in the parchment which was found in the leaden box,
were these:--
THE ACADEMICIANS OF ARGAMASILLA,
A TOWN OF LA MANCHA,
ON THE LIFE AND DEATH OF THE VALOROUS
DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA,
HOC SCRIPSERUNT.
_Monicongo, Academician of Argamasilla, on the Sepulture of
Don Quixote._
EPITAPH.
La Mancha's thunderbolt of war,
The sharpest wit and loftiest muse,
The arm which from Gaeta far
To Catai did its force diffuse;
He who, through love and valor's fire,
Outstripped great Amadis's fame
Bid warlike Galaor retire,
And silenced Belianis' name:
He who, with helmet, sword, and shield,
On Rozinante, steed well known,
Adventures fought in many a field,
Lies underneath this frozen stone.
_Paniaguado, Academician of Argamasilla, in praise of Dulcinea
Del Toboso._
SONNET.
She whom you see the plump and lusty dame,
With high erected chest and vigorous mien,
Was erst th' enamored knight Don Quixote's flame,
The fair Dulcinea, of Toboso, queen.
For her, armed cap-a-pie with sword and shield,
He trod the sable mountain o'er and o'er;
For her he traversed Montiel's well-known field,
And in her service toils unnumbered bore.
Hard fate! that death should crop so fine a flower!
And love o'er such a knight exert his tyrant power!
_Caprichoso, a most ingenious Academician of Argamasilla, in
praise of Don Quixote's Horse Rozinante._
SONNET.
On the aspiring adamantine trunk
Of a huge tree, whose root, with slaughter drunk
Sends forth a scent of war, La Mancha's knight,
Frantic with valor, and returned from fight,
His bloody standard trembling in the air,
Hangs up his glittering armor beaming far,
With that fine-tempered steel whose edge o'erthrows,
Hacks, hews, confounds, and routs opposing foes.
Unheard-of prowess! and unheard-of verse!
But art new strains invents, new glories to rehearse.
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!
Illustrious 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 ass
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 booby 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 noble mind may be clouded by adversity, but cannot be
wholly concealed; for true merit shines 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 God, 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 assured 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 assured 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