Wit and Wisdom of Don Quixote
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 assured 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, God 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 God 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 god 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 ass.
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 God
made us, and oftentimes a great deal worse.
"First and foremost, then," said Sancho, "the common people take your
worship 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 stitches 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
worship 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."
"There cannot be a more legitimate source of gratification to a virtuous
and distinguished man," said Don Quixote, "than to have his good name
celebrated during his lifetime, and circulated over different nations; I
say his good name, for if it were otherwise than good, death in any
shape would be preferable."
To be represented otherwise than with approbation is worse
than the worst of deaths.
There are as many different opinions as there are different
tastes.
_Pedir cotufas en el golfo_, signifies to look for truffles
in the sea, a proverb applicable to those who are too
sanguine in their expectations and unreasonable in their
desires.
"There is no necessity for recording actions which are
prejudicial to the hero, without being essential to the
history. It is not to be supposed that AEneas was in all his
actions so pure as Virgil represents him, nor Ulysses so
uniformly prudent as he is described by Homer."
"True," replied Sampson; "but it is one thing to write as a poet, and
another to write as an historian. The poet may say or sing, not as
things were, but as they ought to have been; but the historian must pen
them not as they ought to have been, but as they really were, without
adding to or diminishing aught from the truth."
There is no human history that, does not contain reverses of
fortune.
Let every man take care how he speaks or writes of honest
people, and not set down at a venture the first thing that
comes uppermost.
"Sancho, thou art an arch rogue," replied Don Quixote, "and in faith,
upon some occasions, hast no want of memory."
"Though I wanted ever so much to forget what my poor body has suffered,"
quoth Sancho, "the tokens that are still fresh on my ribs would not let
me."
"Peace, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and let signor bachelor proceed,
that I may know what is further said of me in the history."
"And of me too," quoth Sancho, "for I hear that I am one of the
principal parsons in it."
"Persons, not parsons, friend Sancho," quoth Sampson.
"What, have we another corrector of words?" quoth Sancho; "if we are to
go on at this rate, we shall make slow work of it."
"As sure as I live, Sancho," answered the bachelor, "you are the second
person of the history; nay, there are those who had rather hear you talk
than the finest fellow of them all; though there are also some who
charge you with being too credulous in expecting the government of that
island promised you by Signor Don Quixote, here present."
"There is still sunshine on the wall," quoth Don Quixote; "and when
Sancho is more advanced in age, with the experience that years bestow,
he will be better qualified to be a governor than he is at present."
"'Fore Gad! sir," quoth Sancho, "if I am not fit to govern an island at
these years, I shall be no better, able at the age of Methusalem. The
mischief of it is, that the said island sticks somewhere else, and not
in my want of a headpiece to govern it."
"Recommend the matter to God, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and all will
be well--perhaps better than thou mayst think; for not a leaf stirs on
the tree without his permission."
"That is very true," quoth Sampson; "and if it please God, Sancho will
not want a thousand islands to govern, much less one."
"I have seen governors ere now," quoth Sancho, "who, in my opinion, do
not come up to the sole of my shoe; and yet they are called 'your
lordship,' and eat their victuals upon plate."
With hay or with straw it is all the same.
Much knowledge and a mature understanding are requisite for
an historian.
Wit and humor belong to genius alone.
The wittiest person in the comedy is he that plays the fool.
History is a sacred subject, because the soul of it is
truth; and where truth is, there the divinity will reside;
yet there are some who compose and cast off books as if they
were tossing up a dish of pancakes.
There is no book so bad but something good may be found in
it.
Printed works may be read leisurely, their defects easily
seen, so they are scrutinized more or less strictly in
proportion to the celebrity of the author.
"Men of great talents, whether poets or historians, seldom
escape the attacks of those who, without ever favoring the
world with any production of their own, take delight in
criticising the works of others."
"Nor can we wonder at that," said Don Quixote, "when we observe the same
practice among divines, who, though dull enough in the pulpit
themselves, are wonderfully sharp-sighted in discovering the defects of
other preachers."
"True, indeed, Signor Don Quixote," said Carrasco; "I wish critics would
be less fastidious, nor dwell so much upon the motes which may be
discerned even in the brightest works; for, though _aliquando bonus
dormitat Homerus_, they ought to consider how much he was awake to
produce a work with so much light and so little shade; nay, perhaps even
his seeming blemishes are like moles, which are sometimes thought to be
rather an improvement to beauty. But it cannot be denied that whoever
publishes a book to the world, exposes himself to imminent peril, since,
of all things, nothing is more impossible than to satisfy everybody.
Above all, I would let my master know that, if he takes me with him, it
must be upon condition that he shall battle it all himself, and that I
shall only have to tend his person--I mean, look after his clothes and
food; all which I will do with a hearty good-will; but if he expects I
will lay hand to my sword, though it be only against beggarly