Wit and Wisdom of Don Quixote
Of wanton wish or lustful fire.
The church hath silken cords, that tie
Consenting hearts in mutual bands:
If thou, my fair, its yoke will try,
Thy swain its ready captive stands.
If not, by all the saints I swear
On these bleak mountains still to dwell,
Nor ever quit my toilsome care,
But for the cloister and the cell.
I think I see her now, with that goodly presence, looking as
if she had the sun on one side of her and the moon on the
other; and above all, she was a notable housewife, and a
friend to the poor; for which I believe her soul is at this
very moment in heaven.
A clergyman must be over and above good, who makes all his
parishioners speak well of him.
Parents ought not to settle their children against their
will.
Though she does not fly or shun the company and conversation
of the shepherds, but treats them in a courteous and
friendly manner, yet, when any one of them ventures to
discover his intention, though it be as just and holy as
that of marriage, she casts him from her as out of a
stone-bow. And by this sort of behavior she does more
mischief in this country than if she carried the plague
about with her; for her affability and beauty win the hearts
of those who converse with her, and incline them to serve
and love her; but her disdain and frank dealing drive them
to despair; and so they know not what to say to her, and can
only exclaim against her, calling her cruel and ungrateful,
with such other titles as plainly denote her character; and,
were you to abide here, sir, awhile, you would hear these
mountains and valleys resound with the complaints of those
rejected wretches that yet follow her. There is a place not
far hence, where about two dozen of tall beeches grow, and
not one of them is without the name of Marcela written and
engraved on its smooth bark; over some of them is carved a
crown, as if the lover would more clearly observe that
Marcela deserves and wears the crown of all human beauty.
Revels, banquets, and repose, were invented for effeminate
courtiers; but toil, disquietude, and arms alone were
designed for those whom the world calls knights-errant.
For never sure was any knight
So served by damsel, or by dame,
As Lancelot, that man of might,
When he at first from Britain came.
The soldier who executes his captain's command is no less
valuable than the captain who gave the order.
"I am of the same opinion," replied the traveller; "but one thing, among
many others which appear to me to be censurable in knights-errant, is
that, when they are prepared to engage in some great and perilous
adventure to the manifest hazard of their lives, at the moment of attack
they never think of commending themselves to God, as every Christian is
bound to do at such a crisis, but rather commend themselves to their
mistresses, and that with as much fervor and devotion as if they were
really their God; a thing which to me savors of paganism."
"Signor," answered Don Quixote, "this can by no means be otherwise; and
the knight-errant who should act in any other manner would digress much
from his duty; for it is a received maxim and custom in chivalry, that
the knight-errant, who, on the point of engaging in some great feat of
arms, has his lady before him, must turn his eyes fondly and amorously
towards her, as if imploring her favor and protection in the hazardous
enterprise that awaits him; and, even if nobody hear him, he must
pronounce some words between his teeth, by which he commends himself to
her with his whole heart; and of this we have innumerable examples in
history. Nor is it thence to be inferred that they neglect commending
themselves to God; for there is time and opportunity enough to do it in
the course of the action."
"Notwithstanding all that," replied the traveller, "better had it been
if the words he spent in commending himself to his lady, in the midst of
the career, had been employed as the duties of a Christian require;
particularly as I imagine that all knights-errant have not ladies to
commend themselves to, because they are not all in love."
"That cannot be," answered Don Quixote: "I say there cannot be a
knight-errant without a mistress; for it is as essential and as natural
for them to be enamored as for the sky to have stars; and most
certainly, no history exists in which a knight-errant is to be found
without an amour; for, from the very circumstance of his being without,
he would not be acknowledged as a legitimate knight, but a bastard who
had entered the fortress of chivalry, not by the gate, but over the
pales, like a thief and robber."
"Nevertheless," said the traveller, "if I am not mistaken, I remember
having read that Don Galaor, brother to the valorous Amadis de Gaul,
never had a particular mistress, to whom he might commend himself;
notwithstanding which, he was no less esteemed, and was a very valiant
and famous knight."
To which our Don Quixote answered: "Signor, one swallow does not make a
summer." [4]
"If it is essential that every knight-errant be a lover," said the
traveller, "it may well be presumed that you are yourself one, being of
the profession; and, if you do not pique yourself upon the same secrecy
as Don Galaor, I earnestly entreat you, in the name of all this good
company and in my own, to tell us the name, country, quality, and beauty
of your mistress, who cannot but account herself happy that all the
world should know that she is loved and served by so worthy a knight."
Here Don Quixote breathed a deep sigh, and said: "I cannot positively
affirm whether that sweet enemy of mine is pleased or not that the
world should know I am her servant. I can only say, in answer to what
you so very courteously inquire of me, that her name is Dulcinea; her
country Toboso, a town of la Mancha: her quality at least that of a
princess, since she is my queen and sovereign lady; her beauty more than
human, since in her all the impossible and chimerical attributes of
beauty which the poets ascribe to their mistresses are realized; for her
hair is gold, her forehead the Elysian Fields, her eyebrows rainbows,
her eyes suns, her cheeks roses, her lips coral, her teeth pearls, her
neck, alabaster, her bosom marble, her hands ivory, her whiteness snow,
and her whole person without parallel. She is of those of Toboso de la
Mancha; a lineage which, though modern, is yet such as may give a noble
beginning to the most illustrious families of future ages; and in this
let no one contradict me, unless it be on the conditions that Zerbino
fixed under the arms of Orlando, where it said:--
'That knight alone these arms shall move,
Who dares Orlando's prowess prove.'"
THE STORY OF CHRYSOSTOM.
"Comrades," said he, "do you know what is passing in the village?"
"How should we know?" answered one of them.
"Know, then," continued the youth, "that the famous shepherd and
scholar, Chrysostom, died this morning; and it is rumored that it was
for love of that saucy girl Marcela, daughter of William the rich; she
who rambles about these woods and fields in the dress of a
shepherdess."
"For Marcela, say you?" quoth one.
"For her, I say," answered the goatherd; "and the best of it is, he has
ordered in his will that they should bury him in the fields, like a
Moor, at the foot of the rock, by the cork-tree fountain, which,
according to report, and as they say, he himself declared was the very
place where he first saw her. He ordered also other tilings so
extravagant that the clergy say they must not be performed; nor is it
fit that they should, for they seem to be heathenish. But his great
friend Ambrosio, the student, who accompanied him, dressed also like a
shepherd, declares that the whole of what Chrysostom enjoined shall be
executed: and upon this the village is all in an uproar: but by what I
can learn, they will at last do what Ambrosio and all his friends
require; and to-morrow they come to inter him, with great solemnity, in
the place I mentioned; and, in my opinion, it will be a sight well worth
seeing; at least, I shall not fail to go, although I were certain of not
returning to-morrow to the village."
"We will do the same," answered the goatherds; "and let us cast lots who
shall stay behind to look after the goats."
"You say well, Pedro," quoth another; "but it will be needless to make
use of this expedient, for I will remain for you all: and do not
attribute this to self-denial or want of curiosity in me, but to the
thorn which stuck into my foot the other day, and hinders me from
walking."
"We thank you, nevertheless," answered Pedro.
Don Quixote requested Pedro to give him some account of the deceased man
and the shepherdess. To which Pedro answered, "that all he knew was,
that the deceased was a wealthy gentleman, and inhabitant of a village
situate among these mountains, who had studied many years at Salamanca;
at the end of which time he returned home, with the character of a very
learned and well read person; particularly, it was said, he understood
the science of the stars, and what the sun and moon are doing in the
sky; for he told us punctually the clipse of the sun and moon."
"Friend," quoth Don Quixote, "the obscuration of those two luminaries is
called an _eclipse_, and not a _clipse_."
But Pedro, not regarding niceties, went on with his story, saying, "He
also foretold when the year would be plentiful or starel."
"_Sterile_, you would say, friend," quoth Don Quixote.
"_Sterile_, or _starel_," answered Pedro, "comes all to the same thing.
And, as I was saying, his father and friends, who gave credit to his
words, became very rich thereby; for they followed his advice in
everything. This year he would say, 'Sow barley, and not wheat; in this
you may sow vetches, and not barley; the next year there will be plenty
of oil; the three following there will not be a drop.'"
"This science they call astrology," said Don Quixote.
"I know not how it is called," replied Pedro, "but I know that he knew
all this, and more too. In short, not many months after he came from
Salamanca, on a certain day he appeared dressed like a shepherd, with
his crook and sheepskin jacket, having thrown aside his scholar's gown;
and with an intimate friend of his, called Ambrosio, who had been his
fellow-student, and who now put on likewise the apparel of a shepherd. I
forgot to tell you how the deceased Chrysostom was a great man at making
verses; insomuch that he made the carols for Christmas-eve and the
religious plays for Corpus Christi, which the boys of the village
represented; and everybody said they were most excellent. When the
people of the village saw the two scholars so suddenly habited like
shepherds, they were amazed, and could not get at the cause that induced
them to make that strange alteration in their dress. About this time the
father of Chrysostom died, and he inherited a large estate, in lands and
goods, flocks, herds, and money, of all which the youth remained
absolute master; and, indeed, he deserved it all, for he was a very good
companion, a charitable man, and a friend to those that were good, and
had a face like any blessing. Afterwards it came to be known that he
changed his habit for no other purpose but that he might wander about
these desert places after that shepherdess Marcela, with whom, as our
lad told you, he was in love.
"As all that I have related is certain truth, I can more readily believe
what our companion told us concerning the cause of Chrysostom's death;
and therefore I advise you, sir, not to fail being to-morrow at his
funeral, which will be very well worth seeing; for Chrysostom had a