Chapter 7

Who is there in the world that can boast of having fathomed and thoroughly penetrated the intricate and ever-changing nature of a woman?

What causes all my grief and pain? Cruel disdain. What aggravates my misery? Accursed jealousy. How has my soul its patience lost? By tedious absence crossed. Alas! no balsam can be found To heal the grief of such a wound. When absence, jealousy, and scorn Have left me hopeless and forlorn.

What in my breast this grief could move? Neglected love. What doth my fond desires withstand? Fate's cruel hand. And what confirms my misery? Heaven's fixed decree. Ah me! my boding fears portend, This strange disease my life will end: For die I must, when three such foes, Heaven, fate, and love, my bliss oppose.

My peace of mind, what can restore? Death's welcome hour. What gains love's joys most readily? Fickle inconstancy. Its pains what medicine can assuage? Wild frenzy's rage. 'Tis therefore little wisdom, sure, For such a grief to seek a cure, That knows no better remedy Than frenzy, death, inconstancy.

The hour, the season, the solitude, the voice, and the skill of the singer, all conspired to impress the auditors with wonder and delight, and they remained for some time motionless, in expectation of hearing more; but, finding the silence continue, they resolved to see who it was who had sung so agreeably, and were again detained by the same voice regaling their ears with this sonnet:--

Friendship, thou hast with nimble flight Exulting gained the empyreal height, In heaven to dwell, while here below Thy semblance reigns in mimic show; From thence to earth, at thy behest, Descends fair peace, celestial guest! Beneath whose veil of shining hue Deceit oft lurks, concealed from view.

Leave, friendship! leave thy heavenly seat, Or strip thy livery off the cheat. If still he wears thy borrowed smiles, And still unwary truth beguiles, Soon must this dark terrestrial ball Into its first confusion fall.

What is sudden death to a protracted life of anguish?

"O heavens! have I then at last found a place which may afford a secret grave for this wretched body? Yes, if the silence of this rocky desert deceive me not, here I may die in peace. Ah, woe is me! Here at least I may freely pour forth my lamentations to Heaven, and shall be less wretched than among men, from whom I should in vain seek counsel, redress, or consolation."

One evil produces another, and misfortunes never come singly.

O memory, thou mortal enemy of my repose! wherefore now recall to me the incomparable beauty of that adored enemy of mine! Were it not better, thou cruel faculty! to represent to my imagination her conduct at that period--that moved by so flagrant an injury, I may strive if not to avenge it, at least to end this life of pain?

For no grievance can harass or drive the afflicted to such extremity, while life remains, as to make them shut their ears against that counsel which is given with the most humane and benevolent intention.

Music lulls the disordered thoughts, and elevates the dejected spirits.

All women, let them be never so homely, are pleased to hear themselves celebrated for beauty.

The eyes of love or of idleness are like those of a lynx.

One mischance invites another, and the end of one misfortune is often the beginning of a worse.

Among friends we ought not to stand upon trifles.

No man can command the first emotions of his passions.

Every new fault deserves a new penance.

Where is the wonder one devil should be like another?

Gifts are good after Easter.

A sparrow in the hand is worth more than a bustard on the wing.

He that will not when he may, when he would he shall have nay.

Men may prove and use their friends, and not presume upon their friendship in things contrary to the decrees of Heaven.

A man dishonored is worse than dead.

"I have heard it preached," quoth Sancho, "that God is to be loved with this kind of love, for Himself alone, without our being moved to it by hope of reward or fear of punishment; though, for my part, I am inclined to love and serve Him for what He is able to do for me."

"The devil take thee for a bumpkin," said Don Quixote; "thou sayest ever and anon such apt things that one would almost think thee a scholar."

"And yet, by my faith," quoth Sancho, "I cannot so much as read."

Squires and knight-errants are subject to much hunger and ill-luck.

A man on whom Heaven has bestowed a beautiful wife should be as cautious respecting the friends he introduces at home as to her female acquaintance abroad.

If from equal parts we take equal parts, those that remain are equal.

To attempt voluntarily that which must be productive of evil rather than good, is madness and folly. Difficult works are undertaken for the sake of Heaven, or of the world, or both: the first are such as are performed by the saints while they endeavor to live the life of angels in their human frames; such as are performed for love of the world are encountered by those who navigate the boundless ocean, traverse different countries and various climates to acquire what are called the goods of fortune. Those who assail hazardous enterprises for the sake of both God and man are brave soldiers, who no sooner perceive in the enemy's wall a breach made by a single cannon-ball, than, regardless of danger and full of zeal in the defence of their faith, their country, and their king, they rush where death in a thousand shapes awaits them. These are difficulties commonly attempted, and, though perilous, are glorious and profitable.

TEARS OF ST. PETER.

Shame, grief, remorse, in Peter's breast increase, Soon as the blushing morn his crime betrays; When most unseen, then most himself he sees, And with due horror all his soul surveys. For a great spirit needs no censuring eyes To wound his soul, when conscious of a fault; But, self-condemn'd, and e'en self-punished, lies, And dreads no witness like upbraiding Thought.

Expect not, therefore, by concealment, to banish sorrow; for, even though you weep not openly, tears of blood will flow from your heart. So wept that simple doctor, who, according to the poet, would venture to make a trial of the cup which the more prudent Rinaldo wisely declined doing; and although this be a poetical fiction, there is a concealed moral in it worthy to be observed and followed.

There is no jewel in the world so valuable as a chaste and virtuous woman. The honor of women consists in the good opinion of the world; and since that of your wife is eminently good, why would you have it questioned? Woman, my friend, is an imperfect creature; and, instead of laying stumbling-blocks in her way, we should clear the path before her, that she may readily attain that virtue which is essential in her. Naturalists inform us that the ermine is a little creature with extremely white fur, and that when the hunters are in pursuit of it, they spread with mire all the passes leading to its haunts, to which they then drive it, knowing that it will submit to be taken rather than defile itself. The virtuous and modest woman is an ermine, and her character whiter than snow; and in order to preserve it, a very different method must be taken from that which is used with the ermine.

The reputation of a woman may also be compared to a mirror of crystal, shining and bright, but liable to be sullied by every breath that comes near it. The virtuous woman must be treated like a relic--adored but not handled; she should be guarded and prized, like a fine flower-garden, the beauty and fragrance of which the owner allows others to enjoy only at a distance, and through iron rails.

The devil, when he would entrap a cautious person, assumes an angel form till he carries his point, when the cloven foot appears.

He who builds on impossibilities should be denied the privilege of any other foundation.

Hope is ever born with love.

Castles should not be left without governors, nor armies without generals.

The passion of love is to be conquered by flight alone; it is vain to contend with a power which, though human, requires more than human strength to subdue.

SONNET.

In the dead silence of the peaceful night, When others' cares are hushed in soft repose, The sad account of my neglected woes To conscious Heaven and Chloris I recite. And when the sun, with his returning light, Forth from the east his radiant journey goes, With accents such as sorrow only knows, My griefs to tell is all my poor delight. And when bright Phoebus from his starry throne Sends rays direct upon the parched soil, Still in the mournful tale I persevere; Returning night renews my sorrow's toil; And though from morn to night I weep and moan, Nor Heaven nor Chloris my complainings hear.

Are we to take all that enamored poets sing for truth?

SONNET.

Believe me, nymph, I feel th' impending blow, And glory in the near approach of death; For when thou see'st my corse devoid of breath, My constancy and truth thou sure wilt know, Welcome to me Oblivion's shade obscure! Welcome the loss of fortune, life, and fame! But thy loved features, and thy honored name, Deep graven on my heart, shall still endure. And these, as sacred relics, will I keep Till that sad moment when to endless night My long-tormented soul shall take her flight Alas for him who on the darkened deep Floats idly, sport of the tempestuous tide, No port to shield him, and no star to guide!

He who gives freely gives twice.

That which is lightly gained is little valued.

For love sometimes flies and sometimes walks--runs with one person, and goes leisurely with another: some he warms, and some he burns; some he wounds, and others he kills: in one and the same instant he forms and accomplishes his projects. He often in the morning lays siege to a fortress which in the evening surrenders to him--for no force is able to resist him.

Heaven always favors the honest purpose.

Rank is not essential in a wife.

True nobility consists in virtue.

It is no derogation to rank to elevate beauty adorned with virtue.

Time will discover.

"Certainly, gentlemen, if we rightly consider it, those who make knight-errantry their profession often meet with surprising and most stupendous adventures. For what mortal in the world, at this time entering within this castle, and seeing us sit together as we do, will imagine and believe us to be the same persons which in reality we are? Who is there that can judge that this lady by my side is the great queen we all know her to be, and that I am that Knight of the Sorrowful Figure so universally made known by fame? It is, then, no longer to be doubted but that this exercise and profession surpasses all others that have been invented by man, and is so much the more honorable as it is more exposed to dangers. Let none presume to tell me that the pen is preferable to the sword. This may be ascertained by regarding the end and object each of them aims at; for that intention is to be most valued which makes the noblest end its object. The scope and end of learning, I mean human learning (in this place I speak not of divinity, whose aim is to guide souls to Heaven, for no other can equal a design so infinite as that), is to give a perfection to distribute justice, bestowing upon every one his due, and to procure and cause good laws to be observed; an end really generous, great, and worthy of high commendation, but yet not equal to that which knight-errantry tends to, whose object and end is peace, which is the greatest blessing man can wish for in this life. And, therefore, the first good news that the world received was that which the angels brought in the night--the beginning of our day--when they sang in the air, 'Glory to God on high, peace on earth, and to men good-will.' And the only manner of salutation taught by our great Master to His friends and favorites was, that entering any house they should say, 'Peace be to this house.' And at other times He said to them, 'My peace I give to you,' 'My peace I leave to you,' 'Peace be among you.' A jewel and legacy worthy of such a donor, a jewel so precious that without it there can be no happiness either in earth or heaven. This peace is the true end of war; for arms and war are one and the same thing. Allowing, then, this truth, that the end of war is peace, and that in this it excels the end of learning, let us now weigh the bodily labors the scholar undergoes against those the warrior suffers, and then see which are the greatest.

"These, then, I say, are the sufferings and hardships a scholar endures. First, poverty (not that they are all poor, but to urge the worst that may be in this case); and having said he endures poverty, methinks nothing more need be urged to express his misery; for he that is poor enjoys no happiness, but labors under this poverty in all its parts, at one time in hunger, at another in cold, another in nakedness, and sometimes in all of them together; yet his poverty is not so great, but still he eats, though it be later than the usual hour, and of the scraps of the rich; neither can the scholar miss of somebody's stove or fireside to sit by; where, though he be not thoroughly heated, yet he may gather warmth, and at last sleep away the night under a roof. I will not touch upon other less material circumstances, as the want of linen, and scarcity of shoes, thinness and baldness of their clothes, and their surfeiting when good fortune throws a feast in their way; this is the difficult and uncouth path they tread, often stumbling and falling, yet rising again and pushing on, till they attain the preferment they aim at; whither being arrived, we have seen many of them, who, having been carried by a fortunate gale through all these quick-sands, from a chair govern the world; their hunger being changed into satiety, their cold into comfortable warmth, their nakedness into magnificence of apparel, and the mats they used to lie upon, into stately beds of costly silks and softest linen, a reward due to their virtue. But yet their sufferings, being compared to those the soldier endures, appear much inferior, as I shall in the next place make out."

Don Quixote, after a short pause, continued his discourse thus:--"Since, in speaking of the scholar, we began with his poverty and its several branches, let us see whether the soldier be richer. We shall find that poverty itself is not more poor: for he depends on his wretched pay, which comes late, and sometimes never; or upon what he can pillage, at the imminent risk of his life and conscience. Such often is his nakedness that his slashed buff-doublet serves him both for finery and shirt; and in the midst of winter, on the open plain, he has nothing to warm him but the breath of his mouth, which, issuing from an empty place, must needs be cold. But let us wait, and see whether night will make amends for these inconveniences: if his bed be too narrow it is his own fault, for he may measure out as many feet of earth as he pleases, and roll himself thereon at pleasure without fear of rumpling the sheets. Suppose the moment arrived of taking his degree--I mean, suppose-the day of battle come: his doctoral cap may then be of lint, to cover some gun-shot wound, which perhaps has gone through his temples, or deprived him of an arm or leg.

"And even suppose that Heaven in its mercy should preserve him alive and unhurt, he will probably remain as poor as ever; for he must be engaged and victorious in many battles before he can expect high promotion; and such good fortune happens only by a miracle: for you will allow, gentlemen, that few are the number of those that have reaped the reward of their services, compared with those who have perished in war. The dead are countless; whereas those who survived to be rewarded may be numbered with three figures. Not so with scholars, who by their salaries (I will not say their perquisites) are generally handsomely provided for. Thus the labors of the soldier are greater, although his reward is less. It may be said in answer to this, that it is easier to reward two thousand scholars than thirty thousand soldiers: for scholars are rewarded by employments which must of course be given to men of their profession; whereas the soldier can only be rewarded by the property of the master whom, he serves; and this defence serves to strengthen my argument.

"But, waiving this point, let us consider the comparative claims to pre-eminence: for the partisans of each can bring powerful arguments in support of their own cause. It is said in favor of letters that without them arms could not subsist; for war must have its laws, and laws come within the province of the learned. But it may be alleged in reply, that arms are necessary to the maintenance of law; by arms the public roads are protected, cities guarded, states defended, kingdoms preserved, and the seas cleared of corsairs and pirates. In short, without arms there would be no safety for cities, commonwealths or kingdoms. Besides, it is just to estimate a pursuit in proportion to the cost of its attainment. Now it is true that eminence in learning is purchased by time, watching, hunger, nakedness, vertigo, indigestion, and many other inconveniences already mentioned; but a man who rises gradually to be a good soldier endures all these, and far more. What is the hunger and poverty which menace the man of letters compared with the situation of the soldier, who, besieged in some fortress, and placed as sentinel in some ravelin or _cavalier_, perceives that the enemy is mining toward the place where he stands, and yet he must on no account stir from his post or shun the imminent danger that threatens him? All that he can do in such a case is to give notice to his officer of what passes, that he may endeavor to counteract it; in the meantime he must stand his ground, in momentary expectation of being mounted to the clouds without wings, and then dashed headlong to the earth. And if this be thought but a trifling danger, let us see whether it be equalled or exceeded by the encounter of two galleys, prow to prow, in the midst of the white sea, locked and grappled together, so that there is no more room left for the soldier than the two-foot plank at the break-head; and though he sees as many threatening ministers of death before him as there are pieces of artillery pointed at him from the opposite side, not the length of a lance from his body; though he knows that the first slip of his foot sends him to the bottom of the sea; yet, with an undaunted heart, inspired by honor, he exposes himself as a mark to all their fire, and endeavors by that narrow pass to force his way into the enemy's vessel! And, what is most worthy of admiration, no sooner is one fallen, never, to rise again in this world, than another takes his place; and if he also fall into the sea, which lies in wait to devour him, another and another succeeds without intermission! In all the extremities of war there is no example of courage and intrepidity to exceed this. Happy those ages which knew not the dreadful fury of artillery!--those instruments of hell (where, I verily believe, the inventor is now receiving the reward of his diabolical ingenuity), by means of which the cowardly and the base can deprive the bravest soldier of life. While a gallant spirit animated with heroic ardor is pressing to glory, comes a chance ball, sent by one who perhaps fled in alarm at the flash of his own accursed weapon, and in an instant cuts short the life of him who deserved to live for ages! When I consider this, I could almost repent having undertaken this profession of knight-errantry in so detestable an age; for though no danger can daunt me, still it gives me some concern to think that powder and lead may suddenly cut short my career of glory. But Heaven's will be done! I have this satisfaction, that I shall acquire the greater fame if I succeed, inasmuch as the perils by which I am beset are greater than those to which the knights-errant of past ages were exposed."

The army is a school in which the miser becomes generous, and the generous prodigal.

A covetous soldier is a monster which is rarely seen.

Liberality may be carried too far in those who have children to inherit from them.

How seldom promises made in slavery are remembered after a release from bondage.

Good fortune seldom comes pure and single, unattended by some troublesome or unexpected circumstance.

Though we love the treason we abhor the traitor.

What transport in life can equal that which a man feels on the restoration of his liberty?

"The church, the court, or the sea;" as if it more fully expressed the following advice,--He that would make his fortune, ought either to dedicate his time to the church, go to sea as a merchant, or attach himself to the court: for it is commonly observed, that "the king's crumb is worth the baron's batch."[5]

SONNET UPON THE GOLETA.

O happy souls, by death at length set free From the dark prison of mortality, By glorious deeds, whose memory never dies-- From earth's dim spot exalted to the skies! What fury stood in every eye confessed! What generous ardor fired each manly breast, While slaughtered heaps distained the sandy shore, And the tinged ocean blushed with hostile gore! O'erpowered by numbers, gloriously ye fell: Death only could such matchless courage quell; Whilst dying thus ye triumphed o'er your foes-- Its fame the world, its glory heaven, bestows!

SONNET ON THE FORT.

From 'midst these walls, whose ruins spread around, And scattered clods that heap the ensanguined ground, Three thousand souls of warriors, dead in fight, To better regions took their happy flight. Long with unconquered souls they bravely stood, And fearless shed their unavailing blood: Till, to superior force compelled to yield, Their lives they quitted in the well-fought field. This fatal soil has ever been the tomb Of slaughtered heroes, buried in its womb: Yet braver bodies did it ne'er sustain, Nor send more glorious soul the skies to gain.

I.

Tossed in a sea of doubts and fears, Love's hapless mariner, I sail, Where no inviting port appears, To screen me from the stormy gale.

II.

At distance viewed, a cheering star Conducts me through the swelling tide; A brighter luminary, far, Than Palinurus o'er descried.

III.

My soul, attracted by its blaze, Still follows where it points the way, And while attentively I gaze, Considers not how far I stray.

IV.

But female pride, reserved and shy, Like clouds that deepen on the day, Oft shroud it from my longing eye, When most I need the genial ray.

V.

O lovely star, so pure and bright! Whose splendor feeds my vital fire, The moment thou deny'st thy light, Thy lost adorer will expire!

SONG.

Unconquered hope, thou bane of fear, And last deserter of the brave, Thou soothing ease of mortal care, Thou traveller beyond the grave; Thou soul of patience, airy food, Bold warrant of a distant good, Reviving cordial, kind decoy; Though fortune frowns and friends depart, Though Silvia flies me, flattering joy, Nor thou, nor love, shall leave my doting heart.