_Fragments from a forthcoming Romance of (Political) Chivalry and
(Party) Knight-Errantry._
***
The age of our gentleman bordered upon fifty years. He was of a strong
constitution, spare-bodied, of a keen, not to say hatchet-like visage,
a very early (and rapid) riser, and a lover of the orchid.
***
His judgment being somewhat obscured, he was seized with one of the
strangest fancies that ever entered the head of any naturally astute
person. This was a belief that it behoved him, as well for the
advancement of his own glory as the service of his country, to become
a knight-errant (though, indeed, there was, perhaps, about him more
of the errant than the knightly), and traverse the northern parts of
Hibernia, armed and mounted, in quest of adventures, redressing every
species of grievance save such as were not found in his own list, or
"programme," which latter, indeed, he would by no means admit to be
"grievances" at all. The poor gentleman imagined himself to be at
least crowned Autocrat of Orangeia by the valour of his arm; and
thus wrapt in these agreeable illusions, and borne away by the
extraordinary pleasure he found in them, he hastened to put his design
into execution.
The first thing he did was to scour up some rusty armour which had
done service in the time of his great-grandfather, and had lain many
years neglected in a corner. This he cleaned and furbished up as well
as he could, but he found one great defect--it would not in any part
stand one stroke from modern steel, much less one shot from modern
gun. However, as he was rather fired with the yearning to attack than
impressed with the necessity for defence, this deficiency troubled him
but little.
In the next place he visited his steed, which though but a hobby of
wooden aspect and no paces, yet in his eyes it surpassed any charger
that the Achilles of Hawarden ever bestrode, or the Automedon of Derby
ever handled. Many days was he deliberating upon what name he should
give it; for, as he said to himself, it would be very improper that
a horse so excellent appertaining to a Knight so famous should be
without an appropriate name; he therefore endeavoured to find one that
should express what he had been before he belonged to a knight-errant,
and also what he now was; nothing could, indeed, be more reasonable
than that, when the master changed his state, the horse should
likewise change his name, and assume one pompous and high-sounding, as
became the new order he now professed. Failing in this endeavour, he
called his hobby, provisionally at least, _Ne Plus Ulster_, a name
which if it suggested a sorry joke, was so far fitting that it was
bestowed upon a sorry nag.
***
In the meantime our knight-errant had brought his persuasive powers to
bear upon a humble labourer in the fields which he himself had lately
left, a neighbour of his, some said of his own distant kin, and an
honest man, but somewhat shallow-brained and self-important. In short,
he said so much, used so many arguments, that the poor fellow resolved
to sally out with him, and serve him in the capacity of a Squire.
Among other things, DON QUIXOTE told him that he ought to be very glad
to accompany him, for such an adventure might some time or the other
occur, that, by one stroke, an Island might be won, where it was
within the bounds of possibility that he, the Squire, might one day
become Governor, or at least Viceroy. With this and other promises
SANCHO PANZA (for that was the rustic's name) left his well-beloved
three acres at home, not to name a favourite cow, for a time at least,
and engaged himself as Squire to his ambitious neighbour.
***
Engaged in friendly discourse, they came in sight of eighty-five or
eighty-six windmills; and as DON QUIXOTE espied them he said to
his Squire, "Fortune favours us. Look yonder, friend JESSE--I mean
SANCHO--where thou mayest discover some more than eighty disloyal
giants, and monsters of sedition, whom I intend to encounter and
slay." "What giants?" said SANCHO PANZA. "These thou seest yonder,"
answered his master, "with their long and far-reaching arms, for some
are wont to have them of the full length of a league. Fly not, ye
cowards, and vile caitiffs!" he cried, "for it is a single Knight
who assaults ye! Although ye should have more arms than the giant
Briareus, ye shall pay for it!"
***
And the story, so far as it has gone (it is "to be continued"),
leaves DON QUIXOTE making a prodigiously plucky assault upon the
League-limbed "giants," with what result the sequel will show.
* * * * *
[Illustration: TORSION.
_Irish Waiter (to Bow-legged Traveller in the Coffee-room)._ "BIG
PARDON, SOR. HADN'T YOUR HONOUR BETTER MOVE A LITTLE FURTHER FROM THE
FOIRE?"
_Traveller (fiercely)._ "EH? WHA' FOR? WHA' D'YE MEAN?!"
_Irish Waiter._ "OCH SHURE, SOR, YER LEGS IS WARPIN'!--OCH! PHEW! MOST
TURRIBLE!"]
* * * * *