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.
No slave, to lazy ease resigned,
E'er triumphed over noble foes;
The monarch fortune most is kind
To him who bravely dares oppose.
They say, Love rates his blessing high,
But who would prize an easy joy?
My scornful fair then I'll pursue,
Though the coy beauty still denies;
I grovel now on earth, 'tis true,
But, raised by her, the humble slave may rise.
Might overcomes.
Him to whom God giveth may St. Peter bless.
Diligence is the mother of success, and in many important
causes experience hath shown that the assiduity of the
solicitor hath brought a very doubtful suit to a very
fortunate issue; but the truth of this maxim is nowhere more
evinced than in war, where activity and despatch anticipate
the designs of the enemy, and obtain the victory before he
has time to put himself in a posture of defence.
The common adage that delays are dangerous acts as spurs
upon the resolution.
There are more tricks in the town than are dreamt of.
Virtue is always more persecuted by the wicked than beloved
by the righteous.
Virtue is so powerful that of herself she will, in spite of
all the necromancy possessed by the first inventor,
Zoroaster, come off conqueror in every severe trial, and
shine refulgent in the world, as the sun shines in the
heavens.
Fables should not be composed to outrage the understanding;
but by making the wonderful appear possible, and creating in
the mind a pleasing interest, they may both surprise and
entertain; which cannot be effected where no regard is paid
to probability. I have never yet found a regular,
well-connected fable in any of our books of chivalry--they
are all inconsistent and monstrous; the style is generally
bad; and they abound with incredible exploits, lascivious
amours, absurd sentiment, and miraculous adventures; in
short, they should be banished every Christian country.
Just are virtue's fears where envy domineers.
Bounty will not stay where niggards bear the sway.
Fortune turns faster than a mill-wheel, and those who were
yesterday at top, may find themselves at bottom to-day.
Every one is the son of his own works.
The mind receives pleasure from the beauty and consistency
of what is presented to the imagination, not from that which
is incongruous and unnatural.
Fiction is always the better the nearer it resembles truth,
and agreeable in proportion to the probability it bears and
the doubtful credit which it inspires. Wherefore, all such
fables ought to be suited to the understanding of those who
read them, and written so as that, by softening
impossibilities, smoothing what is rough, and keeping the
mind in suspense, they may surprise, agreeably perplex, and
entertain, creating equal admiration and delight; and these
never can be excited by authors who forsake probability and
imitation, in which the perfection of writing consists.
Epics may be written in prose as well as verse.
To assert that there never was an Amadis in the world, nor
any other of the knights-adventurers of whom so many records
remain, is to say that the sun does not enlighten, the frost
produce cold, nor the earth yield sustenance.
The approbation of the judicious few should far outweigh
the censure of the ignorant.
An author had better be applauded by the few that are wise,
than laughed at by the many that are foolish.
Our modern plays, not only those which are formed upon
fiction, but likewise such as are founded on the truth of
history, are all, or the greatest part, universally known to
be monstrous productions, without either head or tail, and
yet received with pleasure by the multitude, who approve and
esteem them as excellent performances, though they are far
from deserving that title; and if the authors who compose,
and the actors who represent them, affirm that this and no
other method is to be practised, because the multitude must
be pleased; that those which bear the marks of contrivance,
and produce a fable digested according to the rules of art,
serve only for entertainment to four or five people of
taste, who discern the beauties of the plan, which utterly
escape the rest of the audience; and that it is better for
them to gain a comfortable livelihood by the many, than
starve upon reputation with the few; at this rate, said I,
if I should finish my book, after having scorched every hair
in my whiskers in poring over it, to preserve those rules
and precepts already mentioned, I might fare at last like
the sagacious botcher, who sewed for nothing and found his
customers in thread.
It is not a sufficient excuse to say that the object in
permitting theatrical exhibitions being chiefly to provide
innocent recreation for the people, it is unnecessary to
limit and restrain the dramatic author within strict rules
of composition; for I affirm that the same object is, beyond
all comparison, more effectually attained by legitimate
works. The spectator of a good drama is amused, admonished,
and improved by what is diverting, affecting, and moral in
the representation; he is cautioned against deceit,
corrected by example, incensed against vice, stimulated to
the love of virtue.
Comedy, according to Tully, ought to be the mirror of life,
the exemplar of manners, and picture of truth; whereas those
that are represented in this age are mirrors of absurdity,
exemplars of folly, and pictures of lewdness; for sure,
nothing can be more absurd in a dramatic performance, than
to see the person, who, in the first scene of the first
act, was produced a child in swaddling-clothes, appear a
full-grown man with a beard in the second; or to represent
an old man active and valiant, a young soldier cowardly, a
footman eloquent, a page a counsellor, a king a porter, and
a princess a scullion. Then what shall we say concerning
their management of the time and place in which the actions
have, or may be supposed to have happened? I have seen a
comedy, the first act of which was laid in Europe, the
second in Asia, and the third was finished in Africa; nay,
had there been a fourth, the scene would have shifted to
America, so that the fable would have travelled through all
the four divisions of the globe. If imitation be the chief
aim of comedy, how can any ordinary understanding be
satisfied with seeing an action that passed in the time of
King Pepin and Charlemagne, ascribed to the Emperor
Heraclius, who, being the principal personage, is
represented, like Godfrey of Boulogne, carrying the cross
into Jerusalem, and making himself master of the holy
sepulchre, an infinite number of years having passed between
the one and the other? Or, when a comedy is founded upon
fiction, to see scraps of real history introduced, and facts
misrepresented both with regard to persons and times, not
with any ingenuity of contrivance, but with the most
manifest and inexcusable errors and stupidity; and what is
worst of all, there is a set of ignorant pretenders who call
this the perfection of writing, and that every attempt to
succeed by a contrary method is no other than a wild-goose
chase.
The bow cannot remain always bent; and relaxation, both of
body and mind, is indispensable to all.
Can you deny what is in everybody's mouth, when a person is
in the dumps? It is always then said, "I know not what such
a one ails--he neither eats, nor drinks, nor sleeps, nor
answers to the purpose, like other men--surely he is
enchanted." Wherefore, it is clear that such, and such only,
are enchanted who neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep, and not
they who eat and drink when they can get it, and answer
properly to all that is asked them.
The poor man is unable to exercise the virtue of liberality;
and the gratitude which consists only in inclination is a
dead thing, even as faith without works is dead. I shall,
therefore, rejoice when fortune presents me with an
opportunity of exalting myself, that I may show my heart in
conferring benefits on my friends, especially on poor Sancho
Panza here, my squire, who is one of the best men in the
world; and I would fain bestow on him an earldom, as I have
long since promised; although I am somewhat in doubt of his
ability in the government of his estate.
Sancho, overhearing his master's last words, said: "Take you the
trouble, Signor Don Quixote, to procure me that same earldom, which your
worship has so often promised, and I have been so long waiting for, and
you shall see that I shall not want ability to govern it. But even if I
should, there are people, I have heard say, who farm these lordships;
and paying the owners so much a year, take upon themselves the
government of the whole, while his lordship lolls at his ease, enjoying
his estate, without concerning himself any further about it. Just so
will I do, and give myself no more trouble than needs mast, but enjoy
myself like any duke, and let the world rub."
"This, brother Sancho," said the canon, "may be done, as far as regards
the management of your revenue; but the administration of justice must
be attended to by the lord himself, and requires capacity, judgment,
and, above all, an upright intention, without which nothing prospers;
for Heaven assists the good intent of the simple, and disappoints the
evil designs of the cunning."
"I do not understand these philosophies," answered Sancho; "all that I
know is, that I wish I may as surely have the earldom as I should know
how to govern it; for I have as large a soul as another, and as large a
body as the best of them; and I should be as much king of my own
dominion as any other king; would do what I pleased; and, doing what I
pleased, I should have my will; and having my will, I should be
contented; and, being content, there is no more to be desired; and when
there is no more to desire, there is an end of it."
"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._