I am the god whose power extends
Through the wide ocean, earth, and sky;
To my soft sway all nature bends,
Compelled by beauty to comply.
Fearless I rule, in calm and storm,
Indulge my pleasure to the full;
Things deemed impossible perform,
Bestow, resume, ordain, annul.
Cupid, having finished his address, shot an arrow over the castle, and
retired to his station; upon which Interest stepped forth, and after two
similar movements, the music ceasing, he said:--
My power exceeds the might of love,
For Cupid bows to me alone;
Of all things framed by heaven above,
The most respected, sought, and known.
My name is Interest; mine aid
But few obtain, though all desire:
Yet shall thy virtue, beauteous maid,
My constant services acquire.
Interest then withdrew, and Poetry advanced; and, fixing her eyes on the
damsel of the castle, she said:--
Let Poetry, whose strain divine
The wondrous power of song displays,
Her heart to thee, fair nymph, consign,
Transported in melodious lays:
If haply thou wilt not refuse
To grant my supplicated boon,
Thy fame shall, wafted by the muse,
Surmount the circle of the moon.
Poetry having retired from the side of Interest, Liberality advanced;
and, after making her movements, said:--
My name is Liberality,
Alike beneficent and wise,
To shun wild prodigality,
And sordid avarice despise.
Yet, for thy favor lavish grown,
A prodigal I mean to prove;
An honorable vice I own,
But giving is the test of love.
In this manner all the figures of the two parties advanced and
retreated, and each made its movements and recited its verses, some
elegant, and some ridiculous of which Don Quixote, who had a very good
memory, treasured up the foregoing only.
The bridal pair proceeded towards a theatre on one side of the arbor,
decorated with tapestry and garlands, where the nuptial ceremony was to
be performed, and whence they were to view the dances and shows
prepared for the occasion. Immediately on their arrival at that place, a
loud noise was heard at a distance, amidst which a voice was
distinguished calling aloud, "Hold a little, rash and thoughtless
people!" On turning their heads they saw that these words were uttered
by a man who was advancing towards them, clad in a black doublet, welted
with flaming crimson. He was crowned with a garland of mournful cypress,
and held in his hand a large truncheon; and, as he drew near, all
recognized the gallant Basilius, and waited in fearful expectation of
some disastrous result from this unseasonable visit.
At length he came up, tired and out of breath, and placed himself just
before the betrothed couple; then, pressing his staff, which was pointed
with steel, into the ground, he fixed his eyes on Quiteria, and in a
broken and tremulous voice thus addressed her: "Ah, false and forgetful
Quiteria, well thou knowest that, by the laws of our holy religion, thou
canst not marry another man whilst I am living; neither art thou
ignorant that, while waiting till time and mine own industry should
improve my fortune, I have never failed in the respect due to thy honor.
But thou hast cast aside every obligation due to my lawful love, and art
going to make another man master of what is mine: a man who is not only
enriched, but rendered eminently happy by his wealth; and, in obedience
to the will of Heaven, the only impediment to his supreme felicity I
will remove, by withdrawing this wretched being. Long live the rich
Camacho with the ungrateful Quiteria! Long and happily may they live,
and let poor Basilius die, who would have risen to good fortune had not
poverty clipped his wings and laid him in an early grave!"
So saying, he plucked his staff from the ground, and, drawing out a
short tuck, to which it had served as a scabbard, he fixed what might be
called the hilt into the ground, and, with a nimble spring and resolute
air, he threw himself on the point, which, instantly appearing at his
back, the poor wretch lay stretched on the ground, pierced through and
through, and weltering in his blood.
His friends, struck with horror and grief, rushed forward to help him,
and Don Quixote, dismounting, hastened also to lend his aid, and taking
the dying man in his arms, found that he was still alive. They would
have drawn out the tuck, but the priest who was present thought that it
should not be done till he had made his confession; as, the moment it
was taken out of his body he would certainly expire. But Basilius, not
having quite lost the power of utterance, in a faint and doleful voice
said: "If, cruel Quiteria, in this my last and fatal agony, thou wouldst
give me thy hand, as my spouse, I should hope my rashness might find
pardon in heaven, since it procured me the blessing of being thine."
Upon which the priest advised him to attend rather to the salvation of
his soul than to his bodily appetites, and seriously implore pardon of
God for his sins, especially for this last desperate action. Basilius
replied that he could not make any confession till Quiteria had given
him her hand in marriage as that would be a solace to his mind, and
enable him to confess his sins.
Don Quixote, hearing the wounded man's request, said, in a loud voice,
that Basilius had made a very just and reasonable request, and,
moreover, a very practicable one; and that it would be equally honorable
for Signor Camacho to take Quiteria, a widow of the brave Basilius, as
if he received her at her father's hand; nothing being required but the
simple word, "Yes," which could be of no consequence, since, in these
espousals, the nuptial bed must be the grave. Camacho heard all this,
and was perplexed and undecided what to do or say; but so much was he
importuned by the friends of Basilius to permit Quiteria to give him her
hand, and thereby save his soul from perdition, that they at length
moved, nay forced him to say that if it pleased Quiteria to give it to
him, he should not object, since it was only delaying for a moment the
accomplishment of his wishes. They all immediately applied to Quiteria,
and, with entreaties, tears, and persuasive arguments, pressed and
importuned her to give her hand to Basilius; but she, harder than
marble, and more immovable than a statue, returned no answer, until the
priest told her that she must decide promptly, as the soul of Basilius
was already between his teeth, and there was no time for hesitation.
Then the beautiful Quiteria, in silence, and to all appearance troubled
and sad, approached Basilius, whose eyes were already turned in his
head, and he breathed short and quick, muttering the name of Quiteria,
and giving tokens of dying more like a heathen than a Christian. At
last Quiteria, kneeling down by him, made signs to him for his hand.
Basilius unclosed his eyes, and fixing them steadfastly upon her, said
"O Quiteria! thou relentest at a time when thy pity is a sword to put a
final period to this wretched life; for now I have not strength to bear
the glory thou conferrest upon me in making me thine, nor will it
suspend the pain which shortly will veil my eyes with the dreadful
shadow of death. What I beg of thee, O fatal star of mine! is that thou
give not thy hand out of compliment, or again to deceive me, but to
declare that thou bestowest it upon me as thy lawful husband, without
any compulsion on thy will--for it would be cruel in this extremity to
deal falsely or impose on him who has been so true to thee."
Here he fainted, and the bystanders thought his soul was just departing.
Quiteria, all modesty and bashfulness, taking Basilius's right hand in
hers, said: "No force would be sufficient to bias my will; and
therefore, with all the freedom I have, I give thee my hand to be thy
lawful wife, and receive thine, if it be as freely given, and if the
anguish caused by thy rash act doth not trouble and prevent thee."
"Yes, I give it thee," answered Basilius, "neither discomposed nor
confused, but with the clearest understanding that Heaven was ever
pleased to bestow on me; and so I give and engage myself to be thy
husband."
"And I to be thy wife," answered Quiteria, "whether thou livest many
years, or art carried from my arms to the grave."
"For one so much wounded," observed Sancho, "this young man talks a
great deal. Advise him to leave off his courtship and mind the business
of his soul; though to my thinking he has it more on his tongue than
between his teeth."
Basilius and Quiteria being thus, with hands joined, the tender-hearted
priest, with tears in his eyes, pronounced the benediction upon them,
and prayed to Heaven for the repose of the bridegroom's soul; who, as
soon as he had received the benediction, suddenly started up, and nimbly
drew out the tuck which was sheathed in his body. All the spectators
were astonished, and some more simple than the rest cried out "A
miracle, a miracle!" But Basilius replied, "no miracle, no miracle, but
a stratagem, a stratagem!"
The priest, astonished and confounded, ran to feel, with both his hands,
the wound, and found that the sword had passed, not through Basilius's
flesh and ribs, but through a hollow iron pipe, cunningly fitted to the
place, and filled with blood, so prepared as not to congeal. In short,
the priests, Camacho, and the rest of the spectators, found they were
imposed upon, and completely duped. The bride showed no signs of regret
at the artifice: on the contrary, hearing it said the marriage, as being
fraudulent, was not valid, she said that she confirmed it anew; it was,
therefore, generally supposed that the matter had been concerted with
the privity and concurrence of both parties; which so enraged Camacho
and his friends that they immediately had recourse to vengeance, and
unsheathing abundance of swords they fell upon Basilius, in whose
behalf as many more were instantly drawn, and Don Quixote, leading the
van on horseback, his lance upon his arm, and well covered with his
shield, made them all give way.
Don Quixote cried aloud, "Hold, sirs, hold! It is not right to avenge
the injuries committed against us by love. Remember that the arts of
warfare and courtship are in some points alike; in war, stratagems are
lawful, so likewise are they in the conflicts and rivalships of love, if
the means employed be not dishonorable. Quiteria and Basilius were
destined for each other by the just and favoring will of Heaven. Camacho
is rich, and may purchase his pleasure when, where and how he pleases.
Basilius has but this one ewe-lamb; and no one, however powerful, has a
right to take it from him; for those whom God hath joined let no man
sunder, and whoever shall attempt it must first pass the point of this
lance." Then he brandished it with such vigor and dexterity that he
struck terror into all those who did not know him.
Quiteria's disdain made such an impression upon Camacho, that he
instantly banished her from his heart. The persuasions, therefore, of
the priest, who was a prudent, well-meaning man, had their effect;
Camacho and his party sheathed their weapons and remained satisfied,
blaming rather the fickleness of Quiteria than the cunning of Basilius.
With much reason Camacho thought within himself that if Quiteria loved
Basilius when a virgin, she would love him also when married, and that
he had more cause to thank Heaven for so fortunate an escape than to
repine at the loss he had sustained. The disappointed bridegroom and
his followers, being thus consoled and appeased, those of Basilius were
so likewise; and the rich Camacho, to show that his mind was free from
resentment, would have the diversions and entertainments go on as if
they had been really married. The happy pair, however, not choosing to
share in them, retired to their own dwelling, accompanied by their
joyful adherents; for, if the rich man can draw after him attendants and
flatterers, the poor man who is virtuous and deserving is followed by
friends who honor and support him.
Don Quixote joined the party of Basilius, having been invited by them as
a person of worth and bravery; while Sancho, finding it impossible to
remain and share the relishing delights of Camacho's festival, which
continued till night, with a heavy heart accompanied his master, leaving
behind the flesh-pots of Egypt, the skimmings of which, though now
almost consumed, still reminded him of the glorious abundance he had
lost.
"If love only were to be considered," said Don Quixote, "parents would
no longer have the privilege of judiciously matching their children.
Were daughters left to choose for themselves, there are those who would
prefer their father's serving-man, or throw themselves away on some
fellow they might chance to see in the street, mistaking, perhaps, an
impostor and swaggering poltroon for a gentleman, since passion too
easily blinds the understanding, so indispensably necessary in deciding
on that most important point, matrimony, which is peculiarly exposed to
the danger of a mistake, and therefore needs all the caution that human
prudence can supply, aided by the particular favor of Heaven. A person
who proposes to take a long journey, if he is prudent, before he sets
forward will look out for some safe and agreeable companion; and should
not he who undertakes a journey for life use the same precaution,
especially as his fellow-traveller is to be his companion at bed and
board and in all other situations? The wife is not a commodity which,
when once bought, you can exchange or return; the marriage bargain, once
struck, is irrevocable. It is a noose which, once thrown about the neck,
turns to a Gordian knot, and cannot be unloosed till cut asunder by the
scythe of death."
By the streets of "by-and-by" one arrives at the house of
"never."
God who gives the wound sends the cure.
Nobody knows what is to come. A great many hours come in
between this and to-morrow; and in one hour, yea, in one
minute, down falls the house. I have seen rain and sunshine
at the same moment. A man may go to bed well at night and
not be able to stir next morning: and tell me who can boast
of having driven a nail in fortune's wheel?
Between the yes and no of a woman I would not undertake to
thrust the point of a pin.
"Love, as I have heard say, wears spectacles, through which copper looks
like gold, rags like rich apparel, and specks in the eye like pearls."
"A curse on thee, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "what wouldst thou be at?
When once thy stringing of proverbs begins, Judas alone--I wish he had
thee!--can have patience to the end. Tell me, animal! what knowest thou
of nails and wheels, or of anything else?"
"Oh, if I am not understood," replied Sancho, "no wonder that what I say
passes for nonsense. But no matter for that,--I understand myself.
Neither have I said many foolish things, only your worship is such a
cricket."
"Critic, not cricket, fool! thou corrupter of good language!" said the
knight.
"Pray, sir, do not be so sharp upon me," answered Sancho, "for I was not
bred at court nor studied in Salamanca, to know whether my words have a
letter short or one too many. As Heaven shall save me, it is
unreasonable to expect that beggarly Sayagnes should talk like Toledans;
nay, even some of them are not over-nicely spoken."
Purity, propriety, and elegance of style will always be
found among polite, well-bred, and sensible men.
I have heard it said of your fencers that they can thrust
you the point of a sword through the eye of a needle.
O happy thou above all that live on the face of the earth, who, neither
envying nor envied, canst take thy needful rest with tranquillity of
soul, neither persecuted by enchanters nor affrighted by their
machinations! Sleep on! a hundred times I say, sleep on! No jealousies
on thy lady's account keep thee in perpetual watchings, nor do anxious
thoughts of debts unpaid awake thee; nor care how on the morrow thou and
thy little straitened family shall be provided for. Ambition disquiets
thee not, nor does the vain pomp of the world disturb thee; for thy
chief concern is the care of thy ass, since to me is committed the
comfort and protection of thine own person,--a burden imposed on the
master by nature and custom. The servant sleeps, and the master lies
awake considering how he is to maintain, assist, and do him kindness.
The pain of seeing the heavens obdurate in withholding the moisture
necessary to refresh the earth touches only the master, who is bound to
provide in times of sterility and famine for those who served him in the
season of fertility and abundance.
So much thou art worth as thou hast, and so much thou hast
as thou art worth.
There are only two families in the world,--the have
somethings and the have nothings. Nowadays we are apt to
feel more often the pulse of property than of wisdom.
An ass with golden trappings makes a better appearance than
a horse with a pack-saddle.
"That ought not to be called deception which aims at a virtuous end,"
said Don Quixote; "and no end is more excellent than the marriage of
true lovers; though love," added he, "has its enemies, and none greater
than hunger and poverty, for love is all gayety, joy, and content."