"No entiendo eso," replied Sancho; "solo entiendo que en tanto que
duermo, ni tengo temor, ni esperanza, ni trabajo, ni gloria; y bien haya
el que invento el sueno, capa que cubre todos los humanos pensamientos,
manjar que quita la hambre, agua que ahuyenta la sed, fuego que calienta
el frio, frio que templa el ardor, y finalmente moneda general con que
todas las cosas se compran, balanza y peso que iguala al pastor con el
rey, y al simple con el discreto. Sola una cosa tiene mala el sueno,
segun he oido decir, y es que se parece a la muerte, pues de un dormido
a un muerto hay muy poca diferencia."
"I know not what that means," replied Sancho; "I only know that while I
am asleep I have neither fear, nor hope, nor trouble, nor glory.
Blessings light on him who first invented sleep! Sleep is the mantle
that shrouds all human thoughts; the food that dispels hunger; the drink
that quenches thirst; the fire that warms the cold; the cool breeze that
moderates heat; in a word, the general coin that purchases every
commodity; the weight and balance that makes the shepherd even with his
sovereign, and the simple with the sage. There is only one bad
circumstance, as I have heard, in sleep: it resembles death, inasmuch as
between a dead corse and a sleeping man there is no apparent
difference."
"Enjoy thy repose," said Don Quixote; "thou wast born to sleep and I to
watch; and, during the little of night that remains, I will give my
thoughts the rein, and cool the furnace of my reflections with a short
madrigal, which I have this evening, unknown to thee, composed in my own
mind."
Amor, cuando yo pienso
En el mal que me das terrible y fuerte,
Voy corriendo a la muerte,
Pensando asi acabar mi mal inmenso:
Mas en llegando al paso,
Que es puerto en este mar de mi tormento,
Tanta alegria siento,
Que la vida se esfuerza, y no le paso.
Asi el vivir me mata,
Que la muerte me torna a dar la vida.
O condicion no oida,
La que conmigo muerte y vida trata!
O love! when, sick of heart-felt grief,
I sigh, and drag thy cruel chain,
To death I fly, the sure relief
Of those who groan in lingering pain.
But coming to the fatal gates,
The port in this my sea of woe,
The joy I feel new life creates,
And bids my spirits brisker flow.
Thus dying every hour I live,
And living I resign my breath.
Strange power of love, that thus can give
A dying life and living death!
Till Heaven, in pity to the weeping world,
Shall give Altisidora back to day,
By Quixote's scorn to realms of Pluto hurled,
Her every charm to cruel death a prey;
While matrons throw their gorgeous robes away,
To mourn a nymph by cold disdain betrayed:
To the complaining lyre's enchanting lay
I'll sing the praises of this hapless maid,
In sweeter notes than Thracian Orpheus ever played.
Nor shall my numbers with my life expire,
Or this world's light confine the boundless song:
To thee, bright maid, in death I'll touch the lyre,
And to my soul the theme shall still belong.
When, freed from clay, the flitting ghosts among,
My spirit glides the Stygian shores around,
Though the cold hand of death has sealed my tongue,
Thy praise the infernal caverns shall rebound,
And Lethe's sluggish waves move slower to the sound.
Better kill me outright than break my back with other men's
burdens.
Sleep is the best cure for waking troubles.
Devils, play or not play, win or not win, can never be
content.
History that is good, faithful, and true, will survive for
ages; but should it have none of these qualities, its
passage will be short between the cradle and the grave.
As for dying for love, it is all a jest; your lovers,
indeed, may easily say they are dying, but that they will
actually give up the ghost, believe it--Judas.
"Madam," said he, "your ladyship should know that the chief cause of
this good damsel's suffering is idleness, the remedy whereof is honest
and constant employment. Lace, she tells me, is much worn in purgatory,
and since she cannot but know how to make it, let her stick to that;
for, while her fingers are assiduously employed with her bobbins, the
images that now haunt her imagination will keep aloof, and leave her
mind tranquil and happy. This, madam, is my opinion and advice."
"And mine, too," added Sancho, "for I never in my life heard of a
lacemaker that died for love; for your damsels that bestir themselves at
some honest labor think more of their work than of their sweethearts. I
know it by myself; when I am digging, I never think of my Teresa,
though, God bless her! I love her more than my very eyelids."
Railing among lovers is the next neighbor to forgiveness.
The ass will carry the load, but not a double load.
When money's paid before it's due,
A broken limb will straight ensue.
Delay breeds danger.
Pray to God devoutly,
And hammer away stoutly.
A sparrow in the hand is worth an eagle on the wing.
"No more proverbs, for God's sake," quoth Don Quixote, "for, methinks,
Sancho, thou art losing ground, and returning to _sicut erat_. Speak
plainly, as I have often told thee, and thou wilt find it worth a loaf
per cent to thee."
"I know not how I came by this unlucky trick," replied Sancho: "I cannot
bring you in three words to the purpose without a proverb, nor give you
a proverb which, to my thinking, is not to the purpose;--but I will try
to mend."
The straw is too hard to make pipes of.
The knight and squire ascended a little eminence, whence they discovered
their village; which Sancho no sooner beheld than, kneeling down, he
said: "Open thine eyes, O my beloved country! and behold thy son, Sancho
Panza, returning to thee again, if not rich, yet well whipped! Open
thine arms, and receive thy son Don Quixote, too! who, though worsted by
another, has conquered himself, which, as I have heard say, is the best
kind of victory! Money I have gotten, and though I have been soundly
banged, I have come off like a gentleman."
"Leave these fooleries, Sancho," quoth Don Quixote, "and let us go
directly to our homes, where we will give full scope to our imagination,
and settle our intended scheme of a pastoral life."
It must here be mentioned that Sancho Panza, by way of sumpter-cloth,
had thrown the buckram robe painted with flames, which he had worn on
the night of Altisidora's revival, upon his ass. He likewise clapped the
mitre on Dapple's head,--in short, never was an ass so honored and
bedizened. The priest and bachelor, immediately recognizing their
friends, ran toward them with open arms. Don Quixote alighted, and
embraced them cordially. In the mean time, the boys, whose keen eyes
nothing can escape, came flocking from all parts.
"Ho!" cries one, "here comes Sancho Panza's ass, as gay as a parrot, and
Don Quixote's old horse, leaner than ever!"
Thus, surrounded by the children and accompanied by the priest and the
bachelor, they proceeded through the village till they arrived at Don
Quixote's house, where, at the door, they found the housekeeper and the
niece, who had already heard of his arrival. It had likewise reached the
ears of Sancho's wife, Teresa, who, half-naked, with her hair about her
ears, and dragging Sanchica after her, ran to meet her husband; and
seeing him not so well equipped as she thought a governor ought to be,
she said: "What makes you come thus, dear husband? methinks you come
afoot and foundered! This, I trow, is not as a governor should look."
"Peace, wife," quoth Sancho; "the bacon is not so easily found as the
pin to hang it on. Let us go home, and there you shall hear wonders. I
have got money, and honestly, too, without wronging anybody."
"Hast thou got money, good husband? Nay, then, 't is well, however it
be gotten; for, well or ill, it will have brought up no new custom in
the world."
All things human, especially the lives of men, are transitory, ever
advancing from their beginning to their decline and final determination.
"The greatest folly," said Sancho, "that a man can commit in this world,
is to give himself up to death without any good cause for it, but only
from melancholy."