_A continuation of Don Quixote's curious and excellent discourse upon
arms and learning._
"Since, speaking of the scholar, we began with his poverty, and its
several parts," continued Don Quixote, "let us now observe whether the
soldier be any richer than he; and we shall find that poverty itself
is not poorer; for he depends on his miserable pay, which he receives
but seldom, or perhaps never; or else on that he makes by marauding,
with the hazard of his life, and trouble of his conscience. Such is
sometimes his want of apparel, that a slashed buff-coat is all his
holiday raiment and shirt; and in the depth of winter being in the
open field, he has nothing to cherish him against the sharpness of the
season but the breath of his mouth, which issuing from an empty place,
I am persuaded is itself cold, though contrary to the rules of nature.
But now see how he expects night to make amends for all these
hardships in the bed prepared for him, which, unless it be his own
fault, never proves too narrow; for he may freely lay out as much of
the ground as he pleases, and tumble to his content without danger of
losing the sheets. But above all, when the day shall come, wherein he
is to put in practice the exercise of his profession, and strive to
gain some new degree, when the day of battle shall come; then, as a
mark of honour, shall his head be dignified with a cap made of lint,
to stop a hole made by a bullet, or be perhaps carried off maimed, at
the expense of a leg or arm. And if this do not happen, but that
merciful Heaven preserve his life and limbs, it may fall out that he
shall remain as poor as before, and must run through many encounters
and battles, nay always come off victorious, to obtain some little
preferment; and these miracles, too, are rare; but, I pray tell me,
gentlemen, if ever you made it your observation, how few are those who
obtain due rewards in war, in comparison of those numbers that perish?
Doubtless you will answer that there is no parity between them, that
the dead cannot be reckoned up; whereas those who live and are
rewarded may be numbered with three figures.[9] It is quite otherwise
with scholars, not only those who follow the law, but others also, who
all either by hook or by crook get a livelihood; so that though the
soldier's sufferings be much greater, yet his reward is much less. To
this it may be answered, that it is easier to reward two thousand
scholars, than thirty thousand soldiers, because the former are
recompensed at the expense of the public, by giving them employments,
but the latter cannot be gratified but at the cost of the master that
employs them; yet this very difficulty makes good my argument. Now for
a man to attain to an eminent degree of learning costs him time,
watching, hunger, nakedness, dizziness in the head, weakness in the
stomach, and other inconveniences, which are the consequences of
these, of which I have already in part made mention. But the rising
gradually to be a good soldier is purchased at the whole expense of
all that is required for learning, and that in so surpassing a degree
that there is no comparison betwixt them, because he is every moment
in danger of his life. To what danger or distress can a scholar be
reduced equal to that of a soldier, who, being besieged in some strong
place, and at his post in some ravelin or bastion, perceives the enemy
carrying on a mine under him, and yet must upon no account remove from
thence, or shun the danger which threatens him? All he can do is, to
give notice to his commander, that he may countermine, but must
himself stand still, fearing and expecting, when on a sudden he shall
soar to the clouds without wings, and be again cast down headlong
against his will. If this danger seem inconsiderable, let us see
whether that be not greater when two galleys shock one another with
their prows in the midst of the spacious sea. When they have thus
grappled, and are clinging together, the soldier is confined to the
narrow beak, being a board not above two feet wide; and yet though he
sees before him so many ministers of death threatening, as there are
pieces of cannon on the other side pointing against him, and not half
a pike's length from his body; and being sensible that the first slip
of his feet sends him to the bottom of Neptune's dominions,--still,
for all this, inspired by honour, with an undaunted heart, he stands a
mark to so much fire, and endeavours to make his way by that narrow
passage into the enemy's vessel. But what is most to be admired is,
that no sooner one falls, where he shall never rise till the end of
the world, than another steps into the same place; and if he also
drops into the sea, which lies in wait for him like an enemy, another,
and after him another, still fills up the place, without suffering any
interval of time to separate their deaths; a resolution and boldness
scarce to be paralleled in any other trials of war. Blessed be those
happy ages that were strangers to the dreadful fury of these devilish
instruments of artillery which is the cause that very often a cowardly
base hand takes away the life of the bravest gentleman, and that in
the midst of that vigour and resolution which animates and inflames
the bold, a chance bullet (shot perhaps by one that fled, and was
frighted at the very flash the mischievous piece gave when it went
off) coming nobody knows how or from whence, in a moment puts a period
to the brave designs, and the life, of one that deserved to have
survived many years. This considered, I could almost say I am sorry at
my heart for having taken upon me this profession of a knight-errant
in so detestable an age; for though no danger daunts me, yet it
affects me to think that powder and lead may deprive me of the
opportunity of becoming famous, and making myself known throughout the
world by the strength of my arm and dint of my sword. But let Heaven
order matters as it pleases; for if I compass my designs, I shall be
so much the more honoured by how much the dangers I have exposed
myself to are greater than those the knights-errant of former ages
underwent."
[9] _i.e._ do not exceed hundreds.
All this long preamble Don Quixote made whilst the company supped,
never minding to eat a mouthful, though Sancho Panza had several times
advised him to mind his meat, telling him there would be time enough
afterwards to talk as he thought fit. Those who heard him were afresh
moved with compassion, to see a man who seemed, in all other respects,
to have a sound judgment, so distracted when any mention was made of
knight-errantry.