Wit and Wisdom of Don Quixote, Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra [romantic novels to read .TXT] 📗
- Author: Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra
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He that covers, discovers.
The poor man is scarcely looked at, while every eye is turned upon the rich; and if the poor man grows rich and great, then I warrant you there is work enough 117 for your grumblers and backbiters, who swarm everywhere like bees.
"The first time, he was brought home to us laid athwart an ass, all battered and bruised. The second time he returned in an ox-wagon, locked up in a cage, and so changed, poor soul, that his own mother would not have known him; so feeble, wan, and withered, and his eyes sunk into the farthest corner of his brains, insomuch that it took me above six hundred eggs to get him a little up again, as Heaven and the world is my witness, and my hens, that will not let me lie."
"I can easily believe that," answered the bachelor; "for your hens are too well bred and fed to say one thing and mean another."
All objects present to the view exist, and are impressed upon the imagination with much greater energy and force, than those which we only remember to have seen.
When we see any person finely dressed, and set off with rich apparel and with a train of servants, we are moved to show him respect; for, though we cannot but remember certain scurvy matters either of poverty or parentage, that formerly belonged to him, but which being long gone by are almost forgotten, we only think of what we see before our eyes. And if, as the preacher said, the person so raised by good luck, from nothing, as it were, to the tip-top of prosperity, be well behaved, generous, and civil, and gives himself no ridiculous airs, pretending to vie with the old nobility, take my 118 word for it, Teresa, nobody will twit him with what he was, but will respect him for what he is; except, indeed the envious, who hate every man's good luck.
People are always ready enough to lend their money to governors.
Clothe the boy so that he may look not like what he is, but what he may be.
To this burden women are born, they must obey their husbands if they are ever such blockheads.
He that's coy when fortune's kind, may after seek but never find.
All knights cannot be courtiers, neither can all courtiers be knights.
The courtier knight travels only on a map, without fatigue or expense; he neither suffers heat nor cold, hunger nor thirst; while the true knight-errant explores every quarter of the habitable world, and is by night and day, on foot or on horseback, exposed to all the vicissitudes of the weather.
All are not affable and well-bred; on the contrary, some there are extremely brutal and impolite. All those who call themselves knights, are not entitled to that distinction; some being of pure gold, and others of baser metal, notwithstanding the denomination they assume. But these last cannot stand the touch-stone 119 of truth; there are mean plebeians, who sweat and struggle to maintain the appearance of gentlemen; and, on the other hand, there are gentlemen of rank who seem industrious to appear mean and degenerate; the one sort raise themselves either by ambition or virtue, while the other abase themselves by viciousness or sloth; so that we must avail ourselves of our understanding and discernment in distinguishing those persons, who, though they bear the same appellation, are yet so different in point of character. All the genealogies in the world may be reduced to four kinds. The first are those families who from a low beginning have raised and extended themselves, until they have reached the highest pinnacle of human greatness; the second are those of high extraction, who have preserved their original dignity; the third sort are those who, from a great foundation, have gradually dwindled, until, like a pyramid, they terminate in a small point. The last, which are the most numerous class, are those who have begun and continue low, and who must end the same.
Genealogies are involved in endless confusion, and those only are illustrious and great who are distinguished by their virtue and liberality, as well as their riches; for the great man who is vicious is only a great sinner, and the rich man who wants liberality is but a miserly pauper.
The gratification which wealth can bestow is not in mere possession, nor in lavishing it with prodigality, but in the wise application of it.
120 The poor knight can only manifest his rank by his virtues and general conduct. He must be well-bred, courteous, kind, and obliging; not proud nor arrogant; no murmurer. Above all, he must be charitable, and by two maravedis given cheerfully to the poor he shall display as much generosity as the rich man who bestows large alms by sound of bell. Of such a man no one would doubt his honorable descent, and general applause wall be the sure reward of his virtue.
There are two roads by which men may attain riches and honor: the one by letters, the other by arms.
The path of virtue is narrow, that of vice is spacious and broad; as the great Castilian poet expresses it:—
Fast bind, fast find.
He who shuffles is not he who cuts.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
Though there is little in a woman's advice, yet he that won't take it is not over-wise.
We are all mortal: here to-day and gone to-morrow.
121 The lamb goes to the spit as soon as the sheep.
No man in this world can promise himself more hours of life than God is pleased to grant him; because death if deaf, and when he knocks at the door of life is always in a hurry, and will not be detained either by fair means or force, by sceptres or mitres, as the report goes, and as we have often heard it declared from the pulpit.
The hen sits, if it be but upon one egg.
Many littles make a mickle, and he that is getting aught is losing naught.
While there are peas in the dove-cote, it shall never want pigeons.
A good reversion is better than bad possession, and a good claim better than bad pay.
The bread eaten, the company broke up.
A man must be a man, and a woman a woman.
Nothing inspires a knight-errant with so much valor as the favor of his mistress.
O envy! thou root of infinite mischief and canker-worm of virtue! The commission of all other vices, Sancho, is attended with some sort of delight; but envy produces nothing in the heart that harbors it but rage, rancor, and disgust.
122 The love of fame is one of the most active principles in the human breast.
Let us keep our holy days in peace, and not throw the rope after the bucket.
"And now pray tell me which is the most difficult, to raise a dead man to life or to slay a giant?"
"The answer is very obvious," answered Don Quixote; "to raise a dead man."
"There I have caught you!" quoth Sancho. "Then his fame who raises the dead, gives sight to the blind, makes the lame walk, and cures the sick; who has lamps burning near his grave, and good Christians always in his chapels, adoring his relics upon their knees,—his fame, I say, shall be greater both in this world and the next than that which all the heathen emperors and knights-errant in the world ever had or ever shall have."
"I grant it," answered Don Quixote.
"Then," replied Sancho, "the bodies and relics of saints have this power and grace, and these privileges, or how do you call them, and with the license of our holy mother church have their lamps, winding-sheets, crutches, pictures, perukes, eyes, and legs, whereby they increase people's devotion and spread abroad their own Christian fame. Kings themselves carry the bodies or relics of saints upon their shoulders, kiss the fragments of their bones, and adorn their chapels and most favorite altars with them."
"Certainly, but what wouldst thou infer from all this, Sancho?" quoth Don Quixote.
123 "What I mean," said Sancho, "is, that we had better turn saints immediately, and we shall then soon get that fame we are seeking after. And pray take notice, sir, that it was but yesterday—I mean very lately—a couple of poor barefooted friars were canonized, and people now reckon it a greater happiness to touch or kiss the iron chains that bound them, and which are now held in greater veneration than Orlando's sword in the armory of our lord the king, Heaven save him; so that it is better to be a poor friar of the meanest order than the bravest knight-errant, because four dozen of good penitent lashes are more esteemed in the sight of God than two thousand tilts with a lance, though it be against giants, goblins, or dragons."
"I confess," answered Don Quixote, "all this is true. We cannot all be friars, and many and various are the ways by which God conducts his elect to Heaven. Chivalry is a kind of religious profession, and some knights are now saints in glory."
"True," quoth Sancho, "but I have heard say there are more friars in Heaven than knights-errant."
"It may well be so," replied Don Quixote, "because their number is much greater than that of knights-errant."
"And yet," quoth Sancho, "there are abundance of the errant sort."
"Abundance, indeed," answered Don Quixote, "but few who deserve the name of knight."
There is a time for jesting, and a time when jokes are unseasonable.
124 Truth may bend but never break, and will ever rise above falsehood, like oil above water.
With lovers the external actions and gestures are couriers, which bear authentic tidings of what is passing in the interior of the soul.
A stout heart flings misfortune.
Where you meet with no books you need expect no bacon.
The hare often starts where the hunter least expects her.
There is a remedy for everything but death, who will take us in his clutches spite of our teeth.
Show me who thou art with, and I will tell thee what thou art.
Not with whom thou wert bred, but with whom thou art fed.
Sorrow was made for man, not for beasts; yet if men encourage melancholy too much, they become no better than beasts.
"Thou bringest me good news, then?" cried Don Quixote.
"So good," answered Sancho, "that your worship has only to clap spurs to Rozinante, and get out upon the 125 plain, to see the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, who, with a couple of her damsels, is coming to pay your worship a visit."
"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed Don Quixote, "what dost thou say? Take care that thou beguilest not my real sorrow by a counterfeit joy."
"What should I get," answered Sancho, "by deceiving your worship, only to be found out the next moment? Come, sir, put on, and you will see the princess our mistress all arrayed and adorned—in short, like herself. She and her damsels are one blaze of naming gold; all strings of pearls, all diamonds, all rubies, all cloth of tissue above ten hands deep; their hair loose about their shoulders, like so many sunbeams blowing about in the wind; and what is more, they come mounted upon three pied belfreys, the finest you ever laid eyes on."
"Palfreys, thou wouldst say, Sancho," quoth Don Quixote.
"Well, well," answered Sancho, "belfreys and palfreys are much the same thing; but let them be mounted how they will, they are sure the finest creatures one would wish to see; especially my mistress the princess Dulcinea, who dazzles one's senses."
They were now got out of the wood, and saw the three wenches very near.
Don Quixote looked eagerly along the road towards Toboso, and seeing nobody but the three wenches, he asked Sancho, in much agitation, whether they were out of the city when he left them.
"Out of the city!" answered Sancho; "are your 126 worship's eyes
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