Wit and Wisdom of Don Quixote Part 7

Love is a G.o.d, then surely he must know, And knowing, pity wretchedness like mine; From other hands proceeds the fatal blow-- Is then the deed, unpitying Chloe, thine?

Ah, no! a form so exquisitely fair A soul so merciless can ne'er enclose.

From Heaven's high will my fate resistless flows, And I, submissive, must its vengeance bear.

Nought but a miracle my life can save, And s.n.a.t.c.h its destined victim from the grave.

The devil is subtle, and lays stumbling-blocks in our way, over which we fall without knowing how.

In all misfortunes the greatest consolation is a sympathizing friend.

Riches are but of little avail against the ills inflicted by the hand of Heaven.

He that buys and denies, his own purse belies.

Till you hedge in the sky, the starlings will fly.

If a painter would be famous in his art, he must endeavor to copy after the originals of the most excellent masters; the same rule is also applicable to all the other arts and sciences which adorn the commonwealth; thus, whoever aspires to a reputation for prudence and patience, must imitate Ulysses, in whose person and toils Homer draws a lively picture of those qualities; so also Virgil, in the character of aeneas, delineates filial piety, courage, and martial skill, being representations of not what they really were, but of what they ought to be, in order to serve as models of virtue to succeeding generations.

The absent feel and fear every ill.

"I have heard say," quoth Sancho, "'from h.e.l.l there is no retention.'"

"I know not," said Don Quixote, "what retention means."

"Retention," answered Sancho, "means that he who is once in h.e.l.l never does, nor ever can, get out again. I must strip off all my armor, and remain as naked as I was born, if I should determine upon imitating Orlando, in my penance, instead of Amadis."

While they were thus discoursing, they arrived at the foot of a high mountain, which stood separated from several others that surrounded it, as if it had been hewn out from them. Near its base ran a gentle stream, that watered a verdant and luxuriant vale, adorned with many wide-spreading trees, plants, and wild flowers of various hues. This was the spot in which the knight of the sorrowful figure chose to perform his penance; and, while contemplating the scene, he thus broke forth in a loud voice:--

"This is the place, O ye heavens! which I select and appoint for bewailing the misfortune in which ye have involved me. This is the spot where my flowing tears shall increase the waters of this crystal stream, and my sighs, continual and deep, shall incessantly move the foliage of these lofty trees, in testimony and token of the pain my persecuted heart endures. O ye rural deities, whoever ye be, that inhabit these remote deserts, give ear to the complaints of an unhappy lover, whom long absence and some pangs of jealousy have driven to bewail himself among these rugged heights, and to complain of the cruelty of that ungrateful fair, the utmost extent and ultimate perfection of all human beauty! O ye wood-nymphs and dryads, who are accustomed to inhabit the dark recesses of the mountain groves (so may the nimble and lascivious satyrs, by whom ye are wooed in vain, never disturb your sweet repose), a.s.sist me to lament my hard fate, or at least be not weary of hearing my groans! O my Dulcinea del Toboso, light of my darkness, glory of my pain, the north-star of my travels, and overruling planet of my fortune (so may Heaven listen to all thy pet.i.tions), consider, I beseech thee, to what a condition thy absence hath reduced me, and reward me as my fidelity deserves! O ye solitary trees, who henceforth are to be the companions of my retirement, wave gently your branches, to indicate that my presence does not offend you! And, O thou my squire, agreeable companion in my prosperous and adverse fortunes, carefully imprint on thy memory what thou shalt see me here perform, that thou mayest recount and recite it to her who is the sole cause of all!"

"There is no reason why you should threaten me," quoth Sancho, "for I am not a man to rob or murder anybody. Let every man's fate kill him, or G.o.d who made him. My master is doing a certain penance much to his liking in the midst of yon mountains."

Don Quixote took out the pocket-book, and, stepping aside, began with much composure to write the letter; and having finished, he called Sancho and said he would read it to him that he might have it by heart, lest he might perchance lose it by the way, for everything was to be feared from his evil destiny. To which Sancho answered: "Write it, sir, two or three times in the book, and give it me, and I will take good care of it; but to suppose that I can carry it in my memory is a folly, for mine is so bad that I often forget my own name. Your wors.h.i.+p, however, may read it to me. I shall be glad to hear it, for it must needs be very much to the purpose."

"Listen, then," said Don Quixote, "this is what I have written ":--

DON QUIXOTE'S LETTER TO DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO.

HIGH AND SOVEREIGN LADY:--He who is stabbed by the point of absence, and pierced by the arrows of love, O sweetest Dulcinea del Toboso, greets thee with wishes for that health which he enjoys not himself. If thy beauty despise me, if thy worth favor me not, and if thy disdain still pursue me, although inured to suffering, I shall ill support an affliction which is not only severe but lasting. My good squire Sancho will tell thee, O ungrateful fair and most beloved foe, to what a state I am reduced on thy account. If it be thy pleasure to relieve me, I am thine; if not, do what seemeth good to thee,--for by my death I shall at once appease thy cruelty and my own pa.s.sion.

Until death thine, THE KNIGHT OF THE SORROWFUL FIGURE.

One should not talk of halters in the house of the hanged.

LINES DISCOVERED ON THE BARK OF A TREE, ADDRESSED TO DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO.

Ye lofty trees, with spreading arms, The pride and shelter of the plain; Ye humble shrubs and flowery charms, Which here in springing glory reign!

If my complaints may pity move, Hear the sad story of my love!

While with me here you pa.s.s your hours, Should you grow faded with my cares, I'll bribe you with refres.h.i.+ng showers; You shall be watered with my tears.

Distant, though present in idea, I mourn my absent Dulcinea Del Toboso.

Love's truest slave, despairing, chose This lonely wild, this desert plain, This silent witness of the woes Which he, though guiltless, must sustain.

Unknowing why these pains he bears, He groans, he raves, and he despairs.

With lingering fires Love racks my soul: In vain I grieve, in vain lament; Like tortured fiends I weep, I howl, And burn, yet never can repent.

Distant, though present in idea, I mourn my absent Dulcinea Del Toboso.

While I through Honor's th.o.r.n.y ways, In search of distant glory rove, Malignant fate my toil repays With endless woes and hopeless love.

Thus I on barren rocks despair, And curse my stars, yet bless my fair.

Love, armed with snakes, has left his dart, And now does like a fury rave; And scourge and sting on every part, And into madness lash his slave.

Distant, though present in idea, I mourn my absent Dulcinea Del Toboso.

When the stars are adverse, what is human power?

Who is there in the world that can boast of having fathomed and thoroughly penetrated the intricate and ever-changing nature of a woman?

What causes all my grief and pain?

Cruel disdain.

What aggravates my misery?

Accursed jealousy.

How has my soul its patience lost?

By tedious absence crossed.

Alas! no balsam can be found To heal the grief of such a wound.

When absence, jealousy, and scorn Have left me hopeless and forlorn.

What in my breast this grief could move?

Neglected love.

What doth my fond desires withstand?

Fate's cruel hand.

And what confirms my misery?

Heaven's fixed decree.

Ah me! my boding fears portend, This strange disease my life will end: For die I must, when three such foes, Heaven, fate, and love, my bliss oppose.

My peace of mind, what can restore?

Death's welcome hour.

What gains love's joys most readily?

Fickle inconstancy.

Its pains what medicine can a.s.suage?

Wild frenzy's rage.

'Tis therefore little wisdom, sure, For such a grief to seek a cure, That knows no better remedy Than frenzy, death, inconstancy.

The hour, the season, the solitude, the voice, and the skill of the singer, all conspired to impress the auditors with wonder and delight, and they remained for some time motionless, in expectation of hearing more; but, finding the silence continue, they resolved to see who it was who had sung so agreeably, and were again detained by the same voice regaling their ears with this sonnet:--

Friends.h.i.+p, thou hast with nimble flight Exulting gained the empyreal height, In heaven to dwell, while here below Thy semblance reigns in mimic show; From thence to earth, at thy behest, Descends fair peace, celestial guest!

Beneath whose veil of s.h.i.+ning hue Deceit oft lurks, concealed from view.

Leave, friends.h.i.+p! leave thy heavenly seat, Or strip thy livery off the cheat.

If still he wears thy borrowed smiles, And still unwary truth beguiles, Soon must this dark terrestrial ball Into its first confusion fall.