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VOLUME[ VOLUME 1  ]  

CHAPTER[ XLVIII. IN WHICH THE CANON PURSUES THE SUBJECT OF THE BOOKS OF CHIVALRY, WITH

OTHER MATTERS WORTHY OF HIS WIT

"It is as you say, senor canon," said the curate; "and for that reason

those who have hitherto written books of the sort deserve all the more

censure for writing without paying any attention to good taste or the

rules of art, by which they might guide themselves and become as famous

in prose as the two princes of Greek and Latin poetry are in verse."

"I myself, at any rate," said the canon, "was once tempted to write a

book of chivalry in which all the points I have mentioned were to be

observed; and if I must own the truth I have more than a hundred sheets

written; and to try if it came up to my own opinion of it, I showed them

to persons who were fond of this kind of reading, to learned and

intelligent men as well as to ignorant people who cared for nothing but

the pleasure of listening to nonsense, and from all I obtained flattering

approval; nevertheless I proceeded no farther with it, as well because it

seemed to me an occupation inconsistent with my profession, as because I

perceived that the fools are more numerous than the wise; and, though it

is better to be praised by the wise few than applauded by the foolish

many, I have no mind to submit myself to the stupid judgment of the silly

public, to whom the reading of such books falls for the most part.

"But what most of all made me hold my hand and even abandon all idea of

finishing it was an argument I put to myself taken from the plays that

are acted now-a-days, which was in this wise: if those that are now in

vogue, as well those that are pure invention as those founded on history,

are, all or most of them, downright nonsense and things that have neither

head nor tail, and yet the public listens to them with delight, and

regards and cries them up as perfection when they are so far from it; and

if the authors who write them, and the players who act them, say that

this is what they must be, for the public wants this and will have

nothing else; and that those that go by rule and work out a plot

according to the laws of art will only find some half-dozen intelligent

people to understand them, while all the rest remain blind to the merit

of their composition; and that for themselves it is better to get bread

from the many than praise from the few; then my book will fare the same

way, after I have burnt off my eyebrows in trying to observe the

principles I have spoken of, and I shall be 'the tailor of the corner.'

And though I have sometimes endeavoured to convince actors that they are

mistaken in this notion they have adopted, and that they would attract

more people, and get more credit, by producing plays in accordance with

the rules of art, than by absurd ones, they are so thoroughly wedded to

their own opinion that no argument or evidence can wean them from it.

"I remember saying one day to one of these obstinate fellows, 'Tell me,

do you not recollect that a few years ago, there were three tragedies

acted in Spain, written by a famous poet of these kingdoms, which were

such that they filled all who heard them with admiration, delight, and

interest, the ignorant as well as the wise, the masses as well as the

higher orders, and brought in more money to the performers, these three

alone, than thirty of the best that have been since produced?'

"'No doubt,' replied the actor in question, 'you mean the "Isabella," the

"Phyllis," and the "Alexandra."'

"'Those are the ones I mean,' said I; 'and see if they did not observe

the principles of art, and if, by observing them, they failed to show

their superiority and please all the world; so that the fault does not

lie with the public that insists upon nonsense, but with those who don't

know how to produce something else. "The Ingratitude Revenged" was not

nonsense, nor was there any in "The Numantia," nor any to be found in

"The Merchant Lover," nor yet in "The Friendly Fair Foe," nor in some

others that have been written by certain gifted poets, to their own fame

and renown, and to the profit of those that brought them out;' some

further remarks I added to these, with which, I think, I left him rather

dumbfoundered, but not so satisfied or convinced that I could disabuse

him of his error."

"You have touched upon a subject, senor canon," observed the curate here,

"that has awakened an old enmity I have against the plays in vogue at the

present day, quite as strong as that which I bear to the books of

chivalry; for while the drama, according to Tully, should be the mirror

of human life, the model of manners, and the image of the truth, those

which are presented now-a-days are mirrors of nonsense, models of folly,

and images of lewdness. For what greater nonsense can there be in

connection with what we are now discussing than for an infant to appear

in swaddling clothes in the first scene of the first act, and in the

second a grown-up bearded man? Or what greater absurdity can there be

than putting before us an old man as a swashbuckler, a young man as a

poltroon, a lackey using fine language, a page giving sage advice, a king

plying as a porter, a princess who is a kitchen-maid? And then what shall

I say of their attention to the time in which the action they represent

may or can take place, save that I have seen a play where the first act

began in Europe, the second in Asia, the third finished in Africa, and no

doubt, had it been in four acts, the fourth would have ended in America,

and so it would have been laid in all four quarters of the globe? And if

truth to life is the main thing the drama should keep in view, how is it

possible for any average understanding to be satisfied when the action is

supposed to pass in the time of King Pepin or Charlemagne, and the

principal personage in it they represent to be the Emperor Heraclius who

entered Jerusalem with the cross and won the Holy Sepulchre, like Godfrey

of Bouillon, there being years innumerable between the one and the other?

or, if the play is based on fiction and historical facts are introduced,

or bits of what occurred to different people and at different times mixed

up with it, all, not only without any semblance of probability, but with

obvious errors that from every point of view are inexcusable? And the

worst of it is, there are ignorant people who say that this is

perfection, and that anything beyond this is affected refinement. And

then if we turn to sacred dramas--what miracles they invent in them! What

apocryphal, ill-devised incidents, attributing to one saint the miracles

of another! And even in secular plays they venture to introduce miracles

without any reason or object except that they think some such miracle, or

transformation as they call it, will come in well to astonish stupid

people and draw them to the play. All this tends to the prejudice of the

truth and the corruption of history, nay more, to the reproach of the

wits of Spain; for foreigners who scrupulously observe the laws of the

drama look upon us as barbarous and ignorant, when they see the absurdity

and nonsense of the plays we produce. Nor will it be a sufficient excuse

to say that the chief object well-ordered governments have in view when

they permit plays to be performed in public is to entertain the people

with some harmless amusement occasionally, and keep it from those evil

humours which idleness is apt to engender; and that, as this may be

attained by any sort of play, good or bad, there is no need to lay down

laws, or bind those who write or act them to make them as they ought to

be made, since, as I say, the object sought for may be secured by any

sort. To this I would reply that the same end would be, beyond all

comparison, better attained by means of good plays than by those that are

not so; for after listening to an artistic and properly constructed play,

the hearer will come away enlivened by the jests, instructed by the

serious parts, full of admiration at the incidents, his wits sharpened by

the arguments, warned by the tricks, all the wiser for the examples,

inflamed against vice, and in love with virtue; for in all these ways a

good play will stimulate the mind of the hearer be he ever so boorish or

dull; and of all impossibilities the greatest is that a play endowed with

all these qualities will not entertain, satisfy, and please much more

than one wanting in them, like the greater number of those which are

commonly acted now-a-days. Nor are the poets who write them to be blamed

for this; for some there are among them who are perfectly well aware of

their faults, and know what they ought to do; but as plays have become a

salable commodity, they say, and with truth, that the actors will not buy

them unless they are after this fashion; and so the poet tries to adapt

himself to the requirements of the actor who is to pay him for his work.

And that this is the truth may be seen by the countless plays that a most

fertile wit of these kingdoms has written, with so much brilliancy, so

much grace and gaiety, such polished versification, such choice language,

such profound reflections, and in a word, so rich in eloquence and

elevation of style, that he has filled the world with his fame; and yet,

in consequence of his desire to suit the taste of the actors, they have

not all, as some of them have, come as near perfection as they ought.

Others write plays with such heedlessness that, after they have been

acted, the actors have to fly and abscond, afraid of being punished, as

they often have been, for having acted something offensive to some king

or other, or insulting to some noble family. All which evils, and many

more that I say nothing of, would be removed if there were some

intelligent and sensible person at the capital to examine all plays

before they were acted, not only those produced in the capital itself,

but all that were intended to be acted in Spain; without whose approval,

seal, and signature, no local magistracy should allow any play to be

acted. In that case actors would take care to send their plays to the

capital, and could act them in safety, and those who write them would be

more careful and take more pains with their work, standing in awe of

having to submit it to the strict examination of one who understood the

matter; and so good plays would be produced and the objects they aim at

happily attained; as well the amusement of the people, as the credit of

the wits of Spain, the interest and safety of the actors, and the saving

of trouble in inflicting punishment on them. And if the same or some

other person were authorised to examine the newly written books of

chivalry, no doubt some would appear with all the perfections you have

described, enriching our language with the gracious and precious treasure

of eloquence, and driving the old books into obscurity before the light

of the new ones that would come out for the harmless entertainment, not

merely of the idle but of the very busiest; for the bow cannot be always

bent, nor can weak human nature exist without some lawful amusement."

The canon and the curate had proceeded thus far with their conversation,

when the barber, coming forward, joined them, and said to the curate,

"This is the spot, senor licentiate, that I said was a good one for fresh

and plentiful pasture for the oxen, while we take our noontide rest."

"And so it seems," returned the curate, and he told the canon what he

proposed to do, on which he too made up his mind to halt with them,

attracted by the aspect of the fair valley that lay before their eyes;

and to enjoy it as well as the conversation of the curate, to whom he had

begun to take a fancy, and also to learn more particulars about the

doings of Don Quixote, he desired some of his servants to go on to the

inn, which was not far distant, and fetch from it what eatables there

might be for the whole party, as he meant to rest for the afternoon where

he was; to which one of his servants replied that the sumpter mule, which

by this time ought to have reached the inn, carried provisions enough to

make it unnecessary to get anything from the inn except barley.

"In that case," said the canon, "take all the beasts there, and bring the

sumpter mule back."

While this was going on, Sancho, perceiving that he could speak to his

master without having the curate and the barber, of whom he had his

suspicions, present all the time, approached the cage in which Don

Quixote was placed, and said, "Senor, to ease my conscience I want to

tell you the state of the case as to your enchantment, and that is that

these two here, with their faces covered, are the curate of our village

and the barber; and I suspect they have hit upon this plan of carrying

you off in this fashion, out of pure envy because your worship surpasses

them in doing famous deeds; and if this be the truth it follows that you

are not enchanted, but hoodwinked and made a fool of. And to prove this I

want to ask you one thing; and if you answer me as I believe you will

answer, you will be able to lay your finger on the trick, and you will

see that you are not enchanted but gone wrong in your wits."

"Ask what thou wilt, Sancho my son," returned Don Quixote, "for I will

satisfy thee and answer all thou requirest. As to what thou sayest, that

these who accompany us yonder are the curate and the barber, our

neighbours and acquaintances, it is very possible that they may seem to

be those same persons; but that they are so in reality and in fact,

believe it not on any account; what thou art to believe and think is

that, if they look like them, as thou sayest, it must be that those who

have enchanted me have taken this shape and likeness; for it is easy for

enchanters to take any form they please, and they may have taken those of

our friends in order to make thee think as thou dost, and lead thee into

a labyrinth of fancies from which thou wilt find no escape though thou

hadst the cord of Theseus; and they may also have done it to make me

uncertain in my mind, and unable to conjecture whence this evil comes to

me; for if on the one hand thou dost tell me that the barber and curate

of our village are here in company with us, and on the other I find

myself shut up in a cage, and know in my heart that no power on earth

that was not supernatural would have been able to shut me in, what

wouldst thou have me say or think, but that my enchantment is of a sort

that transcends all I have ever read of in all the histories that deal

with knights-errant that have been enchanted? So thou mayest set thy mind

at rest as to the idea that they are what thou sayest, for they are as

much so as I am a Turk. But touching thy desire to ask me something, say

on, and I will answer thee, though thou shouldst ask questions from this

till to-morrow morning."

"May Our Lady be good to me!" said Sancho, lifting up his voice; "and is

it possible that your worship is so thick of skull and so short of brains

that you cannot see that what I say is the simple truth, and that malice

has more to do with your imprisonment and misfortune than enchantment?

But as it is so, I will prove plainly to you that you are not enchanted.

Now tell me, so may God deliver you from this affliction, and so may you

find yourself when you least expect it in the arms of my lady Dulcinea-"

"Leave off conjuring me," said Don Quixote, "and ask what thou wouldst

know; I have already told thee I will answer with all possible

precision."

"That is what I want," said Sancho; "and what I would know, and have you

tell me, without adding or leaving out anything, but telling the whole

truth as one expects it to be told, and as it is told, by all who profess

arms, as your worship professes them, under the title of knights-errant-"

"I tell thee I will not lie in any particular," said Don Quixote; "finish

thy question; for in truth thou weariest me with all these asseverations,

requirements, and precautions, Sancho."

"Well, I rely on the goodness and truth of my master," said Sancho; "and

so, because it bears upon what we are talking about, I would ask,

speaking with all reverence, whether since your worship has been shut up

and, as you think, enchanted in this cage, you have felt any desire or

inclination to go anywhere, as the saying is?"

"I do not understand 'going anywhere,'" said Don Quixote; "explain

thyself more clearly, Sancho, if thou wouldst have me give an answer to

the point."

"Is it possible," said Sancho, "that your worship does not understand

'going anywhere'? Why, the schoolboys know that from the time they were

babes. Well then, you must know I mean have you had any desire to do what

cannot be avoided?"

"Ah! now I understand thee, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "yes, often, and

even this minute; get me out of this strait, or all will not go right."

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