Volume the Third
Part II
Preface
Heavens! with what eagerness must thou be waiting for this prologue, courteous reader, whosoever thou art, gentle or simple, in hopes of finding it replete with resentment, reproaches, and revenge, against the author of the Second Don Quixote; him, I mean, who, it is reported, was engendered at Tordesillas, and brought forth in Tarragona. But, truly, I have no intention to give thee that satisfaction: for, although injuries may awaken indignation in vulgar breasts; mine, I hope, will always be an exception to that rule. Thou wouldst be glad, perhaps, to find me bellowing upon him the epithets of ass, blockhead, and insolent coxcomb; but such low revenge never once entered my imagination: his own conscience will sufficiently chastise him; let him therefore chew the cud of remorse, and digest it if he can. I own, I cannot help feeling the unjust reproach when he taxes me with lameness and old age, as if it had been in my power to retard the lapse of time; or that I had been maimed in some tavern-brawl, and not on the most glorious occasion that ever the past or present age beheld, or posterity can ever hope to see. If my wounds do not brighten in the eyes of every spectator, they are at least esteemed by those who know where they were acquired127; and who thinks that a soldier who falls in battle makes a much more noble appearance than he who saves himself by flight. This opinion is so rooted within my own breast, that, were such an impossibility proposed and effected, I would rather be lame as I am, with the share I had in that stupendous action, than sound of body, without the honour of having been there. The wounds that appear in a soldier’s countenance and bosom, are so many stars to guide the rest of mankind to the haven of honour, and the desire of honest praise; and it ought to be observed, that an author does not write with his grey hairs, but according to the dictates of his understanding, which is usually improved by years and experience. I perceive also, that he calls me envious; and, as if I were utterly ignorant, is at the pains to describe the nature of envy; though I protest of the two kinds, I only harbour that which is pure, virtuous, and noble. This being the case, as it undoubtedly is, I have not the least inclination to inveigh against any priest, especially one who bears the office of familiar to the holy inquisition; and if what he says be advanced in behalf of him whose cause he seems to espouse, he is altogether mistaken, in my opinion, of that person, whose genius I adore: I admire his works, together with his continual occupation in the practice of virtues; but I am actually obliged to this honourable author, for saying that my novels128 are more satirical than exemplary, though he owns they are good of their kind; for, without being exemplary, they cannot possibly be good.
I suppose, gentle reader, thou art by this time of opinion, that I walk with great circumspection, and scrupulously confine myself within the bounds of modesty, conscious that it is inhuman to heap affliction on the afflicted; and that this gentleman’s must needs be very great, since he dares not appear in the open field, and in the face of Heaven, but conceals his name, and dissembles his country, as if he had been guilty of high treason: tell him, therefore, in my name, if ever thou shouldst chance to find him out, that I do not at all think myself injured by what he has done, for well do I know, what temptations the devil spreads before us; and that one of his most effectual snares, is to make a man believe that he has capacity to write a book, by which he shall obtain an equal share of money and reputation. In confirmation of what I say, I will beg the favour of you to tell him a short story.
There was in Seville, a certain madman seized with the most diverting whim that ever entered the brain of a lunatick. He used to walk with a hollow cane, pointed at one end; and whenever he met with a dog in the street, or in any other place, he clapped his foot on one of the creature’s hind-legs, pulled up the other with his hand, and applying, as well as he could, the pipe to his posteriors, instantly blew him up as round as a ball. This operation being performed, he clapped him twice on the belly, and dismissed the patient, saying, very gravely, to the mob that never failed to gather round him, ‘Gentlemen, I suppose, now, you think it is an easy matter to blow up a dog!’ In like manner, I say, ‘I suppose your worship thinks it an easy matter to write a book.’ If this story should not be to his liking, be so good, friendly reader, as to tell this other, which also relates to a dog and a madman.
There was another ideot in Cordova, who had a trick of carrying upon his head a piece of marble, or heavy stone; and, as often as he perceived any dog off his guard, he would approach him slily, and let it fall plump upon his head. This was no joke to the poor dog, who used to run barking and howling the length of three whole streets, before he ventured to look behind. But, among others, he one day happened to discharge his burden on a cap-maker’s favourite dog; down went the stone upon his head, and the injured beast set up the howl: the master seeing what passed, was filled with indignation, snatched up his measure, and sallying out upon the lunatick, did not leave a whole bone in his skin; saying, at every blow he bestowed, ‘Dog! rascal! use my spaniel in this manner! Did not you see, barbarous villain, that my dog was a spaniel!’ Thus repeating the word spaniel a great many times, he beat the aggressor into jelly.
The madman being documented, sneaked off, and kept his chamber a whole month; at the end of which, he returned to his former pastime, with a greater stone than ever, and coming up to a dog that lay asleep, considered him with great attention, but was afraid of discharging the stone, saying, ‘’Ware spaniel!’ In short, all the dogs he afterwards met with, whether curs or mastiffs, were in his opinion spaniels; so that he never ventured to repeat his experiment.——Now this may be the fate of our historian, who will not chuse to open the flood-gates of his wit again, in composing books, which, if bad, are harder than stone.
Tell him, likewise, that I value not his threats a farthing, when he says that his performance will deprive me of bread; but answer him with a quotation from the famous interlude of the Perendenga: ‘To four and twenty, live, my lord, and Christ be with us all.’ Long live the great Count de Lemos, whose well-known Christian generosity supports me against all the strokes of adverse fortune; and long life to the transcendent charity of the most illustrious archbishop of Toledo, Don Bernardo de Sandoval y Rojas; if there was not one printing-press in the whole world, or if more books were published against me than there are letters in the couplets of Mingo Rebulgo; these two princes, unsolicited by any adulation or other kind of praise on my part, but purely out of their own benevolence, have been pleased to honour me with their countenance and favour, in which I think myself infinitely more happy and rich, than if I had been conducted to the highest pinnacle of fortune, in the ordinary way. Honour may be enjoyed by a poor, but never by a vicious man; nobility may be clouded by indigence, but never altogether obscured; for virtue, shining by its own internal light, even through the inconveniencies and crannies of poverty, will recommend itself to the esteem of high and princely minds, and of consequence obtain their favour and protection. Thou needest say no more to him; nor will I give thee any farther trouble, except to observe, that thou art to consider this second part of Don Quixote as a work of the same artificer, and composed of the same materials with the first, in which I present the knight at full length; and, in short, exhibit him dead and buried; that no man, for the future, may presume to raise fresh evidence against him; those already examined being sufficient for the purpose. The more so, as a man of honour has already given an account of his ingenious follies, without any intention to resume the subject; for there may be too much even of a good thing; and the scarcity of those things which are in themselves indifferent, often brings them into some degree of estimation. I had almost forgot to tell thee, that thou mayest expect the Persiles, which I am now finishing, together with the second part of Galatea.