CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Continuing his discourse Don Quixote said: "As we began in the
student's case with poverty and its accompaniments, let us see now
if the soldier is richer, and we shall find that in poverty itself
there is no one poorer; for he is dependent on his miserable pay,
which comes late or never, or else on what he can plunder,
seriously imperilling his life and conscience; and sometimes his
nakedness will be so great that a slashed doublet serves him for
uniform and shirt, and in the depth of winter he has to defend
himself against the inclemency of the weather in the open field
with nothing better than the breath of his mouth, which I need not
say, coming from an empty place, must come out cold, contrary to
the laws of nature. To be sure he looks forward to the approach of
night to make up for all these discomforts on the bed that awaits
him, which, unless by some fault of his, never sins by being over
narrow, for he can easily measure out on the ground as he likes,
and roll himself about in it to his heart's content without any
fear of the sheets slipping away from him. Then, after all this,
suppose the day and hour for taking his degree in his calling to
have come; suppose the day of battle to have arrived, when they
invest him with the doctor's cap made of lint, to mend some
bullet-hole, perhaps, that has gone through his temples, or left
him with a crippled arm or leg. Or if this does not happen, and
merciful Heaven watches over him and keeps him safe and sound, it
may be he will be in the same poverty he was in before, and he must
go through more engagements and more battles, and come victorious
out of all before he betters himself; but miracles of that sort are
seldom seen. For tell me, sirs, if you have ever reflected upon it,
by how much do those who have gained by war fall short of the
number of those who have perished in it? No doubt you will reply
that there can be no comparison, that the dead cannot be numbered,
while the living who have been rewarded may be summed up with three
figures. All which is the reverse in the case of men of letters;
for by skirts, to say nothing of sleeves, they all find means of
support; so that though the soldier has more to endure, his reward
is much less. But against all this it may be urged that it is
easier to reward two thousand soldiers, for the former may be
remunerated by giving them places, which must perforce be conferred
upon men of their calling, while the latter can only be recompensed
out of the very property of the master they serve; but this
impossibility only strengthens my argument. "Putting this, however, aside, for it is a puzzling question for
which it is difficult to find a solution, let us return to the
superiority of arms over letters, a matter still undecided, so many
are the arguments put forward on each side; for besides those I
have mentioned, letters say that without them arms cannot maintain
themselves, for war, too, has its laws and is governed by them, and
laws belong to the domain of letters and men of letters. To this
arms make answer that without them laws cannot be maintained, for
by arms states are defended, kingdoms preserved, cities protected,
roads made safe, seas cleared of pirates; and, in short, if it were
not for them, states, kingdoms, monarchies, cities, ways by sea and
land would be exposed to the violence and confusion which war
brings with it, so long as it lasts and is free to make use of its
privileges and powers. And then it is plain that whatever costs
most is valued and deserves to be valued most. To attain to
eminence in letters costs a man time, watching, hunger, nakedness,
headaches, indigestions, and other things of the sort, some of
which I have already referred to. But for a man to come in the
ordinary course of things to be a good soldier costs him all the
student suffers, and in an incomparably higher degree, for at every
step he runs the risk of losing his life. For what dread of want or
poverty that can reach or harass the student can compare with what
the soldier feels, who finds himself beleaguered in some stronghold
mounting guard in some ravelin or cavalier, knows that the enemy is
pushing a mine towards the post where he is stationed, and cannot
under any circumstances retire or fly from the imminent danger that
threatens him? All he can do is to inform his captain of what is
going on so that he may try to remedy it by a counter-mine, and
then stand his ground in fear and expectation of the moment when he
will fly up to the clouds without wings and descend into the deep
against his will. And if this seems a trifling risk, let us see
whether it is equalled or surpassed by the encounter of two galleys
stem to stem, in the midst of the open sea, locked and entangled
one with the other, when the soldier has no more standing room than
two feet of the plank of the spur; and yet, though he sees before
him threatening him as many ministers of death as there are cannon
of the foe pointed at him, not a lance length from his body, and
sees too that with the first heedless step he will go down to visit
the profundities of Neptune's bosom, still with dauntless heart,
urged on by honour that nerves him, he makes himself a target for
all that musketry, and struggles to cross that narrow path to the
enemy's ship. And what is still more marvellous, no sooner has one
gone down into the depths he will never rise from till the end of
the world, than another takes his place; and if he too falls into
the sea that waits for him like an enemy, another and another will
succeed him without a moment's pause between their deaths: courage
and daring the greatest that all the chances of war can show. Happy
the blest ages that knew not the dread fury of those devilish
engines of artillery, whose inventor I am persuaded is in hell
receiving the reward of his diabolical invention, by which he made
it easy for a base and cowardly arm to take the life of a gallant
gentleman; and that, when he knows not how or whence, in the height
of the ardour and enthusiasm that fire and animate brave hearts,
there should come some random bullet, discharged perhaps by one who
fled in terror at the flash when he fired off his accursed machine,
which in an instant puts an end to the projects and cuts off the
life of one who deserved to live for ages to come. And thus when I
reflect on this, I am almost tempted to say that in my heart I
repent of having adopted this profession of knight-errant in so
detestable an age as we live in now; for though no peril can make
me fear, still it gives me some uneasiness to think that powder and
lead may rob me of the opportunity of making myself famous and
renowned throughout the known earth by the might of my arm and the
edge of my sword. But Heaven's will be done; if I succeed in my
attempt I shall be all the more honoured, as I have faced greater
dangers than the knights-errant of yore exposed themselves to." All this lengthy discourse Don Quixote delivered while the
others supped, forgetting to raise a morsel to his lips, though
Sancho more than once told him to eat his supper, as he would have
time enough afterwards to say all he wanted. It excited fresh pity
in those who had heard him to see a man of apparently sound sense,
and with rational views on every subject he discussed, so
hopelessly wanting in all, when his wretched unlucky chivalry was
in question. The curate told him he was quite right in all he had
said in favour of arms, and that he himself, though a man of
letters and a graduate, was of the same opinion. They finished their supper, the cloth was removed, and while the
hostess, her daughter, and Maritornes were getting Don Quixote of
La Mancha's garret ready, in which it was arranged that the women
were to be quartered by themselves for the night, Don Fernando
begged the captive to tell them the story of his life, for it could
not fail to be strange and interesting, to judge by the hints he
had let fall on his arrival in company with Zoraida. To this the
captive replied that he would very willingly yield to his request,
only he feared his tale would not give them as much pleasure as he
wished; nevertheless, not to be wanting in compliance, he would
tell it. The curate and the others thanked him and added their
entreaties, and he finding himself so pressed said there was no
occasion ask, where a command had such weight, and added, "If your
worships will give me your attention you will hear a true story
which, perhaps, fictitious ones constructed with ingenious and
studied art cannot come up to." These words made them settle
themselves in their places and preserve a deep silence, and he
seeing them waiting on his words in mute expectation, began thus in
a pleasant quiet voice.
WHICH TREATS OF THE CURIOUS DISCOURSE
DON QUIXOTE DELIVERED
ON
ARMS AND LETTERS