Wit and Wisdom of Don Quixote 12 – Saavedra · Verses Across
Literature · Humor
Wit and Wisdom of Don Quixote 12Don Quixote'S Letter to Dulcinea Del Toboso
18
Literature · Humor
Wit and Wisdom of Don Quixote 12
Don Quixote'S Letter to Dulcinea Del Toboso
SaavedraEnglish
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 passion.
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 pass your hours,
Should you grow faded with my cares,
I'll bribe you with refreshing 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 thorny 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 assuage?
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:--
Friendship, 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 shining hue
Deceit oft lurks, concealed from view.
Leave, friendship! 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.
What is sudden death to a protracted life of anguish?
"O heavens! have I then at last found a place which may afford a secret grave for this wretched body? Yes, if the silence of this rocky desert deceive me not, here I may die in peace. Ah, woe is me! Here at least I may freely pour forth my lamentations to Heaven, and shall be less wretched than among men, from whom I should in vain seek counsel, redress, or consolation."
One evil produces another, and misfortunes never come singly.
O memory, thou mortal enemy of my repose! wherefore now recall to me the incomparable beauty of that adored enemy of mine! Were it not better, thou cruel faculty! to represent to my imagination her conduct at that period--that moved by so flagrant an injury, I may strive if not to avenge it, at least to end this life of pain?
For no grievance can harass or drive the afflicted to such extremity, while life remains, as to make them shut their ears against that counsel which is given with the most humane and benevolent intention.
Music lulls the disordered thoughts, and elevates the dejected spirits.
All women, let them be never so homely, are pleased to hear themselves celebrated for beauty.
The eyes of love or of idleness are like those of a lynx.
One mischance invites another, and the end of one misfortune is often the beginning of a worse.
Among friends we ought not to stand upon trifles.
No man can command the first emotions of his passions.
Every new fault deserves a new penance.
Where is the wonder one devil should be like another?
Gifts are good after Easter.
A sparrow in the hand is worth more than a bustard on the wing.
He that will not when he may, when he would he shall have nay.
Men may prove and use their friends, and not presume upon their friendship in things contrary to the decrees of Heaven.
A man dishonored is worse than dead.
"I have heard it preached," quoth Sancho, "that God is to be loved with this kind of love, for Himself alone, without our being moved to it by hope of reward or fear of punishment; though, for my part, I am inclined to love and serve Him for what He is able to do for me."
"The devil take thee for a bumpkin," said Don Quixote; "thou sayest ever and anon such apt things that one would almost think thee a scholar."
"And yet, by my faith," quoth Sancho, "I cannot so much as read."
Squires and knight-errants are subject to much hunger and ill-luck.
A man on whom Heaven has bestowed a beautiful wife should be as cautious respecting the friends he introduces at home as to her female acquaintance abroad.
If from equal parts we take equal parts, those that remain are equal.
To attempt voluntarily that which must be productive of evil rather than good, is madness and folly. Difficult works are undertaken for the sake of Heaven, or of the world, or both: the first are such as are performed by the saints while they endeavor to live the life of angels in their human frames; such as are performed for love of the world are encountered by those who navigate the boundless ocean, traverse different countries and various climates to acquire what are called the goods of fortune. Those who assail hazardous enterprises for the sake of both God and man are brave soldiers, who no sooner perceive in the enemy's wall a breach made by a single cannon-ball, than, regardless of danger and full of zeal in the defence of their faith, their country, and their king, they rush where death in a thousand shapes awaits them. These are difficulties commonly attempted, and, though perilous, are glorious and profitable.
