CHAPTER XLVIII

“It is just as your grace says, Señor Canon,” said the priest, “and for this reason the books of this kind that have been written so far are most worthy of rebuke, their authors caring nothing for solid discourse or the art and rules that could have guided them and made them as famous in prose as the two princes of Greek and Latin poetry are in verse.”

“I, at least,” replied the canon, “have felt a certain temptation to write a book of chivalry in which I followed all the points I have mentioned, and, to tell the truth, I have already written more than a hundred pages. In order to learn if they correspond to my estimation of them, I have given them to intelligent, learned men who are very fond of this kind of reading, and to other men who are ignorant and care only for the pleasure of hearing nonsense, and from all of them I have received a most agreeable approval; even so, I have not pursued the matter further, for it not only seemed unsuited to my profession, but I also saw that the number of simpleminded men is greater than that of the prudent, and though it is better to be praised by a few wise men and mocked by many fools, I do not wish to subject myself to the confused judgment of the presumptuous mob, who tend to be the ones who read these books. But what most influenced me to put the task of finishing it out of my mind was an argument I had with myself, based on the plays that are produced now, and the argument said:

‘If all, or almost all, the plays that are popular now, imaginative works as well as historical ones, are known to be nonsense and without rhyme or reason, and despite this the mob hears them with pleasure and thinks of them and approves of them as good, when they are very far from being so, and the authors who compose them and the actors who perform them say they must be like this because that is just how the mob wants them, and no other way; the plays that have a design and follow the story as art demands appeal to a handful of discerning persons who understand them, while everyone else is incapable of comprehending their artistry; and since, as far as the authors and actors are concerned, it is better to earn a living with the crowd than a reputation with the elite, this is what would happen to my book after I had singed my eyebrows trying to keep the precepts I have mentioned and had become the tailor who wasn’t paid.’²⁷²

And although I have attempted at times to persuade the actors that they are mistaken in thinking as they do and that they would attract a larger audience and gain more renown with artful plays than with nonsensical ones, they are so bound and committed to their opinion that there is no argument or evidence to make them change their minds. I remember that one day I said to one of these stubborn men:

‘Tell me, do you remember a few years ago when three tragedies were produced in Spain that were composed by a famous poet from these kingdoms,²⁷³ and they delighted and amazed and enthralled all who heard them, the simple as well as the wise, the mob as well as the elite, and those three plays alone earned more money than thirty of the best plays that have been put on since then?’

‘No doubt,’ said the author I am telling you about, ‘your grace is referring to Isabela, Filis, and Alejandra.’

‘Precisely,’ I replied, ‘and consider whether they followed the precepts of the art, and if following them prevented them from being what they were and pleasing everyone. Which means the fault lies not with the mob, who demands nonsense, but with those who do not know how to produce anything else. For there was no foolishness in Ingratitude Avenged,²⁷⁴ Numantia ²⁷⁵ had none, none was found in The Merchant Lover, ²⁷⁶ or in The Kindly Enemy, ²⁷⁷ or in some others composed by certain talented poets who gained fame and renown for themselves and profit for those who produced them.’

I said some other things that I think left him confused, but not persuaded or convinced enough to change his erroneous opinion.”

“Your grace has touched on a subject, Señor Canon,” said the priest, “that has awakened my long-standing rancor toward the plays that are popular now, one that is equal to my dislike of novels of chivalry; for drama, according to Marcus Tullius Cicero, should be a mirror of human life, an example of customs, and an image of truth, but those that are produced these days are mirrors of nonsense, examples of foolishness, and images of lewdness. For what greater nonsense can there be than for a child to appear in the first scene of the first act in his swaddling clothes, and in the second scene to be a full-grown man with a beard? Or to present to us a valiant old man and a cowardly youth, an eloquent lackey, a wise page, a king who is a laborer, and a princess who is a scullery maid? And what shall I say about their observance of the time in which the actions they represent take place? I have seen plays in which the first act began in Europe, the second in Asia, and the third concluded in Africa, and if there had been four acts, the fourth would have ended in America, making it a play that took place in all four corners of the globe.

And if mimesis is the principal quality a play should have, how can it possibly satisfy anyone of even average intelligence if the action is supposed to occur in the days of King Pepin and Charlemagne, but the central character is the Emperor Heraclius, who entered Jerusalem bearing the cross, and conquered the Holy Sepulchre, like Godfrey of Bouillon, when there is an infinite number of years between one and the other; if the play is based on fictions, historical truths are introduced and parts of others are combined, though they occurred to different people and at different times, and this is done not with any effort at verisimilitude, but with glaring errors that are completely unforgiveable. The worst thing is the ignorant folk who say that this is perfect, and that wanting anything else is pretentious and whimsical. Well then, what shall we say about sacred plays? What a number of false miracles and apocryphal, poorly understood stories they invent, attributing the miracles of one saint to another! And even in their secular plays they dare perform miracles, with no other concern or consideration than thinking that some miracle or stage effect, as they call it, would be a good idea at that point so the ignorant will marvel and come to the theater; all of this is prejudicial to the truth, and damaging to history, and even a discredit to the intelligence of Spaniards, because foreigners, who are punctilious in obeying the rules of drama, think of us as ignorant barbarians, seeing the absurdities and idiocies in the plays we produce.²⁷⁸

It would not be a sufficient excuse to say that the principal intention of well-ordered states in allowing the public performance of plays is to entertain the common folk with some honest recreation and distract them from the harmful humors born in idleness, and since this can be achieved with any play, good or bad, there is no reason to impose laws or to oblige those who write and act in them to make plays as they ought to be because, as I have said, any of them can accomplish what they are intended to accomplish. To which I would respond that this purpose would be achieved with unquestionably greater success by good plays rather than bad; for having heard an artful and well-constructed play, the audience would come out amused by the comic portions, instructed by the serious, marveling at the action, enlightened by the arguments, forewarned by the falsehoods, made wiser by the examples, angered at vice, enamored of virtue: a good play can awaken all these responses in the spirit of its audience, no matter how slow and unsophisticated it may be, and it is absolutely impossible for a play with all these qualities not to please, entertain, satisfy, and delight much more than one that lacks them, as do those ordinarily performed these days. The poets who compose them are not responsible for this, because there are some who know very well the errors they are committing, and know extremely well what they ought to do, but since plays have become salable merchandise, they say, and in this they speak the truth, the companies will not buy them if they are not of a certain type, and so the poet attempts to accommodate the requests of the companies that pay him for his work. The truth of this can be seen in the infinite number of plays composed by one of the most felicitous minds in these kingdoms, which display so much grace and so much charm, such elegant verses and such fine language, such grave thoughts and so eloquent and lofty a style, that his fame is known throughout the world;²⁷⁹ because these works attempt to accommodate the taste of the theater companies, not all of them have reached, though some have, the necessary degree of perfection. Other poets compose their works so carelessly that after they have been performed, the actors have to flee and go into hiding, fearful that they will be punished, as they often have been, for putting on pieces prejudicial to certain kings and offensive to certain families.

All these difficulties, and many others I will not mention, would cease if there were at court an intelligent and judicious person who would examine each play before it was performed, not only those produced in the capital, but also those put on anywhere in Spain, and without his approval, stamp, and signature, no magistrate anywhere would permit a play to be performed; in this fashion, the players would be careful to send their plays to court, and then they could perform them in safety, and those who write them would consider what they were doing with more thought and care, knowing that their works would have to undergo a rigorous examination by one who understands the art; in this way good plays would be written and their purposes achieved: the entertainment of the common people, the good opinion of creative minds in Spain, the legitimate interests and safety of the actors, and the avoidance of the need to punish them.

And if another official, or this same person, were charged with examining the new books of chivalry that are written, no doubt some with the perfections your grace has mentioned would be published, thereby enriching our language with the pleasing and precious treasure of eloquence, and allowing some of the old books to be obscured by the light of the new ones that would provide virtuous entertainment, not only to the idle but to those who are most occupied, for the bow cannot always be pulled taut, and it is not in the nature of human frailty to endure without honest recreation.”

The canon and the priest had reached this point in their conversation when the barber rode up to them and said to the priest:

“This, Señor Licentiate, is the place I mentioned, where we can rest and the oxen can find abundant fresh grass.”

“I agree,” responded the priest.

He told his companion what they planned to do, and the canon decided to remain with them, for he was drawn by the sight of the beautiful valley that lay before them. In order to enjoy the valley and the conversation of the priest, for whom he had developed a liking, and to learn in more detail the deeds of Don Quixote, the canon ordered some of his servants to go to the inn that was not far away and bring back whatever they could find to eat, enough for everyone, because he had resolved to rest there that afternoon; to which one of his servants responded that the pack mule, which probably had reached the inn already, carried enough provisions so that they would have no need for anything from the inn except barley for the animals.

“If that is true,” said the canon, “take all the animals there and bring back the pack mule.”

In the meantime, Sancho saw that he could speak to his master without the continual presence of the priest and barber, whom he regarded with suspicion, and he rode up to the cage that carried his master and said to him:

“Señor, I want to relieve my conscience and tell you what is going on in this matter of your enchantment; the fact is that these two riding here with their faces covered are the priest and barber from our village, and I believe they’ve come up with this way of transporting you out of sheer envy, because your deeds are more famous than theirs. If what I say is true, it means that you’re not enchanted but deceived and misled. To prove it, I want to ask you one thing, and if you answer in the way I think you’ll answer, you’ll put your finger right on the deception and see that you haven’t been enchanted but had your wits turned around.”

“Ask what you wish, Sancho my son,” responded Don Quixote, “for I shall answer and respond as much as you desire. As for your saying that those men riding here with us are the priest and barber, it well may be that they seem to be our compatriots and friends, but you must not believe for a moment that they really and truly are. What you ought to believe and understand is that if they resemble them, as you say, it must be because those who have enchanted me have taken on their appearance and likeness, because it is easy for enchanters to assume whatever semblance they choose; they must have assumed that of our friends in order to give you a reason to think what you think and enter into a labyrinth of imaginings from which not even the cord of Theseus will help you to escape. And they also must have done this so that I would waver in my understanding and not be able to determine the origin of this calamity; if, on one hand, you tell me that I am accompanied by the barber and priest of our village, and if, on the other, I find myself in a cage and know that nothing human but only a supernatural power would be sufficient to put me in a cage, what can I say or think except that the manner of my enchantment exceeds anything I have read in all the histories that deal with knights errant who have been enchanted? Therefore you can rest easy and be assured regarding their being who you say they are, because if they really are, then I am a Turk. As for wanting to ask me something, speak, and I shall respond even if you ask me questions from now until tomorrow.”

“By the Blessed Virgin!” responded Sancho with a great shout. “Is it possible that your grace is so thickheaded and so short on brains that you cannot see that what I’m telling you is the absolute truth, and that malice has more to do with your imprisonment and misfortune than enchantment? Even so, I’ll prove to you you’re not enchanted. Just tell me, when God frees you from this torment and you find yourself in the arms of the Señora Dulcinea when you least expect it—”

“Enough conjuring,” said Don Quixote, “and just ask what you wish; I have already told you I shall answer everything completely.”

“That’s all I ask,” replied Sancho, “and what I want to know is for you to tell me, without adding or taking away anything, but truthfully, which is what we expect of all those who profess arms, as your grace professes them, and who call themselves knights errant—”

“I say that I shall not lie in anything,” responded Don Quixote. “Ask your question, for the truth is, Sancho, I am growing weary of all your vows and supplications and preambles.”

“I say that I’m sure of my master’s goodness and truthfulness, and so I’ll ask something that goes right to the heart of the matter; speaking with respect, since your grace has been locked in the cage, enchanted, in your opinion, have you had the desire and will to pass what they call major and minor waters?”

“I do not understand what you mean by passing waters, Sancho; speak more clearly if you want me to respond in a straightforward way.”

“Is it possible that your grace doesn’t understand what it means to pass minor or major waters? Even schoolboys know that. Well, what I mean is, have you had the desire to do the thing nobody else can do for you?”

“Ah, now I understand you, Sancho! Yes, I have, quite often, and even do now. Save me from this danger, for not everything is absolutely pristine!”