CHAPTER XXXVIII

Don Quixote continued, saying:

“We began with the student and the forms of his poverty; now let us see if the soldier is richer. And we shall see that no one in his poverty is as poor as he, for he depends on his miserable pay, which comes late or never, or on whatever he can steal with his own hands at great risk to his life and conscience. Sometimes he is so naked that a slashed and torn doublet is both uniform and shirt, and in the middle of winter, in an empty field, the breath from his mouth is his only protection against the inclemencies of heaven, and since that breath comes from an empty place, I consider it certain that it must come out cold, contradicting the laws of nature. But wait for night to fall, when he can make up for all these discomforts in the bed that awaits him, which will never sin by being too narrow unless he makes it so, for he can measure out as many feet of earth as he desires, and toss and turn to his heart’s content without fear of wrinkling the sheets. Then, after this, the day and hour arrive when he receives the degree his profession offers: the day of battle; there he will receive his tasseled academic cap, made of bandages to heal a bullet wound, perhaps one that has passed through his temples or will leave him with a ruined arm or leg. If this does not happen, and merciful heaven protects him and keeps him whole and alive, it may be that he will remain in the same poverty as before, and he will have to go through one engagement after another, one battle after another, and emerge victorious from all of them in order to prosper only a little; but these miracles are not seen very often.

But tell me, Señores, if you have considered it: how many more perish in war than profit from it? No doubt you will respond that there is no comparison, that the number of dead cannot be counted, and those who have been rewarded, and survived, can be counted in three digits and never reach a thousand. All of this is the opposite of what happens to lettered men, for with their fees, not to mention the bribes they receive, they have enough to get by, so that even though the hardship of a soldier is greater, his reward is much smaller. But one can respond to this by saying that it is easier to reward two thousand lettered men than thirty thousand soldiers, because the first are rewarded by positions that of necessity must be given to those in their profession, and the latter cannot be rewarded except by the very wealth that belongs to the lord they serve; and this, being impossible, strengthens my argument.

But let us leave this aside, for it is a labyrinth difficult to leave, and return to the preeminence of arms over letters, a question that has not yet been resolved since each side presents its own arguments; among them is the claim that without letters arms could not be sustained, because war also has laws to which it is subject, and laws are subsumed under what are called letters and lettered men. The reply of arms to this is that laws cannot be sustained without arms, because with arms nations are defended, kingdoms maintained, cities defended, roads made secure, seas cleared of pirates; in short, if not for arms, nations, kingdoms, monarchies, cities, roads, and sea lanes would be subject to the hardship and confusion that war brings for as long as it lasts and has the freedom to exercise its privileges and impose its violence. It is a demonstrable truth that whatever costs more is valued, and should be valued, more highly. To become distinguished in letters costs time, sleepless nights, hunger, nakedness, headaches, bouts of indigestion, and other things of this sort, some of which I have already mentioned, but to become a good soldier requires everything required of a student, but to so much higher a degree that there can be no comparison, because at every step the soldier risks losing his life. How can the fear of want and poverty that troubles a student ever equal the fear of the soldier who, finding himself besieged in a fortress, or keeping watch or standing guard at a drawbridge or watch-tower, hears his enemies mining their way toward him, and he cannot leave for any reason or flee the danger that threatens him? All he can do is inform his captain of the situation so that he can remedy it with countermines, and he must be quiet, fearing and waiting for the moment when he will suddenly fly up to the clouds without wings or plunge down to the abyss against his will.

And if this seems an insignificant danger, let us see if it is equaled or surpassed when the prows of two galleys collide in the middle of the wide sea, for when they lock and grapple, the soldier is left with no more than two feet of plank on the ram of the ship; despite this, seeing that he has in front of him as many ministers of death threatening him as there are artillery cannons aimed at him from the other side, only a lance’s throw away, and seeing that at the first misstep he will visit the deep bosom of Neptune, despite this, with an intrepid heart, carried by the honor that urges him on, he makes himself the target of all their volleys and attempts to cross that narrow passage to the enemy vessel. And the most astounding thing is that no sooner does one man fall, not to rise again until the world comes to an end, than another takes his place, and if he too falls into the sea that waits like an enemy, there is another, and another who follows him, and their deaths come one after the other, without pause: no greater valor and daring can be found in all the perils of war.

Happy were those blessed times that lacked the horrifying fury of the diabolical instruments of artillery, whose inventor, in my opinion, is in hell, receiving the reward for his accursed invention, which allows an ignoble and cowardly hand to take the life of a valiant knight, so that not knowing how it comes, or from where, a stray shot is fired into the courage and spirit that inflame and animate a brave heart, sent by one who perhaps fled in fear at the bright flare when the damned machine discharged it, and it cuts off and ends in an instant the thoughts and life of one who deserved to enjoy many more long years. When I consider this, I am prepared to say that it grieves my very soul that I have taken up the profession of knight errant in an age as despicable as the one we live in now, for although no danger can cause me to fear, it still fills me with misgivings to think that powder and tin may deprive me of the opportunity to become famous and renowned throughout the known world for the valor of my arm and the sharp edge of my sword. But God’s will be done, for I shall be more highly esteemed, if I succeed in my purpose, for having confronted greater dangers than any faced by the knights errant of old.”

Don Quixote gave this long discourse while the others were eating, and he forgot to bring a single mouthful of food to his lips, although Sancho Panza told him several times that he should eat and that later there would be time to say all he wanted to say. Those who listened to him were overwhelmed again with pity at seeing that a man who apparently was intelligent and rational in all other matters could lose those faculties completely when it was a question of his accursed and bedeviled chivalry. The priest said that he was correct in everything he had said in favor of arms, and that he, though lettered and a graduate of the university, was of the same opinion.

They finished supper, the table was cleared, and while the innkeeper’s wife, her daughter, and Maritornes prepared Don Quixote of La Mancha’s garret, for it had been decided that only the women would spend the night there, Don Fernando asked the captive to tell them the story of his life, which was bound to be unusual and interesting, as he had shown by arriving in the company of Zoraida. To which the captive responded that he would gladly do as he asked, though he feared the story would not give them the pleasure he would like; even so, in order to oblige them, he would tell it. The priest and the others thanked him, and again they asked him to begin, and he, seeing himself asked by so many, said that entreaties were not necessary when one request was more than enough.

“And so, let your graces be attentive, and you will hear a true account that could not be equaled by fictions written with so much care and artfulness.”

When he said this, they all sat down and became absolutely silent, and seeing that they had stopped talking and were waiting for him to speak, in a calm and pleasant voice he began his story, saying: