CHAPTER 38
WHICH TREATS OF THE CURIOUS DISCOURSE DON QUIXOTE DELIVERED ON ARMS
AND LETTERS
Continuing his discourse Don Quixote said: “As we began in the stu-
dent’s case with poverty and its accompaniments, let us see now if the sol-
dier 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 merci-
ful 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 bet-
ters 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 num-
bered, 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 recom-
pensed out of the very property of the master they serve; but this impossi-
bility 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 let-
ters, 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 incompara-
bly 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 com-
pare with what the soldier feels, who finds himself beleaguered in some
stronghold mounting guard in some ravelin or cavalier, knows that the ene-
my is pushing a mine towards the post where he is stationed, and cannot un-
der 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 daunt-
less 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 ene-
my, another and another will succeed him without a moment’s pause be-
tween 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 re-
ceiving 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 enthusi-
asm that fire and animate brave hearts, there should come some random bul-
let, 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 gar-
ret 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; never-
theless, 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.
