El Buscapié

by Adolfo de Castro

So saying, he turned over a few leaves of the book, and I, glancing my eye upon it, spied on one of the pages, the words:—el ingenioso hidalgo. For a moment I felt astounded, and like one, who, by a sudden surprise, is deprived of the power of utterance; but, soon recovering my presence of mind, I said:—

“Pardon me, señor, this book which you declare to be full of absurdity and nonsense, is really very diverting; and instead of being injurious in its tendency, is perfectly harmless. It is a pleasant relation of some very amusing adventures, and its author deserves to be commended, for having hit upon such a device for banishing from the republic of letters, the absurd books of knight-errantry, with their affected sentiment and bombastic phraseology. Moreover, the author of this book is bowed down by misfortunes more than by years; and though he looks forward with hope to the reward that may possibly hereafter crown his labours, yet he is nevertheless disheartened to see the world so pleased with folly and falsehood, and to witness the annoyances and hindrances thrown in the way of talent. In courts and in palaces, and among the great and the high-born, it has become the fashion to disesteem men who follow the noble profession of letters; and no arguments that can be advanced against this misjudgment, are strong enough to remove it. The consequence is, that when by chance an author of talent gains any influence by his writings, he is speedily cried down, and his life becomes a course of vexation and disappointment.”

“All persons,” said the bachelor, “do not regard books of chivalry as fictions and impostures, and their authors as inventors of falsehood and foolery. Such books, though not approved by sages, are nevertheless admired and accredited by the mass of people. There are even men of wisdom and good understanding who put faith in the reality of the valorous achievements of those knights-errant, who used to sally from their homes in quest of adventures; each devoutly repeating the name of the lady of his thoughts, and invoking her succour in the perils he was about to encounter,—perils voluntarily sought by men who could not behold a grievance without endeavouring to redress it, or a wrong without attempting to right it. Would to heaven! (and these words he uttered with a sorrowful look), that I could meet with some knight-errant who would undertake to right my wrong,—I mean my hump, which is a grievance I should like to see redressed. But for that, and these unshapely limbs, my shortness of stature, a superfluous length of nose, a peculiar stare in my eyes, and too great an expansion of mouth,—but for these trifles, I should be one of the most gallant-looking gentlemen in the world: none would be more admired by the ladies, or more envied by the men. My mother’s neighbours used to tell her when I was a little child that I was the living likeness of my father, who was a brave soldier in the army of the invincible emperor. He served in the war in Flanders, fighting in all the hottest battles and skirmishes; always the last to engage in the attack, and the first to commence the retreat. It happened one day that Captain Luis Quijada, who held a command in the Lombardy forces, perceiving my father partly concealed behind a tree, thought he was a spy, and ordered him to be seized. But my father excused himself, saying that he was watching the movements of the enemy’s infantry, for he had learned from a wounded Flemish soldier (one of the heretics), that the enemy proposed, after a feigned retreat, to make a sudden assault on our camp at its weakest point. With this, and on the intercession of some soldiers, who knew my father to be a man of courage and honour, Captain Luis Quijada pardoned him, on condition that at daybreak—”

“Stay—stay! Señor Licentiate,” said I, “whither are you straying? You were speaking of the ingenious hidalgo, Don Quixote de la Mancha, and, after fluttering like a butterfly from flower to flower, you have wandered to the heroic deeds of your father in the Flanders war. Between the one subject and the other, there is as much affinity as that existing between Mingo Rebulgo and Calaynos.”[56]

To this the bachelor replied—“Such as I am, God has made me. Aristotle, you know, condemns taciturn people, and the old proverb says:—‘against the silent man be on your guard.’ Therefore I think it is well to be talkative.”

“But, señor,” I presumed, “if you will do me the favour to listen (this I said, observing his loquacious disposition,) I would remind you of another of our old Spanish proverbs, which is al buen callar llaman sago.[G] And there is another old saying, que dice el pandero no es todo vero.”[57]

“Right,” answered the bachelor, “and no doubt you have heard the proverb andando gana la aceña que no estándose queda.[58] Therefore, sir, with your good leave, I will relate to you how my father came to be made a Captain.

“It happened one day during a violent onset with the Flemish troops, that he was going about the camp, seeking a convenient place wherein he might take refuge (this, you must know, was before I was born or even begotten), for he thought it would be well to preserve himself for greater deeds. Therefore, he was looking about for a place of safety, where, alike unobserved by the troops of the Spanish camp and by those of the League, he might save his life and person, as I have said, for greater things.”

“Rather say for smaller things,” interrupted I, “since he saved himself to become your father. Now, seeing that you are so very little, and that your father saved himself to beget you, how can it be said that he saved himself for greater things?”