"Ods body!" said Don Quixote at this, "what more has his Majesty to do

but to command, by public proclamation, all the knights-errant that are

scattered over Spain to assemble on a fixed day in the capital, for even

if no more than half a dozen come, there may be one among them who alone

will suffice to destroy the entire might of the Turk. Give me your

attention and follow me. Is it, pray, any new thing for a single

knight-errant to demolish an army of two hundred thousand men, as if they

all had but one throat or were made of sugar paste? Nay, tell me, how

many histories are there filled with these marvels? If only (in an evil

hour for me: I don't speak for anyone else) the famous Don Belianis were

alive now, or any one of the innumerable progeny of Amadis of Gaul! If

any these were alive today, and were to come face to face with the Turk,

by my faith, I would not give much for the Turk's chance. But God will

have regard for his people, and will provide some one, who, if not so

valiant as the knights-errant of yore, at least will not be inferior to

them in spirit; but God knows what I mean, and I say no more."

"Alas!" exclaimed the niece at this, "may I die if my master does not

want to turn knight-errant again;" to which Don Quixote replied, "A

knight-errant I shall die, and let the Turk come down or go up when he

likes, and in as strong force as he can, once more I say, God knows what

I mean." But here the barber said, "I ask your worships to give me leave

to tell a short story of something that happened in Seville, which comes

so pat to the purpose just now that I should like greatly to tell it."

Don Quixote gave him leave, and the rest prepared to listen, and he began

thus:

"In the madhouse at Seville there was a man whom his relations had placed

there as being out of his mind. He was a graduate of Osuna in canon law;

but even if he had been of Salamanca, it was the opinion of most people

that he would have been mad all the same. This graduate, after some years

of confinement, took it into his head that he was sane and in his full

senses, and under this impression wrote to the Archbishop, entreating him

earnestly, and in very correct language, to have him released from the

misery in which he was living; for by God's mercy he had now recovered

his lost reason, though his relations, in order to enjoy his property,

kept him there, and, in spite of the truth, would make him out to be mad

until his dying day. The Archbishop, moved by repeated sensible,

well-written letters, directed one of his chaplains to make inquiry of

the madhouse as to the truth of the licentiate's statements, and to have

an interview with the madman himself, and, if it should appear that he

was in his senses, to take him out and restore him to liberty. The

chaplain did so, and the governor assured him that the man was still mad,

and that though he often spoke like a highly intelligent person, he would

in the end break out into nonsense that in quantity and quality

counterbalanced all the sensible things he had said before, as might be

easily tested by talking to him. The chaplain resolved to try the

experiment, and obtaining access to the madman conversed with him for an

hour or more, during the whole of which time he never uttered a word that

was incoherent or absurd, but, on the contrary, spoke so rationally that

the chaplain was compelled to believe him to be sane. Among other things,

he said the governor was against him, not to lose the presents his

relations made him for reporting him still mad but with lucid intervals;

and that the worst foe he had in his misfortune was his large property;

for in order to enjoy it his enemies disparaged and threw doubts upon the

mercy our Lord had shown him in turning him from a brute beast into a

man. In short, he spoke in such a way that he cast suspicion on the

governor, and made his relations appear covetous and heartless, and

himself so rational that the chaplain determined to take him away with

him that the Archbishop might see him, and ascertain for himself the

truth of the matter. Yielding to this conviction, the worthy chaplain

begged the governor to have the clothes in which the licentiate had

entered the house given to him. The governor again bade him beware of

what he was doing, as the licentiate was beyond a doubt still mad; but

all his cautions and warnings were unavailing to dissuade the chaplain

from taking him away. The governor, seeing that it was the order of the

Archbishop, obeyed, and they dressed the licentiate in his own clothes,

which were new and decent. He, as soon as he saw himself clothed like one

in his senses, and divested of the appearance of a madman, entreated the

chaplain to permit him in charity to go and take leave of his comrades

the madmen. The chaplain said he would go with him to see what madmen

there were in the house; so they went upstairs, and with them some of

those who were present. Approaching a cage in which there was a furious

madman, though just at that moment calm and quiet, the licentiate said to

him, 'Brother, think if you have any commands for me, for I am going

home, as God has been pleased, in his infinite goodness and mercy,

without any merit of mine, to restore me my reason. I am now cured and in

my senses, for with God's power nothing is impossible. Have strong hope

and trust in him, for as he has restored me to my original condition, so

likewise he will restore you if you trust in him. I will take care to

send you some good things to eat; and be sure you eat them; for I would

have you know I am convinced, as one who has gone through it, that all

this madness of ours comes of having the stomach empty and the brains

full of wind. Take courage! take courage! for despondency in misfortune

breaks down health and brings on death.'




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