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| Miguel de Cervantes |
Miguel de Cervantes
Saavedra (1547–1616). Don Quixote, Part 1
Vol. 14, pp. 307-319 of
The Harvard Classics
Anselmo and Lothario
were close friends. Anselmo, anxious to learn if his wife were
perfect, as he believed her to be, makes an unusual proposal to his
old friend.
The
Fourth Book
VI.
Wherein Is Rehearsed the History of the Curious-Impertinent
‘IN Florence, a rich
and famous city of Italy, in the province called Tuscany, there dwelt
two rich and principal gentlemen called Anselmo and Lothario, which
two were so great friends, as they were named for excellency, and by
antonomasia, by all those that knew them, the Two Friends. They were
both bachelors, and much of one age and manners; all which was of
force to make them answer one another with reciprocal amity. True it
is that Anselmo was somewhat more inclined to amorous dalliance than
Lothario, who was altogether addicted to hunting. But when occasion
exacted it, Anselmo would omit his own pleasures, to satisfy his
friend’s; and Lothario likewise his, to please Anselmo. And by this
means both their will were so correspondent, as no clock could be
better ordered that were their desires. Anselmo being at last deeply
enamoured of a principal and beautiful young lady of the same city,
called Camilla, being so worthily descended, and she herself of such
merit therewithal, as he resolved (by the consent of his friend
Lothario, without whom he did nothing) to demand her of her parents
for wife; and did put his purpose in execution; and Lothario himself
was the messenger, and concluded the matter so to his friend’s
satisfaction, as he was shortly after put in possession of his
desires; and Camilla so contented to have gotten Anselmo, as she
ceased not render Heaven and Lothario thanks, by whose means she had
obtained so great a match. The first days, as all marriage days are
wont to be merry, Lothario frequented, according to the custom, his
friend Anselmo’s house, endeavouring to honour, feast, and recreate
him all the ways he might possibly. But after the nuptials were
finished, and the concourse of strangers, visitations, and
congratulations somewhat ceased, Lothario also began to be somewhat
more slack that he wonted in going to Anselmo his house, deeming it
(as it is reason that all discreet men should) not so convenient to
visit or haunt so often the house of his friend after marriage as he
would, had he still remained a bachelor. For although true amity
neither should nor ought to admit the least suspicion, yet
notwithstanding a married man’s honour is so delicate and tender a
thing, as it seems it may be sometimes impaired, even by very
brethren; and how much more by friends? Anselmo noted the remission
of Lothario, and did grievously complain thereof, saying that, if he
had wist by marriage he should thus be deprived of his dear
conversation, he would never have married; and that since through the
uniform correspondency of them both being free, they had deserved the
sweet title of the Two Friends, that he should not now permit
(because he would be noted circumspect without any other occasion)
that so famous and pleasing a name should be lost; and therefore he
requested him (if it were lawful to use such a term between them two)
to return and be master of his house, and come and go as he had done
before his marriage, assuring him that his spouse Camilla had no
other pleasure and will, than that which himself pleased she should
have; and that she, after having known how great was both their
friendships, was not a little amazed to see him become so strange.
‘To all these and many other reasons
alleged by Anselmo, to persuade Lothario to frequent his house, he
answered with so great prudence, discretion, and wariness, as Anselmo
remained satisfied of his friend’s good intention herein; and they
made an agreement between them two, that Lothario should dine at his
house twice a week, and the holy days besides. And although this
agreement had passed between them, yet Lothario purposed to do that
only which he should find most expedient for his friend’s honour,
whose reputation he tendered much more dearly than he did his own;
and was wont to say very discreetly, that the married man, unto whom
Heaven had given a beautiful wife, ought to have as much heed of his
friends which he brought to his house, as he should of the women
friends that visited his wife; for that which is not done nor agreed
upon in the church or market, nor in public feasts or stations (being
places that a man cannot lawfully hinder his wife from frequenting
sometimes at least) are ofttimes facilitated and contrived in a
friend’s or kinswoman’s house, whom perhaps we never suspected.
Anselmo on the other side affirmed, that therefore married men ought
every one of them to have some friend who might advertise them of the
faults escaped in their manner of proceeding; for it befalls many
times, that through the great love which the husband bears to his
wife, either he doth not take notice, or else he doth not advertise
her, because he would not offend her to do or omit to do certain
things, the doing or omitting whereof might turn to his honour or
obloquy; to which things, being advertised by his friend, he might
easily apply some remedy. But where might a man find a friend so
discreet, loyal, and trusty as Anselmo demands? I know not truly, if
not Lothario: for he it was that with all solicitude and care
regarded the honour of his friend; and therefore endeavoured to clip
and diminish the number of the days promised, lest he should give
occasion to the idle vulgar, or to the eyes of vagabonds and
malicious men to judge any sinister thing, viewing so rich, comely,
nobel, and qualified a young man as he was, to have so free access
into the house of a woman so beautiful as Camilla. For though his
virtues and modest carriage were sufficiently able to set a bridle to
any malignant tongue, yet notwithstanding he would not have his
credit, nor that of his friends, called into any question; and
therefore would spend most of the days that he had agreed to visit
his friend, in other places and exercises; yet feigning excuses so
plausible, as his friend admitted them for every reasonable. And thus
the time passed on in challenges of unkindness of the one side, and
lawful excuses of the other.
‘It so fell out, that, as both the
friends walked on a day together in a field without the city, Anselmo
said to Lothario these words ensuing: “I know very well, friend
Lothario, that among all the favours which God of His bounty hath
bestowed upon me by making me the son of such parents, and giving to
me with so liberal a hand, both the goods of nature and fortune; yet
as I cannot answer Him with sufficient gratitude for the benefits
already received, so do I find myself most highly bound unto Him
above all others, for having given me such a friend as thou art, and
so beautiful a wife as Camilla, being both of you such pawns, as if I
esteem you not in the degree which I ought, yet do I hold you as dear
as I may. And yet, possessing all those things which are wont to be
the all and some that are wont and may make a man happy, I live
notwithstanding the most sullen and discontented life of the world,
being troubled, I know not since when, and inwardly wrested with so
strange a desire, and extravagant, form the common use of others, as
I marvel at myself, and do condemn and rebuke myself when I am alone,
and do labour to conceal and cover mine own desires; all which hath
served me to as little effect, as if I had proclaimed mine own errors
purposely to the world. And seeing that it must finally break out, my
will is, that it be only communicated to the treasury of thy secret;
hoping by it and mine own industry, which, as my true friend, thou
wilt use to help me, I shall be quickly freed from the anguish it
causeth, and by they means my joy and contentment shall arrive to the
pass that my discontents have brought me through mine own folly.”
‘Lothario stood suspended at
Anselmo’s speech, as one that could not imagine to what so prolix a
prevention and preamble tended; and although he revolved and imagined
sundry things in his mind which he deemed might afflict his friend,
yet did he ever shoot wide from the mark which in truth it was; and
that he might quickly escape that agony, wherein the suspension held
him, said that his friend did notable injury to their amity, in
searching out wreathings and ambages in the discovery of his most
hidden thoughts to him, seeing he might assure himself certainly,
either to receive counsels of him how to entertain, or else remedy
and means how to accomplish them.
‘“It is very true,” answered
Anselmo, “and with that confidence I let thee to understand, friend
Lothario, that the desire which vexeth me is a longing to know
whether my wife Camilla be as good and perfect as I do account her,
and I cannot wholly rest satisfied of this truth, but by making trial
of her, in such sort as it may give manifest argument of the degree
of her goodness, as the fire doth show the value of gold; for I am of
opinion, O friend, that a woman is of no more worth or virtue than
that which is in her, after she hath been solicited; and that she
alone is strong who cannot be bowed by the promised, gifts, tears,
and continual importunities of importunate lovers. For what thanks is
it,” quoth he, “for a woman to be good, if nobody say or teach
her ill? What wonder that she be retired and timorous, if no occasion
be ministered to her of dissolution, and chiefly she that knows she
hath a husband ready to kill her for the least argument of lightness?
So that she which is only good for fear or want of occasion, will I
never hold in that estimation, that I would the other solicited and
pursued, who notwithstanding, comes away crowned with the victory.
And therefore, being moved as well by these reasons as by many other
which I could tell you, which accredit and fortify mine opinion, I
desire that my wife Camilla do also pass through the pikes of those
proofs and difficulties, and purify and refine herself in the fire of
being requested, solicited, and pursued, and that by one whose worths
and valour may deserve acceptance in her opinion; and if she bear
away the palm of the victory, as I believe she will, I shall account
my fortune matchless, and may brag that my desires are in their
height, and will say that a strong woman hath fallen to my lot, of
whom the wise man saith, ‘Who shall find her?’ And when it shall
succeed contrary to mine expectation, I shall, with the pleasure that
I will conceive to see how rightly it jumps with mine opinion, bear
very indifferent[ly] the grief which in all reason this so costly a
trial must stir in me. And presupposing that nothing which thou shalt
say to me shall be available to hinder my design, or dissuade me from
putting my purpose in execution, I would have thyself, dear friend
Lothario, to provide thee to be the instrument that shall labour this
work of my liking, and I will give thee opportunity enough to perform
the same, without omitting anything that may further thee in the
solicitation of an honest, noble, wary, retired, and passionless
woman.
‘“And I am chiefly moved to commit
this so hard an enterprise to thy trust, because I know that, if
Camilla be vanquished by thee, yet shall not the victory arrive to
the last push and upshot, but only to that of accounting a thing to
be done, which shall not be done for many good respects. So shall I
remain nothing offended, and mine injury concealed in the virtue of
thy silence; for I know thy care to be such in matters concerning me,
as it shall be eternal, like that of death. And therefore if thou
desirest that I may lead a life deserving that name, thou must
forthwith provide thyself to enter into this amorous conflict, and
that not languishing or slothfully, but with that courage and
diligence which my desire expecteth, and the confidence I have in our
amity assureth me.”
‘These were the reasons used by
Anselmo to Lothario, to all which he was so attentive, as, until he
ended, he did not once unfold his lips to speak a word save those
which we have above related; and seeing that he spoke no more, after
he had beheld him a good while, as a thing that he had never before,
and did therefore strike him into admiration and amazement, he said,
“Friend Anselmo, I cannot persuade myself that the words you have
spoken be other than jests, for, had I thought that thou wert in
earnest, I would not have suffered thee to pass on so far, and by
lending thee no ear would have excused this tedious oration. I do
verily imagine that either thou dost not know me, or I thee; but not
so, for I know thee to be Anselmo, and thou that I am Lothario. The
damage is, that I think thou art not the Anselmo thou was wont to be,
and perhaps thou deemest me not to be the accustomed Lothario that I
ought to be; for the things which thou hast spoken are not of that
Anselmo my friend, nor those which thou seekest ought to be demanded
of that Lothario, of whom thou hast notice. For true friends ought to
prove and use their friends, as the poet said, usque ad
aras, that is, that they should in no sort employ them or
implore their assistance in things offensive unto God; and if a
Gentile was of this opinion in matters of friendship, how much
greater reason is it that a Christian should have that feeling,
specially knowing that the celestial amity is not to be lost for any
human friendship whatsoever. And when the friend should throw the
bars so wide, as to set heavenly respects apart, for to compliment
with his friend, it must not be done on light grounds, or for things
of small moment, but rather for those whereon his friend’s life and
honour wholly depend. Then tell me now, Anselmo, in which of these
two things art thou in danger, that I may adventure my person to do
thee a pleasure, and attempt so detestable a thing as thou dost
demand? None of them truly, but rather dost demand, as I may
conjecture, that I do industriously labour to deprive thee of thine
honour and life together, and, in doing so, I likewise deprive myself
of them both. For if I must labour to take away thy credit, it is
most evident that I despoil thee of life, for a man without
reputation is worse than a dead man, and I being the instrument, as
thou desirest that I should be, of so great harm unto thee, do not I
become likewise thereby dishonoured, and by the same consequence also
without life? Hear me, friend Anselmo, and have patience not to
answer me until I have said all that I think, concerning that which
thy mind exacteth of thee; for we shall have after leisure enough,
wherein thou mayst reply, and I have patience to listen unto thy
reasons.”
‘“I am pleased,” quoth Anselmo;
“say what thou likest.” And Lothario prosecuted his speech in
this manner: “Methinks, Anselmo, that thou art now of the Moors’
humours, which can be no means be made to understand the error of
their sect, neither by citations of the Holy Scripture, nor by
reasons which consist in speculations of the understanding, or that
are founded in the Articles of the Faith, but must be won by palpable
examples, and those easy, intelligible, demonstrative, and doubtless,
by mathematical demonstrations, which cannot be denied. Even as when
we say, ‘If from two equal parts we take away two parts equal, the
parts that remain are also equal.’ And when they cannot understand
this, as in truth they do not, we must demonstrate it to them with
our hands, and lay it before their eyes, and yet for all this nought
can avail to win them in the end to give credit to the verities of
our religion; which very terms and manner of proceeding I must use
with thee, by reason that the desire which is sprung in thee doth so
wander and stray from all that which bears the shadow only of reason,
as I doubt much that I shall spend my time in vain, which I shall
bestow, to make thee understand thine own simplicity, for I will give
it no other name at this present; and, in good earnest, I was almost
persuaded to leave thee in thine humour, in punishment of thine
inordinate and unreasonable desire, but that the love which I bear
towards thee doth not consent I use to thee such rigour, or leave
thee in so manifest a danger of thine own perdition. And, that thou
mayst clearly see it, tell me, Anselmo, hast not thou said unto me,
that I must solicit one that stands upon her reputation; persuade an
honest woman; make proffers to one that is not passionate or engaged;
and serve a discreet woman? Yes, thou hast said all this. Well, then,
if thou knowest already that thou hast a retired, honest,
unpassionate, and prudent wife, what seekest thou more? And, if thou
thinkest that she will rest victorious, after all mine assaults, as
doubtless she will, what better titles wouldst thou after bestow upon
her, than those she possesseth already? Either it proceeds, because
thou dost not think of her as thou sayst, or else because thou
knowest not what thou demandest. If thou dost not account her such as
thou praisest her, to what end wouldst thou prove her? But rather, as
an evil person, use her as thou likest best. But, if she be as good
as thou believest, it were an impertinent thing to make trial of
truth itself. For, after it is made, yet it will still rest only with
the same reputation it had before. Wherefore, it is a concluding
reason, that, to attempt things, whence rather harm may after result
unto us than good, is the part of rash and discourseless brains; and
principally when they deal with those things whereunto they are not
compelled or driven, and that they see even afar off, how the
attempting the like is manifest folly. Difficult things are
undertaken for God, or the world, or both. Those that are done for
God are the works of the saints, endeavouring to lead angels’
lives, in frail and mortal bodies. Those of the world are the travels
and toils of such as cross such immense seas, travel through so
adverse regions, and converse with so many nations, to acquire that
which we call the goods of fortune. And the things acted for God and
the world together are the worthy exploits of resolute and valorous
martial men, which scarce perceive so great a breach in the adversary
wall, as the cannon bullet is wont to make; when, leaving all fear
apart, without making any discourse, or taking notice of the manifest
danger that threatens them, borne away, by the wings of desire and
honour, to serve God, their nation and prince, do throw themselves
boldly into the throat of a thousand menacing deaths which expect
them.
‘“These are things wont to be
practised; and it is honour, glory, and profit to attempt them, be
they never so full of inconveniences and danger; but that which thou
sayst thou will try and put in practice shall never gain thee God’s
glory, the goods of fortune, or renown among men; for, suppose that
thou bringest it to pass according to thine own fantasy, thou shalt
remain nothing more contented, rich, or honourable than thou art
already; and, if thou dost not, then shalt thou see thyself in the
greatest misery of any wretch living; for it will little avail thee
then to think that no man knows the disgrace befallen thee, it being
sufficient both to afflict and dissolve thee that thou knowest it
thyself. And, for greater confirmation of this truth, I will repeat
unto thee a stanza of the famous poet Luigi Tansillo, in the end of
his first part of St. Peter’s Tears, which is:
“‘The grief
increaseth, and withal the shame
In Peter when the day
itself did show:
And though he no man
sees, yet doth he blame
Himself because he had
offended so.
For breasts
magnanimous, not only tame,
When that of others
they are seen, they know;
But of themselves
ashamed they often be,
Though none but Heaven
and earth their error see.’
So that thou canst not excuse thy grief with
secrecy, be it never so great, but rather shall have continual
occasion to weep, if not watery tears from thine eyes, at least tears
of blood from thy heart, such as that simple doctor wept, of whom our
poet makes mention, who made trial of the vessel, which the prudent
Reynaldos, upon maturer discourse, refused to deal withal. And,
although it be but a poetical fiction, yet doth it contain many
hidden morals, worthy to be noted, understood, and imitated; how much
more, seeing that by what I mean to say now, I hope thou shalt begin
to conceive the great error which thou wouldest wittingly commit.
‘“Tell me, Anselmo, if Heaven or
thy fortunes had made thee lord and lawful possessor of a most
precious diamond, of whose goodness and quality all the lapidaries
that had viewed the same would rest satisfied, and that all of them
would jointly and uniformly affirm that it arrived in quality,
goodness, and fineness to all that to which the nature of such a
stone might extend itself, and that thou thyself didst believe the
same without witting anything to the contrary; would it be just that
thou shouldest take an humour to set that diamond between an anvil
and a hammer, and to try there by very force of blows whether it be
so hard and so fine as they say? And further: when thou didst put thy
design in execution, put the case that the stone made resistance to
thy foolish trial, yet wouldest thou add thereby no new value or
esteem to it. And if it did break, as it might befall, were not then
all lost? Yes, certainly, and that leaving the owner, in all men’s
opinion, for a very poor ignorant person. Then, friend Anselmo, make
account that Camilla is a most precious diamond as well in thine as
in other men’s estimation; and it is no reason to put her in
contingent danger of breaking, seeing that, although she remain in
her integrity, she cannot mount to more worth than she hath at the
present; and if she faltered, or did not resist, consider even at
this present what state you would be in then, and how justly thou
mightest then complain of thyself for being cause of her perdition
and thine own. See how there is no jewel in the world comparable to
the modest and chaste woman, and that all women’s honour consists
in the good opinion that’s had of them; and seeing that of thy
spouse is so great, as it arrives to that sum of perfection which
thou knowest, why wouldest thou call this verity in question? Know,
friend, that a woman is an imperfect creature, and should therefore
have nothing cast in her way to make her stumble and fall, but rather
to clear and do all encumbrances away out of it, to the end she may
without impeachment run with a swift course to obtain the perfection
she wants, which only consists in being virtuous.
‘“The naturalists recount that the
ermine is a little beast that hath a most white skin; and that, when
the hunters would chase him, they use this art to take him. As soon
as they find out his haunt, and places where he hath recourse, they
thwart them with mire and dirt, and after when they descry the little
beast, they pursue him towards those places which are defiled; and
the ermine, espying the mire, stands still, and permits himself to be
taken and captived in exchange of not passing through the mire, or
staining of his whiteness, which it esteems more than either liberty
or life. The honest and chaste woman is an ermine, and the virtue of
chastity is whiter and purer than snow; and he that would not lose
it, but rather desires to keep and preserve it, must proceed with a
different style from that of the ermine. For they must not propose
and lay before her the mire of the passions, flatteries, and services
of importunate lovers; for perhaps she shall not have the natural
impulse and force, which commonly through proper debility is wont to
stumble, to pass over those encumbrances safely; and therefore it is
requisite to free the passage and take them away, and lay before her
the clearness of virtue and the beauty comprised in good fame. The
good woman is also like unto a bright and clear mirror of crystal,
and therefore is subject to be stained and dimmed by every breath
that toucheth it. The honest woman is to be used as relics of saints,
to wit, she must be honoured but not touched. The good woman is to be
kept and prized like a fair garden full of sweet flowers and roses,
that is held in estimation, whose owner permits no man to enter and
trample or touch his flowers, but holds it to be sufficient that
they, standing afar off, without the rails, may joy at the delightful
sight and fragrance thereof. Finally I will repeat certain verses
unto thee that have now come to my memory, the which were repeated of
late in a new play, and seem to me very fit for the purpose of which
we treat. A prudent old man did give a neighbour of his that had a
daughter counsel to keep and shut her up; and among many other
reasons he used these:
“‘Truly woman is
of glass;
Therefore
no man ought to try
If she
broke or not might be,
Seeing all might come
to pass.
Yet to break her ’tis
more easy;
And it is
no wit to venture
A thing of
so brittle temper,
That to soldier is so
queasy.
And I would have all
men dwell
In this
truth and reason’s ground,
That if
Danaes may be found,
Golden showers are
found as well.’
‘“All that which I have said to
thee, Anselmo, until this instant, hath been for that which may touch
thyself; and it is now high time that somewhat be heard concerning
me. And if by chance I shall be somewhat prolix, I pray thee to
pardon me; for the labyrinth wherein thou hast entered, and out of
which thou wouldest have me to free thee, requires no less. Thou
holdest me to be thy friend, and yet goest about to despoil me of
mine honour, being a thing contrary to all amity; and dost not only
pretend this, but dost likewise endeavor that I should rob thee of
the same. That thou wouldest deprive me of mine is evident; for when
Camilla shall perceive that I solicit her as thou demandest, it is
certain that she will esteem of me as of one quite devoid of wit and
discretion, seeing I intend and do a thing so repugnant to that which
the being that him I am, and thine amity do bind me unto. That thou
wouldest have me rob thee thereof is as manifest, for Camilla, seeing
me thus to court her, must imagine that I have noted some lightness
in her which lent me boldness thus to discover unto her my depraved
desires, and she holding herself to be thereby injured and
dishonoured, her disgrace must also concern thee as a principal part
of her. And hence springs that which is commonly said, That the
husband of the adulterous wife, although he know nothing of her
lewdness, nor hath given any occasion to her to do what she ought
not, nor was able any way to hinder by diligence, care, or other
means, his disgrace, yet is entitled with a vituperous name, and is
in a manner beheld by those that know his wife’s malice with the
eyes of contempt; whereas they should indeed regard him rather with
those of compassion, seeing that he falls into that misfortune not so
much through his own default, as through the light fantasy of his
wicked consort. But I will show thee the reason why a bad woman’s
husband is justly dishonoured and contemned, although he be ignorant
and guiltless thereof, and cannot prevent, nor hath given to any
occasion. And be not grieved to hear me, seeing the benefit of the
discourse shall redound unto thyself.
‘“When God created our first
parent in the terrestrial paradise, the Holy Scripture saith, That
God infused sleep into Adam, and that, being asleep, He took out a
rib of his left side, of which He formed our mother Eve; and as soon
as Adam awaked and beheld her, he said, ‘This is flesh of my flesh,
and bone of my bones.’ And God said, ‘For this cause shall a man
leave his father and his mother, and they shall be two in one flesh.’
And then was the divine ordinance of matrimony first instituted, with
such indissoluble knots as only may be by death dissolved. And this
marvelous ordinance is of such efficacy and force, as it makes two
different persons to be one very flesh; and yet operates further in
good married folk; for, although they have two souls, yet it makes
them to have but one will. And hence it proceeds, that by reason the
wife’s flesh is one and the very same with her husband’s, the
blemishes or defects that taint it do also redound into the
husband’s, although he, as we have said, have ministered no
occasion, to receive that damage. For as all the whole body feels any
pain of the foot, head, or any other member, because it is all one
flesh, and the head smarts at the grief of the ankle, although it
hath not caused it; so is the husband participant of his wife’s
dishonour, because he is one and the selfsame with her. And by reason
that all the honours and dishonours of the world are, and spring from
flesh and blood, and those of the bad woman be of this kind, it is
forcible, that part of them fall to the husband’s share, and that
he be accounted dishonourable, although he wholly be ignorant of it.
See then, Anselmo, to what peril thou dost thrust thyself by seeking
to disturb the quietness and repose wherein thy wife lives, and for
how vain and impertinent curiosity thou wouldest stir up the humours
which are now quiet in thy chaste spouse’s breast. Note how the
things thou dost adventure to gain are of small moment; but that
which thou shalt lose so great, that I must leave it in his point,
having no words sufficiently able to endear it. But if all that I
have said be not able to move thee from thy bad purpose, thou mayst
well seek out for some other instrument of thy dishonour and mishaps;
for I mean not to be one, although I should therefore lose thine
amity, which is the greatest loss that might any way befall me.”
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