Don Quixote is a true masterpiece of storytelling. Moving beyond the rip-roaring humor lies something profound, relatable to our modern world. The delusion of fighting imaginary battles, perceiving oneself as a valiant knight of honor is perceptible throughout our modern time. Post-post-post modern as it has been identified. With conflicting ideologies, advancing in time well beyond Descartes and the Enlightenment, through Nietzsche and World Wars, on into the realm of pop culture ascendency (instant communal gratification), internet (instant narcissistic reward), population dysphoria, the fear of artificial intelligence, climate change–coupled with manipulated communal fear, a perverse economic climate, and a stream-of-consciousness rapidly accelerating with every passing moment in an unstable world, the temptation to hold the world to task is overwhelming. With everything demanding extreme attention and confrontation, how can one survive without becoming reactionary? In a world screaming daily to define what it is to be a human being how can one not desire to put on the armor of a knight-errant? Loving detachment, the reading of a classic hilarious novel, contemplation and prayer, daily Mass, the rejection of festering, humility and trust, the willingness to accept and smile, many other virtuous practices provide the peace. Man has always known confusing times for all time is troubled.
Don Quixote, however, seeing such a swarm of Moors and hearing such a din, thought it would be right to aid the fugitives, and standing up he exclaimed in a loud voice, “Never, while I live, will I permit foul play to be practised in my presence on such a famous knight and fearless lover as Don Gaiferos. Halt! ill-born rabble, follow him not nor pursue him, or ye will have to reckon with me in battle!” and suiting the action to the word, he drew his sword, and with one bound placed himself close to the show, and with unexampled rapidity and fury began to shower down blows on the puppet troop of Moors, knocking over some, decapitating others, maiming this one and demolishing that; and among many more he delivered one down stroke which, if Master Pedro had not ducked, made himself small, and got out of the way, would have sliced off his head as easily as if it had been made of almond-paste. Master Pedro kept shouting, “Hold hard! Señor Don Quixote! can’t you see they’re not real Moors you’re knocking down and killing and destroying, but only little pasteboard figures! Look—sinner that I am!—how you’re wrecking and ruining all that I’m worth!” But in spite of this, Don Quixote did not leave off discharging a continuous rain of cuts, slashes, downstrokes, and backstrokes, and at length, in less than the space of two credos, he brought the whole show to the ground, with all its fittings and figures shivered and knocked to pieces, King Marsilio badly wounded, and the Emperor Charlemagne with his crown and head split in two. The whole audience was thrown into confusion, the ape fled to the roof of the inn, the cousin was frightened, and even Sancho Panza himself was in mighty fear, for, as he swore after the storm was over, he had never seen his master in such a furious passion.
The complete destruction of the show being thus accomplished, Don Quixote became a little calmer, said, “I wish I had here before me now all those who do not or will not believe how useful knights-errant are in the world; just think, if I had not been here present, what would have become of the brave Don Gaiferos and the fair Melisendra! Depend upon it, by this time those dogs would have overtaken them and inflicted some outrage upon them. So, then, long live knight-errantry beyond everything living on earth this day!”
“Let it live, and welcome,” said Master Pedro at this in a feeble voice, “and let me die, for I am so unfortunate that I can say with King Don Rodrigo—
Yesterday was I lord of Spain
To-day I’ve not a turret left
That I may call mine own.
Not half an hour, nay, barely a minute ago, I saw myself lord of kings and emperors, with my stables filled with countless horses, and my trunks and bags with gay dresses unnumbered; and now I find myself ruined and laid low, destitute and a beggar, and above all without my ape, for, by my faith, my teeth will have to sweat for it before I have him caught; and all through the reckless fury of sir knight here, who, they say, protects the fatherless, and rights wrongs, and does other charitable deeds; but whose generous intentions have been found wanting in my case only, blessed and praised be the highest heavens! Verily, knight of the rueful figure he must be to have disfigured mine.”
Sancho Panza was touched by Master Pedro’s words, and said to him, “Don’t weep and lament, Master Pedro; you break my heart; let me tell you my master, Don Quixote, is so catholic and scrupulous a Christian that, if he can make out that he has done you any wrong, he will own it, and be willing to pay for it and make it good, and something over and above.”
“Only let Señor Don Quixote pay me for some part of the work he has destroyed,” said Master Pedro, “and I would be content, and his worship would ease his conscience, for he cannot be saved who keeps what is another’s against the owner’s will, and makes no restitution.”
“That is true,” said Don Quixote; “but at present I am not aware that I have got anything of yours, Master Pedro.”
“What!” returned Master Pedro; “and these relics lying here on the bare hard ground—what scattered and shattered them but the invincible strength of that mighty arm? And whose were the bodies they belonged to but mine? And what did I get my living by but by them?”
“Now am I fully convinced,” said Don Quixote, “of what I had many a time before believed; that the enchanters who persecute me do nothing more than put figures like these before my eyes, and then change and turn them into what they please. In truth and earnest, I assure you gentlemen who now hear me, that to me everything that has taken place here seemed to take place literally, that Melisendra was Melisendra, Don Gaiferos Don Gaiferos, Marsilio Marsilio, and Charlemagne Charlemagne. That was why my anger was roused; and to be faithful to my calling as a knight-errant I sought to give aid and protection to those who fled, and with this good intention I did what you have seen. If the result has been the opposite of what I intended, it is no fault of mine, but of those wicked beings that persecute me; but, for all that, I am willing to condemn myself in costs for this error of mine, though it did not proceed from malice; let Master Pedro see what he wants for the spoiled figures, for I agree to pay it at once in good and current money of Castile.”
