ith the history of his worship Senor Don Quixote."

"I will bet the son of a dog has mixed the cabbages and the baskets,"
said Sancho.

"Then, I say," said Don Quixote, "the author of my history was no sage,
but some ignorant chatterer, who, in a haphazard and heedless way, set
about writing it, let it turn out as it might, just as Orbaneja, the
painter of Ubeda, used to do, who, when they asked him what he was
painting, answered, 'What it may turn out.' Sometimes he would paint a
cock in such a fashion, and so unlike, that he had to write alongside of
it in Gothic letters, 'This is a cock; and so it will be with my history,
which will require a commentary to make it intelligible."

"No fear of that," returned Samson, "for it is so plain that there is
nothing in it to puzzle over; the children turn its leaves, the young
people read it, the grown men understand it, the old folk praise it; in a
word, it is so thumbed, and read, and got by heart by people of all
sorts, that the instant they see any lean hack, they say, 'There goes
Rocinante.' And those that are most given to reading it are the pages,
for there is not a lord's ante-chamber where there is not a 'Don Quixote'
to be found; one takes it up if another lays it down; this one pounces
upon it, and that begs for it. In short, the said history is the most
delightful and least injurious entertainment that has been hitherto seen,
for there is not to be found in the whole of it even the semblance of an
immodest word, or a thought that is other than Catholic."

"To write in any other way," said Don Quixote, "would not be to write
truth, but falsehood, and historians who have recourse to falsehood ought
to be burned, like those who coin false money; and I know not what could
have led the author to have recourse to novels and irrelevant stories,
when he had so much to write about in mine; no doubt he must have gone by
the proverb 'with straw or with hay, etc,' for by merely setting forth my
thoughts, my sighs, my tears, my lofty purposes, my enterprises, he might
have made a volume as large, or larger than all the works of El Tostado
would make up. In fact, the conclusion I arrive at, senor bachelor, is,
that to write histories, or books of any kind, there is need of great
judgment and a ripe understanding. To give expression to humour, and
write in a strain of graceful pleasantry, is the gift of great geniuses.
The cleverest character in comedy is the clown, for he who