nevitableness proper to
genius, soon begin to disclose the fund of intelligence and ideal
passion which underlies this superficial insanity. We see that Don
Quixote is only mad north-north-west, when the wind blows from the
quarter of his chivalrous preoccupation. At other times he shows
himself a man of great goodness and fineness of wit; virtuous,
courageous, courteous, and generous, and in fact the perfect ideal of
a gentleman. When he takes, for instance, a handful of acorns from the
goat-herds' table and begins a grandiloquent discourse upon the Golden
Age, we feel how cultivated the man is, how easily the little things
of life suggest to him the great things, and with what delight he
dwells on what is beautiful and happy. The truth and pathos of the
character become all the more compelling when we consider how
naturally the hero's madness and calamities flow from this same
exquisite sense of what is good.

The contrast to this figure is furnished by that of Sancho Panza, who
embodies all that is matter-of-fact, gross, and plebeian. Yet he is
willing to become Don Quixote's esquire, and by his credulity and
devotion shows what an ascendency a heroic and enthusiastic nature can
gain over the most sluggish of men. Sancho has none of the instincts
of his master. He never read the books of chivalry or desired to right
the wrongs of the world. He is naturally satisfied with his crust and
his onions, if they can be washed down with enough bad wine. His good
drudge of a wife never transformed herself in his fancy into a
peerless Dulcinea. Yet Sancho follows his master into every danger,
shares his discomfiture and the many blows that rain down upon him,
and hopes to the end for the governorship of that Insula with which
Don Quixote is some day to reward his faithful esquire.

As the madness of Don Quixote is humanized by his natural intelligence
and courage, so the grossness and credulity of Sancho are relieved by
his homely wit. He abounds in proverbs. He never fails to see the
reality of a situation, and to protest doggedly against his master's
visionary flights. He holds fast as long as he can to the evidence of
his senses, and to his little weaknesses of flesh and spirit. But
finally he surrenders to the authority of Don Quixote, and of the
historians of chivalry, although not without a certain reluctance and
some surviving doubts.

The character of Sancho is admirable for the veracity with which its
details are d