Don Quijote and the Basque Again

     Good God, who could easily recount the rage that now filled the heart of our La Manchan, having been dealt such a setback!  The best we can say is that he reared up once again in his stirrups, took a two-handed grip on his sword, and swung so savagely at the Basque, hitting him squarely on the coach-cushion and on the head that, though the cushion had offered him first-rate protection, not it was as if a mountain had fallen on him, and blood began to pour out of his nostrils and his mouth, and also from his ears, and it looked as if he would fall off his mule, as indeed without any doubt he would, had he not clutched at the animals neck.  But still, his feet fell out of the stirrups, and in a moment his arms slipped away, and his mule, terrified by fearful blow, began to run through the fields, and after a few leaps threw his master to the ground.
     Don Quijote was watching all this with great calm, and when he saw the Basque fall, he leaped off his horse and ran quickly toward him, then put the point the point of his sword between the Basque's eyes and ordered him to surrender, or have his head cut off.  The Basque was so shaken he could not speak a word, and it would have gone very badly for him, given Don Quijote's blind rage, except that the ladies in the coach, who had to this point been watching the combat in great distress, hurried over and most earnestly begged our knight to show them the greater grace, and extend to them the great favor, of sparing the life of their page.  To which Don Quijote replied, soberly and with great pride:
     "Certainly, lovely ladies: I am deeply pleased to do as you ask of me.  But only on one condition, and that is that this knight must promise and agree to journey to Toboso and present himself on my behalf to the peerless Dona Dulcinea, so that she may dispose of him as it best pleases her."
     Frightened and miserable not disputing a word or asking who Dulcinea might be, the ladies promised that their page would do everything that Don Quijote had ordered to be done.

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Miguel De Cervantes' Don Quijote, Volume 1, Chapter 9, page 53

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     Cervantes uses excessive description in these ten sentences.  He draws a picture in the reader's mind, but I am going to rewrite it in shorter sentences.

     Angry at the Basque for insulting him, Don Quijote hit the Basque with his sword.  The Basque blocked the blow with the cushion, but he was still wounded.  Blood flowed from his nose, mouth, and ears.  He tried desperately to stay on his mule, but it threw him to the ground in terror.
     Don Quijote approached the Basque and held his sword to the confused man's throat.  Don Quijote commanded the him to surrender, but the Basque was too dazed.  Just then, the women, who had been watching the coach, ran and begged Don Quijoting not to hurt their squire.
     "As long as your squire goes to Dona Dulcinea in Toboso and does what she says, I will not touch him." Replied Don Quijote.
     The terrified ladies agreed.

Don Quijote Fights the Basque

     And tossing his spear to the ground, he drew his sword, raised his shield, and attacked the Basque, determined to kill him.  Seeing him come, the Basque would have preferred to get down from his mule, which was a rented animal he could not trust, but had no choice except to draw his own sword.  Still, he was lucky enough to find himself near the coach, so he grabbed a cushion to use as his shield, and they had at it, exactly as if they'd been mortal enemies.  The others tried to settle the quarrel, but couldn't, because the Basque kept saying in his broken Spanish that if they didn't let him finish his fight he'd kill his mistress and everyone else who got in his way.  The lady in the coach, astonished and terrified by hat she saw, directed the coachman to drive off a bit, and from that distance prepared to watch that harsh battle -- and as that struggle went on, the Basque gave Don Quijote a great blow high on the shoulder, swinging over his shield, and had our knight not been in armor the thrust would have split him down to the waist.  Feeling the weight of this colossal blow, Don Quijote cried out, at the top of his lungs:
     "Oh lady of my soul, Dulcinea, flower of all beauty, help this knight of yours, who, to please your great goodness, now finds himself in this difficult situation!"
     He said all this, and tightened his grip on his sword, and held the shield high in front of him, attacked the Basque perfectly well, all at the same time, having made up his mind to trust everything to a single blow.

     Seeing him come at him this way, with such determination, the Basque perfectly well understood our knight's courage, and made up his mind to do exactly the same thing.  So he held himself ready, behind his upraised coach cushion, but could not turn his mule an inch in any direction, for the animal, totally exhausted and not meant for these particular games, couldn't so much as lift a hoof.

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Miguel De Cervantes' Don Quijote, Volume 1, Chapter 8, page 48

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     The book Don Quijote is full of crazy adventures and fun words; this particular part is my favorite.  The way that Cervantes describes the action is fantastic and greatly engages the reader's imagination.  As I read this specific passage, I could not help but picture the scene the way Cervantes intended it to be pictured.  An old man, sure he is a knight, charges the Basque, who is probably still spewing off bad words.  The Basque is about to dismount his old donkey, weary from the journey, but discovers he has too little time.  Instead, he grabs a cushion out of the coach, which probably causes the young ladies in it to shriek.  He holds the pillow in front of him for protection.
     Where did Cervantes get the hilarious idea of the man using a pillow?  A pillow?
     Then the two men battle like they were mortal enemies.  The phrase mortal enemies describes the expressions on each man's face and the thoughts in his head.  Cervantes did not have to use pages and pages to capture the reader's attention.  He was able to do it in a few sentences.  He did not waist time describing the ladies in the carriage or the coachman.  He knew those people were not vital to his story, so he spent more time describing what the readers do care about instead of boring them like other writers often do.
     In the passage, Don Quijote cries out to his imaginary lady in desperate help.  I could not help but laugh.  He is such a drama queen.  How it is that Sancho puts up with him just shows how foolish Sancho is.
     When Don Quijote goes after the Basque will full force, the Basque struggles with his donkey and again uses the pillow!  It is like a comedy routine.
     I love the book Don Quijote by Miguel De Cervantes' because of the creative expressions.

Gwendolen and Cecily Discover the Truth

[Enter Jack.]
Gwendolen.  [Catching sight of him.]  Ernest!  My own Ernest!
Jack.  Gwendolen!  Darling!  [Offers to kiss her.]
Gwendolen.  [Draws back.]  A moment!  May I ask if you are engaged to be married to this young lady?  [Points to Cecily.]
Jack.  [Laughing.]  To dear little Cecily!  Of course not!  What could have put such an idea into your pretty little head?
Gwendolen.  Thank you.  You may!  [Offers her cheek.]
Cecily.  [Very sweetly.]  I knew there must be some misunderstanding, Miss Fairfax.  The gentleman whose arm is at present round your waist is my guardian, Mr. John Worthing.
Gwendolen.  I beg your pardon?
Cecily.  This is Uncle Jack.
Gwendolen.  [Receding.]  Jack!  Oh!
[Enter Algernon.]
Cecily.  Here is Ernest.
Algernon.  [Goes straight over to Cecily without noticing any one else.]  My own love!  [Offers to kiss her.]
Cecily.  [Drawing back.]  A moment, Ernest!  May I ask you—are you engaged to be married to this young lady?
Algernon.  [Looking round.]  To what young lady?  Good heavens!  Gwendolen!
Cecily.  Yes! to good heavens, Gwendolen, I mean to Gwendolen.
Algernon.  [Laughing.]  Of course not!  What could have put such an idea into your pretty little head?
Cecily.  Thank you.  [Presenting her cheek to be kissed.]  You may.  [Algernon kisses her.]
Gwendolen.  I felt there was some slight error, Miss Cardew.  The gentleman who is now embracing you is my cousin, Mr. Algernon Moncrieff.
Cecily.  [Breaking away from Algernon.]  Algernon Moncrieff!  Oh!  [The two girls move towards each other and put their arms round each other’s waists as if for protection.]
Cecily.  Are you called Algernon?
Algernon.  I cannot deny it.
Cecily.  Oh!
Gwendolen.  Is your name really John?
Jack.  [Standing rather proudly.]  I could deny it if I liked.  I could deny anything if I liked.  But my name certainly is John.  It has been John for years.
Cecily.  [To Gwendolen.]  A gross deception has been practised on both of us.
Gwendolen.  My poor wounded Cecily!
Cecily.  My sweet wronged Gwendolen!
Gwendolen.  [Slowly and seriously.]  You will call me sister, will you not?  [They embrace.  Jack and Algernon groan and walk up and down.]
Cecily.  [Rather brightly.]  There is just one question I would like to be allowed to ask my guardian.
Gwendolen.  An admirable idea!  Mr. Worthing, there is just one question I would like to be permitted to put to you.  Where is your brother Ernest?  We are both engaged to be married to your brother Ernest, so it is a matter of some importance to us to know where your brother Ernest is at present.
Jack.  [Slowly and hesitatingly.]  Gwendolen—Cecily—it is very painful for me to be forced to speak the truth.  It is the first time in my life that I have ever been reduced to such a painful position, and I am really quite inexperienced in doing anything of the kind.  However, I will tell you quite frankly that I have no brother Ernest.  I have no brother at all.  I never had a brother in my life, and I certainly have not the smallest intention of ever having one in the future.
Cecily.  [Surprised.]  No brother at all?
Jack.  [Cheerily.]  None!
Gwendolen.  [Severely.]  Had you never a brother of any kind?
Jack.  [Pleasantly.]  Never.  Not even of an kind.
Gwendolen.  I am afraid it is quite clear, Cecily, that neither of us is engaged to be married to any one.
Cecily.  It is not a very pleasant position for a young girl suddenly to find herself in.  Is it?
Gwendolen.  Let us go into the house.  They will hardly venture to come after us there.
Cecily.  No, men are so cowardly, aren’t they?
[They retire into the house with scornful looks.]

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Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest, Act 2, page 84-87

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     In Oscar Wilde's comical play, The Importance of Being Earnest, the two main men lie to the ladies they love saying that both their names are Earnest.  This causes great confusion- for the women at least -and distrust.  Finding that there was never such a man named Earnest that they were engaged to, Gwendolen and Cecily stick together like best friends and reject the boys.

     In this play, I love that the boys created more trouble for themselves by lying.  Having realized that being dishonest did not help them one bit, but made things worse, the boys set forth to make things right, hoping the girls would forgive them.

     The girls are so funny in this when they think that one of them has stolen the other person's fiancee.  I love how they are sure they will be true friends, their rude behavior to each other, and then how quickly they go back together after everything is explained.  If only Jack and Algernon had never spoken dishonestly, yet then again, perhaps the ladies would never have given them a chance if they had known their true names.  Maybe being earnest was really not that important.

     Coming clean and proving that they really did care, the boys finally captured the hearts of their young loves.

Mr. Collins Proposes to Elisabeth

     As soon as they were gone Mr. Collins began.
     ``Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, so far from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes had there not been this little unwillingness; but allow me to assure you that I have your respected mother's permission for this address... Almost as soon as I entered the house I singled you out as the companion of my future life. But before I am run away with by my feelings on this subject, perhaps it will be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying -- and moreover for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife, as I certainly did.''
     The idea of Mr. Collins, with all his solemn composure, being run away with by his feelings, made Elizabeth so near laughing that she could not use the short pause he allowed in any attempt to stop him farther, and he continued:
     ``My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly... it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness... I am to inherit this estate after the death of your honoured father (who, however, may live many years longer), I could not satisfy myself without resolving to chuse a wife from among his daughters, that the loss to them might be as little as possible, when the melancholy event takes place -- which, however, as I have already said, may not be for several years. This has been my motive, my fair cousin...''
     It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.
     ``You are too hasty, Sir,'' she cried. ``You forget that I have made no answer. Let me do it without farther loss of time. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me, I am very sensible of the honour of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline them.''
     ``I am not now to learn,'' replied Mr. Collins, with a formal wave of the hand, ``that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favour; and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long.''
     ``Upon my word, Sir,'' cried Elizabeth, ``your hope is rather an extraordinary one after my declaration. I do assure you that I am not one of those young ladies (if such young ladies there are) who are so daring as to risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second time. I am perfectly serious in my refusal. -- You could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who would make you so, -- Nay, were your friend Lady Catherine to know me, I am persuaded she would find me in every respect ill qualified for the situation.''
     ``Were it certain that Lady Catherine would think so,'' said Mr. Collins very gravely -- ``but I cannot imagine that her ladyship would at all disapprove of you. And you may be certain that when I have the honour of seeing her again I shall speak in the highest terms of your modesty, economy, and other amiable qualifications.''
     ``Indeed, Mr. Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary. You must give me leave to judge for myself, and pay me the compliment of believing what I say. I wish you very happy and very rich, and by refusing your hand, do all in my power to prevent your being otherwise. In making me the offer, you must have satisfied the delicacy of your feelings with regard to my family, and may take possession of Longbourn estate whenever it falls, without any self-reproach. This matter may be considered, therefore, as finally settled.'' And rising as she thus spoke, she would have quitted the room, had not Mr. Collins thus addressed her,
     ``When I do myself the honour of speaking to you next on this subject I shall hope to receive a more favourable answer than you have now given me; though I am far from accusing you of cruelty at present, because I know it to be the established custom of your sex to reject a man on the first application, and perhaps you have even now said as much to encourage my suit as would be consistent with the true delicacy of the female character.''
     ``Really, Mr. Collins,'' cried Elizabeth with some warmth, ``you puzzle me exceedingly. If what I have hitherto said can appear to you in the form of encouragement, I know not how to express my refusal in such a way as may convince you of its being one.''
     ``You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear cousin, that your refusal of my addresses is merely words of course. My reasons for believing it are briefly these: -- It does not appear to me that my hand is unworthy your acceptance... and you should take it into farther consideration that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made you... I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me...''
     ``I do assure you, Sir, that I have no pretension whatever to that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. I thank you again and again for the honour you have done me in your proposals, but to accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings in every respect forbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now as an elegant female intending to plague you, but as a rational creature speaking the truth from her heart.''
     ``You are uniformly charming!'' cried he, with an air of awkward gallantry; ``and I am persuaded that when sanctioned by the express authority of both your excellent parents, my proposals will not fail of being acceptable.''
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Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 19, page 103-106

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     Although much to Elizabeth Bennet's dismay, Mr. Collins proposed to her.  His manner in doing so was rather rude in that he stated that his reasons for his marrying her were that she would make him happy; he was doing her a favor since he would inherit Longbourn, her family estate, anyway when her father died; no one else would ever propose to her since her family was so poor.  The way that Mr. Collins spoke sounded as though Elizabeth had no choice, which was something that made her distressed to start out with.
     Mr. Collins was not being wise, for he had been with the Bennet family for a little while and should have understood that none of them liked him- with the possible exception of Mrs. Bennet.  He also, when he proposed to Elizabeth, treated her as though she were below him.  He did flatter her somewhat, but at the same time, by waving his hand the first time she refused, made it appear that her opinions were not worth anything to him.  It was also insulting her by implying she was like every other girl and would give in to him soon enough.  Furthermore, his mentioning that her father would die and leave them all homeless was true but did not improve her thoughts of him.  It made it sound like he was only going to marry her because he pitied her.
     On the other hand, Elizabeth was not the most respectful in how she rejected him, for she did it rather bluntly, however, she was making an effort to be honest and not get his hopes up too high.  Rejection is always painful, so she was attempting to get it over as quickly as possible.  His dragging it on and on made things more awkward and her more determined to discourage him.  Her saying, 'My feelings in every respect forbid it' was rather harsh, but she felt like she had to say something stronger in order to get it through to him that she was not the least bit interested in him.  She really was trying not to hurt him- or the relationship between him and her father - but being that she had not had much experience in declining marriage proposals, she did was running out of polite things to say.
     Mr. Collins' proposal was an unfortunate mistake on his part.  It could have possibly been avoided if he had been smarter in his manner.