There is an etching by Rowlandson, Doctor Syntax Sketching the Lake where the foolish Doctor gawps out as he scribbles, holding the book between him and the landscape. Under him, his horse has lowered its head. Knowing what water is good for, it is enjoying a cool drink.
Humans know more than animals about almost everything. How many dogs would you trust with your taxes? But our great fault as a species is this willingness to project a glamour over facts, then wonder why rocks we wished away keep tripping us up.
Sancho's ass is the secret hero of Don Quixote. Not Sancho Panza, who is as credulous as his master is deluded. Not Rocinante, a bag of bones hidden behind an heroic name. Sancho's ass, nameless and dreamless, was the only one of the questers who knew how hard the ground was every step of the way. He is an eternal reminder of facts that go on being true even when we'd rather ignore them.
Sancho's ass is an English ass (of Spanish extraction), not an American one. Yet Sancho's ass (UK) has to put up with Sancho's ass (US) day after day, a further, profound acquaintance with reality. Sancho's Ass agrees with Montaigne:
Upon the highest throne in the world, we are seated, still, upon our asses.
1 comment:
I'm reading Don Quixote presently, had been thinking the same, googled "sancho's ass", and found this blog post. Bravo, good soul.
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