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Rh believe) in the olden cavaliers; but Sancho believes in Don Quixote, and that is a much more difficult faith. Sancho finds in his increasing veneration for his master a terrestrial ideal far removed from his sure possessions. He dreams a dream; and when—in his island—his dream comes true he reveals himself more enamored of justice than of gain. In short, the only real madman in the book is Sancho, and the usual contrasts between him and his master are utterly invalid.

The substance of the book—if we may linger for a moment on this theme before returning to our hero and his deceptions—is by no means such as the allegorists would lead us to believe. The work cannot be regarded as a unity, and the part that still lives for us amounts to perhaps one-third of the whole. The Don Quixote is a miscellany which may be easily resolved into its elements. It contains: