I wonder if Ignatius Reilly was modeled more on Samuel Johnson than Don Quixote or Thomas Aquinas. Johnson lived in the 1700's where Ignatius may have felt more at home. Johnson was hopelessly married to London. He was slovenly, pious, and grotesque (identified and unidentified physical maladies, suspected of having Tourette syndrome). His father died when he was young & he married a woman twice his age. He was famous for his literary intellect, wit, brutal honesty, and devotion to religion. The work that made him famous was an English dictionary that was the premier dictionary for 170 years until the Oxford English Dictionary. Here are a few entries where he let his wit & humour influence the work:
Pension. 'An allowance ... generally understood to
mean pay given to a state hireling for treason to his
country.'
Oats. 'A grain which in England is generally
given to horses, but in Scotland supports the people.'
Excise. 'A hateful tax levied upon commodities, and
adjudged not by the common judges of property, but wretches
hired by those to whom excise is paid.'
Relevant excerpts from Boswell's biography on Johnson:
After dinner, our conversation first turned upon Pope. Johnson said, his characters of men were admirably drawn, those of women not so well. He repeated to us, in his forcible melodious manner, the concluding lines of the Dunciad. While he was talking loudly in praise of those lines, one of the company ventured to say, "Too fine for such a poem:—a poem on what?" JOHNSON, (with a disdainful look,) "Why, on dunces. It was worth while being a dunce then. Ah, Sir, hadst thou lived in those days! It is not worth while being a dunce now, when there are no wits."
....
To the utter astonishment of all the passengers ... he defended the Inquisition, and maintained, that 'false doctrine should be checked on its first appearance; that the civil power should unite with the church in punishing those who dared to attack the established religion'
...
'Some people have a foolish way of not minding, or pretending not to mind, what they eat. For my part, I mind my belly very studiously, and very carefully; for I look upon it, that he who does not mind his belly will hardly mind anything else.' ... Yet I have heard him, upon other occasions, talk with great contempt of people who were anxious to gratify their palates ... nor would he, unless when in very high company, say one word, or even pay the least attention to what was said by others, till he had satisfied his appetite, which was so fierce, and indulged with such intenseness, that while in the act of eating, the veins of his forehead swelled, and generally a strong perspiration was visible. To those whose sensations were delicate, this could not but be disgusting;
...
He was so much displeased with the performances of a nobleman's French cook, that he exclaimed with vehemence, "I'd throw such a rascal into the river," and he then proceeded to alarm a lady at whose house he was to sup, by the following manifesto of his skill: "I, Madam, who live at a variety of good tables, am a much better judge of cookery, than any person who has a very tolerable cook..."' When invited to dine, even with an intimate friend, he was not pleased if something better than a plain dinner was not prepared for him. I have heard him say on such an occasion, 'This was a good dinner enough, to be sure; but it was not a dinner to ASK a man to.' On the other hand, he was wont to express, with great glee, his satisfaction when he had been entertained quite to his mind.
...
About this time he was afflicted with a very severe return of the hypochondriack disorder, which was ever lurking about him. He was so ill, as, notwithstanding his remarkable love of company, to be entirely averse to society, the most fatal symptom of that malady. Dr. Adams told me, that as an old friend he was admitted to visit him, and that he found him in a deplorable state, sighing, groaning, talking to himself, and restlessly walking from room to room. He then used this emphatical expression of the misery which he felt: 'I would consent to have a limb amputated to recover my spirits.'
Talking to himself was, indeed, one of his singularities ever since I knew him. I was certain that he was frequently uttering pious ejaculations; for fragments of the Lord's Prayer have been distinctly overheard.
...
His sincere regard for Francis Barber, his faithful negro servant, made him so desirous of his further improvement, that he now placed him at a school at Bishop Stortford, in Hertfordshire.
...
at last silenced her by saying, 'My dear Lady, talk no more of this. Nonsense can be defended but by nonsense.'
...
Concerning americans in 1769:
'Sir, they are a race of convicts, and ought to be thankful for any thing we allow them short of hanging.'
...
On the superiority of Irishmen over Scottsmen, of whom he always spoke very ill of in front of his good friend and biographer Boswell, who was Scottish.
"You are almost the only instance of a Scotchman that I have known, who did not at every other sentence bring in some other Scotchman [of literary importance]. ... The Irish are not in a conspiracy to cheat the world by false representations of the merits of their countrymen. No, Sir; the Irish are a FAIR PEOPLE;—they never speak well of one another. "
...
He thought portrait-painting an improper employment for a woman. 'Publick practice of any art, and staring in men's faces, is very indelicate in a female.' ... "Would not a gentleman be disgraced by having his wife singing publickly for hire? "
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